Author Archives: Jody

Friday Morning Videos: Lights Out

There was this thing that happened almost a whole week ago, and you probably either don’t remember it, are reliving every moment, or are trying desperately to forget it ever happened. But it’s true: sports anchors had to talk for a half an hour about something other than overgrown men chasing a brown ball around a green field. I shudder.

Halfway through The Half Blackout of 2013, I thought that this would surely be the weirdest Super Bowl ever. And then the game started, and the team that had been losing in epic fashion came back in epic fashion, and then I thought it was definitely the weirdest Super Bowl, and then a guy from the winning team stood and wandered around the end zone, thus winning the game, and then I thought, “I missed Downton Abbey for this?” (Slate.com backed me up.)

The upside of it all was that I knew what this week’s video would be. Last week, I mentioned how The Escape Club always sends me back to watching my sister spin in front of a mirror, so it’s only appropriate that I have reason to post “Lights Out,” by Peter Wolf. I don’t remember how or why, exactly, but this song was designated as our “spinning song.” On Saturday afternoons, while my mom made pepperoni rolls or bread or both in the kitchen, we stacked all the 45s on the record player and commenced lip sync contests. (Kids: “stacking 45s” was our way of putting a playlist on shuffle.)  If “Puttin on the Ritz” played, we grabbed our glitter batons and made like Fred Astaire. If “Almost Paradise” hit the deck, we sang a mournful duet.

And if “Lights Out” came on, we spun ourselves into a nausea so delightful that even Southern Comfort can’t recreate it.

Video highlights:

  • Actual Degas-style dancers in the dark.
  • Peter Wolf’s impressive stature. A cursory search of internet revealed no height statistics, but I’d guess he’s about 8’1″.
  • A new wave tuba player.
  • Peter Wolf’s loss of muscle control at 2:30.

Tuesday Tribute: Christopher Guest

Happy 65th Birthday, Christopher Guest! I’m in a rush to prepare for a business trip, so I’ll just let him make with the funny, and you can all gape at his transformative powers. I think he might be a metamorphmagus.

His first name is Tyrone.

My favorite Christopher Guest character, simply because he’s possibly one of the nicest men in cinematic history.

Everybody dance!

And, yes, I know you want to turn it up to 11. But you’ve seen that one.

Friday Morning Videos: Wild, Wild West

I’d never seen this video before today. But occasionally I’d hear the song on the radio, and have a very vivid memory of my sister dancing in front of her oversized mirror in my grandmother’s house. Samantha attended Catholic school for three years, living with Grandma and assembling a hefty collection of cassingles in the meantime. As she was a big believer in playing songs until every lyric was memorized, we still know all the words to this song, and it’s always been associated with me sitting on her bed, watching her quick-draw on her reflection before executing a nice cross-ankle/spin.

That was before I’d seen the video. If you have a good memory associated with this song, close out of this browser and never come back. Because if you follow through and watch this video, your nice teenaged memory will be forever tainted by the most disturbing mirror effect ever used in a video. I may never touch a tambourine again.

Can I get a what the fuck?

Can I get a what the fuck?

On the upside, The Escape Club’s lead singer makes Simon le Bon look like Mikhail Baryshnikov. And is that Ralph Fiennes playing the drums?

Friday Morning Videos: California Girls

Three hours ago, we had a light dusting of three-day-old snow on the ground. Now there’s about two inches with no sign of stopping, and most of the businesses and schools in the Pittsburgh area are calling for early dismissals.

Take it away, Mr. Roth.

Friday Morning Videos: When The Going Gets Tough

This video brought to you by our weekly Friday Morning Videos sponsor, the JCC of Squirrel Hill.

Like any good New Year’s resolver, I headed for the gym this morning, and did not disappoint myself: 20 minutes on the bike, followed by 40 minutes wandering around circuit machines, trying to decide which to use and how to use them. My regular workout soundtrack–NPR’s Morning Edition and Marketplace–was interrupted for this delight coming from JCCTV, who, if you’ll remember, also brought us Debbie Gibson and Barry Gordy’s The Last Dragon.

Not since “St. Elmo’s Fire” has a video so seamlessly tied in a movie and its stars. The Brat Pack only stood in a cold alley and grooved with ennui. Billy Ocean, however, has the music mojo to get three of the 80s’ biggest stars to be Motown-style backup singers. And they do it with such sincerity and panache that one can only sit back and wish we’d been at the wrap party.

The video opens up with Jack telling Joan he’s going to kill her, which means that, even though it’s a sequel, they’re still in love and have fantastic sex. Then we transition to your typical concert video, only this one features Billy Ocean instead of Bon Jovi. We see his ensemble band–horn section, keyboardist, guitarist, drumset… and off to the side, the backs of his backup singers, nattily clad in white tuxedos.

Sneaky!

Sneaky!

Then, at minute 1:18… BAM. Faster than a Colombian mudslide, Kathleen Turner, Danny DeVito, and Michael Douglas spin about and break into full choreography. They’re Billy Ocean’s White Knights.

THE Joan Wilder?

THE Joan Wilder?

Danny DeVito, I get. He’d do anything less boring than watching his hairline recede. And Kathleen Turner clearly harbored a secret dream to be a Ronette. But Michael Douglas? He was already a producer and director and movie star and totally sexy in a Harrison Ford way, except without the indigestion. He’s not as comfortable with dancing, but he demonstrates exactly WHY Jack was such a great character: because the ultimate romantic hero is fun.

They didn’t have to do the video. They had plenty of star power, and money, and the movie was a “Jewel of the Nile,” a less-than-awesome, but still awfully fun, sequel, to “Romancing the Stone,” which is, hands-down, the best romantic adventure ever filmed. Maybe it’s because there are only like five out there, but still. That’s saying something.

I wasn't the only one disappointed when he went for Melanie Griffith.

I wasn’t the only one disappointed when he went for Melanie Griffith.

So I leave you with two lessons from this video, to ring in your New Year: When the going gets tough, the tough get going, and the tough also get rough. And if you get an opportunity to do something completely shameless, that puts you at risk for public humiliation and is outside your working skill set: do it. And when you do it, think of Danny DeVito.

I don't often play the saxophone, but when I do, I wear sunglasses.

I don’t often play saxophones, but when I do, I wear sunglasses.

P.S. If you’d like your own Colombian mudslide, go to Applebee’s and snort cocaine off the drinks menu.

Friday Morning Videos: The Glow

Yesterday morning, I awoke at 7 AM, wide awake, and realized something profound: for the third day in a row, no toddlers had awoken me in the night. And I’d gone to sleep at 10 PM. This meant one of two things: either I could get up and go to work early, or I could actually use the gym membership that had been languishing for two months.

Oh, sure: I’d been to the JCC once a week, to get Eliza swimming with other kids. And we’d used it a few times for the playroom. But I had yet to utilize the $35-a-month CenterFit Platinum membership I bought for myself, which allowed me into the 18-and-over locker room. It’s like first class for gym-goers.

On this morning, I had no more excuses, and opted for the gym. And, it turns out, the gym has just been waiting for me to show up. It’s been just sitting there, looking at the door every time it opens, thinking, “Dang it! That’s not Jody! I have all these THINGS just for her, and she’s not coming!”

I have a labral tear in my hip, which sounds much worse and much dirtier than it actually is. My physical therapist prescribed the exercise bike to me, which instantly made me think, “Oh, yippee. The best aerobic exercise for me is the one that’s lobe-splittingly boring.” But… the JCC knew this about me. And it was waiting with an exercise bike that has a built-in video game. Like with steering and gear changes and other cyclists, and a landscape that could be Cambodia, or maybe Peru, and every once in awhile the geeks that wrote the software–because, let’s face it, if it’s got a computer chip it crossed the desk of a geek at some point–programmed in little supportive messages. Like “Keep going!” and “You’re doing great!” and also “Never give up! Never surrender!” and “Do or do not. There is no try!”

My exercise bike quoted “Galaxy Quest” and Yoda to me.

Never give up. Never surrender.

Never give up. Never surrender.

After working up a good sweat on the bike, I headed downstairs to the weight room. Allow me to interrupt myself and say that the median age of JCC clientele is about 58, and that’s including all the toddlers taking classes. It’s kind of demoralizing for a 37-year-old woman who once ran a half marathon: dude, she’s in better shape than me, and she probably only has one unreplaced joint in her body. That said, I think I fit right in, as the coffee I’d had pre-workout was now beginning to repeat on me in a rather painful way.

So I figured, at this point, I’ll do my hip exercises, lift a few dumbbells to work my biceps and triceps, and head back. “Only in My Dreams” played during my hip exercises, which cracked me up, especially because the two guys under 50 were totally big tattooed dudes spotting each other on the benches, and I just know one of them was silently jamming in his head.

Then, halfway through a tricep exercise, this song came on.

The music couldn’t have motivated me more had it been “You’re the Best Around.” I’d never heard any song from “Barry Gordy’s The Last Dragon” in the gym, no less the “The Glow,” which, in a brilliant 80s twist, is a preparation montage including montages from other movies. (FYI, this clip is a montage of clips from the movie, but the actual song starts the way it shows here.)

It’s a meta-montage, powered by Bruce Lee, Daddy Green’s Pizza, and Barry Gordy, and as a result, I now feel pleasantly sore, endorphins are high, and I could totally kick Shonuff’s ass.

** Yes, I will be doing an in-depth “Barry Gordy’s The Last Dragon” post.

Why Don’t You Play Videos Anymore?

Alas, today I’m actually in the office, not working from home, so I can’t do the in-depth talk-about that I usually do with our Friday morning taste of MTV. And honestly, I haven’t been terribly inspired this week. Generally FMVs come about because I’ve been singing a song all week, or some event inspires me, but this week? De nada.

Except this began circulating around the Facebooks, and I think it’s fracking brilliant. Some of MY best memories are of watching videos (that is, videos taped from my grandmother’s cable, since we didn’t have cable, or from Friday Night Videos), and I, too, wondered for awhile why MTV stopped showing videos. And then, honestly, I realized I hated most of the music MTV was playing, and stopped caring, except for in that “I wonder what the M stands for these days” kind of way. I don’t feel bitter about MTV not playing videos, because I have YouTube, and that’s where I can watch 25-year-old videos of music I never stopped loving.

I love many things about this question and response, but several things jump out at me:

  1. The guy is roughly my age. So when he’s bitching about Natalie, he’s totally bemoaning the youngsters and effectively telling her to quit whining, because SHE’S GETTING OLD TOO.
  2. The “executive” he’s playing is named Michael Destiny.
  3. He’s filmed in front of the astronaut.
  4. I didn’t realize it was a parody until I looked up “Michael Destiny” to find out how old he is. That’s how good it is, and how much I wanted to believe a network head would actually say this.

Here’s the truth about me and the other bloggers here at Slumber Party Central: we are getting older. We don’t watch MTV, and haven’t for some time. It’s no coincidence that the videos we play are from the days when MTV DID play videos, because that was the best way for bands to get their music heard. Now, there’s the internet, and YouTube, and little brats who think they’re entitled to steal music just because they can. (Newsflash: IT’S STILL STEALING. YOU ARE A THIEF.)

Very, very rarely does a video trickle up (or down) to my public-radio-listening, antenna-TV-watching household, but when it does, it’s something like this, which I can watch with my two toddlers. Thank you, OK GO, for putting your videos on YouTube, and providing us with an updated version of Sesame Street’s stop-motion animation videos.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming!

Friday Morning Videos: She Blinded Me With Science

Hey, remember what happened on Tuesday? There was this big thing, and a bunch of people won, and a bunch of other people lost, and a bunch of OTHER people were really happy. Or sad. Or angry. And elated.

But in my opinion, the greatest winners of the original American Idol? Nerds. You got it: science, math, and all the beauty therein. Because while all the talking heads were talking with their heads, and the fighters were fighting, and the whiners whining, and the happy people happying, there was one nerd who calmly sat before his computer, staring into the blue pixelated light like a witch into a cauldron, running the same command over and over, reaching out and grabbing polls and opinions and multiplying and subtracting and weighing and balancing, adding newt’s eyes and a pinch of hair from a baby lemur born at 7 AM EST, until he came out with a full list of which states would vote how, and who would win.

His name is Nate Silver, and he is the latest, greatest example of that thing our parents told us over and over in the 80s: Oh, nerd of my loins, taker of abuse and spitballs and rolled eyes and scorn, you of the eyes and legs weakened by reading on the couch all day long, you lovers of Thomas Dolby and They Might Be Giants and Weird Al Yankovic,  you who gets picked last in everything but Quiz Bowl: your day will come. Some day, these people who spit on you and scorn you, they will be looking back at these days as the best of their lives, and you: you, my weird offspring, will rule the world. You will be celebrated. And all this will be distant memory.

Yes, ladies and geekmen, our day has come. If looking good is the sweetest revenge, then Nate Silver is the king of the Tri-Lambs, because he looks amazing. He got every state right–every state–and called the game months ago, and never blinked at the detractors, because he had confidence in his algorithims. He depends upon his math, loves his puzzles, and I imagine that every time some new factor enters the equation–a hurricane, say–his eyes light up brighter than his flatscreens, and he calculates its impact, derives its derivations, and, I’d like to think, feeds it into a punchcard slot before a new roll of paper results comes pouring out. And the numbers add up, and he proves that math, and its slightly wackier cousin, science, aren’t just cold scratches on a chalkboard, soulless columns of numbers. They’re cold scratches on a chalkboard, and they have the soul and beauty of a Van Gogh.

And that, my friends, is poetry in motion.

(My only comment on the video is that I hope in future we are kinder to the mad scientists of today.)

Friday Morning Videos: See a Little Light

I wouldn’t normally post this for a Friday Morning Video–I wasn’t much of a Hüsker Dü fan back in the day–but I was inspired this morning. We’ve had constant rain for six days–and when I say constant, I mean rain has not stopped falling from the sky in six days. Monday morning I came downstairs with my daughter, who protested, “Mommy, it’s not day yet!” That’s what it’s been like around here. Not just gray, but dark.

So imagine my delight this morning when I awoke to an almost-dry sidewalk–it hasn’t rained in six hours, at least!–and from my current vantage point, I can see bright clouds over the neighborhood of Munhall. Not sunshine or anything, mind you. Just brighter clouds. In fact, they’re the light yellow that an old bruise gets. Yesterday, the whole sky was a fresh black-and-blue mess. Today? more of a sickly ivory.

In celebration of this almost-break in the weather, I share this song, which you might recognize from my Unfathomably Good Music mix tape. Seeing as how the bright spots are over his neighborhood, I choose to thank the late, great Drew Martin for this little bit o’light brightening up our morning.

Breaking News from the O.G. Slumber Party Movie!

Nothing like a little hot-dog-in-the-bun action to warm up a rainy day!