Books vs. Movies: The Battle of Creativity

I have already confessed that my husband and I are addicts - movie addicts. We enjoy watching movies at home, stalking the $5 movie bin at WalMart and browsing the free Netflix on-demand movies every night, hoping that a new one has been added.

But, I am also a book addict. Every night, before I go to bed, I open a book and try to read a couple of pages. It allows me to drift off into my own imaginary land, forgetting about the woes of the day. I used to be a part of an informal book club, more of a book 'swap' really. My friend would read a bunch of chick lit, I would read a bunch of chick lit and we would swap books with our own editorials attached to each one.

My favorite author is Jodi Picoult. But, there are many authors who are fabulous manipulators of words. Descriptions so precise that I can live in their moment, visualize their story, their characters, their scenery. And the wonderful thing about books? They're FREE -- if you go to the library.

I used to get excited when a book I loved made it to the big time and the big screen. Lately, I've been more disappointed than anything. It's a shame when Hollywood takes the hardwork of a single author, tweaks it into a screenplay and pays hundreds of people to ruin it.

Cases in point:

Marley and Me - Hated the adaptation so much that my husband and I lasted 15 minutes before we both proclaimed - "That is NOT how it happened in the book." And the book was a true story...why ruin it?

My Sister's Keeper - The Cardinal sin in my world is to defacate on the creative genius that Jodi Picoult exhibits. First of all, Cameron Diaz as a mother? Really? What casting director (who actually read the book) would pick the 'I-have-to-shake-my-booty-in-every-movie' actress for the role of a MOTHER? A mother of a dying little girl? Top the poor casting with slightly manipulated storylines and you got one pissed off Jodi Picoult fan.

The Lovely Bones - I liked the book so much, I read it twice. Needless to say, I was more than excited when I saw a movie version was coming out...with Mark Wahlberg...and Stanley Tucci. So, when I saw the glorious red envelope in my mailbox announcing to the world that the movie had arrived for my viewing pleasure...I demanded that we watch it. And my husband obliged. He ended up liking it (he didn't read the book). I ended up, once again, being disappointed. Too artsy fartsy to me.

The moral of my tirade is that it's okay to be a movie addict AND a book addict. But in the battle of creativity, I would cheer on books every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

With books, YOU have free creative license. You get to be the casting director. The producer. Set designer. Make-up artist. You get to be the Steven Spielberg of any and all books you read. No need to run 30 takes before a look is 'just right'. No need to spend millions of dollars on 'key grips', 'sound technicians', pillow fluffer, etc.

If you don't really have what it takes to be a novelist, try your hand at being a take-someone-else's-story-and-tweak-it-a-bit-and-make-lots-of-money writer. It's called a screenplay and people make mucho dinero doing it. Then someone gets paid to develop and show THEIR version of the novelist's vision.

If you're going to write a screenplay 'based on a book by...' do me a favor and respect the author. Don't desecrate their work. If you think your stuff is better and movie-worthy, write your own stuff!

In the battle of creativity, I side with the books. Because I like what I see when I read books. I'm the best director I know. Where's my Oscar?

If THAT's a Dog's Life...I'll Take It!

In the English language, the word 'dog' has increasingly become an adjective of sorts. Mostly of the negative variety.

"I'm dog-tired."
"He's such a dog."
"He forgot his wife's birthday? Man, is HE in the doghouse."

Then there are the nondescript uses of the word.

"Wassup, dawg?"
"Dog-gone it!"
"Who, in fact, let the dogs out?"

But, regardless of the vastness of the three-letter word, I prefer to use it in reference to the four-legged, furry companions I have ruling my house.

Many people refer to someone who is down on their luck, or leading a less-than-adequate life as one who 'lives a dog's life.' However, when I look at the two canines who hog my bed, make themselves at home on my couch, take big bites out of the walls in my house and get to go for W-A-L-Ks more often than any other dog on the planet...I have to think, "Is THAT so bad?"

Apparently, millions of people agree with me.

According to whatever waste-of-money research was done to collect doggie data, Americans spent more than $41 million last year on their cuddly critters. That's more than twice as much as was spent on them in 1996.

So, what gives?

The research notes that despite the flagging economy, more designer doggie spas, doggie clothing lines, upscale boutiques and cream-of-the-crop, homemade food products are being launched and are succeeding.

I will be the first person to admit that my husband and I undeniably spoil KoKo and Kaeli. They are our little girls and we wouldn't bat an eye at spending big bucks to the vet to determine that they have a common, everyday cold. But, a line needs to be drawn somewhere people.

If you want to dress your dog up (why? I don't know), get a t-shirt or dress from your closet or go to Goodwill - they could use the money. If you really think that buying specialty foods for your pet that has better ingredients than some PEOPLE can afford - you need a lobotomy.

I mean, I understand picky eaters and owners who want to accomodate them. Kaeli is a very picky eater. She won't eat any dry dog food that costs more than $10 a bag. She's very frugal...no Science Diet, Iams or Rachael Ray name brands for her. And KoKo? She'll eat anything you put in front of her - and still looks anorexic.

But dogs are like kids. You shouldn't spoil them with money or designer digs. Because, after all, do they REALLY appreciate it? Do they really beg for you to dress them in sunglasses or frilly tutu? No. They beg for attention. They beg for love. They beg for you to scratch them behind the ears and whisper in your most annoying doggie voice, 'who's a good girl? yes you are. You're a good girl.'

Last week, I thought we splurged when we bought KoKo a brand new, bright red, big girl leash for a whopping $6.97. Then I felt guilty because we didn't buy Kaeli one. That'll be a separate purchase. I thought we spoiled the girls when we took them to the pond and let them get in my car bringing the stink of the fish crap and moss with them. Spend time with your animals people...that's all they really want.

If you have money to throw away and you want to spend it on canine companions or furry felines, visit your local animal shelter. They'd be more than happy to spend the $41 million my fellow Americans have laying around.

When Life Gives You Lemons...Avoid Certain Cuts

Not a day passes that I don't hear someone complain. 'My job sucks.' 'So and so is being a jerk.' 'I had to stand in line for an hour (at the white trash super store no doubt).' 'There's too much to do.' 'If only there were more hours in the day.'

Build a bridge and get over it people. If your life is crap, take a step back, figure out the problem...and fix it!

I, for one, do not want more hours in the day. More time leads to more work. Instead of wishing for more time, how about wishing for less work? Don't get me wrong, I love to work. It's better to be busy than dead.

However, if all the people who shove more onto my pile of work would realize that I'm just one person, my life would be easier. And if all the people who shove THEIR work onto my pile of work would do their own...I wouldn't need more hours in the day...I would need help figuring out what to do with all my free time.

Right now I'm happy to be employed. I tell myself this everyday as I drag myself out of bed and face the day ahead. Got a sinus infection? Happy to go to work. Got so little sleep that the bags under the eyes are packed and ready to go? Happy to go to work. Break a shoulder AND a tailbone? Happy to brave all of the potholes in Michigan to plop my butt on a doughnut and go to work.

I'm lucky to have a job. I can pay my bills. I can afford food. I can feed my nasty habit of renting every movie that comes out when they come out. I can sleep well under my roof knowing that I don't have to worry about whether or not I will have to send my doggies to the local animal shelter.

One of the top stories in the news yesterday was the fact that animal shelters and humane societies across the state and the country have seen the highest number of dropoffs in their histories. People are relinquishing ownership of family pets who have been with them for 10 years. Some even tried to live out of their cars in a quest to keep their four-legged kiddos with them. But, with the economy the way it is, these people decided to try and give their animals a shot at a better life.

As a proud owner of two humane society rescues, I encourage those who have the resources and funds available to check out their local shelters and help an animal in need. I would give up my movie habit if it meant keeping my girls with me. I would buy all generic brand food to keep my girls with me. I would give up the smallest of luxuries and take on three additional part-time jobs to prevent sending my girls away.

I, too, would live out of my car...with Kaeli, KoKo and my husband. All nice and snug in my Honda CRV. They are my family and I love them. And when the going gets tough, I don't plan on sending them (Kaeli and KoKo) back to the Humane Society...

Just like the little boy who was sent back to Russia because of his 'behavioral problems', my dogs are not items of clothing that can be returned because they don't fit. They are not rental properties, 100% satification guaranteed or your money back.

If times are tough, skip the lemonade...water is free!

He's Cheesy and His Name is Chuck

Remember the 'good 'ol days'? When you were a kid and you had no real worries in the world? Where birthday parties were simple - mom makes a cake, kids bring presents and if you're lucky there was a pinata.

But today, kids have elaborate birthday parties. There are pool parties where parents rent out a hotel's pool area. There are skating parties where parents pay for the entire rink and a private DJ. And if you're P-Diddy's son, there's a $360,000 car at the end of a party, which was filmed for the MTV reality show "My Super Sweet Sixteen," featuring performances by rappers Fabolous, Lil' Kim, and Jim Jones. Cast members from "Jersey Shore" were also there to wish Justin a happy birthday.

I remember begging and pleading for my parents to take me and my friends to Chuck E. Cheese (actually where we lived it was called Show Biz Pizza). Not having a care about the cost, I was sad when I had to settle for a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey and a homemade cake.

It wasn't about the cool games at Chuck E. Cheese either. I knew back then that it was a waste of money to play all these games to collect tickets whereby you redeem them for little trinkets that cost a millionth of what you spent trying to 'win' them. I wanted to go for the music.

I really thought Chuck was God. Boy, could he sing. All of them up on stage, singing to ME. At Show Biz Pizza, a gorilla was the star of the show. Nowadays, it's all about the mouse. And nothing is more appropriate for a mascot of a pizza place than a MOUSE.

I went to Chuck E. Cheese last week with my Little. I had promised her I would take her for her birthday. And apparently I had a lot of surpressed feelings about the children's version of Dave & Busters. I went crazy.

I bought so many tokens hoping to win that little spider ring. And I'm proud to say we left victorious. I was a rock star at Skee-Ball (even with a broken shoulder). We raced (she won). We shot hoops (she won again). And we collected enough tickets to win TWO plastic thingamabobs and THREE things of Smarties candies. Victory was ours.

But, it was when the 'band' started to play that I truly reverted to my 10-year-old self. Chuck sang a song. His girlfriend sang a song. The weird dude on the drums sang a song. All accompanied by 1980s footage on a big-screen TV.

And then it hit me. That band sucks. I spent way too much money. At least at Dave & Busters you can drink enough alcohol that you don't realize how much the fun night out cost you. And you don't have to hear Chuck's rendition of various Jonas Brother's hits over and over again.

Thank you Mom and Dad for not wasting money on Chuck E. Cheese when I was growing up. Because afterall, Chuck is pretty cheesy!

Three Little Letters...One Big Pain

I have a high pain tolerance. Being an accident-prone individual, I've had to acquire this level of tolerance in order to survive. Need a root canal? No need for pain killers. No numbing necessary. Break your shoulder? I drive myself to the ER and go three days with no treatment. Break your butt-bone? I waited to see the doctor and drove myself to get an x-ray. The solution each of the doctors had? Prescription for drugs ranging from Tylenol to Morphine.

One thing none of my loved ones will ever have to worry about is me being a drug addict or a pill pusher. I actually returned a prescription for Oxycodone and Valium to my doctor saying I didn't want it to get in the hands of the wrong people...and I wouldn't be needing them.

Sure, I could have made a fortune pedalling these prescription drugs, but that little Jimminy Cricket on my shoulder was blaring in my ear, "always let your conscience be your guide..." Damn cricket.

So, when I went to the doctor and she said, we need to do an MRI to determine the severity of damage to your shoulder, I didn't flinch. I've had x-rays, CAT scans, ultrasounds and cardboard film shoved under my tongue. I didn't think twice.

I wasn't worried about being in a confined space for 45 minutes. I wasn't worried about having a wardrobe malfunction with the flimsy hospital gowns. I wasn't worried...period.

And then I showed up for the MRI. There are no words to describe the injustice that small, little acronym does for the procedure. There was no warning. There was no describing the preparation. There was no web-site to turn to prior to the process so that I could adequately arm myself.

When I showed up, I was told to change. I sat on the edge of the cold bed as the nurse began to sterilize my shoulder. And that's when I saw it. A needle the size of a meat thermometer. Where in the heck was she planning on sticking that? (I had a few ideas of my own).

"You'll feel something like a small bee sting and that should be it."

REALLY?

I don't know what the hell type of bees Nurse Cruelty studied, but I believe it was more like the whole hornet's nest. After jabbing my shoulder blade to get a burning fluid into my rotator joint, she then pulled out a tube the size of a fishing rod and inserted it into the meat thermometer needle. Bee sting...right.

Instantly, my shoulder swelled up. Completely disfigured with a shoulder on fire, they led me to the room where they had me sit on a bed that rolled (very slowly) into a space-age capsule.

Even with the loud beeping, slight rocking and throbbing pain throughout my right side, I fell asleep. The best 45 minutes of sleep I've had in a long time. No drugs needed.

M-R-I -- What a cute little way to abbreviate Magnetic Resonance Imaging to make it seem less intimidating.

A Fierce Fire-Inducing Procedure That Will Have You Begging to Cut Off Body Parts.
AFFIPTWHYBTCOBP - that's more like it!