“Cool Hand Luke” is one of those films that whenever I said I hadn’t seen it, people reacted in surprise and mock horror.  I don’t know how I managed to have this cinematic blind spot for so many years, but finally, last night, AMC played the film (multiple times in a row) to celebrate its 40-year anniversary, and I saw it.

I really enjoyed it, and not because it’s a classic and I’m supposed to, but because it’s simple yet epic, and includes a character that, in some ways, everyone wants to be more like. Luke (played by Paul Newman) has an unbreakable spirit that’s inspiring, and his inability to conform to the rules of a Florida prison is the ultimate story of rebellion. In my opinion, “Cool Hand Luke” is way better then other famous rebel films like “Rebel Without A Cause” and “The Outsiders.”

I loved the language in this movie, like when Luke says he’s in jail for “cuttin’ off the heads of parking meters.” Also, it was interesting to realize that a line from the film is a part of mainstream conversation. “What we’ve got here is (a) failure to communicate” is something I’ve heard many times in my life and never knew where it came from.

Also, I didn’t know that Dennis Hopper was in the cast. Hopper, who played a small role as a crazy inmate names Babalugats, has a great first scene where he prays next to his bunk by doing the “Here is the church, here is the steeple” hand game that little kids get into.

The Catholic imagery was a little over-the-top for me, particularly in the closing pullback shot of a Christ-like Luke with outspread arms, lying on a table, after eating 50 boiled eggs.

Also, I realized Paul Newman is really old. As old as the dirt he dug, replaced and re-dug in the famous ditch-digging scene. Granted, he was a spry, handsome guy during the filming of “Cool Hand Luke,” but even 40 years ago, he was already showing signs of aging with awesome crinkles around his eyes. (A quick …

My husband had hernia surgery yesterday, which leaves me as the sole caregiver for our two boys, ages 4 and 5. Whenever something comes up and my husband isn't able to share the kid load, I wonder how single parents do it.

Actually, that's how I feel during the first few hours. As more time passes, I'm awestruck by the strength, time and patience it takes to parent solo. And a day or so into the experience, I'm practically on the ground kowtowing out of deep, deep respect for those moms and dads without partners.

Wow. It's a lot of work to single parent, and so many of you, my own parents included, make it look easy. I raise my coffee cup to y'all right now. Cheers.

Most of the time when we decide whether a dining experience was good or bad the decision is based on the food and the service. Obviously, both are very important, but last night, while dining at one of my favorite East Side restaurants, Sala da Pranzo, I realized how timing makes or breaks a meal.

The timing last night was very good. The restaurant was almost full, yet our server was very in tune with my group, and brought our drinks, bread, salad and entrees with just enough time in between to fully enjoy it and to get psyched for the food and / or drink to come.

There's nothing worse then going out to dinner and the food arrives too quickly, which happens a lot in Mexican restaurants. I've become especially annoyed by this since I've had kids. If I'm dining with adults, I want to revel in the experience of eating out without asking for crayons, wiping noses, picking chips up off the floor and so forth.

If the food arrives too early, you're left with the choice to scarf immediately and move on, or to let it sit and get cold. Neither is very appealing. I have never asked a server to bring my food back into the kitchen until I'm ready for it, because I know it would probably just dry out under heat lights.

Hence, when the timing is good at a restaurant, and I'm given the chance to sit back and enjoy my meal and beverages without feeling too rushed, or too ignored, it contributes to a great dining experience. There's an old adage that says "timing is everything," and in this case, I couldn't agree more.

The words "pick your battles" never rang truer for me. I struggle -- some days more than others -- to raise two, we'll say "spirited," little boys, and the only way I am going to make it through the next decade-and-a-half without running from the house in a fit of insanity is by picking my battles very, very carefully.

Basically, I could spend the entire day saying "no" to them, correcting their behavior and / or completing freaking out on them. So, I am working to become the Zen mamma of letting sh-t slide.

Just to give you an example of what's going on here, and why I need to lower my expectations for reasonable behavior at this point, here are a few things that have happened in the past eight hours.

1. Levi asks for ice cubes for his spaghetti. I try to tell him that although ice cubes in hot soup work fine, ice cubes on a pile of spaghetti really don't have the same effect. But he insists, and so I give him one, then two, then three ice cubes to plop atop his spag. Levi claims ice on pasta "makes it slippery and delicious."

2. Finger painting the sink.  Tonight, the boys ask to finger paint, but "not on paper." Instead, they want to squirt the finger paint in the kitchen sink, swirl it around in the basin, and then wash it down the drain with the sprayer. Sure, why not. It's been 30 minutes of messy, water-wasting sink art, but hey, it's allowing me to write this blog.

3. Round-the-clock nudity. Have I mentioned that I live with two dwarf-sized nudists? Apparently the angels told my boys on the way down that our place is clothing optional. For years, I've done everything to convince them wearing clothing is cool, including making up a song "Everybody must wear pants" to the tune of "Everybody must get stoned." (It didn't work.) So now, I just let 'em disrobe. This afternoon, naked Levi actually had the nerve to say he's cold. So I said, "Then put on some clothes." So he said, "I don't like buttons." So I said, "Your clothes don't have buttons…