A Boomer's Blog

Notes for the Boomer Generation

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It’s Oscar time again!  On March 2, Ellen DeGeneres will host the 86th Oscars.  Of the past 85 Best Pictures, I have seen 61 of them.   I saw some of them, of course, many years after their release, on TV.  Here’s a list of all Best Pictures since the first ceremony was held in Hollywood in May 1929.


My all time favorite from this list — Shakespeare in Love, 1998.  How many of them have you seen?  The winner the first year, 1929, was Wings, the only silent film to win Best Picture until The Artist came along in 2011 (although, technically, there was that one scene at the very end with a few sentences).

The first movie I ever saw was April Love with Pat Boone and Shirley Jones, in 1957.  I had just turned eight and saw it with an older girlfriend, my neighbor Peggy, who was ten.  I don’t remember a thing about that movie except that Peggy and I sang Pat’s hit song, April Love, all the way home.  I’ve been a movie geek ever since.  For years, my son was a movie projectionist, and I was able to get a fabulous Mom Discount, Free Admission.  I saw everything!  I no longer have a free ride, but one benefit of time passing by (so fast!  so fast!) is the Senior Discount.

My worst movie experience ever was attending the Twilight marathon at Scappoose Cinemas last year.  My friend Bobbi wanted to go, and I wanted to see her.  It sounded like a great adventure, FOUR TWILIGHT MOVIES IN A ROW!  Well, I had never seen them, and it’s a testament to my love of film (and my desire to spend time with a friend) that I was able to spend twelve hours watching these movies.  I rate this as my worst experience for two reasons, neither of which is about the movies themselves.  The movies were very entertaining!  In the Worst Ever category of Comfort, I was nearly unable to walk the next couple of days, due to spending twelve hours sitting in a movie theater seat.  This may have something to do with the aforementioned Senior Citizen status, but I’ll never do another marathon movie event again, because I believe it will kill me.  The second Worst Ever category is AudienceAt one point towards the end of the second movie, two women in their forties stood up and began screaming obscenities at each other because one woman accused the other of ‘talking’.  So they were shrieking SHUT UP, NO YOU SHUT UP, BITCH, and I missed some crucial lovey-poo dialogue at that moment.

Of this year’s nine nominees, I’ve seen them all.  I have my favorite movie and actors all picked out.  Did you love or hate any of these films?  Don’t you think that Christian Bale was so great in his role in American Hustle, that it took the first fifteen minutes of the movie to figure out that the character you were watching was him?  Here are the nine nominees for best picture this year:   American Hustle, 12 Years a Slave, Gravity, Philomena, Her, Nebraska, Dallas Buyers Club, Captain Phillips, The Wolf of Wall Street. 

I’ll be hosting an Oscar Party in my small living room with the big TV, Sunday March 2.  You’re all invited, spaghetti dinner provided.



Writing in the Rain

Writing in the Rain.

First Blog Post of an Abandoned blog

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

3aug10 Day 1

             This is the first entry in the Boomer Babe Blog.  I’m intimidated by the firstness of it, but there is something that  has been on my mind.  Well, more like IN my mind than ON it.  I just finished a wonderful book called The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard.  Early on, she talks about inchworms.  Any of us who were children and played outside have seen them…  skinny, light green, about an inch long.  They scoot blindly along a blade of grass then suddenly they hang out into the air, waving around from side to side, looking for footing.  Her description of the stupid inchworm flailing around searching for the next blade of grass is sort of a comparison to the writer who meets the moment where the next sentence doesn’t appear right away.  What?!  No next sentence?  Where is it?  Where is it?            Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the inchworm for a few days, since I finished her book.  The worm is having a panic, waving around in all directions, but really….  the next step is very close by.  That’s me tonite, at a crossroads. 
            Quit the hateful boring job?  Is there another blade of grass to step onto?  Should I spend the years I have left clinging to this spot?  Take a leap of faith in myself?  I’m planning to give two weeks notice in the morning.  Wish me luck, I’ll try not to wave around too much.

Biker Boomer Babe

Last year I took a motorcycle license class at the local community college, thinking I would buy a scooter.  I would be the Biker Boomer Babe riding my scooter to the coast, my scarf floating out behind me like Snoopy in flight, or like one of those romantic heroine pilots in old movies whose movie lives ended in a fiery crash.

I came to class prepared with a knit cap such as burglars wear, black boots like the ones the goth girls wear, big sunglasses that I saw Diane Keaton wearing in a magazine, and a Ron Jon Surfshop sweatshirt from my last trip to Florida.  Oh, and puffy gray winter gloves.  Ready to ride!

During the classroom portion, I am the class ace!  The instructor calls on me more than anyone.  I’m sure it was NOT because I was the oldest person in the room, nearly the shortest, and certainly not because I had the cutest love handles of anyone there.   But, classroom has always been a strength.  The field was a different matter.

The college provides the helmets and the bikes.  Big fat helmets that make you look like a bobble-head souvenirs from Ron Jon’s.  Big fat bikes that require a short, pudgy old lady to stretch out her toes and fingers to reach everything.  The right hand is in charge of the start button, acceleration and the front brake, the left hand does the clutch, the right foot is the back brakes, the left foot does some other damn things, all of it at once, while keeping your ass off the pavement on a surging, smoking, roaring,  wobbly, tottering machine.The first time I fell off the bike the young people in my class all offered encouragement and consolation.

I am embarrassed to admit that after my third fall, I slunk home, unlicensed and bruised.  Time for wine and a bath.

But I was invited for a ride this weekend by my good friend Shirley, a true Biker Boomer Babe.  She came into a few dollars last year and instead of dumping them into some boring old 401K, she bought a trike.  A three-wheeled motorcycle with two wheels in front and one in the back.  She even has a ‘gang’, a friendly group she met through Biker Or Not.

Shirley provided me with a sparkly do-rag and a helmet that fit snugly to my head.  We had a beautiful sunny afternoon drive through the backroads of Washington County, with people waving as we zoomed by.  People see more of you on a trike, and, converesley, you can see more of THEM.  We passed people with dogs, up close and personal.  Speaking of personal, I swear I saw a man strolling naked in his backyard towards the hottub.  Shirley wouldn’t double back to verify, but I know what I saw!

Shirley, A Real Biker Boomer Babe!

Shirley, A Real Biker Boomer Babe! 

The trike has a very comfortable and ample seat,  front and back.  There is even a backrest for the person on the back, and handlebars on the sides for the passenger to hold onto.  It was a very comfortable ride!  Shirley’s trike will go 60 – 80 mph, and is much easier to operate and control than a regular motorcycle.  No clutch to worry about and one brake action for all the wheels

When we stopped at Helvetia Tavern for dinner, everyone on the patio was gawking at the two Boomer Biker Babes, tossing our hair after the helmets came off!  It was great!

Next time I take a motorcycle class, I’ll bring my own trike, my own helmet, and a sparkly do-rag!

Hello world!

This blog is for all the Boomers out there.  But it’s 2 AM now, so I’ll be getting back to this later.  I’m just so thrilled to have the blog up at last!

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