Seldom in the history of Hollywood has the perfect ensemble cast been built in the way Mel Brooks did with the inimitable 1974 classic, Young Frankenstein. It wasn't a flashy production, and it didn't use any of the special effects that were the hallmark of the theater during the 1970's and beyond, but it remains one of the most endearing and well-crafted cinematic masterpieces this writer has ever had the joy to watch over and over again.

The deadpan delivery that was presented on the theater screen was, based on the outtakes and b-roll bloopers, a very small percentage of what was filmed, and must have been almost as much fun to edit and produce as it was for them to perform. The chemistry between the actors was magic, the direction was inspired, and the writing was a level unto itself.

Sadly, most of this brilliant cast is either no longer with us, but such is the fate of all great movies as they approach their 50th birthday. Thankfully, the movie itself will live on indefinitely, and generations to come will get to experience the sheer joy that this movie embodies.

Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman were an incredible backbone for the movie, and brilliant supporting roles by Teri Garr, Peter Boyle, Madeline Kahn, and the legendary Cloris Leachman, were bolstered by cameos from Leon Askin, Kenneth Mars, and no less than Gene Hackman himself. Together, they helped to create a movie that was not only witty and hilarious, but beautifully vibrant even while being presented in black and white.

The one-liners in this movie are still some of the best remembered utterances ever filmed. In many ways, this movie was the pinnacle of Mel Brooks's creative endeavors, and deserves to be enshrined in the Cinematic Hall of Fame.

Like a cat, I have nine lives. My first was lived in a cloak of adolescent invisibility—that nerd who played in the band and taught swimming. Good grief, I was even a Girl Scout until graduation from high school. My second lifetime was spent taking my clothes off on stages from Nova Scotia to Puerto Rico and everywhere in between. The third life was spent doing penance for it as a Sunday School teacher and the church pianist in an uptight, little church. So far, my current life- the fourth, is my favorite. I'm the bad grandma who never follows rules. I'm the crazy aunt who makes my relatives blush and is writing books about the years in my second life.

You may know me as tinad but it's really Tina D'Angelo

I believe Lord of the Rings made a major impact on the movie industry, particularly in the realm of fantasy.

1. Visual affects. These movies set an expectation for the affects surrounding beings and creatures that exist only in the mind and must be slowly brought to life by an animator.

2. These movies also brought fantasy to a place where it was appreciated, and not just for weirdos.

3. Tall elves.

Thank you for your time.

It's taken me a while to think on when and where I would go, how and why I would alter history- either personal or worldly. Sitting here at my dirty kitchen table, covered in candy wrappers from valentines day and dishes from my husband's breakfast, staring down at the black and white backlit keys of my free laptop given from some pandemic resource or other, thinking of all of the moments in my life that I regret or wish I could have done differently in some way or another. Would it have been that time in fifth grade, when I got in trouble for writing "this is Adam"- the name of my crush- next to an ugly doodle in some woe-is-me preteen book because I thought that teasing your love interest was the way to gain their affections?

Maybe the time in 2008 when I slapped my older brother across the face because he was calling me ugly words in an even uglier tone of voice. That was one of the last interactions I remember having with him before he ran away a few short months later and never returned. I think he's incarcerated somewhere in the north-east now- or maybe the mid-north if that's even a place. If I hadn't have slapped him would he have decided to stay home? If I hadn't written a boy's name in some shitty form of cursive, would he still have bullied me on the bus three years later- hitting me in the head with a metal belt buckle and getting the school police involved?

Perhaps it would be the time that I wrote and illustrated a book for my youngest brother and proudly shared it with my dad, only to be told I could have done better. There was the time I put my self harm on display to my peers instead of just asking for the help that I so desperately needed but was too afraid to receive. Skip ahead three or four years, there was the time I decided it was a great idea to go to a boy's house and consequently get assaulted because "no" was too hard of a word to utter when drugged. The following suicide attempt could be a great contender as well, it led to years of acting out sexually and my parent's divorce after all.

Yes, any of these periods of time would be perfect to go back to, to change or alter or even completely avoid. But who would I be if I chose that power? Would I still be the sleep deprived but happy mother and wife sitting here at our first family dinner table, with memories of glitter glue and paint etched into it's wood? Would I have the memory of receiving SweetTarts chewy rope candy from the children at work, snacking on them as I reminisce on the days where Covid-19 forced me to work from home? Recording circle time videos for eight amazing toddlers on this very same computer I was lucky enough to receive free of pay?

It's taken me a while to think on when and where I would go, how and why I would alter history- either personal or worldly. The conclusion I have come to seems to be the simplest yet most complex I could have reached. I simply wouldn't, because changing history would be changing who I am today. And despite the hardships I've endured, the bullying, the rape, the near death nightmares, I am proud of who and where I am today.

There is nothing I would change, nothing I would erase.

There is no history worth rewriting that could make the "what if's" of yesterday worth the "and now's" of today.

Poet, soldier or king? Everyone can be laid into one of these categories. Currently, there is a quiz going viral based on the song "Poet, Soldier, King" by the Oh Hellos. If you haven't heard the song, I heavily suggest you take a listen, especially if you are fond of Celtic rock/folk. The subsequent quiz, which I have linked below and also suggest you take, will put you in one of these positions. At first, I found this to be just another personality quiz, and I went in with confidence that I would get the result of Poet. My, was I shocked when I received at the very thing I hid from: the King. At first, I was confused, because I am a poet, I am a writer, my weapon is my words.

However, as I stared at myself in the mirror later that night, I realized something. I stand, with a straight back, my shoulders tense and heavy, as if carrying the weight of the voiceless and nameless. My eyes are heavy with the things I have seen and the pain I have felt. There are bags underneath them, hollow, that have become prominent after making sacrifices and difficult decisions. The crown may not sit on my head, but I have felt its weight since I was born. I have dressed up as the poet, but I have always been and might always be a tired King with relentless hope and duty.

I hid from it for so long, but the crown bore my name long before I was born, the stars wrote my name long before I ever picked up a pen. I may not have a kingdom, but I do have a people. I have a community I grew up in, a town, a home, where people looked to me as a leader for a new generation. It was expected of me since I was young. I led the young girls and I shed blood to keep up with the boys my age. I smiled at parties and said all the right things. Even with my mistakes and faults, the crown was relentless, it has embedded itself in my skull, like thorns. You see the flowers grow from my head, but not the blood I have wiped away.

I heard that the poet wants to be the soldier, the soldier wants to be the king, and the king wants to be the poet. Which, although accurate, misses a few details. More than that, I believe that someone else spoke correctly when they said the Poet wants the strength of the Soldier, the Soldier wants the mind of the King, and the King wants the freedom of the Poet. And don't you all know that to be true? I once read that every great writer has a hallmark emotion that they write from. If that's true, mine is the cry for freedom. Deeper than yearning and more raw than longing. I have dreamed of freedom since I was young. I have felt the weight of the crown, but it weighs me down, and I hope to be free one day. For now however, I have accepted something: I am the King. Not a King who sees the world with fresh eyes, but one who has seen one too many wars and injustices, but has never forgotten the dream of peace and freedom.

I finally figured it out in the end, here is the ultimate truth: I have the hands of a soldier, the heart of a poet, and the eyes of a King. I know what the say, heavy is the head that bears the crown- but I have strong shoulders.

Sometimes I have some serious resting b**** face. Little do they know I'm really just a b****, it's not just my face. On the bright side, I am the last person people will ask directions from. "Oh I'm lost, maybe I'll ask for directions, oh look a person," sees my resting b**** face, "never mind, I'll stay lost."