Wives Lie

In touching on this subject I must write some personal and potentially salacious details. If you didn't like this golden post (which I count as one of my greatest works) then you probably don't want to read the end of this post.

Men know how women lie. Sorry, ladies… you lie. These lies range from benign to malicious. Sometimes you fool us. Sometimes you fool yourself. I love hearing a friend elaborate on some story regarding an argument or a little SNAFU or such confrontation where the lie is fairly obvious. That prompts me to boldly ask, “Whose benefit did you say that… yours or mine?” (Sometimes the friend knows I’ve just called her a liar.)

Sometimes wives tell different kind of lies.

“We can have sex every day of the week.”

Honest to God, that’s what she said. If I couldn’t detect that whopper then my Bullshit Detector © wouldn’t ever get calibrated correctly ever again.

We married nearly nine years ago. We’ve been a couple for exactly fifteen years. We first formally met 183 months ago… and we probably met or saw each other before that by two years. This was more than just some fun exaggeration on behalf of a playful wife. This was utter bullshit.

Oh, there were times when seven out of seven was regularly in the realm of possibility. (Ah, those carefree days of youth, those wonderful years, those glorious pages of history… we hardly knew you.) That’s why Rick says, “We’ll always have Paris.”

Some smug, probably feminist, jackass out there somewhere wonders, “How do you know for certain your Beautiful & Dutiful wife lied?” As if my extensive knowledge of her vocal inflections, facial expressions, posture, moods, and word choice isn’t enough… even the master burglar always leaves a tiny clue at the scene of the crime.

Earlier that evening she told me she was ovulating.

For a man of my experience (and with the pedigree and schooling with my Bullshit Detector ©) that was a no-brainer.

I instantly called her on it… however, part of me was wondering why seven-for-seven plan wasn’t a possibility last week, last month, or last year. A man can dream, …even if he’s married. The innocent, youthful, hopeful, and simple part of me (my naïveté, not just my libido) began to dance through dreams of possibility. I even started plotting out the when and where possibilities. (Think of the exuberance of Flounder in Animal House when he says, “Oh, boy! Is this going to be great?!?!?!”) Of course, the sensible side of me realized that this wasn’t going anywhere… well, more accurately; this vacation wasn’t going to be exactly like the pictures in the brochure at the travel agent.

Now, I’m not a vindictive guy… but my wife, the love of my life, the mother to my child, the civilizing force on my savage nature just told a lie big enough to incinerate every pair of pants she ever owned… and every pair she ever tried on since she was 13 years old. I wanted exactly what the Coz got on Junior Barnes.

“Revenge”

She unknowingly gave me the perfect opportunity. The boy was with my parents that night. We had the house all to ourselves. We had a great time… however, I completely surprised her by confounding her plans to conceive.

Her face immediately turned into the “What in the flaming hootie-hoo do you think you’re doing?” face. The first words out of her mouth were, “You bastard!” She was so shocked that I would be so damn clever… she was also annoyed. Annoyed at me for denying her plans, but also annoyed at me because she knew it was damn funny.

For the next fifteen minutes or more she cursed me while laughing.

I win and I got to have sex. Hell…I’m bulletproof!

Boys' Week

The Beautiful & Dutiful left the house a couple of days ago.

Oh, she’s coming back… for her sins. She’s off on a business trip. She’s taking it kind of hard. She misses me (and, of course, the boy even more). So much she actually took ill Monday.

Her silver lining? Let’s take a trip in the Way-Back Machine… her previous business trip took her to New Orleans. The hotel she stayed in looked, by her account, terrible… if she phrased it politely. The kind of hospitality rats would refuse. Her complaints, and those of her colleagues, did not fall upon deaf ears. She now sleeps in a suite with a nice view, comfy bed, plenty of room, and most importantly free of obvious vermin. That said, even a suite is too far away for Momma.

She feels much better today. With luck she should feel fine when she’s back. Just to make sure I ordered “For Your Consideration” from Amazon. (My first Amazon purchase in some time… and I added another Columbo set.)

Unfortunately for the boy, I get back from work too late to actually do much with him. We had diner with my mother, although neither he nor I ate much. On the way home he saw a number of freight cars, so he wanted to speculate what kind of freight they held.

“Stuff!”

“Sure, but what kind of stuff, oh mystic whose powers are brighter than the sun?”

He ran off a number of things a toddler would load in a train or a semi-trailer. Lately, he the idea of hauling milk, tar, cakes, candles, and booze.

What a boy to think so generously upon his father.

Last night he wanted to watch more TV. Since he behaved so well earlier (according to the reports and my all-too brief time with him yesterday) I caved. Sure, part of my decision came from his wanting to see Doctor Who… which is a favorite of mine. However, he didn’t just ask to see Doctor Who. He asked for a specific scene from a specific episode by quoting a specific line.

“I want to see the Doctor wipe every last stinking Dalek out of the sky.” Followed by a beaming smile. (That’s from the last scene of “Bad Wolf” from 2005 with Christopher Eccelston and Billie Piper.)

He also wanted to see the Doctor save kidnapped bride-almost-to-be Donna Noble from a runaway taxicab on the freeway. (A very fun scene with music that sounds like a John Barry score for the early Bond films.)

Well… he enjoyed them so much he wanted to see more.

“See the Doctor kneel near the Daleks.”

Huh? To my knowledge (and I’m a pretty big Doctor Who geek), he doesn’t… although, I found the scene anyway. Right after a fun cliffhanger from the older series… a Dalek story from 1988 where his companion gets surrounded by Daleks while she frantically tries to assemble a rocket launcher. (Only now I realize how that must look on the BBC some twenty years ago… military weapons in the hands of a troubled teen girl?!?!?! Wow!)

I’ve gone from the wife out of town to Doctor Who.
Must.
Halt.
Babble.

Rat Pack: What About Dean?

Sort of an anniversary present to the B&D. Sort of a Valentine's Day present, too. Sort of a night out with our friends (Hip J & the Doll plus another couple who are very dear to us).

The State Theater showed The Rat Pack Live at the Sands... a stage show originating in the UK that attempts to capture the spirit of Frank, Dean, and Sammy at the capital of swank, the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas in the 60s. Some feat.

That's three legends... three legends who were legends when they were alive. Frank's career had enough peaks and valleys for three singers (or Hollywood stars). Dean wasn't the world's greatest singer, but he knew how to sell a song... and he excelled in personality. He could be the straight-man, hit a punch-line, give you a little song, give you a little dance, spray some seltzer down your pants, charm the women, be the envy of the men, and do it all effortlessly. Sammy... I don't even need to describe the man's accomplishments with anything other than the word genius.

Someone tried to cast that show? A show where each of the three leads would perform the songs that we remember them for, the gags we know them for, and not to mention interact between themselves... uh, huh. That's a tall order, baby.

Frank only died a short while ago... eight years this coming May 14th. (I remember the news coming down off the wire in the newsroom.) Dino was eleven years this past Christmas. The youngest, Sammy, died almost eight years before Frank... May 16th, 1990. They hadn't performed together much in the later years... but their antics were known by many, watched over and over in their films, and more recently played out on a number of CDs. (Not to mention the older releases of their individual live performances.)

Obviously, Sammy was the difficult one to cast. Sure, you didn't need him to dance all night, but that guy needed to do some dancing. It wouldn't be Sammy otherwise. There's the impersonations. Sam also knew how to play a few instruments. (Stevie Wonder before Stevie Wonder... plus eyesight in one eye.) Of course, everyone knows Frank. He was their leader... and, in one way or another, he demanded a little more of the spotlight. Not nearly as over-the-top as Sam, but that's like saying Audrey Hepburn isn't attractive because Marylin Monroe is hot. Then there's Dean. How do you cast personality like that?

Believe it or not the guy who plays Frank (Stephen Triffit) does a remarkable job. He doesn't struggle to play Frank... he just does it. He sounds like him, moves along like him, banters like him... he does a great performance. Unfortunately, the show features a few songs that (to my limited knowledge) do not come from the Sands shows... some recorded after those days, certainly New York, New York, and My Way. However, everyone knows Sinatra for those songs... and I'm sure the producers wanted to deliver some songs that some audiences would naturally think of.

Sammy is wild... right down to the suits. He blows a trumpet, taps up and down the stage, mugs, smokes, gives us one or two "babes", throws out a few well known lines ("If this don't straighten my hair nothin' will!"), cracks up at Frank and Dean (and himself), and delivers the Sammy style with an affectionate performance. Not an impersonation. Some of it seems too over-the-top... but this is Sammy. If the actor (David Hayes) didn't go well beyond the mark it would probably have seemed half-hearted. Sammy was just sooooo flamboyant. Again, the producers saw fit a song that probably wasn't ever done at the Sands... "Mr. Bojangles", but they slid it in as Sam's tribute to the time with his uncle and father (The Will Maston Trio) and it feels right.

Dean... smooth for sure. The guy they got (Nigel Casey) knows how to wear and walk in a tuxedo (a couple of them). He takes his time... just like Dean. However, when you compare the voices of Frank and Sammy with the real deal they come close enough. Dean's voice doesn't come as close... though, it sounds quite good. In fact, that might be the problem. Dean was very casual. That was the bit... so casual he was almost not there. This guy did a couple of prattfalls, and I'm not sure Dean did that. Even if he didn't, it fits the show. Also to his credit, his chat and gags work... not an easy task considering most of the jokes Dean used were old and stale when he did them. He (Dean as much as Casey) needed the audience's good will for the jokes to fly... and just like in the 60s, the audience rides along here.

Hell, considering the source two outta three isn't bad at all. You can tell it's two out of three... but those are three rather difficult guys to nail.

The wife and I decided to watch the HBO film "The Rat Pack" again on Sunday. Another film that tries to tackle a number of well-known faces with familiar voices... mostly done without impersonations. In fact, the make-up on Ray Liotta doesn't go out of the way to force Sinatra's mug on him... he's obviously Ray Liotta. Same with Joe Mantegna as Dino and Don Cheadle as Sammy. (Likewise with Angus Macfadyen as Peter Lawford and Bobby Slayton as Joey Bishop... if you have seen them before.)

Some of the film's musical numbers are done with voice dubs, however, the most of the stage scenes use the actor's voices. Whoever dubbed Dean's voice nailed it. Not only that, but Joe Mantegna clearly appreciates Dino (who can't?)... he nailed Dean's personality in the film. He got a Golden Globe for that performance.