On Becoming Old and Ugly

We used to be young. When we were young, we were cute.

That was then...

It is a great deal of fun to be young and cute. Strangers pay you compliments. People do favors for you, unasked. They give you things. They flatter you and humor you. They make allowances for you.

We are no longer young and cute... and it couldn't have happened a moment too soon. Stripped of the twin weapons of youth and beauty, we've become better people.

When we were younger, we could afford to be cold. When others continually make the effort to reach out to you, you don't learn how to reach out to others. We could also afford to be cruel, believing the extraordinary attention and favor we received made us in some way superior. We were vain, mistakenly thinking that our transient beauty made us, in some way, more deserving than others. We doted on our own appearance, intelligence, talent and wit, oblivious to those same gifts in others.

It can be difficult, sometimes, to reconcile the face we see in the mirror with the face we still expect to see. Letting go of our “mirror time,” though, has given us more time to spend face to face with others.


Today's exercise: Pity the young. Envy the aged. Embrace your better self.

Next: The threat of a preview of my next book still looms large, unless I get a better idea. Suggestions?

The Yum of Bad Movies

To put our love of bad films into perspective, we'll begin by admitting that the first movie we purchased on blu-ray was “Wild Things.”

For those of you who are not familiar with it, “Wild Things” is possibly the worst movie ever made. Bill Murray*, however, is brilliant.

We are also the proud owners of another of the world's most spectacularly lousy films, “Waterworld” and feel that Dennis Hopper's performance is not to be missed. 

Though we can't bring ourselves to actually shell out the cash to purchase it, we have seen “Showgirls” probably half a dozen times.    

We do, however, own “Tank Girl” and “Johnny Mnemonic,” both of which showcase the character stylings of one Mr. Ice-T.

We won't even begin on our love for bad Euro films, mostly because we're feeling too lazy to pull up the character map and chase down all of those accents, tildes and other diacritical markings. Suffice it to say, we are acquainted with the oeuvre of one Tinto Brass.

These films, while universally awful, have at least one thing in common. They are wildly imaginative. Each represents someone's outrageous personal vision, no matter how tasteless this vision or flawed the execution. That is what we, ultimately, find endearing about these nearly unwatchable films. There is a mad passion behind them, willing these doomed Frankenstein's monster-films into being. As with parents of pug-ugly children, these films are smart, beautiful and important in the eyes of their creators.

There is something personal and touching about watching a failing film. For us, it shows the humanity of the auteur, far more than expertly doctored scripts and slick production values could. They remind us that, behind every title sequence, is a person trying to tell a story that is important to them. 

It is also reassuring to know that other people suffer professional failures and humiliations as well... and at least ours aren't available from Netflix.


Today's exercise: Indulge in your favorite bad movie.

Next: Maybe a preview of the book we're working on... unless we think of something better...


*We should go on record as saying we are also fans of the extremely underrated film “The Razor's Edge” and do not understand why it was not better received. Really. Good stuff...

Mr. Attenborough's Neighborhood

The Yummish Council is guilty of a great many sins, the worst of which may be extreme self-involvement. The number of hours we can spend staring at various workstation screens, entirely consumed by worlds of our own making, is truly astounding. (Not to mention, rough on the eyesight and not really great for one's posture.) While we are immensely grateful for these gifts of creativity, it is  also easy to find ourselves becoming a little too insular. We need, on occasion, to be reminded to go outside and play.

Too often these days, the only time we think about the world outside of ourselves is when we read distressing, depressing news stories online about the “destruction of the environment.” It is a terrifying and overwhelming problem that can't be solved quickly or easily. Thus, we find ourselves avoiding the discomfort of the topic by avoiding thoughts of “nature” all together.

That is the signal that it's time for a trip to Mr. Attenborough's neighborhood.

Known in the United States as “that funny British man from those nature documentaries that PBS runs during the pledge drive” our fourth Yummish Saint, David Attenborough has more honorariums, let alone accomplishments, than we have the space or inclination to list here. (Again, our thanks to the good nerds of Wikipedia.)

Mr. Attenborough's nature documentaries, such as “Life” or “Blue Planet” are more than edu-tainment. They are joyful celebrations of the beauty, diversity and horror of what it means to be alive in our world. Infused with the man's own sense of genuine curiosity and endless wonder, these shows inspire the same in the viewer. Painstakingly filmed and, occasionally painfully unflinching, they are beautifully graphic reminders of the world-wide daily struggle we know as “living.” These documentaries have the power to bring not just the world, but your individual place within it, into sharp focus.

For his many decades of dedication to exploring, explaining and helping to preserve the precious environment we call home, it is our pleasure to confer upon David Attenborough, the title of Yummish Saint.


Today's exercise: Explore Mr. Attenborough's neighborhood.

Next: No clue. Really. Not a one. The well is dry.

(In the meantime, check out Mom in High Heels http://myheelsarehigherthanyours.blogspot.com/, a very fertile blog these days...)