... I've been right neglectful, haven't I? Terribly sorry. Not much to report (at this time) these days, but I have been observing. I'm always observant. I like to think it's one of my refined qualities.
Over the weekend I got sucked into the Lifetime Channel. Now, before you groan, I want you to congratulate me. Years ago this affliction, Lifetime Sucks You In for, well, a Lifetime (LSYIFWAL), used to plague me rather frequently (i.e., as in the many times have I seen Stephen Collins schemin' on poor, seemingly defenseless Keri Russell in "The Babysitter's Seduction"); however, I'm older (gray hair and all, but more on that later) and wiser and most importantly without control of the remote.
Anyway, Saturday night Mags and I found ourselves in dreadful territory. Pooped from a day spent shopping and perusing, we arrived home and realized that - gasp! - we had hit the Netflix lull. This happens whenever Mags forgets to put our selections in the mailbox as we watch them; instead, she sometimes just sends them all on the same day and effectively shatters my whole theory about renting 3 at-a-time so that at least one is always at home. On Demand was no help either since we'd watched everything they had to offer and so channel flipping ensued. Suddenly Shirley MacLaine appears on the screen and Mags stops.
She loves her some Shirley MacLaine. Suddenly we are watching the Coco Chanel story and I am aghast at the "French" accents I'm hearing. I mean, seriously? They should have done what MacLaine obviously did, because in my mind she - with Ouiser's attitude - thought this to herself as she lit a cigarette, "Hell. Listen director man. I'm not messin' around with this French accent mess. I don't have time for it, I've already got an Oscar and it'll just sound like shit so here's what I'm going to do instead. I'm going to say my lines basically like I say everything else, sah vah? Sah vah. C'est la vie."
But the rest of the cast, for the most part, didn't do like I thought they should have. Oh no, instead they slid in and out of American dialects while tossing in a few "oui" sounds and a couple of "zees." It made me laugh because at one point I remarked that the chef in The Little Mermaid helped me acquire a delightfully fresh French accent. Not only do I know what les poisson means, but I can say it with gusto, lending it my own special joie de vivre.
"... I love to chop and-a seyrve leetle feesh. CHOP CHOP CHOP. Furs I cutzoff zee heads and I pullouts zee bones ..."
Anyway. It was a delightful story since I realized I knew both a lot and yet so very little about Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel. It really makes me look forward to the biopic in the works starring one of my favorite French actresses, Audrey Tatou.
Lovely.
Moving on. This weekend I also rediscovered a movie that I LOVED when I was a kid. This movie inspired me to scrounge around for random pieces of cardboard, covet those jelly bracelets and look up the word "Ozone" because I needed to know if it was the synonym for "cool." People, I'm talkin' about some Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo.
You know you hear it ... and more importantly, you know you feel it. How could you not be feeling a movie with this snazzy tagline: If you can't beat the system...break it!
What?! Thazz deep, yo, and you know it. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's more about that little bit of 1984 that you missed.
Plot: A developer tries to bulldoze a community recreation center. The local breakdancers try to stop it. Starring: Adolfo Shabba-Doo Quinones as Ozone, that all-around swell white chick rockin' the Spandex as Kelly and a guy with the fly gheri curl, Turbo.
The center was called Miracles. During the years 1985 through 1988, when this was a Pick-a-Flick staple of mine, I was too young to catch the marvelous symbolism of Miracles and how the pop-and-lockin' plot would ultimately make this movie one of the Academy's greatest omissions for Best Picture.
And seriously, this movie showcases the finest in 80s wear as I recall it. Fluorescent colors, jangly bracelets, asymmetrical hair, "Let's Get Physical" headbands and my personal favorite - the big, pre-Hammer Hammer pants, baggy enough to house 4 thighs per leg. Or, just baggy enough to give your staccato pop-and-lock moves just the right amount of flair.
Watching it all over again, I realized that my mom has been right about many a thing, but she's certainly right about fashion and how it all just comes around again. Last week in Fashion Week someone apparently unveiled new, ridiculously jaunty/baggy ladies' pants.
