When Sir Monkeypants and I got married, lo these 10 years gone, all he wanted was a sandwich maker — one of those grill-type kitchen appliances that you press down on a sandwich and it toasts both sides while making whimsical little triangle pockets of melty goodness. We registered for one, but also, we told lots of people who asked us what we wanted that we wanted one of those, because we thought we were pretty hilarious, and we actually really wanted one, and we felt really weird about asking for gifts and the sandwich maker was an economical little gadget that didn’t seem too hoidy-toidy for the asking.

But of course, that meant that lots of people listened to us. And in the end, we wound up with, I think, six sandwich makers (many thanks to FameThowa, who was the only one to update the registry with her sandwich maker purchase). We exchanged them all but kept one, and we loved it, and used it many times in the first few years we were married. But then we got tired of sandwiches (known in our household as “magic sandwiches”) and it fell out of favour, wasting away in the back of the cupboard with the big coffee maker and the bread machine. It became such a pain to get it out — you had to take out several other appliances and dig it out of the bottom shelf — that whenever we wanted a grilled cheese and tomato, we just used a frying pan.

When we moved last year, we went through a big purge. Sir Monkeypants convinced me to ditch the sandwich maker. I was skeptical — he really, really loves the magic sandwiches — but I agreed.

So this past weekend we were down visiting his folks, and his mom sent us home with some of her famous Samosa Shaq, a spicy potato mixture that is meant to go inside magic sandwiches. And as soon as we got home, Sir Monkeypants went to the cupboard to pull out the sandwich maker, and I reminded him what happened to it, and you could see his poor heart shattering into a million pieces before your eyes. He used a frying pan but I swear I heard sniffing and a lot of cursing under his breath about how it just wasn’t the same.

Today at the mall I had to go to three different stores but I finally found a sandwich maker — their rarity is a little alarming for the magic sandwich lovers among us. But now, we are a sandwich maker owning household again. I think I can guess what Sir Monkeypants is having for dinner.

Yesterday the Captain got some new Thomas The Tank Engine stickers for his bedroom walls, to join the Buzz Lightyear stickers he already has.

Overheard at bedtime:

Captain: Goodnight Percy! Goodnight Sir Topham Hat! Goodnight Clarabel!
Sirmonkeypants: Goodnight everyone!
Captain: Goodnight Buzz! Goodnight other Buzz!
Sirmonkeypants: When we say, “Goodnight everyone,” it covers everyone who we didn’t mention by name.
Captain: Goodnight Henry!
Sirmonkeypants: And now we say, “Goodnight everyone!” and that is everyone else.
Captain: Goodnight Gordon! Goodnight Cranky!
Sirmonkeypants: Gordon and Cranky and everyone else are covered by, “Goodnight everyone.”
Captain: Goodnight Mr. Conductor!
Sirmonkeypants: GOODNIGHT CAPTAIN.

In the past few years I’ve read quite a few articles on how there are no big Hollywood “stars” these days. Instead of megastars like Julia Roberts and Tom Cruise, the American film industry is rushing unproven starlets like Orlando Bloom and Kate Bosworth into starring roles, only to have them appear in a few films and then disappear when they can’t prove they have the box office draw of an older, established star.

Yesterday FameThrowa was over and we were talking about how there are several writers and directors that we are interested in based on name alone. If Baz Luhrman, Charlie Kaufman, Michel Gondry, or Spike Jonze have a new project in the works, we’re probably going to go, regardless of what we’ve heard about it. But we actually couldn’t think of a single actor or actress that would make us want to see a movie just based on their involvement alone. I’m not such a fan of, say, Brad Pitt or Sandra Bullock that I’d go see one of their films just to see them.

In the olden days of Hollywood, who starred in your picture was usually more important than who wrote it or directed it. People went to see John Wayne or Steve McQueen for them, to see the persona you knew they were going to play, to see the megawatt stars in action. These days I wonder if there is any actor who can claim such a loyal fan base. Maybe some teen stars — Hillary Duff, say — but no adults.

Is there anyone you’d pay to see on the big screen, regardless (more or less) of project?

I’ve decided to start recording my real-life casting choices in my blog, because people are always asking me who I would cast as them, but when put on the spot, I can never remember past decisions. It really works the other way — rather than thinking up an actor to play one of my friends, I’ll be watching something and someone in the film or TV show will remind me of someone we know — a look, an outfit, something — and then I’ll be struck with casting nirvana. So really, I should capture these moments of enlightenment for future use.

So to begin:

If they ever make a movie of my friend Anthony’s life, they should cast Jack Black.

FameThrowa made me a CD of a band she likes, Wilco. I listened to it last night on the way to ultimate and loved it instantly. I can’t remember the last time I fell for a band right away like this, if indeed I ever have before; it’s almost like a new crush on the boy who sits next to you in English class. I actually laughed out loud because the music made me feel so happy and in love. And it’s weird how the music is new to me, but every song felt like I’d heard it before — not in a derivative sort of way, but kind of like when you have a really great date, and then you get in your car afterwards all giddy and swoony, and want a familiar song that totally rocks to blast at top volume and sing along with on the way home.

All good, baby!

Something I am really looking forward to someday:

Using the toilet without having to remove the little potty seat and shove aside the footstool first.

I know, I know, it’s totally obsessive, but I cannot stop. The other day the kids and I were watching a new episode of Hi-5 and the outfits on all three girls were just too hideous to not share with the world. Photos and my scathing comments after the jump.

The really scary thing is that I am now seeing these fashion crimes showing up in the windows of so-called trendy, “teen” stores at the local mall. The rolled up, tight-tight jeans under skirts. The fat, shiny belts. The neck scarves. The really bad, shiny shrugs. Not to mention all the other horrifying stuff from the 80s I’ve seen around lately, including jelly bracelets, lace tops/skirts, and hair ribbons a la Madonna circa 1983. It’s scary out there.

Again, my apologies for the crap quality here, I snapped these with my pocket digital camera from the TV.

Here’s Jen in a lovely turquoise bodysuit and matching neck scarf, paired with a blue tank top and big silver belt. And because it matches…not at all…a really shiny red miniskirt that says, “Blowjobs $5 extra.”

And now here’s Karla from the same episode in white pants with no shoes and hot pink tank top…and if only they had stopped there. Instead they had to add the ubiquitous shiny belt and heaven-only-knows dress/top/muumuu thing over all.

And last but not least, here’s Kimmee, who the costume designer must really, really hate. She’s sporting the ever-popular tight, rolled-up jeans under a skirt with fat belt; shiny pink ballet slippers; and two tank tops with a shiny purple shrug overtop, because why stop at two layers when you can have three that don’t match at all?

Just in case you didn’t catch it in the last picture, here’s a closeup of Kimmee’s head, so you can see that her “hairstyle” involves gluing an entire game of pick-up-sticks to her head.

Those of you with teenaged daughters would be well advised to start approaching all corners with a mirror, so as to avoid looking directly at anything that might remotely resemble the poor, poor women of Hi-5.

Well, I’m sure you’ve all been waiting with baited breath for my comments on EW’s list of the top 50 sidekicks of all time, which came out this past week. Naturally, like all lists of its nature, I have several complaints and disappointments. Sadly, I’m sure no one else cares about such a list as much as I do…but when it comes to the sidekicks, I’m a purist!

Here’s what I love about sidekicks. They are loyal in all circumstances. They are willing to follow the hero into crazy situations, following crazy plans, with few questions. They are willing to stay on the sidelines of the action, delivering funny quips, while the hero soaks up the attention. They’ll listen to the hero’s problems, but also smack him around a little bit if he gets too self-involved. They’re down-to-earth, real people that I wanna hang with.

So by those standards, EW did well with their #1 choice — Ed McMahon, sidekick to Johnny Carson. Classic sidekick, fits the criteria, definitely enhanced a famous and long-running show. Other choices from the top 50 that I liked: Dr. Watson, Samwise Gamgee, Willow Rosenberg, Gromit, Rhoda Morgenstern, Goose (damn right!), Barney Rubble, Piglet, Larry from Three’s Company, and Duckie (from Pretty in Pink — damn right!).

But too many of the other “sidekicks” just don’t fit into the definition of sidekick, in my book. #3 is George Costanza…great, unforgettable character, and I guess technically Seinfeld was the “star” and George was the “sidekick,” but I really see that show as an ensemble of four equals. #36 is Ford Prefect, in theory the sidekick to Arthur Dent in the Hitchhiker’s Guide books, but seriously, isn’t Ford the really cool hero guy, and Arthur the tag-a-long? And aren’t they both sidekicks to Zaphod? #33 is Lenny and Squiggy from Laverne and Shirley, but those guys aren’t sidekicks to the main gals, more like thorns in their sides.

Other sidekicks are too obscure, or from shows that haven’t been around long enough, to qualify for the top 50 list. #10 is Dwight Schrute from The Office — first of all, I’d argue at classifying him as Michael’s sidekick, and secondly, a lesser character from a show with middling ratings that has only been on for 1.5 seasons doesn’t seem to warrant coming in at #10. Similar comments go to #38, Lane Kim from the Gilmore Girls, #42, Jeff Greene from the Larry David Show, and #50, Blue from the movie Old School (the really wrinkled old guy who, I think, dies at some point).

Worst of all are their attempts to work musical acts into the list. I know we all consider Andrew Ridgeley and John Oates to be the lesser halves of their duos, but would you really call them “sidekicks”? How about The “other” Supremes — I’m sure they’re thrilled to find out they are sidekicks to Diana Ross. And I guess I don’t know enough about music if Art Garfunkel and Keith Richards, who I thought were famous and respected musicians in their own right, are considered merely sidekicks.

I wanted to be able to answer my complaints by naming a few people who would have made better selections…and that’s why it’s taken me so long to post. I must admit that off the bat, it’s hard to think of names of sidekicks I have loved. Still, here’s a few names I would have loved to have seen:

Cosmo Brown (Donald O’Conner) in Singin’ In The Rain (probably my favourite sidekick of all time)
Jim Malone (Sean Connery) in The Untouchables
Plato (Sal Mineo) in Rebel Without A Cause
Kit (Laura San Giacomo) in Pretty Woman
Anita (Rita Moreno) in West Side Story (another of my favourites)
Inigo Montoya (Mandy Pantikin) and Fezzik (Andre the Giant) in The Princess Bride
Iolaus (Michael Hurst) from Hercules: The Legendary Journeys

I’m sure more will come to me. Who are your favourite sidekicks, and did they make the list?

Once a woman gives birth, it becomes really hard to have an embarrassing moment. When you’re pregnant with your first, there’s a lot of tension surrounding the birth itself — will I conduct myself with dignity and grace, will I have the privacy I need, will I be able to keep that little gown closed around my privates, yadda yadda. Then the birth day comes, and there you are writhing around in pain on a little cot, and every few minutes some other total stranger is coming in to “check” you, and it’s like, “Hey, you wanna have a peek? No problem! Get on down there! And $10 to whoever is willing to reach in and remove the watermelon caught in my pelvis!”

And afterwards there’s lots of breastfeeding and checkups and various issues surrounding pooping that require you to lose any hangups you have about physical stuff, fast.

So I figured I was pretty immune, but today I took the kids to the pool, and while I was changing, the Captain points to my chest and says, “Those things are pretty big on you.” That was blush worthy.

Then on the ride home, we were listening to (of course) Hi-5, and there’s a song about having friends from outer space. And the Captain asks, “Why does Curtis [the singer] have a friend from penis?” And I explain, “He has a friend from VENUS. VENUS. It’s a planet.” And the captain takes this exciting new knowledge and says, “Mommy, YOU’RE A GIANT PENIS!”

If it had only been outdoors you’d have been able to seen my eye roll from Venus.

“Do not put your pretzels in your ear.”

“I’m sure Spider-man’s friends are very nice and would never bite.”

“No, I don’t think any cows live in those woods.”

“Ready or not, here I come!”