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BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
It’s that time again, when we prepare to celebrate our independence from the nation that ultimately would give us The Beatles, “Absolutely Fabulous,” and Cadbury chocolate (well done!), along with The Spice Girls and “Jerry Springer: The Opera” (try again), and Russell Brand (jury’s still out).
That’s right, it’s almost Independence Day, when we thank our lucky stars (and stripes) that we’re eating hot dogs and apple pie instead of bangers and mash. And of course, this holiday isn’t complete without the requisite Fourth of July fireworks.
Actually, “Fourth of July fireworks” is a misnomer, since packaged pyrotechnics start cropping up in pretty much any store where it’s legal (with the word “legal” being left to the proprietor’s interpretation) long before the actual holiday.
“Welcome to Bargain Bonanza! Would you like to try our new super-duper-sized Combustible Carnival of Calamity?”
“No, thanks … I’m just buying a pack of gum and these ceramic bobbleheads.”
“How about our mega-giganto-normous Barrel of Burnable Bombshells?”
“No, just the gum and the bobbleheads. Ooh! And this half-price, tie-dyed toaster cozy! That’s all.”
“Ah, c’mon … it’s the Fourth of July!”
“Actually, sir, it’s June 12.”
You get the picture.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against feting America’s freedom and lionizing our liberty. I do, however, bristle at being besieged by bombs bursting in air for weeks before and after the Fourth of July. And on the actual holiday, I prefer to watch the colorful aerial exhibits from a safe, non-flammable distance, not packed with dozens of other spectators in some cul-de-sac in an unfamiliar neighborhood. (“Cul-de-sac,” by the way, is French for “no escape route.”)
But seriously, folks, safety is of the utmost importance when dealing with fireworks. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, approximately 10,000 people are treated in hospital emergency rooms every year for fireworks-related injuries, and most of these incidents involve children. (According to me, it’s mighty strange that this statistic comes from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.)
So if you’re going to be firing off gunpowder-propelled projectiles this Fourth of July, remember to be safe, sane and sensible, so you don’t end up with scars and stripes forever. And be glad you’ll never see these bad-idea fireworks and aerial displays at a store near you:
Red, White and Blew a Finger Off
Ba-Rocket Obama
Aimlessly Roamin' Candles
REALLY Hot Pockets
Lady(GaGa)fingers
I Can't Believe It's Not Napalm!
The Wailin' Palin
The Star-Spangled Band-Aid®
Apocalypse POW!
Skanky Doodle
Five Charred Dud
Pop! Goes the Diesel
Rock, Paper, Blisters
Six Degrees of Amputation
As the World Burns
Botulism Rockets
Ring Around the Rosie O’Donnell
Sweet Landmine of Liberty
Fatalcrackers
The Emergency Roominator
BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
Looking for a cinematic treat while beating the heat and kicking up your feet? Cool your heels while watching these summer-themed flicks from the last few decades:
“Summertime” (1955) – Katharine Hepburn was nominated for an Oscar for her turn as a vacationing spinster who falls for a married antique dealer in Italy.
Memorable quote: The film’s tagline: “She came to Venice as a tourist … and went home a woman.”
“Suddenly, Last Summer” (1959) – A stellar cast (Elizabeth Taylor, Katharine Hepburn and Montgomery Clift) lights up Gore Vidal’s somber adaptation of the Tennessee Williams play known for such then-verboten themes as homosexuality, cannibalism and lobotomy.
Memorable quote: “We would carve each day like a piece of sculpture, leaving behind us a trail of days like a gallery of sculpture until suddenly, last summer.”
“The Endless Summer” (1966) – The “ultimate surf movie” follows avid boarders to California, Hawaii, Tahiti, Australia, New Zealand, Senegal, Ghana, Nigeria and South Africa in search of the perfect wave.
Memorable quote: “Malibu Beach, California, famous for its Malibu Outriggers, surfing, and girls. THIS is a girl … and for those of you who are maladjusted, THIS is a Malibu Outrigger.”
“Summer of ’42” (1971) – A bittersweet coming-of-age film in which the lovely Jennifer O’Neill’s main concern is her soldier husband’s fate in WWII, while three hormonal teens’ main concern is the lovely Jennifer O’Neill.
Memorable quote (as the boys gawk at a medical journal about sex): “Before I saw these pictures, I didn’t think it was possible, either.”
“Corvette Summer” (1978) – A high schooler’s automotive passion leads to a dream job as a Corvette mechanic, but he’s soon embroiled in the bossman’s dirty dealings. (Believe it or not, Mark Hamill DIDN’T do this for the money; he was already rolling in “Star Wars” dough!)
Memorable quote: “Ya wanna hitchhike, ya gotta stick somethin’ out.”
“One Crazy Summer” (1986) – An aspiring cartoonist (John Cusack) and his pals come to the aid of a singer (Demi Moore, back when Ashton was 8) to save her family property from developers.
Memorable quote: (While reading the obituaries) “You ever notice how people die in alphabetical order?”
“I Know What You Did Last Summer” (1997) – Four teenagers try to cover up a hit-and-run, but SOMEONE knows what happened. And they’re out for revenge.
Memorable quote: “We should have a plan. Angela Lansbury always had a plan.”
“Summer of Sam” (1999) – Spike Lee’s spin on the “Son of Sam” murders during the summer of 1977 centers on the residents of a South Bronx neighborhood living in fear and distrust of one another.
Memorable quote: “Evil spelled backwards is live!”
“(500) Days of Summer” (2009) – Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is a young man who believes in true love. Summer (Zooey Deschanel) is a young woman who doesn’t. CON: It’s as disgustingly hip as the parentheses in the title. PRO: Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
Memorable quote: (Narrator): “Tom Hansen of Margate, NJ, grew up believing that he’d never truly be happy until the day he met ‘The One.’ This belief stemmed from early exposure to sad British pop music and a total misreading of the movie ‘The Graduate’.”
BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
Since I began writing this column four years ago, countless readers have asked, “How do you come up with this stuff?” Well, in addition to having been blessed with a modicum of innate talent and what I suspect is a genetic predisposition toward insanity, I have experience and education on my side. I’ve spent years honing my craft (a work in progress) and I also hold a state-certified B.S. degree – not to be confused with a degree in B.S., which I also possess.
“I love to write, but I’m not very good at it,” many folks have lamented to me. Take heart, aspiring scribes, there IS help for you. Even if you’re not a natural-born writer, you CAN learn to be a better writer. Taking a cue from Frank L. Visco’s “How to Write Good,” I present “How to Write Even More Gooder.” By following these 20 handy hints, you’ll be on your way to more coherent scribbling in no time:
1. Prepositions should never be used to end sentences with. (That's why I always use a period after.)
2. Being a writer does NOT give you carte blanche to use foreign terms ad nauseam. This practice is gauche and makes you look like a humongous jerque.
3. Don’t be redundant. Use the fewest, smallest number of words possible to make your point and convey your message; otherwise you come across as repetitive, wordy, long-winded and repetitive.
4. Conversely, don’t use one-word sentences. Ever.
5. Or sentence fragments.
6. Profanity is used by &*%!$ with limited vocabularies.
7. There ain’t never no good excuse for using no double negatives.
8. Just between you and I, some writers could care less about misusing certain words and expressions, irregardless of how awful it sounds. A responsible writer takes the time to research how to use the bestest grammar possible.
9. One exclamation point is enough to express strong feelings!!!!!
10. Avoid repetition. There’s no need to say the same thing over and over.
11. Clichés are for the birds and often stick out like a sore thumb. Instead, try to think outside the box.
12. Its important to use apostrophe’s properly.
13. Also, please, do not, get carried away, with the commas.
14. Same goes for the overuse of quotes by famous people. Quotation confesses inferiority – or so Ralph Waldo Emerson, American essayist, philosopher and poet (1803-1882), said.
15. Employing bad analogies is as terrible as when you get a letter from some non-profit organization asking for donations and you don’t send them any, but you still use the little return-address labels that they sent as a gift.
16. Talented though they may be, dangling participles make even the most brilliant writers sound like idiots.
17. Using big, fancy words when more plebian locution would suffice makes your writing abstruse and superciliously magniloquent.
18. If something was mentioned previously, to do so again is repetitious.
19. Proofread thoroughly to see if you any words out, as well as to to be certain you didn’t repeat any. And don’t forgit to use spell-check.
20. And speaking of proofreading … it’s also a good way to make sure there are no unfinished
BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
In the good ol’ U.S. of A., flirting on a city bus could land you on the bad end of a sexual harassment lawsuit, but leave it to the Europeans to actually ENCOURAGE a little slap-and-tickle among public transit passengers.
I reckon running barefoot all over the world takes a lot out of a diaper-wearing, arrow-shooting cherub because Cupid recently hitched a ride with Arriva Scandinavia, the Copenhagen company behind the “love seat project” launched on more than 100 of its vehicles to urge riders to become friends … or more.
When someone sits in one of the valentine-red, side-by-side seats, it’s an indication that he or she is single (or at least available). Smiling, winking, making goo-goo eyes, batting of lashes and other coquettish behaviors are wholeheartedly encouraged.
That’s right, folks, it’s … The Love Bus. Come aboard, they’re expecting you. Set a course for adventure, your mind on a new romance. At least until you get to your stop.
“You never know what will happen,” an Arriva spokesman told the American Free Press. “We cannot guarantee that you will find the person of your dreams. We are just offering the possibility for people to communicate, to smile a bit more and possibly, to win someone's heart.”
That’s PR-babble for, “You might get lucky, but most likely, you’ll experience the soul-crushing agony of having no one sit next to you, causing other passengers to avert their eyes in embarrassment for you, all the while sneaking surreptitious glances at you and obviously delighting in your abject humiliation as they snicker and mutter, ‘Loser!’ behind their morning newspapers.”
Perhaps the Danish are a sweeter lot than we statesiders – after all, they DO have a pastry named after them – because I can’t see this experiment playing out too well in America. In fact, the XXX disgrace described above is just the best-case scenario. There’s also the chance you’ll end with some pervy loner as your seatmate. Or worse, YOU could be the pervy loner – at least in the eyes of the purse-clutching little old ladies boring holes through your obviously corrupt moral fiber with their disapproving stares.
It’s been a while since I patronized the mass transit system, but if memory serves and stories from friends who are regular riders are true, chances are slim to none that you’ll end up holding hands with a dreamboat, and much greater that you’ll be used as a pillow for some snoring, hygiene-challenged furball who decided of all the shoulders on the bus, YOURS looked especially drool-absorbent that day.
Seriously, though, is this what the dating game has come to – the equivalent of holding a “Please love me, I’m lonely” sign on a bus full of strangers? Whatever happened to meeting potential suitors the old-fashioned way – on Internet matchmaking sites?
BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
In Hollywood, you know you’ve “arrived” when, instead of having you OVER for lunch, people have you FOR lunch – figuratively, that is. Restaurants, diners and delis across the U.S. celebrate celebrities with a smorgasbord of sandwiches, salads, sides and sundry snackables named for stars of TV, film, music and sports.
For some businesses, there’s no business like show business for drumming up big business. For instance, at New York’s Stage Deli, you can chow down on a Kevin Bacon, Lettuce & Tomato, a Richard Simmons Tropical Fruit Salad or a Dolly Parton – no, it’s not a double serving of extra-large chicken breasts, but pastrami and corned beef on twin rolls. Stage Deli also boasts Sid’s Caesar Salad and the Tiger Woods, which, inexplicably, is a Reuben sandwich; I guess "pork and tongue sub" didn’t sound too appealing.
With the exception of the aforementioned cleverly named dishes, it seems most eateries simply stamp a name on a particular food because a certain star once ordered it or a particular personality is their idol or the ingredients vaguely reflect the honoree’s ethnic origins – e.g., Carnegie Deli’s famous Woody Allen sandwich (pastrami and corned beef on rye).
I’m more a fan of menu items that pay tribute to a specific attribute of a celebrity – something like: The Kardashian: Roast beef, trimmed of unnecessary fat and served on two hot buns – or names that play on celebrity’s name and/or work – Samuel L. Jackson Steaks on a Plane, anyone?
If there are any restaurateurs out there in need of ideas to spice up their menus, I’m your go-to-girl! I have more ideas than a Big Mac has calories. Here are some morsels of food for thought:
* Spam Anderson
* Tom Shanks
* The Brad Pita
* Roseanne Salad Barr
* Britney Asparagus Spears
* Tyra-misu Banks
* Bismarcky Mark Wahlberg
* The Hulk Hoagie
* Terri Garr-lic Bread
* Johnny Hash – served with …
* Seth Green Eggs and Ham
* Dane Cookies ‘n’ Cream
* Johnny Depp-Dish Pizza
* Bernie Mac & Cheese
* Jane Fondue
* Jason Mrazberry Pie
* Snoop Chili Dogg
* Jean-Claude Flan Damme
* Ladyfingers GaGa
* Al Cap-Pacino
BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
I’m not one to keep up with fashion trends, except when they strike me as particularly hideous or inane. Impractical footwear: If the heels are so high, you get a nosebleed, they’re not shoes, they’re health risks. Spray-tanning: That skin color does not occur naturally in any species except Oompa-Loompas. The return of harem pants: MC Hammer called … he wants his 1990 wardrobe back. No pants at all: Only if you’re Lady Gaga, in which case, it’s expected.
One of the latest fads infecting the chronically hip is what some have dubbed “the granny movement.” No, it has nothing to do with geriatric bowel functions; it’s all about going gray – courtesy of a dye kit rather than the natural aging process.
From London’s cool cliques, runway models, celebs like Pink, Kate Moss, Victoria “Posh” Beckham and one of the ubiquitous Olsen twins to the funky-chic geek down the block, charcoal-colored coifs are all the rage. Among the most noted of the “hipparrazi,” as I like to call ‘em, is 13-year-old blogger and style mascot Tavi Gevinson, who’s been making the scene at fashion shows and after-parties in her self-described “awkward jackets and pretty hats” and a blue-gray Dutch-boy bob. Sure, it’s cute now, but what’s she gonna do for an encore … a hip replacement at 16?
Of course, this craze is more prevalent among the younger set, ‘cause I don’t know too many women over 25 who don’t run screaming in horror at the sight of their first silvery strands. According to Nielsen, their older counterparts collectively spend $1.3 billion to hide their grays, but many of these so-called trendsetters are plunking down $200-plus per head to acquire the salt-and-pepper look … without the pepper.
I don’t get it. And I want it to stop before it gets out of hand. Next thing you know, it’ll be en vogue to carry those little coin purses that hold a megazillion pennies, which MUST be counted one by one in order to give cashiers exact change, thus holding up the rest of the checkout line.
Nothing good can come of this voluntary graying of America, I tell you. It can only lead to the popularization of other trends like:
* Male pattern baldness haircuts
* Beaded necklaces made from Geritol, Pepcid and Viagra.
* Henna tattoo liver spots
* Crow’s feet facial decals
* Perpetually blinking stick-on turn-signals for hipster hybrid cars
* Instead of blinged-out grillz? BeDazzled dentures!
* Ugg boots designed to look like black socks with sandals
* Tiny ear-hair wigs
* Customized doorbell that shouts, “You kids get off my lawn!”
Gray hair may be the new “in” thing for some, but frankly, I’d much rather see it on those who have earned it the OLD-fashioned way.
BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
With the recent upturn in temperatures, I’ve been on a quest for a reasonably priced spring jacket, something stylish but not too trendy and featuring enough pockets to serve as sort of a wearable purse. As I’m notorious for my hatred of shopping –which, along with my disdain for purse-toting, puts me in danger of having my Ladies’ Club membership revoked – I’ve been cruising the online clothing circuit. I guess you could say I’m doing a little Windows-shopping. (Ha! See what I did there?)
Because I’m just enough of a girl that I wouldn’t be caught dead in a jacket that conflicts with the rest of my ensemble, I’m looking for something in a neutral tone, preferably on the lighter end of the brown spectrum. One would think this would be a relatively simple search. One would be grossly mistaken.
What I found was a baffling array of choices – none of them accompanied by examples – like Chamois, Flax, String, Oakleaf and Pearl Bisque. (String?! Really?) Whatever happened to good ol’ lower-case khaki, beige or just plain tan?! Now, I understand trying to make colors more attractive-sounding, and I can figure out what Sand, Camel, Toast and Café-Au-Lait look like, but Praline Cream, Barley, Oatmeal and Biscuit?
Distracted by these undecipherable names (and a sudden craving for breakfast food), I forgot about shopping and got lost in a sea of Delicacy and Fatigue – not states of mind, but colors in the Chico’s catalog. Another site offers items in the color of Mud, which is about as clear as … well, its name, since one puddle of wet dirt can look different from the next.
Silly me, I always thought brown just came in light, medium and dark, but apparently, it also can be Havana, Aztec, Cordial, Hacienda and California Gold, the last of which I’m pretty sure is an illegal substance.
Seriously, I get it. I realize manufacturers can’t call ‘em as they see ‘em because who’d want to buy anything offered in Jaundice, Gaping Head Wound Red or Strained-Carrot Baby Barf? And I shouldn’t complain because it could be worse. Though I have no idea what Plumbago, Slurple and Haze look like, I’d be more likely to put them on my body than such Tudor-Era shades as Dead Spaniard, Goose-Turd and Blod (I don’t even want to know).
I did enjoy the color wordplay on an automotive website – Anti-Establish Mint, Last Stand Custard, There She Blue – and was thankful to find no cars offered in Gang Green, Salmon ‘Nilla or Pierced Navel Orange. (Though I AM lobbying for I Cannot Tell A Lilac.)
Paint-job possibilities aside, this catchy-naming trend has gotten out of control. What’s the world coming to when there’s a selection of more than a dozen names for what most of us know as black? I give up. Until someone invents a color decoder ring, I’m sticking to Fisher-Price products, where the colors come in primary red, blue and yellow.
BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
