The Perfect Cliche

I want to construct a movie that is a complete and total cliche. One in which every scene is so trite and overdone that it elevates it beyond cliche into Cliche, as it were, so banal that its very banality lends it meaning...

(Cue dream sequence music and squiggle blurs)

Cast: Handsome Man, Pretty Woman, Male Bully, Quirky Friend, Benevolent Mentor, Cute Kid

Scene: A tropical island

Pretty Woman: I'm so happy that we're in love and getting married, Male Bully! Because you're so handsome, and I'm so shallow, we're the perfect pair.

Male Bully: Agreed. But we need to watch out for the alien attack that's going to come. I may need to kiss you intensely then run off to my plane or boat or whatever to attack something.

Pretty Woman: Kiss me!

Handsome Man: Ahem.

Pretty Woman: Oh, it's you, Handsome Man who is my platonic friend and nothing else!

Handsome Man: Hey.

Pretty Woman: You're coming to the wedding, right? My wedding, in which I marry Male Bully, whom I love deeply and honestly?

Handsome Man: Whatever.

(Scene 2: Pretty Woman's Kitchen)

Pretty Woman: I know I love Male Bully honestly and deeply, but I can't stop thinking about Handsome Man.

Quirky Friend: Girl, you know you love him!

Pretty Woman: No, he's just my perfect and everlasting friend!

Quirky Friend: Let's dance! (They begin to dance around the table, whirling dishcloths.)

Scene 3: A bar

Handsome Man: How do I do it, Benevolent Mentor? How do I let her know I'm the one?

Benevolent Mentor: Tell her how you feel.

Handsome Man: But what if she rejects me? I can't take that kind of rejection.

Benevolent Mentor: Another beer, please, I can't take much more of this.

Male Bully: Hey, bro! You're my fiancee's best friend, but I'm confiding in you that I cheat on her. Now I'm going to punch you.

Handsome Man: Ow.

Killer Cheerleader: I'LL GET YOU!

Benevolent Mentor: Wrong set, Lifetime is next door.

Killer Cheerleader: Oh.

Male Bully: How YOU doin?

Scene 4: The Wedding

Generic Cleric: And do you, Male Bully, take Pretty Woman to be your wedded wife?

Male Bully: Oh yeah.

Best Man: You know it! (High five.)

Generic Cleric: And do you, Pretty Woman, take-

Handsome Man: STOP!

Pretty Woman: Handsome Man, what are you doing?

Handsome Man: You can't marry him. I love you. Marry me.

Male Bully: Oh, you are TOAST!

Best Man: You know it! (High five)

Pretty Woman: (Punch)

Male Bully: Ow.

Handsome Man: Can you marry us, Father?

Generic Cleric: Whatever.

Cute Kid: Here we go again!

Congregation: Aw.

(Soundtrack plays "I Feel Good" by James Brown as credits roll.)

The End.

Some HSN Recommendations: Tasteful, Understated Jewelry

When I was sixteen, my grandparents gave me a ring for my birthday. It was my first "real" piece of jewelry: real gold, a real garnet (my birthstone) and a real itty bitty diamond. My grandmother got my great-uncle, who messed around with jewelry and metalwork, to custom-make the ring. It is in the shape of a turtle. The body of the turtle is the garnet, the head is the diamond, and the prongs that hold the garnet are its legs. Here it is:

(Sorry, late-night blogging is not conducive to great photography.)

I have worn this ring for years. I thought it understated, elegant, and sweet.

What a sucker. If only my grandmother had watched the Home Shopping Network, where they sell jewelry that REALLY looks like animals. Here is their take on the turtle:

I know you can't tell but that's a ring. All of the jewelry featured in today's "Deb's Tasteful Jewelry Showcase And Rib Hut on Tuesday Nights" are rings. I know you love that turtle, but we've got more.
How many times have you thought, "I want a tiny panda bear to live on my finger and judge me?" Here you go.
If you're the kind of lady (or man, I don't judge) that prefers to spell "classy" with a "k," this ring is for you. Rowr.

Hoo? Hoo? Hoo...could say no to this startlingly lifelike owl?

When I look over my jewelry collection, I can truly say I have nothing like this piece. Maybe someday I will...should the right circumstances arise...I can't think of what those circumstances would be, but it would have to be fairly extraordinary...something truly impossible happening in a very spectacular way... Well, whatever it is, this is a charming piece that positively sparkles with subtlety.

Had one of those nights? One where the fun has flowed so freely that now you're seeing pink elephants? Now you can commemorate it with this piece of jewelry.

All of the above pieces are real, on the Home Shopping Network. They are all constructed of genuine cubic zirconia and other materials. They are all available for sale. I cannot imagine anyone who would not enjoy one, or all, of these for their next birthday or major religious holiday.

But act quickly, because they can't last long!

I beg you.

Compatibility: The Bedroom Edition

That's right. Today I'm tackling the most sensitive issues surrounding couples' compatibility.

Sleeping.

People make a very big deal about the *other* stuff that may happen in the bedroom, not realizing that sleeping can be a far bigger issue than anything that happens when you're not sleeping.

For example: I steal covers.

I admit it. I do it, and I can't stop. Sven loves to tell the story of how once, when we were dating, we were curled up on the sofa watching a movie, and I took the blanket off of him and just pushed it to the side.

"If you were hot," he asked me, perplexed, "why wouldn't you just push the covers off? Why did you have to take my cover?"

"I don't know," I answered. "I was asleep."

The next time, we each had our own blanket. That time, I took the blanket off of Sven and tossed it to the side of the couch, out of his reach. Still while sleeping.

This problem didn't get better after we married. No matter what arrangements we made before bedtime, morning would find Sven shivering with cold while I clutched upwards of four quilts and a comforter to my overheated bosom.

Finally, Sven developed what I like to call defensive sleeping. When he gets into bed, he does a complex maneuver that is part Baryshnikov, part Ninja, that results in his quilt becoming wrapped around his body in a manner so intricate even he can't extricate himself.

It works for us.

Proximity is also an issue. Some people like to cuddle when they sleep. Not us. Sven and I like our space. The problem is, I often take up more space than even I would believe possible. The other night, Sven woke me up to point out my position on the bed. I was literally diagonal, with my arms and legs outstretched, as though I was deliberately trying to prevent anyone else from sleeping on our king-sized bed.

I was asleep.

Nighttime poking can also be a problem. For a very tense few months, I kept poking my fingers into Sven's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

"Mmmph?" I would hear. I would awake, blearily aware that my fingers were warm, to see them in Sven's mouth.

I was asleep.

For the record, I also snore (during allergy season), talk (during crazy season), and walk (during testing season) in my sleep. (I don't get out of the bed and walk, I just move my feet back and forth as though I were walking.)

Now I'm depressed. If Sven ever leaves me, it won't be for a younger, prettier, thinner girl. It will be for a girl who can stay on her side of the bed and keep her hands to herself.

But where would the fun be in that?

PS: I am featured this week on Sneaky Momma's Super Sneaky Friend. So click on the button below and go and check me out! It's a great blog! Not just because it's about me!

Teaching Kindergarten

I am teaching Kindergarten music this year for the first time in a long time. It is the first time I've ever had to keep them for 45 minutes. Here's an example of what teaching a 45-minute lesson to a group of kindergarteners is like:

SuBo, MiWa, and Aala

I love the semi-current trend of assigning every celebrity a "short" nickname compiled of some of the consonants and vowels in their names!

It started with J-Lo, who, to be fair, was using her real, long-time nickname. Then, when "Monster-In-Law" came out, Jane Fonda was being called "J-Fo," as in, "J-Lo and J-Fo together, on the big screen!"

(For the record, the above statement only sounded appealing to me if it was guaranteed that one would be killing and consuming the other, onscreen, for the majority of the movie.)

I think, though, what started as a good, benevolent, J-Lo approved trend has gotten out of hand.

How hard is it to say Susan Boyle? Yet now, in the gossip columns, she is officially "SuBo." Hasn't this poor lady suffered enough?

Still, I love me some SuBo. Her new album, which has not been released, is selling more quickly than Whitney Houston's new album, which has not been released. Ah, pre-orders.

Someone else I love is Michaela Watkins.

Michaela Watkins (or MiWa, as I shall now dub her) was a feature player on last year's SNL cast, brought in after the presidential election to help replace the magnificent Amy Poehler. Feature players rarely get enough airtime to develop a following, let alone create recurring characters, but MiWa did both. How fortunate that they had such a breakout star so early in the game!

Until Lorne Michaels fired her.

Yes, Lorne Michales (pictured above) fired two feature players, MiWa and Casey Wilson, so he could bring on two new female cast members. MiWa didn't see it coming, but she's being a professional. In interviews, she insists that she likes Lorne, respects him, and has this explanation for why he fired her:

"He said he felt like I should have my own show."

I agree.

I haven't discussed my other fairly recent minor fixation, Adam Lambert, whom the media dubbed "Glambert."

I find this offensive. "GLAM-bert?" I get it. Just because he wears makeup, he's gay? Just because he admits he's gay, I'm supposed to believe it? No, my Aala (said with a slight gargling sound in the back of the throat) as as straight as an arrow, baby. Just listen to his version of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" and you will also be convinced:

Adam Lambert - Ring of fire
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If you watched that, wasn't Randy Travis a befuddled good sport?

Anyhoo, I stick to my guns. Aala is on my radar.

But RPattz has still got my heart.

Sigh.

A True Story (Warning: Lowbrow Humor Ahead)

In which Deb uses comical words to substitute for anatomical terms.


Lately, I have become fascinated with the awkward. There is a new blog that I love called "Awkward Family Photos," in which the mundane and uncomfortable becomes hilarious. If you have some time, check them out. Hilarity will ensue.

My new obsession with awkward has inspired me to share the most awkward story I know. The following is a completely true story that totally did not happen to me, so it's hilarious.

Sven's longtime dear friend, whom I shall call "Bosephus" for the purpose of this blog entry, had just gotten engaged. He had met his fiancee's parents before, but relations were cool. He was at their home for dinner, entertaining them as only he can, attempting to thaw the relationship a little bit.

You see, Bosephus is a parent's darling. Everyone's parents love Bosephus. My parents love Bosephus. My dad loved Bosephus so much he took Bosephus' word about a situation over mine. Bosephus is awesome.

But Bosephus' future in-laws were not feeling the love.

So Bosephus was engrossed in telling a story, complete with illustrative hand gestures, when his index finger, hereinafter referred to as his "pointer," became stuck.

His lovely fiancee, Marigold, had approached him from behind to clear away dishes or something. Somehow, her body was at precisely the wrong angle when he made precisely the wrong gesture, and his pointer was stopped by the region of her pants I shall call her "kerplonk."

I'm sorry for being so graphic, but it is what it is.

So now, Bosephus was faced with a situation: there he was, in front of his beloved's parents, with his pointer right there, "kerplonked," as it were.

(At this point, I should stress that, although this has taken a great deal of time to write, and I'm sure read, it all happened very quickly in real life. Bosephus would also like me to stress that everyone was wearing several layers of very modest clothing, including no less than 17 pair of gloves and what may have been East Texas' only functional pair of snow pants.)

What do I do? he wondered. Do I pretend it didn't happen and just keep going? Do I laugh it off? Should I make some sort of comical popping sound when I move my hand? What should I do?

He looked to his fiancee, who helpfully made the following noise:

"Voip."

One way or another, the evening lurched on. Bosephus and Marigold were married and today have many wonderful children. This tiny awkwardness was forgotten by all.

Except by me. Because this story has made me laugh for more than ten years now. I hope it made you all laugh too, you lowbrow things, you.

Hysterical Inaccuracy

Recently, I became aware of a new series on Showtime:

I'm not sure if, on this blog, I have referred to my obsession with British history. There was a time, not too long ago, when I could name every ruler from William the Conqueror to Elizabeth II from memory. I probably could get pretty close now. But none of it holds as much delight for me as the saga of the Tudors, the "inspiration" for this new television series.

I say "new" because it's new to me. There are two completed seasons, with season three out there somewhere. I don't get Showtime, so I wouldn't know.

This show has been an utter delight for me, because of its wonderful treatment of historical fact. "The Tudors" does for English history what "North and South" did for the Civil War. To give you a hint, here are some of the comments I made to Sven during Season 1:

"Wow, you wouldn't think it would be so easy to remove your own corset."

"Do you think he knows her name?"

"Don't you think that would chafe?"

Leaving that part of it aside, here are some of the more glaring inaccuracies:

Henry VIII is played by a slender brunette.

Anne Boleyn has blue eyes.

Henry VIII only has one sister, who marries the King of Portugal, and they call her Margaret, and it's just a muddle.

The Duke of Richmond dies when he's still a young child.

Now, if you no nothing about English history, these things mean nothing. Perhaps my ramblings are akin to those Twilighters who boycotted the movie because Bella's shirt wasn't blue in the scene where she meets the Cullens, or the Harry Potter fanatics who insist that every. single. scene. from the book be included in the movie, or it Just Isn't Right.

But this is different! This is HISTORY. This is FACT. People are forgetting that.

Someone posted online the other day that she and her mother were discussing "The Tudors." The mother said, "I can't wait to see what happens with Jane Seymour next season." The daughter said, "Oh, that's going to be sad, when she dies." The mother said, "Well, thanks for spoiling it!"

Jane Seymour died over 400 years ago! Spoiler alert: EVERYONE IN THE SHOW IS DEAD NOW! Sorry!

But the show is effective in one way. The acting is really good. It has humanized elements of the story that never seemed "real" to me. At the end of the second season, Anne Boleyn is executed. (Sorry, spoiler!) I knew Anne Boleyn was going to be executed. I have watched Anne Boleyn get beheaded in several film adaptations and have never reacted to it with anything but a nod of the head.

But when "The Tudors" did it, I cried. They did a scene, which I will describe for you, that just made me realize that Anne Boleyn was a real person, more than any other adaptation ever has.

In the scene, Thomas Boleyn (Anne's father) is being released from the tower. He leaves, and on his way out passes under Anne's window. She looks down and sees him leaving, and she gets a big smile and waves, obviously thrilled that her father is going to be all right. He stares at her for a moment, unsmiling, then walks away. And that was when it really, truly hit me: her father set her up to be the king's mistress, then his wife; he plotted with her, advised her, and controlled her, but when it came time to pay, he walked away while his daughter died.

And I cried. I cried and cried. How silly am I?

Hysterical.

Gadgets Gone Wild (Clean Version)

We have a new vacuum cleaner.

After last week's adventure with bullets and glass, we needed one.

Our venerable bagless upright, alas, overdosed on large chunks of safety glass and died.

But check out my new machine: The Hoover Annihilator

(Actual name: Hoover Wind Tunnel Platinum. I like my name better.)

The Annihilator is such a cool machine, I haven't been allowed to use it yet. Sven is obsessed with annihilating the dirt, dust, and allergens from every flat surface in our home.

You see, the Annihilator has a feature that I have never heard of, but makes me believe that the land of the future promised to us by "The Jetsons" has arrived.

On the top of the roller-brush part, where the operator can easily look down and see it, is a small computer display. The display shows two words: "Dirty" (in red) or "Clean" (in peaceful soothing green). Fortunately, I had vacuumed the carpet in our living room that morning, so we could conduct a scientific test. Sven ran the new vacuum over our seemingly-clean floor. It said "Dirty" for about four swipes, then it said "Clean."

"Hmmm," Sven said. "Maybe it's programmed for number of swipes, with the angle calculated...hmmm." Then he turned it off.

The collection canister was full of dust, grime, and hair.

He has been vacuuming ever since. He just came downstairs and emptied the thing (again!) saying, "I don't know how it knows!"

I have to pause now, for Sven just gave me the following command: "Go smell our room." Who could resist an invitation like that?

I'm back. Our room smells great. It didn't stink before, but it honestly smells like a brand new carpet. Even the odor I convinced myself we were preserving as a memorial to our deceased cat, Incontinento, is gone.

I watch Sven with the vacuum and see a gleam in his eye that tells me he's not cleaning the house. He's conquering dust and odor, armed with his Hoover Annihilator of Doom, making the world fresh-smelling and allergen free for the oxygen-loving citizenry.

I can see the comic book now.