Better With Age - Round 1

Once in awhile, a teen t.v. or movie star comes along who allows a younger sibling to ride his or her coattails. And really, why shouldn't the sibling take advantage? It's a little trick called exposure, and it's best to strike while the iron is hot. How does one explain the casting of Candace Cameron in the once wildly popular "Full House?" Kirk Cameron, of course. He was the cover boy of 16 Magazine for a solid six months, after all. And Andrew Shue? Are you kidding me? Stunt casting on Melrose, clearly following in the footsteps of "Adventures in Babysitting" extraordinaire, Elisabeth Shue.


And once upon a time, there was a little show called “Family Ties,” a show so awesome that I taped every episode, whether it was a brand spanking new story on NBC or a rerun on Channel 11 in St. Louis. (As my fast forwarding skills left something to be desired, I still remember the jingle, “Channel 11, the one to watch … the one to WATCH!”) Anyway, my point is that arguably the second most popular character (next to Alex P. Keaton, of course) was Mallory Keaton, played by Justine Bateman. And Justine had a brother breaking into the biz, one Jason Bateman.

Does anyone remember Jason Bateman in “Valerie/Valerie’s Family/The Hogan Family?” I even watched all of the iterations of that show, and I honestly can’t recall a single thing about Jason Bateman’s character except for the fact that he had twin younger brothers, and I thought the brainy one, Mark, was dreamy. It was just your standard laugh track sitcom. A few funny moments, but nothing – NOTHING even approaching the genius of “Family Ties” in its heyday. Even less remarkable was Jason’s turn in the ridiculous sequel to “Teen Wolf,” which his sister’s t.v. brother Michael J. Fox evidently deemed too beneath him to fall for again. Actually, I can’t really speak to Jason’s performance in that film because even at my pre-pubescent age, I could smell a Razzie-award caliber film a mile away.

But what has happened to Jason Bateman since then? While his sister, after a brief stint on the ill-fated “Men Behaving Badly,” seems to appear only in “Family Ties” reunions and “Where are they now?” shows, Jason is en fuego. I am not exaggerating when I say I LOVE him. I will go see a movie solely because Jason is in it. His performance in “The Sweetest Thing” was probably the funniest I saw in the past decade. As great as Ellen Page was, he is half of the reason I watch “Juno” over and over again on HBO. Heck, he was even a subtle great comedic break in a bit role in “The Break-Up.” All while looking mostly the same as he did back in the eighties, with just a little age to round him out.

So here’s to you, Jason Bateman. Unquestionably better with age.

The Art of Communication

Okay, I admit it.   I am one of those annoying people chronically tethered to an iPhone.  I am constantly checking my inbox for new messages, preferably of the personal variety.  But I'll take anything, really.  While I have always had the brand of impatience that makes me a natural victim of PDA dependence, I suspect that my current geographic location (nowheresville) and my "working from home" arrangement exacerbate the situtation.  Without the iPhone, I'd feel hopelessly out of touch.

On the flip side, my addiction to checking my snail mail is a thing of the past.  Aside from the holiday season or the few weeks following some baby shower or other gift giving event, there's nothing to look forward to there.  Bills and catalogues.  That's it.  What's the rush?  A semi-weekly visit does just fine.

Sometimes, when I sit down and think about it, this makes me a little sad.  Emails are fine and all, but they can't beat a bona fide letter, on beautiful stationery (or even a plain sheet of notebook paper), neatly packaged in a hand-addressed envelope.  I had the great fortune of beginning college at a time when people still wrote letters - when the Internet was only for techies and long distance phone calls were too steep for a student budget.  I went to my little Harrison Hall mailbox full of hope:  maybe this would be the day someone would be thinking of me ...

And often people did.  I once compiled all of my letters from my freshman year.  They filled two shoeboxes.  The stack dwindled during my sophomore year:  half a shoebox.  By senior year, it was no more than a handful.  And now, it is none.  Not a single non-Holiday card, non-invitation, non-thank you letter personal piece of mail.  I haven't gotten one in years.

I'm guilty of it too.  I can make my thoughts known in a matter of nanoseconds.  Why would I prolong them for a week and 44 cents?

Because they're more special that way, that's why.  I have a whole drawer full of cards and stationery.  Stamps and seals that are looking for an adventure.  So I guess that's my official New Year's resolution, two weeks in.  A hand written letter at least once a month.

I can do it.  And so can you. 

Answer to Easter Basket Poll

I asked which group's cassette appeared in Amanda's brother Jack's Easter Basket, causing her to turn green with envy?

The answer is Men at Work. 

Thanks for voting!

I Didn't Keep A Good Diary Either

You'd think that when January 1 rolled around, I'd be going crazy with the blog posts, fueled by the promise of New Year's resolutions.  That's not what happened, of course.  Inspiration is feast or famine.  Some days, I can't sleep because of all of the ideas frantically swimming around in my brain.  On other days, the well is dry.  January began with a string of the latter.

I guess I should not be surprised.  It is all a recurring pattern.  Before the days of blogging, Facebooking, and Twittering, we had the old-fashioned outlet of keeping a diary.  Movies, shows, and books would have us believe that keeping a diary is/was a common practice, probably because it almost always serves as a convenient plot device.  (Last week's episode of "Ugly Betty," for example, featured Betty's diary as evidence that she has felt passion (most notably for the Hanson brothers (sadly, I think she meant the band, not the awesome hockey thugs made famous in the cult classic "Slapshot")).)  But is that really life?

It's not that I didn't try to keep a diary.  I distinctly recall a Strawberry Shortcake diary with a gold colored latch on it.  And later, a Ramona Quimby diary that even tried to help me with prompts like "It made me mad when ..."  I'm pretty sure the Strawberry Shortcake model's only action was in opening and shutting the latch, like the nervous habit of clicking a ball point pen with no intention of using it to actually write.  Ramona Quimby had about five entries but was retired with little fanfare, like the poor Trapper Keeper with the picture of the hot air balloon that lived in the bottom of my desk drawer for 95% of my sixth grade school year.

I guess that's why some people save things like school papers and bulletins and playbills and movie stubs.  That's why we listen to 80's on 8 on Sirius radio.  Because we don't all have diaries to jog our memories when we want to pay a little visit to the way we used to be.  And those are the next best things ...