Campenheimer

This wasn't a movie mashup weekend; no Barbieheimer fans donning pink and coming out in droves, it was just a few of us brave souls facing torrential downpours and escaping for a few hours at "Theater Camp."

This was a delightful movie, reminding me of a production that came out twenty years earlier starring a then unknown Anna Kendrick simply called "Camp." 

 I was excited to see that film back then, inspired by Stagedoor Manor in the Catskills, a camp my cousin attended as a teenager. We visited him one summer and marveled at all the talent that surrounded us.

"Theater Camp" invited kids like me to a safe haven, where we weren't judged by our lack of  athleticism or our thrift shop wardrobes; a place where weirdness was embraced.

I was lucky to find a camp like that in suburban Philadelphia, where my bellowing voice landed me some coveted roles as a camper in the 1960's, and my creative weirdness earned me some respect from my peers--a respect that took the entire summer to find, but hey..it was good enough for me!..as a counselor in the 70's.

I totally related to the idea of penning original musicals--my forte at my own camp.  Diversity wasn't a thing back then but I'm glad it is now, even in a fictional version of camp, that welcomes talent in all colors, enthnicities, sexual orientations, and sizes. 

Ya gotta love those plus-sized dancers!

"Theater Camp" isn't going to sweep at the Oscars(if there even IS a telecast this year...I totally support the writers and actors and hope they are paid what they are worth in the not-too-distant future) but it was a fun summer movie filled a couple of plot holes but a whole lot of warmth and laughs..and TALENT.

These weekends are tailor-made for people like me....I started a terrific new series on Netflix, ("Sex Lives of College Girls") and finished a wonderful book, Steven Rowley's "The Guncle."

I also enjoyed international cuisine(Portuguese last night, at the impossible to get in"Lita" and a wonderful Indian restaurant tonight) and was grateful for lots of sun and lots of swim.

Life is good..especially in the good 'ole summertime!

A tearful farewell to Laney

We've all had a day now to absorb the heart-breaking  loss for Randy, who had to say goodbye to the love of his life, and the entire Woodloch family, who will miss Lainey terribly.

It is my hope that Randy will return to Woodloch one day, when  his heart is  a little less shattered, as the joyful memories help him to go on.

He will feel her presence at the horse races, as will we. 

She will always be a number five….in our hearts and collective memories, she will ….always be.. alive.

He will feel the gratitude from the families who wisely hired Lainey to babysit their little ones, and we'll feel that thankfulness too.

We'll see her in the dining room and hear her at the cookout.  I can actually sense her presence now, telling me how much she loved seeing Randy as the Judge: as the Scattegories Referee: in various costumes  in the days when he ran "Broadway Name That Tune."

"It's impossible for me to guess what  brings Randy the greatest joy," she once told me, as we were discussing his various roles.

I'm guessing the answer would be his most rewarding role of all, that of Lainey's husband.

Of father, grandfather, and friend to all.

The funniest memory I have personally is when my friend donned a t-shirt that read, "Fueled by Dunkin Donuts." 

 Lainey laughed as she poured the coffee, saying, "Now THERE'S a shirt I gotta get for my Randy!"

The memories will live on forever..as will their love story.

Birthday brain

ME:  Wow..Evan's twenty eight!  How did that happen?? Where did the time go?  How could he possibly be...

MY BRAIN: (SLAPPING ME)  Stop with the cliches!  This is very lazy writing.  You KNOW better!

ME:  But..but..(gulp!)  EVERYONE acknowledges their kid's birthday like this...

MY BRAIN:  If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?

ME:  ..um..probably??? (BEAT)  I'm scared of you.  Why can't you be an organ like my liver or stomach?  They never answer back.

MY BRAIN:  Time does NOT stand still.  Why are you implying that it does??  That it CAN?? Can't you just send your son a birthday acknowledgement that's NORMAL?  That won't embarrass him?

ME:  "Maybe" to the first question.."no" to the second. (BEAT)  How about:  "Happy birthday to my smart, sensitive, funny, wonderf--.."

MY BRAIN:  STOP THIS!!! Are you listening to me?  Do you EVER listen?  Stop with these platitudes..these empty adjectives!!  EVERYONE writes junk like this. Don't you remember the first rule of writing?

ME:  Um..to never talk about writing??

MY BRAIN:  Don't make me hit you again. The first rule of writing is to SHOW, not TELL.  Don't just TELL me Evan is smart without SHOWING it with a palpable example.

ME:  I could show you a hundred examples.

MY BRAIN:  Ugh..we're done here.  You just can't listen.  Why don't you repeat what you said last year?  It was concise and to the point, even when you got a lot of TSDR. ("Too short, didn't read")

ME:  You mean.."Evan: 27??"

MY BRAIN:  Yeah..that one.  Start there.

ME:  Please don't slap me.. Um.".Evan:27+1????"

MY BRAIN:  Look at the brains on Brett!

ME:  Now you're just buttering Evan up by quoting stuff from "Fight Club" and "Pulp Fiction"

MY BRAIN:  No I'm not...I actually KNOW Brett Kavanaugh's brain.  (PAUSE) It's as dumb as he is.

ME:  Can I go back to sleep?

MY BRAIN: Only if you say something heartfelt and  smart..like I taught you. 

ME:  Happy birthday, Evan!  Looking forward to some quality pool time and a great dinner with you and Michelle.

MY BRAIN:  Thank you..my work here is done

Quick as a wink.. you’re in the pink

"Quick as a wink..you're in the pink!"

..if you're like me, who swore she wasn't going to be a part of that cult known as "Barbenheimer" but wound up catching the 9:40 AM "Barbie" movie anyway.

I witnessed a movie set that looked like the "Big Brother" house, if the "Big Brother" house had been doused in Pepto Bismol, and I remembered that my Mom came up with that original aforementioned  slogan(so she said) but my Dad told her not to submit it, because it wasn't going to catch on. (so he said)

Which it obviously did..so..goodbye, Malibu Dream House!

Thanks a lot, Dad!

Let me retell a story that I've told before: 

 I was not a Barbie kid. 

 Mostly because my father had no idea that Barbie was something I needed. 

 He impulsively bought me a doll--one time--that sold for ninety-nine cents in a supermarket check out line. 

 It was made in Korea, and it was in   a dingy plastic bag  where these "Wilma Flintstone" dolls met their  suffocating deaths. The facial  features were so crude and distorted that they only way you knew this was a Wilma Flintstone doll was because it said so on her bag house.

I threw the doll at my father, who had no clue as to why the only thing this doll had in common with Barbie was an old fashioned name.

I eventually got an upgrade--Barbie's little sister, Skipper, with her white straw beach  hat and her gingham dress and her  flat chest and her shiny auburn hair..and her bendable legs, which is why, when my brother Steven accompanied my parents to the parking lot to greet my camp bus, he had tears in his eyes as he told me, as gently as possible, "Skipper died. Someone in the house thought she was their  chew toy."

That Skipper was replaced with a tarty version with flaming red hair. She didn't have Skipper's innocence and her legs had no mongrel's  teeth marks. 

 I lost interest quickly.

But anyway, enough about my sad Barbie history, we woke up early, I donned a pink shirt with silver studs that Jim THOUGHT read, "S-P-O-I-L-E-D" and off we went to see this perfectly delightful movie. 

 (The bookend comes tonight as we'll invest three hours in "Oppenheimer"..which better not be a bomb)

The movie showed me why I should be glad I had a Wilma Flintstone doll instead of a Barbie Dream House.

Wilma's cave had a working shower(true, it was courtesy of a water buffalo, but still!!) and Wilma ate real food, a stack of ribs that could upend a table made of marble or an automolbile at a drive-in movie. .  I'm betting Wilma's cave even had a bidet, while Barbie's house  didn't even have a toilet or a staircase. 

By the way, I  finally DID get access to Barbies..probably someone's hand-me-downs, and I couldn't understand what the fuss was about. 

 Or maybe it was just the girls I hung out with??? 

They didn't care about backstories, they just wanted to make their Barbies fly and wear high fashion.  (Kind of like the different audiences who tune in to "Sex and the City" and it's sequel..some just want to gawk at clothes, some, like me, get on their inner Carries and demand  character-driven  stories)

My Barbie might be donned in thrift store shmattas or dresses made from aluminum foil, true, but they had character development. Real story arcs.

"What about, I'd ask them, if just for today, we go with something like,  "Barbie Wrestles a Raccoon?"

 "Barbie buys a beaver?"

My friends weren't interested..they were too busy smashing Barbie's boobs by throwing her onto the hot concrete. 

 I have a friend who claims her friends gave Barbies jobs..as workers in the (Dream) House of Ill Repute(!!!), --but that's a blog for another day.

I liked when talking Barbie was introduced, but I took issue with all the protest when she was programmed to say, "math class is tough!"

I got news for you..math class IS tough!

It shouldn't be so controversial..it's not like she was programmed to say, "I voted for Nixon!" or "I have a yeast infection and have no idea how I got one!"

It wasn't as offensive as having her, say,  ask Ken whether the horizontal stripes in her iconic bathing suit made her look fat.

This was after my time, but I was happy to hear that Barbie eventually  got a career, but she had a little too many jobs, which made her resume look as padded as her bras.

She worked at McDonalds and in a hospital's ER and in a courtroom and in outer space,  but she couldn't seem to KEEP a job for more than a couple of months. 

 I  once had a resume like that.. which explained why I never got hired anywhere respectable.

This wasn't ambition; this was Bipolar Barbie, trying to pretend to be an adult. 

Let's blame the shoes. 

Seriously, Greta Gerwig helmed a movie with a message and a heart..a movie you should see, if just for Ken's abs and all the dazzling fashion.

And if you think I'm exaggerating about her beginnings, try to find the "Barbie, You're Beautiful" song on You Tube.

It's ALL about being valued for her looks, her height, her tiny waist, her arches.

With the annoying tagline, "You can tell it's Mattel--it's SWELL!"

Ugh!! 

And I could NEVER get a job as a copywriter or jingle creator in an ad agency!!

Probably because of that resume.

The one that, by comparison,  makes every word in  George Santo's look absolutely true.

Season 2 episode 6

I did not win the lottery last night, because if I had, all of you would have already received your "save the date" notices about when and where  we'd all board that private jet I chartered to treat you all to a two-week, all expenses paid vacation in Cancun. 

If I DID play the lottery, and if I ever play it in the FUTURE, I know I absolutely MUST play the numbers "six" and "two" because in the past twenty four hours, I streamed two outstanding offerings, and both were, coincidentally, Episode #6 in Season #2 of their respective series.

"The Bear" (which has all episodes available to view now..I just have to make the time) has always been spectacular, even with its frenetic pacing that sometimes makes action and dialogue hard to follow.

But the Christmas episode(episode six in season two) literally took my breath away. I am not Italian-American, but I've certainly been entertained by perfectionist hostesses that are, like the one Jamie Lee Curtis portrayed with jaw-dropping credibility. This episode felt more like a documentary--even more than that.  Like I was literally given the power to make myself invisible as I joined this very dysfunctional family at their very dysfunctional dinner table. Most of the guest stars won't be eligible for Emmy awards until 2024--but they might as well have them engraved now.

As I reveled in the sheer perfection of episode six, season two, of "The Bear"..I tuned in this morning to something equally mind-boggling.

Episode six, season two, of "...And Just Like That" was the best episode of the season, if not the entire series.

I had some real problems with the first two episodes of Season Two  that were recently  released on Max, and I couldn't help but wonder how these women were going to be able to jump the shark while wearing stilettos.

But then along comes "Bomb Cyclone", directed by Cynthia Nixon, and every single story line worked.  Every performance was believable  and heartfelt. The new  supporting cast actually made me care that they're included in the show, something I hadn't cared about before this episode.

I even laughed at a "Karen" joke.

We're going to start Season Two of "Righteous Gemstones" shortly, but I'm telling you now, if Episode Six is  similar to what was uncovered in  these other series, then..pack your bags!

We're going to Cancun!

Or Woodloch if you're afraid of flying.

We're going somewhere, that's guaranteed!

..because I'm playing those numbers!

Indiana Jones and the Siberian Dentist

F*ck the forecast!!

Toss those trunks into your trunk: stuff your Speedos into your satchel, bring your bikini in a  beach bag to that barbecue!

Prepare for outdoor/pool  activities, DESPITE what the forecast says, because if you don't do that, you're stuck doing indoor stuff.

Like we poor idiots did, even 'though we did get rained on in the pool for that little time we went in it.

We spent the misty  gray morning in the dentist's chair, where Jim complained about the air conditioning, set to "Siberia" and a cleaning that felt like water torture, and I tried to chit chat with a suction tube in my mouth, that made every answer I attempted  sound something  like, "schwigsh???"

And as unpleasant as gum scraping can be, it was far less torturous than our "let's stay dry indoors!" evening activity, which was seeing "Indiana Jones and the Dial of  Destiny."

I would have preferred a snooty Indie; but Jim wanted an  Indy, which tried to make  me believe that people can leap off of trains and ride angry unicorns down crowded subway stairs while time traveling and only wind up with a chin scar.

Jim wanted to stay for the end credits, which were as long as the movie, just to see where it was filmed, and I said, with as much exasperation as I could muster, "it was obviously filmed inside of a video arcade..let's go"

As I watched Harrison Ford take down armies of thousands with a single karate chop, I longed for more realistic sequels..like.."Working Girl Two", where Tess McGill  is.. paid (gulp!!)  what she deserves!!..Or "Witness, the Sequel" where the entire cast goes into the witness protection program.

I couldn't watch any of the underwater scenes without being preoccupied with a tale from Jim's former colleague Harvey, a scuba diver who has traveled the globe, who recently met up with fellow diver Harrison Ford and his wife, Calista Flockhart, swapping scuba stories.

I was also preoccupied with stuff I shouldn't be preoccupied with--that jarring scar on Indy's chin and the West Virginia shape birthmark on Helena's forehead, the same one she, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, tried to cover with bangs when she was "Fleabag"

And of course it's OBNOXIOUS that I couldn't take my eyes off of these imperfections..Would I like it if the situation were reversed?? 

 If characters on the screen could view moviegoers in the audience, and Harrison and Phoebe  started giggling and obsessing and pointing at me, saying things like, "wow..couldn't she, Karen Amster,  find a better fitting bra?  Would it kill her to have plucked before going out?"

I'd say I'm absolutely not leaving the pool next weekend, even if the forecast calls for  a tsunami, but "Oppenheimer" and "Barbie" are both being released, ripe for the nit-picking.

And it's Evan's birthday weekend , so we'll try to avoid the dentist and the cinema as we stay high and dry and as we  bless the weather gods.

And yeah, I'll still humming John Williams score from "Raiders of the Last Ark"... non-stop.

Wanna make something of it?

98 in dog years

Whelp!

My POOL might not be running properly, (eff you, faulty filter!) but my POODLE is.

Running, that is.

Running... and chasing rabbits... and  marking his territory,  and  begging for something other than dog food. and . barking at birds.. and ... going postal on post men.

Fourteen years ago, this little monster came into this world, making us laugh, leaving us exasperated, and inspiring us to hang paintings of him at his most ferocious on our living room wall.

You may be a little tyrant, Luke..but you're OUR little tyrant, and we wouldn't trade you in for one of those  trendy french bull dogs, or any dog that people want to steal.

Because trust me..nobody's stealing you.

We, however, love you..warts and all.

Frog blog

Welcome back to the land of the living!

 Computer is back, so that line wasn't typed on my phone, where it would have come out something like, "We come nack to the hand if the loving!"

I can type on a real  computer!  

Use the landline... where I receive unwanted calls! 

 Stream something on Netflix!

Harrass Alexa every second for the time and weather updates!

And yeah, I realize I misled everyone with that opening sentence, which implied that I willingly gave all of that UP, that I'm feeling alive BECAUSE I unplugged.

Before you make fun of me, see how you'd like it if someone pulled out YOUR jumper cable..right before the Fourth of July!--where Mother Nature rained on our parade, and then Mother F*CKING service providers rained on our chance to stream something indoors..

I am particularly Karenish today...

“Get out of the house,” he said. “You’ve had computer access for hours already. How deeply do you care about what the fans think of the drastic change in Miranda Hobbes?”

“Not deeply at all,” I say. “ but the pool filter is acting wonky.”

“The pool boy is coming tomorrow,” he said. “You can deal with a few twigs and leaves until then,” he says.

You know what he didn’t say??

That I’d be enjoying the pool,not worrying about a malfunctioning filter and what I’m missing on Facebook, when guess what floats by me???

A friggin’ frog. That’s what!!

Thank goodness the pool boy comes tomorrow.

Best and worst of Woodloch 2023

 It was the best of Woodloch, it was the worst of Woodloch, but even the worst of Woodloch is the best of Woodloch, and the best  week of the year, a gift to the calendar, the week that has me counting down the days three months out  with utter joy while I simultaneously  "worst case scenario" myself to death.

Will someone in our group  get Covid   or get hit by a truck  and force cancellation??

Will Florida alligators make their way north  to the Pocono mountains and chomp on my leg the minute I enter Lake Teedyuskung?

(Full disclosure:  Got a charley horse that felt like my extreme "Karenoia" was right on this time..it certainly FELT  like I was gator grub)

I was worried about bears and wildfires and sinking ships. 

And just because I'm crazy as a loon doesn't mean some bad things didn't happen. 

 There were a few snags, some  of biblical proportions, even before some of our guests even left home.

Floods!

Fires!

Mysterious skin outbreaks that could have been boils centuries earlier!

And there were setbacks based in reality too.

Haze from Canadian wildfires that made the AQI a red alert--on the first day that sunshine was in the forecast.

Torrential downpours.

The loss of "Wheel of Fortune" because our team captain accidentally wrote, in the "Before and After" category, "Baby, We ARE Born... to run out of gas"

The loss of my waterproof finger timer, which means I was either treading in that spectacular lake  for my normal forty-five minutes, or for  forty-two seconds, or  for an hour and a half.

Or when I heeded the advice on the resort fan page and went to the closest restaurant on arrival day. where the road was as twisty  and dizzying as the road to Hana in Hawaii; where the service was so slow that I actually said to the waitress, "look..we pay a LOT of money to go to Woodloch Pines and you are going to make us late for the evening activity."

(The restaurant has zero affiliation with the resort; it was only after seeing my table crack up that made me realize how much my name suited me)

Disasters..disasters..hmm..let me think..I didn't blog all week or take notes...

Oh!

We came in second with the "You Be the Judge" contest--second of two teams.

 It was fun deliberating with my fellow jurors, including a professional lawyer who we had only just met, and my son and my BFF Rochelle, about whether the owners of a golf course could be held accountable when a guest used an outhouse and the potty collapsed into a pile of human waste.

I ruled incorrectly because I could imagine this actually  happening to me, and I don't golf.

I missed Judge Randy with his loud gavel and louder voice, his grey patriotic wig and his black robe; his sarcasm and his stories of outrageous actual lawsuits, but Judge Janice held her own as well.

Oh!  Here's one!

I get up early on the second to last day, excited by the sunny  forecast, and I say to fellow early risers, (my husband Jim and my brother Steven) "look..I just noticed this card about what to do in case of a power outage.  Oh..it sounds terrible.  You can't even flush toilets!" and the minute I say this aloud, the power goes out.

And everyone starts with the  worse case scenarios, not just me.

What if we can't get out of this community, where the gate operates electrically?

What if the food spoils?

How cranky will the little ones get if they can't put on "SpongeBob Squarepants" at the highest possible volume?

What if someone has to poop?

What if ..I'm that someone?

Someone divine  heard my questions as the outage was short-lived, the poor air quality did not activate asthma, and the disasters, from the big to the petty, were brushed under the carpet as we all ended on a high note, as we're all basking in the afterglow of a fabulous vacation where memories were made and medals were won.

I got five..count 'em..FIVE this time, and I even actually  contributed, like how I remembered the name of the lawyer in "Chicago" is Billy Flynn.

Four gold medals and a silver that I traded in for a pretty engraved glass; medals earned by the collective brainpower of new acquaintances, when the pre-game small talk isn't dull chit chat, but something that resembles the start of friendship.  (Even discovering that one of my teammates was the original owner of the house next door to us..how freaky is that?)

It was a week of Scavenger Hunts and Lake Games with the theme of "Netflix"(I contributed to the "Stranger Things" segment by downing the character Eleven's beloved waffle--eating requires no skill) and exciting evening entertainment with a fabulous 80's tribute band or a salute to "California Dreamin' with Broadway caliber performers.

A Woodloch vacation wouldn't be a Woodloch vacation without capturing the outrageous moments of family, both blood and adopted, like when my five year old great nephew Eyli  says, "I can never get married or get a job because I don't have my own wallet."

(He was funnier than the stand up comic, who can't be faulted, because an eighty-five year old heckler hijacked the act)

My heart was warmed by seeing the little ones in splash pools and on ponies, watching them master bumper cars and bumper boats, laughing and smiling, which I did as well, knowing that as they grow up, their Great Aunt Karen, who plans these trips, will be cherished in their memory banks. 

 (Even 'though a bank is useless to Eyli, he "doesn't have a wallet.")

Until next time..and if there's a next time, I will update daily to prevent blogs of this length.

As I promise to hand wash daily, to prevent a laundry bag that weighs more than I do.

What a magical way to start the summer of 2023!