Review: Hugh Laurie on Saturday Night Live

I was still chuckling the next day over the sight of Hugh Laurie, who stands nearly six-foot-three, in drag, wearing a super short skirt and three-inch-spike heels, jumping onto a hospital bed during a skit on Saturday Day Night live the night of Ocotober 28. It was so silly, and Hugh seemed to be having a good time. It was very much more British than some of the other skits (drag is standard British comic fare); maybe that's why he seemed relaxed.

I am no fan of SNL, never even watched it in its heyday. I only watched this episode because Hugh Laurie was hosting, and I must say, it wasn't all that amusing, even with Hugh. How do they write this show? They have writers, I know. But do the guests get to collaborate? In a way, I hope not, because the opening monologue was unexceptional, and I know Hugh can do better (he co-wrote his hit comedy sketch series with partner Stephen Fry, A Bit of Fry and Laurie, after all). The monologue had a few humorous moments, like when Hugh was trying to explain he was from England and could he please have a map to point it out, and they rolled out a map of the United States. But his calling the audience "Sweet Cheeks" made me wince. It was a pale imitation of what he and Stephen Fry once did at a benefit concert, where they called the huge (tens of thousands) audience "Colin." (Colin seemed to be their amusing generic name for anyone and anything, and it was much handier to name that large a crowd that the 100 or so who fit in the studio of SNL.)

Anyway, Hugh, who seemed genuinely embarrassed by the huge response of the crowd when he was introduced, got through the monologue. The first sketch up afterward, of ghost busters thinking a fart was a communication from the afterlife, was a clever joke that went on too long. The skit of Hugh being the guy who travels ahead of the Queen and makes all her strange demands known wasn't very comical to me, but Hugh did so much better than the woman in the skit with him. He sang his song "All We Have to Do" nicely and even elicited a laugh from my husband, but he did it much better on ABOFAL, where it first appeared. During the drag sketch, though, Hugh seemed to hit his stride, and he gave an energetic performance in the last skit, even though it was a pretty unfunny shtick about lawyers who make strange noises when happy.

Overall, I think Hugh Laurie acquitted himself well and proved he hasn't lost his comic chops. (He really is game, having also done Inside the Actor's Studio this year, as well as playing a silly game about etiquette on Ellen Degeneres' show.) SNL, however, blew its chance with me, an infrequent viewer who could have been convinced to watch more often. How it continues to go on and produce successful spin offs is beyond me.

[Cross-posted to Blogcritics.org]

My TV Makes Me Feel Old

I just got back from the local cable office. I returned the DVR box and canceled the service after two days, because it didn't work when I hooked it up. I connected the cables in the way that seemed obvious to me, but it didn't' work, and that's all the time and energy I'm willing to expend on it. Been there, done that. I did look at the instructions, but naturally they did not help at all.

This makes me feel so old! I used to be the only person I knew who could set the time on the VCR. I had a job where I did computer support because I knew more than anybody else in the office. I am a librarian who's been on the Internet since the early 90's. Why can't I deal with this?

I seem to have a mental block against my television and its assorted accouterments. Don't get me wrong -- I love the HD LCD TV we have. HD is fantastic, and videos look 99% as great with the HMDI cable setup. I just can't wrap my head around the cables situation. Every piece of equipment we have -- the TV, the cable receiver, the DVD player, the VCR -- wants to be the only thing used. They each have all the requisite jacks on them (except the VCR, which is old). Hooking any one of them up is pretty straight-forward; it's hooking them together that's the problem. It makes no sense why we have to turn to "video input 5" to watch TV instead of the designated television input, but we do. The cable box wants it that way, apparently. Maybe because it's an HD cable box? Who knows!

I would love to say "and who cares!" but I have to care if I'm going to watch the $50+ a month television programming package from the cable company (the cheapest that gets us HDTV). How can the cable and satellite companies get away with this? If cars were this complicated, only IT people would be able to drive.

I sometimes think I'm lacking in spatial reasoning abilities (geometry was my nemesis), and that's why all the diagrams confuse me. I guess I'd rather lack an ability than have lost the ability to learn technical things. I suspect what I've really lost is motivation and patience. It shouldn't be so hard. I should be able to handle this situation by virtue of having figured out things in the past. Why do I have to start from scratch?

I am not completely through with all the TV stuff, I'm sure. (I'm now considering TiVo, heaven help me). So I haven't given up completely. I just wasn't ready to have YET ANOTHER remote hanging around.

Essay: Works for Me

I work out at Curves, a franchised, 30-minute workout studio for women. It consists of resistance training machines arranged in a circuit, with small, padded platforms ("recovery stations") in between machines. At 30-second intervals, a recorded voice (a woman's of course) instructs, "Change stations now!" (You can just here the smile in her voice as she says it.) Thirty seconds on a machine, thirty seconds on a recovery station. Twice around the circuit, a little stretching, and you're done.

Curves was the brainchild of a Texas man, and there is an air of Southern belle about the place. It aims to be welcoming to the over-40, less-than-buff set. There are no mirrors on the walls (although one is exhorted to get weighed and measured every month). You can work up a sweat if you try, most women don't. It's meant to be chummy and friendly; the staff get to know you, and one sees the same faces working out. There are always contests going on and prizes to win to help motivate you to come in three times a week, the recommended frequency.

The fact that I work out at Curves may sound unremarkable, but let me explain. While I'm over 40, I otherwise don't' fit the image. I'm a jock! I was voted most athletic girl in my high school senior class. I played division I field hockey in college. I earned a brown belt in karate. I was a tomboy growing up, and I still play softball. I am a Title IX baby, and proud of it.

So why did I give up the gym, where people really work hard on their bodies, and start going to the foofy girls' workout joint? One motivating factor was money. Curves, being no frills (there aren't even any showers), costs less than half that of the gym. I rarely used the pool or went to any of the classes they offered at the gym. But I also felt like I was getting fat there. I did the cardio workout machines (elliptical, bike, treadmill) quite faithfully, but I've always hated lifting weights and so avoided it, choosing crunches and push ups instead. Still I seemed to put on a few pounds each year.

So, I took the plunge and signed up for Curves. And I love it! I don't actually love going around the circuit and hearing the recorded voice or the same music over and over. What I love is that I do it. I show up, get on the circuit, and before I know it, I've gone around once. The no-brainer aspect is just perfect for me. No mental arm twisting or wrestling over what to do or how long to do it.

It has worked for me physically, too. I have not gained weight since I joined Curves 18 months ago, and I am stronger (playing a game of softball doesn't cripple me anymore). I keep my heart rate up, so I get both strength and cardio workouts. I like working hard and sweating and being an overachiever among this set, too. I do the "advanced workout," which means I count my reps. I love to count. It's measurable, and keeps me competing with myself.

I've heard the complaint that Curves is boring. Of course it's boring! Most exercise-for-exercise-sake is. But that doesn't bother me. I was someone who could run in circles around a track more easily than cross-country (had to give up running due to arthritic knees). I like an exercise where I can easily zone out, because it's a mental break for me. And working out just makes the body feel so much better.

Curves three times a week is good, but it's not enough. I walk and do other cardio in between as much as I can. I don't like the fact they are usually trying to sell you something (like the weight-loss program or their line of clothing) or get you to refer people. I almost didn't start at all because the woman I spoke to on the phone didn't want to tell me the cost; she wanted me in the door to get the whole pitch first.

All those things are minor concerns for me, however. I don't know if it is because I live in New England, but the staff are never overbearing; they let me do my thing and don't insist I get weighed and measured every month. I like that I'm not completely anonymous, either. I'm not just another body, but a customer who is given some consideration.

So, I keep going, even when I don't feel like it, because, however improbable the notion, it works for me.

[For an even-handed evaluation of Curves, see "A Gym for the Non-Lycra Crowd?" from the February 2004 issue of the Tufts University Health & Nutrition Letter.]

Cross-posted to Blogcritics.

Book review: The Thirteenth Tale

Do you believe in ghosts? If not, you might change your mind after reading The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. This wonderful debut novel's rich language and clever, enveloping plot will make you think twice about hauntings and keep you guessing until the end.

Narrator Margaret Lea is a quiet, retiring woman who loves to read more than anything else in the world. She grew up around her father's antiquarian book shop and now helps him run the business. She has absolutely no interest in modern fiction, preferring old novels with "proper endings," and occasionally writes biographies of lesser-known, deceased authors.

Margaret is taken quite aback when she is contacted by the most prolific and well-loved author of modern times, Vida Winter. Ms. Winter has never told the same story twice about her origins, but she claims she wishes to tell the truth to Margaret. Intrigued, Margaret leaves London to see Ms. Winter in her home out on the moors of Yorkshire. Ms. Winter is old but proud and sharp, both in her wits and her tongue. Margaret almost leaves before taking the assignment, but Vida Winter catches her by saying she will tell her a ghost story, a story of twins.

Margaret is mesmerized by the idea of twins, for Margaret herself is a twin. She discovered the fact by accident; her parents never told her about her sister, who died at birth. Margaret's mother never really recovered and could never really love Margaret, who feels lonely and bereft, unable to let go of the sister she never knew.

As Vida Winter tells Margaret her story, the reader follows as if in the room with them, or reading over Margaret's shoulder as she transcribes after her interviews. The tale takes place at the manor of Angelfield, home of the aristocratic Angelfield family, which was destroyed 60 years ago in a fire. When Margaret is allowed some time away by Ms. Winter, she visits the ruin and meets some people of the nearby village. As Ms. Winter's account of twin girls born under suspicious circumstances unfolds, events occur in real time for Margaret. She tries to verify Ms. Winter's story and wonders if she will run into any ghosts, secretly hoping that one would be her sister.

The story of the fall of the Angelfield family and the destruction of their house is engrossing and intriguing and feels like it comes from the nineteenth century rather than the twenty-first. (It is not for nothing Jane Eyre is referenced throughout the story.) The Angelfield narrative could have stood alone as a Gothic horror story; instead, Diane Setterfield skillfully creates a book-within-a-book, both paying homage to and modernizing the genre at the same time.

Margaret is a well-rounded character. We learn much about her, her occupations, struggles, and feelings; the book is really as much her story as Vida Winter's. Ms. Winter is an enigma to Margaret for most of the book, and so she is to us; we must wait to see her story unraveled. The characters in the Angelfield part of the narrative are simultaneously real and unreal; they are drawn in greater detail than some of the contemporary characters, like Margaret's parents, but they exist in a twilight world on the edge of human society and decency, which does indeed feel ghostly.

The stories in this book are essentially personal. Still, the narrative pulls the reader in and drives forward, feeling both urgent and terribly important. These stories--tragedies actually--point out the power of secrets to destroy lives. The people in this tale divulge their secrets only under direst need, but afterward one finds a sentiment I think of as more contemporary--that airing secrets and revealing the truth has a healing effect.

The Thirteenth Tale is a satisfying novel with many twists and turns to keep up interest. For me, the momentum slacked a little in the middle, but that shouldn't stop readers from wanting to continue on to the end. They'll be glad they did, and they just might see a ghost.

Cross-published to Blogcritics.org.