Absence of Newman: An Interactive Tribute

It seems I have a vacancy on my list. You know, the “list” brought to us by the cast of “Friends” in the 1990’s, where each partner in a relationship is allowed a list of (up to) five people he or she is allowed to leave the other for without question or argument.

Dave has long held the same five, a list that is carefully laminated and folded, safe in his wallet, should the opportunity to run away with Jennifer Aniston, Cameron Diaz, Ashley Judd, Jenna Elfmann, or Fergie (the American, not the Brit) ever arise.

I, on the other hand, have had more of a revolving list kept tidy and orderly on a sort of mental dry-erase board. Several names have come and gone:  George Brett, Antonio (Banderas and Sabato, Jr.), and Nate Berkus.

Brad Pitt made the original list until he left Jen for Angie and I removed him in protest of his poor moral character. Then I caught “Troy” on HBO one night and decided Mom was wrong; sometimes what’s on the outside counts more than what lies within, and so Brad is back on. (Though I’ll admit, I’ve probably got a better shot at Nate.)

There are a couple of original names which still remain today (Bono and Harry Connick, Jr.) as well as a near-original (George Clooney). And then, tragically, there is one I was recently forced to remove, the very first man on any list I’ve ever made, Paul Newman.

I was in eighth grade when I first met Paul Newman. Our class had been herded to the school cafeteria for a special treat, where Sister Kathleen, in her infinite and holy wisdom, let us all watch “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”, a movie which will long live as one of the most influential films in my formation as a woman with needs.

Paul Newman forever redefined “Cool” and “Fast” with the names “Luke” and “Eddie” and set a high bar for all of mankind in the areas of sex appeal, philanthropy, and organic popcorn. But it was his run from the law with Robert Redford that set him permanently in my heart. I delight in the naïve but wishful thinking that, were it not for the 66-year difference in age, he would have left the steak at home and taken this hamburger out for a spin around the race track.

Which brings me back to the list. Paul Newman will not be easy to replace. No other man on earth has such stunning blue eyes that gaze into my very soul or can turn me on with a simple, “Sorry I’m late, I was taking a crap.” The next guy to fill the empty slot has to be able to ride a horse off a cliff, school Tom Cruise in pool, and whip up some killer marinara, and I just don’t think Zac Efron is ready for that – yet.

But according to George Carlin, and he was the king of tact, I have a year before I can tastefully replace a dear departed lover with a new one. So I suppose there’s time to look around, which is a good thing. Because among the many alluring and talented men that walk our planet, there was only one man we called Paul Newman.

Question of the Day

If you were to set Madonna up on a blind date with anyone in the world, who would it be?

Question of the Day

What are three daily staples found in 2008 you would miss the most if you were sent back in time 30 years?

Disco (Really) Is Dead

Sitting at the dinner table a few days before school started, our family began the annual ritual of naming all the goals we had not yet achieved for the summer. Weekly trips to the library (we hit the pool), visiting museums (we saw “Wall-E”), cleaning out closets (did I mention the pool?).

And then Dave brought one up. “You never did Pioneer Week this summer, did you?” The kids dropped their forks and looked at me. They’d heard of my friend Susan’s summers with Pioneer Week, living without electricity or running water just for the experience, and they wanted no part. They held their breath waiting for an answer.

“No,” I told him, “I hadn’t even planned on it.” The kids simultaneously exhaled. “Do you really want to spend a week sleeping in the living room on straw beds with all our kids and no TV, PC, or A/C?”

“Oh, I was going to have to do it too?” he replied. “Never mind.”

Suddenly I had an idea.

“Maybe we should try ‘70’s week!” I announced. The kids looked confused. We’ve never had anything nice to say about the ‘70’s and they know it. 

I continued, “We’ll watch 4 channels on the little tv in the basement and listen to the Commodores and rent a station wagon for the week!”

Four little jaws hit the table. They turned to their dad, hoping he’d get them out of this one.

“Now THAT sounds doable,” Dave agreed as eight little eyes rolled. “At least people had electricity and slept in their own beds. And you could dress like Farrah Fawcett....”

“And let my perfectly good Wonder Woman outfit hang in the closet all week?”

“As long as you use your powers for good,” he conceded. “What will you cook?”

“You mean after Calgon takes me away?” I heard Ellie gag. “Probably Dinky Donut Cereal for breakfast and Moonpies for dessert!” I added. “So we’ll definitely need Pearl Drops Tooth Polish. It will make your teeth feel - - - “

“ - nnnnnng,” Dave finished. “Do they still make Tab?”

“I’ll look for Tab, Jiffy Pop, and B-O-L-O-G-N-A,” I sang. “And I will ask 7-11 let me pay 65 cents a gallon for gas in honor of ‘70’s week.”

“Go ahead,” Dave said, “But you might have trouble explaining to a cop why your kids aren’t wearing seat belts.” Then he added, “We could rent ‘Love Boat’ or ‘Happy Days’ for the kids, and I can probably TiVo some old ‘M*A*S*H’. Is ‘Rockford Files’ on DVD yet?”

“I don’t know, I think ‘Bionic Woman’ is. And ‘Captain Kangaroo’,” I said.

“That’s fine. Just no ‘Maude’,” he asked.

“I LOVE Maude!” I said, “…But I will leave Bea Arthur behind if you will go without ‘Kojak’.”

“What do you have against Telly Savalas?” He thought for a moment then smiled, “you know you’ll have to give up your cell phone.” Four little heads turned my way.

“Okay,” I conceded, “but you’ll have to give up your iPhone....and Fantasy Football.” Four little heads flipped to him.

“And Facebook,” his grin turned sinister.

The kids watched us like a tennis match.

“Ebay,” I threatened through a tight smile.

“Call waiting,” he mocked.

“Guitar Hero,” I retorted.

His eyes narrowed. “Did they have hair color back then?”

“What are you implying? My grandmother didn’t go gray until 1983.” I stated. 

“When she was 68?” he asked.

“Yes, and it happened overnight,” I smiled, “And just so you know, it runs in my family!”

“What about Oprah? Wasn’t she still a news anchor in Baltimore back then?” he said.

“Whatever,” I smirked, “I’ll watch Phil Donohue. What will you do without Sports Center?”

“Two words: Howard Cosell!” he huffed. “But I bet your friends in Port Charles will miss you that week!”

“’General Hospital’ is 40 years old! And how did you know so much about Oprah?” This was getting ugly.

“No Matt Damon!”

“Or Jennifer Aniston!”

“Roomba!”

“GPS!”

“Target!”

"Best Buy!"

“Tall soy mochalattes!”

“Appletinis!”

“Sit on it!”

“Kiss my grits!”

“Mom?!” Amelia interrupted.

“WHAT?!” Dave and I replied.

“We’ve only got, like, three days of summer left. Couldn’t we just go to the pool like everyone else?” she said with the wisdom of Mr. Kotter.

Dave and I looked at each other.

“Fine,” I shrugged, “Anyway, I’m allergic to polyester.”

“Gloria Gaynor makes me puke,” Dave added.

So that settled it. And just like disco, this idea hit hot and heavy, but then a little punk came along and declared it was dead.