Movies I saw in October: Bride of Frankenstein, One Battle After Another & Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere.

I watched three movies in October, and the one that impressed me the most was a 90-year-old horror classic I loved seeing in the theater.

1. Bride of Frankenstein (10/28/2025, in the theater) Grade: A. 

Yes, this was the original Bride of Frankenstein (though shouldn’t it be Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster?) with Boris Karloff released in 1935, and it was definitely a treat to see it on the big screen. The visuals and practical effects in this film are astounding, particularly those in the last 15 minutes.

I also appreciated its commentary on the dangers of seeking perfection, especially from humans, as we are the most imperfect beings of all. Instead, the movie advises, maybe we’d all be much better off if we just spent more time pursuing what Frankenstein’s monster did: “Friend, good! Drink, good!” 

2. One Battle After Another (10/05/2025, in the theater.) Grade: B- 

There are a lot of great things in this movie, including one of the best car chase scenes I have ever watched: Leonardo DiCaprio as a desperate dad in a beater sedan he is begging to climb over hills in time to rescue his daughter. 

I also loved watching DiCaprio as a pothead dad running around Humboldt County in a robe and knit hat, especially when Benicio del Toro adds his calm slyness to the mission. 

The bad things were the first 20 minutes and a very distasteful role for Sean Penn, who for the first time made me wish for less of him, though my husband pointed out that we were supposed to hate his character. Still, I think the movie would have been much better if it started with DiCaprio settling on the couch with a pot pipe after his daughter heads to the school dance, and her mother and Penn are only shown in flashbacks. 

3.  Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere. (10/31/2025, in the theater.) Grade: D+.

Jeremy Allen White was great as Bruce Springsteen, so you might think that since he was in nearly every scene, this movie would be great, too. But it wasn’t.

The story centers on Springsteen hunkering down in a rental home while creating the album Nebraska, and I was encouraged when Paul Walter Hauser shows up as the recording tech helping Springsteen put his new songs onto a cassette tape he later delivers with no case, only a hand-written letter. But then Hauser disappears as the studio techs (one played by Marc Maron, who seemed to have been hired mostly to grin, which can we all agree is not his best skill?) are tasked with finding someone who could do the impossible: make the songs Springsteen recorded in his bedroom album-worthy, while somehow still retaining the rawness the artist insists be preserved.

I wanted to know much more about how this feat was accomplished, but the movie barely scratches the surface of that painstaking process, and instead takes a magnifying glass to Springsteen’s past, offering twice as many flashbacks than was needed to understand his troubled childhood and strained relationship with his father.

I also wanted more of Springsteen on stage at The Stone Pony, sweaty from performing to adoring fans, and less of him staring at the ceiling, sweaty from lying on the carpet all day. Because it’s not only very hard to make the interior process of wrestling with psychological demons visually interesting, I would also argue that even attempting to dissect anyone’s brain to get to the source of their creativity usually only succeeds in killing any magic they conjured, so it’s best to just sit back and enjoy what they offer us. 

But instead of bringing us onto the stage to soak in Springsteen’s star power close-up, this movie kept taking us back to the dorm where our depressed roommate has again spent all day playing crappy music and watching crappy television while “making my art, man.” And though we are meant to understand that the art he eventually does complete is far from crappy, the movie makes no real attempt to explain why these songs were so meaningful to either Springsteen or his fans.

I will admit that I was never a fan of Springsteen or even bought any of his music, and that I couldn’t help comparing this film to James Mangold’s far superior movie about Bob Dylan, “A Complete Unknown,” which gave audiences more music, more performances, and more intimate moments with incredibly charismatic people. 

Because a good musician biopic understands that what we all really want from such films is the ultimate backstage pass, a chance to see firsthand what usually only their roadies and band members get to witness: That moment when an artist drops their mortal mask and steps on stage, giving us one second of feeling like we breathed the same air as an immortal. 

Movies I saw in September: Jaws, Eleanor the Great, Him

Finally, here are the movies my grandmother saw in October of 1995: 

10/4/1995: To show: “Seven.” First couldn’t hear, dark also. But fast, good direction.
Awake early. Muffin at mall.

10/7/1995: To show at 41st, “To Die For.” Nicole Kidman, Matt Dillon. 
Watched, “The General Died at Dawn,” Gary Cooper, M. Carroll. 1936. I never saw it!

10/10/1995: To show “Kids.” Gross.
Library from 11:30 to 2:30, got 3 books. 

10/18/1995: To show, “Strange Days.” Loud, 2000 LA in chaos, based on police killing blacks. Felt director inferring LA on edge of anarchy.
Home 4 p.m., read, watched news.

10/23/1995: To show “Get Shorty.”
Breakfast McDonald’s. Talked to woman. She also likes travel, opera.

10/26/1995: To show, “Scarlett Letter.” Background Nova Scotia, beautiful scenery!
World Series: Cleveland 5-4.  Hershiser, Maddux mad, lost it. HR in 1st inning.

10/31/1995: To show “Copycat.” Scary.
To Ross, got turtleneck, Cinnamon.

For more on my grandmother’s journals and why she loved breakfast at McDonald’s, watch this video:

The book that saved me: When my family was "Gone With The Wind," Scarlett O'Hara kept me going

When I needed a book to read for a high school history assignment, I picked “Gone With the Wind.”

That was cool. 

Because following a woman as she adapted to the destruction of her way of life was exactly what I needed to pull me through the decimation of my family. 

My teacher chose the book because its portrayal of Southern plantations like Tara crumbling after the Civil War had enough history woven in to qualify as homework.

But I chose the book because it was free, since I found a copy on my mother’s bookshelves. Also, I figured a novel would be less boring than my other options. 

And from the first page I was hooked on the unapologetic audacity of Miss Scarlett O’Hara, though at first we seemed to have nothing in common but seeing no point in being demure.

She was wealthy, I was not. She was boy crazy, I was not. She spent her days in fancy dresses and hairdos she didn’t want to muss up while dreaming of marriage, and I spent mine dreaming of the days when I could still climb trees because I wasn’t suddenly expected to wear stupid skirts and sandals.

But soon I had more in common with Scarlett than anyone else.

“Did your dad give you a big hug this morning?” my Spanish teacher asked when I returned to school after my mother’s death. Though all my teachers were told what happened, Mr. Riordan knew the most about my family since he also taught Driver’s Ed, and learned all about my parents while taking me home after lessons.

So he was the only person at school to even mention the crash that cratered my life, a kindness my face made him immediately regret. He turned to the blackboard and tried to erase his question, while I sat at my desk and tried to remember the last person who hugged me.

Not my father, who was still in bed when I left the house. 

Not my best friend, who just sat quietly next to me when I began sobbing into my lunch, realizing my mother would never make me another sandwich.

Not my sister, who had moved out after making it clear our mother’s death would not suddenly make us close: “You just want to talk about it to make yourself feel better.”

No, the last hug had been at her memorial, a day that wrapped me in supportive arms and words that felt like a life jacket keeping me afloat.

But soon the sympathy moved on, my sister moved out, and now it was just me and my father swimming with no land in sight. 

And when I began to wonder how much longer I could keep my head above water, and who would even care if I stopped trying, Scarlett floated by, reminding me she had handled far worse. 

Because she came home to a mother gone and a father gone useless, but also had a household to support. To eat she had to figure out how to grow crops, I just had to figure out how to buy food and cook it. 

And while my father was unable to take care of me, he could at least still take care of himself (mostly), so again I was a bit better off than her. And if Scarlett could keep going, I told myself, then so could I.

It made perfect sense to me that the friend I needed was in a book, since I had always found more acceptance and companionship with girls like Pippi Longstocking and Harriet the Spy than girls I met in real life.

An odd kid from an odd family with a secret not even we talked about, I had never learned to confide in others about what was really going on in my home. And I wasn’t about to start when it was just my father and me left, because I feared I would be taken away to live somewhere even worse.

I do recognize that many people find the depictions of slavery in “Gone With the Wind” to be very painful reminders of an unforgivable chapter in American history, and might feel that Scarlett O’Hara, who fully embraced the ownership of fellow human beings, should not be celebrated in any way. 

But the grit Margaret Mitchell breathed into that deeply flawed character helped me survive a devastating chapter in my life that I truly believed was not survivable. And I feel that not giving both the author and her character credit for that help would be more unforgivable than her portrayal of a shameful chapter in American history.

Because on mornings when I just couldn’t get out of bed, sure no one would care if I never went to school again, the only thing that helped me push off the covers and stand up was picturing Scarlett steeling her shoulders to the next task. Then she picked up her skirts, and we both walked out my bedroom door. 

***

Real-life role model: After my father remarried and moved away, my grandmother stepped in to protect and support my sister and I as we moved into adulthood, becoming an even more important inspiration than Scarlett O’Hara for the next 30 years.

But my grandmother was a very reserved, even prickly, person who kept everyone at arm’s length, even her granddaughters. And it wasn’t until after she died and I found her journals that I finally felt close to her, and realized how much she inspired me. So maybe I’ve always needed to read people on the page to really understand them?

See her journals and hear about her long, full life in this video:

Movies I saw in September: Jaws, Eleanor the Great, Him

Jaws: A++

Last month I saw Jaws. It was not the first time I saw this movie, more like the 30th time, but it was the first time I got to see it in the theater. And that screening was also the first time I have paid to watch something that I had already seen dozens of times on TV.

That was cool.

Because it was not only great to finally see Steven Spielberg’s masterpiece of pacing and practical effects on the big screen, but to see how many other people came out to watch this classic, which was re-released in theaters for its 50th birthday this year . And while I still don’t agree with my husband that we needed to pay extra for the IMAX treatment, I am glad we finally got to see this movie in the theater.

Jaws. (9/1/2025, in the theater). Grade: A++. Jaws is not just a great movie, it is two great movies: The first about a beach town terrorized by both shark attacks and selfish leaders, and the second about three men on a boat battling a huge shark. And every scene in both movies is so watchable that even though my husband had already seen them dozens of times, he still agonized over when to leave his seat to get more popcorn because he couldn’t decide which scene he could stand to miss.

Eleanor the Great (9/26/2025, in the theater.) Grade: C-. I knew nothing about this movie beforehand except that it starred June Squibb, whom I love watching. And I did like the first few scenes as we join two old ladies eating breakfast, then exercising while deciding what to eat for dinner, then lecturing a young man at the grocery store about how they know more of the specific pickles they want must be in the back because they always shop the morning after delivery day.

And though Eleanor was more nasty than cranky in many exchanges, I could have happily watched a whole movie of the 95-year-olds just navigating the world in their comfy sneakers and visors, since the older I get, the more I covet these fantasies of women friends sharing the end of their lives together à la The Golden Girls or Grace & Frankie. 

Eleanor the Great: C-

But unlike those terrific television shows, or even the much better 2024 movie starring Squibb called Thelma, this movie decided that exploring the million indignities of getting older with these women wasn’t enough to carry a movie; and neither was the touching bond we see form between Eleanor, grieving the sudden loss of her lifelong friend, and a young woman named Nina, who is grieving the sudden loss of her mother.

Since I used to be that teenager left alone with an emotionally crippled father after my mother died, the portrayal of Nina felt very genuine to me, and I would have loved to just watch the women eating pizza together and shooting straw wrappers at each other, instead of following them up the contrived and syrupy staircase the movie decided we all needed to climb.

Most disappointing of all is that this very mediocre movie could actually have been two really good movies: One about a woman who survived the Holocaust and decided in her 90s to finally have the Bat Mitzvah she was denied before, and the other about two grieving women, one very old and one very young, who find in each other the comfort and validation that only a real human connection, thorns and all, can offer.

Him: D-

Him. (9/30/2025, in the theater). Grade: D-. I was intrigued by the trailer for this movie, thinking it looked like “The Substance,” only with football supremacy as the prize instead of eternal youth. 

But while “Him” was also about making unholy sacrifices to achieve more than mere mortals can or should, it was nowhere near as imaginative or fantastically horrific as “The Substance.” Instead, most of its 98 minutes were so slow and repetitive that all of the movie’s plot points and interesting visuals could have easily been sculpted into one three-minute music video.

In fact, I got so bored that twice I almost left, but luckily stayed until the end so I can report that the final scene did deliver enough satisfying carnage to at least save the movie from earning an “F.”

Movies I saw in August: F1, Naked Gun, Thelma & Louise.

And, finally, my grandmother’s movie reviews from September of 1998:

9/11/1998: To show, “Rounders.” Good.

Tennis: Davenport over Williams, 6/4, 6/4.

9/12/1998: To show, “Slums of Beverly Hills.” Gross!

Mail: Package from Mina, video of BBC on Diana.

9/15/1999: To show, “Saving Private Ryan.” 3 hours. Good.

TV:  About 5 minutes of Geraldo, then Morse, Law & Order.

My rejected short stories: Rare Bird Alert (Alternate title: Spotted Redshank)

“You guys looking for it tomorrow?” she said as soon as he picked up the phone.

Silence.

“April?” Jeff finally managed.

“Yeah, sorry. I got so excited when I heard a Spotted Redshank on the Rare Bird Alert! Aren’t you guys going? Can I come?”

“Yeah, kid, of course,” he said, sounding odd.

“Oh, I called too late. I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I’m glad you called, believe me. You just... you, uh, sounded just like your mother. She wouldn’t have bothered with ‘hello,’ either. Just cried, ‘When are we going?!”

Silence.

“I guess you know that’s the bird we were looking for that day?”

“Here, I brought you breakfast,” said Jeff, handing April a warm bag as soon as she got in the car. 

“McDonald’s?!”

“Yeah, didn’t your mom get you junk food on bird trips?”

“Yeah, but only after. She knew it wouldn’t work if we got it before.”

“Oh, right.” He laughed. “Well, we can get more later, too. I just thought you might be hungry, and that's the best breakfast ever.”

“Hamburgers?!" said April, smiling as she reached into the bag until she realized why Jeff brought her food and winced, remembering how embarrassed she felt when he stopped by to find her heating up a can of chili for breakfast because it was the only thing left in the cupboard.

But her smile returned as soon as she unwrapped a soft sandwich and saw melted American cheese, forgetting everything else as she began plucking off all the orange bits stuck to the wrapper so none got thrown away.

“Your mom used to do that, too.”

“She didn’t eat McDonald’s!”

“Not their hamburgers, but I got her hooked on those," said Jeff, waiting until her stomach was full of deliciously greasy egg, ham and cheese before asking nervously: “OK if we pick up Stephanie?” 

April moved the empty bag to her feet and looked at the binoculars in her lap, squeezing them to remind herself to be nice. She nodded and pushed out a “Yep.”

“And, uh, can I ask why you don’t like her?”

April looked out the window, wondering how much truth to tell. She decided on half. “It’s not her. It’s her Thermos.”

“I see,” Jeff said before a coughing fit. When he could talk again he said, “Sorry. Um, what is it about her Thermos exactly?”

“It’s so squeaky, I can’t think!” April said, still looking out the window as the words flew out. “I can’t hear anything else at the table when she twists off the lid and I just spend the whole time waiting for it to squeak again. And if she squeaks it in the car the whole time, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Jeff was so quiet she finally turned and saw he was shaking with laughter.

“It’s not THAT funny,” she said, deciding to go back to not telling any of the truth. 

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because your mother told me that’s what it was, but I thought she was crazy.”

When they pulled up to Stephanie’s house, Jeff hopped out though she was already heading out the door. They went back into the house, and when they got into the car, Stephanie was holding a big blue mug April had never seen before.

“Good to see you, April,” Stephanie said, twisting her hands on the mug. “Really glad you could come.” 

“Yep,” April said, squeezing the binoculars.

“Hey, you got a new Thermos,” Jeff said, meeting Stephanie’s eye in the rear-view mirror. 

“Nope, I... I just felt like using my dad’s travel mug. It keeps my tea just as hot. Almost.”

The car was quiet until April asked, “Why did my mom like birding so much?”

“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “But I guess we all pretty much like it for the same reasons.”

“OK, why do you like it?”

“Well... I like being outside. I like being with other people but not talking much. I like how it feels when you find a bird, especially when you find one together.”

He looked in the rear-view mirror. “Steph?”

“I like knowing the birds are there,” she said slowly. “I like knowing that no matter what we humans are screwing up down here, they are always up in the trees, just living their lives above it all."

She took a shaky breath and squeezed her mug before she spoke again. 

“But I liked your mother first. I saw that story in the paper about her banding the Snowy Plovers at that remote beach, walking miles by herself just after dawn with no one else around, and I went to the next Bird Club meeting to meet her. I asked her to help me recognize birds by their calls, because she said that had been her goal for years, but really I wanted to figure out how to be brave like her.”

So that’s why Stephanie was always glued to her, April thought, feeling the resentment bubbling up no matter how hard she squeezed the binoculars. But when she snuck a look at Stephanie’s face, the tears she saw melted all her anger.

They rode in silence until April heard Stephanie sip her tea.

“So, did my mom really drink tea and read Jane Austen novels on bird trips?”

Stephanie’s laugh was wet and hoarse. “More like beer and cigarettes!”

Jeff glared into the rear-view mirror. “Don't listen to her. Your mother didn't smoke!”

“Yes, she did,” April said, and Jeff pulled over, turning back to Stephanie. “How did you know?”

“I had a beer with her once. And she said she couldn’t drink a beer without wanting a cigarette.”

“That’s how I picture my mother, sitting cross-legged, talking and laughing, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.” April snorted. “Definitely not a mug of tea and a Jane Austen novel, like it said in your newsletter.”

“So you did see that?” Jeff said. “I’m sorry, it was already mailed. And I thought you didn’t read those?”

“My grandmother showed it to me. It’s OK. I’m glad they did it.”

Stephanie leaned forward, finally brave enough to ask April, “Those are her binoculars, right?”

“Yeah, my grandfather had them fixed. He said the focus is still pretty loose, but I can't tell.”

“That's great,” Jeff said hoarsely. “I was wondering what happened to them.”

“I found her coffee cup, too. It was under her seat. Not a scratch.”

She didn’t tell them about the sweatshirt on the seat, and the blood she hadn’t washed out.

“I’m really sorry she wasn’t with me that day,” Jeff said as if pushing the words out. “My car was in the shop and we just had Steph’s pick-up, so there was no room…”

His voice caught and he stopped. Stephanie patted his shoulder and he took a deep breath. “Damn, I just don't understand why she wasn’t driving instead of him.”

A boy barely older than April had been driving. 

She first saw him behind glass, a shape covered in bandages and tubes. His brain was swelling and they didn’t know if he would wake up again. 

But at least he could wake up, she thought, closing her eyes and imagining the beeps were keeping her mother alive instead. The front of the truck had stopped in her lap, so she would have never walked again. But maybe she could talk again. And April could talk to her.

“know why she wasn’t driving. She wanted to look through her binoculars instead, to keep scanning for the bird.”

“Of course,” Jeff said with a small laugh. “The Redshank was the last bird on her Life List. If she saw it, she would have been the first of us to complete it.”

“So maybe,” Stephanie said softly. “Maybe you could find it for her?”

April nodded, squeezed the binoculars, then looked at Stephanie in the mirror. “We’ll find it.”

“Sorry, kid,” Jeff said when they were driving home. “I really thought luck was going to be with us today. Course, your mother had the best eyes, she was usually the first to spot everything.”

“It's OK,” said April, who had found what she had been looking for. Because when the three of them walked together, she could hear her mother’s footsteps again, feel her fingers on the binoculars every time she looked through them. 

“Can I go with you guys next weekend?” she asked when Jeff pulled up to her house.

“Of course,” he said, his eyes wet. “But, you know, I really think the Redshank is gone, kid.”

“No, we'll find it,” said April, secretly hoping they never did, so they could all keep searching together.

Rejections: The New Yorker, The Atlantic, The Sun and The Paris Review

More with April: Bikini Strings and Coconut oil

Grave Creek: More than just a cool covered bridge

There is a covered bridge you can see from I-5 in southern Oregon, so while driving home from an epic “Troll Quest” near Seattle last month, I stopped to walk through the bridge shortly after sunrise.

That was cool. And the perfect way to end a perfectly awesome road trip.

First, as one friend pointed out, the bridge perfectly fit the theme of my quest to see all five Thomas Dambo Trolls near Seattle, an ambitious/silly dream that she described as “wandering around in search of wooden sculptures.” But also, the bridge’s name, Grave Creek, made it an even more appropriate stop for my trip.

Because the bridge was named after a teenager who died nearby while on a very different quest, one that was far more ambitious than mine, and not the least bit silly. Because she was part of a wagon train, heading west in the 1840s in search of a better life, when she fell ill and died at 16. 

The girl was buried near a large oak tree, and when the tree was later removed to build a road, the nearby waterway and bridge above it were named Grave Creek in honor of her resting place.

Learning her story made me even more grateful I had completed my quest, because the night before I stopped at the bridge, I learned that a family member was in the hospital after a nasty fall earlier that day, and likely would never go on another adventure again.

So walking across that bridge the next morning, all I could think about was how much that family member would like to be walking. And that no matter how silly the quests we dream about seem to others, we should all strive to complete all the adventures we can while still alive and able-bodied.

I say as long as you can get out of bed and walk, ride or drive, head out to chase down whatever you’ve been dreaming about, be it trolls or covered bridges.

Why do so many of us love covered bridges?

I know I’m definitely not the only one who loves covered bridges, but I don’t know why people are so drawn to them. A friend suggested that a lot of us fell in love with them because of the movie “The Bridges of Madison County,” but I've been infatuated with covered bridges since before the movie or the novel came out, maybe because there was a neat one in my hometown.

One of the first things I asked my father when he started teaching me to drive was if we could go through the covered bridge, though it was narrow and rickety, only supporting one car at a time.

The bridge led into a shopping center that I never needed to visit, but I often planned my drives around that bridge, because it made me smile every time I drove through it.

And so did the bridge at Grave Creek, though I didn’t drive through it, just walked back and forth with the sun peeking through the windows, admiring the super cool windows and cool wood forming the ceiling.

You can walk through it with me here:

Movies I saw in August: F1, Naked Gun, Thelma & Louise

The movies I saw in August were all about sexy people in their 50s and 60s — yes, they do exist! And while most of those still given screen time were men, I’m pleased to report that there were at least two actresses allowed to prove that life as the most interesting woman in the room doesn't have to end at menopause.

FI: The Movie (8/12, in the theater) Grade: A-. My favorite things about this movie were Brad Pitt, whose effortless charm helps us care about yet another washed-up phenom given another chance at glory, and when the audience is put behind the wheel of a race car, offering us nearly all of the adrenaline rush with none of the danger. Much like how “Gravity” was the closest I ever want to get to outer space, F1 is the closest I ever want to get to a racetrack, let alone to driving 200 miles an hour next to people who are actively trying to get me to crash.

Pitt, who at 61 is obviously drinking the same “how-to-keep-your-boyish-grin juice” as Robert Redford, is still gorgeous, and having at least half the scenes featuring sexy men over 55 (Javier Bardem, Kim Bodnia and Pitt) was another plus for me. And while this movie recycled plenty from other racing and flying movies such as Top Gun, Days of Thunder, Point Break, and Ford vs. Ferrari, it was extremely competent reworking, even with at least 20 unnecessary minutes. Because unless those 20 minutes included more banter between Bardem and Pitt in the laundromat, more spats between Bodnia and Pitt on the track, or even simply Pitt driving on a beach (something I hardly ever endorse, by the way), then I didn’t need them.

Thelma & Louise (8/15, on my well-loved DVD) Grade: A+. No, I wasn't inspired to watch this 1991 classic again because of seeing Brad Pitt in F1. Another hunky guy named Michael Madsen (who died in July at age 67) is why I broke out my DVD of this movie, though it does feature Pitt in what I still believe is his best role. And I do apologize for this Mr. Pitt, so maybe picture these words being spoken with a soft twang under a cowboy hat to help ease their sting, because I know you feel you've done much more admirable acting in the past 34 years, but that shirtless scene where you made Thelma, and a good portion of the human population, fall in lust with you? That will always be your finest work.

Of course, the true stars of this movie are Susan Sarandon, Geena Davis and that teal Thunderbird they blast through the Southwest in. I remember smiling for days after I first saw this movie, loving that two smart, sassy and sexy women were finally front and center in a buddy road trip/crime spree movie. And while they did not (or did they?) survive their grand adventure, I loved having filmmakers decide that Bonnie and Clyde could not only be two women, but that we didn't need to see them, and that beautiful Ford, get shot to pieces.

Nobody 2 (8/17/2025, in the theater) Grade: C-. I really liked the first Nobody movie, but did not enjoy this sequel much at all, and am only giving it a passing grade because of some fun performances, especially the delicious big bad played by Sharon Stone, who was great to watch having a great time being evil, even getting to do a nice nod to Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker dance. It also features the best use of an amusement park in a finale since Zombieland.

The Naked Gun (8/26/2025, in the theater). Grade: C+. Speaking of sexy people in their 50s, it was nice seeing Pamela Anderson still getting to play the not-so-dumb blonde at nearly 60, and I loved learning that she looks even better in a brunette bob than her platinum mane. As Liam Neeson's sidekick, she outperformed him in every category -- looks, comedic timing and pratfalls -- though he was better at putting down the “I-don’t -have-time-to-crack-even-a-quarter-of-a-smile” face than I thought.

Overall, Anderson and Neeson were fun goofballs to hang out with, but despite one inspired scene involving an emergency bathroom visit after a chili dog that still has me laughing, I didn't find the movie all that funny.

Movies I saw in July: Megan 2, Jurassic World Rebirth

And, finally, here are the movies my grandmother saw in August of 1995:

8/2/1995: To show in Aptos, “The Net.” Sandra Bullock.

8/4/1995: To show, “Something to Talk About,” Julia Roberts, Dennis Quaid.

8/6/1995: Watched “Survive the Savage Sea,” Robert Urich. True story of family sailing from Australia to Tahiti. Whale hits boat, it sinks, they 38 days on raft.

8/8/1995 Watched “Mona Lisa,” still can't make out Bob Hoskins.

8/15/1995 To show, “The Indian in the Cupboard.” Morals.

8/17/1995 To show, “Apollo 13.” Well-done.

8/26/1995 To show “Belle de Jour,” Catherine Deneuve.

8/29/1995 To show in Aptos, “Desperado.” Almost comic book atmosphere.

Losing a friend is never easy. But my last moments with Bootsy were the best I could hope for.

Losing a loved one is never easy. But if you have to say goodbye, the last moments I spent with our cat Bootsy were just about the best anyone could hope for.

“Just press this button when you’re ready,” the woman said after handing me my friend of 14 years. Then she closed the door so we could sit together in that quiet, comfortable room for as long as I needed to say goodbye.

That was cool.

Because I’ve lost many cats, but I’ve never gotten to say goodbye in such a soothing manner. And many times, I didn’t get to say goodbye at all.

Especially to my sweet boy Oz, a fluffy orange kitten I found crying up a tree. After eight years with us, he got very sick right before I was flying to visit family in Denmark, and died in the hospital before I got back home.

But the one good thing to come out of all the time and money my husband spent trying to give Oz, who was still a relatively young man, every chance to keep living — and yes, for me to see him again — was how respectfully that hospital treated both Oz and my husband at the end.

So when it came time to say goodbye to Bootsy, that handsome charmer who kept climbing over the neighbor's fence to flirt with me before he moved in with us, we went back to that hospital to put ourselves in the hands of their kind, respectful staff. 

They began the process by giving me a quiet room before taking Bootsy into the back with the doctors. When they returned him to me, he was wrapped in a blanket, which helped hide the catheter now in his leg for administering medicine.

“Take as much time as you need,” the woman said after handing me that very skinny, but still very handsome, tuxedo cat, explaining that if I didn’t want to be present for his last moments, she would take him back to the doctor when I was ready. But if I wanted Bootsy to stay with me, the doctor would come to us after I pushed the button.

Wearing a Bigfoot shirt I chose in honor of his brother, Sasquatch, who died suddenly a year earlier at 14, I sat with Bootsy and thought about how much nicer this goodbye was than all the others, even the other very expected one I had with another black and white cat I had for 20 years.

Because while the vet who put that dear friend to sleep had also been incredibly kind and respectful, the process was much more disturbing: Standing at a table which we already associated with countless stressful visits, watching my beloved friend be poked with a needle under fluorescent lights, then being left with his limp body in the room where I would later take our much younger cat, was a distressing way for us both to spend his last moments.

Not like being given a calming room reserved for just such occasions, sitting down with him wrapped in my arms, allowed to quietly say goodbye for as long as I wanted. 

“It’s OK, Bootsyman,” I whispered to him at the very end, and when the doctor bent over him, he said, “Goodbye, Bootsyman.”

That was very cool.

Coolest of all, though, is how Bootsy and his brother chose us to be their humans.

Hear that story and see both cats in the video below:

Five cool trolls, one super cool friend: How Patty made my "impossible" dream possible.

I hadn’t seen Patty in 10 years. But when I told her I wanted to come visit and try to see all five of the Thomas Dambo troll sculptures near Seattle in one day, she not only offered me a bed, she dropped everything else in her life to spend eight hours driving us all across the Puget Sound to make my crazy dream come true.

That was cool.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I said, five hours into our quest with three trolls down. “And I can’t believe you agreed!”

“That's why we’re friends,” said Patty as we headed onto a ferry to see Oscar the Bird King, who lives on Vashon Island. “Because we both like doing crazy stuff like this.”

So it makes perfect sense that I met Patty because of an even crazier troll adventure, which 25 years later is still the craziest thing I have ever done: Not just driving to Seattle because of a troll, but moving there — where I had no job and knew no one.

It all began with a special episode of the television show “Bay Area Backroads” that had host Doug McConnell leaving California for Washington State to show his viewers the funky Seattle neighborhoods of Ballard and Fremont, which I fell in love with immediately. And as soon as I saw the Fremont Troll, I decided I had to live in a city with an 18-foot sculpture of a troll clutching a Volkswagen Bug under one of its bridges.

Which is how I found myself starting a new life in Seattle, spending the summer of 2000 sending out job applications and buying myself a City Pass so I could see the zoo, aquarium, art museum, Space Needle and the newly built Experience Music Project while I waited to get hired. I also joined a singles group called “Restless in Seattle” that hosted lots of cool outings like hikes and kayak trips, though I was really hoping to find women to be friends with, not a man to marry. And it worked, because I met two longtime friends there, one of whom was Patty.

And I soon learned that Patty was definitely a keeper when we started walking around Green Lake. A lovely lake in the center of Seattle, Green Lake has the perfect path for strolling: flat, only about three miles, but offering plenty of nature and people watching with every step. It was also a perfect place for us to meet after work twice a week to fit in more exercise and chats.

Which we did for a whole year without fail. In the rain we wore our waterproof jackets. When it got frigidly cold, we wore more fleece. When it started getting dark before 4 p.m., we bought little flashlights. I remember thinking one day, watching the tiny snowflakes falling at our feet while Patty giggled at my bright yellow “sport” flashlight, that she was not only the first friend I made as an adult outside of work, she was the first woman who never canceled plans with me. Not once.

Patty Possible: “Peter says it will be impossible,” said our friend Lori, who joined us to see two of the five trolls, explaining that when she told a co-worker of our plan, he did not believe it could be done, especially because at least one troll visit required taking a ferry there and back.

I certainly knew how fickle ferries could be, given that my landing a newspaper job across the Puget Sound is what finally ended our Green Lake walks, since I began spending at least two, sometimes three, hours a day commuting to Kitsap County. 

And I continued sailing to work for eight years: Eight years of boats I missed. Or boats that were late. Or boats that broke down. Or even boats that turned around for confused tourists. 

So Patty and I could have spent the day obsessing about the ferry schedule and letting it dictate our day of trolls, just as it dictated my weekdays for years. But we never even looked at the ferry schedule. 

We just drove to the docks when we needed a boat, and hoped one would be there. And it was. Every time we got in the line, there was a ferry at the dock waiting for us that we drove onto.

That was super cool. And felt like the ferry gods were smiling on our troll trek.

And so we did it, made it to all five trolls in one day. Yes, it might seem super silly, but it was super fun, and I loved every second of it. And I especially love Patty for not only sharing my crazy dream, but making it come true.

You can join us on our epic troll trek here:

Movies I saw in July: Megan 2.0, Jurassic World Rebirth

Theater poster for Megan 2.0.

I didn’t see a lot of movies in July, but the two I did catch last month continued a trend I am quite enjoying: No-nonsense women having the lead role.

The first was Megan 2.0 (7/01/2025, in the theater), which I will give a B+, mostly because it was exactly what I wanted, and even better than I expected. I did not see the first Megan movie because it looked too scary for my taste, but I gleaned that the sequel would be more my speed, happily discovering it is basically a female version of Terminator 2: Judgement Day, one of my all-time favorite movies.

Just like Terminator 2, Megan 2 has a mom forced to trust a machine that initially terrorized her. In the first Terminator movie, for instance, Linda Hamilton’s Sarah Connor was hunted by Arnold Schwarzenegger’s robot, but in the second, they team up to protect her son, as she realizes that the robot in many ways is even better at caring for the boy than a human father.

The mom (or aunt? I was never sure!) in Megan 2 realizes this as well, eventually forced to trust a machine that previously tried to kill her because it is the only way to protect the teen both want to keep safe. All in all, I enjoyed this mostly-female twist on Terminator 2, as Megan 2 was pretty short with a good story, good action, and just enough inside jokes in its banter to keep adults like me interested in a movie that is definitely geared toward a much younger crowd.

The second movie I saw in July was Jurassic World Rebirth (7/29/2025, in the theater) which I give a B-, a grade mostly earned by the presence of Scarlett Johansson, whom I’m glad to see has successfully engineered an action hero career. 

I enjoyed her playing the tough guy lead, as the other “tough guy” gets eaten as soon as the first dinosaur shows up. I also can’t help thinking her white tank top was a nod to the one Helen Hunt wore for most of Twister, and wonder if it will again make a humble undershirt the sexiest fashion accessory for women.

But surrounding the calm charisma of Johansson is a mostly dull mix of people and props, including a criminally underused Mahershala Ali and a slew of completely underwhelming special effects. Though the movie, produced by Steven Spielberg, was a lot like his original Jurassic Park movie with a big dose of Jaws and a small dose of Raiders of the Lost Ark mixed in, I still think all of the older movies, even the one made in 1975, had better effects than this 2025 movie.

Heck, just one shot of the T-Rex’s gigantic foot in the original Jurassic Park, released nearly 30 years ago in 1993, was better than all the T-Rex scenes in Rebirth. In fact, I sorta think JWR was not worth seeing on the big screen, as frankly both the napping T-Rex and its mutant cousin at the end would likely look much better on a smaller screen. And I definitely think that if this movie represents our film future, one full of the “magic” of AI but stripped of the magic of real, and really creative, effects, then I am very sad indeed.

One particularly disappointing scene has Dr. Loomis rappelling down a cliffside with supposedly gorgeous, but obviously fake, waterfalls in the background. Since about half of the YouTubers I follow could go to the jaw-dropping Burney Falls, a Grand Canyon like waterfall in Northern California, and easily film a better sequence without even having to break any park rules, there was no excuse for that scene to feel so canned.

Still, Rebirth had a lot of the best parts of Jurassic Park, like punishing (or rather, grinding in a set of huge teeth) people who care more about money than the dinosaurs, or even their fellow humans, but with the nice flip of having Sam Neil’s Dr. Grant, this time Dr. Loomis, be nerdier and less capable, often dependent on a woman for rescue.

Movies I saw in June with more no-nonsense women: Ballerina, Thelma. 

Finally, just for fun, here are my grandmother’s much shorter movie reviews for July of 1999:

• 7/5/1999 “Notting Hill.” 4th time. (My grandmother obviously loved this movie, as she saw it more than 10 times in the theater, then bought the DVD and watched it countless more times. I remember at the time that we both liked the movie, but I don't remember her ever talking about why she LOVED it so much.)

• 7/8/1999: “The General's Daughter.” Exciting. Lunch KFC in Aptos.

• 7/10/1999: To show, “An Ideal Husband.” Trouble with audio.

• 7/11/1999:  “Arlington Road.” Enjoyed, but Siskel & Ebert said “no.” Last 20 minutes bad, not logical.

• 7/14/1999: “Ideal Husband.” Enjoyed, I think, but thought about bad breath, etc. Takes place in 1895.

• 7/16/1999: To show, “Tea With Mussolini.” Good. Maggie Smith, Cher, Lily Tomlin, Judi Dench.

• 7/18/1999: To show, “Notting Hill.” (5th)

• 7/23/1999: Saw “Notting Hill.” 6th. Look for She!

• 7/27/1999: To “Notting Hill,” 7th.

• 7/28/1999: “The Haunting.” Over the top. Some intriguing preliminaries.

• 7/29/1999: “Notting Hill.” (8th!)

• 7/31/1999: Bought sound track of Notting Hill. Not too good.

What’s on Valencia Peak? The luckiest picnic table in California!

The best seat in California?

You don’t need reservations to sit at what I think is the best table in California, because it is a humble picnic table placed in a state park, free and open to all.

Well, all people willing and able to hike to the top of Valencia Peak, that is. Which is no easy feat, because it took me two attempts to hike all 1,350 or so feet of that gorgeous mountain.

The first day I was unprepared, getting so hot and hungry halfway up that I turned back in defeat. But I came back the next day determined to finally reach the top. And I'm so glad I did, because there I met my new favorite picnic table. 

That was cool.

And yes, I do indeed have a favorite picnic table. In fact, I have two!

 

The first table I fell in love with is in Wilder Ranch State Park, a weathered wooden one placed in a lovely spot along the Wilder Ridge Trail where you can stop and eat, drink, or just soak in the views of the Pacific Ocean in Monterey Bay. 

The views are so expansive, I think you can see all of the bay, which to me is one of the most beautiful sights in the world — though I freely admit that growing up along that stretch of ocean assuredly makes me biased in that department.

When I first found that table a few years ago, I remember thinking: “Wow, is this the best picnic table in California?! Like, could this table have the best view you could possibly see from a humble wooden table, completely open to the public?”

View of Morro Rock in the background.

I definitely thought so at the time, and kept thinking that until this summer, when I found a picnic table with an even better view: another gray-with-age, wooden picnic table atop just one of the peaks in Montaña de Oro State Park near San Luis Obispo.

That table also is on the central coast of California, but a lot higher up, so you can see for a lot more miles of the beautiful Pacific Ocean. And while Wilder Ranch charges vehicles a day use fee to enter its parking lots, Montaña de Oro allows all vehicles to drive into its sprawling gorgeousness, and does not charge them to park at trailheads. 

Which is yet another reason why I’ve decided that the picnic table sitting atop Valencia Peak is definitely the best picnic table in California. And since California is my favorite place, it is also quite possibly the best picnic table in the world.

Movies I saw in June: Ballerina, The Phoenician Scheme and Thelma

The movies I saw in June featured lots of cool women, including an assassin avenging her father’s death and a nun whose father keeps escaping death, but my favorite woman to watch was a plucky 93-year-old determined to find a scammer who stole $10,000 from her.

The assassin was the main character in Ballerina (Seen in the theater, 6/10/2025), which I will give a “B” because I found it a nice mix of two franchises I enjoy: John Wick, because it was set in his universe, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, because our main character is small and scrappy, constantly underestimated by her opponents yet always winning because of her resourcefulness in turning anything she can reach into a weapon, which in Eve’s case was usually hurled at her opponent’s crotch.

Ballerina had all the things I love about John Wick, like inventive fight scenes that are often funny — particularly one involving another woman and a pile of plates — and lots of analog touches like switchboard ladies using old-school headphones, plugs, typewriters and printers to receive and broadcast the latest assassin bounties, or having the big bad’s lookout, “The Eye,” be a man who scans the mountainside for intruders with a balcony full of vintage brass telescopes.

Fun fact: This movie reminded me a bit of the 1990 French film La Femme Nikita, which I argue is the gold standard of “young woman learning to be an assassin” movies. And at least one person making Ballerina agreed, since Nikita herself, Anne Parillaud, is given a cameo in the movie. And if you haven’t watched Parillaud in Luc Besson’s movie, you should rectify that as soon as possible, as I can still see her “angry dancing” to Mozart 35 years later.

And while I enjoyed the love story in Nikita, I appreciated even more that the makers of Ballerina did not give Ana De Armas' assassin a love interest, or even a sex scene, staying true to the John Wick formula.

The nun was played by Kate Winslet’s daughter Mia Threapleton, who spends most of the movie as an oval of eyes and freckles, yet still manages to nearly steal the show from the ever-charming Benicio Del Toro in The Phoenician Scheme (Seen in theater, 6/14/2025.) I give this movie an “A,” but freely admit to adoring Wes Anderson films ever since falling in love with Rushmore in 1998. So if you don’t enjoy his droll and whimsical (some might say precious?) style, then you will likely not enjoy this latest effort; but if you also admire his creations, then The Phoenician could jump into your Top Five, as I think it was one of his funniest.

Fun fact: My husband and I saw a 9:35 a.m. showing of The Phoenician Scheme, which was definitely the first time either of us has ever gone to the movies before 11 a.m.! And since we were the only two people in the theater, I asked the usher afterward if they would have still played the movie if we weren’t there, and he said, with more than a touch of annoyance, “No.”

6/20 & 6/21/2025: The French Dispatch, 2021 (DVD, rented from the library). Grade: B-. I never thought I’d give a Wes Anderson movie anything less than the top grade, especially one that is reportedly a “love letter to journalists,” but this movie did not completely charm me like his others. In fact, it was so dense and academic that we stopped watching halfway through the first time, then finished it the following day. And I’m glad we didn’t give up on it, because the second half featured the best chapter, a delightful romp featuring one of my favorite actresses and people, Frances McDormand. (I probably should give it a C+, but I can’t go below a B for either Wes or Frances.)

6/27/2025: Thelma, 2024 (DVD, rented from the library) Grade: A+, because I adored this pretty perfect little movie written and directed by Josh Margolin, who obviously had a 90-something woman in his life that he adored while making this film, which is a loving-but-honest portrayal of an elderly woman desperate to maintain her independence from the family members who desperately want to keep her safe.

The plot is very basic, with our main character played by the marvelous June Squibb getting swindled over the phone by someone pretending to be her jailed grandson needing $10,000 for his bail. After learning she was conned, Thelma gets inspired by an article about Tom Cruise's latest Mission Impossible movie and embarks on her own seemingly impossible mission to reclaim her money before her frantic family can find her. Structured somewhat like a Mission Impossible movie, this tiny but mighty film is a fun caper with a great script full of respectful nods to the indignities of aging. And if that isn’t enough to recommend it, how about getting to see Richard Roundtree, John Shaft himself, playing Thelma’s partner in crime? Yes, I found so much to love about this movie.

Fun fact: The very end features footage of the real-life “Thelma,” perhaps the most touching brushstroke in a loving portrait of an elderly woman determined to keep going outside on her own two legs for as long as she possibly can.

More movie reviews: 

Mission Impossible 8, Columbus.

Sinners, The Accountant 2.

Last Breath, Black Bag and The Substance.