Everything's Coming Up Roosevelts

With our typical devil-may-care television-watching verve, Mr. Rip and I agreed that we might want to catch "The Roosevelts: an Intimate History." We both always found the Roosevelts to be a particularly fascinating and plucky American family, so why wouldn't we want to watch an in-depth documentary covering that great triumvirate of Roosevelts- Teddy, Franklin, and Eleanor (oh, my!) -brought to us by that documentary wunderkind himself Ken Burns.

“You know this is a two-hour commitment,” Mr. Rip warned me, remote control in hand.

No problem, I assured him.  We often watched two-hour programs and while it’s true we didn’t make it through them all awake, we simply caught what we missed later.

Partway through the hour-long preview show it really sunk in that what we were really committing to was 7 nights of 2-hour installments – we were going to be watching 14 hours of this documentary.  It would be like watching the story of the Roosevelts in real time.

We were learning a lot just watching the preview.  We learned that the voice of Teddy would be played by Paul Giamatti.  Oh, okay, he was great as John Adams.  They were thrilled when Edward Herrmann signed on to voice FDR.  Of course, he is the go-to actor to play that part. And none other than the one-and-only Meryl Streep would be Eleanor.  What, Mr. Rip asked, Jane Alexander wasn’t available? Oh, and Ken Burns has a really bad haircut – it’s pretty much an early-Beatles mop top.

So, we were in and there was no turning back.  Well now these first two hours of the documentary were very, very interesting in a historical sort of way.  Franklin and Eleanor were very young in this installment, suffering through difficult childhoods, but Teddy was U.S. President by the end of the show.  Burns was really quite thorough – not one little detail was missed.  Seriously, he included everything.

When it was over, Mr. Rip went into the kitchen for a minute, and I saw that there was still 30 minutes of the Miss America Pageant left to air.  Mr. Rip doesn’t like the Miss America Pageant but I thought it wouldn’t hurt anything to watch it until he came back into the room.

As luck would have it, I turned it on in the middle of the Talent Competition.  Mr. Rip wandered back into the room just as Miss Ohio was starting her ventriloquist act, where her dummy and she sang Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

“A ventriloquist?  What is this?”  Mr. Rip asked, “The Ed Sullivan Show?”   But even he had to admit that Miss Ohio was pretty good.

There was a classical pianist, two interpretive dancers, and a singer singing Ben E. King.  It really was like The Ed Sullivan Show.

Then Miss New York sang Pharrell William’s Happy while sitting cross-legged on the floor accompanying herself by playing percussion with a plastic red cup on the floor.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Miss New York played that red cup all the way to the crown – she was later crowned Miss America.  Whatever. I was rooting for the ventriloquist.

I don’t why Mr. Rip never wants to watch these shows.  There were more laughs in 15 minutes of the Miss America Pageant Talent Competition than there were in three hours of the Roosevelts.

You Can Leave Your Clothes On

Have you heard the latest brouhaha about the nude photos of all the young starlets that have been posted on various websites?  If I understand it all correctly, these were photos that these starlets – DOZENS of these starlets- snapped with their cell phones.

There was all kinds of uproar that these photos were hacked and posted on the websites.  There were articles about how these young women had their rights violated and that they were victims of a sex crime.  There was finger-pointing at Apple because of the suspicion that the hackers were getting the photos from the Cloud. People seemed most upset that one of the exposed starlets happened to be Jennifer Lawrence, and one of my FB Friends supposed this was because she was America’s Sweetheart, so people were more upset when it happened to her.

Okay, I have a question. Why are all these young famous people taking nude pictures of themselves on their cell phones?  Is this a “thing” now? Shouldn't famous young people realize that nefarious and immoral sorts have been out to find compromising photos of celebrities since dinosaurs roamed the earth, or so I've heard (I wasn't actually there). Aren't they the ones who are harassed relentlessly by the paparazzi who will go to any extraordinary lengths to get photos of them even with their clothes on?  Why are they surprised that people are trolling the Internet just looking for photos of them?

This is not the Cloud’s fault.  Back in the day when the Cloud was just a fluffy white collection of moisture in the sky, people were stealing other people's pictures from the Internet.  Before there was an Internet, people were stealing people's “hard copy” photos.

So, I have some helpful advice for any young starlet reading this.  If you don't want anyone to steal and post nude photos of you, don’t take nude photos of yourself on your cell phones.  See how simple that is?  

Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't figured this out for yourselves. If I understand that once something is “out there” in Cyberspace that there is no getting it back, surely a young savvy 24-year-old with an estimated net worth of $53 million like you should understand it too. Actually, anyone with more sense than God gave a goose should understand it.

Oh, and while I'm at it… you regular everyday obscure 24-year-olds, with a net worth of about 53 dollars and seemingly endless student loan debt looming ahead of you? You should keep your clothes on while taking pictures on your cell phone, too. You are every bit as important as Jennifer Lawrence and besides, prospective employers have the Internet too.

Thank You, I Think

At Olive Garden the other day, the waitress came to our table with a huge bottle of wine in her hands and asked (as they are instructed), “Would you like to sample our wine this morning?”

“No, thank you,” I replied, pleasantly, “I would however like to sample your water.”

The waitress laughed at my remark, and when she left our table she said, “That is the best answer I've ever gotten to that question.”

Really?  Mine was the very best come-back to her company’s wine-related suggestive selling this fine young woman had ever heard? Well, this just made my day.  She laughed at my joke and paid me a compliment, all over the same remark.

I’ll tell you, there is nothing that puts me in a better mood than a good compliment.  It is so gratifying to feel appreciated, and I always remember kind words bestowed upon me by friends and strangers alike.  On the other hand, I never forget the slights and insults thrown my way either.  So to those of you who said mean things to me in the fifth grade– and you know who you are – I haven’t forgotten.

Trickier though are those remarks that sound like they might be compliments but upon deeper analysis might not really be as positive as they first seem to be.  You know the kind of backhanded compliments I’m talking about:

1)       “It sure was quiet around here without you.” 

Surely when your parents say this just a couple of hours after you get home from college for a weekend visit, it’s a good thing right?  But you can’t help remembering how they were always telling you to lower your voice when you were growing up.  Hmm, maybe they like it quiet.

2)       “You have an interesting face.”

What the hell does that mean?  “Interesting?”  Is that the only thing you can think of when trying to come up with an adjective to describe my visage?  Next thing you know you’ll be calling me a “handsome” woman.

3)       “That was a great role for you.”

If someone says this to me after seeing me perform in a play, they had better follow it up with “and you were absolutely fabulous in it!” or I am going to think that they just can’t think of anything nice to say about my performance.

4)       “Not just anyone can wear that color…”

“…and neither can you!”  That’s what they’re not saying.

5)      “You’re just like my wife!”

This one definitely was not a compliment when delivered by my colleague with whom I was in a serious disagreement, but I chose to take it that way.  His wife was a lovely women, not to mention patient and saintly for putting up with him all those years.

Actually that is my general philosophy when on the receiving end of these questionable statements and even some remarks clearly not meant as flattery.  I just assume that they are, in fact, compliments.  I mean, maybe when someone says my butt looks big in those pants it is a good thing.  After all, that approach works for Jennifer Lopez, doesn’t it?

Last of the Red Hot Mayors

I understand that Visit Pittsburgh has embarked upon a national "Pittsburgh is Beautiful" ad campaign to entice visitors and tourists to the region.  Well, it's about time the world learns what we Pittsburghers and the Furries have long known -Pittsburgh is a great place to visit.   

Somehow I think that it is particularly fitting that this ad campaign kicked off just as the city was celebrating and remembering Sophie Masloff, the quintessential Pittsburgher, who passed away at the age of 96 last week. 

Sophie Masloff was a wife, mother and long-time civil servant in Pittsburgh. She took a job with Allegheny County when she was 18 and a recent high school graduate, and worked there until she was elected to the Pittsburgh City Council in 1976. She remained on the Council until 1988, when she was named Council President.

That same year, when then Pittsburgh Mayor Richard Caliguiri died in office, Sophie became Mayor of the City of Pittsburgh.  She was the first woman to hold the office, the city's first Jewish mayor, and at the age of 71 the oldest person to hold the office.  She was reelected for a second term in 1989.

I try not to speak in absolutes, but I think you would be hard pressed to find anyone in these parts who wasn't crazy about Sophie.  She was an unassuming, down-to-earth grandmotherly type with a great sense of humor and was given to spouting charming malapropisms. Nonetheless, she was smart as a whip and a kick-ass Council Member and Mayor.  She cleaned things up and got things done, and she was widely respected by her fellow politicians who looked to her for advice and guidance long after she retired from office in 1993. 

Many local folks have their stories of colorful Sophie encounters.  I have two.

I was working for the Salvation Army in Pittsburgh when Sophie was Mayor, and she was very involved in collaborating with the Army's efforts to help some of the city's neediest residents. Every year the Army gave an award to a local individual who exhibited extraordinary humanitarianism and one year Sophie was the gracious, appreciative and humble recipient of this award.  The award was given at a huge well-attended luncheon.  When Sophie ascended the podium to accept her award, she started off her acceptance speech with "In the Torah it says..."

You see, one of the city's most Christian organizations had just given its highest award to the city's most prominent Jewish resident.  By starting her acceptance speech with a quote from the Torah, she was recognizing that and making a point about religion and interfaith cooperation and collaboration.

My second encounter was on the Parkway East when I was driving out to Swissvale to visit my parents.  I saw a Lincoln Town Car in the right hand lane with a vanity plate saying "Sophie" on it. Could it be, I wondered?  She was a resident of Squirrel Hill.  Nah, I thought.  The recently retired Mayor of Pittsburgh wouldn't advertise that a car was hers so blatantly, would she?  As I passed the town car on the left, there she was behind the wheel of her car. 

She caught me looking and gave me a little smile and wave as I passed.

Age Before Beauty

I'm getting older every minute and I couldn't be happier about it.  First of all, I'm having the time of my life right now, and really, it beats the alternative.

Sure I have my aches and pains but honestly most of those started when I was in my mid-thirties.  One conclusion I have come to over time is that I don't enjoy pain, and I will actually go out of my way to minimize or avoid it.

One of the great advantages of aging for me is that I no longer care if my appearance pleases  the universe. Which means I will no longer totally sacrifice my comfort in order to look good.  It's not that I don't try to present myself in a positive light.  It's just that now I try to be reasonable about it.

Let's start at the top- with my hair.  With the help of my wonderful hairdresser, I have a haircut that I believe flatters my face in a color (which coincidentally doesn't happen to be gray) that complements my skin tone.....but I keep it short because I don't want anything that takes more than 5 or 10 minutes to fix in the morning. 

I had to gently explain to my eye doctor and stylists who help me choose my frames that I wear eyeglasses in order to bring focus and clarity to my life; without them my world is just one big blurry Impressionist painting.  While I certainly want glasses that are stylish and attractive, it is even more important that they have a large enough lens to accommodate my trifocal prescription with a large enough middle vision that I can use my computer for an 8 hour workday without headaches or blurred vision.  I want to wear the same pair of glasses everywhere, and that means everywhere, including the big fancy dinner dance or my son's upcoming wedding.  I want to be able to see my son get married.

I wear makeup everywhere, so of course I'll wear it to the wedding, but I'm thinking that some waterproof products might be in order because I am already starting to tear up with happy emotion at the thought of it.  

Which brings me to my shoes.  I am a clumsy woman with two bad knees and size 7 WW feet featuring a wide instep but narrow heel. I do not wear sneakers everywhere, but all my shoes are what one might refer to as "sensible"- i.e. comfortable and basically flat.  I do NOT wear heels, ever, anywhere.  For my son's wedding I bought a pair of dressy ballet flats that are shiny and have a little "bling" on them that feel like I'm wearing slippers when I have them on.

Rest assured that when you see me fully dressed on the street that I will be wearing underwear, however I want to be able to forget that I have it on. I want a bra that is supportive AND comfortable and pantyhose that does NOT control my top.

One thing I've learned over the years is that you don't have to have perfect teeth to have a beautiful smile that emanates warmth and happiness, but comfortable underwear sure helps. 

Christopher and Deirdre and Marilu and Spike

Mr. Rip and I didn't initially think we were interested in seeing Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike the show that was playing at the Bucks County Playhouse while we were in New Hope, PA this past weekend.  We really loved the show when we saw it at the City Theatre in Pittsburgh but that was within the past year.

Then we heard Christopher Durang was appearing in the show and we were intrigued to see the playwright perform in his own work.  Therefore it was bit ironic that he turned out to be the weakest player on stage, primarily because he struggled to remember his lines, including a climactic and pivotal monologue that absolutely screams for an effortless delivery. In fairness, his stammering line delivery actually worked for the character, except during the monologue.

We tried to rationalize. He is not really an actor, we told ourselves, but actually he has acted before.  Rumor has it that he wrote the role with himself in mind. It was an awfully long monologue, but Durang wrote the thing. These were his own words he was having such trouble remembering.  Ironic, don't you think?

Just to add to the irony, one of Durang’s co-stars was Marilu Henner (of Taxi fame) one of only twelve people documented with HSAM (Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory) which means she can remember absolutely everything that ever happens to her in her life.  Which is puzzling as she clearly forgets to eat, as the first thing you notice when she walks on stage is that she is impossibly thin.  Mr. Rip and I just wanted to give her a sandwich.  She was especially fine in the role of Masha, the movie star sibling who returns home to visit her less flashy siblings.  You can bet she remembered her lines, and I am guessing she knew Durang’s lines as well.

I do have to take a moment here to give a shout out to Deirdre Madigan, who was absolute perfection in the role of Sonia.  I don’t know that she delivered every line as written, but I know I believed every line she spoke.   

I could not be happier that we decided to see this production.  We got to see the playwright in his own work in a theater in the town where the story is set. It was an especially enjoyable evening at the theater, and I would highly recommend this play to anyone. 

Best of all, perhaps, is the fact that this production was rife with incidents of actual irony so that I can continue my life’s work to educate the world on this topic (and to undo the damage Alanis Morissette has wreaked upon us).

Trick Questions

"I'd like a single-scoop chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream cone on a cake cone, please,"

I was confident that this was all the information needed to fill my order, but the sweet young girl at the Bruster's ordering window required clarification.

"When you say 'single scoop' do you actually want a ’single scoop' or do you really want a  'double scoop?'"

Was this a trick question, I wondered.  Sensing my confusion, she offered some additional explanation.

"See, some people say 'single scoop' when they actually mean they want a small cone, and our small cone actually has two scoops on it."

As I walked away with my ice cream cone, I had some questions of my own.  

Why doesn't Bruster's just call a single scoop a single scoop?  That's what they did at Isaly's in the dark ages when I was growing up (and the single scoops only cost a nickel).  Does anything still cost a nickel?  

And I wondered what Bruster's called the girl behind the counter (who really couldn't have been sweeter about it).  Was she a counter worker or a waitress or a scooper or an ice cream Barrista? You have to be careful nowadays, which I found out when I casually referred to the person taking our order at a Max and Erma's as our "server." "I prefer 'facilitator'," he informed me haughtily.

But the question that was harder to answer came from my father, who  despite being  90 years old and sharp as a tack mentally sometimes can't find the exact word he wants to use.  Hence the following conversation during lunch at the Cheesecake Factory:

Dad:                                  Sharon, what's that other name for grass? 

Me (Drawing a blank).       Um, a lawn?

Dad:                                  No, not that kind of grass!

Me (Totally confused now) Well, I don't know what other kind of grass there is.

Dad:                                  You know,  the stuff you put in a pipe and smoke.

Me (the light dawning)        Are you talking about marijuana, Dad?

Dad:                                  That's it!  That's the other name for grass!

Which led me to few questions of my own for Dad, who was in a particularly good mood that day even by his own relentlessly cheerful standards.  What had him thinking about marijuana and its pseudonyms?  Had he figured out how to use the internet on that new smartphone of his?  Exactly what were they doing over there at the senior living apartment building?

He explained that his new trivia book had a list of other names for marijuana.  He knew that I would know about marijuana.

It was Mr. Rip who asked the next obvious question.  "Why did you think Sharon would know about that particular subject Joe?"  

"Well, she's an intelligent person.  She knows things,"  answered my Dad without hesitation.

He always did have all the right answers.