I have never written a review, but last night’s episode #504 of Arrow, titled “Penance”, inspired me. So here you go, my takeaway from last night’s ep…

Curtis – I’m weak AF. Watch me take a licking and keep on— getting licked …again. And again. And again. And again (and again) because clearly the writers no longer want me to be liked.

Wild Dog – I’m a trouble making jackass that continues to pitch petulant fits and ignore anything anyone tells me EVER. ALSO, I’m a complete misogynistic ass hat because clearly the writers don’t want me to be liked.

Artemis – I’m just hanging around, you know, not really contributing but not really disrupting the status quo, either, because clearly the writers needed another female on the team but are waiting to put any effort into my character or storyline till later in the season. THEN, maybe, I can be liked.

Rory – I’m here to be sad and make angsty art, yet the writers clearly wanted me to be liked by giving me the backstory, groundwork, and sensitivity to be accepted by a discerning audience that knows better within the first three episodes of the season.

Thea – Um… I’m not really concerned with saving the city or helping out in Oliver’s absence because that would have been in character, obvs. Clearly the writers want EVERYONE IN THE FANDOM to hate me now, not just the majority of them.

Lance – I’m completely irrelevant at this point, just like they’ve made me for the last season and a half. Clearly the writers have no plan for me and no longer want me to be liked.

Felicity – I’m just happy to be here at this point, you know, in the background, condescended to like a four-year-old…OH! OH! OH! AND like four years of character development never happened! The writers clearly don’t want me to be liked anymore.

Oliver – I’m … something else. Clearly the writers don’t know what that is right now, but believe I’ll be liked nonetheless. (I think they might be wrong)

Lyla – I’m like “Who dis bitch, Oliver? She better step-off like now!” (insert evil laugh) AH HA! Actually, I’m not Lyla at all BITCHES! I’m a feeling-less cyborg that LOOKS like Lyla here to destroy any semblance of a relationship Lyla had with Felicity because clearly the writers no longer want Lyla or Felicity to be in character or liked.

Dig – I’m just here to insert an inside joke from season one. Clearly the writers thought that was enough for me to still be liked.

And there you have it. Last night’s episode in the nutshell.

Clifford Goes Out Of Town:

the seven stages of emotion as depicted by Tom Cruise. 

Stage 1

Stage 2

Stage 3

Stage 4

Stage 5

Stage 6

Stage 7

Thank you for the flawless accuracy, Tom Cruise.

]]> http://no-take-backs.com/clifford-goes-out-of-town/feed/ 0 http://no-take-backs.com/summer-colds/ http://no-take-backs.com/summer-colds/#comments Mon, 08 Aug 2016 14:10:03 +0000 http://no-take-backs.com/?p=2126

Summer colds are the worst because they sneak up on you like the ultimate ninja. You don’t see it coming. It’s silent and deadly. It anticipates all counter-moves and keeps you incapacitated till its mission is complete, leaving you as a ball of lifeless nonsensical jell-o left to wallow in idleness and unproductivity. Being sick sucks.

Clifford and I watched The Martian Saturday night. We hadn’t had a date night in forever because of, well, life. So it was great, but for the record, I don’t think he’ll be watching a sci-fi flick with me again anytime soon.

Yes, I am an artist, but, way back when, science was one of my favorite subjects. It was actually one of my best subjects, too.  Then things like chemistry and physics happened (too much math) and let’s just say any interest I had was quickly replaced with tennis, art and a social life. I even tried making a go of it again in college with an astronomy course taught by a former NASA employee. I thought I’d be learning about stars and space not doing more math and watching videos by Carl Sagan. Seriously, it ruins everything (math, not Carl Sagan). So my penchant for needing to understand every plot point coupled with my ridiculous indifference towards science speak means I have questions when watching theoretical futuristic films.

Give me Apollo 13, I’m with you. The Right Stuff? I can follow along.  Hell, even Armageddon was easily understood – big rock v big drill with Aerosmith serenading softly in the distance. These were things that happened or were produced for sheer entertainment purposes that I get. It’s spelled out very clearly. But give me scientific theories being explored through cinematic delineation, well then I have questions that need answers, my friends.

Fast forward to The Martian. I don’t think it helped that we only watched Interstellar a few months ago and Matt Damon and Jessica Chastain were in that as well. So I was struggling in the beginning to wrap my brain around the difference between the two. I don’t know if it’s Hollywood’s portrayals of galactic space missions gone awry or if it’s my attention span these days but a lot of the Gravity/The Martian/ Interstellar type films sort of seem the same at first glance. Till they start throwing theories my way. The Martian intrigued me. The concept of a scientist problem solving for survival – going back to basics and as said in the movie, making science his bitch, was fascinating. It ALMOST made me regret passing notes during chem class in lieu of listening to Mrs. Reagan connect Periodic Table dots for the masses. Almost.

So it began …

Me: How long does it take to send and receive messages between here and Mars?

Me: Don’t astronauts have to make weight?

Me: How did their shit get sealed in those foil bags?

Me: Why do they seal their shit in foil bags?

Me: How does just adding fertilizer to sand make soil?

Me: Wait – how does he know that exactly 2 parts Hydrogen will connect with 1 part Oxygen when he lights the fire? Like what if a third part wants to connect?

Me: How long will the Hydrogen burn?

Me: How does a botanist know all of this engineering tech stuff?

Me: What kind of duct tape is that? We need that duct tape.

Me: So we just left the Pathfinder up there?

Me: Could he really just subsist off of potatoes for that long?

Me: Could he grow anything at all other than potatoes?

Me: Why do they always float down the hall backwards?

Me: Does it really take two years to get to Mars?

Me: So he can only go four hours and then he has to do a solar reboot. Why can’t he finagle it so he can power the thing all day?  The sun is like right there.

Me: How does he puncture a hole in his suit and not essentially implode?

Me: How do they not get vertigo?

Me: How do they avoid black holes? I saw that movie. That movie is scary.

Me: Would the Chinese really help us?

Me: Is that a body double? There is no way that’s Matt Damon. That’s a body double, right?

Ok, so maybe the last two don’t seem scientific, but the last one was definitely, you know, for science. These are things a girl’s got to know when it comes to body doubles and backsides.  *cough*kevincostnerprinceofthieves*cough* I’m about authenticity.

There were many other questions throughout the movie.  Needless to say Clifford thinks I should now keep google on hand for all future viewings of any sci-fi related films. He was a tad … put out.

Though it reminded me how little the effect math, chemistry and Cosmos have had on my day to day understanding of life and the universe in general through the years, I totally recommend the movie. It was well done and really interesting. If this was an actual review, I’d give it two snaps up in a circle and encourage you to go.

A continuation of  Lib Goes To The Library

I had to renew the book.

It was disgusting. 

Clifford walked over, took a whiff and had the same reaction as me.

That level of disgust that turns your stomach, allowing you to revisit your lunch. Multiple times.

“What the hell is in there?” – Cliff

“Nothing! There’s nothing in here! I don’t understand…” – Me (trying not to hurl)

“Are you sure it’s not a french fry or something under the seat?” – Cliff

“A french fry?” – Me

 A french fry?

“No. It’s not a french fry because I don’t eat in my car.” – Me

“Well there’s got to be something in there.” – Cliff

“…” – Me

But before I could actually address Captain Obvious, he found the source of the offensive smell. I’d accidentally left a grocery bag on the back seat. Raw chicken and hamburger. For two days…

Yep.

Never again.

Happy 45th Wedding Anniversary!!!

Dazzling Diana and Dapper Dave – I’d say here’s to 45 more, but let’s be honest, the folks aren’t exactly Duncan MacLeod. BUT, here is to many many more beautiful and wonderful memories and anniversaries to come!

Without your union, I wouldn’t be here today.

And boy I’m glad I happened. The goats are glad, too.

I seriously can’t thank you enough for everything through the years. Words are not enough. Pretty sure I have four other siblings that feel the same way. Love you both SO MUCH! Happy Anniversary!

Anyone who knows me knows I am all about road trips. I will drive pretty much anywhere given the choice. I don’t mind flying, it’s a control thing. I like having control. That combined with security lines, airport hassles, delays, tarmac waiting, and crying babies in an oxygen deprived confined space makes driving my preferred method of travel, if time allows.

So there we were, Frankie and I, driving cross-country from the North East Coast to the Midwest in the dead of winter. The plan was to take turns driving. Not a problem for yours truly, used to trekking long distances via four door sedans. Although I can’t remember if Frankie’s car was a four door sedan. It was a Kia. Like a 2000 Kia. Did they make four door Kia’s back then? Oh, and it was the size of a matchbox. Regardless it was Frankie’s precious vehicle and likely most prized possession next to his Macintosh computer.

We’d taken off in the evening, planning to drive overnight and miss most of the daytime traffic. It was my turn once we hit New York State. Somewhere near Buffalo, a solid 300 miles of me behind the wheel, is when I realized the parking brake was on. Frankie was fast asleep on the passenger’s side. It was like 2 in the morning. So I did what any person realizing they’re driving with the parking brake on at speeds upwards of 80mph does – I nonchalantly released it. And totally swore to NEVER do it again.  And I didn’t. Till after the rest stop in Pennsylvania… oops.

In my defense, who uses a parking brake to actually park? Especially on a solid flat surface? I never told him what I did. Not really sure he had any parking brake left after I had at it. Probably should have told him …The lesson should be don’t let me drive your car, but really I think we all know it’s never to use your parking brake unless you’re in San Francisco.

Back to the BBQ – generally I fly solo but this invite came from a former coworker of Cliff’s. He’s rejected every offer to dine at their house for probably two years. They’d had a third kid for crying out loud since the last time we were there (and that’s at least 9 months and some change in the making). It was time to show up.

However, as much as I like to think I’m a people person, I realize that I’m really not. I would have loved to have stayed in on Saturday night with a glass of wine watching Airplane for the 134^th time, but sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone and seize the opportunity in front of you – in this instance a BBQ wherein you’re one half of the only couple without kids at a dry house.

Now I’m not an alcoholic by any stretch of the imagination (unless you look at my Tweets and my Friday night Instagram posts), but being 35 and childless while attending a shindig in the burbs surrounded by moms, dads and their young is certainly better enjoyed with a few shots of bourbon under your belt in my book. Or a beer in hand to be sipped while searching for a polite response to all of the inevitably awkward (and somewhat condescending) questions, comments and knowing looks that are thrown your way.

“You don’t have any kids?”

“Don’t you want kids?”

“Everybody wants kids.”

“My kid just did the darndest thing.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

That’s one of my favorites because usually the moment someone shares that wise little gem, their rambunctious sweetheart comes streaking through the kitchen doing this:

And it’s piercing. And you can’t ignore it, because it’s not your kid. You don’t have that built in parent thing where you tune your kids out while carrying on a conversation. Plowing forward as if nothing seems out of the ordinary at all. For the record, it is out of the ordinary. It’s not normal for kids to be running and screaming anywhere other than in a gym or on a playground.  For those who don’t have kids, we can’t disregard it and it’s annoying to no end.  As are your prompts to get me procreating. I don’t need your sympathetic looks, or your advice on how it will change my life. I need your child to shut up so I can hear the one thing you said in the last 60 minutes that was mildly interesting because it wasn’t related to parenting, thus making you an actual person in my eyes instead of a walking talking advertisement for the advantages of abstinence.

(steps off soap box)

This is one topic about which Cliff and I are in complete agreement. But, despite all of this, we said yes. So it was time to put on our game faces and prepare to party like middle-aged suburban parents do.

When attending a social gathering, there’s always a strategy. An action plan, if you will.

1. Park so you can’t get blocked in. You need a quick and easy escape. No waiting for Sally to find her keys and move her car. You need to be swift and able to manage an exit all on your own.
2. In a group of people, you need to smile and speak here and there, be seen so they know you came, but don’t engage in lengthy conversations that could keep you longer than necessary. Make the rounds for about 90 minutes (that includes eating) and then duck out unobserved. You want to be invisible but not too invisible. You want to make an impression but not too much of an impression.
3. No swearing because there are kids around. Cliff and I swear like sailors. This is always the tough one for us. At least I had the good sense to remind Clifford that some parents consider “crap” a bad word, too (I’ve been chastised for that one by a parent before). So thinking before speaking is definitely the order of the day.
4. Have your body language down so you can read each other across a crowded room. You know what I’m talking about. Those wordless signals that say things like “this guy’s a jackass,  so come save me from this conversation” or “this lady smells like cigarettes and altoids” or “abort mission and meet me at the car now.”

With a plan like this, you’ll never go wrong. You’ll make the best of a bad situation every time. Clifford said he felt like we were the couple from Four Christmases. I kind of agree. I never realized till this weekend how much energy we put into not being around people. It’s actually quite substantial. But it’s all to avoid situations just like this (because this is 100% us) —

We did have a nice time. Even though I was sober. We watched the space shuttle orbiting the Earth. We sat outside on a warm, but not hot, summer night civilly discussing politics (which you very rarely do with people these days). Though we did walk away still needing to find that other couple to which we can truly connect. That couple that’s just like us. Who knows if they’re even out there? Maybe I should put out an ad.

Wanted: a childless couple that enjoys wine and whiskey, swearing, Euchre, Ronald Reagan, and television. Surely someone could meet those simple standards? 

Who am I kidding here?