Sunday, January 13, 2008

Do the monkey with me!

What do these three movies have in common? I mean other than the fact that they are from my favorite decade. My 13 year old son has taken a shine to these flicks. For Christmas, I bought him the double pack Ghostbusters. Prior to that, he discovered Robocop on cable OnDemand. This delights me to no end that he LOVES the same things I do. Well, at least we have similar likes in music and movies. I'm completely at a loss when it comes to learning Yu-Gi-OH! and the video games he plays. I question what's going on in his head when he's watching those anime' programs. I have learned that I need to keep an eye out for those. There are sexual undertones I don't care for him to watch. The characters are all seemingly young, but have in depth relationships with the opposite sex. All the characters seem to shout at each other. I get the heebie-jeebies watching. It's all just too much. I can see how it appeals to the video game generation.

The Man-cub is amused when I tell him he's enjoying the movies I watched as a teen-ager. First of all, I think it's hard for him to imagine me being any different than I am today. We have a pretty groovy relationship. I show him photos of me as a young girl. He's kind and tells me I'm just as beautiful today as I was way back then. I'm relieved that he doesn't exclaim, "No way is that you!" He did notice that my hair color is many shades lighter now. He's also kind enough to point out when the silver starts to show at my temples. Ah, the joys of motherhood.

The day my son asked me to download songs by Fall Out Boy was a real shock to my system. Prior to that he'd been asking for Disney tunes. I admit, I prefer FOB over the whining strains of Disney kids. If you have children who went through the Barney the Dinosaur phase, you'll know what a relief it is for your kidlette to move on. I never tired of Sesame Street, but that's probably due to the fact that it was also a prime element in my childhood. Plus, the children on Sesame Street didn't appear obnoxiously sweet and in dire need of a dose of Ritalin. (not that I advocate the use of drugging children as a means to gain control over them).

Man-cub bought me a copy of Hairspray for Christmas. My sister Maureen helped him make the choice. I saw it in the theater and walked away perplexed and feeling like something wasn't right. I was fixated on the prosthetics used on John Travolta. If you're familiar with the original movie with Ricki Lake, you know that Divine played Edna Turblad; a drag queen filled the enormous pumps of the Tracy's mom. On stage, the same premise follows: A man plays Mama Turnblad ... but in drag form-- Harvey Fierstein ring a bell? It troubled me that they didn't do the same with Travolta. Instead, they layered on the rubber lady suit. ACK!

My second viewing of the movie took place at home with the kiddo. I enjoyed it so much more. I was able to watch it without zoning in on plastic boobs and calves. What was most hysterical about it was Man-cub asking to watch the finale again, and again. I had no issues with it. We jumped to our feet and joined in the twisting, mashed potatoing, 'do the monkey with me' frenzy that was taking place on our 27" screen.


  1. Travolta is bad. Just all around bad.

    I meant to tell you, you look like Valerie Bertinelli in your high school pics. Seriously.

  2. RoboCop?? You totally rock, my friend.


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