Dallas: an In-Depth Review Mid-Season of the Best Prime-Time Soap and Also Still the Reason Why I Wish My Last Name was Ewing

Hey Y’all!

Again, this has nothing to do with my house, but it is my blog so I’ll post what I want. Yay me! Anyhoo, I felt it was due time for another recap of Dallas mid-season.  And I do dare say last night was quite a doozy (oh and just for future reference, that statement comes from the 1929 Duesenberg Model J car.  $29,000 of 1929 money [$1.2 million today] got you a chassis and an engine.  Then the car went to the carriage builder of your choice where it was custom built to owner specifications.  No two of these cars are the same and therefore the birth of the phrase “it’s a doozy.” It’s my blog and I’ll post random crap if I want to.).

So congratulations TNT!  It still doesn’t suck!  I’m so impressed! You have stuck with the original music, the story lines are intriguing and actually have substance, and the characters are genuine (except Christopher…more on that later).  Now then, lets break down each of the characters.  

Let us begin with the easiest – John Ross.  You are quite a gem, good sir.  And an idiot. I mean seriously? You had to ask the question what does a deed to mineral rights mean? You are in the oil business.  I knew what that meant when your whiny baby of a cousin Christopher (I’ll plunge into that later) handed it to you.  But I still do think you are best friend material.  If nothing else, you know how to have a good time and have some delightful cars (I’m particularly partial to that black Corvette) and spending cash to boot. I don’t get your fascination with Elena other than the fact she is Genius Level 102 and you need someone like that.  God knows you are Moron Level -12 and aren’t improving with each episode.  But I still cheer for you. Oh and by the way, sucks for you they are going to pin Marta del Sol’s murder on you.  Cause you ain’t gonna make it in prison.  I’ll refrain from quoting Deliverance here and let you draw your own conclusions. 

Christopher oh Christopher, you still suck. I mean seriously, what were trying to do last night? Cry? Because you failed.  I spent more time screaming at the TV “for the love of God and all things holy if you are going to cry just do it!” Every time someone dropped a bombshell on you all I could think was dear God here come the pouty lips.  I swear I thought you were trying to perfect the teen girl Facebook photo. Quit it.  I want to like you Jesse Metcalfe, really I do.  I don’t know if it is the writing, the fact your character is a three year old in a thirty year old body, or you just suck as an actor. But you suck...I have no better word for it. And for the love of all things holy do we have to bring up the my-mommy-couldn’t-have-babies-so-daddy-bought-me-and-I’ll-never-be-a-Ewing-ever-oh-woe-is-me! in every freaking episode? 

Let. It. Go.

It really makes me want to punch you in the face.  Really, it does.  And the sad part of that is it seems you have much more time to dedicate to the gym than I do (actually if anyone spends more than five minutes in the gym, then that is five minutes longer than I do…I think a gym is hell on Earth) and for that reason I’m pretty sure you could kick my butt. I don’t like to think that a whiner like you could take me, but I know a fact when I see it.  If Rebecca had a brain in her skull she would dump your tail and find someone who has a pair. 

Bobby – your wife is a delightful person and a wonderful character…but she a fruit basket full of nuts. Girl got some psycho issues.  And I think you would be wise to get that checked out.  No one wants to wake up in the middle of the night with his wife standing over him with a butcher knife or a few gallons of gasoline while singing Hotel California and waving a lighter in the air. I truly feel life is going to suck a lot more for you before it gets better. 

J.R. – you’re still my hero. 

Sue Ellen – I still want to marry you. Call me maybe? 

Christopher – you suck. 

Warm Southern Days,

Russ

Dallas: An In-Depth Analysis of a Soap Opera and why I sometimes wish my last name was Ewing

 I’m a Dallas freak.  Plain and simple.  Oh, and I’ll go ahead and make this statement – I realize that this blog was intended only for details about my house, but as my previous track record has so aptly proven – I don’t typically follow my own rules. Oh yeah, and this is my blog.  So I’ll post what I want (insert cute smiley here).  That being said, for full effect in reading please imagine me sipping a glass of sweet tea and speaking with a Southern Aristocratic tone.  That being said, on with the show! Or blog!

Congratulations TNT!  It didn’t suck!  And I’m so glad it didn’t.  I wasn’t looking forward to having to drive to Atlanta to set fire to your boardroom table.  Thank you for impressing me.  You have big shoes to fill.  Though the beginning was rocky, by twenty minutes in I was shaking my fist at the television and having verbal altercations with the characters.

And to whoever made the creators keep the original theme song, I salute you.  Dallas is not Dallas without that French horn (or whatever instrument it happens to be) opening.  It gave me cold chills.  Really.

So Bobby is thinking about selling Southfork…which kind of makes me hope his cancer takes for thinking such blasphemy.  Preserving the land? Wonderful idea.  Selling the land?  Big ol’ mistake.  If I’ve learned anything from watching Dallas at warp speed (and warp speed means all thirteen seasons in one summer) it is NEVER TRUST ANYONE WITH ANYTHING in Soap Opera Land (I often times wish I lived in Soap Opera Land where I would have lovely tanned abs, no snaggle tooth, and no backfat all whilst driving any car I so choose…and my hair would remain perfectly coiffed even with the top down).

And John Ross, you good sir are the new boy everyone is going to love to hate. Not me.  I think you are best friend material…even if you have a chip the size of a small oak tree on your shoulder.  Perhaps we could share a glass of bourbon one afternoon? Alas, he loves the precious Elena…who was engaged to his cousin Christopher. While we are on the subject of Christopher, let me segue into that for just a moment.

Christopher:  you suck.  You are what? 28? 29? 30? At a minimum too old to continually whine about my-mommy-couldn’t-have-babies-so-daddy-bought-me-and-I’ll-never-be-a-Ewing-ever-oh-woe-is-me!  It was thirty years ago.  Let it go. Nobody likes the kid that constantly whines and plays the victim.  Grow a pair and move on.

Back to John Ross and Elena.  Kudos to you sir for picking a smart girl.  I like you and all (and still really think you are best friend material), but I don’t think you are the brightest bulb in the box.  Therefore that little email that was sent to Elena that Christopher claims he didn’t send and she accused you of sending? I believe you when you said that you didn’t send it.  Not because I believe you are a good guy, but because I don’t believe you are smart enough to know how.  Sorry.  You aren’t the email hacker kind of guy.  You are the hey-I’m-pretty-so-do-a-guy-a-favor-and-I’ll-take-off-my-shirt kind of guy.  But you may surprise me.  I do believe you are smart enough to know how to make money talk. After all, you are your daddy’s son.

J.R./Sue Ellen/Bobby/Ann, I’m so delighted to see original characters (plus one).  You will always have a special place in my heart (and in my home theatre).  The dynamic between these characters is still there…even after twenty years have passed.  My absolute favorite moment was when J.R. sauntered over to Sue Ellen to offer an apology for how rotten he was to her.  He may be old, but his still a charmer…and no one compares to him.  And after all these years, he still has a hold on Sue Ellen.  He knows it, and she knows it.  Bobby, what can I say? You were always the better son, but as J.R. so keenly pointed out – a fool.  And a fool who plays well into J.R.’s hands. 

More so than anything, I love the fact that even though Jock and Ellie have long since passed, their presence on Southfork and control over their children is still a resonating player.  Mentioning either of their names immediately garnishes a new respect from Bobby and J.R. 

Ah, the backstabbing and wheeling/dealing…it makes my heart go all pitter patter.  Especially when land is involved – for there is truly no greater possession.  The threats, the fights, the scheming, the cars (oh my the cars!) and the land, well they all make me wish my last name were Ewing.  There is nothing quite as refreshing as knowing that when you wake up in the morning, it instantaneously ruins another family member’s day.

Although I was a little disappointed with the set decorations (it felt rather blasé and middle class suburban for a family that should be over the top in every way) I could see that being the “new Southfork” of Bobby and Ann.  Whatever.

I’m thrilled to pieces with the countless twists and how all the plots integrate back to one central target – power and the keen ability to take it from someone else.  That was always the theme for any original Dallas episode, and I’m so glad they kept in timing.  As Jock said to Bobby (in I believe 1979), if I gave you power you got nothing.  Real power is something you take.

Greed? Power? Money? Oil? Sex? Count me in. As TNT said in its opening, the backstab never felt so good.

Warm Southern Days,

Russ

The Gift of a Memory

Hey Ya’ll,

You know, I realize this blog has turned into more of a series of reflections than updates on renovations.  But I’ve got to tell you, that is more of what this has become – a series of reflections of my life rather than a “run-of-the-mill” restoration.  I promise there will be pictures with this update though. 

As I sit here on my grandmother’s – my – front porch and look out over the tranquility of a Southern Evening, I can’t help but reflect on the past two years since her passing.  I’m awestruck with a forbearance knowing she is in a place of perfection – Paradise, and yet a turbulence of curiosity fueled by questions I beg to ask her each day.  I’ve struggled with this past week, knowing today marks two years.  I’ve struggled with an attempt to find words to convey what it means to me.  But somehow, words never seemed to be a problem on her front porch.  Conversations seemed to flow easier in the peace of her home; they were typically exchanged over a fresh cup of coffee and maybe a piece of pecan pie with no one but the birds to hear our conversations and keep our secrets.  

Every day I find a new question I wish to ask my grandmother.  They surface from the very depth of every Christian’s heart to those of a fearful grandson.  I want to ask her what is it like to see the face of God – to touch His hand and call His name?  What is it like to hear His voice and to see your name roll from His very lips?  What is it like to see His smile when you play the piano? What is it like to hug your daddy’s neck again, and see your mother who died when you were eight? And then there are the daily foolish questions I want to ask her. Do these sheets need to be washed on the delicate cycle? How do I change the bag on your vacuum cleaner? How do you thread the bobbin on your sewing machine? I wrote down your recipe for peanut brittle from memory, but can you tell it to me again? Just one more time? 

I look at her house – my house – and all the changes I’ve made.  I want to ask her are you happy? Do you like this color? Is it okay if I put this picture here? Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to know that she is as happy with her house as I am.  But though the paint colors have changed and the carpet is new, I still look at every wall and see it just as the way she had it.  I remember sleeping in the beds in each of these rooms.  I remember playing with my uncle’s toys in her basement.  I remember learning her recipes over her kitchen counter.  I remember all of the Fourth of Julys that were celebrated on this carport beneath the ceiling fan that illuminates the darkness now.  I remember the comfort, the grace, and the welcomed feeling that was extended to every person that ever sat on this porch.  I remember the easy conversations that were had in the very chair in which I sit as I type this.  I remember the wisdom that was shared and the compassion that was given to me over all those cups of coffee.  

And then I smile – I smile because I’m happy.  I smile because I know that I have a lifetime of my own memories to build in this house.  I smile because I am Betty’s grandson, and it is my honor to continue to extend that welcome to others and that compassion that was given to me.  I smile because this isn’t just my house – it is my home – and was a home to my family.  It was where my mother grew up – where my grandmother lived – where I have so many precious memories.  All are a gift.  It is truly a gift to look in every corner and see a memory, touch that memory, hear it, and taste it.  The appearance of my home may change, but the compassion and Southern hospitality that built this home never will.  And the memories that were formed throughout the forty years this house has stood will never fade.  Each one is a gift, and they are why I smile. 

Warm Southern Days,

Russ

New carpet for my bedroom.  All in all, the total cost for the carpet in all three of the bedrooms was $1,200.  This included the cost of the carpet (80 square yards), padding, and installation.  

 Guest room number one before. 

 Guest room number one after.  This furniture belonged to my paternal grandparents and was passed on to me by my cousin Cassy. It looks absolutely stellar in this bedroom. 

 A better view of the bed.

 New posts for the front of the house.  The old planters are also gone, and the yard has been scraped down in preparation for new landscaping.

And for that, I'm Truly Thankful

 So I never hopped on the “Thankful” bandwagon for the month of November, but over the course of the past few days, I feel that there are some aspects of my life for which I am truly thankful and they bear mentioning.

I’m truly thankful for dreams.  I’m thankful for the chance to have a special visit from someone I miss dearly – to have that chance to say what I didn’t in the past.  I’m thankful to have that chance to hear “I’m proud of you” once more and feel that hug I’ve longed to feel. 

I’m thankful for November nights that are reminiscent of a warm June night.  I’m thankful for the fragrances that are on the wind of those nights.  I’m thankful that those winds carry a faint hint of a familiar lotion and a cigarette from Granny’s spot on my porch. 

I’m thankful for the mundane things in my life like raking my own yard, hearing the katydids that fill my trees, the stars that hang overhead, and the promise that my yard will yield new life with spring.

I’m thankful for having a house that was and is a home.  I’m thankful for all the memories that are held in those four walls.  I’m thankful for having a home that is filled with stories begging to be told.  I’m thankful that my grandmother left me a final gift of finding my family history that I long to see but will never get to live.  I’m thankful for the promise that love can happen after forty and three kids, and that even though that marriage might have failed all those letters were worth saving - even if it means your nosy grandson did read them.  I’m thankful for seventy years of music hidden in a closet that it is worth saving, worth playing, and worth hearing again.

I’m thankful for having a life in which I can truly say I’m happy.  I’m happy to live where I do – a place where it is okay to spend all afternoon sitting on a porch if to only watch the cars go by, where friends send flowers to the deceased and food to the family, where strangers will wave to one another as they pass down a two lane road, where prayer is still encouraged and God is still loved, where white is only worn between Easter and Labor Day, and gossip is exchanged just as often as recipes and daylilies.  I’m thankful to be close to such a wonderful family – both in proximity and spirit, to have a life filled with friends that I love like family, to be able to look back and genuinely miss people because their impact on my life was so great, and to be able to look forward and say tomorrow is going to be just as good as yesterday. 

And for that, I’m truly thankful.

Warm Southern Days,

Russ