Airline movies have their merits. Don’t know what they are but there must be some. I still watch, mostly to prevent paralysis by boredom on long flights.
Anyway, the bigger planes recently ran three old “comedy-romances”. Their term. One of those, Pretty Woman, I would have classified as a romantic comedy and awarded high entertainment stars – the classic Cinderella story. Semantics. The other two, Working Girl and Maid in Manhattan, were pretty much schlock when held to the standards of Pretty Woman. Anyway:
In each film, the heroine, poor working girl (be she “pro”, secretary and hotel maid, respectively) finds herself dressed up in false feathers to ape a social class to which she does not belong. In only one of them, Pretty Woman of course, does she come by these feathers legitimately. Oddly enough, it’s the “professional” woman who has ethics and honor.
In Working Girl, the heroine is house-sitting for her boss, and attempts to masquerade as that boss in order to win Harrison Ford (no argument about taste there, but the approach is wrong). She wears her boss’s clothes, uses her jewelry and so on and so forth. In Maid in Manhattan, the plot-line is essentially the same: the heroine, the hotel maid, steals expensive clothing and jewelry from one of the hotel guests (high-end hotel) in order to “get the guy”.
Both of these “comedies” are rated PG-13, What in the name of little green men does this teach kids? That stealing other peoples’ stuff is OK as long as you “get your guy”? Or even that if the rich people have it and you can “borrow” it without their knowing, then it’s OK??
My sense of humor must have gotten lost about the same time as my wits did, because I found both of these movies appalling in the lessons they provide.
The Washington Lawyer this month ran an article on the glass ceiling, and how women lawyers are not achieving financial parity with their male counterparts, whether or not they make partner. My first question is “and this is news why?”
The article goes on to rant about how male lawyers who take on added responsibility at home (kids, cleaning, etc) are still being cut far more slack than their female counterparts (and their colleagues at the workplace are impressed by their devotion to their families). “Until women have supportive employers and colleagues as well as partners who share their family responsibilities, they don’t have real choice. And until men are fully respected for contributing inside the home, they don’t have real choice either”. This argument is fine as far as it goes.
My own complaint (beef/gripe/pet peeve, what have you) is for those of us who (by choice or by fate) are blissfully and happily child-free. I found, in the workplace, be it ever so open-minded and liberal, that as a single woman with (fortunately) no infantile responsibilities, I was often called upon to cover for those with familial obligations – soccer games, school dances, illnesses. This meant late nights, on-duty weekends (when I might have had other plans), doubled-up assignments and last-minute tasks that Ms Smith couldn’t do because her darling Joey was sick. There was never compensatory cover for me if I needed to take care of my horse when she was sick or go to a show.
Yes, I know, there is a whole different level of societal importance between a child and a horse, but why does the workplace assume that because I don’t have kids, that I don’t have a life?
Since it’s March, I’m going to play the part of the March Hare. I’m going to start a limerick, which I invite everyone to finish. We’ll see what happens. Warning: if you don’t, I will.
An astronaut heading to Mars
A one l lama is
…… a priest
A two l llama is
A three lllama is
wait for it ……..
for the fire department. Sorry about that.
I loathe basketball in all its manifestations. Professional. College. High-school. Pick-up. Whatever. My very first assignment on my first attorney job was to write an endorsement contract. This was in Los Angeles. Easy job – all I had to do was call a friend in the advertising industry, who sent me a blank, which I tailored to our needs. Boss liked it. This is a good thing. Mistake came next: I had absolutely no idea of the identity of the subject of the contract. So, being an innocent, I asked “who’s John Wooden?”
For the next 45 minutes, I was treated to lecture on why one never, ever, asked that question in Los Angeles. (For those of us who ignore basketball in all its manifestations, John Wooden coached UCLA’s incredible teams for an incredible length of time, and turned out some of the biggest names in professional basketball. Again I say “whoopee”.)
Hoping to escape from basketball, I moved from Los Angeles to Lexington, KY. My bad. (Don’t get me wrong; Lexington is as close to heaven for a horse-person as you can come on this earth) My office was directly across the street from the Rupp Arena. (Again, for the blissfully ignorant, the Rupp (as it is known) is the college basketball equivalent of Madison Square Garden. EVERYBODY wants to play at the Rupp.)
The first year I was in Lexington, March was a disaster. The first weekend we hosted the state high school basketball championships (everybody wants to play at the Rupp!). The second weekend we hosted the Ohio Valley Conference championships. (see above) The rest of March we hosted (shudder) the NCAA finals. (ditto). If you didn’t plan travelling carefully, you could not get into or out of downtown Lexington.
As a sideline, Lexington was established in 1732 as a coaching stop on your way west. The only reliable source of fresh water for miles around (see McConnell Springs). The roads through town were built to accommodate coaching traffic, and the houses were built in the contemporary style – right up to the street. Gardens and outbuildings were in back in walled gardens. No sweeping drives to the front door. You stepped off the sidewalk into the house.
Nowadays, most of the colonial-era buildings in downtown Lexington are protected by the Historic Preservation Trust. (This is a good thing.) Which means, of course, that the streets (which were wide enough to pass two ridden horses or two small carriages) cannot be widened. Which means that when 50,000 strangers suddenly descend upon downtown Lexington from out of nowhere, you can guess the rest.