Death Blows

Might as well put this out there: My dad died on Thursday. We were not close, and at this point, he'd been out of my life longer than he'd been in it. The last time I talked to him was about a year ago, and it didn't go well. Dad was as troubled as he was brilliant, which is to say very. He was good at talking; the listening, not so much.

Like most people who lose an estranged parent, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. There is sadness, of course, but also long stretches of utter blankness and confusion. In a way, I was long done mourning his absence from my life, and I am (mostly) finished being mad about the chaos he caused when he was present. Frankly, it's probably easier to forgive miserable parenting once you have children. I'm not making excuses for him, but there are days where I'm acutely aware of how hard it is to show up and be present for another human being, day in, day out. It's exhausting. Life couldn't have been easy for a black man with a master's degree in South Georgia almost 40 years ago, and without going into too much detail, my father had internal struggles that I understand all too well.

But still. By the weekend, I was firing off bitter emails to by brother and sister about things I thought I was done with. My sister, in classic fashion, wrote back, "I see someone is rolling right through the stages of grief. You always were an overachiever." And just like that, I thought about the handful of good things that we did get from him, like a wicked sense of humor. His sarcasm used to get on my mother's nerves, and now she's stuck with three adult children who have raised it to an art form. Sorry, mom.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this except to say it's been a deep-thoughts kind of weekend — but I will not, under any circumstances, write a poem. Gotta draw the line somewhere.

Bumper Sticker Of The Week

I just happened to have my good camera in the car when I spotted this in front of me on Park Avenue last week. It's sort of clever, but I'm not a fan of advertising your relationship status and mate requirements via bumper sticker. I do wonder what the liberal version of this would be, though.

Giving Away The Skim Milk For Free

Done well, a film trailer can be almost as satisfying as full-length film. Ideally, it captures your attention while giving away just enough information to leave you wanting more. In the case of a flick like "Watchmen," the trailer was apparently far better than the movie it was attached to.

My issues with the average romantic comedy have been well documented here, but I'm always surprised by how bad the trailers are. You'd think the studios would be at least savvy enough to not give the entire plot away. The first time I noticed this was when the trailer for "No Reservations" — the Catherine Zeta-Jones/Aaron Eckhart chefs-in-love movie — aired in 2007. She's a hard-charging chef caring for her dead sister's adorable daughter! He's the fun-loving, hot new guy in the kitchen! Their styles clash, but will he be the one who shows her how to embrace life — and love? Gee, do you think? Unless you're a big fan of either actor, why would you pay 8 bucks or more to see it when the trailer tells you exactly what's going to happen?

Not to harp on Eckhart, who really is an appealing actor, but he's starring in another movie ("Love Happens") that's guilty of giving away most of its milk for free via trailer. He's a successful self-help expert in pain. Enter the beautiful florist who has sworn off men. Can these two wounded souls find love again ... together? For real?

In the same week, I saw the trailer for "All About Steve," in which Sandra Bullock's wacky, unlucky-in-love character stalks a TV cameraman played by Bradley Cooper. OK. I can see stalking Bradley Cooper, and Thomas Haden Church automatically elevates any movie. But I hate it when a trailer indicates that a morally ambiguous character is going to redeem him/herself, and is inspired to do so because of some potential love interest who "isn't like anyone I've ever met." No. Also, major points off for the use of Sara Bareilles "Love Song," which is just insulting.

Maybe the real problem is my suspicion that neither of these movies are going to be very good. Sure, there were some expected moments in the "Sex and the City" movie (Did anyone doubt that Carrie and Big would get back together?), but the journey was satisfying and too complex to be reduced to a two-minute trailer. Give me something to look forward to.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

When my husband J. and I were dating, he had a great friendship with a single, female co-worker, a woman I liked very much and never thought of as threatening. I also had several good male friends at the time, and one of them routinely hung out with me to watch "Party of Five" or just gab over dinner. If J. thought that was a problem, he never said anything — and he isn't really the type to brood quietly. Come to think of it, we both still have pals of the opposite sex, and our basic attitude remains, "Whatever."

According to comedian Steve Harvey, now a relationship expert/correspondent for "Good Morning America," we are idiots. He is of the opinion that these "outside relationships" are nothing but trouble, and that men and women can't be friends. Period. Occasionally, I've worked with guys who've said that their wives/significant others would not be happy to see them having lunch or coffee (in broad daylight) with a female colleague, and that baffles me. I mean, I think my husband is sexy and fun to be with, but I don't assume that the other women in his life are all trying to get in his boxer briefs. Plus, I'd like to give him a little credit for having these things called boundaries and self-control (Unless the friend in question is Mila Kunis, in which case I've been warned that things could get murky.)

I've always thought that friendship is a form of attraction, and obviously, there are relationships between married people and their "friends" of the opposite sex that end up on a mattress (Hello, Gov. Sanford!). But that doesn't just happen out of the blue, either. Assuming that a) the spouse isn't a lying asshole; b) the marriage isn't already in trouble; c) s/he is conducting the friendship in a respectful, open way; and d) the parties involved aren't fooling themselves about their feelings, I can't buy Harvey's theory. I've known too many great guys to believe that they see women only as potential conquests. When I went through a crummy breakup in college, one of the first people I called was my childhood friend, B., who gave me the kind of no-bullshit analysis men are so good at ("Move on; he has.") We've been friends for more than 30 years and we adore each other's spouses — and we are so not interested in each other that way.

However, if you spot J. having a drink with Mila Kunis, a heads-up would be nice.

You Know You Want To

AMC's "Mad Men" is such a great show, so I couldn't resist the opportunity to turn myself into the newest dish (and trailblazing African American) at the Sterling Cooper Advertising Agency. "Mad Men Yourself" — which allows you to create a vintage illustration inspired by the show — is loads of fun, but also an addictive time suck. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Worst Landlord, Ever

I have had some colorful landlords in my time. Most memorable is the senior gentleman who oversaw my building in Tampa’s Hyde Park in the mid-‘90s. He was wee, often shirtless, and was a competitive dancer of some sort. That’s Florida for you.

But in my entire decade as a renter, I never had a drunken psychopath for a landlord. Gabe Dunn did, and he has chronicled the experience in a set of riveting blog posts about his former landlord and housemate, Gary.

To get a sense of this guy, imagine Mr. Roper of “Three’s Company” on coke. In addition to having many run-ins with the cops, Gary steals from his tenants, leaves Gabe profane, barely coherent voice mails, and writes his housemates unintentionally hilarious notes: “GABE: I AM NOT IN JAIL!!!” Gabe remains remarkably calm throughout, which is wise when you’re dealing with someone this unhinged.

It's Always Hammer Time

A flash mob promoting M.C. Hammer's new reality show — complete with gold parachute pants — dropped in on some unsuspecting L.A. shoppers. Man, you never see stuff like this at the Blair Stone Kohl's.

Oranges Need To Get Over Themselves

With apologies to the genius blog that is F*ck You, Penguin

I'm over you, orange. You're clinging to your glory days as Florida's official fruit and a semi-exotic foodstuff, but I know what you really are. Common. Cheap. At $1.99 a bag, you aren't fooling anyone.

So the fact that you're so freaking difficult to peel pisses me off. Do you think playing hard to get makes me value you more highly? Look, you're just the pit stop between breakfast and lunch, not some carefully considered purchase from the farmer's market or New Leaf. You're not even organic.

I only bought you because I got bored with apples and grapes, and tangerines weren't available. Tangerines are sweet and easy. They don't put on airs or act like they're too good to be sectioned. You, on the other hand, expect to be labored over and earned. Please. You're not a lychee.

If you think I'm going to waste my time delicately peeling away your layers of so-called complexity, you are sadly mistaken. Say hello to my little friend the sharp knife.

Jerk.

Dick Grayson: An Appreciation (Of Sorts)

I know Dick Grayson isn't real and that if he were, he'd be plenty legal by now. But it used to make me feel a tad queasy whenever comics made reference to Grayson's (aka Nightwing) hotness or sex life. I mentioned this to my friend Shag a year or two ago, because I was beginning to get the feeling that Nightwing had either hooked up with every young woman in the D.C. universe or figured prominently in their fantasies. His reply was along the lines of, "Heck, yes. This is why he is a hero among male D.C. readers."

Grayson hasn't been Batman's teen sidekick for years, but being confronted with this is a little like running into the kid you used to babysit and realizing that he's not only a college senior but also incredibly good-looking. And ripped. It seems wrong, if not illegal, to notice.

Oh, well. Artist Nicola Stewart kicked that door down with a fabulously glute-tastic panel of Nightwing in the latest issue of "Secret Six." Dang. I guess fighting crime with circus-honed acrobatics is a hell of a workout. My friend V. confessed that she stared at that particular panel for 10 minutes. A Facebook friend, also female, virtually high-fived my mention of this particular rendering.

I am now of the opinion that Stewart should draw Nightwing, like, all the time.

Messed Up Video Of The Week

I'd forgotten about onetime Chuck E. Cheese's competitor Showtime Pizza Place until my friend H. shared this video on Facebook. Animatronic bears singing Usher's "Love In This Club?" I dare you to look away.

Those Were Your Hubcaps, Batman?

My friend R. took this photo during the Children's Week activities at the Capitol, and I've been meaning to post it. I can't see the looks on the kids' faces, but that is one intimidating Batman.

I Give Up

To my so-called friends who encouraged me to watch "Twilight:"

I hate all of you.

You sat back as I made joke after joke about the cheesy dialogue, swooning and sparkling ... and you waited. You knew that my smugness would be no match for Robert Pattinson's perfectly tousled hair and model's cheekbones. Even as I was spitting out my Diet Coke at some of the lines and special effects, it was too late. I was all, "Bwaha! This is so effing ridiculous." Days later, I was all, "Well, that Cullen character was kinda cute. Really cute. Hm. Actually, he is totally striking. What genius casting! I, um ... dammit!"

He's dreamy — OK? I know when I've been beaten.

But I will not, under any circumstances, read "New Moon."

I won't!

Train-Wreck TV: "Toddlers and Tiaras"

Were she alive today, child pageant queen JonBenet Ramsey would be 18 years old. When she was murdered in 1996, the public was inundated with child pageant footage, which elicited a mass "What the !$#@?" JonBenet was a lovely kid, but the sight of her in heavy makeup and sequins always made my skin crawl, particularly after learning the particulars of her death. Inevitably, people in the "pageant community" felt that the press had given them a raw deal, as if it were perfectly normal to spackle a 6-year-old's face with foundation and blush and trot her out for judging.

More than a decade later, the world of child beauty pageants continues to fascinate/appall outsiders. And as TLC's "Toddlers and Tiaras" series proves, it makes for compelling, train-wreck TV viewing. We just got On Demand service, and against my better judgment, I watched two episodes of "TnT" over the weekend.

The show is pretty straightforward, with each episode focusing on a handful of pageant hopefuls with various levels of experience. What struck me immediately was that, in many cases, you can tell the parents don't have much money — yet, they're spending hundreds upon hundreds of dollars for their kids' highlights, spray-on tans, fake nails, hair extensions and God knows what else. And despite the shameless, relentless focus on their daughters' appearance and poise, many of the moms have let themselves go to hell. Whenever the dads are on camera, they seem vaguely mystified and resigned. They're proud of their little girls, but their wives are running the show. (I admit that there was one sweet moment when a girl's grandfather, a retired coal miner, helped her practice her "prissy" walk across the living room floor.)

As for the girls themselves, it's hard to tell what they think about being on the pageant circuit. Sure, it's fun to play dress up, win ribbons and have strangers tell you how pretty you are, but it seems like they'd be just as happy playing jump rope. I'm convinced that they'd be so much better off playing a sport than skipping across a stage in "casual wear." Maybe they're taking soccer lessons, too, but I'm skeptical.

At one point, my son took a break from saving the universe to see what I was looking at. When a girl who looked to be about four (his sister's age) began shimmying in a yellow, ruffled bikini, he put on his Serious Face and said, "Whoa, that is SO inappropriate!"

I don't have a problem with TLC for airing the show. Frankly, the child beauty pageant is an interesting, if bizarre, part of American culture, and the show is ripe for water-cooler analysis: Are pageants a harmless, fun way for girls to build their self confidence or an early, creepy introduction to sexual objectification? I know which one I'm going with.

Couple Of The Month: Ice-T and Coco

Every once in a while, Americans fall in love with a couple that reflects our most deeply held beliefs about love, partnership and family.

Of course, I'm referring to Ice-T and Coco!

You know how you sometimes have an irrational fondness for random celebrities? I don't know what it is about these two, but the sight of the old-school rapper with his bombshell wife always makes me smile. Unlike the significant others of many rappers, Coco does not go quietly. In fact, she's the main attraction when the cameras start flashing. And Ice-T, secure in his status as a rap pioneer, seems OK with that. He's like, "Look, I've had my moment. I understand that it's all about my lady and her epic assets. Don't hate, fellas. Appreciate."

I was so jealous when my friend V. told me that she once had the pleasure of meeting Lady Coco, who is reportedly "bad as f*ck." She's like a (somewhat enhanced) Barbie doll come to life. If Mattel put a Coco doll on the market tomorrow, I would totally buy it and dress it up in crazy outfits. Coco in pink boots! Coco in leopard-print leather! Coco in a thong bikini! She would crush the Bratz under the heel of her mighty stiletto.

Who needs the A list when you've got that kind of swagger? Don't hate! Appreciate.

Random '80s Video Of The Week: "Kiss And Tell"

As I've mentioned before, one of my favorite things to do is to screen random '80s music videos for my children, ages 9 and 4. The vast majority of the time, the reaction is somewhere between baffled and wildly amused. They're used to slickly-produced musical entertainment, so the sheer goofiness of the videos I grew up on stumps them: "Why is a horse walking on stage? Wait ... what's up with him throwing paint on that girl? And is he wearing lip gloss?"

In many cases, the song is 100 times better than the video. Example A is Bryan Ferry's "Kiss and Tell," a terrific dance tune. What strikes me about this video is how Ferry looks like an accountant who wandered into a strip club on karaoke night. He's a little weary after a long day with his Excel spreadsheets, but still game for some twitchy dance action.

Pop Culture Geek Moment: I thought of this song after reading an Entertainment Weekly blurb about a possible remake of "Bright Lights, Big City." Of course, "Kiss and Tell" was on the soundtrack of the original film adaptation of Jay McInerney's novel of the same name.

Encounters With Famous People

I may have mentioned that I'm going to see David Sedaris tomorrow.

A friend and fellow ticket-holder admitted that she tends to lose her cool when in the presence of well-known people she admires. While I've never had a Chris-Farley-interviews-Paul-McCartney moment, I understand how they happen. You tell yourself you're going to play it cool and aloof, and the next thing you know, you're thrusting your copy of "Naked" in Famous Writer's face and babbling: "Reading your books is like having coffee with a friend! I mean, we have so much in common. You grew up gay and weird in the South and I grew up black and weird in the South, and we both write — though you have an audience of millions and an NPR following. I love NPR! Remember that time you talked about being a Christmas elf? That was awesome!"

I actually have a running list of Famous People I Don't Want to Meet Because It Might Be Too Awkward. It's not that I think these people suck. It's either that the wrong kind of encounter with them would ruin my week, or that my ability to make sensible decisions would be at risk. Among them:

1. Paul McCartney: There is no way I would be able to form coherent sentences or carry on an intelligent conversation. Besides, does he really need to hear another person say that the Beatles changed their life/got them through a tough time/saved their marriage? I'm gonna go with no.

2. Sting: Sting gets a lot of flak for his lyrics and Sting-ness, and much of it is justified. I'm not going to defend the lute. But at 50-plus, the guy remains smoking hot. I've seen him in concert several times, and those guns do not come courtesy of Photoshop. Nothing good could come of meeting him. (Also see: Jackman, Hugh.)

3. Chris Martin: I've always heard that Gwyneth's husband is much nicer and more unassuming than you'd expect a big rock star to be. It must be true, because he was sweet to Miley Cyrus. But everyone has bad days, and I like Coldplay's music too much to risk meeting him under those circumstances. (Insert your own Coldplay-bashing joke here.)

4. Angelina Jolie: First, she might try to take one of my children. Second, her mojo is too dangerous and unpredictable. I had a major girl-crush on her before she went public about the man-taking, so I'm in a vulnerable place.

5. Joe Jonas: My 4-year-old daughter loves the cutest Jonas Brother the way I once loved Leif Garrett, and she is convinced that they're getting married someday. So if he turned out to be a tool with no time for his preschool fan base, well, I'd have to beat him.

On a completely different note, I'm still grappling with the fact that Sedaris admitted embellishing some of his stories after The New Republic called him out. I wasn't crushed, because I always suspected that I was reading heightened nonfiction. However, I don't think there is too much legitimate wiggle room in the "true" category, even for humorists. A recap of the dustup is here.

When Stomachs Attack

So after finally accepting that I have to exercise to keep expansion at bay, I recently asked one of my fittest friends to help me tweak my diet.

I thought I was doing pretty well until I tracked my food for two weeks and crunched the numbers. The truth was that my nutrition was so-so during the week, and occasionally terrible on the weekend. And after seeing my metabolism measurement in black-and-white (Surprise! It's slow!), it was crystal clear that exercise alone was not going to get me where I wanted to be.

Anyway, my friend H. graciously held my hand through the process of figuring out what and how much I should be eating. I don't tell H. anything diet or fitness related unless I plan to follow through, so once I asked for her help, I knew I was committing. My stomach, which called in a huff after my workout today, isn't taking it so well. The exchange went something like this.

Stomach: "Um, what are you doing?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

S: "You know what I'm talking about. Breakfast was some unsweetened oatmeal with cranberries, cinnamon and flax. Lunch was nothing but a big salad! Granted, there were some bells and whistles like feta cheese, strawberries and a little chicken, but that snack was bullshit. An apple and some string cheese?"

M: "Well, I'm trying to do things a little differently around here. We've probably gotten as far as we're going on exercise alone. It's time to shake up the program if we're going to make more progress."

S: "We? I wasn't consulted."

M: "Yeah. About that ..."

S: "Maybe I was happy with things the way they were. It's not like we were exactly getting fried fish and cheese grits down here on a regular basis. You already cut off the supply of sweet iced tea and flavored coffee drinks. Yeah, I noticed. Did you have to take my morning cheese toast away, too?"

M: "I know it sucks right now, but we'll get through this. I need you to understand: We're almost 40, and my metabolism was never that high to begin with. I want to be able to wear sleeveless dresses this summer, like Michelle Obama."

S: "Who?"

M: "OK, now you're just being ridiculous."

S: "Go screw yourself." (dial tone)

Sigh.

Troy's Back!

Two facts: "Saturday Night Live" skits are wildly inconsistent and Zac Efron is so pretty and perfectly groomed that it borders on disturbing. In spite of those things, this gentle swipe at the "High School Musical" franchise made me chuckle.

Top Rejected Management Book Titles

Some friends and I came up with this list, which is becoming a bit of a living document on Facebook. Enjoy, and feel free to add your own!

1. The Lonely Tyrant's Handbook
2. It's Not Me; It's You: Leadership Without Self-Awareness
3. That Paper Isn't Going To Push Itself
4. Leadership and Deception: Your Guide to Both
5. I Rock; You Suck
6. The Power of Buzzwords: Making Gobbledygook Work for You
7. Getting to "Yes, Sir" Using Fear and Ridicule
8. The Tipping Point: Pushing Your Staff Over the Edge
9. Seven Habits of Highly Abusive Bosses
10. Talent is Overrated: Lucky for You
11. Teamwork is for Players, Not the Coach
12. The A**hole Monologues
13. Balance/Schmalance: Taking "Life" Out of the Work/Life Equation
14. The Audacity of Nope: Crushing Dreams, One "No" At a Time
15. I Hope My BlackBerry Works In Hell

I'm Just Saying ...

For some reason, I've had the "list of famous women I might switch teams for" conversation several times in the last month. Many of my female friends have similar lists and will openly discuss them. My husband insists that this subject has never come up among his male friends. Ever.

"So, no one ever says something like, 'If I were attracted to men, I guess I'd go with Boris Kodjoe?' "

"Nope."

"But it's hypothetical."

"We just don't have those conversations."

Whatever. I had no trouble coming up with my top five, even after booting the once top-seeded Angelina Jolie for brazen man-poaching. In no particular order:


Salma Hayek: Owner of some of the most dangerous curves in Hollywood. She's also a smart woman and a budding entertainment powerhouse who is committed to helping mothers in developing nations. Plus, have you seen her?


Sanaa Lathan: A beautiful actress who is way underrated, in my opinion. If you haven't seen her movies "Out of Time," "Love & Basketball" or "Something New," you ought to.


Dame Helen Mirren: I suspected that 60-year-old Mirren was smokin' long before that "holy s***" bikini photo appeared. And, duh, she's a great actress. Regal, talented and British. That's enough for me.


Padma Lakshmi: Salman Rushdie's ex-boo is a food nerd, former model and host of Bravo's "Top Chef." I'm even gonna forgive her for that cameo in "Glitter" as a lip-syncing pop star named Sylk.


Cate Blanchett: As if Australia hadn't done enough by providing Hugh Jackman, it also came up with actress Cate Blanchett. Those cheekbones! She has such a powerful onscreen presence, even when she's playing an icky character like the student-diddling teacher in "Notes on a Scandal." I'm sure she has bad days like the rest of us, but I have yet to see the evidence.

Who's on your list?