Monthly Archives: December 2012

What I Want For Christmas: A Bunch of Feel-Good, Extremely Formulaic, Holiday Movies

19 Wednesday Dec 2012

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Hearts trump

Hearts trump.
All drawings, and photo, by Julie Seyler.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

I have had a Christmas tradition for the last several years: I set my TiVo to record a couple dozen Christmas movies, and then I watch them for weeks and weeks. Sometimes I run into Valentine’s Day. Why do I subject myself to what are often horrible movies – formulaic and predictable to the extreme? Because that’s what I want at Christmas. No surprises. Just assured, feel-good happy endings with not a few tears.

For example, recently I watched a film on The Hallmark Channel called “Come Dance With Me.” Andrew McCarthy plays an ambitious finance professional who meets up with a woman who runs a small dance studio. Of course, McCarthy’s client wants to rip down the dance studio and put up a mall, or something else that makes a lot of money. McCarthy falls in love with the woman, and then faces the classic question found in almost all Christmas movies. He actually stops a co-worker and asks him, “If you had to choose between love and money, what would you choose?”

Hearts-3/Money-2

Hearts-3/Money-2.

The co-worker says he would try for both, but McCarthy won’t let him off the hook.

“No, if it was just one or the other, what would you choose?” The co-worker opts for money. And of course, that’s the same choice that Ebenezer Scrooge and Henry F. Potter make in “A Christmas Carol,” and “It’s A Wonderful Life,” respectively. But McCarthy, being the protagonist of the piece, must choose love over his job.

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A Fifth Avenue Christmas Pictorial

18 Tuesday Dec 2012

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BY JULIE SEYLER

This past Saturday morning, I walked up Fifth Avenue in Manhattan to see how it was decorated. This was my first major walk outside, without a cane, and with my camera, since my hip surgery on November 6.  My camera is not very heavy, but neither is it small, so I was anxious at the thought of keeping my balance amongst the throngs that stroll down the avenue.  If Midtown Manhattan is always jammed, the crowds are squared this time of year.

Rockefeller Center 12.15.12I got to Rockefeller Center about 9:30, and checked out the tree. It was lovely and huge but didn’t bedazzle me. I need to get over there at night when the lights are on. Statues of Little Drummer Boys and trumpet players surround the skating rink, and already the line to get in there stretched from the ticket window to Fifth Avenue.

I continued up Fifth, and was taken by the icicle drips on the Fendi windows, the rare jewels at Harry Winston, and the moving sets of waves and flowers that hid and displayed the jewels at Van Cleef & Arpels.

But the most fun and festive windows are always at Bergdorf Goodman. This year they celebrated the Follies.  And as many photos as I took, it was difficult to nail down in a digital image their exquisite frivolity. Here is one example.Christmas window at Bergdorf Goodman

Click here, though, and you’ll get a better sense of the details.

I crossed the street and stopped at Tiffany & Co. TIFFANY AND COMPANY

And then Cartier. Their windows were filled with the simple red boxes that denote a Cartier gift. But like magic, they opened and, voila!,

the jewels were displayed. Sometimes all the boxes would open and close together. It was fun.

I walked into St. Patrick’s Cathedral and lit a candle for the children and families in Connecticut, and when I came out, the masses on Fifth left no room for movement of any kind. I scurried past the windows of Saks, which celebrated the innocence, wonders and discoveries of youth, and hightailed it back downtown.

My 40th High School Reunion: Same Cast, Acting Like Adults

17 Monday Dec 2012

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RobertSmith1

BY BOB SMITH

Because of the decline I might see in my classmates, and by the same token, what they might see in me, I was rightly apprehensive about attending my 40th high school reunion recently. As expected, our bodies are flabbier, our hair is grayer, and our faces are more wrinkled.

Bob today

But it was also strangely comforting, because the cast of characters have remained essentially the same.
There’s the gay guy all the straight guys hated in high school because the girls loved him when they would hardly give the rest of us the time of day. Here he is again – well-groomed, neatly-dressed, smiling and drawing women in like moths to a flame. And all for naught. All for friendship.

The pretty girl, who was really smart, is now a super-accomplished professional something-or-other, and her eyes are pulled three quarters of an inch closer to her ears on either side. Yes, she’s had some work done. She still looks pretty. But with eyes that shape, she might be mistaken for one of the Siamese cats from “Lady and the Tramp.”

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The Saturday Blog: Aloft

15 Saturday Dec 2012

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Every Saturday morning, one of Julie’s photos will be posted for the weekend.

Aloft- Photo by Julie Seyler

“Aloft.”
By Julie Seyler

Yesterday’s tragic shooting in Connecticut of 28 innocent people, including 20 young children, has left everyone we know, personally and in the digital world of Facebook, horrified, outraged, fearful, and speechless. It has given rise to universal cries for gun control. Now. We agree. This photo simply captures our sadness at these needless losses. Our thoughts and compassion are with the families and friends of the victims, and for all of us. Let us be safe.

He Rocks. She Rocks. Everyone Rocks Together. Except Me.

14 Friday Dec 2012

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IMG_3056

BY JULIE SEYLER

No matter how I slice it, dice it, or splice it, I have never cottoned to rock ‘n roll music.  I have tried on many occasions, because I think I am missing something important.  So of course, Wednesday night’s 12-12-12 concert in Madison Square Garden to aid the victims of Hurricane Sandy, which brought together a lot of the superstars of rock ‘n roll, was a perfect opportunity to again revisit the music. I would donate, watch and listen.

I know it seems like heresy to not love rock ‘n roll, especially since I grew up in the ’70s –  the heyday of Pink Floyd, The Who, Emerson Lake & Palmer, The Rolling Stones, and The Beatles.  Bruce Springsteen was just coming on the scene at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, and while I lived in the next town over, I never made it there to see him.  I assume that every one of my high school classmates can recount endless nights spent at the Pony.  Hey guys – chime in here with the stories, because when the reminiscing begins, I must remain silent. Rather than rocking out to Cream and Led Zeppelin, I was busy immersing myself in Billie Holiday, which later developed into a tunnel devotion for all things jazz from Charlie Parker to Dinah Washington to Sarah Vaughan, etc. etc. etc.

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I Don’t Hang Loose When it Comes to Tight Pants

13 Thursday Dec 2012

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JBrands

Good Morning.

BY LOIS DESOCIO

“I could never wear those.” I heard this sentence twice recently while shopping. One time it was while I was picking out these big, bedazzled pink earrings. The other was when I was checking out three pairs of my favorite J Brand black skinny jeans. The women who said this to me, who appeared to be over 40, knew I was shopping for myself, because I was wearing big, bedazzled purple earrings, and black skinny jeans. I did have a moment about the jeans, and thought: maybe I shouldn’t wear these either – I’m over 50. There is that uptight, conventional wisdom that says older women shouldn’t wear tight anything. Or maybe if you do, you’re trying to look younger. Do this! Don’t do that!

But it was just a moment. Not only will I continue to wear them, I will be wearing them when I’m over 70 – just like Jane Fonda.

Black skinny jeans is pretty much all I wear these days. In fact I wear them every day. Unless I’m on the beach, in the shower, or in bed – I’m in my black skinny jeans.

To me, tight means a good fit. That small percentage of spandex helps them hug, and hold their shape. They’re comfortable. They’re fashionable. They’re me! They make me happy. And they let me work from the bottom up. Picking out the shirt, the earrings, is where I want to put my daily-dressing energies. (I love shoes, too, but they’re usually black – to match my jeans.)

Think flower stem, tree trunk, or maybe ice cream cone – all the good stuff is on top. My jeans make me a pedestal that sprouts color; essence. Add black heels, my legs look twice as long. (Those big earrings? They give my face sparkle and pop!)

You’ll find me in my black skinny jeans during the day.
Jeans dayAnd at night.
Jeans night

I have about a dozen pair, and they are all exactly the same. Which gives me my personal strength in numbers. That phrase used to mean: never wear the same thing twice in one week. Now it says: buy a dozen of exactly the same thing, and wear it every day.

Bottoms up!

Want to Make a Gun? It’s a Piece of Cake

12 Wednesday Dec 2012

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Drawing by Julie Seyler.

BY JULIE SEYLER

On October 7, 2012, The New York Times ran an article discussing how 3-D printer technology is allowing us to make guns at home.  This flipped me out, because really, regardless of where one stands on the Second Amendment (the right of the people to keep and bear arms), and gun ownership laws, it does seem somewhat crazy that we are moving into an era where guns, like cakes, can be whipped up at home with a little push of the button. Talk about the Wild Wild West!

So I brought the article up with a couple of my colleagues at work – neither of whom were particularly bothered.  One guy said, “If a person is intent on killing, it is very difficult to stop them.  They will find a means to do so with whatever technology is available at the time.” And another guy said that you still need to understand how to assemble the gun, so we need not worry about our ten year olds readily printing a gun for a fun game of cops and robbers.

Well, great!

But what does it say about where we are going as a society?  The simple fact that homemade guns are coming to your local neighborhood – it just blew my mind.  I wrote the above, did a fast drawing that reflected how I saw the situation, and figured one day we’d post my thoughts on the blog.  But last Friday I was talking to a different colleague, and he said, “Do you know what one of the most watched YouTube videos is?” I wouldn’t know since I forget YouTube exists. He said there is a video online that directs you how to make a paper gun – a usable, workable device to kill someone, and it is one of the most popular, watchable, and shareable videos within the small domain of YouTube entertainment.

He shook his head in utter disgust and resignation, and then asked me if I had heard of the University of Colorado dormitory that is specially designated for college students. You know – 18-21 year olds. That own guns. (Hate to be there on a night of too much drinking.)

Wherever you look, the liberalization of gun laws, coupled with the constant progression of technology, is not making us safer. It is just making our society scarier. I grew up knowing a gun was a company-manufactured device sold through regulated retail outlets. There were laws that governed accessibility. I may not have been any “safer” than I am today, but it sure felt that way.

So how does this relate to being on the right side of 50?  Only that I have more years behind me to feel sad about the years ahead.

I Want What She Has: Big Muscles

11 Tuesday Dec 2012

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Muscle Chick by Julie Seyler

Muscle Chick, by Julie Seyler

By FRANK TERRANELLA

When I was 12, I arm-wrestled a girl and lost. I had not entered puberty yet, and the girl had. As I remember, it wasn’t even close.  The girl, who was the same age as me, had initiated the match.  She asked me to show her my bicep muscle. Perhaps she was flirting, but I was oblivious. When I flexed my arm, practically nothing popped up. The girl smiled, suppressing a giggle. She also did not have a defined bicep, but she had a thick arm, and was simply much stronger than me at that age. From the moment she engaged her strength, and started to push against my hand, I simply could not stop her from pushing my pre-pubescent arm down to the desktop. She was proud of herself, and when we argued about anything thereafter, she would flex her arm and say, “Remember, I’m stronger than you.”

Soon after that, I entered puberty, and within 12 months, when I flexed my skinny arm, a hard, round muscle popped up. It was truly amazing to the girl. She knew that I had not started lifting weights, or even exercising.  Just on the basis of being a boy, I had developed a bulging bicep muscle bigger than hers.  And to add insult to injury, she found out when we had our re-match that I was now just a little bit stronger than her also.

I was never a gym rat in my teens and never had athlete-sized biceps. But like most men, I developed biceps in my teens that were bigger than those of the women I came across. While they were just average by male standards, I was confident that I was not going to lose a strength contest to any woman I might meet.

Then I hit 40. I noticed that my biceps did not have the peak they used to have when I flexed them. I noticed there was more fat on my arm covering the muscle.  By the time I hit 50, I noticed a decrease in arm strength.  Lifting heavy items to put them on a top shelf was not as easy as it used to be. I started to read articles in The New York Times and elsewhere that said I was losing one percent of my muscle mass each year. This was alarming.

And then I started noticing that many women were developing  biceps as large or larger than mine. I was walking in Midtown Manhattan one day, when I saw a young woman with biceps the size I had formerly only seen on men. These were not cute fitness biceps from aerobics; these were cannonball-sized guns on a beautiful woman.  And I loved them on her! And beyond that, I wanted them on me.

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That New York Post Subway Cover

10 Monday Dec 2012

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Was the December 4 New York Post subway photo too much for the front page?
Collage by Julie Seyler

BY BOB SMITH

On December 4, 2012, the New York Post ran on its cover a dramatic photo of a man about to meet his death from a subway train. According to the December 6 issue of the Post, the killer claimed the victim “attacked” him, “grabbed” him, was “drunk,” and “threatened to kill him.” The killer threw the victim onto the subway tracks and into the path of an incoming train, which was unable to stop, and crushed him to death between the train and the platform as he vainly struggled to pull himself to safety.  The event was tragic and, the Post’s publication of the photo has rightly been universally denounced as barbaric, gruesomely voyeuristic, and cruel.

This is nothing new for the Post, which regularly prints (and illustrates, with graphic photos, if possible) the most fantastic and grotesque stories, following the old newspaper adage that, “If it bleeds, it leads.”  And I’m sure the Post believes that the current controversy also falls squarely under the rubric that no publicity is bad publicity.  We have come to expect this level of amorality from the Post.

I hesitate to discuss the photo, its meaning, or the motives of those behind it for fear of dignifying the Post’s conduct.  In fact, using any form of the word “dignity” in reference to the New York Post seems wrong.  But still the incident bears scrutiny.

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The Beginning of the Middle

07 Friday Dec 2012

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Julie’s reflection in a pool at Kwetsani Camp, Botswana.
Photo by Julie Seyler

BY JULIE SEYLER

Middle age began for me in April 2012, when I was 56½ years old. Before that, I felt, and perceived myself as young – not 20-year-old young, but 45-year-old young.  It shocked me to actually feel old for the first time in my life. I talked about feeling old when I turned 30 and 40, but this experience was visceral – a connection from the chronological age to a deep-rooted awareness in my heart. I never thought that was going to happen to me. I exercise. I eat right. I have a balanced life, filled with moderation. I follow Dr Oz’s advice. Wasn’t this supposed to shield me from getting old and feeling old?

Ha.Ha.Ha.

I became depressed, confused, anxious, and scared. I drew, because color and free-form lines are great for expressing angst. Perhaps it all sounds silly, but it was tumultuous and inverting – always leading back to the same questions:

Who am I now? Where am I going? What’s next? So how are the good times defined in the future? Will there be fun? I mean, really, laughter is a basic for survival.

The Identity War- by Julie Seyler

The Identity War. By Julie Seyler

Perhaps that sounds petty, trivial, and a non-starter, especially in light of the devastation and havoc wrought by Hurricane Sandy.  How can I be worrying about “fun?”  And the fact is, since I wrote this passage about six months ago, when that first kick in the pants bumped me out of the complacent security and familiar routine of the left side of 50, it feels as if things will never be the same.

On November 6, a week after Sandy blasted the shorelines of New York and New Jersey wiping out beaches, cabanas, and businesses, someone near and dear to me, who just turned 60 was given a horribly sad diagnosis, and I was implanted with a prosthetic hip.

So will the good times return?  No doubt yes, but more importantly, will I remember to treasure the connections, friendships, passions, and simple joys that have accumulated in my life since way before I hit the right side of 50?