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Post by Michelle on Jan 21, 2011 10:55:33 GMT -5
Sorry for being so absent lately—Kate piled a ton of things on me last week that's she hoping I can get done before I leave on vacation, so this week I've been doing my best imitation of a diligent worker bee. We've missed you! Sorry you have been swamped. But it's good to be needed, eh?
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Post by Michelle on Jan 21, 2011 10:55:59 GMT -5
Fairly Legal looks fairly good; Sarah Shahi and Michael Trucco have considerable chemistry, which is nice; Sarah Shahi is worth watching always, anyway. God, I miss "Life" Julia, fried, I am, and tired to the bone. I miss Life too. I might check this out.
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Post by Michelle on Jan 21, 2011 10:56:59 GMT -5
Back in the old days of amalgum fillings and other bad ideas? Bring it on! Julia, definitely nice not to be able to see that my new fillings are there at all, it is. Yes, all the way back then. You see, my lower back molar was badly decayed and the dentist had used a gold inlay instead of crowning it, like they would now. A later dentist refered to an inlay as "a puddle of gold in a sea of cement." It came out regularly. It was about two weeks before my senior prom and after days and days of searching and endless fighting with my mother (whose ideas of my perfect prom dress were 180 o from mine) we had settled on a sleeveless butterscotch colored gown with a high neckline (her idea) and a very naughty back (my idea). It was on sale for $30--which was still a substantial amount of money in 1965 but was not returnable. Mom intended to have it tailored for me. My mother was a very smart dresser and had everything fitted to her. Her tailor, Mr Abrams (nee: Abramowitz, but renamed by some arrogant official on Ellis Island some time before the turn of the Twentieth Century) was tiny, wizened and old, old, OLD country with a face like a dried apple; and from the moment she walked into his shop they would fight. This time was no exception. I put on the dress and Mr Abrams immediately threw up his hands and declared that nothing whatsoever could be done. The dress was a disaster! He wouldn't touch it! It was badly made! How could my mother have wasted her money on such a fright! And so forth. Mother, for her part, alternately threatened, cajoled, flatterand finally pleaded pitiously. Mr Abrams (4'10" of bowed, wrinkled, irate fury) raged further, but picked up his shears and snipped the left strap of the dress. At that same moment my inlay once more popped out. Rather than make a fuss (since mother and Mr Abrams were doing such a good job of it) I placed my hand over my mouth and quietly spit out the inlay rather than risk swallowing it. Mr Abrams stopped dead in his tirade and, horrified, turned to me (still with my hand over my mouth) and said soothingly, "Don't cry! I'll fix it! I'll fix it!" He actually patted me on the shoulder. I'm not the fastest on the uptake that the world has ever seen, but I knew better than to say anything. I just nodded. On the way home Mom said to me, "You didn't have to cry. The moment he cut the strap I knew he was going to fix the dress." I didn't say anything. I just showed her the gold inlay. She laughed, cautioned me to never tell Mr Abrams and took me for an ice cream soda. Great story! I love the description of the dress and Mr. Abrams.
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Post by S'ewing S'cubie on Jan 21, 2011 11:50:04 GMT -5
It is a LOT of dress. ON a lesser woman it would be like Scarlett O'hara's draperies. But she carries it off. Love that shade of deep deep green. I am torn: I do think she carries it off, as you said, but I also can see how it could be compared bunched up Astroturf. It looked great but it also made me think of tree moss. Very Swamp Thing.
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Post by Julia, wrought iron-y on Jan 21, 2011 11:52:59 GMT -5
Fairly Legal looks fairly good; Sarah Shahi and Michael Trucco have considerable chemistry, which is nice; Sarah Shahi is worth watching always, anyway. God, I miss "Life" Julia, fried, I am, and tired to the bone. Worth giving a second look. She was a bit frenetic but I get that they were trying to convey that in the pilot. Felt sorry for the actress having to run around for hours and hours (days?) in those heels. The teaser in the coffee shop was as good as any piece of scripted TV since Buffy; the rest lagged a bit at times, and I kept getting distracted by how bulky Ken Howard has gotten. I liked the Buffy Shout-out, too. But, OH GAWD THE LOUBOUTINS up and down all those stairs all the time. My knees were howling in sympathy. Julia, it's a thing, and I understand how someone that ridiculously petite would wear the things to give herself a little more authority (My Cousin the Berkeley Prof is 4'10" and ended up with foot surgery for trying to be taken as an adult).
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Post by Julia, wrought iron-y on Jan 21, 2011 11:57:13 GMT -5
Back in the old days of amalgum fillings and other bad ideas? Bring it on! Julia, definitely nice not to be able to see that my new fillings are there at all, it is. Yes, all the way back then. You see, my lower back molar was badly decayed and the dentist had used a gold inlay instead of crowning it, like they would now. A later dentist refered to an inlay as "a puddle of gold in a sea of cement." It came out regularly. It was about two weeks before my senior prom and after days and days of searching and endless fighting with my mother (whose ideas of my perfect prom dress were 180 o from mine) we had settled on a sleeveless butterscotch colored gown with a high neckline (her idea) and a very naughty back (my idea). It was on sale for $30--which was still a substantial amount of money in 1965 but was not returnable. Mom intended to have it tailored for me. My mother was a very smart dresser and had everything fitted to her. Her tailor, Mr Abrams (nee: Abramowitz, but renamed by some arrogant official on Ellis Island some time before the turn of the Twentieth Century) was tiny, wizened and old, old, OLD country with a face like a dried apple; and from the moment she walked into his shop they would fight. This time was no exception. I put on the dress and Mr Abrams immediately threw up his hands and declared that nothing whatsoever could be done. The dress was a disaster! He wouldn't touch it! It was badly made! How could my mother have wasted her money on such a fright! And so forth. Mother, for her part, alternately threatened, cajoled, flatterand finally pleaded pitiously. Mr Abrams (4'10" of bowed, wrinkled, irate fury) raged further, but picked up his shears and snipped the left strap of the dress. At that same moment my inlay once more popped out. Rather than make a fuss (since mother and Mr Abrams were doing such a good job of it) I placed my hand over my mouth and quietly spit out the inlay rather than risk swallowing it. Mr Abrams stopped dead in his tirade and, horrified, turned to me (still with my hand over my mouth) and said soothingly, "Don't cry! I'll fix it! I'll fix it!" He actually patted me on the shoulder. I'm not the fastest on the uptake that the world has ever seen, but I knew better than to say anything. I just nodded. On the way home Mom said to me, "You didn't have to cry. The moment he cut the strap I knew he was going to fix the dress." I didn't say anything. I just showed her the gold inlay. She laughed, cautioned me to never tell Mr Abrams and took me for an ice cream soda. HEE! Much cozier than my lower-back-molar story; I've liked all my permanent dentists but there was one energency one who scarred me for life. Julia, some days I think the Protectors had the wisdom of it
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Post by Julia, wrought iron-y on Jan 21, 2011 12:01:13 GMT -5
Kate needs to work on her expectations. Julia, also: grrrrr Tell me about it. She gave me two articles, with one she really wanted to be able to send out for proofing while I'm gone and a second she was hoping I'd also be able to finish beforehand. And I had to lay out two other pieces for our spring issue, although those only totaled three pages. Then, just to make things interesting, after I sent her the high priority article she wrote back to say that while it was good and she was impressed with how I kept the images close to their mentions in the text, she'd kind of like some of the images to be larger. I wrote her back and laid it out: at that point I had at most three and a half work days left (depending on the weather and such), so she needed to prioritize what she wanted me to get done before I go and whether having me expand the layout on the article was more important than trying to finish the other one—especially since the other wouldn't likely fit in the summer issue anyway. So I spent yesterday afternoon redoing the article. But she wanted me to keep the other version, just in case space became a problem. Which means one way or the other I'll have wasted a day on something that'll never see the light of day. Good times. Maybe you should have a paperweight of Sisyphus to keep on your desk? Or a placque with the lament of the lay-out man from Murder Must Advertise? Julia, having caught myself doing pointy brackets for italics more than once today, and wondering how many I've missed.
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Post by SpringSummers on Jan 21, 2011 13:34:53 GMT -5
Back in the old days of amalgum fillings and other bad ideas? Bring it on! Julia, definitely nice not to be able to see that my new fillings are there at all, it is. Yes, all the way back then. You see, my lower back molar was badly decayed and the dentist had used a gold inlay instead of crowning it, like they would now. A later dentist refered to an inlay as "a puddle of gold in a sea of cement." It came out regularly. It was about two weeks before my senior prom and after days and days of searching and endless fighting with my mother (whose ideas of my perfect prom dress were 180 o from mine) we had settled on a sleeveless butterscotch colored gown with a high neckline (her idea) and a very naughty back (my idea). It was on sale for $30--which was still a substantial amount of money in 1965 but was not returnable. Mom intended to have it tailored for me. My mother was a very smart dresser and had everything fitted to her. Her tailor, Mr Abrams (nee: Abramowitz, but renamed by some arrogant official on Ellis Island some time before the turn of the Twentieth Century) was tiny, wizened and old, old, OLD country with a face like a dried apple; and from the moment she walked into his shop they would fight. This time was no exception. I put on the dress and Mr Abrams immediately threw up his hands and declared that nothing whatsoever could be done. The dress was a disaster! He wouldn't touch it! It was badly made! How could my mother have wasted her money on such a fright! And so forth. Mother, for her part, alternately threatened, cajoled, flatterand finally pleaded pitiously. Mr Abrams (4'10" of bowed, wrinkled, irate fury) raged further, but picked up his shears and snipped the left strap of the dress. At that same moment my inlay once more popped out. Rather than make a fuss (since mother and Mr Abrams were doing such a good job of it) I placed my hand over my mouth and quietly spit out the inlay rather than risk swallowing it. Mr Abrams stopped dead in his tirade and, horrified, turned to me (still with my hand over my mouth) and said soothingly, "Don't cry! I'll fix it! I'll fix it!" He actually patted me on the shoulder. I'm not the fastest on the uptake that the world has ever seen, but I knew better than to say anything. I just nodded. On the way home Mom said to me, "You didn't have to cry. The moment he cut the strap I knew he was going to fix the dress." I didn't say anything. I just showed her the gold inlay. She laughed, cautioned me to never tell Mr Abrams and took me for an ice cream soda. What a story, and what a well-told story! Thanks for telling it. It would make a great scene in a movie.
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Post by S'ewing S'cubie on Jan 21, 2011 13:40:22 GMT -5
Yes, all the way back then. You see, my lower back molar was badly decayed and the dentist had used a gold inlay instead of crowning it, like they would now. A later dentist refered to an inlay as "a puddle of gold in a sea of cement." It came out regularly. It was about two weeks before my senior prom and after days and days of searching and endless fighting with my mother (whose ideas of my perfect prom dress were 180 o from mine) we had settled on a sleeveless butterscotch colored gown with a high neckline (her idea) and a very naughty back (my idea). It was on sale for $30--which was still a substantial amount of money in 1965 but was not returnable. Mom intended to have it tailored for me. My mother was a very smart dresser and had everything fitted to her. Her tailor, Mr Abrams (nee: Abramowitz, but renamed by some arrogant official on Ellis Island some time before the turn of the Twentieth Century) was tiny, wizened and old, old, OLD country with a face like a dried apple; and from the moment she walked into his shop they would fight. This time was no exception. I put on the dress and Mr Abrams immediately threw up his hands and declared that nothing whatsoever could be done. The dress was a disaster! He wouldn't touch it! It was badly made! How could my mother have wasted her money on such a fright! And so forth. Mother, for her part, alternately threatened, cajoled, flatterand finally pleaded pitiously. Mr Abrams (4'10" of bowed, wrinkled, irate fury) raged further, but picked up his shears and snipped the left strap of the dress. At that same moment my inlay once more popped out. Rather than make a fuss (since mother and Mr Abrams were doing such a good job of it) I placed my hand over my mouth and quietly spit out the inlay rather than risk swallowing it. Mr Abrams stopped dead in his tirade and, horrified, turned to me (still with my hand over my mouth) and said soothingly, "Don't cry! I'll fix it! I'll fix it!" He actually patted me on the shoulder. I'm not the fastest on the uptake that the world has ever seen, but I knew better than to say anything. I just nodded. On the way home Mom said to me, "You didn't have to cry. The moment he cut the strap I knew he was going to fix the dress." I didn't say anything. I just showed her the gold inlay. She laughed, cautioned me to never tell Mr Abrams and took me for an ice cream soda. What a story, and what a well-told story! Thanks for telling it. It would make a great scene in a movie. Wow! High praise indeed! Thank you!
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Post by S'ewing S'cubie on Jan 21, 2011 13:56:03 GMT -5
Yes, all the way back then. You see, my lower back molar was badly decayed and the dentist had used a gold inlay instead of crowning it, like they would now. A later dentist refered to an inlay as "a puddle of gold in a sea of cement." It came out regularly. It was about two weeks before my senior prom and after days and days of searching and endless fighting with my mother (whose ideas of my perfect prom dress were 180 o from mine) we had settled on a sleeveless butterscotch colored gown with a high neckline (her idea) and a very naughty back (my idea). It was on sale for $30--which was still a substantial amount of money in 1965 but was not returnable. Mom intended to have it tailored for me. My mother was a very smart dresser and had everything fitted to her. Her tailor, Mr Abrams (nee: Abramowitz, but renamed by some arrogant official on Ellis Island some time before the turn of the Twentieth Century) was tiny, wizened and old, old, OLD country with a face like a dried apple; and from the moment she walked into his shop they would fight. This time was no exception. I put on the dress and Mr Abrams immediately threw up his hands and declared that nothing whatsoever could be done. The dress was a disaster! He wouldn't touch it! It was badly made! How could my mother have wasted her money on such a fright! And so forth. Mother, for her part, alternately threatened, cajoled, flatterand finally pleaded pitiously. Mr Abrams (4'10" of bowed, wrinkled, irate fury) raged further, but picked up his shears and snipped the left strap of the dress. At that same moment my inlay once more popped out. Rather than make a fuss (since mother and Mr Abrams were doing such a good job of it) I placed my hand over my mouth and quietly spit out the inlay rather than risk swallowing it. Mr Abrams stopped dead in his tirade and, horrified, turned to me (still with my hand over my mouth) and said soothingly, "Don't cry! I'll fix it! I'll fix it!" He actually patted me on the shoulder. I'm not the fastest on the uptake that the world has ever seen, but I knew better than to say anything. I just nodded. On the way home Mom said to me, "You didn't have to cry. The moment he cut the strap I knew he was going to fix the dress." I didn't say anything. I just showed her the gold inlay. She laughed, cautioned me to never tell Mr Abrams and took me for an ice cream soda. HEE! Much cozier than my lower-back-molar story; I've liked all my permanent dentists but there was one energency one who scarred me for life.Julia, some days I think the Protectors had the wisdom of it I had one of those too. Think double root canal and inadequate anesthesia for four hours.
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Post by SpringSummers on Jan 21, 2011 13:59:55 GMT -5
Ah, must I be reminded daily of Henry Kissinger's famous quote:
University politics are vicious precisely because the stakes are so small.
So true, Henry, so true.
Am dealing with the ego-driven crazy-crazy again today.
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Post by SpringSummers on Jan 21, 2011 14:02:41 GMT -5
What a story, and what a well-told story! Thanks for telling it. It would make a great scene in a movie. Wow! High praise indeed! Thank you! Danny DeVito as Mr Abrams. Olympia Dukakis as Mom. Alyson Hannigan as Diane.
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Post by S'ewing S'cubie on Jan 21, 2011 14:29:35 GMT -5
Wow! High praise indeed! Thank you! Danny DeVito as Mr Abrams. Olympia Dukakis as Mom. Alyson Hannigan as Diane. Danny DeVito could do it although Mr Abrams was very skinny, I'd happily accept Alyson as me although she's much prettier, but much as I adore her, Olympia is better suited to play my grandmother than my mother at that time. Mom was high glamour/high maintenance. People often commented that she resembled Elizabeth Taylor, but not THAT high maintenance. The portrait in the background is the only likeness I have that is nearly contemporary, painted as it was in 1959. www.t-mobilepictures.com/myalbum/photos/photo21/d6/ec/56f61f0c036c__1179947714000.jpg
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Post by Julia, wrought iron-y on Jan 21, 2011 14:48:06 GMT -5
HEE! Much cozier than my lower-back-molar story; I've liked all my permanent dentists but there was one energency one who scarred me for life.Julia, some days I think the Protectors had the wisdom of it I had one of those too. Think double root canal and inadequate anesthesia for four hours. Only a single root canal, following an airplane trip with an open cavity, and being verbally abused the whole time he was working on my mouth for not taking care of my teeth (which have been a rolling disaster all my life due to prenatal exposure to a drug known to interfere with tooth formation). On top of being treated like a thief for not having insurance (I payed cash for the experience, ugh). I wrote letters to people after that: he was soon out of business. There are advantages to being well known in a very small town. Julia, the next town after, he was arrested for misdirecting prescription drugs for illegal use.
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Post by Julia, wrought iron-y on Jan 21, 2011 15:22:03 GMT -5
Danny DeVito as Mr Abrams. Olympia Dukakis as Mom. Alyson Hannigan as Diane. Danny DeVito could do it although Mr Abrams was very skinny, I'd happily accept Alyson as me although she's much prettier, but much as I adore her, Olympia is better suited to play my grandmother than my mother at that time. Mom was high glamour/high maintenance. People often commented that she resembled Elizabeth Taylor, but not THAT high maintenance. The portrait in the background is the only likeness I have that is nearly contemporary, painted as it was in 1959. www.t-mobilepictures.com/myalbum/photos/photo21/d6/ec/56f61f0c036c__1179947714000.jpgSo, Stephanie Romanov as Mom, then? Julia, there's not a lot of tiny little skinny guys acting these days who don't get shot on top of boxes and sold to us as action stars.
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