Author Archives: shindancer

Goldblum Alert! And a call to action.

Yet another Goldblum alert, Lerlines! This one is for you music lovers. It seems an industrious Blumie* named Evan Kent has harnessed the musical power of Goldblum’s laugh into three bars of sublime notation.

Possibly other man.

Heh heh heh hrr__ rrrr!

Other man? Wait…who could that other man be? Ed? Andy? Laughing Squid’s Rollin Bishop  suggests we use this 10 hour youtube video to solve that mystery:

10 FECKING HOURS! Holy crap! Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Blumies? We need to sample that growly giggle for the drop in our hip-hop and pop Goldblum Anthem. Just off the top of my head, some possible lyrics:

He’s gangly, he’s leg bald, he needs glasses to see, he looks left and points right. Man that Goldblum’s a sexy mother-fuh…SHUT YOUR MOUTH. I’m just talking about Goldblum.

Goldblum post-coital (Conan)

Goldblum gams.

 

*We’ve got an appointment to rumble with The Beliebers in the vacant lot behind the Store 24 after school. … If those sticky-haired punks don’t chicken out.

What? Another Goldblum alert?

Hell yeah, Lerlines. Goldblum is back and more Goldblumy than ever. This is worth a watch, but Goldblum purists will want to skip to the end, where Goldblum plays a cop on the edge willing to do anything, even steal a watch from a watch, to get his watch. Watch it.

Maybe I should set up a Goldblum subscription service?

Goldblum ALERT!

Is it me, or did it just get Goldblumey in here?

Is it me, or did it just get Goldblumey in here?

This is not a drill. The best thing on the Internet right now is a light bulb commercial, and it is pure Goldblum magic. See for yourself.

Warning: It gets a little hot in the hot tub.

The Search is Over: RIP Jimi Jamison

Over a decade ago, Spiegelmama and I went to see the Reo Speedwagon, Styx, Survivor mega-concert At Mandalay Bay in Vegas because when you get the chance to see The Speedwagon…you grab it! Before the concert, all we could talk about was Reo and Styx. After, all we could talk about was Survivor. Oh, and also, how young Dennis DeYoung’s replacement was, and how we didn’t notice until he vaulted over the keyboard, but mostly we talked about Survivor and how many hits they had and how we knew the words to all of them. (As tweens, we’d even written a parody song of The Search is Over called The Weekend’s Over: every Monday’s bringing me back to school!)

Jimi we hardly knew ye.

Jimi we hardly knew ye.

That’s why I was so sad when I found out that one of their lead singers*, Jimi Jamison, died yesterday at 63. I’m sure he was a good guy a la the plot of the video for The Search is Over. A sexy woman thrashes in her bed while her boyfriend walks around thinking about the skeevier moments in their relationship, then arrives just before she thrashes onto the floor and gives her a platonic tender hug.

You might have noticed a few things. First, Jimi was world class hugger.

Aw. Snuggies!

Aw. Snuggies!

You might also have noticed that Survivor shoe-horned the entire band into their videos way before The Foo Fighters and No Doubt did it. Did you notice something else? The skeeviness I mentioned earlier? A little? Maybe. Well, wait until you watch The Search is Over.

Things you to keep in mind as you watch:

1: He first sees her ass at 22 seconds. He first sees her face at 35 seconds. He falls in love somewhere in between.

2. Peach sweater. Peach earrings.

3. The girl in this video, Lee Ann Marie, was a trained dancer who performed with Ann Fucking Reinking and was one of the Danke Shoen girls Ferris sings to on the float. She claims that the director of the video didn’t know that she was a dancer until she busted out her Staying Alive-esque Aisle-walk dance (about a minute in). If that is true, then why did he not notice her Dance Face at 54 seconds? Pay attention, Chicago-based 80s video director.

4. The weird reaction to the kiss at 2:40. Especially this guy:

Woo. Getting hot under the old collar.

Getting hot under the old collar.

Look, I know he is a band member and not an actor, but his performance as Business Perv is so creepily accurate, it makes me wonder if he’s doing too much acting…or too little! Either way, that’ll be seeping into my nightmares tonight.

5. A man has died people! Let’s show a little reverence.

*Survivor had two completely interchangeable lead singers…just like Kids Incorporated. They are now down to one. Sad trombone.

The king is dead.

James Garner will be long remembered as Maverick, Rockford, or for a few of us romantic comedy suckers, the Murphy in Murphy’s Romance, but to me he will always be King Marchand. He will always be the lovable gangster who fell in love with a woman who was pretending to be a man who was pretending to be a woman.

Yay!

A real man’s man.

In some weird cosmic way, I’d like to think that he’s laughing at Robert Preston’s drag routine in the great cabaret in the sky.

We’ll be drinking margaritas by the sea, mamacita.

When the movie Thelma and Louise came out, it was unapologetic with it’s in-your-face, shoot-you-in-the-dick, blow-up-your-tractor-trailer brand of feminism. Some men took umbrage, like the mustachioed dude who happened to walk out of the theater ahead of me. “That was nothing but a couple of women driving around and shooting men,” he remarked with more than a little contempt.

You watch your mouth.

You watch your mouth.

“Fuck yeah, it was.” I said loud enough for him to hear. He looked at me with actual fear in his eyes, but I just laughed, lit a cigarette and walked to my car, scrunchied pony-tail swinging and slouchie-suede high-heeled boots tapping on the pavement. If it had been a different movie, I might have said nothing, just given him a dirty look and talked shit about him later, but you see, I was Thelma.

In 1991, when the movie came out, I was smack-dab in the middle of an epic friendship that could, before then, only be described (with just a bit of a stretch) in pop culture terms as Patsy and Edina.

Sombreros, Pats?  Oh, yeah, Eddie!

Sombreros, Pats?
Oh, yeah, Eddie!

Without question or any stretch at all, we were an un-armed Thelma and Louise. I was much younger and still figuring out how not to take crap from men (especially the good-looking ones). She was jaded and older and always telling me exactly how to stop taking crap from men. We even took more than just a few road-trips, but instead of driving to Mexico, we were driving to New York to drink Boones Farm on Yasgur’s Farm or to catch George Harrison and Bob Dylan at Madison Square Garden.

Smile, Thelma!

Call of the wild.

 

There was a female comic who, on the topic of how dating can sometimes screw up our lives, said something to the effect of “Every young woman should be locked in a closet from the age of 19 until 27 just to keep her out of trouble.” I disagree. I think every woman should spend those ages in a joined-at-the-hip friendship with a Louise who’s been down that road you’re about to drive down and already locked the State Trooper in the trunk.

Louise, no matter what happens, I'm glad I came with you.

Louise, no matter what happens, I’m glad I came with you.

Now, I might not have followed all of it, but my Louise gave me plenty of “He’s your husband not your father” caliber advice: Don’t let a man hit you, not once, not ever. Don’t date a man who cheated on or hit his last girlfriend. Don’t cry over an asshole because you already have one, you don’t need another one. Always take the word “bitch” as a compliment. Always leave a tip for housekeeping and never leave a mess. If you are going to go to one concert, go to Ringo Starr’s All-Star Band because then you get…like seven bands for the price of one…plus a Beatle.

The advice, along with hushed revelations, talk of getting the fuck out of New Hampshire, angry rants, and fall-to-the-floor laughter was a big part of our friendship. We talked. We talked on the phone for hours, then met in the Denny’s smoking section and talked over pots and pots of bad coffee. We talked at the mall as we shopped for outfits, shoes, belts and over-sized bracelets. We talked in seedy bars, lighting cigarettes and tossing lighters on the table with a clunk, jangling our well-coordinated bracelets and snapping our overly-embellished belts as we sipped double sombreros…and we laughed at the men who thought we were doing it for their benefit. I had an ex-boyfriend admit to me once that he hated the fact that we spent so much time together. I thought about ignoring it and changing the subject, but I was Thelma, so I said, “Why? What is it about two women talking that threatens you?”

My Louise even had a secret in her past, one the size of Texas. She kept it from me, but other well-meaning (and not so well-meaning) people told me about it. I called them out for spreading rumors and then said, “So what? That’s in the past. What matters is the present.”

Thelma7

You know how I feel about Texas…

But since then, I’ve learned that it isn’t just THIS present that matters. It’s certain presents that matter. It doesn’t really matter that I needed to push her away when I quit smoking and cut back on coffee and shopping. And jeez Louise, it doesn’t matter who moved to California and lost touch and who stayed in Nashua, New Hampshire and died of cancer. What matters is that our friendship will always be there. Sue and Melinda. Two women. One present suspended in time, washed out by faded memories, defiantly hovering above the abyss.

Let's keep goin'

Lets keep going

 

This blog is dedicated to my Louise, who deserves better, but this is the best I can do.

EPSON MFP image

Susan Smith-Rogers: 04/14/1953 to 11/09/2005 and forever over the abyss.

2Good4u Reigns at Purple Rain.

Thanks to all who gave us fab costume ideas for the 30th Anniversary Showing of Purple Rain at the Balboa. * We threw together some last-minute creations and did not even consider the fact that there would be a costume competition until the organizers of this fab affair steered us towards the auditorium on the right, where the competition would be fierce!

And I mean Fierce! Look at my girl Corvette as Wendy! Look at her. If the button placement doesn’t bring tears to your eyes, I don’t want to know you.

 

Ding ding ding ding ding-ding ding. Computer Blue.

She’s not going to put a dark cloud over you.

 

And look, look how Pepper acts like all her brains are in her cleavage. Oh! Oh! Even better is how Butterscotch manages to look exactly like a cross between a 17 year old girl and a magician, capturing Prince’s essence perfectly.

King Kong? No, but here...pick a card. Any card.

King Kong? No, but here…pick a card. Any card.

 

My Lisa was just a pair of lace gloves and a little back-combing, but standing next to these three, I was confident in getting fourth place.

Excuse me, do you have a few minutes to talk about purifying yourself in Lake Minnetonka?

Excuse me, do you have a few minutes to talk about purifying yourself in Lake Minnetonka?

And I got it! You already saw places one through three. And guess what? They gave out exactly FOUR PRIZES! It was the most 80s-movie moment of my life. Corvette won the DVD, which we will soon be blogging about whilst drunk. I got a poster which will soon be framed and put on my wall because I am at that age when I put posters in frames.

Oh, and for those smart-asses who think we’re too old for this, here is a picture of us about ten years ago when were also too old for this.

Suck it, haters.

Suck it, haters.

 

 

*And apologies to anyone who sat near us. What can we say? We like Purple Rain. Loudly.