To Patrick Hayze, Thanks for Everything!


Exiting the snow flurries of Interstate 20 and following the somewhat circuitous commands of a navigation app, we approached Central Avenue in search of dinner. On this first night of our road trip from Texas to California, we found ourselves stopped at a five-way intersection in Albuquerque’s Nob Hill. The crawl of red letters across a marquee sign caught my eye: Jubilation Wine & Spirits, located at 3512 Lomas Avenue, announced the availability of a beer called Patrick Hayze. “What a great name for a hazy IPA,” I called out to my copilot, otherwise known as Mom, before launching into a spiel about how one of my favorite aspects of the craft brewing scene was the creative beer names.

The name Patrick Swayze holds a prominent place in my family’s cosmology—as far as we are concerned, the Houston native is up there with George Strait and Nolan Ryan. My favorite photo of my mom’s mom is a two-shot action sequence of her receiving a Road House poster for Christmas in 1989. Dirty Dancing played on a loop at Grandmother’s house, with Patrick Swayze embodying the perfect man in Johnny Castle. Cat-eyed with feline grace and high cheekbones, his looks were rivaled only by his belief in Baby. Yet Hollywood also found him tough enough to cast in both The Outsiders and Red Dawn as the older brother and pack leader to every feral teen heartthrob of the 1980s. Whether we were aware of it or not, Patrick Swayze set the standard. As Hadley Freeman writes in her essay on Dirty Dancing: “No one other than Swayze, the son of a cowboy and ballet dancer, could have captured Johnny’s feminized masculinity.”


So a beer called Patrick Hayze immediately got my attention. We were only on Day One of a weeklong excursion, and I was keeping a handwritten list of all the local brews we encountered along the way. Stopping for samples at every brewery we passed would be impossible—that night in Albuquerque, as we dined at Flying Star Cafe, our car sat parked next to a brewery, and when we stopped for the night, the local offered $1 off pints with presentation of our hotel key card. We didn’t get to try either, due to the precedence of hunger and an ice storm, respectively. Still, the breweries and their beers went on the list. I had even brought along my growler koozie, itself a souvenir from a previous road trip, in case I came across a brew I couldn’t resist taking home.

Leaving Albuquerque, I conducted a basic Google search for Patrick Hayze. My phone returned the brewery location in the results summary, so I didn’t have to click through to see that Patrick Hayze came from Firestone Walker Brewing Company in Paso Robles, CA. Even though it wasn’t local to New Mexico, Patrick Hayze went on my list, partially out of love for IPAs, but mostly out of love for Patrick Swayze.

The next night, on our highspeed burn up the length of California’s Highway Five, we passed a road sign marking the exit for Paso Robles. On my map app, already open in a desperate search for coffee, I could see that Paso Robles was still an hour away and not an option, neither for coffee nor beer. Maybe on the way back, I thought to myself, then plowed through to San Francisco by midnight of Day Two.

On Day Six, we left the Bay Area for home, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge with a 7-Eleven cooler full of Lagunitas bottles and HenHouse cans in the trunk. We were taking a different route all the way back to Texas, driving the gorgeous Pacific Coast Highway through Monterrey and Big Sur. The navigation robots let us know that Paso Robles was just inland on the 101. I decided to surprise my mom with a quick stop to purchase a Patrick Hayze T-shirt.

The scale of the brewery was disorienting—much bigger than my local in Texas. I parked at the Taproom, walked across the street to the Visitor’s Center, and learned I needed to drive back to the Emporium if I wanted to purchase “swag and maybe some beer to go.” Poking around the Emporium, we saw a ton of 805 merch but no Hayze. I finally asked the salesgirl. She shook her head, saying they were moving toward “keeping more with the brand.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I tried again with the girl at the growler bar: “I know you don’t have any swag for Patrick Hayze, but do you have the actual beer?” No, she almost smirked, they did not have that. We left with two T-shirts and a bottle of beer that benefited the wildfire fighters, my growler koozie still forlorn and empty. Out of perverse, self-castigating spite, I bought a can of 805 at the gas station next to the brewery and stuck it in the cooler.

Where had I gone wrong? Had I misidentified the brewery entirely? That would explain the awkward cold shoulder, as well as the weird reply about “the brand.” Perhaps I had navigated to the wrong Firestone Walker location? There were three in central/southern California, and a cursory search while pumping gas revealed Patrick Hayze came from the Venice location. Still, shouldn’t it be available at the mothership in Paso Robles?

“That left a bad taste in my mouth,” I said as I drove east toward the Five and Bakersfield. Copilot Mom, who has a reputation for always wanting to help, eagerly got to work with her voice-activated phone searches: “Where is Patrick Hayze beer distributed?” The returns came back from the East Coast; her search robot had defaulted to the spelling Patrick Hazy.

A more thorough investigation revealed five beers called Patrick Hazy, most of which were classified as American IPAs. Other variants included Patrick O’Hazy, Patrick Swa-hazy, Dirty Dancin’ Patrick Hazy, Patrick’s Hazy, and a Patrick So Hazy from Standard Deviant Brewing in San Francisco. The absolute best Patrick Hazy branding, sourced straight from the website of Kent Falls Brewing in Connecticut, describes a 2017 New England style IPA as such:

Kent Falls“A beer as soft as Sam Wheat’s hands during a late night pottery sesh and one Dalton would have drank at the end of a shift at the Double Deuce. Radically hopped (as the great Bodhisattva would have said) with mosaic, Michigan copper, and a hint of Simcoe and citra dust. This is one baby you won’t put into a corner.”

Awesome. But what of Patrick Hayze? My search resumed in earnest after we switched drivers in the Tejon Pass and sped toward Southern California. With my full, undivided attention and university-pedigreed research skills aimed at the problem, I quickly hit on a 2018 Firestone Walker tweet that explained it all:

Patrick Hayes“Meet Patrick Hayes. He’s a Quality Control Brewer & our lead Clarification & Filter Technician, meaning he helps keep our beer clear! So of course we brewed an unfiltered IPA in his honor! Patrick Hayze IPA: a 7% ABV hazy IPA packed with tropical hop goodness. Draft only!”

Patrick Hayes—haze, not hazy. It seemed like a special kind of torture to name an unfiltered beer after the filter tech, but what did I know—I had just driven an hour out of our way for a mispronunciation. Patrick Hayze did not rhyme with Patrick Swayze. It was a pun, all right, but not the one I had imagined.

The logo, though! It was everything I wanted slapped on some swag. It even had the Point Break hair (in my opinion, the peak of an illustrious career and one of the greatest films ever made). Sure, Patrick Swayze’s beard was never as robust as Patrick Hayes’s, but the illustrated Patrick Hayze was literally made of hops.Patrick Hayze

I still wondered if we might have found Patrick Hayze at one of the other Firestone Walkers. Perhaps we might have found Patrick Hayes himself. Would the staff at another location have corrected my pronunciation? At the brewery where I worked, we had two flagship beers with names frequently mangled by first-timers: Ski Boat Blonde (often rendered Sky Boat) and the Tipsy Vicar stout, which should be pronounced vicker, not vie-car. I’d learned to gently correct customers by repeating the name back to them: once when I took their orders and again when I placed their beers on the bar. Had the girls at Firestone Walker not learned this customer service trick, or was I truly the only person to have ever read Hayze as “hazy” and not “haze”?

The tweet said, “Draft only!” If so, why did I first learn of Patrick Hayze while reading a liquor store ticker in Albuquerque? Hazy IPAs are notoriously short on shelf life; the haze is comprised of yeast, malt proteins, or hoppy particulates that must remain suspended if the beer is to maintain its haziness. We needed some clarification on the matter.

I didn’t catch the name of the clerk who answered the phone, but for the sake of confusion and all-around haziness, we’re going to call him Patrick:

Patrick: Jubilation Wine & Spirits. This is Patrick. How may I help you?

Me: Hi, I have a weird question.

Patrick: [expectant pause]

Me: I was driving by the other day and thought I saw on the sign that you have Patrick Hayze.

[Here I did pronounce it “haze.”]

Patrick: We do.

Me: You do? So is it in bottles or cans or what?

Patrick: No, they never packaged it. It’s only available at our growler station. That’s kind of the point of the growler station.

Me: Ah, that’s why I was so confused. So do you still have it?

Patrick: We do. I’m looking at it right now.

Me: Okay, thank you so much. Byeee!

I hope Patrick is not waiting for me to drop by and fill my growler. By the end of our conversation, it was probably clear to him that I had never set foot inside Jubilation Wine & Spirits. We came home a different route, and searches reveal no Patrick Hayze in my immediate area. I wish I had stopped that first night to wrap my growler koozie around 64 ounces of Patrick Hayze, but it just wasn’t meant to be.

Besides, who fills up her growler on Day One of a road trip? That would be crazy…which, according to my research, does not rhyme with Hayze.



“A tramp masquerading as some sort of social secretary.”

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day  (2008)

I got here via “If I Didn’t Care” on Spotify. It was one of the few 1930s songs on a “Jazz from 1930-1950s” station (lots of Nina Simone who, though wonderful, was born in the thirties).

This movie is like a play. I could have sworn it was adapted from a play, the way there seem to be three major sets that people move in and out of; the way there seem to be three main acts; the way Lee Pace seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. But it was never a play. Just a book and a film.

But Frances McDormand is wonderful and just won another Oscar. “As a vicar’s daughter, I found her rather difficult.” True story: we have a beer named Tipsy Vicar, and I’d say about 35% of Americans pronounce it VI-car. It’s vicker.

Edythe Dubarry, Moaning Myrtle, on making over Mrs. Pettigrew: “Hang it all, the bone structure’s there. Why the devil not?”

These cucumbers slices, and a few martini olives, are all she has to eat that day.

Lee Pace tried to steal a diamond from the Tower of London. “Thirty days bread and water.”

I love how charmed and delighted Mrs. Pettigrew is when Michael arrives on the scene:

“He is…”



The Birth of Venus recreation: “You are beautiful, Delysia.”

Tipsy Mrs. Pettigrew! “Now, Phillip, how are your deliberations over Pile on the Pepper proceeding?”

“They don’t remember the last one.”

Finally, London rain.

“You have lost a man who loves you for who you are, not for who you pretend to be…I am an expert on the lack of love.”

And a London cabbie.

“This is all I own, Guinevere. And two dozen pair of shoes. For all the fancy apartments and fashion shows, do you know how close I am to having nothing?”

Change of program: “If I Didn’t Care.”

Ah, and the very London early morning walk home from the bar, when it’s completely light at 5 a.m.

Is Delysia pausing because she’s too sad to say goodbye, or is it because she’s just realized she can’t pay Mrs. Pettigrew?

“We learn to always keep smiling, even when we’re out of Bloody Mary mix.”

In the next installation of rewatching movies that are themed to the piece I’m editing, we had a book about a stewardess in the 1930s. I present to you View from the Top, also known as the Gwyneth Paltrow flight attendant movie. Crucially, this one also features Christina Applegate.

The year was 2003. I was still in college, but I had TRAVELED, man. I was worldly.  And I still dig this movie. Check out the cast:

Right away, we see John Francis Daley, the kid from Freaks and Geeks, as Gwynnie’s stepbrother, Rodney. He has like one line. Her high school sweetheart is Marc Blucas, post-Buffy (we know how I feel about Riley). He breaks up with Gwynnie in a birthday card, which is almost as good as a post-it (“Well, they don’t make breaking-up cards.”)

Presciently, Gwynnie is working in the Big Lots luggage department. “I’ve actually never been on an airplane, but, if I ever get to go on one, this thing is gonna follow me around like my own little dog.” She quits her job when Riley dumps her (“You’re a small-town girl. You belong here.”) and is sitting in a bar when fate calls to her from the TV.

Sally Weston (Candace Bergen!) is from west Texas, billed as “the world’s most famous flight attendant,” and author of My Life in the Sky. “Sally Weston represents an ideal of poise and beauty and accomplishment that every flight attendant should strive to achieve.” I still think about Sally’s nostalgia whenever I walk through an airport: “It was different then. People dressed for flights.”

Sally provides Gwynnie with her mantra: Paris. First Class. International. “It’s the only route to happiness.

Along the way, we meet Kelly Preston, who once worked for Pan Am but can’t pass an interview for Royalty: “That’s the way the cookie crumbles.” Rob Lowe, ex machina, as Co-pilot Steve: “You’re going places…I’m a pilot, it’s my job to know where people are going.” He doesn’t show up again in the movie, but makes quite an impression...

Gwynnie gets her own trainee attendent by the name of Christine (Christina Applegate!), and the three girls enjoy tanning at the houseboat on Lake Havasu (location of the original London BridgeI have pictures from a trip I took there around the time this movie came out). Here they meet Ted of lake patrol, a terribly tan Mark Ruffalo.

The classism becomes overt when some fancy flight attendants have to make a pit stop at Laughlin, Sierra Airlines’ hub. They flash Gucci and Vuitton, namedrop Chanel and Vuitton, and debate whether the guy in Rome or the guy in London bought the jewelry. Then they swan off, complaining of needing a flea dip, leaving our heroine to her Toblerone (which I always thought was super classythe Vuitton of the candy aisle, if you will).

They take a road trip to San Francisco, which I still think of every time I hear “Living on a Prayer,” and meet the legendary John Whitney (Mike Meyers!): “There’s no business like strabismus.” Donna and Christine get invited to the training center, which I thought was in San Francisco but must actually be in Dallas, since that’s where Sally Weston’s Rancho Esmerelda home is located. We meet fellow trainee Stacey Dash, and get some excellent grammar jokes from Mike Meyers: “An easy road comma don’t expect one” and “You put the wrong emph-ah-sis on the wrong syll-ah-ble.”

Shit happens, and Gwynnie gets assigned to Royalty Express, based in Cleveland, which is where Mark Ruffalo has returned to attend law school. She’s comparing High Style vs. Cheap & Basic outfits in a magazine when he approaches her at a coffee shop. Yay! They decide “Cleveland is like this great big giant waiting room” (gate would be more appropriate?) and fall in love while they’re killing time.

Christine stops through Cleveland (“I’m going for a more classic look. It goes better with Chanel.”) and turns out to be horrible. Gwynnie gets to retake her test, which Mike Meyers does not find fair: “So, you’ll be happy to know you got a perfect score. First time in seven years. The last time was me.” But he tells her to go do the damn thing, to do it for those of us who can’t. 

Gwynnie sheds her never-believable white trash skin and emerges a swan in a green and blue uniform…and the shoes! Christine attacks her on the plane (“Someone had to put you in your place.”) You’d think it’d be funnier to watch Gwyneth Paltrow get beat up, but the funniest part is Applegate flipping the bird as security hauls her away. Gwynnie goes on to lead a fabulous but lonely life in New York, when she’s not jetting around the globe. She sits alone in Paris in the same outfit from the magazine, though it’s unclear whether it’s High Style or Cheap & Basic.

Just when I thought we were out of cast members to get excited about, there’s Sex and the City‘s face girl Nina Katz (Nadia Dajani) as Paige. Speaking of pages (meh), Sally finds Gwynnie all-aloney in the Royalty lounge on Christmas Day in Paris and tells her: “Donna, I don’t think you read carefully enough.” You need a co-pilot, girl!

I had completely forgotten how this movie ended, and while I do regret the aviators I distinctly remember wearing around this time, the twist gives Rob Lowe’s appearance more gravitas and reminds us that we can dream of flying even higher.

Oh, I read a lot of things. I mean, you never know where the big idea is going to come from, you know?

img_7362Working Girl (1988) is the consummate career girl movie, and though there are no working mothers in the film, I’ve included it because it can’t be escaped. And I’m a fan. I cracked up when a character referenced it during a panic attack on Greek (but only just now realized it’s because she and Sigourney Weaver’s character have the same name—Katherine Parker), loved when it came out in Bertie’s impression of an American accent during the tripping episode of Love, and I’m looking forward to the Cyndi Lauper–scored musical. It might be my favorite Harrison Ford role (yep) and ditto for Melanie Griffith.

“I want to relax in my cushy, little corner office with my feetsies hanging over my desk while I try to convince myself I’m this generation’s Melanie Griffith, despite my clear resemblance to Sigourney Weaver due to our—extreme stature and height.”

The film opens with the ferry to Manhattan, and it must be inspiring for the commuters who actually get to see the skyline every day on their way to work. Griffith plays Tess McGill (great name), a Staten Island girl in the secretary pool on Wall Street. She wears sneakers on her way into the office, with polka-dot tights and heels in her handbag. She bounces around a bit—turns out, Kevin Spacey is a sexual predator—who knew? (Also, I held a door for Oliver Platt at SXSW 2014.) She gets splashed by a rain puddle, a la Carrie Bradshaw. But she also attended night school for a business degree. “Look, I’m thirty years old. It took me five years of night school but I got my degree and I got it with honors. I know I could do a job,” she tells Olympia Dukaki.

Tess is thrilled to go to work for a woman transferring down from Boston (Sigourney Weaver, in one of my least favorite of her roles, though that’s more about the character than her performance). Classy, educated, and connected, Catherine is everything Tess is not…and two weeks younger. Her office window is visible from Tess’s commute. She quotes style advice from CoCo Chanel. “I consider us a team, and as such, we have a uniform: simple, elegant, impeccable. ‘Dress shabbily, they notice the dress. Dress impeccably, they notice the woman.… You might wanna rethink the jewelry.”

Tess’s contribution to the team includes suggesting the little Chinese dumplings she read about in W (“You read W?”), which is great until Tess gets to push the steam tray around. She admires how smoothly Katherine brushes off a guy: “Never burn bridges. Today’s junior prick, tomorrow’s senior partner.” Tess pitches her acquisition idea on Katherine’s birthday, evidenced by the balloons and flowers covering her office. Katherine asks Tess if she overheard the idea somewhere, say, on the elevator. Katherine smokes in her office, probably the carton of Larks Tess brought in earlier. The entrée program Tess has been applying for appears to be something industry wide, or Tess has been moved to a different position within the same company… Are those the same elevator banks? Is Olympia Dukakis representing a temp agency or human resources?

Tess tells Mick (Alec Baldwin, hilarious) that Katherine wants to be her mentor and raises the possibility of a double date in the city. Katherine, who went to Wellesley and speaks fluent German, has indicated she’s “receptive to an offer” of marriage. “Watch me, Tess. Learn from me.” After Katherine breaks her leg on a ski trip, Tess becomes more like a personal assistant. (The passcode to Katherine’s parents’ town house is 7543200, BTW, and they may have a Warho.) As she’s using Katherine’s voice memos to practice elocution, she learns Katherine has stolen her idea. Tess drinks a Coors Light tallboy on the ferry home, then catches Mick in bed with someone else. (“No class.”)

img_7303The idea is a loophole that protects a media company from buyout, and to my mind, it’s a good one: smart business, knowledgeable about policy, not afraid to mix high and low culture, and it keeps everybody happy. A lot of my appreciation for this movie hinges on how perfect Tess’s idea is for her character. Catherine writing that “there’s a lightbulb over my head” is the perfect way to present her treachery…that’s just bad writing. If someone emailed you that today, you’d cringe too, and I think we see that in Jack Traynor’s resistance of Catherine’s advances (he sure as hell banged her, though).

Tess stares pensively at her old life out Katherine’s office windowbefore making the call to Jack Trainer. His Who’s Who in American Business profile reveals he has degrees from Dartmouth and Harvard, making him the exact type of person with whom Sleazoid told her she couldn’t compete. It also says, and I never realized this, that he was married from 1972 to 1978 to one Susanna Rockwell. He’s also forty.

Since “fringe times are crucial,” Tess raids Katherine’s closet (the dress still has a $6,000 price tag on it, but “It’s simple, elegant. It makes a statement. It says to people: ‘confident, a risk taker. Not afraid to be noticed.’ Then, you hit ’em with your smarts.” She and best friend Joan Cusack also raid the medicine cabinet (“Valium. In the convenient economy size.”) Tess goes out and meets Trainer, though she doesn’t know he’s him, and he compliments her on actually being dressed like a woman. We get the “bod for sin” line, but she also greets his toast, “Power to the people,” with her own, “the little people,” under her breath. Her creepy boss sees her across the room, someone else hems her in at the coat check, and she makes this irresistible play for Trainer’s affections:


By the way, I used this exact move on my boyfriend at a party a few weeks ago, and it worked! He took me home. (Granted, we live together.)

Cyn gets to be Tess’s secretary for a bit, and Joan Cusack has a lot of fun: “Let’s give her a shout, shall we? You decent? A Mr. Jack Trainer to see you, Ms. McGill. Hold all calls, Ms. McGill? Can I get you anything, Mr. Trainer? Coffee, tea, me?” He’s enjoying it. Tess confronts him for lying about his identity (“All mergers and acquisitions. No lust and tequila.”) I also forgot, he buys her a briefcase!

img_7358For me, this is peak Harrison Ford because you get the Indie capableness without the Han Solo swagger. He takes a spit bath in his office with the blinds open and gets a round of applause from the secretarial pool. He looks stunned with tzatziki on his lip and opens the door to the Chinese food delivery guy wrapped in a blanket. Yes, he stumbles as a hero when blindsided by Catherine’s outburst in the meeting, but even he joins Tess in exacerbation at Catherine’s damsel in distress act.


Catherine, who has to be picked up at the helipad. Catherine, who took a muscle relaxer for the flight (“Oh, let’s all have one, shall we?”). Catherine, who’s had weeks to come up with an explanation for the memo. Catherine, who says Jack loves Shalimar. Catherine, who actually mimics the ticking of her biological clock, panting, “Let’s merge.” Catherine, who behaves likes every disingenuous spoiled bitch I’ve ever known, to whom I only wish it had occurred to me to say: “Do not ever speak to me again like we don’t know what really happened, you got me?”

img_7346When Jack finally comes through for Tess in the end, he gives her the floor. Yes, he has to contend with his johnson, as Trask jokes at ground level, just to help her get her foot in the door, but as Tess tells Trask a few minutes later when they reach the top level, there is no way for someone like her to play the game without bending the rules a little. While Mick proposed at someone else’s engagement party, while the girl he cheated with looked on, and screamed, “Who the fuck died and made you Grace Kelly, huh?” when he didn’t get the answer he wanted, Jack tells Trask: “Hear the lady out, sir. Here’s another elevator.”

It took me many viewings of this movie and going through a point in my life when I was reading a lot of business self-help before I finally noticed that it all leads up to an actual elevator pitch. Tess is so honest and committed, knowing she’s only got Trask for a moment while everyone else is stuck in a different elevator car, so you just can’t help but root for her. Even though she acted like a certifiable maniac to get in that position.

Seriously, isolate her behavior and it looks positively criminal: identity theft, fraud, trespassing, substance abuse, illegal occupation, and wedding crashing (while wearing white, WTF?). Jack was party to that last one, though she only told him on the way there; he wound up enjoying the game. (“You wanna do it? Do it.“), and that’s kind of how we know he’s going to (eventually) be understanding about the rest.

I think that’s what gets me the most about this movie. Having a Harrison Ford, a partner in crime, who comes through for you instead of being a coward and allowing the Catherine types to revel in your heartfelt mistakes. (“But you’re lying!”) I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, how we don’t get rewarded for being genuine in a system that’s stacked against us, even though the movies told us we would. Only certain people are allowed to be genuine.

And yet…


“Spider-Man kicked me, and She-Ra took Maggie’s snack.”

One Fine Day (1996)

Never a favorite, but it’s got peak Caesar-hair Clooney and Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold.

Natalie Merchant singing a slow version of “One Fine Day.” I had convinced myself it was Norah Jones, although this movie was before her era of domination.

Opening Hitchcock-esque shot: A man playing piano. A golden retriever waiting at the door! An old couple together. Michelle Pfeifer paying bills with envelopes and a checkbook!

But here’s the thing: Mae Whitman is Maggie.

Clooney is on the side of a bus! Daily News advertisement: “You don’t know Jack.” But Carrie Bradshaw knows good sex*

*(and isn’t afraid to ask). Wait! SATC started in ’98. I couldn’t help but wonder: Did they callback to One Fine Day for the opening credits?

Kids go to Montessori and the school bus actually passes both parent-child sets before they all meet up at the pier.

“You know, I have a day.” Michelle, giving some excellent bitch. “Derived? You must be a writer.” But just look at her!


A Hilary Clinton joke! “A real superwoman: can’t open her door, won’t shut her mouth.” “Excuse me? Are you talking about me?” “The first lady. We’re thinking about doing a piece on her.” Sigh. I wish this were more relevant.

The kids miss the field trip. My mom used to let me skip mine. I never visited the state capitol until I did so willingly as an adult.

HOLLAND FUCKING TAYLOR is Michelle Pfeiffer’s mom!!! I’d totally forgotten this. She plays a mean Ann Richards. I love her. And I want a spring spa day.

“Maggie, when you grow up and are incredibly beautiful and intelligent and possess a certain sweetness that’s…that’s like a distant promise to the brave, to the worthy, could you please not beat to a pulp every miserable bastard that comes your way simply because you can? Could you not do that?” I kinda love this.

Remember Amanda Peet?

Jack’s editor has a cat in his desk drawer! “This is Lois Lane. She lives here in the news room.” Annndd…she eats the fish. I never noticed that.

A lot of split screens in this film.

“You know you’re not the only with a day. I’ve got a day too.” Clooney, trying and failing to bring the bitch.

Drinks at 21! That and the voyeurism of the opening and closing sequences is a callback to Rear Window.

Spanish-speaking maid giving Clooney some issues. Just use Denzel’s trick from Inside Man—yell in the street until someone who speaks that language helps you.

I want a spring spa day!

“But you’re not a control freak?” “No, I’m a single working mother.” Oh, right…I was supposed to be looking out for that.

Serendipity-esque Serendipity frozen hot chocolate…for which Michelle Pfeiffer does not pay the bill.

And you have a cat now.

“You know nothing about politics. You know nothing about journalism. You and your little friend in the outfit…”

“Say it for your kind.” Gross, Clooney. You lost me.

“First of all, I thrust my column in your face because I thought you were the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen in my entire life and…I…I wanted to make a good impression.” Dammit, he got me back.

I want a travel hot brush.

“Lois Lane ate the class fish.”

“It’s so obvious, Daddy.” And he’s fishing in the pet store fish tank barehanded, like a bear…

More Michelle!

Velociraptor! Rawwwrrrr!

“I’m right on top of that, Rose!”

First in my “movies inspired by the book I’m editing” series. The manuscript was about a working mother, trying to balance it all, so I made a list

Here we have the cult classic Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead from 1991. This is my origin story when it comes to cinematic working women. I have a memory of watching this in the theatre with my cousin while our grandmother watched JFK, but there seems to be a six-month gap between the release dates. I would have been eight or nine. I can still see how annoyed she was with us when our movie ended first and we went to find her during one of her movie’s most crucial scenes.

First thing, I’m cracking up at Mom’s line, “Because I’ve had a very rough thirty-seven years, and I need a break,” which is spoken by Concetta Tomei (no relation), who was forty-six at the time the film was released. (I, by the way, am thirty-five and do not have one kid, let alone five). The freedom with which seventeen-year-old Sue Ellen smokes in front of her mom is also pretty funny.

And here’s Kenny, Keith Coogan, Brad from 1987’s Adventures in Babysitting, probably my favorite instance of stunt casting ever, and one I only figured out about six years ago. I never realized he gets the only “fuck” in this PG-13 movie, when his brand new potted pot plant falls off the window ledge.

The only mention of bio-dad: “What about Dad? What about blackmailing Dad?

When Mom calls, Swell tells her Mrs. Sturak has a date with a mortician, which is true.

Swell’s fashion sense: Stevie Nicks meets…Blossom?

Pausing on her resume, I noticed Swell not only made herself a Vassar gal, but she gave herself an MA from the Fashion Institute of New York…and later, when Rose glances over it, there’s a Vogue summer internship. Bell Jar reference? Some of that “glamorous fashion stuff. Her address is 201 Bent Rd and her phone number is (213) 353-8361.

The close-up of Applegate’s bushy eyebrows!

Really bad dubbing of “Liza?!?” in the drag queen car-theft scene. Apparently, the original line was “Shit!”

Ah, Bryan, you sweet, sweet nerd: “It really cracked Mr. Egg when you left.”

And never forget, the fax machine burps at her.

Cathy, who loves QED reports, is already known from Twin Peaks at this point and will also feature as the voice of Fifi the feather duster in that year’s Beauty and the Beast. Her Twin Peaks co-star, David Duchovny, is simultaneously playing the crossdressing agent Dennis/Denise Bryson at the time of filming.

The cucumber joke…my best friend and I used to argue about the implied innuendo there. I said there was one; she said there wasn’t. She was always considered the experienced one.

Kenny’s Julia Child-inspired cooking rampage reminds me of my boyfriend.

Carolyn is telling her brother to call the girlfriend, then changes her tune midstride to tell him just to forget about her.

That Kenny was with-it enough to tell the hospital Walter was Sue Ellen’s son is impressive.

“They’re all just a bunch of old whores,” Rose says about the fashion buyers.

Setting up what I’d been waiting for this whole rewatch: “Life’s Rich Tapestry” from Modern English. When I first started grooving to this song on Spotify, I couldn’t place it to a scene, so I thought it must have been the closing credits, but it drops in as Rose and Sue Ellen are talking and really picks up when Kenny and his stoner bro are sitting on the bridge across the pool. It’s all the happy ending stuff, which makes me very glad. It fades out as Swell approaches Bryan, and that’s so “I Only Have Eyes for You” (their first-kiss song) can pick up again.  And I still think “Swell, what are you doing New Year’s Eve?” is a sweetly romantic line, if a little nerdy.

One of the funeral home workers is also named Brian. Odd. When I was a kid, I didn’t get the joke, and I thought he was Walter all grown up (they have the same hair).

Editorial Inspiration

At the release party for the second Ready Player One trailer (the film is premiering at South by Southwest right now, but I went to a release party for the trailer, and not even the first trailer), I learned that Ernest Cline writes to film scores. I thought that was a great idea, considering I can’t listen to music with words whenever I’m writing or editing.

One of the next assignments I got, I brainstormed a couple of films, then got what free songs I could on a Spotify playlist. Not all of them were instrumental, but I enjoyed the experiment of pairing an editing assignment to a background soundtrack. I even found a few good songs in the process.

This next week will be posts of movies I got to rewatch in the process.

Quest in the Southwest: Day Seven

img_6375-1I’d thought the route home would be Albuquerque–Roswell–Abilene, but it wound up being Albuquerque–Clovis–Abilene. I’d seen an ad for Abilene’s storybook sculpture garden in the copy of Texas Monthly I’d brought with me on the trip (the Hurricane Harvey issue), so I wanted to stop through there on my way home. When B makes the trip west, he always avoids Abilene (memories of a misspent youth, I reckon), so I figured this might be my only chance to visit.


img_6256I packed, found the red rum shot glass and gifted K a bottle of salted caramel Crown Royal, intentionally left the Texas Monthly in the guest room, unintentionally left my coat, and said adios to Dude. I stopped at Durango Joe’s because I had a fond memory of them from my last visit (some sort of pecan pastry that was just heavenly) then took off for Texas. It rained, and I got a photo of the rainbow by sticking my phone through the sunroof (hey, at least it wasn’t the windshield).

I didn’t see much of Albuquerque, but stopped at the Owl Café for lunch. My rudimentary search implied some sort of Breaking Bad significance, but I also had the owl to consider. J, the friend who told me about Kittredge, had given me the owl wallet I carried on this trip (funny that K had also given me a wallet). I was extremely disappointed not to find Albuquerque Turkey on the menu but didn’t want to be the tourist who ordered off-menu, so I had plain old turkey…in Albuquerque.

It rained some more on the way out of town, and people started pulling over to the side of the road near the exit for Las Vegas (New Mexico). Since I was listening to podcasts, not terrestrial radio, I started to worry that I had missed some crucial weather warning. K had told me they didn’t have tornados, but I pulled over anyway, assuming the locals knew something I didn’t. It appeared to be just a giant storm cell, but I was relieved to exit south off of I-40 and stop for a potty/caffeine/stressed-out photo break.

img_6321I drove past the Billy the Kid museum in Fort Sumner and kept on trucking to Clovis. Around this time, I was really feeling the urge to hit up a casino (I’d done well enough to buy us all lunch on my last visit to New Mexico), but luckily, I was well off the reservation and miles beyond any legal gambling establishments at that point. I also learned, a little too late, that 2016’s Come Hell or High Water was filmed in and around Clovis. B and I had really liked this terribly Texan film and were shocked to learn it wasn’t actually filmed in Texas.

img_6323I had to detour around Lubbock and grew very irate. I was starving and the next small town’s “exit here for fast food” sign only listed McDonald’s. Yet the gastro gods smiled on me and revealed a brand new Sonic right off the ramp in Slaton. My, I was pleased to see that.

Sated, I continued on to Abilene, where I got to tour the sculpture garden under the October harvest moon. I was more excited about Halloween than usual, super into the spooky stuff (like The Shining on Audible), but I was not prepared for what happened when I peeked around the corner of the National Center for Children’s Illustrated Literature and saw…Blucifer!

img_6339What the actual hell? It’s an eight-foot exact replica of the demon horse that looms thirty-two feet over the entrance to the Denver airport. Mesteño, my ass. That’s Son of Blucifer. In a place that lured me with promises of beloved characters from children’s fiction. Abilene, why?

I recovered and tried to get a photo of the building with the car in its façade, not even seeing the dinosaur that revealed himself in photos other people had taken in daylight. This was the only time during the trip when I regretted not bringing my fancy camera, although I’m not sure I could have done much to justify the moon.

Siri took me some random way out of Abilene (I really wanted coffee; alas, all the Starbucks were behind me). Driving through a neighborhood to get back on the highway, a black cat ran across my path. I proceeded to scare myself even more as a I finished The Shining in the desolate three and a half hours it took to get home by midnight.

Quest in the Southwest: Day Six


img_6197We spent the morning out at the Bisti Badlands, which is like hanging out on the moon. K’s husband advised that we turn around and take a picture of the horizon as we started out so we could find our way back to the car. We wandered around, did more “butt sliding” than we will ever admit to our respective menfolk, and clocked about four miles. We absolutely did not get lost.

We came back to town, passing a field of pumpkins and a burnt-down rig on the highway, and went for lunch at Mikasa. We both had sushi and I ordered poke too. K had recently learned that liking pumpkin spice made her basic, which cracked me up, so I tried to get her to enjoy a PSL from Starbucks, but in the end, it was me who was basic. We then lounged around the house, barking at Alexa to play songs from our misspent youth: “Alexa, play ‘Flavor of the Weak’ by American Hi-Fi.”

Some of K’s friends came over that night for drinks and pizza, and one of them assessed her Navajo rug as authentic, including the one intentional flaw, which I always thought was done so as not to offend the gods for being too perfect, but might also be to allow malevolent spirits an escape route. The rug was a gift/payment from a client, and I also received a purse and wallet from K’s collection of gifts/payments. The red rum shot glass was christened with apple Crown Royal, since we couldn’t find the salted caramel flavor for the candy apple drink recipe we wanted to try.


Quest in the Southwest: Day Five

img_6177K went to court at seven thirty, and I bummed around the house with Dude. He abides.

K picked me up for lunch, and we stopped by the mall first to get her phone “fixed” at Verizon. I also needed to go to Ulta for a razor and what I had heard was a planet-friendly reusable make-up wipe. It turned out to be a luxury face towel. We had lunch at ¡Que Rico!, which is K’s favorite restaurant in town. I was thrilled to have real Mexican food again after that breakfast in Colorado, and I overdid it with the chips and salsa. I also had a margarita.

We went by K’s office before heading over to court in Aztec. I got to watch K in action as she filed for a dismissal–it was very intriguing and kind of funny. She regaled me with more tales of the legal community on the way back to the house. We watched two of the schlocky horror movies K likes, Afflicted and Crush the Skull, and proceeded to make jokes about them to each other for the rest of my visit. We eventually wound up at a bar in the airport called No Worries. We drank a G&T each on the house, then had dinner on the patio before moving to the tiki bar.