Many years ago, a bunch of my friends and I ended up in Florida for a week. Not spring break, a wedding. What an exciting week it was, of which we must never, ever speak publicly. Daytimes, we recovered in the usual Florida fashion — laying out in chaise lounges by the pool and/or beach.
One day Paul got up to go inside to freshen his drink and didn’t come back. I went in a bit later to freshen my own and found him putting the last touches on a fairly elaborate snack platter — Triscuits with tuna salad, fruit, little cheesy things, etc. Plus a fresh cocktail with a fruit flag on the rim of the glass.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Erica’s getting married,” he said. “I’m having a reception.”
Oh, right. “All My Children.” And there Erica was, wearing a modest red-sequined wedding cocktail dress, marrying for the fourth time, to Adam Chandler. He’d also be the male lead in marriage no. 7, out of 10 as of 2005, the last list I could find, and I’m not spending an extra minute researching Erica’s marriages, let me tell you. Erica Kane Martin Brent Cudahy Chandler Montgomery Montgomery Chandler Marick Marick Montgomery.
I’m sorry Paul died before the internet took over our lives, as I’m sure he’d enjoy surfing the “All My Children” blogs every day, maybe keeping one himself. You know what the big news would be today — it and “One Life to Live” are being cancelled after 40 years or so, part of the slow collapse of the daytime soap. Hard to imagine. I remember my grandmother watching these afternoon stories in the ’60s, when they were in black and white, the action punctuated with organ stings.
Soaps were always the golden handcuffs for actors, steady work that paid very well, but didn’t carry much prestige outside of fan conventions. Although I’m always amazed at how many respectable ones got their start there — Julianne Moore, Marisa Tomei. Demi Moore was on “General Hospital,” although I think we can all agree her technique still has one foot in the Significant Close-up to Close a Scene.
The New Yorker ran a hilarious profile of the showrunner of “Days of Our Lives” a few years back. It was there I learned that the writing on soaps has reached the point where scenes in heaven are fairly routine now. Never watched ’em, myself. Tried, during the Luke and Laura “General Hospital” era, but couldn’t get into it.
So how about a picture? From the Kid Rock cruise:
That’s from the Facebook of Deke Dickerson, whom I gather was a musician in one of the backup bands. Thanks to BobNG for pointing it out. As I said late in yesterday’s comments, I’m disappointed at how much better his album is than any of the many photo galleries published by the Free Press. If you’re on Facebook, you can look it up yourself; they’re public on his wall, but I don’t think any link I’d put here would work. I’m amazed, although I shouldn’t be, by how many guests had multiple Kid Rock tattoos. One had an interesting surgery scar on her thigh, too. I’m sure the story behind that one is something to hear.
A little bloggage for the weekend:
U.S. Postal Service FAIL, as the kids say: The new Statue of Liberty stamp turns out to be a photograph of the one in Las Vegas, not in New York Harbor. Another delightful read by Kim Severson, off the food beat for a while now, and blooming where she’s planted. I saw her speak at a conference in Ann Arbor, and she was by far the most amusing one there.
Finally, something to consider while our American kids are being taught to the test. Tell me if you think these Australian kids will ever forget this lesson about dinoaurs for the rest of their lives:
What does a getup like that cost, anyway? Can I save enough money by next Halloween?
Jolly good weekend to all.