Tag Archives: friday morning videos

Friday Morning Videos: Endless Love

I thought of this song to post as an exceedingly lovey-lovey-supa-lovey song to celebrate the end of DOMA, Prop 8, and the dawn of an era when Jade Butterfield (no kidding, that’s her name) would be played by Tom Cruise, as Jude, or David Axelrod would be Jodie Foster, as Denise.

And then I looked up the movie, and watched the video, and I almost regret my choice.

A few fun facts about the cast of the 1981 Zeffirelli film:

  • James Spader plays Brooke Shields’ brother, and he is credited as Jimmy Spader. I assume he is a dick.
  • Jami Gertz is ALSO in this, making it a Less Than Zero twofer!
  • Ian Ziering plays Brooke Shields’ brother, as well.
  • Robert Altman is in it. As a hotel manager. Huh?

I’ve never seen the movie, but based on the storyline on imdb, I think I might have to, because it sounds really, really fucking awful, like on a level with “Ice Castles,” complete with the easy-listening theme song.

Two young kids fall in love with each other. But the passion is too consuming for the parents of Jade. The parents try to stop them from seeing each other. But when this doesn’t work David burns down the house and is sent away. This doesn’t stop him from seeing her. When he gets out he goes to look for her. But in the end the passion for his first love is too strong and she has to leave or this love will kill both of them.

If I’d seen it when I was 15, I bet it would’ve blown Dirty Dancing out of the water. But now I’m 38. And while I can’t judge how he burned down the house or how Jade Butterfield really feels or anything, that bloodless description is creepy in the extreme, and I’m with Mr. and Mrs. Butterfield in the “Stay Away from My 15-Year-Old Daughter, Asshole” camp.

Honestly, I’m really annoyed that I didn’t read about this earlier, because my husband’s out of town and I totally would’ve watched it on Netflix tomorrow night. Now I’m going to have to wait until he leaves town again, or else I’ll never get agreement to watch it. Once, the promise of a nudish Brooke Shields would’ve been enough, but now we have daughters. Two of them. And because of that: ew.

In case you miss it in the video: yes, Mum is watching them have sex in front of the fire, and she doesn’t run down the steps with a baseball bat. She knows what her daughter looks like; she should keep a baseball handy at all times. Possibly a retractable one, hidden up her sleeve. Also, knives are small and fit nicely into leg holsters.

But let’s forget about all that, and bear witness to the softcore porn that is apparently fairly unscandalous for the hetero crowd. Imagine a naked RDJ instead of Brooke Shields, and it does make it much, much more fun to watch.

Friday Morning Videos: Special SCOTUS Edition!

That’s right, folks: DOMA was struck down, and while the Prop 8 rulling didn’t demand that Adam can marry Steve and Eve can marry Joan in every state, at least the nice folks in California can marry again!

So what else would we do but celebrate in song?

Friday Morning Videos: Just Got Paid

This morning I’m in San Francisco, about to get my annual work bonus on. So I thought I’d share this 90-licious bit of dance history for all y’all, complete with Soul Glo in a ponytail, baggy suits, and a red Cabriolet.

And in case you’re wondering: yes, I’m looking fly.

Friday Morning Videos: All I Wanna Do Is Steal Sperm From You

Ready for an earworm? Ready? Go!

I love Heart. LOVE Heart. Crazy On You? Magical. Magic Man? Beyond magical. So WTF happened in the late 80s? Sure, they had some good songs, but then this song blasted out into every radio in 1990, and everyone knew every word, possibly against their will. You know the story.

It was a rainy night, when the hottest non-serial-killing hitchhiker got picked up by a younger, thinner version of Ann Wilson.

"Please, please, please don't have an STD."

“Please, please, please don’t have an STD.”

They chatted for a bit, and then fell in love, and then they found a hotel. It was a place she knew well. They don’t show this in the video, but there’s a scene where the clerk says, “Ovulating again?” and she’s all “Dude, icksnay on the ovulatingway.”

"Please, please, PLEASE don't have an STD."

“Please, please, PLEASE don’t have an STD.”

Then they have lots and lots of the sex, and he’s really, really good at it. And then she’s all sad the next morning, and leaves the worst Dear John note ever. For those of you who don’t remember all the words, it goes like this:

I am the flower; you are the seed. We walked in the garden. We planted a tree. Don’t try to find me; please don’t you dare. Just live in my memory. You’ll always be there.*

"Crap. Does this mean she has something growing down there? I hope it's not the clap."

“Crap. Does this mean she has something growing down there? I hope it’s not the clap.”

Then it happened one day, dontcha know, that they came round the same way. Which, by the way, seems to also be at a motel; maybe he bought the place because he had such fond memories? The good news for us is, he lost his contact lenses, and it turns out he’s even hotter in librarian glasses.

"Crap. It wasn't the clap."

“Crap. It wasn’t the clap.”

Unfortunately for the kid, that means he also has a 50% chance of having bad eyesight. But it’s OK. He’s growing up in the age of LASIK.

I find the wording in this part interesting: “I’m in love with another man, and what he couldn’t give me was the one little thing that you can.”

Judging by the look on Hot Hitch’s face, I think we’re all in agreement that this is so not a little thing. This is way bigger than a breadbox and fixing to keep getting bigger for the next 18 years or so. On the upside, she knows where the guy works, so when Little Hitch starts asking for a kid sister, she knows where to go.

One last thought for your weekend: WTF is Nancy Wilson making out with the guitar?

The safest sex there is!

The safest sex there is!

* Semicolons mine. This twit doesn’t know a semicolon from an em-dash.

Friday Morning Videos: Club Tropicana

SlumberPartyMovies recently had an opportunity to interview George Michael about his epic video, Club Tropicana, which has always puzzled me on a few counts.

SPM: Great to meet you, George! Long time-listener, first-time interviewer. Let’s jump right in: Why weren’t the credits in the Wham! The Hits VHS version?

ct_credits

GM: Look at two beautiful women in matching slouchy shirts clip-clop along a darkened path and forget your question.

ct_walking

SPM: Who the fuck is this guy?

ct_moustache1

GM: Look at me posing with a white wine spritzer and forget your question.

ct_drink

SPM: Where is the place where membership’s a smiling face, where strangers take you by the hand and welcome you to wonderland?

GM: Beneath the Panama.

SPM: Wait, like south of the Panama, or underground, or what?

GM: No, sorry. I meant they welcome you from beneath their panamas. Like hats.

SPM: Oh, so where is it? Acapulco? It must be Acapulco, right?

GM: Look into my eyes and forget your question.

ct_2eyes

SPM: Who the fuck is this guy?

ct_moustache2

A: Look at me showering and forget your question.

ct_shower

SPM: Why is it that all that’s missing is the sea, when you’re clearly sitting on the beach in this scene? And you talk about soft white sands and blue lagoons?

ct_beach

A: Look at me showering and forget your question.

ct_shower2

SPM: Why is Andrew Ridgeley wearing long jams, and you’re in a white speedo?

ct_speedo

GM: I am Greek and he is not.

SPM: That’s fair. But his hair is clearly better than yours.

ct_hair

GM: Look at these women’s crotches and forget you ever thought that.

ct_crotch

SPM: Who the fuck is this guy?

ct_moustache3

GM: Look at us me angry in a cowboy hat and forget your question.

ct_cowboyhat

SPM: Do the girls stop and pick you up or leave you stranded?

ct_girlscar

GM: Look at me shaving naked and forget your question.

ct_shaving

SPM: OK, so you’re pilots and they’re flight attendants? Why did you act like you didn’t know each other? Or were just surprised that they’re really hot in bikinis? Do you know each other or not? And are you on furlough or something, which is why you’re a pilot and permitted to drink all day and bake in the sun for a week? and honestly, I know it’s the 80s, but it’s a little sexist that you guys get to be pilots and they’re attendants.

ct_stewardess

GM: Look at Andrew showering and forget your question.

ct_andrewshower

SPM: Forget my question? That’s a weird thing to say! No!

GM: Then look deeply into my eyes and forget your question.

ct_showereyes

SPM: Where are you going on those donkeys?

ct_donkeys

GM: Look at us shirtless, playing the trumpet, and forget your question.

ct_trumpets

SPM: Forget my question? That’s a weird thing to say! No!

GM: Look at us in pilot uniforms and forget your question.

ct_pilots

SPM: Wow! Looks like that’s all the time we have for today. Thanks, George! You’re a true SlumberPartyMovie god.

GM: I know.

Friday Morning Videos: Push It

Seventh grade sucks. I would list all the adjectives that could the levels of its suckitude, but you’ve been through it. You understand it. There should be an “It Gets Better” series just for 12-year-olds, regardless of their sexuality.

It does get better, by the way.

saltnpepa2

Fortunately, at the end of the long, dark hallway that was seventh grade was a glorious escape that will surprise none of you Lerlines out there: theater. I auditioned for, and was awarded, the role of Mammy Yokum in our high school’s spring musical “Li’l Abner,” and I spent the last three months of that awful year in the company of seniors. Seniors! These were the elder statesmen, who’d been through junior high and come out the other side not just alive, but populareven. (My school was so small that seventh graders were cast in the high school musical, and even the popular kids did theater.)

That was my actual costume, down to the corncob pipe.

That was my actual costume, down to the corncob pipe.

I could talk about Marci (Daisy Mae) and Kenny (Li’l Abner), who were THE couple of the day, and how they wasted valuable I-love-you-no-I-love-you hours counseling me on the awfulness of frenemies. I could mention how wonderful it was to escape into sassy Mammy Yokum’s bonnet and boss around people a foot taller than me–I was still only 4’8″, having not hit my growth spurt that would rocket me up to 5’4″ inside of eight months–and how the applause, o, the applause! washed over me and officially made me an audience addict. How Earthquake McGoon thanked me for saving his ass when he forgot his lines, how the music cut out during “Rag Offin’ the Bush” (seriously) and we danced an entire number in silence, missing not one beat, and making our terrifying 70-year-old choreographer weep with pride.

I could go into far more detail about those things. But this is not just about those things. This post is about Salt’n’Pepa, and Johnny G.

saltnpepa

Johnny G. was a senior, too, and he was Marryin’ Sam. Not literally, of course, although my stage-managing sister Samantha’s favorite line was when he introduced himself, saying, “I’m Marryin’ Sam!” Marryin’ Sam was the preacher of Dogpatch, and had some swell songs and hilarious lines (“Girl, what you got left over’s more than what most folks starts out with.”).

Johnny wasn’t much of a singer, but he could belt, and he was very funny, unlike the fellow in this clip, he was really, really, really hot. So you do the math. Johnny’s the star of the show, really adorable and funny, and was kind enough to not blow off a hangdog, shrimpy 12-year-old who was clearly madly in love with him. He was my first crush, my first love; I’d be standing in JCPenney’s and think I heard his voice over my shoulder, and my heart would flutter, and I’d turn and see a dumpy security guard whose voice sounded nothing like my true love’s. Johnny listened to Motown with me, and agreed that Gladys Knight’s version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” was totally better than Marvin Gaye’s.

One night, at a middle school dance, Johnny was there–not sure why, I think he was friends with the DJ–and Salt’n’Pepa’s Push It busted out. Along with “Pump Up the Volume,” it was THE dance song of 1987. I was hanging around Johnny’s side, as usual, when he started dancing–kind of a two-step hop to each side, then a little hop in a circle. I echoed it to him. He did another move. I danced it back. He burst out laughing–not at me, mind you, but in surprise.

And then Johnny and I had a full-on dance-off for the rest of the song.

Pretty sure this is what I looked like in that moment, only with choppy short hair and unplucked eyebrows.

Pretty sure this is what I looked like in that moment, only with choppy short hair and unplucked eyebrows.

Of course, my love for Johnny G. did not end in me being swept off to marry him in his full Marine dress blues; it ended with me crying behind sunglasses while my mom gently explained the reality of crushes.

A few years later, a Doogie Howser, MD episode featured a girl in love with Doogie, and he got a speech (I think from his mom) that he should be very nice to her, and I had a revelation that Johnny’s niceness was not just an illusion of my bedazzled puberty; that really was him. We all learn the hard lesson of falling in love with a superstar doesn’t usually work out, but a good guy will dull the pain.

I thought of Johnny last Saturday, when we headed over to my neighbor’s house for an impromptu outdoor dance party. Their 8-year-old was demonstrating some of her dance moves. I demonstrated the Roger Rabbit and  and running man (both featured in this video). She demanded I teach her.

The running man.

The running man.

In closing: show a kid a dance, they have fun for a second. Teach a kid to dance, they can boogie down for a lifetime. Additionally, all you fly brothers, get on down here and dance; and Spinderella: won’t you please cut it up, this one time?

Friday Morning Videos: Is There Something I Should Know?

I was in the mood for Duran Duran during bathtime last night, Arena-style (the greatest live album ever; if you don’t agree with me, you’ve never listened to the transition between “The Chauffeur” and “The Seventh Stranger”), and as we all know, it kicks off with this perfect concert opener. Duran Duran is begging you: please, please: do you love them? How much?

The answer, of course, is a lot.

This is a gem of a video in a library of great videos–it’s Duran Duran, after all, and they did videos up right. I don’t need to mention the hair (swoopy) or the makeup (perfect) or John’s cheekbones (swoopily perfect), so let’s just skip to the part where Simon’s a flea, walking across a dog’s back, and wonder: what?

dd_flea

 A few highlights:

  • Neckties.
  • Lots of children and babies. I don’t remember them being in the video, but watching it now, I wonder: Why didn’t they give Simon a baby to hold? Were they worried he’d drop it during a dance move? Did it not fit the milieu of the video? Or did they know that Simon Le Bon  + Baby would instantaneously send thousands of viewers into spontaneous ovulation?
  • Derby hats.
  • Lumberjacks in derby hats.
  • Cheerleaders.
  • Giant steps.
  • Split screens.

I count five scenes from previous Duran Duran videos–how many can you find? Here’s a hint for one.

ddvideo

Lastly, and certainly not least: “You’re about as easy as a nuclear war.” Those of you who understand, understand. Those of you who don’t, perhaps never will, but can try. This moment is the secret handshake of SlumberPartyMovies.com; when I performed this song in karaoke 20 years post-video, I performed the secret handshake and watched as the other writers of this blog performed it, as well, thus guaranteeing that a decade later, though we live 1,500 miles apart, we’re still singing about Duran Duran together.

If you already know “You’re about as easy as a nuclear war,” you may continue reading SlumberPartyMovies.com. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you must buy “Decade” immediately, watch it five times this weekend, including all four versions of “New Moon on Monday,” whilst drinking Bartles & James and eating Likem Stix, and then write an essay of apology to me and the rest of us Lerlines here at SPM.

I’m not going to be easy on you.