Category Archives: Pop Cult-ure

More, More, More

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Has it been a weirdly long week?  Not a bad week, but a long week?  On Tuesday I told Mark that he had better get his library books together for school, to which he answered that library was on Thursday.  I knew that but honestly thought it was Thursday.  Wednesday I was planning for Friday, which I thought was the next day.  The fact that it’s the third of May is not helping matters either; I feel like I’m in a weird time warp in which I don’t have any idea what day, month, or year it is.  I realized this morning that there is only seven weeks left of school, which was shocking.  Time is slipping, slipping, slipping into the future, my kids are getting older and I’m getting older too, and the cat’s in the cradle with the silver spoon.

Speaking of getting older, I received – completely unsolicited – a copy of More magazine in the mail.  More!  The magazine for mature women.  I was very startled to see it in my mailbox, with my name and address on it, being I didn’t subscribe to it.  I realized this must be some kind of promotional item; perhaps since I actually have a subscription to the mature suburban Canadian women’s magazine Canadian Living I am actually on some kind of mailing list.  For mature women.  More magazine!  I scoffed a bit, picked it up, and then realized that I really am this demographic now.  Much more so than, say, Cosmopolitan.  Not that I’ve read Cosmo in years – I know all the sexy tricks, Cosmo.  I don’t need any more lists. – but it is a little startling when you realize that you’re more More than Cosmo, is all I’m saying.   

Anyway.  It’s Friday.  I’ve been busy in the kitchen all morning, preparing for some girlfriends to taste test some new recipes.  I’ve also been doing a little bit of taste testing myself, in other words, I’m feeling a bit FULL.  There’s not much that I love more than preparing desserts and appetizers for my open-minded girlfriends, while singing along to the station that plays all the ballads from the 1970s.  Cause I’m easy…I’m easy like Sunday morning. 

Segueing right into the eighties, I was heading into the grocery store (because where else do I go?) and I saw this amazing license plate.

If that doesn’t immediately make your day just a little bit brighter, then I don’t know what will.  That is the single greatest license plate/ car combination ever, better even than 1Bruce1 or HotCarl.  I wondered who owned this fantastic vehicle; perhaps a sexy, hirsute, moustachioed man.  I was not at all disappointed when the owner approached:

 
I kid.  I did not see the owner, mostly because I felt it might be weird and stalker-ish to stand at the car waiting for someone to bring out their groceries.  I did keep looking for Hawaiian shirts in the Co-Op, but alas, none were to be found. 
 
I have only ever seen one episode of Magnum PI.  I know!  You would think that I would be more up on that, but you would be wrong.  I’m sure there are reruns playing somewhere but I seem to be too busy these days watching and re-watching Mad Men episodes and making Tom and Lorenzo-like notes on the fashions.  How did Betty become so frumpy?  Is Megan wearing hair extensions?  Is it weird to have a crush on Henry Francis?  He’s wearing a Christmas sweater!  What is WRONG with me?
 
But back to Magnum.  My husband watched it a lot in the eighties, and every time he hears Phil Collins’ In The Air Tonight he says “Best. Magnum. Ever.”  Then he explains the plot to me and I think it sounds interesting and maybe I should watch it, and then I end up wondering if I could wear a gypsy scarf as a headband like Megan did that one time or would that look weird.  So I will probably go through my entire life without actually watching Magnum PI but still enjoying photos like this:
 
 
Remember back in the day when men didn’t shave and/ or wax their chests?
 
Somewhere hidden in a family album is a photograph of my mother in the late eighties, standing next to a life size cardboard cutout of Tom Selleck.  If I didn’t think my mother would disown me I would blow it up and frame it, or at least post it here.  However, I like to maintain good relations with my mother and so I will leave that photo where it lies.  My mother is a big fan of the moustachioed man, given her penchant for Tom Selleck and the famously stached Sam Elliot.  But I shall not make fun of her mature women fantasies because I picked up a copy of People at my hair salon and flipped to the men who were deemed to be “Sexy at (fill in the age decade)”.  I realized that the only appealing demographic was the Sexy at Fifty category.  HENRY FRANCIS?  I guess I am ready for More magazine after all.  
 

It’s not easy being green.

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I was digging through my bottom dresser drawer on the weekend and found a little bag containing a number of cards, including a Blockbuster Video membership card.  How long has that been there?  There was also a Northwest Airlines World Perks card I had from my working-girl-business-travel era, which was some time ago.  Clearly I need to clean out my drawers more often.  At least I didn’t find any maternity pantyhose, like I did last time.

In case you missed it, it was my birthday on the weekend!  Best weekend ever, I tell you.  My mom made me a cake and my husband went out and bought me a case of wine, including a very nice bottle of Amarone that we shared while watching my new copy of Les Miserables, which as you may know I’ve been wanting to see for…well…for as long as it’s been out, I guess.  It was a great movie, and I restrained myself from singing along to the entire score.  I am only human though, and occasionally I would slip out with a Who am I? 2-4-6-0-1! which is when my husband would wander downstairs to see how the boys were doing on their video game or into the kitchen to fetch me more wine.  Good husband! 


The boys gave me a new yoga outfit, which I proudly wore on Sunday morning, negating the Shala’s need for lights:



I felt a bit like a walking glo-stick or lime popsicle, but in a good way.  I kind of love it.  And hey, my birthday is right before Earth Day and right after Pot Day, so wearing green seems like a great idea.

Other things I love:

1) We have finally finished reading the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series.  I have been reading it to the boys at bedtime for the past couple of months and believe me when I say this: I cannot think of another series of books that I have so loathed.  The kids loved it, mind you, but I felt that it was the lamest, most mean-spirited series in the history of time.  It pushed so many buttons for me and reminded me of why I hated the tween years.  Obviously I am not the target audience but in any case I’m ecstatic it’s all over.  Next up: Charlotte’s Web!  Hooray!  No one knew that a little grey spider played the biggest part.  No one was with her when she died.  Wah.  Poor Charlotte.

2) 31 Inanimate Objects With Secret Inner Lives.  The gherkin!

3) 14 Engagement Photos. Although, the train track picture is giving me heart palpitations.  DON’T PLAY ON THE TRACKS! 

4) Mad Men.  I am really enjoying this season, especially the swingy fashion of the late sixties.  If I could get away with wearing minidresses, go-go boots, false eyelashes and white lipstick every day I would.  If I wouldn’t look like death with white lipstick, that is.  And if it wouldn’t look strange to wear false eyelashes, minidresses and go-go boots to the school, dog park or grocery store, which are my three main destinations.

I think it’s almost time for another Nicole’s Favourite Things, now that the temperatures are actually ABOVE freezing and little green things are starting to poke out of the ground.  Watch for it in the coming days!  Spring!  Finally!  Things feel grand.  xoxo

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Thanks everyone for playing along for my giveaway.  Justine was the big winner!  Congratulations Justine – something fun will be on your way, just as soon as I get to the post office. 

Moar Happyer; A Diversion

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“I don’t get it,” Mark said from the back of the minivan, the minivan that was rocking with hip tunes from the seventies.  “Why does that guy want to be a Fireside Girl?”  “Maybe he wants to sell those cupcakes or get badges.” Jake suggested.

For reference, this was the song that was on the radio.  I know, I should really listen to more current music, and I DO, I really do.  But sometimes I need a break from accidentally belting out the uncensored lyrics to “Thrift Shop” in front of my kids.  “Mom, that word is really bad.  It’s even worse than FRICKING.  It means the same thing as this,” the kids will say in their best reprimanding manner, raising their middle fingers so I can see for myself just how inappropriate it is.

In other words, I’ll keep my old-people radio station that advertises for Grey Power Insurance.  Related: it’s almost my birthday!  Time to break out the tiara, drink lots of wine, and eat cake!  So, pretty much like every weekend.  Last birthday I celebrated turning-older-than-Mrs-Robinson; this year is kind of anti-climactic since I don’t know what cougarish fictional character I’m going to be older than.  I have a good ten years before I will be older than Dallas from Suburgatory.

Although I do have one of these foam fingers, only it’s green:

My foam finger is highly underutilized in the bedroom department, however.
Speaking of sexytimes, Barkley has finally stopped attempting to, ahem, dominate a certain little Shih tzu dog named Freddie at the off leash park.  This is big news.  It is also the end of a short lived, yet very embarrassing era in which I would have to grab Barkley’s collar, yelling “Barkley, NO!” while simultaneously apologizing to the older lady to whom Freddie belongs.  I was somewhat curious why Barkley continued to try to have his way with Freddie given that a) Barkley is a eunich, and b) Freddie is male.  Perhaps Barkley is gay?  My friend Nan informed me that if Barkley is gay, then her dog, who regularly attempted to dominate pillows in a similar manner for many months, must be a foamosexual.
Foamosexual.  It’s a word that never fails to make me smile, although now that I posted a picture of a foam finger, it’s kind of disturbing.
Other cheerful things that are happening around here: Jake told me he loves school, and that is because in his mind school is a video game and whenever he accomplishes a goal or a difficult task, he considers it a “level completed”.  I feel like something is a bit off with that, but whatever works.  Level up, buddy.  Mark is finishing his last swim class today and I’m fairly sure he did not “level up”, as it were.  “I’m the slowest swimmer in my class!” he told me, to which I did NOT respond that I was consistently the second worst athlete in every single phys ed class growing up.  He should just be glad I procreated with his “Award of Excellence” father, just to get some athleticism genes.  I mean, that’s not the only reason I procreated with him.  He’s number one!  *raises foam finger*
It is also “Tacky Tourist” day at school, and I for one welcome this dress-up day as being much, much easier than “Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up” day or “Dress As Your Favourite Storybook Character” day, both of leave me bemused and devoid of all creative ideas.  At least, I thought it was easy.  This is what they looked like this morning:
Of course, we got to school and all the kids had crazy straw hats and sunglasses and cabana wear but STILL.  Maui t-shirts count for something, I think.

In the wink of a young girl’s eye

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I have heard “Glory Days” no fewer than five times in the past two days.  Is it a sign?  Perhaps the universe is saying something about my impending 20 year high school reunion.  Should I start reliving those glory days?  Perhaps don a baby doll dress to wear with army boots?  Spiral perm my hair?  Wear bright red lipstick and get all excited about quadratic equations?  Perfect my Southern accent so I can portray Amanda Wingfield in the school play?

Glory days indeed.  It occurred to me today that I have never seen a single episode of The Littlest Hobo or The Beachcombers.  I wonder if that’s enough to get my Canadian citizenship revoked.  I can only recall regularly watching three television shows when I was a child: The Muppet Show (and later, Fraggle Rock), The Smurfs, and Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness.  I loved Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness.  I can still recall being devastated by the episode about Canada geese, and the widowed goose who would now live out the remainder of her life alone and mateless.  The poor, poor goose.

Speaking of popular culture on television, Season Five of Mad Men is now on Netflix and I have been voraciously re-watching it in anticipation of the Season Six opener on Saturday.  I’m really enjoying this since I seem to have forgotten all the plot lines.  Peggy, and her vague disillusionment with her job.  Megan, following her dream to become a lady of the theatre.  Betty, attending Weight Watchers meetings.  I’m almost at the episode where – spoiler alert! – Lane is FOUND IN HIS OFFICE and damn, I forgot how great this show is.  Also I am coveting Megan’s entire wardrobe which is a strange thing to covet.  “I should get a dress like that for next year’s Christmas party!” I say to my husband on a near-nightly basis, who looks alarmed at the very idea of me wearing a dress with a six inch skirt to his conservative office party. 

The children were the thrilled recipients of clock radios last weekend.  We are all early birds in this house; waking the kids up for school is not something that actually happens here.  We are all up and raring to go hours before school begins, but my husband and I thought the clocks would be a good idea for the weekend.  The children are only allowed to play video games on the weekend, so they have taken to waking up extra early on Saturdays so as to maximize their game-playing time.  There are worse problems, but I like being able to sleep until the crazy hour of 6:45 or 7:00 on the weekend, and so we have installed clocks in their rooms as a “please don’t wake Mom and Dad up until 6:45” measure.  So far it’s worked but the most fun thing about it is how the kids will retire to their rooms during the day just to listen to the radio.  It’s like we’ve been transported back to the sixties.  THOSE KIDS AND THEIR ROCK AND ROLL MUSIC. 

Clock radios!  I wonder if they are boasting about them at school.  They are so thrilled with them, I would not be surprised.  Are clock radios an actual status symbol, or are my children just deprived little pseudo-Kazhakstanis?  “I get window from glass, he must get window from glass.  I get step, he gets step.  I get clock radio.  He cannot afford!”  Hopefully none of their little friends will break into our house late at night.  Say goodbye to your clock radio.

Don’t masquerade with the guy in shades.

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This morning I was driving to the yoga shala, and the radio was playing Sunglasses at Night.  Boy in the Box was one of my favourite albums back in 1985, and so I turned it up and sang along.  I pulled into a parking stall, still singing.  You’ve gone to bed with a guy in shades, oh no.  Then I turned off the car, went into the shala and did my practice.  An hour and a half later I got back into the car, turned it on, and Sunglasses at Night was on the radio.  Again.  At the exact same part of the song as it was when I turned the car off.  You’ve gone to bed with a guy in shades, oh no.  I sat motionless for a moment, feeling like I was in some surreal universe.  Where am I?  Did I actually GO into the shala?  Did I record Sunglasses at Night on a CD and not realize it?  WHAT IS HAPPENING?  It was, I should mention, the same radio station, which means that a hit from 1985 was played twice in less than a two hour period.  Very strange beginning to the day.

Speaking of strange and also going to bed with a guy in shades, I heard George Michael’s I Want Your Sex on the radio the other day.  Feel free to make a comment about the nature of the radio stations I listen to at this time.  Anyway, I clearly remember when I Want Your Sex came out and how terribly shocking it was at the time, back in the day before Eminem and Nate Dogg wanted a bitch with double-D’s to fuck in the back of a Hummer truck, or Rihanna was looking for a guy to go downtown, or even when Nelly wanted someone to fuck him good AND suck him good.  George Michael was scandalous back in 1987, but here’s the thing: I find the expression I want your sex to be very strange indeed.  You want my…sex?  Is this something anyone has ever said in the history of time?  I mean, until Bruno Mars recently intoned that your sex takes me to paradise.  Bruno, do you mean having sex with you takes me to paradise?  Because that would make a lot more sense.

You can tell that it’s Friday, can’t you?  Suddenly things are getting X-rated around here.  Unrelated to my strange thought processes spurred by hits from the mid-to-late eighties, it’s International Women’s Day!  International Women’s Day, and I just typed an entire paragraph about inappropriate song lyrics.  Anyway, it turns out I’m going to be spending International Women’s Day evening with a couple of my favourite girlfriends, who are coming over to taste test some new recipes.  One of them is chocolate pudding made out of cauliflower.  I know what you’re thinking, but it is actually pretty good, and it’s not just me saying that – Jake told me it was not bad, which I consider to be a win, given he was aware of the ingredients.

This is not to say my kids don’t like vegetables; they do, just not cauliflower.  Does anyone really like cauliflower?  I like it roasted, but other than that, it is a pretty lame vegetable.  It doesn’t even have a pretty colour and YES, I realize I am focussing on appearances, but it doesn’t taste great either.  I like vegetables that are beautiful inside and out, if you know what I mean.

I had something lovely to say here about inner and outer beauty, but Patio Lanterns just came on the radio, which may be the worst song ever written, other than Might As Well Go For A Soda, and so now I have lost that train of thought.  Patio Lanterns, for the love of god.  Is there a worse song?  Because right now even Macarthur Park seems awesome.

In any case, have a lovely International Women’s Day, let’s celebrate each other and how far we’ve come.  xoxo

Back to life, back to reality.

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The house is SO QUIET.  I had gotten used to a certain level of excited chatter all day long and now the kids are back at school and my husband is back at work, and it’s just me, with not even the dog for company as he is at the groomer’s.  Back to reality, I guess.  As the very flamboyant man who sold me a pair of sunglasses in Maui said, “Being in paradise doesn’t pay the bills!”  Truth.  I had also gotten used to being warm.  What is this thing called a sweater?  Jake stood at the top of the stairs for two solid minutes this morning, unmoving, until I reminded him that he needed to put on his coat and boots before we left the house.  Coat and…boots?

I’m kind of tired this morning because I actually watched the Oscars last night.  I stayed up past 10:00, which is like 2:00 in the morning for normal people.  I recorded the show so I could watch it in the same manner my husband watches the Superbowl – starting late and then fast forwarding the parts I don’t like, such as the speeches, the commercials, and the honorary awards.  Basically I just watch it to see the presenters and what people are wearing and to get glimpses of Hugh Jackman being his usual awesome self.  Doesn’t he just seem like a great guy?  Who else would run over to help someone who had tripped up the stairs?  Who else would excitedly applaud when the other guy won?  Who else looks like this?

 
 
RAWR.  Or this:

The lady will have two tickets to the gun show, please.

Speaking of attractive men, if it wasn’t bad enough that the Oscars ran overtime and foiled my plans for an early bedtime, I ended up having a minor after hours debate with my husband.  The topic? Resolved: Bradley Cooper is attractive.

Me: I just don’t think he’s very good-looking.

Husband: If you polled one hundred women, ninety-eight would agree with me. 

Me: I don’t see it.

Husband: You’re wrong.

Me: It’s not like he’s George Clooney.  THAT is an attractive man.  He even looks good in a beard!

Husband:  It’s GEORGE CLOONEY.  One hundred percent of women think he’s attractive.  You can’t compare them.

Me:  Bradley Cooper’s hair is weird.

Intellectual late-night conversations are where it’s at in my house.  And by late-night, I mean 10:05.  It’s probably good that my husband is back to work and I will only see him for a couple of hours a day at best, given where our conversations go when we’ve actually spent time together.  What’s next, a disagreement about Halle Berry’s shoulder pads?

My neighbour picked up my mail for me while I was gone, and so I was very excited to see the eclectic collection of magazines and catalogues that had amassed.  Canadian Living and Golf Digest, together at last in traditionally-defined gender roles, magazine style.  The anthropologie catalogue together with the Sears Fun in the Sun edition.  Hoo boy.  So many floral dresses and horse sweaters, but at massively different price points.  Spoiler alert: post forthcoming. 

In any event, it’s shaping up to be a busy week what with me running the school book fair – yes, again – karate makeup classes – I sure do hope that woman is there again, can’t wait to hear what she posted to Facebook this week – and the usual day-to-day activities.  What have you been up to, dear readers?  Anyone watch the Oscars?

The Third Dimension (of Top Gun)

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It was pointed out to me that Top Gun – TOP GUN – is being re-released in 3D!  This month, in an IMAX theatre near you!  As thrilling as that may seem, I do find myself wondering if watching that (much beloved by me) movie in 3D on a huge screen would actually enhance the experience.  I’m sure the action sequences would be intensified, but would the volleyball scene be better or worse in 3D?  I’m not convinced either way.  Slider’s oiled up posturing might border on the frightening.  Or, it might be awesome.  Either way I’m not going to find out.

Oh, my.  I went looking for this picture and fell down a rabbit hole.

 
Sorry, I cannot help myself.
 
 
 
Okay, one more.
 
 
PLAYING WITH THE BOYS.
 
Whew.  Where was I?  I think I blacked out for a minute there.  I need an antidote to all this glossiness.
 
 
And…there it is.  Now I can focus.
 
No matter how awesome a 3D showing of (talk to me, Goose) Top Gun would be, I won’t be seeing it.  The reason is that a) I very, very seldom see movies in the theatre, and b) if I do see a movie in the theatre, I want it to be Les Mis, which I still haven’t seen and, if history is any indication, I probably won’t see until it’s on video-on-demand.  Watching movies in the comfort of my own home does have its benefits: unlimited access to the wine bottle, the ability to pause the movie when said wine consumption is high and a visit to the ladies’ room (or, in my house, the room that I am forced to share with the boys) is necessary, and the fun of munching on snacks that did not cost $10 per portion.  The downside, of course, is not seeing the movie as it was intended to be seen, i.e., on the big screen.
 
The last movie I saw in the theatre was The Lorax.  It was in 3D, which was my first 3D movie ever.  It was all right, but the only reason we went to see it in the first place was because our family was visiting our in-laws, and it was raining and cold and an outing was most definitely in order.  Prior to The Lorax, I saw Cars 2 in the theatre (don’t get me started) and prior to that?  Pirates of the Caribbean Part 2.  I don’t even have any idea when I was in a theatre prior to that, which means in the past eight years I’ve been to the theatre three times.
 
Oh wait!  I forgot – there was a fourth time, when my girlfriend and I went to a screening of Mirror Mirror, courtesy of my lovely friend Marilyn.  So, four times in (at least) eight years.  My record is not great, so I’m guessing I’m not seeing Les Mis anytime soon.
 
My memory of Pirates of the Caribbean is fuzzy; Jake was about ten months old at the time and I was exhausted.  He woke several times a night until he was four and a half years old, for the love of god, but I was also tired from the following: pregnancy (years 2003-2004) and interrupted sleep, having a newborn (2004), having a nine month old baby and being pregnant (2005), and having Jake, who was colicky and, as I said before, was a terrible sleeper (2005-2010).  Anyway, my parents were watching the boys for a matinee (since even they weren’t crazy enough to babysit in the evening at that time) and I almost immediately fell asleep.  I slept through the entire movie, waking once in a while to scenes of creatures with squid heads. 
 
All of which is to say, no matter how much I love (Son, your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash) Top Gun, I won’t be seeing it in 3D.  If you see it, let me know how it goes, okay?