"Dancin'? I dunno, really... Let's see, there's the, uh... The boomp, the stomp, the boos stop... Me breakdancin' days are probably over, but there's always the foonky chicken."
I heard things about The Full Monty for about two years before I saw it, things that I simply couldn't grasp (no pun intended.) I didn't see how a movie about a group of desperately broke, unemployed steel workers in Yorkshire and their decision to raise some cash by performing a striptease at Ladies' Night at a nightclub could possibly be funny, sweet or heartwarming.
So when we finally rented it -- on one of those snowy, grey weekends when everybody goes to Blockbuster as soon as they get off work on Friday, leaving latecomers with unappealing choices like Jaws II and The Neverending Story -- I felt we were lucky to get it, even though I was pretty sure it was going to be a stinker.
Several hours later, after having laughed until I had a stitch in my side, after wiping happy tears off my face onto my sleeve, I said to my husband, "I have to own that movie. I have to. It will be wonderful to watch it when I feel blue. It's sure to cheer me right up."
So he bought me the DVD and I loved it so much, I memorized long swatches of dialogue, which I would repeat softly to myself in times of stress, to make myself laugh. I've never been able to get that thick-as-suet accent down right, but oh, well. It's one of the best movies I've ever seen, and if you've never perceived Donna Summer's disco smash-hit song "Hot Stuff" as a sentimental tear-jerker before, here's your chance.
My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad trip to Target - [image: target sad face photo target-sad-face_zpsrywkwlf3.jpg]I went to Target tonight. It's usually my happy place. Tonight was a different story. I was a...
2 weeks ago