Month: July 2015

God might be bigger than Elvis* but what about Don?

I am a major documentary nerd and darn proud of it. When I was in college my dream job, back when I believed in such silly things, was to work on PBS’s Frontline but that would have required moving to Boston, forgetting how to pronounce “R’s” properly and becoming a Red Sox fan. That was never gonna happen which is precisely how I ended up in advertising and working on how-to product videos instead of how-to-escape ISIS types of exposes. 

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Every year I maybe see one of two of the Academy Award best picture nominees but I almost always see all the best documentary shorts and films. A couple of years back one of those shorts was called God is the Bigger Elvis, the story of 1960’s Hollywood actress Dolores Hart whose career was on the upswing when she decided to chuck it all in and become a nun. For realz. I mean who hasn’t thought about doing that at least once in their life? No more relationship drama because you’re married to Jesus now, no more bad hair days, it’s all hidden under the wimple, and no more tearing your hair out trying to come up with something to wear to work because that decision has already been made for you. It’s like Stitch Fix without the variety. Other than having to be kinda/sorta religious it sounds pretty heavenly to me.

If you have never seen Where the Boys Are (streamable on Amazon) now is a perfect time to whip up a big batch of popcorn, grab some Milk Duds and make it a double-header Dolores Hart kind of night. Sure it’s a silly little rom-com about spring break in Florida that has been remade by Hollywood in one way or another approximately fifty times since but it’s a perfect companion to the story of what became of the stunningly beautiful woman who played Merritt Andrews.

Dolores Hart got her big break when she kissed the Justin Timberlake of the 1950’s, Mr. Elvis Aaron Presley, in Loving You and made nine films in five years before taking a studio limousine to the Regina Laudis Abbey in Connecticut (when she was supposed to be out promoting a movie) where she still lives today along with an assortment of birds and cows and a cute little llama.

God is the Bigger Elvis tells the story not just of Mother Prioress Dolores but also a few of her very interesting roommates including novice Sister John Mary, a glamazon British former ad exec with a background in politics who I am pretty sure I could be besties with. She’s in AA now so cocktails might be out but dinner and a movie seem pretty reasonable the next time I am in NYC.

The title is a bit misleading because Dolores didn’t really give up Elvis for her beliefs. She was engaged however (with the beautiful Edith Head designed dress ready to go and the invites in the mail), to a lovely Jimmy Stewart kind of man named Don Robinson. He was an architect and in the process of designing their future home when Dolores decided a Hollywood career, a man who loved her like mad and a mid-century modern with a cooler-than-crap pool was not in her future. Okay I made that last part up because mid-century modern is my favorite kind of house and the timing was right and OMG I found this house when I Googled mid-century homes and that pool is amaze-balls.

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I guess if you are going to be dumped by someone it may as well be for someone like God. It’s not like you are ever going to run into them at the grocery store or the Mall of America. Cute old handsome Don Robinson dated other women but never married anyone else and visited Mother Prioress Dolores twice a year (Easter and Christmas) for 47 years until he died, shortly after the movie was completed. Now that is a true love story worth 36 minutes and 18 seconds of your time.

* I actually have an Elvis tale of my own to tell, when I was a punk-obsessed teenager sporting safety pins for earrings my oldest sister begged me to go see Elvis Presley with her. I don’t know why my other sister or even my mother wouldn’t go, they were more in her age group than I was. But they would not and she was desperate so she promised me a lobster dinner at Steak & Ale and next thing you know I sold my punk-ass soul out for some surf and turf. It was only one night, none of my friends had to know and how bad could it be?

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Try REALLY bad, even worse than I could have ever imagined. There were like four opening acts and when Elvis finally appeared he never sang even one song all the way through. It was like one of those old K-tel compilation commercials. The back-up singers hit all the high notes while Elvis spent the entire performance draping his sweaty scarves around the necks of adoring fans. I was pissed for my sister and all the others who were there willingly but apparently they were fine with it because they applauded and cried and had smiles on their faces when Elvis finally left the building.

Happy Blogiversary

When I started writing this blog one year ago I was not exactly sure what it was going to be. All I knew was that I wanted to start writing again and blogging seemed like the easiest way to do it. But things had changed enormously since my old alternative rock magazine days (RIP Cake) where fanzines like Fat Greg Dulli and music mags like Cake were a dime a dozen and anyone with a computer or a friend who worked at Kinko’s could print out a whole slew of them and hand them out at clubs and bars. Print and grunge was where it was at in the early nineties and the internet was barely a twinkle in Al Gore’s eyes because he still had Tipper by his side and no inconvenient truths to worry about yet.

Well, the internet no longer has that new car smell but digital content is still where it is at these days. Blogging has made lots of people lots of money but could it do the very same for me? Could it allow me to fulfill my fantasy of quitting my day job to stay at home in my comfy pants with two very unhelpful cat assistants to dream up silly listicles all day long? Could my unrequited love of all things sloth, the notorious Ruth “I drank too much wine and slept through the state of the union” Bader Ginsburg and frozen margaritas on a stick appeal to more than just my closest friends and family? I am happy to say the answer to those questions is a resounding yes. This little ol’ blog of mine has been read by actual human beings in over nineteen countries on six continents (get with the program Antarctica!) with only one or two of them possibly being hackers out to steal my identity. (Russia does have some of the best cat videos on the internets, so maybe they just like my affinity for felines on film?) Doesn’t really matter because I can say with all honesty that Oh-Amy is read globally and my debit card still gets accepted at Target so we are all good. Oh, and I have a perfect passenger rating on Lyft:

Even Lyft loves me

When people ask me what this blog is about I am never quite sure how to respond. It’s kind of like the old Seinfeld show, it’s about nothing and is up to you dear readers, to decide where or not it’s sponge-worthy to you. (I say it is but then again I am a bit biased.) In fact it is kind of easier to say what Oh-Amy isn’t. It isn’t a mommy blog because that would be weird, not having any human children and all, and it’s not a lifestyle blog even though I am alive and rather like style although on blogging days like today you might not be able to tell.

My daylight savings time resolution was to post at least every other week and so far, like my New Year’s resolution to know how much money I have in my checking account at least once in 2015, it has fallen by the wayside, but as a blogiversary present to myself (and hopefully to y’all as well) I am going to try my darndest to make that happen, the regular blogging promise thing because the checking account thing is probably not gonna happen, maybe next year.

So if you like sloths, weird European episodic television shows on Netflix, pandas that can out-act half of Hollywood than stick around and let’s see what the next year brings and you can rest assured that despite my dreams of actually making some cold hard cash off of this thing I could never pull a fast one like that Whole Pantry lady in Australia. Belle ” I’ve always been raised as being currently a 26-year-old” Gibson is all sorts of Michele Bachmann-level crazy but I do kinda admire her inability to admit to knowing her real age because I would like to not know mine lots of times. Belle and the not-at-all-black Rachel Dolezal should schedule a play date together real soon (before Belle goes to prison) so they could braid each other’s hair and cook some cancer-curing recipes from Belle’s-no-longer-available-anywhere-cookbook all the while trying to out-Munchausen Syndrome the other. (My money is on the one destined for the pokey.)

So, even though I am not a mommy blogger, I do have some parenting advice to share. Please don’t tell your children they are good at everything because they are not, and if you don’t tell them that when they are young and can take it, well then the rest of the world has to suffer, see exhibit A below. Now I am not entirely sure what Mr. ALL CAPS Kanye West is good at, but I do know what he is terrible at, and that my friends, is singing.