YOU MUST BE KIDDING ME

Gentle Readers,

We must welcome a new follower: Bouncin' Barb can be found bouncin' through life at http://bouncinbarbs.blogspot.com/2011/07/ive-seen-that-face-before.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThisAndThatasIBounceThruLife+%28This+and+That+%28As+I+Bounce+Thru%27+Life%29%29. I hope you read the post you can find by clicking on the link because it's very interesting and unusual and Barb seems to have fun trampolining away.

Welcome, welcome, welcome Bouncin' Barb!

Pssssst - Barb, let's get together and see what we can score. We're never too old.

I also recommend you read Cinderita's very thoughtful and intelligent post at http://cinderitaadventures.blogspot.com/2011/07/will-you-respect-me-in-morning.html
I wrote a ridiculously lengthy comment on this post and was not able to give Huggable Cinderita a good answer to her question. Perhaps you can do better than I did.

Now on to some very serious business:  My Dear Mrs. Tuna informed us recently that the ideal blog post is 200 - 300 words.

I can't tell someone to turn right at the corner in less than 500 words. I'm totally incapable of giving a simple answer to a simple question. In fact, I don't believe there's any such thing as a simple answer. Nuances of meaning and endless possibilities get in the way.

When I worked at the nursing home oh so long ago, one of the nursing assistants asked me what I was going to do with several cups of ice.

Put it down your pants, I responded.

Then I explained that I was actually taking it to put in the watcher pitcher of a man who was in isolation. We couldn't take the pitcher out of the room to refill it, but we could take ice in to add it.

The assistant's response to this was, There's no such thing as a yes or no answer to a question with you, is there?

I had to admit there is not. There's simply too much in the world that must be explained or pondered out loud before I answer a question.

I can't help it.

God made me this way.

Infinities of love,

Lola

TAKE TWO ASPIRIN

Gentle Readers,

Long, long ago, when I became pregnant with Someone I Love, a lovely woman at church whispered a joke to me that she thought was quite naughty: You know how to keep from getting pregnant again? Take two aspirin and clamp them together between your knees.

I guess it worked because I never had another baby, thank you Jesus.

But man, my legs got tired.

I'm telling you this silly story because also a long time ago in another city in a different state, I worked in a nursing home. I'm sure everyone I took care of there has been dead and gone for a good long time now, and not because I killed them. Time has done its work on them.

Anyhoo, we had this patient who kept her thighs clamped together so tightly all the time that we couldn't even wash her yoohoo in the shower. We had to cath her one night and getting her legs apart was a nightmare for all of us. She was screaming as we slowly pried her open, feeling that our hands and arms might break before her legs did.

Other women we had to cath, no prob. Women are accustomed to spreading them. Most women have had sex and had babies, and it's pretty difficult to engage in either one of those activities with your thighs clamped together.

This patient had been married and had a child; thus, I'm pretty sure her legs weren't always closed like that. So I asked her why she held her thighs together.

She said, I don't know. Just habit, I guess.

What did you do when you went to the gynecologist? I then queried.

She said, What's a guy . . .  What?

I looked at an older nurse and she told me that most of the women we had in our care had never seen a gynecologist, never had a pap test, never a mammogram, never any specialized care that many of us women now take for granted.

So I write this to you now because the thought of keeping your legs closed that tightly if you want to avoid sex might never have occurred to you and perhaps the idea will be of some assistance to you and will greatly strengthen your thigh muscles I want to remind you to be grateful when you get your boobs smooshed and find out you don't have cancer or should you have it, grateful you found out before you had a tumor the size of a third boob. When you spread your legs, sometimes you can do it for a really good reason, like making sure you don't have cervical cancer.

And please be sure to prepare your daughters for their first experience with the gyno. A speculum can be quite a shock even if you have some idea of what to expect. When I saw my OB/GYN the first time I was pregnant, oi! was I dumb! It's too embarrassing to share that I took off my clothes as commanded and sat in a chair instead of getting up on the table and covering myself with the sheet because I didn't know what in the heck was going on what happened that day, but I'm sure all the nurses were laughing at me.

Another important something that our ladies in the nursing home didn't know: Wipe your butt from front to back. Older people tend to wipe from back to front, pushing feces into the yoohoo, and risking an unpleasant and uncomfortable infection. Many of our ladies had UTIs constantly, even though we tried to keep them clean and we poured cranberry juice down them.

O.K. Now you can go off and make sure you wipe your butt correctly -- everybody except Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism, who is the most constipated person on Earth and loves to write about it. She has no need to wipe.

Poor, poor Sandra, whose constipation issues give her more readers than God has.

Infinities of love,

Lola

CALL ME SISTER STEVIE

Gentle Readers,

The very nice homeless gentleman who said I look exactly like Stevie Nicks and that I'm gorgeous and all that

(see  CALL ME STEVIE)

would no longer recognize me.

Previously, Stevie and I probably had two things in common: our golden tresses and mid-life weight gain.

We are down to one thing now because I got my hair cut. It (my hair) is in a plastic bag on my dining room table so I can donate it to Locks of Love. If you have at least eight inches of hair you can live without, and I'm not talkin' pubes, please consider getting it whacked like Tony Soprano getting rid of an enema enemy and donate the hair to Locks of Love. Click on the link above to learn how to donate.

But don't be concerned. I am not bald. I had plenty to give away and I have plenty left. Just not Stevie tresses anymore.

So now since I'm entering a convent,

see  CANCELLATION TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS

I prefer to be known as Sister Stevie, or perhaps Sister Sledge.

Sing with me Sister Bloggers: We are family! I've got all my sisters and me!

Infinities of love,

Lola

CANCELLATION TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS

Gentle Readers,

Last week I told you about all my new techno stuff in  TECH NO GEEK.       

But getting new stuff meant I had to cancel some old stuff. The new cell phone was no problem because of Rad and because I simply went from one AT&T phone to another.

But installing a U-Verse package meant I had to cancel my old satellite TV provider and internet service.

So I called the satellite people. We'll call them DirectFuckMe. The guy I got on the phone simply would not shut up and let me cancel the service. I didn't shout; I didn't curse. But I did end up becoming rather angry and speaking to him quite strongly, as in, My DVR hasn't worked properly for months and you people kept telling me it was my fault and you wouldn't do anything about it and then the AT&T guy told me today that your stuff had never been hooked up properly.

Mr. DirectFuckMe actually had the nerve to tell me that he isn't "you people," that he has a name and it's Shit Head, and that I never talked to him so it wasn't his fault.

Then he tried to rip me off by telling me if I didn't cancel for another month that it would save me money on what I have to pay per month ($20) to finish off my contract, which ends in September. I said, How can paying for another month at $79 cost less?

He said, Blah blah blah blah something something something.

I said, Just cancel it right now.

He finally obeyed.

Them I had to call Shamcast to cancel the internet. I've been unhappy with them because they called me a couple of months ago and said they were sending out someone to upgrade my modem free of charge and the cost of my service would actually go down.

HA! I say HA!

Almost every day the internet went out after the upgrade and I had to unplug everything and plug it back in, not easy when one is hampered by a broken back. Furthermore, although the cost of the internet service went down by about a dollar, they added some other cost, so the total cost went up.

But I was prepared when I called Shamcast because of my experience with DirectFuckMe. When Shamcast inquired why I was canceling, I answered, I am giving away all my belongings and entering a convent.

He said he didn't even know there were convents in the United States anymore. I assured him there were.

He said I was due for a refund.

No argument.

Problem solved.

I'm going to use the entering a convent excuse from now on.

In fact, afterwards I felt so freaking brilliant I'm surprised my head could fit through the door.

Infinities of love and nunneries,

Lola

P.S. AT&T also gave me a $200 rebate for getting the U-Verse package, which more than covers the cost of the $60 I still owe DirectFuckMe for canceling my contract with them.

J'AIME LES FILMS FRANCAISE DEUX

Gentle Readers,

Here's another Truffaut movie I liked even better than The Wild Child. It's The Story of Adele H.

The children of famous people often find that others are interested in them because of their parents and not for themselves. In The Story of Adele H., Fracois Truffaut explores the true story of Adele Hugo -- the daughter of Victor Hugo -- who suffered greatly because of her inability to establish a sense of her own identity.

Adele's (Isabelle Adjani) trouble seems to encompass two areas.

First, she is angry that she is the daughter of such a famous man. She becomes upset when others learn who she is. She writes in her journal: "I was born of father unknown." She rejects her identity, which begins a loss-of-identity motif.

Second, Adele loses herself in her obsession with the man she loves, Lt. Pinson. When she contacts him, he comes to see her, only to tell her she should go home. Adele gives up her Self to him, saying, "You know that I belong to you, that you can do with me whatever you please." She also writes in her journal: "I don't give my body without my soul nor my soul without my body."

And Adele does lose her soul.

This is a sad, but beautiful and fascinating movie, and I recommend it highly. Unlike The Wild Child, The Story of Adele H. doesn't leave any loose ends. We're told at the end how Adele spends the rest of her life.

Infinities of love,

Lola

J'AIME LES FILMS FRANCAISE UNE

Psst! LegalMist - did I get the title right this time?

Gentle Readers,

I've told you how I love The Diving Bell and the Butterfly and some other great French movies, but I don't think I've ever mentioned the French films that first got me started on the movies of Frogland. Hmmm . . . why are the French called Frogs? Is it because they eat them? I may never have the answer to some questions, and sometimes I would rather wonder than google.

It's kind of fun to have unanswered questions in one's life.

As I recalled in an earlier post, a young woman, let's call her Prissy,  introduced me to French movies with the adorable Amelie, but when I wrote that post I had completely forgotten that I watched some Francois Truffaut movies for a class on film techniques I took long ago.

So I was actually a French-film virgin when I watched The Wild Child.

The year is 1798 -- in the MOVIE, dummies. Good God, I know I'm old but I'm not that old and just stop with the insults now or I'll never get through writing this. A woman in a forest sees a wild creature. The creature has long, matted hair, and he runs about on all fours, but he does not have paws; he has hands and feet. He is the titular wild child, apparently left in the forest to die. Instead, he has survived, and he is captured and introduced to the wilds of civilization. Thus, Truffaut presents the wild child as an archetypal orphan figure who moves from experience to innocence.

It is made clear to the viewer immediately that the wild child is experienced in the ways of living in the woods. When the woman who has seen him brings men with dogs to hunt and to capture him (sounds kinda like "civilization" going after Frankenstein's monster, doesn't it?), the boy climbs a tree. When the branch from which he hangs breaks, he is attacked by the dogs, but he is able to fight the dogs and kill one. He runs into an underground den, and he is captured only because the men smoke him out.

Truffaut also indicates the savagery of so-called civilized society in contrast to the boy, who is savage only when he feels he is being attacked. When the boy is taken to Paris to be examined by doctors, he becomes an object of curiosity, and he no longer knows how to survive. First, he is dragged from the carriage in which he travels and taken into the National Institute for the Deaf -- because he is believed to be deaf -- and a crowd gathers round to gawk at him. He is also put on display by an institute worker so that rich Parisians can wonder at him. When he is outside, other boys attack him.

The wild child changes though. Dr. Itard (Truffaut himself) takes the boy home to teach him. He learns to dine at the table and dress himself. He doesn't learn to speak, but he starts to understand the meanings of some words.

Truffaut is considered to be one of the greatest among great directors, and I think his techniques in this movie are very interesting. Its stark black and white images make us feel that we are in 1798, watching this true story unfold. When subjects move away from the camera, the camera does not zoom in on them; they simply become smaller. Truffaut's use of an iris to open and close segments seems old-fashioned in an appropriate way, and it allows us to focus on the changes in Victor.

I remember I really liked this movie when I watched it and it left me wondering what had happened to the real wild child. But again, I like pondering an occasional unanswered question.

Infinities of love,

Lola

JE T'AIME LE MOVIES FRANCAISE

Gentle Readers,

Your Lola finally got a little sleep early this morning and awoke to a disaster: Someone chewed off most of one of the handles on the rocking horse Lola's Dad made for Favorite Young Man long, long ago. Who would sneak into Lola's house and do such a thing? Perhaps a certain dog will have to start sleeping in his crate if he is not going to warn Lola that intruders are chewing on treasured artifacts. What a disappointment for all of us.

Now let's get down to business. I like French movies. I have no idea if I spelled my Title correctly, but I still love French movies. I have ever since Favorite Young Woman introduced me to Amelie, starring Audrey Tautou. It's so wonderfully whimsical. If you'll be spending a quiet night at home on New Year's Eve, as I will, I strongly recommend Amelie. Je t'adore, and it has a happy ending.

Boy, it's a good thing I don't get any hits from France. The French certainly would not tolerate my bad French.

I also recommend two other movies starring Audrey Tautou of the big, black adorable eyes. First, A Very Long Engagement, about a young woman whose beloved seems to have died during WWI. She sets out to discover what happened to him. Supposedly, he was executed by being tossed into No Man's Land following his court martial for self-mutilation. Our heroine doggedly tracks every one of the men and their wives, girlfriends, or lovers, who suffered that horror. The twists and turns of A Very Long Engagement are fascinating, making this film as good as Amelie, but in a different way. Je t'adore, and it has a happy ending.

The third Audrey Tautou movie is Coco Before Chanel, a biopic that examine parts of Gabrielle's Chanel's life before she became the famous designer. I learned quite a bit, all of it interesting, about Coco Chanel, and then I googled her to learn even more. Please do not confuse this movie with a Lifetime movie that was on TV during the last year or so. Coco Before Chanel is much better than a Lifetime movie.

And you do understand, do you not, that these French movies are in French? It's o.k. You can read the subtitles. Just don't expect to multi-task when you're watching a movie with subtitles.

These three movies all feature women who deserve to be on WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME, and the fourth is no exception: Marion Cotillard's Academy Award-winning performance as the great and passionate, but troubled, Edith Piaf in La Vie En Rose. Wow! My only regret is that Audrey Tautou doesn't have her own Academy Award. F.Y.W. recommends not watching the extended version of this film; stick with the theatrical version. F.Y.W. says the extended version goes on and on forever.

And finally we get to a French movie I have probably mentioned before because I think it's the most amazing movie I have ever seen: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. It's based on a memoir of the same title about a Frenchman who had a stroke -- this is a true story -- and was able to move only one eye. Much of the film is shown to us from his P.O.V. Although the main character here is a man, the woman who teaches him to communicate by blinking his remaining good eye is also an extremely important part of the story. She helped him write the memoir on which the movie is based. Sadly, or perhaps happily for him, he died soon after completing his book.

Well, now I've prepared you for New Year's Eve. You have no reason to complain that you are lonely or bored. Cuddle up to a good dog or cat and watch a wonderful French movie.

Infinities of amour,

Lola