Kimopolis

My kind of town.

Posts Tagged ‘Family’

Oh, Mandy

Posted by kimlno on July 30, 2009

My cousin Mandy is an actress. She’s not People magazine famous (yet), but I’d be willing to be that you’ve seen her on TV at least a few times. She is one of the few, lucky actors who makes a living doing what she loves best, acting. Unlike most “actors” in the LA area who make most of their money from tips, either from waiting tables or dancing on them (hey, whatever pays the bills, I say), Mandy’s sole profession and source of income is acting. And let me tell you, she does pretty well for herself. I should be so fortunate. Well, maybe one day my writing will pay the bills, but presently it’s a labor of love.

Currently, Mandy has a fairly ubiquitous national commercial running for Pristiq, and I am totally stoked for her. However, every time it pops onto the TV screen, it totally freaks me out. There’s just something bizarrely unsettling about seeing someone you’ve known your entire life interrupt So You Think You Can Dance. First of all, could they BE any closer to her face? Holy crap. I feel like I’m making out with her. I love her and everything, but even I don’t get that close to her face, like…ever.

And then, before the shock of her visage being two feet high and three feet wide has had a chance to subside, the first word out of her mouth is, “DEPRESSION.” Oh, geez. DOWNER.  Take it from someone who is already heavily medicated, when Mandy says “depression” even I am considering the immediate need to up my daily dose of Zoloft. I mean, I always knew she was a great actress, but level of believability conveyed in those initial moments is ridiculous! The first time I saw it, I literally had the phone in my hand, ready to dial my therapist’s number and ask him to prescribe me some Pristiq, and STAT. I’ve seen the commercial at least 20 times now, and I’m still not convinced I shouldn’t switch.

Then, the other day, I was surfin’ the net when I came across the website for Pristiq and *BA-BAM* there she is again! Mandy, large as life.
Mandy Pristiq
Not a picture of the pill (“Little. Yellow. Different.”). Not a photo of a “doctor”.  Not a bouncing cartoon smiley face. Just Mandy (and her little doll, too). Apparently, Mandy IS Pristiq. A small part of me is wondering if maybe her picture is on the actual bottle (IS it?!?). But another thought rattling around in my mind is: Why is Mandy sad? Why does seeing Mandy sad make ME so sad? It’s really disconcerting. It must have something to do with the fact that we’re related, and the little girl in me doesn’t understand, or can’t comprehend, what the problem is. It’s a visceral reaction that I am completely stunned by. Thank god she doesn’t have kids yet, or else I can only assume they’d be totally traumatized.

Well, to even the playing field a little, I decided it was time for some HAPPY Mandy. Some HOT Mandy. Put the scary wind-up doll down, step away from the meds and feast your eyes upon THIS:

Ah. Now, isn’t that better? I don’t feel like overly medicating myself at all anymore. (BTW, the lead guitarist…my cousin Mike.)

It’s funny, now that I think about it, all of my cousins are uniquely talented in vastly different and amazing ways. It’s almost as if we’re a band of superheroes united by blood and bound and determined to change the world through whatever gifts we have to offer. My cousin Mike, as you’ve seen, is an extraordinarily talented musician (and you can hear some of his current work on the Moon soundtrack, starring Sam Rockwell). My cousin Cameron, Mandy’s brother, is more politically motivated and crusades for human rights and equality as a social worker. My cousin Steve, Mike’s brother, is the environmentalist with a doctorate from UC Davis and a plan to change the face of farming through the use of earthworms. Lastly, but certainly not least, my cousin Cathy is the sportsman of the bunch, an accomplished and highly decorated equestrian who also finds the time to raise three brilliant children somehow. And I am the storyteller, though my medium of choice has varied from photography to film and now to the written word, I am the one who has the distinct honor to share all of my family’s achievements with you.

Aren’t you the lucky one?

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Posted in Sharing Is Caring, Trials and Tribulations | Tagged: , , , , , | 13 Comments »

Does Barry Manilow Know That You Raid His Wardrobe?

Posted by kimlno on March 12, 2009

In 1977, the year Jimmy Carter was elected as our 39th President of the United States, I was introduced to Barry Manilow by my Aunt Judy. Not the man himself (I would never be that lucky), but his songs, by way of a totally dated music format, the 8-track. My aunt was WAY ahead of her time; most automobiles back then were only equipped with radios (an AM radio, not one of those fancy-schmancy technologically advanced AM/FM radios). To this day, my aunt remains to be the only person I have ever met who had an 8-track player in her car. What can I say? My aunt Judy was cool.

Sonny and Cher Dolls.

Sonny and Cher Dolls.

During summer vacations, I would frequently go over to my aunt and uncle’s house in Calabasas and hang out with my cousins. Why? They had a pool. Plain and simple. Plus, her daughter, Mandy, is my same age, and she had a TON of Barbies and Barbie accouterments. Mandy owned the most coveted Barbie of all, which wasn’t really a Barbie…it was a Cher doll. And let me tell you, Cher had a ridiculously awesome wardrobe for a doll, not to mention long black hair that hung down practically to her ankles. Mandy always had the best toys. *SIGH*

On a typical day we would spend half the time in the pool, or until our fingertips puckered, began to turn white and peel off, and then the rest of the day we’d play Barbies in Mandy’s room. It was about as close to paradise a 6-year-old could get. Often, after we’d spent hours getting Barbie and her friends properly dressed, styled, and settled in Barbie’s Townhouse with its real working elevator (See? I TOLD you she had the best toys), her brother Cam would burst into the room, grab the Barbie Townhouse with both hands, and proceed to violently shake the Townhouse back and forth while screaming, “EARTHQUAKE!” Barbie, her friends, and all her furniture would be flung free of the structure creating what can only be described as a Barbie Massacre. As a kid, my cousin Cam was a total dick. Mandy may have had the best toys, but she had the worst brother. Cam constantly made me thankful that I was an only child.

Whenever my aunt had errands to run, she’d coerce us into going with her by dangling the promise of a special “surprise” if we behaved ourselves. Really, we had no choice in the matter. Who would leave two small children at home alone while she went shopping? Hmm. That’s strange. I don’t remember Cam ever joining us on our excursions. I wonder what Judy did with him when we went with her on errands?

ANYsheprobablylockedhimintheclosetuntilwereturnedbutthatispurelyconjectureasIhavenoproof, we’d all squeeze into the front seat of her big diesel Mercedes, and because I was the shortest, I had to sit in the middle…on the dreaded bump. Not the seat bump, in this instance, but the floor bump. As far as the seat was concerned, I was situated in the crevasse, so to speak. Sometimes, when both my aunt and my cousin exited the automobile at the same time, the crevasse would close up and before I could slide out of the car, the back of my thighs would be pinched between the seat cushions. It was a small price to pay in order to have absolute power over the tape deck. Every once in a while, my aunt would allow Mandy and me to sit together in the backseat and pretend like she was our chauffeur, but she preferred it if we all sat together in the front.

Barry Manilow Live 8-Track Tape.

Barry Manilow Live 8-Track Tape.

It seems like the only tape that was ever in the deck was Barry Manilow Live. It was blue and it stuck out just enough to be able to read the title and see Barry’s upside-down disembodied head. In a related anecdote, the first time I saw the album cover in its entirety I was SHOCKED to Barry sporting a skin-tight, powder blue jumpsuit. After seeing that, there was no doubt that Barry was indeed Jewish, if you get my drift. We listened to that tape so often that I still have most of the album memorized. It starts off with cheering and music, and then some lady (I assume one of his back-up singers) announces, “Ladies and gentleman, Mr. Barry Manilow!” With that, the music changes to a psst-ta psst-ta psst-ta beat (very “Solid Gold”). A few bars of that finger-snapping rhythm, and the MANilow himself says, “Hello New York!” and immediately launches into a jazzy rendition of “Riders to the Stars,” that is so exhilarating it could wake the dead. All three of us would sing along as we made our way down Ventura Boulevard to Gemco.
GemCo, in my humble opinion, was the best store to ever exist in the entire universe. It was like 10 stores in one. There was nothing you couldn’t buy at Gemco. Now, those kind of places are a dime a dozen (Wal-Mart, Target, etc.), but back in 1976 that store was special and unique. They sold everything from fine jewelry to groceries to clothes. They also sold gas, electronics, toys, hardware, sporting goods and they even filled prescriptions. While my aunt was doing her weekly shopping, my cousin and I were permitted to go off on our own and explore. Our favorite thing to do was to hide out underneath the large, round racks of clothes. No one ever knew we were there…it was kinda like a couch fort, but instead of couch cushions there were rows of peasant blouses and flared jeans.

Gemco

Gemco

Having free reign in Gemco led to a life-long fantasy of “accidentally” being locked in the store overnight. Thankfully, I was fortunate enough to live the dream vicariously through the film Career Opportunities, a badly marketed and poorly titled John Hughes film starring a young Jennifer Connelly back when she had huge knockers and eyebrows like Leonid Brezhnev. I fondly refer to those early years as the “Labyrinth Age.” For those of you who share my dream of spending the night in a department store, I’ve included my favorite scene (ROLLER SKATING!) for your viewing pleasure. Click HERE.

Once Mandy and I had explored every nook and cranny of Gemco, and my aunt was finished with her shopping, we were usually rewarded with a trip to Ferrell’s for ice cream sundaes (Tin Roof, no whipped cream, my usual). Of course on the way over to Ferrell’s we continued to listen to Barry belt out the classics: “New York City Rhythm,” “Jump Shout Boogie,” a rare medley of “Could It Be Magic” and “Mandy,” “Daybreak,” and, of course, “I Write the Songs.” But the absolute most excellent song on the entire album has to be “A Very Strange Melody,” and I bet you’ve never even heard of it. You see, before Barry was a big star, he wrote advertising jingles to pay the bills, and some rather well-known ones at that.

Barry Manilow got mad skillz. During the medley, he sings about five or six jingles including ones for Dr. Pepper (“the most original soft drink ever in the whole wide world”), State Farm (“like a good neighbor, State Farm is there”), Stridex (“give your face something to smile about”), Band-Aid (“I am stuck on Band-Aid, ‘cause Band-Aid’s stuck on me”), Pepsi (“all across the nation, it’s a Pepsi generation”), and McDonald’s (“you deserve a break today”). However, regardless of how famous his other jingles were, the one that makes them all pale in comparison, my personal favorite, and truly a work of art, is this little ditty*:

There’s barkin’ in the the kitchen
Yellin’ in the hall
Ringin’ at the door bell
Poundin’ on the wall
Kids out of sight
And kids in the wa-ay-ay
No time to cook on this hectic day
Come on, come on, come on
Get a bucket of chicken
Finger lickin’ good
Have a barrel of fun
Goodbye ho-hum
Say hello to your family
Come on everyone
To Kentucky Fried Chicken
Have a barrel of fu-uh-uh-un!

I told you he’s a GENIUS. And no matter how sophisticated, or pretentious, my musical tastes may become, I will always love Barry Manilow.

*To sing along, click HERE.

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Posted in Sharing Is Caring, When I Was Your Age... | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Because I Said So

Posted by kimlno on January 2, 2009

For the record, I LOVE my family. We spend every major holiday together, and we always have a blast. Keeping that in mind, it is with love that I share these events with you.

My mom is a typical middle child. And, even though they are both senior citizens now, she and her older sister, Judy, never agree. On anything. EVER. It is a constantly entertaining epic battle of wills when the two of them both vehemently disagree about anything and everything. Lately, it’s gotten so bad, that their arguments have shifted into the arena of the absurd. It all started at Thanksgiving. After dinner, and a couple of glasses of wine, my Aunt Judy insists that the QWERTY keyboard is definitely, absolutely, without a doubt the QWERTI keyboard (note the “I” instead of “Y”). The men at the table, my uncles and cousins, intelligently stay out of the disagreement, and after about 10 minutes it occurs to my Aunt Judy to walk into the den and actually look at the computer keyboard. I have to confess, even I was impressed when she came back into the dining room and admitted her mistake. We all had a good laugh, and enjoyed the rest of the evening.

A QWERTY keyboard

A QWERTY keyboard

But, to be fair, my mom is not exactly innocent when it comes to always having to be correct. I suspect it comes from her 40+ years of teaching high school in a field where she was always the expert. The first time I got into a really heated argument with my mom about how completely and absolutely WRONG she was, is when she mocked my insistence that the Meerkat was indeed an actual animal, and was in fact NOT a fictitious toy called the Mirror Cat. We were watching “Junebug,” in which an earnest Amy Adams makes an overture about how the Meerkat is her favorite animal. My mom literally guffawed. “There’s no such thing a Meerkat!” she insisted. Then, she made some reference to a childhood toy that involved oppositely polarized magnetic cats. The closer you would get these two fictional plastic cats, the further apart they drifted. When I suggested that she was mistaken, and the toy she was referring to was actually a little ballerina and her mirror, that when you moved the mirror close to her, she would spin and appear to be dancing…things started to get ugly. So, I did what any smartass kid would do, and I Googled “Meerkat” and proved her wrong. She still insists that “Mirror Cats” exist, but on that, we agree to disagree.

A Meerkat.

A Meerkat.

At Christmas, two more disagreements reared their ugly heads. The first one actually stemmed from a difference in opinion between my mom and me. We were watching something on TV that included an aerial shot of the Statue of Liberty. And then she said the most hilarious thing I have ever heard. “I don’t see how so many people could live on Staten Island. It’s so tiny.” After I eventually stopped laughing, I told her that the Statue of Liberty is not on Staten Island. “Yes, it is,” she insisted. “That’s why it’s called the Staten Island Ferry.” If she would have added, “Like DUH” to the end of that statement I probably would’ve given myself a hernia from the uncontrollable laughter.

Liberty Island.

Liberty Island.

Okay, now let’s jump forward to Christmas Eve and I am retelling this story to my grandma and, of course, Aunt Judy. It is at this point in the story that Judy says, “The Statue of Liberty is not on Staten Island. It’s on Ellis Island.” This brilliant observation coming from the world traveler. Oh, but it doesn’t end there. Now it’s time to bring in a third party, the youngest of the three sisters, my Aunt Marianne. For background purposes, Marianne is married to my uncle Vince who was born in Italy and migrated to America with his family as a child. “Vince, when you came to America, didn’t you go through Ellis Island?” my Aunt Judy asks. Marianne, knowing that no answer is going to make all parties happy, is the consummate hostess and says, “No. That’s when Ellis Island was closed.” I bit my tongue, because I was pretty sure that Marianne wasn’t being entirely truthful, and so it appeared that this battle did not have a clear winner.

Now, this last incident is purely hearsay, since I was strategically NOT in the room for most of Christmas afternoon while my mom and Judy, along with my grandma and my cousin Cathy played Rummy Tile. Apparently, my mom mentioned something about buying a box of pasta, and, I kid you not, Judy said, quite incredulously, “Pasta doesn’t come in BOXES!?!” I imagine her tone was something like, “BADGES?!? We don’t need no stinking BADGES!?!” Before the two could come to blows, cue my Aunt Marianne who simply opened her pantry and pulled out a box (GASP!) of DeCecco penne rigate. Y’know, the kind in the blue box.

A box of pasta.

A box of pasta.

I can’t wait for Easter.

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