Category Archives: Tribute

Happy Roy Batty Incept Day!


It’s Roy Batty’s incept day. You know what that means?

You remembered? I'm so happy I could headbutt you.

You remembered? I’m so happy I could headbutt you.

Well, yes, we all thought we’d have flying cars and eyeball salesmen by now, but we don’t do we? Let’s move on. No. Roy’s Incept Day means that it’s the perfect time to watch the Tears in Rain speech.  Not to take anything away from January 8th, 2016, but there are many other perfect times to watch Batty’s Tears in Rain speech. Here are a few just of them off the top of my head and in no particular order:

-When some jerk fries your replicant. ( Those things aren’t cheap. )

-When you nearly choke on a Coco Puff and are forced to contemplate your mortality or when your best friend nearly dies from Fireball poisoning, and you’re forced to contemplate her mortality.

-When some random skin job gets hit by a bus, and it hits you….not the bus, but this thought: replicants don’t live forever.

-When you’re chilling at the Tannhauser Gate and you catch sight of a few rather sparkly C-Beams, and you think, “Oh! That’s what Roy was talking about.”

-Just a regular day, when you’ve already drunk all the spicy bourbon, and you’re looking for something to do before the paramedics arrive.


But today, we’re watching it for Roy because replicants don’t live forever, and Roy is at that big fiery, attack ship in the sky.

The Five Stages of Finding Out Caveman is Disappearing from Netflix.



1. Discover that Caveman is leaving Netflix and tell your husband. Be aghast when he says, “What’s that?” Remind him it was the Quest for Fire for stoners who liked jokes about Dinosaur hand jobs. After he shrugs and says, “Never heard of it.” Stare at him like you don’t even recognize the man you share a bed with. Finally manage to say, “So…if I say ‘zug zug’ to you, you have no idea what I’m talking about?” He’ll say, “No. Who’s that?” But you’ll already be lying in the closet. Stay in there until the world starts to make sense again.

Zug zug matcha?


2. Oh come on! Get out of the closet. Maybe he just forgot. Remind him that it starred Ringo Starr in the first of the many barely-speaking roles we expected him to get as the 80s rolled on, but he never did. When that doesn’t ring any bells remind him that Dennis Quaid was also in it.



Nothing? What about Shelley Long? Huh? Remember her? Briefly discuss the fact that, although many people think that Long made a huge mistake quitting Cheers, considering the fact that the adorably sexy-yet-relatable blonde roles in movies like Night Shift  and Caveman were setting her up to be a new, less-busty Goldie Hawn, maybe taking on Diane Chambers in the first pace was actually the huge mistake. Be reminded that Shelley Long played Carol Brady in the 90s Brady movies. Acquiesce. There were no mistakes in Shelley Long’s career.

Nya bobo.

Nya bobo.

3.  Calm the hell down already! It’s not like you ever made any effort to watch Caveman while it was on Netflix. In fact, you actively ignored it, didn’t you? Didn’t you?! Wonder if it really even holds up after all these years. I mean, now that we’ve suddenly discovered feminism, can we really enjoy a movie that culminates in a scene where Ringo throws his future wife, Barbara Bach, into a pile of poop just because she was sexually fickle?



4. Snap out of it! That’s how all movies in the 80s ended. Caveman was actually pretty progressive. The caveman were pretty darn multi-culti. They even had an oddly clean-shaven Asian caveman. He had a line in one of the movie’s many poo-poo jokes. Remember?



Oh! And those gay cavemen (or gavemen)! They were cool, right? They were the only ones on the set who were styled by Vidal Sassoon.

Zug zug?


Besides Ringo’s beard, of course.

Zug zug.

Zug zug?

5. Say screw it, and decide that your husband doesn’t need to watch Caveman just because you watched it every time The Movie Channel showed it back in 1983 (about 3 or 4 times a day.) Not everyone had cable. … Or the ability to sit through 91 minutes of Ringo Starr not talking and stepping in hippo-sized piles of dino poop. Decide that he can just watch the trailer. Search for it on Youtube and discover that the entire damn movie is on there. Realize that you have plenty of time to not watch Caveman.

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.”


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.


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

Paint the peacocks black because Eileen Brennan is gone.

Well Lerlines. It’s happened. The amazingly talented, funny, and totes hot Eileen Brennan is dead at 80. Her online obits are all touting the Oscar nomination she earned for her role as the perpetually seething Captain Lewis in Private Benjamin.

The difference between you and Eileen is she makes that tree hat look good, girlie.

The difference between you and Eileen, girlie, is she makes that tree hat look good.

But we all loved her  most as Mrs Peacock in Clue, and the fact that she wasn’t nominated for that role is a crime against comedy. Also, her soup spoon should have won a Proppy. Also, there should be an award called The Proppy.

Remember when I said she was totes hot? I wasn’t just whistling Dixie. No one, and I mean no one, can fake French like Miss betty DeBoop of the hardboiled, star-studded comedy The Cheap Detective, which should definitely be on your Slumber Party movie list if it is not already.

So now, in honor of Eileen, all the songs I sing today will be in la la la la form. Try it! It really works for Down by Jay Sean. Oh, and Lose Yourself by Eminem…of course.

Get Well, Tim Curry! We need you.

No need for eyeliner.

No need for eyeliner.

Lerlines! Tim Curry has had a stroke. Apparently, he’s doing just fine, but OH! What a shock! We need our Tim Curries hale, robust, vibrant and as healthy as possible. Here…watch him play the delightfully prim Dr. Pool in Oscar, another movie in which he did what he does best–stealing every scene he’s in.

Dammit Janet!

Paint the Internet black. No. I don’t know how you would do that…I guess we could just shut it all down and then pour some tempera down those tubes that Ted Stevens was talking about. It doesn’t matter. I’m not in the mood to argue.  Janet Jackson quit showbiz because she married a rich religious guy. So? She was already rich and religious…why you gotta quit on us Janet? Why?

Is it because people keep mentioning that you were on Fame?

 Dammit, Lerlines! I will make you love this show.

Yes. We mention it because you were awesome on it–in your modified Dorothy Hamill haircut and your button up Oxford shirts, and your signature brilliant dance move which can only be described as a grapevine into booby shimmy.

Is it that we mention that you were Willis’s girlfriend on Diff’rent Strokes? So? You were, and you were the best God damned thing that ever happened to that constantly upstaged beanpole.

The guy on the right is waaaay out of his league.

The guy on the right is waaaay out of his league.

Is it because we post pictures of you as Penny on Good Times with a band-aid on your head. So? That little abused bundle of sass was the best thing to happen to Wilona since she had the good sense to put the words buffalo and butt together.


Now Penny, remember to always match your hat and scarf to your low-cut dress. Always.

Oh…do not even get me started on that time you were the best thing to happen to Eddie Murphy since the 80s because I promised myself I would not cry.

Makes you almost want to watch this movie...doesn't it?

Makes you almost want to watch this movie…doesn’t it?

Oh Janet. You know how we feel about you.  So please…don’t leave us, but if you must…leave us with three things to remember you by: A band-aid, a button-up Oxford, and a zoot suit. …We promise not to sell them on Ebay.

Charles Durning Slumber Party Movie Giant. RIP

That’s right. I said it, and I don’t regret it. Don’t believe me? Here’s a video of the dear departed Durning hat dancing in the back of a limo. Suck on that, non-believers.

You’ve made me so happy, Alex Karras

Oh dear. One of my very favorite comic actors, Alex Karras, is on the roof and is not coming down. His family has been losing him bit by bit, but it seems the poor guy is, as one friend of his said, “in transition.”

Karras is probably best known as the dad from Webster, or maybe Mongo in Blazing Saddles, but to me, he’ll always be the closeted, then freed, bodyguard from Victor Victoria. God, how I love Victor Victoria.

As “Squash” Bernstein said to King Marchand:

As Alex said to James Garner: You've made me so happy.

Good night, sweet prince.

Animated GIF scrounged from Strange how you know inside me.

No More Pepper in Her Paprikash

The world of film is a little less sincere today. Nora Ephron died yesterday, at 71. No, she’s not so much a SlumberPartyMovie Icon-TM. But I DID watch “When Harry Met Sally…” at my share of overnights as a teenager, and I just want to make something clear to the entire world: “I’ll have what she’s having” is totally NOT the best line in the movie, and after the first two viewings, you won’t even laugh at it anymore; two viewings after that, you’ll shake your head in irritation that Meg Ryan’s megagasm (and the terrific guess-what-Harry-you’re-no-great-shakes-in-bed conversation that preceded it) was upstaged by a Catskills line that’s as predictable as coffee and cake, or maybe  “Take my wife, please.”

And Nora Ephron didn’t even write the line. Billy Crystal supplied it as an aside (hence the Catskills). Which is REALLY obnoxious, because even in her obituaries, people quote THAT line, instead of, say, “I think I loved the IDEA of him,” which is one of the best lines about doomed relationships ever written. Or “Ride me, big Sheldon,” or ” You look like a normal person but actually you are the angel of death,” or the fight about the wagon wheel coffee table, or “Yes, and babyfishmouth is sweeping the nation,” which, for some reason, is edited out of some TV versions.

So Nora Ephron’s intelligent, poignant script has been wailed out the window in favor of a one-off that’s barely amusing in repeated viewings. It’s no wonder she became a director.

Which brings me to one of MY favorite Nora Ephron scenes. “Sleepless in Seattle” was one of those movies at which I wept, then I tsked as a drippy chick flick, and then last year, while I was pregnant with my second daughter and taking a weekend trip out of town–in the redwoods, and it poured rain the entire time, but we had TNT–I caught “Sleepless in Seattle” again. And I wept AGAIN, only not for the romance, but for the achingly sweet relationship between Jonah and his dad. The kid’s a wonderful actor, and Tom Hanks is Tom Hanks as I remembered him from the 1980s, when he was still the Best Boyfriend Ever. Watch the scene when Jonah wakes up from a nightmare and just TRY not to cry.

The moment I always remembered from the movie is not between Jonah and Sam, though. In fact–I almost hesitate to say it–it’s about how chicks like chick flicks and dudes like dude movies. But it’s also about friends hanging out and talking about movies. Which I think is fitting for this blog.

(Incidentally, my husband ALSO teared up watching Jonah and his dad together, as I bet Nora knew they would. And damn it, this scene is funny.)

Golden Slumbers, Robin Gibb.

First Donna Summer and now Robin Gibb. And like Donna, I guess you wouldn’t think of Robin as a Slumber Party Movie icon…unless you remembered that The Bee Gees co-starred in the 70’s Beatlesploition flick, Sgt Pepper’s Lonley Heart’s Club Band.

“Wait…what? Co-Starred? How could that be possible? They don’t act.”

Because there wasn’t any dialogue in the movie. To quote The Kids in the Hall, don’t let that scare you, let that free you.

“No dialogue?”

None…unless you count the narration by George Burns.

“George Burns?! Are you effing kidding me?”

Come on. Mellow out. A man has died. Here watch these videos, and all will be clear…er. Also, please note the sweet bit of acting Robin does at the end, shaking his head as if to say, “Nah man. Just let him go.” But not actually saying it. No dialogue.

Get Back Robin! Oh Billy Preston, we need your funky, zappy finger of power now more than ever.