Carol and Carol on Saturday Nights

A huge part of my early life was spent with my Aunt Carol. She lived with us for years and years, and when she eventually got married and lived in her own home, I used to spend weekends with her. My dad would drop me off after dinner on Friday night (or before, if I was lucky) and I’d spend a carefree, and usually rule-free, weekend with my Aunt Carol.

One of these days I’m going to have to sit down and devote a few hours to write down what my Aunt really meant to me. It’s just that it’s too big a story to tell. It overwhelms me, and makes me feel intimidated. But for now, I’m happy to tap out little vignettes about the things I remember most.

There was no bedtime when I was with Aunt Carol. Of course, if she was tired, I’d go to bed. But more times than not, we stayed up late on Saturday night. She’d get us some chips or popcorn, and we’d watch TV together while she’d set my hair. She was a whiz with bobby pins and foam curlers, and had gallons of Dippity Doo.

Every Saturday night at 10 p.m. The Carol Burnett Show was on CBS – channel 2 out of New York City, and we watched it every time I stayed with her. I’d be showered and in my PJ’s and robe, munching on snacks that my Dad would never let me have. I loved watching that show with Aunt Carol because she was really funny when she got to laughing. And Carol Burnett always made her laugh.

Our family still talks about the time she saw “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, World” at the movies. There’s a scene where a country couple is run off the road, and while they are careening down the mountainside, with furniture and possessions flying off their truck, it’s been told that Aunt Carol fell out of her theater seat she was laughing so hard.

Carol’s laugh was high pitched, and she was known to snort. That made everything funnier. Even if I didn’t get the joke, if Aunt Carol was laughing, you couldn’t help but join in.

But I usually got the jokes on The Carol Burnett Show. It wasn’t as if it were high-brow comedy, like Monty Python. It was easy to laugh at – movie spoofs and goofy characters. To this day I credit the show with my love for the movie “Mildred Pierce.” Carol had done a spoof called “Mildred Fierce” and the next time I found the original black and white movie on TV I watched it and adored it.

My favorite sketches of all time were the ones with Mama and Eunice. I remember the episode when they all played Sorry, and the one where Eunice went on the Gong Show and sang “Feelings.” I also loved Mrs. Wiggins and Mr. Tudball. And even though at the time I’d never seen “Sunset Boulevard,” seeing Carol Burnett playing Nora Desmond with those giant, swinging boobs was hysterical to me.

I especially loved the beginning of the show when Carol Burnett would “bring up the lights” and see if anyone had anything they wanted to ask. She was always asked to do her Tarzan call, which got kind of boring. I think it was when Carol was at her best – she was so quick witted and funny, and always had a super funny response to even the blandest of questions.

But I remember this one time an old woman (who looked like she forgot her teeth that night) stood up and asked “Is that Maude?” The camera panned to a woman who looked exactly like Bea Arthur in that iconic role. She had the feathered grey hair, she had the long, polyester blend jacket, and she was hysterical! She wound up on stage singing a song with Carol. I highly recommend Googling it.

Oh, I loved those Saturday nights. If I could make it through the whole show, we’d try to find some creepy horror movie on TV – like Creature Feature or Chiller Theater. But there were nights when I couldn’t stay up to hear her closing anthem or see Carol Burnett tug at her ear. Those nights I would have fallen asleep with my head in Aunt Carol’s lap until she gently woke me and put me to bed.

To this day if I see clips from The Carol Burnett show or see her being interviewed, I think of Aunt Carol and those weekends spent at her cozy apartment.  I’m so glad we had that time together.

Dick Clark: Annoying Game Show Host

I love watching game shows from my youth.

I’ll never pass an episode of Match Game while channel surfing, and my family still likes watching Family Feud, regardless of the host. Both of those games remind me of lazy weekday afternoons—school was out, your homework might be done, and there was most likely a half eaten bag of Doritos in the room.

Another great weekday game show was the $10,000 Pyramid, which in the 80′s became the $25,000 Pyramid. I watched about a zillion episodes of this show, and as the years passed by, Dick Clark became increasingly annoying to me.

30 years later, stuck at home as an unemployed house wife, I have time to watch the Game Show Network. Today I watched a few episodes of the Pyramid, and you know what? Dick Clark is doubly annoying. He had a few trademark moves that I find totally irritating; moves that I’m sure others found endearing. Let me share them with you and see if you agree.

The Winner’s Circle was where most of these moves occurred:

• If you were running out of time and were close to a win, he’d yell “HURRY!” Nothing breaks your concentration like being loudly reminded that you are about to turn the winner’s circle into the losers circle.
• If the giver said “pass,” Dick would yell “TURN IT!” or “NEXT!” It’s like he has so little faith that the guys behind the scenes are paying attention, that he has to remind them by shouting at them. Or, could it be that he has an insatiable need to control the show?
• When the contestant lost, Dick would walk over to the railing, fingers on pursed lips, deep in thought, and would inevitably offer up “the perfect clue.” Ugh. It is sooooo annoying.

Another annoying Dickism was when there was a tie. Tie breakers were clues that began with the letter *blank* or the letter *blank*. The part that gets under my skin was when Dick would over enunciate the alphabet letter so there could be no confusion as to what letter he was referring to. And I mean OVER enunciate – If it was the letter “A,” Dick’s mouth would open wide as the Grand Canyon.

I know I may sound like a nit-pickin’ sour puss, but I can’t help it. These gestures of his aggravate the hell out of me.

It was as if he was trying to be more than just a host…he wanted to be part of the game. He wanted to be important to the game, not just some bubble head that introduced subjects and ushered folks to the winner’s circle.

I loved that quality in Richard Dawson, and in Bob Barker. But it just flat out hated it in Dick Clark. I wanted him to just shut up and let Nipsey Russell recite his poems.

On Demand TV Be Damned!

I am doing absolutely nothing. Ok, not nothing, but close to it.

My unemployed days are spent lolling around in a dark room watching television shows that I had never watched before, but have now become addicted to.

First it was “Girls.” Luckily there had only been one season at that point, so I was able to catch up in a single day.

After that,  a “Walking Dead” marathon weekend chained me to my couch for two days straight. At least I shared that obsession with my two daughters. You could kind of file it under family time.

Then it was “Downton Abbey.” That took a few days because the shows are an hour long and I had two and a half seasons to watch. My husband was working almost non-stop at that point so I was able to spend most of time viewing it on our living room TV – where the sun shines and I feel like I am somewhat part of the living, breathing world.

Once I got caught up with both Hannah and the Grantham gang, I needed a new show. I had acquired a taste for non-stop entertainment – for discovering those progrmas that the masses were talking about, but I was oblivious to.

My regular readers will know that I then gravitated to “Homeland.” Oh, that show was wonderful. I spent the better or 3 or 4 days watching seasons 1 & 2 – 24 action-packed, suspense-filled episodes. This was beginning to become a dangerous and lonely trend, though.

With hubby home more often, the living room television is mainly controlled by him. He watches ESPN classic which plays old baseball games from 1979, or interviews with Howard Cosell and some legendary sports figure that I don’t know or care about. So if I’m in the mood to watch TV, I have to take myself to one of my daughter’s rooms; rooms with very little light and very little television sets.

That’s how I watched “Homeland;” crouched in the dark on a bed in an entertainment induced coma. Yes, I would twist open the blinds and let in some light, but before long, the light would fade as the sun went down and I realized it was time to cook dinner.

I was both dismayed and relieved when I’d watched all the episodes. Perhaps now I could join the living; get out and walk, maybe take up my crocheting again, or try some new recipes. Didn’t I have better things to do than stare at an illuminated box?

Not once I discovered “Weeds.”

Yes, yet another Showtime original (damn, they have some good writers there) has taken claim of my miserable, pathetic life. And there are 7 seasons. S-E-V-E-N. I am currently in the middle of season 6 – this translates into me sitting in sweatpants, in the dark, staring at a television for most of this past week. I will say that I have showered every day. I have also gone to the store and brought the kids to school. Outside of that I’ve pretty much been a “Weeds” watching zombie.

So now let’s talk about the show. I have a love-hate with Nancy. As the seasons are progressing, she’s becoming less cool and more wtf to where I just want to smack her. And why the hell is she always on the last few sips of a latte? It’s never full – always empty with a loud slurp.

Andy will be my boyfriend in my next life. Celia is a never-ending source of amusement for me. I adore Dean and Doug – I wish I could spend a day with them and a bong.

It has made me laugh out loud at least once an episode. The taint/runway argument was legendarily funny. Celia calling Dean  “Harley Davidstein,” was a knee-slapper, as was anything U-Turn said, and all conversations between Andy and Doug are guaranteed to bring at least one chuckle.

It’s a really filthy, funny show. And I can’t stop watching it. Not until I’ve seen the very last episode of season 7. I figure I’ll be done in time to cook Easter dinner and hide a few eggs.

After that you have a vow from me. There will not be a hunt for a new show – I will not latch onto “Dexter” or “Mad Men.” I’ll pass on “Game of Thrones” and “Breaking Bad.” I’ll stay away until I’ve done a few things…cleaned out my cabinets, raked every leaf, mulched my garden and lost 10 pounds.

Then, and only then will I hit that button on the remote. The one that gives me access to every season of every show that everyone is talking about. But for now, On Demand Be Damned!

My Homeland Binge

I spent the past week sitting on my daughter’s bed in the dark watching episode after episode of Homeland. I would come out from time to time to check facebook, or cook a meal, or run the d-wash, but for the most part I was chained to a 13″ TV.

I went on a similar binge a month or so back with Downton Abbey. I decided to watch one episode and that was it. Hooked.

So this past week I decided I needed to find a new show to obsess over. Hell, I’m unemployed – isn’t this what I’m supposed to do with my spare time? The problem is, when I find the right show, I have no spare time. Every waking minute is spent getting my chores done so I can watch another episode with no guilty pangs, or sitting and watching. Once the kids are home it’s almost impossible to watch. There are just too many interruptions.

I began with Dexter, but I was eating lunch and it was too gorey. I switched to Veep, but had to stop it halfway through for one reason or another. When I finally sat down to watch a new show, I chose Homeland. Howard Stern always raves about it, so I figured I’d give it a go. Episode 1 Season 1 – click play. And thus, began my week-long obsession.

I watched the final episode yesterday right before my youngest got off the bus, and ran to the computer to see when the next season begins. Crap – Season 3 won’t begin until SEPTEMBER. I didn’t time this binge properly.

Here is my Homeland debriefing. I love Carrie, even if it is a bit annoying that she always figures things out in time. I love Brody – he’s not really attractive, but I’m still so attracted to him. I hate Brody’s wife. She’s annoying with her pursed lips and her flippy hair. And who calls their husband by their last name? Shouldn’t she be calling him Nicke? Just go marry Mike already. Brody’s daughter is annoying – she’s always depressed. I adore Saul – I keep waiting for him to say, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

While I sat in the living room basking in the glow of viewing 2 full seasons of this action packed show, my darling little 11 year old came off the bus in tears. She’d had a bad day – it was picture day, and it was themed where you could pose with groups of friends. Nobody wanted to pose with her. Then the bullies on the bus were in rare form and it made for one sad little girl by the time she got home.

We had long talk, and a good cry, because I know how she feels. Then we took a walk together which cleared our heads and cheered us up. This is my homeland – my real homeland. While Carrie and Saul are fighting terrorists, I’ve got to teach my girl how to deal with life’s bullies better. I’ve got to teach her that being nice to people isn’t always reciprocated, and just because there are girls who are cruel does not mean that you are a loser.

I need to get my ass off the couch and help my little girl feel better about herself.

Why I’ve Banned the Band Boston

My first year out of college, living large as a hard-working graphic designer for Tiger Beat magazine, I had a boyfriend who was still in college. He was attending my alma mater, the University of Delaware and I was living in northern New Jersey with mom and dad. I was the span of the Jersey Turnpike away from him, 122 miles plus another half hour or so to drive to Newark, DE on I95.

I drove down there almost every weekend. I’d leave work on Friday and hop right on the Turnpike, not to return to my parent’s home until 7 or 8 pm on Sunday. Sometimes my boyfriend would be at his home in Jersey, which was “down the shore.” Sometimes, but rarely, he came up by me.

My point in all this is to show a pattern. For at least a year I was away from home every weekend. I’d tell my folks “I’m heading to U of D this weekend” or “I’m heading to the shore this weekend.” It was almost a ritual – they should’ve been surprised if Saturday dawned and I was at home.

This one particular summer weekend, my boyfriend and I had tickets to see the band “Boston.” They were playing at the Spectrum in Philadelphia and the plan was for me to pick him up at his home by the shore, and drive to Philly for the show. Afterward, rather than heading back to Jersey, the plan was to drive to the apartment he lived at during the school year – his roomies were still there taking summer courses.

So, after work on Friday, I tooled down to the shore in my ultra cool Karmann Ghia convertible, picked up my dude, and we headed to Philly for a night of mediocre rock n’ roll. The show was actually very enjoyable – thanks to horribly repetitive NY radio I knew almost all of their songs. Once the show was over, we made the hour drive to the campus and hit the hay.

I was woken up by one of his roommates at around 7 am. He said, “your mom is on the phone” and it hit me. I had never told my mother I was not going to be home that weekend. After all these months…almost a year of me not being home on the weekends, did she really worry about where I was all night long?

The second I said “hello” I knew I was in the shitter. Neck high. She didn’t even yell at me – she was too busy crying. I don’t know if any of you out there have experienced this, but you’ve never really felt true and utter doom until you know you’ve made your mommy cry.

I apologized profusely while she sobbed, and when she was able to regain her composure, she told me I was grounded. I was almost 23 at the time, and my mom was grounding me? I found out that she waited up all night for me and finally called my boyfriend’s mom that morning who confirmed we had been at her house yesterday and were now in Delaware for the weekend. We hung up on very bad terms – her mad and me feeling like a steaming pile of manure.

On the one hand, I was mortified. I’d made my mother cry. I’d put her through a night of misery and torture due to my forgetfulness. I knew from prior experience that my mom did NOT sleep until her kids were all where they were supposed to be. It was never a bad idea to call her at 2 am when the bars closed to let her know you were going to White Castle for a few burgers. She was always up and always thankful for the call. On the other hand, I wondered why she hadn’t called my boyfriend’s mom the night before when she first began to worry. It was sort of a “no duh” where I probably was.

In any case, my mood was ruined. We had plans to go to the zoo in Philly that day, and as we sat at breakfast I was both pensive and disappointed in myself. I’d really screwed up and I knew it. We still went to the zoo, but the day sucked all around. I just wasn’t in the mood.

Things were bad between my mom and me for at least a week – she loved deeply and openly, but when you pissed her off, she knew how to hold a grudge. I never forgot to tell her where I was going again, but to this day, I can’t listen to Boston without reliving that horrible weekend.

I’ll never stop at one of their songs when I’m flipping through the stations. But if I’m with hubby and he decides to stop flipping at a Boston song, I figure it’s my cross to bear – a reminder of when I was a lousy daughter. And it makes me wonder if one of my daughters will put me through what I put her through.

Payback’s a bitch.

Sitting in the Cheap Seats

A few months ago a movie megaplex opened in town, thus wiping most of the competition in its extra buttery wake. One movie house became the “artsy fartsy” theater, showing independent and small release films. One flat out shut down – it only had 4 screens anyway. The other, became the discount theater.

Every seat $1.50.

Now that’s a bargain. Yes, the movies are a tad old, but who cares? It’s cheaper than the $4 rental when it comes out on DVD!

The theater that adopted this cheap seat policy is one I had banned in the past. I was tired of paying top dollar for a movie that had bad sound, or stale popcorn, or played 18 trailers. I kid you not…one time we watched 40 minutes of commercials and trailers and I had to get up and complain for them to wake the hell up and start the movie! When you’re paying $7 a person, that ain’t flushing.

But for a buck fifty? Not so bad. Consider yourself officially un-banned. I love a bargain too much to hold a grudge. Besides, I’m no stranger to the discount movie house.

My sister Wendy and I used to go to this one cheap-o movie theater in Tenafly, NJ back in the day when movies tickets were a whopping $3.00. They only charged you 99 cents and you saw 2 movies. The titles were real duds – what today might be straight to dvd movies or films that had a few years on them.

I remember seeing “Yanks” with Richard Gere, “Paradise Alley” with Sylvester Stallone, “When a Stranger Calls” with Carol Kane, and “Time After Time” with Malcolm McDowell. Even if the movie sucked, we had fun ripping on it.

From now on if the girls and I want to see a movie, the cheap-o theater will be my first choice.

Downton Abbey – Go Screw Thineself

A few weeks ago I became intrigued with all the hullabaloo surrounding Downton Abbey and decided to give it a try. Every episode from every season was available on demand on my cable system, and remember, I am unemployed. With so much time on my hands it was a win/win situation.

By the 2nd episode I was really hooked and totally engrossed in the lives of the family and staff…the stuffy but lovable Mr. Carson, the scheming O’Brien, the witty Violet Crawley, the pathetic Edith, Anna Smith and Mr. Bates – the list is endless! But one constant theme was the connection between Mary and Matthew.

From the start you were rooting for these two! First it was the story line of would they or wouldn’t they marry. Enter Lavinia and a season of turmoil…she was nice, but you didn’t want Matthew to marry her! When Mary and Matthew finally tie the knot, it was a real gimme for viewers – the star crossed lovers actually wind up together. Hooray!

Then it was would they or wouldn’t they conceive. Who’s to blame? Mary? Matthew? At the end of episode 6, the couple has the green light for conception – everyone’s parts are working…Send Miss Anna packing, lock the door, and get at it!

IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE FINAL EPISODE OF SEASON 3 STOP READING NOW.

I did not see the last episode of Downton Abbey live. I DVR’ed it because was too busy falling asleep while watching Walking Dead at 9 pm. I love Downton too much to nod off while watching it. It’s more of a 2 pm show for me…snuggled on the couch all alone – no interruptions.

But Facebook can be a real buzz kill for those who DVR stuff. This morning one particularly loud-mouthed and careless person had to mention that there was a death on Downton Abbey. Fuck…I didn’t want to know that. As I pondered it, I figured it made sense, this being the season finale and all.

As I began watching the final episode today, it opens with Mary 8 months along in her first pregnancy. Well, that was quick! It’s one of the things I like about the show – months may have elapsed between episodes. As the story began to unfold I kept thinking of who was going to bite the big one.

Was it going to be the conniving Mr. Barrow? No, he just got beat up. Was Mrs. O’Brien going to fall prey to the jealous maid at the Scottish castle? No, that wasn’t it. As the episode unfolded, I sort of forgot about that ominous facebook post.

The episode ends with Mary giving birth to her son. She and Matthew are all aglow with parental pride and a genuine love for one another. The gang at Downton are equally thrilled – there is an heir and all is good in the world.

The camera shows Matthew driving to Downton in sheer bliss – he is a father – he has a son. And I remember the facebook post. I start yelling “no!” at the TV. My girls wonder what is wrong. A delivery truck turns the corner right in front of Matthew’s car. He is shown pinned under the car, eyes open and blood pouring from his head.

What the fuck Downton? Didn’t we just lose Sybil? I know it’s been like a year in the story line, but it’s just been 2 or 3 episodes for us. Another major loss is just too much too soon.  And Matthew? Really? If you felt like you had to kill off a character, why him?

Life doesn’t work like that. You made us euphoric and then you pulled the rug out from underneath.

And for that, you suck.

I don’t know if I can watch anymore. I don’t trust the show – it’s like anything can happen now. What’s next…Mrs. Patmore poisons the Earl? Cora and O’Brien have a threesome with Mr. Carson? It seems like all bets are off.

The only thing I can cling to is that he’s not really dead. But after him being paralyzed and then cured that would be even more stupid than him being dead. And you can’t pull a Bobby Ewing either.

I am so bummed. You’ve ruined my new favorite show.

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Author footnote: I just read that the reason they did this was because the dope who plays Matthew was leaving the show to pursue some other lame-o acting role. I guess I can forgive the writers now and keep on watching.

F-ed up Fundraising

The other day my 11 year old came home with the twice yearly fundraising packet. I used to seriously groan at these things because the merchandise they were peddling was usually crap.

Over the years I have purchased:

• a wrapping paper cutter that didn’t work
• a Christmas card door holder that was made of cheap cardboard. I get a pitifully small amount of Christmas cards each year, and this thing fell apart under their weight.
• a ceiling fan chain pull that broke at tug #1
• tons and tons of plants, bulbs and seeds that never, ever bloomed

I finally gave up and tossed every packet in the trash after a quick perusal. But a few years back they began adding magazine subscriptions to the selections. They were reasonably priced, and they had a few titles I was interested in – hell, our subscription to “Entertainment Weekly” has been purchased through fundraising for the past two years at least. So we began to buy again.

Each year, our daughter would gush over the prizes you could win by selling “x” amount of items, and each time I would tell her to cool her jets. I can’t buy enough to get her to the “x” factor, and I do not like asking family to buy – I always feel like they are buying out of obligation, and that makes me uncomfortable. I know I buy out of a sense of guilt any time I’ve been invited to one of those hostess parties. I’ve got a set of fancy glasses in my cabinet that I rarely use as proof.

So I tell her to ignore the prizes  – they are usually crap anyway. Besides, the point is to make money for the school, and with our magazine subscriptions she is doing just that.

Enter the winter of 2013 fundraiser.

They have changed things this year. Rather than earning a yo-yo or a stuffed animal by selling “x” amount, you earn admission into an event at the school. Seems her school is having a BMX bike show, and if you don’t sell at least 5 items, you ain’t going. They even had a rally in the gym to get the kids all revved up – the bikers are going to jump over the principal if you sell enough!

At first, I thought to myself “how am I going to get 5 subscriptions sold? She’s got to go to this thing! She’s got to go!” I sent an email out to my family and one friend asking them to buy, even though it was way outside my comfort zone. But she was so jazzed to attend this show that I wasn’t thinking.

Then, as I read the flyer they sent home, I began to get angry. I understand how important fundraising is to schools these days, but this is wrong. It’s blackmail for one. They know that the kids are going to run home and demand that their parents help them meet the minimum sales to be able to attend the show. If the parent doesn’t have the ways or the means to help their child, then they are left feeling like shit. They are then also left with the unpleasant task of telling little Freddy that he was going to have a bad day at school in the near future. A day where classmates would be excused from class to have an afternoon of fun.

And what does the school do with the kids who did not meet the minimum and therefore are not permitted to attend? Do they sit in the library? Or in a classroom?

And even worse, if you sold “x” above the minimum, you got preferred seating, which could mean participation in the show, plus a meet and greet with the performers afterward. More pressure from your kid to sell sell sell! Now getting in the gym to see the show wasn’t quite good enough.

I looked at my situation…unemployed and watching every dime. I can buy one subscription, but that’s all. What if no other family members came through? The thought of my little girl having to watch all of her classmates head out to watch the show while they left her behind killed me. And I knew that there would be others – kids whose parents are in my shoes financially, or kids who have parents that just don’t give a crap.

It’s not right.  It just doesn’t sit right with me.

So, I sent out a second email telling everyone to disregard my first. Yes, if they wanted a magazine, they could buy. But I told them what my school was doing and that I did not agree with it, so there was no obligation. That in fact, I would prefer that they just ignore the whole thing.

I plan on sending an email to whoever is in charge. I want some answers about what is going to happen to the kids who are not allowed to attend. But I tell you, there’s a very good chance that I’m going to keep my girl home that day. Maybe we’ll have a picnic, or go to a movie.

I doubt she’ll be missing much that day anyway. Except for a good dose of humiliation.

Only in my Dreams

Do you know how sometimes your memory can, well, malfunction?

I’ve noticed this especially since I’ve started blogging. I’ll write about a family memory and one of my siblings will fill in a gap, or worse, correct me. In my last post I proved that there are things I was sure of in my youth where I have been proven wrong. Anyway, it’s enough to make me doubt some of my earlier memories

I wrote a post a while back about a reoccurring nightmare I have regarding roller coasters. In these dreams, everyone I am with wants to climb onto some crazy, impossibly designed coaster. I refuse to get on. My friends all get in line and the coaster always malfunctions. I watch from a distance while the track falls apart right before my eyes and the car my friends and family are on crashes to the ground.

I believe the source of this reoccurring dream is found in the photo shown above. You see, this is one of the parking lots at Palisades Amusement Park, circa who the hell knows. I know I was about 5 or 6 when my parents took me there and we parked in this lot, or one very similar to it.

You see, I have this memory of parking our car and heading to the park for a day of fun, but our trek into the park began with a stroll past a giant roller coaster – I like to think it was called the Cyclone – but without a park map, I can’t be sure.

Anyway, I know we walked to the gate through the parking lot beside a GIGANTIC roller coaster and only a fence separated us from its structure. As the cars rolled past I was not filled with a sense of thrill & excitement, I was fucking scared.

I kept thinking about idiots who might have stood up and subsequently fell to their death right in front of me. Of course nobody did. That day. But I knew better. I’d heard rumors about deaths on the coasters at Palisades Amusement Park and I was certain some careless dare devil was going to come plummeting down on the pavement that very day.

Nobody did. We had a fun day at the park like any other northern New Jersey family that day. My oldest sister was in the Little Miss America pageant – We have film of her performing on the stage and then some footage of me dancing around a tree in our front yard shortly after that.

Anyway…

Seeing this photo on a facebook site I am a member of really hit a chord. I didn’t imagine this – I really did park in a lot near the Cyclone at Palisades Amusement Park. I did walk right along a chain link fence while the coaster roared by. And it scared me. A lot. Enough so that I still  have dreams of crazy, scary, impossible roller coasters that I refuse to ride on.

No wonder Final Destination 3 is my favorite.

The Doug Simpson Connection

If you’ve ever watched The Brady Bunch as a kid, or as an adult (like me – with a twinge of shame), you know the episode where Marcia gets her nose bashed by her careless football throwing brothers right before her big date with Doug Simpson. I must have seen that episode upwards of 50 times, and one day while watching it in my 20s, a though occurred to me. I’d seen that face before!

It happens to all of us – the “I know that actor! They were on…on…” accompanied by finger snapping or head scratching. Now-a-days you can easily look up any actor’s professional resume online (i.e. IMDb), but back in the 80s? It required a brand of persistent sleuthing.

When the episode ended, I jotted down the actor’s name – Nicholas Hammond. Nope, didn’t ring a bell. But I know I’d seen him before, and I knew where. Doug Simpson, the big man on campus in the iconic “Oh my Nose!” Brady Bunch episode was also a main character in another of my childhood favorites.

The Sound of Music.

I was sure of it, but didn’t want to say anything until I had proof. After all, I’d been wrong before. A lot. I swore to my friend John that “Dancing Queen” was the song that played at the prom in the movie Carrie, and I made my husband roll off the couch laughing when I thought that Burl Ives was one of the guys tortured in The Naked Prey.

Yeah, my track record wasn’t great.

So what was a pre-internet gal to do in order to prove her point? I waited. Waited until The Sound of Music came on television. Yeah, I probably could have rented to movie, or looked it up at the library or something, but let’s face it – this wasn’t the quest for the holy grail or anything.

Marcia, can I interest you in some strudel?

A holiday weekend eventually came and The Sound of Music was aired, and there it was…Nicholas Hammond’s screen credit as one of the von Trapp children. Yes, Doug Simpson and Friedrich von Trapp were one and the same. Who’d have guessed that this young lad, skipping gaily through Salzburg in lederhosen and feathered cap would eventually bring Marcia Brady to her knees.

And why is this important? It’s not. It’s just that I’m sort of a Brady Bunch know it all, and it’s just one more fact to add into the noodle database.

Fun Footnote: Turns out Nicholas Hammond was also in the original black and white (and best) version of Lord of the Flies. He also played Spiderman, but I don’t find that fact quite as fun.