Laurie’s Reel Thing Chick Flick Review: “Hairspray”

It’s hot and sticky outside, the absolutely perfect chick flick-watching weather. And I have the absolutely perfect fun flick to watch while you’re soaking up all that nice frigid cinema multi-plex AC: “Hairspray.”

In case you’ve been living in a cave, “Hairspray” the movie is based upon the hit Broadway show that was based on the kinda weird original 1988 John Waters’ film (that, incidentally, gave Ricki Lake’s career a jumpstart). I saw and loved the show and though “they” say this latest celluloid incarnation is not as good as the stage version, I say “they” are (ahem) splitting hairs.

I started smiling from the get-go, with the opening “Good Morning, Balitmore” number featuring the latest Tracy Turnblad, newcomer Nikki Blonsky, singing and dancing her heart out about the local drunks and flashers wishing her a good day at school. Blonsky is adorable and you just have to love this young actress’ own personal backstory. In a victory for all the size zero never-bees, this plus-sized cutie was actually hard at work scooping ice cream when she got her big cinematic break.

The songs are great fun, the costumes and sets straight from the ‘50’s, and the rest of the cast reads like one big red carpet reunion: John Travolta as Tracy’s mom (the part played by Harvey Fierstein on stage), Queen Latifah, Michelle Pfeiffer (who BTW looks scarily emaciated in this company; if the camera puts on 10 pounds, she must make the pre-pregnant Nicole R. look plump), Amanda Bynes (as Tracy’s adorable BFF, Penny Pingleton), Christopher Walken, Jerry Stiller, Zac Efron, Brittany Snow, etc., etc.

What? You want more than a fab score, sets, costuming, and cast? The story’s a winner, too; this look at the integration of a “National Bandstand”-like 50’s-era TV dance party show is an eye opening reminder of how things were during these tumultuous times. While not a history lesson by any means, this musical comedy's more serious storyline might just spark some discussion with your kids about the civil rights era.

So, what are you waiting for? The heat and humidity guarantee a string of upcoming bad hair days – everywhere except your local cinema-plex, that is.

Soap Duds, Act II

One of my surprisingly EXCELLENT soap finds? The “gently exfoliating body bar" at the Foxwoods Casino hotel. Who knew the gaming industry was so up on skin care?

I raved about the soap here so much that the hubby thoughtfully liberated a few extra samples from the cleaning cart (come on now, who hasn't ever done this?). I was really excited until I wasn’t: when I went to use one at home, I discovered my ill-gotten stash was comprised of six of the ho hum "facial cleansing" soaps, and not my new favorite exfoliating body bar. I guess you get what you pay for (i.e. even petty crime doesn't pay).

My Very Own Soap Opera

Just got back from a great getaway with a group of a dozen gal pals. We had a blast; it was kinda like being in a college dorm again, but without all that annoying studying and all those pesky tests. Plus the beds were way more comfy and I didn’t have to worry about being sex-iled.

Anyhoo, my mini-vacay also allowed me to indulge in yet another of my secret-no-more guilty pleasures: fancy hotel soap. I read a long time ago that hotels really want you to take their mini-sized toiletries home with you. So, I do. (Others may rate a hotel by the food or the ambiance; I rate a hotel by how much I want to take a partially used bar of soap home from it.)

My soap indulgence started when I was treated to a getaway at a fancy schmancy spa in New England. I LOVED its yummy oatmeal “cleansing bar” – that’s soap to you and me – and tried to buy some to take home but they didn’t have any for sale. Since then, I’ve gotten into the habit of taking the really good soaps (Occitane, yes; Dial, no) back home in a Ziplock bag I pack expressly for this purpose. I like to think of it as being ecologically-friendly, and not plain old cheap. And when I use the soap back home, it makes me feel like I’m back on vacation for those precious few minutes.

So what’s your cheap but satisfying secret guilty indulgence?

Honey, They Pimped My Cell Phone

My dinosaur-era cell phone has gone to the great wireless world beyond. A mere three years old (a certifiable antique in gadgetry years), it just up and expired, forcing me to spring for a new one.

I don’t do change well, especially with electronic gizmos. It took me most of the past three years to master the features on my current model, and by “features” I mean make a call, retrieve a voice mail, and, on a good day, put numbers into the phone book. So I screwed up my courage and dragged the hubby to the phone store yesterday to help me pick out a new one.

How is it that as cell phones get tinier and tinier (“Can you see me now? Now?”) they do more and more? According to our trusty sales associate, my new wireless communications device can not only make and receive calls, it can take pictures and video, transmit e-mail and text messages, act as a navigational system, function as MP3 player, and a whole bunch of other stuff I can’t recall and/or understand.

All these new features (the majority of which I will never use) sound good. But give me a cell phone that does what I really need – like tell me where I left my keys, take out the recyclables, sort the laundry, and balance my checkbook - and now you're talking.

Got to Go Toga

Sad but true: this sheltered suburban mom has never been to a (insert gasp here) toga party. Hard to believe, huh? Happily, that situation is about to change.

Our friends, a pair of mild-mannered attorneys, no less, have decided to celebrate the anniversary of their nuptials with (what else?) a good old sentimental toga blowout. Apparently, the toga bash is alive and well not only on Fraternity Row, but right here in the Land of the Mini-Van.

To help us get in the mood, the hosts thoughtfully provided the address of a web site exclusively devoted to all things toga (yes, there really is such a thing): www.howtomakeatoga.info. A quick glance at this informative site revealed two critical bits of info: 1) Do not even begin to attempt fashioning toga attire from a sheet (the toga gurus say it’s cheaper and easier to just buy fabric) and 2) While women usually stress out about designing an attractive-looking ensemble (“Honey, does this toga make me look fat?”), most men want to look as dufus-like as possible (well, duh).

I’ll keep you posted on my quest to come up with our toga ensembles (I say “our” ‘cause you just know whose responsibility this will be). In the meantime, I can already see one big upside to the whole L’Affair de Toga for moi: no pantyhose.

Get Outta Here

Directions: It’s a known fact that real men don’t ask for ‘em. They’d just rather get lost.

Awhile back we had a work party in a restaurant about a half hour north of my office in an area I was really unfamiliar with. In typical dot your i’s and cross your t’s mode, I downloaded directions from the restaurant’s web site, took one of the printed sheets the receptionist had made up with another set of directions, AND Mapquested my destination.

Just to be safe (are you getting the idea I hate getting lost?) I also asked one of my male co-workers for his take on how best to get there. “Oh yeah,” he said. “You just go straight on that main road for awhile and then kind of make a left.” (Okay, that cleared that up. Not.)

Of course, I could have just used my car’s on-board navigational system – if I had known how to turn it on, that is. Because if real men don’t do directions, this real woman doesn’t do electronic gadgets. (She does beg her teenaged son to figure them out for her.)

PS: My colleague and I both made it to the restaurant. Of course, he was on his second martini by the time you-know-who arrived.

Laurie's Reel Thing Review: SiCKO

Funny, sad, and yes, scary. That’s how I’d describe Michael Moore’s (“Bowling for Columbine,” “Fahrenheit 911,” etc.) latest documentary, SiCKO and its attempt to take the temperature of the US health care system (Hint: It’s not feeling too good).

I know that Moore has his own agenda to pursue and facts can be spun in a variety of ways, but his look at the current system (or lack thereof) and its dependence upon the big health care companies’ profit model (as opposed to the “taking care of sick people, no matter what their coverage or means” model) is sobering indeed. I, for one, am glad he’s shining a light on and provoking discussion about this issue because I think it’s one we need to examine more carefully.

Unlike the over 50 million Americans without it, my family is fortunate to have pretty decent health care coverage. But I have seen firsthand how health care costs can quickly spiral out of control and threaten to wipe out someone’s life savings, and so I can’t help but think that there has got to be a better way. When the first thing one worries about after receiving a diagnosis is how to pay for medical care, or when one’s ability to pay directly affects their well-being or even very survival, something’s just not right.

As Moore suggests in the film (I’m paraphrasing here) a society’s worth can be measured by how well it takes care of its weakest members (in this case, the sick and the poor). If this is so, it seems like we have a lot of work to do.

What do you think?

Puppy Love, Part II

I’ve been giving the “dogs are sometimes easier to love than kids” thing some more thought and realized: not only do the canine kids not roll their eyes, ask for money, and groan about the dinner menu, they:

Kiss me without making faces.

Let me hug them without groaning.

Happily gobble down leftovers.

Consider a ride to the car pool pick-up line a thrilling adventure.

Look happy to see me, no matter what.

Think I look stunning in my ratty old sweatpants, especially when there’s a biscuit in the pocket.

Okay, they do do that licking of the privates thing I could do without, and one of mine in particular has been known to enjoy a good roll in her own “output.” And yes, they shed, and occasionally leave gifts of dead rodents on the front door step and chew my expensive new stilettos (would it kill them to sink their teeth into my ratty old Keds?) but still, all in all? Some days, it’s no contest.

Why They Call it Puppy Love

Okay. I admit it. Sometime I prefer the company of my canine kids to the ones who share my DNA and last name. Why? Well, for starters, my dogs are often nicer to me than my human children are.

In fact, I have found that my dogs generally do not:

Ask me for money.

Say they need a homemade ethnic dish for school Diversity Day by 7 a.m. the next morning.

Complain about chicken again for dinner.

Roll their eyes.

Casually mention that they left their homework in their locker on a Sunday night at 10:00 p.m.

Tell me that I look ridiculous/fat/stupid in that outfit (or “borrow” it indefinitely in case I actually don’t).

Accuse me of “doing something” to their missing keys or wallets or cell phones.

Beg to borrow my car/brand new heels/credit card.

Tell me, with straight faces, that their iPods can’t be fixed because they are, after all, disposable items.

See what I mean?

PS: Any other canine-crazy parents out there?

A Sale By Any Other Name

I was driving through a neighboring town yesterday and spied this sign in a fancy schmancy decorating store: “Stop in for our Special Upholstery Event.”

Huh? That did give me pause. Just what the heck is an upholstery event? I’m picturing a cocktail party with finger foods served on couches, fabric balloons, some live music, perhaps? Nope. Turns out in advertising talk, “event” is the new spin for the now too-crass “sale.”

This new phrase is right up there for me with an “invitation” to a “celebration” at a clothing store or car dealership. You know, the ones that start: “You are cordially invited to (fill-in-the-blank).” Okay, let’s get real here. What the advertising copywriter really means (and I know what I’m talking about here, having done a stint as one) is: “We’ll throw a few balloons around so you’ll come spend your money.”

So, what advertising phrases irk you?

Dinner is Served (Sometimes)

Since the dawn of time, women have been wrestling with that oh-so-annoying, age old dilemma: what to make for dinner? I can just imagine a couple of harried cavewomen commiserating about having to rustle up yet another evening meal out of some beast that their hubbies had clubbed and then dragged back home. Wild boar again? How boring.

Sure, today we have supermarkets, not to mention take-out, restaurants, and fast food, but somehow with all those choices, dinner chez moi often comes down to some variation of chicken, yet again. That’s why I was thrilled to be a part of a group cooking luncheon recently at which we prepared a gourmet meal to enjoy in honor of our friend Amy’s birthday. I figured there had to be some leftovers that I could take home and transform into dinner.

The cooking luncheon, by the way, was a blast. A young graduate of a culinary institute helped us prepare a Martha-worthy Middle Eastern feast. My favorite job? Working on the assembly line for the spanikopitas, those yummy pastry triangles stuffed with spinach and cheese. (If I may say so myself, they were to die for.) After the clean-up, I brought home a bunch of ‘em, planning to serve them up to the hubby and call it dinner.

It was not my finest culinary moment. Trying to multi-task, I had already exploded some hard-boiled eggs. And well, let’s just say in the excitement of dealing with the eggs-plotion, I forgot about the spanikopitas heating up in the oven, so they ended up coming out a tad crispy. Okay, they were charred beyond recognition.

I tried to come up with something different, I really did. But even the best laid culinary plans can go awry. I guess that’s why God invented pizza delivery.

PS: So what’s your answer to the Great Dinner Dilemma?

No One's Ever Died of Boredom (Yet)

Summer’s officially in session. The best thing about the season? No school, and thus no homework hassles, stressing over schedules, and schlepping the offspring to after school activities and team practices. And the worst thing about the season? No school to keep the kids occupied.

In fact, the difference between a “hooray” or “oh no” summer for many families often depends on how well the kids are kept occupied. Fortunately, there are lots of strategies parents can employ to keep their kids busy and themselves sane. To help you do just that, I asked lots of experts and parents to help me brainstorm some easy ideas for keeping the “But there’s nothing to do around here” blues at bay. So here are my top five Boredom-Busting Summer Survival Strategies:

1. Do your homework.
Ideally, you and your child did this months ago but if you’re just starting now, relax. No matter how obscure your child’s interest, there’s a program for it. One of my kids is into opera and marine biology, the other filmmaking and fencing. We have found terrific summer programs on the Internet for each. But I did my homework and vetted the programs carefully; my kids and I talked to or e-mailed both past participants and their parents.

2. Mix it up.
Of course kids need to chill out; summer should be a time to relax. Building in downtime with parameters (i.e. no all day, every day computer or TV time) is important so that your child (and you) can chill out. But too much unstructured time isn’t always practical, especially for two-income families. So try to mix up your summer plans with a variety of downtime, structured camp programming, travel, and/or work and volunteer experiences.

3. Play tourist in your own hometown.
In addition to using on-line resources, invest in a good paperback guide to kids’ and other resources in your area to plan a sightseeing vacation at home or nearby. The upside: no packing and schlepping. Visit the traditional tourist attractions (try an organized bus tour of a nearby city, for instance) or uncover hidden gems in your own backyard. My favorite outdoor spots: parks and anything having to do with animals: nature centers, zoos, and interpretive farms. My favorite indoor spots: museums and libraries. Both have terrific permanent collections and lots of family-friendly programming. And they’re air-conditioned.

4. Put ‘em to work.
Older kids can scoop ice cream, clean kennels, babysit, or intern. Younger kids can be mother’s helpers, walk dogs, or take in vacationing neighbors’ mail. And kids of all ages can volunteer. But you don’t have to spend thousand of dollars to send your teen to Costa Rica to build roads, no matter how worthy a project that is. There are scores of local organizations that would welcome your kids’ help. Your child can share his talents or time at a senior citizen center, pack groceries at a food pantry, or cuddle and walk pets at an animal shelter – or even visit with or do simple chores for an elderly neighbor or relative. If your schedule permits, consider volunteering as a family. My family’s favorite joint volunteering experience was helping to socialize puppies being trained as service and guide dogs.

5. When all else fails, remember: Boredom is not fatal.
Contrary to what your child may have you believe, no one has ever expired of boredom. Rather than being fatal, in fact, boredom can be downright fertile and is often the mother (or child) of invention and creativity. So don’t forget to leave plenty of time this summer for your children to chill out and smell the s’mores.

PS: What are your favorite boredom-busting summer survival strategies?