Hollywood House Hunting: Taking the "Day Off"

"I heard that you were feeling ill -

Headache, fever, and a chill.

I came to help restore your pluck;

Cause I'm the nurse who likes to...(SLAM)!!!"

Like a lot of guys, I'm kind of a weakling when it comes to being sick.  I'll never make my illness anyone else's problem but I will be the first to shut the door, curl up in a ball, and refuse to emerge from my room until the last trace of phlegm has left the building.  Sick days are meant to be used and, as the old saying goes, "If you don't use 'em, you lose 'em."  Indeed, I have no compunction about taking the day off so as to avoid publicly suffering through the day, spreading my infectious germs hither and yon all over the workplace (Attention potential employers: please ignore this).  Honestly, if you think I look bad at full capacity, trust me when I say that you certainly don't want the vision of me in ill health haunting your dreams.  Yes, the best thing to do when one is under the weather is to stay home.  On the rare occasion when a "mental health day" is in order, I fully endorse the exploitation of that opportunity as well.  When there is adventure to be had, make like Ferris Bueller and take the day off!  And what better way to enjoy a day off than to see the house where Ferris lived?

"Bueller, Bueller, Bueller..."
The Bueller Home from Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)

Ferris Bueller's Day Off was kind of a cinematic anomaly in our house.  It was the first/only PG-13 movie we were allowed to see at a time when my parents took the "13" very seriously (I was well under thirteen when the film was released).  On a rare "date night," my parents actually saw the movie in the movie theater; so smitten were they by the last time Matthew Broderick exhibited any kind of onscreen charm, they made sure that, rather than continuously borrowing it from the library, we owned a copy of our very own.  With other movies (all other movies) my mom would launch her person in front of the screen like some kind of human shield/missile interceptor to protect us from questionable cinematic moments like passionate kissing, profane language, and even intimated intimacy.  I'll never forget a little library rental starring John Lithgow called Traveling Man.  Confused by the NR-rating, I think my mom earnestly believed that the dad from Harry and the Hendersons would never make a movie to challenge her parental guidelines.  That delusion was the exact reason she was just a few seconds too late to block the highly-motivating talents of a rather-buxom exotic dancer, working hard to motivate Lithgow and a conference room full of traveling salesmen.  I think my mom "lost her library card" after that incident.  With FBDO, she always remained in her seat; she must've figured that the references and words we understood weren't too bad and the rest went right over our little toe-heads.  After countless viewings, Ferris Bueller's Day Off is a venerated title around our house, oft watched and oft quoted.

Most guys liked Sloane (Mia Sara) but Jennifer Grey was feisty, and foul-mouthed!!!
The nose may change but she'll always be Jeanie/Shawna to me.

If I could never have Jeanie, there was always Grace (Edie McClurg) - GENIUS!!!

So impactful has this movie been on my life that I have spent many years chasing the dream.  Everywhere I go, I try to capture the Bueller mystique, starting at the Art Institute of Chicago.  Sent to the city on business several years ago, I made my work pals (a woman, another fellow, and me) pose like the famous statue, Portrait of Balzac (à la Ferris, Sloane, and Cameron).  In a very un-Ferris fashion, I was unsuccessful in my attempt when the one person willing to take our photo didn't understand what we were trying to do and then got distracted/hassled by an aggressive female docent.  Infuriated, all I could manage to say was, "What if you need a favor someday from Ferris Bueller? Then where will you be, huh?  You heartless wench!"

This could have been us!

Knowing the important place this movie occupies in my heart and mind, I felt it was finally time to go find the Bueller homestead.  While John Hughes' films are well-known for their Chicago setting, I luckily didn't have to travel quite so far.  Instead of suburban Chicago, the Bueller home is actually in Bixby Knolls, an historically-ritzy enclave of Long Beach, CA (who knew Ferris and Snoop Dogg were neighbors???).

The shutters are now blue, the trees have grown, but that portico
and hedge-framed circular driveway are unmistakably Bueller.

Confession time.  As much as I like to pretend I am a "righteous dude" like Ferris, in the imaginary recasting of the film, there is no question that I am Cameron.  I have my moments; I've been known to join a parade, dance and sing in public, enjoy the occasional ditch day, lie to my parents, and make my sister's life miserable, but I am really just a tightly-wound bundle of nerves, neuroses, and insecurities - think lump of coal/diamond.  I think that is why, nearly thirty years later, the film continues to resonate so deeply with me.  Quelling my anxieties, the film's message is to take chances, to enjoy life, to adventure, and to live in the moment (even if the moment is simply a short drive on your day off to see the outside of a stranger's house).  As Ferris says, "Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop to look around once in a while, you could miss it."  And so I say to you, just "take a stand" and take the car...but don't kill the car.

The Ferris Bueller House

4160 Country Club Dr

Long Beach, CA

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

B-I-N-G-O!!!!

Do you remember your first day of junior high school - not knowing where to go or where to sit, hoping you had the correct supplies, looking around for someone to show you the ropes, smelling the acrid stench of mystery body odors, stale cigarette smoke, and denture adhesive?  Oh...perhaps I am confusing junior high with Bingo Night at the local Elks Lodge.

Driving by the Elks Lodge on a regular basis as part of my thrifting rounds and seeing the sign advertising the weekly Bingo game, I always thought to myself, "We've got to get to Bingo Night tout suite!" Well, several months and several drive-bys later, we finally made it to Bingo.  If you're as unfamiliar with professional Bingo as I was, the realities of an evening spent playing are rather accurately summed up in this episode of Roseanne (not much of an exaggeration and a bonus for featuring Edie McClurg).

 Selected scenes from "Roseanne Plays Bingo" - Roseanne

As a Bingo beginner, I wasn't sure what to expect at Bingo Night but I was secretly hoping it would be exactly like Roseanne.  Fortunately, Bingo Night delivered fully on the promised the sit-com's portrayal of grandmotherly types taking rather seriously this game of chance.

Although it's a popular method of making something old and seemingly-boring sound exciting, the phrase "This isn't your grandmother's Bingo" could not be further from the truth.  Indeed, Bingo Night at the Elks Lodge is very much your Nana's Bingo; what it isn't is your Bingo.  This is not the childhood game with a single five-by-five, square card and a bunch of coins, beans, or buttons.  What Bingo Night is is a three-hour exploration into the human desire to exploit the mystery of luck.  Rows and rows of fortune hunters hold court with their lucky cats, troll dolls, photos of dead relatives, $90-120 worth of bingo sheets, and of course, their color-coordinated bingo markers (some with ergonomic grips)!  This Bingo had a computerized Bingo King machine.  This Bingo had fast-paced, high-stakes rounds of play.  This Bingo had light boards, and sound equipment, and multiple video monitors.  This Bingo was going to leave us in its dust if we didn't catch up!

As soon as we entered the hall, we were marked as beginners - we came prepared with neither Bingo talismans nor markers, we had bingo game sheets that had to be replaced twice because we immediately messed them up, and we wore facial expressions reserved for the recently lobotomized.  Arriving just a few minutes late for the earlybird game, we had to find seats at the very front of the hall.  As we wound our way to the last remaining tabletop not already plastered with Bingo sheets and assorted Bingo paraphernalia, I sensed that my novice's confusion was directly related to the confusion of seasoned onlookers; only then did I remember that my Bingo-night attire suggested that I was an old pro.

B-I-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-O!!!
I might not know how to play Bingo, but I know
how to dress for Bingo!  I said that I wanted to
dress silly but, as a newcomer, not garner too much
attention (the Bingo hall can draw a pretty tough crowd).
 With only a few minutes to throw something together, I
settled on polyester high-waters in brown houndstooth,
a barkcloth aloha shirt, a golden cardigan, black socks
and white, tasseled loafers - Bingo Night perfection!

Fortunately, we were taken under the wing of a surprisingly-young and helpful woman who told us that she makes the Bingo scene every week.  She did her best to explain the basics but it was clear that our propensity toward uncomfortable giggling combined with our endless questioning was not going to make us favorites among our tablemates.  Frankly, I believe there was a prevailing and very-genuine concern that our lack-of-beginner's luck was going to rub off.  Seeing that we were still unable to fully decipher the details on the program outline, we even got a couple pointers from the Bingo caller himself!

As with any subculture, there is a certain amount of associated jargon - "Bingo Lingo" if you will (or even if you won't) - that must be learned if one wants to thrive in the Bingo world (see: "Lightning Dog," "Crazy Kite," "Money Train").  But Bingo, which incidentally is the most mundane form of gambling (beating out Rock, Paper, Scissors and a coin toss by a wide margin), extends far beyond a game; Bingo people are a race unto themselves, complete with their own stereotypes.  There is the elderly man who keeps shouting "Bingo" even though he is nowhere near a win; we'll call him Paul...because that was his name.  There is the ancient lady who makes everyone aware that she has outlived every single one of her teeth by abstaining from dentures and constantly exercising the agility of her tongue.  There is the hardcore Bingo addict who arrives early to stake out prime real estate and spends an inordinate amount of time arranging his markers, charms, and homemade blackout chips.  There is even the disgruntled woman of an age made indeterminate by extreme living whose chronic, hacking cough is interrupted only long enough to voice aloud her complaints about "newbies," cheaters, and less-than-adequate Bingo callers.

There is the new guy who thinks it's all a big joke.
Wait a second...that's me...

What I didn't think was a joke was the cost and duration
of Bingo Night.  Averaging only one dollar per game
(if one plays only one sheet - a highly-unusual practice),
it definitely adds up in both money and time; we
were there for over three hours!

Friends have asked if we won and all I can say is that the evening transcended financial gain - which I guess translates to "no."  While our Bingo Night might have exclusively been an emotional win, we definitely came away feeling like champions...at least in the dental department (which is actually saying quite a lot).

Oh, "B-4" I forget, I wanted to know, do you Bingo?  Is your local Bingo Parlor as technologically advanced as the Elks Lodge?  Have you ever had a big Bingo payday?  When was the last time you screamed out "BINGO" in a public forum?  If it has been a while, I say get thee to a Bingo Hall!  

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny