How to tell a foul apart from a felony:
It would be hard to find a person who is less into sports news than me, but hearing that Kobe got suspended from two games for elbowing an opponent in the throat during play has confirmed my opinion of him. I don't think he's a rapist, but I know he's an asshole.
How to tell it's January:
All the magazines are thinner and everyone else wants to be.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Top Ten Movies of 2005
This has to be the oddest "top ten movies" list I've compiled since I've been compiling. My lists are usually choked with foreign films and artsy fare. This year, some of the big studios delivered very satisfying stories. That seems to be what I'm looking for now when I hand over my $10 and walk into the dark. If it's not a well-told story, I'm liable to get real fussy like. Without further ado:
Nictate's Top Ten Movies of 2005
2046
Number one by a silken landslide. Romantic, alluring, lush, provocative. Wong Kar-Wai is a genius.
Shopgirl
I didn't expect to like it. (Admittedly, most people won't like it.) But this is one L.A. story that susses out painful truths about post-modern dating and displays them in a jewelry case of subdued sophistication. Kudos to Mr. Martin for his keen observations and to Mr. Schwartzman for the much-needed comic relief. Even Stare Danes was good, and it takes a lot for me to admit to that.
Me and You and Everyone We Know
Freakin' weird. Freakin' beautiful. More of a collection of short stories, but crafted with the light touch of an ace student of human behavior.
Kings and Queen
This movie has a split-personality, telling the story of a manic-depressive artist and a chilly hearted femme fatale. Fascinating French fare.
The Constant Gardener
I think you would call this a sweeping tale of corporate corruption viewed through the fragile framework of a mysterious marriage. It's brilliant and calls attention to real-world ugliness. And Ralph Fiennes! My god, Ralph Fiennes.
The Holy Girl
Most exciting new director of 2005 (in my book): Lucrecia Martel. This film is neatly arranged with evocatively framed shots and minimalist storytelling elegance.
The 40-Year-Old Virgin
I didn't expect to like it, but it was hilarious and heartwarming. I wish the 40-year-old virgin was real.
Mr. & Mrs. Smith
A.K.A. Jennifer Didn't Have a Chance in Hell. Don't hate me because they're beautiful. Good grief, the on-screen chemistry between Pitt and Jolie could create nuclear fusion. While the story is merely a playful romp with action sequences strung through it like holiday lights, it's obvious B and A were having a blast making this movie. That's what makes it so much g'damn fun to watch. Some clever dialogue manages to squeeze its way in-between the sparks, too.
Crash
I want you to know that I didn't put this one on my list just because a friend of mine has a role in it, but it is fun to cast drop. While this film is heavy-handed at times, it shines a light on the everyday racism beating just under L.A.'s steaming asphalt.
The Squid and the Whale
Storytelling-wise this film is seriously flawed, but the perfect parts make up for the sloppy whole. Noah Baumbach's film captures the painful fallout of divorce pitch-perfectly and Jeff Daniels should get Best Actor nominations up the ying yang. (Please note: I haven't seen Woody Allen's Match Point yet. That film might sink this one to number 11.)
Honorable mention for stylish experiments in black and white:
Sin City
Gritty, ultra-violent and damn cool.
Good Night, and Good Luck
A politically minded gem.
Noticeably absent:
Brokeback Mountain
(See entry below for the reasons why.)
Tropical Malady
WTF? The movie nerds luv it. First half? Quiet, slow, mkay. Second half? I'd rather club baby seals than sit through that again. Nah, it would be a tie.
Nictate's Top Ten Movies of 2005
2046
Number one by a silken landslide. Romantic, alluring, lush, provocative. Wong Kar-Wai is a genius.
Shopgirl
I didn't expect to like it. (Admittedly, most people won't like it.) But this is one L.A. story that susses out painful truths about post-modern dating and displays them in a jewelry case of subdued sophistication. Kudos to Mr. Martin for his keen observations and to Mr. Schwartzman for the much-needed comic relief. Even Stare Danes was good, and it takes a lot for me to admit to that.
Me and You and Everyone We Know
Freakin' weird. Freakin' beautiful. More of a collection of short stories, but crafted with the light touch of an ace student of human behavior.
Kings and Queen
This movie has a split-personality, telling the story of a manic-depressive artist and a chilly hearted femme fatale. Fascinating French fare.
The Constant Gardener
I think you would call this a sweeping tale of corporate corruption viewed through the fragile framework of a mysterious marriage. It's brilliant and calls attention to real-world ugliness. And Ralph Fiennes! My god, Ralph Fiennes.
The Holy Girl
Most exciting new director of 2005 (in my book): Lucrecia Martel. This film is neatly arranged with evocatively framed shots and minimalist storytelling elegance.
The 40-Year-Old Virgin
I didn't expect to like it, but it was hilarious and heartwarming. I wish the 40-year-old virgin was real.
Mr. & Mrs. Smith
A.K.A. Jennifer Didn't Have a Chance in Hell. Don't hate me because they're beautiful. Good grief, the on-screen chemistry between Pitt and Jolie could create nuclear fusion. While the story is merely a playful romp with action sequences strung through it like holiday lights, it's obvious B and A were having a blast making this movie. That's what makes it so much g'damn fun to watch. Some clever dialogue manages to squeeze its way in-between the sparks, too.
Crash
I want you to know that I didn't put this one on my list just because a friend of mine has a role in it, but it is fun to cast drop. While this film is heavy-handed at times, it shines a light on the everyday racism beating just under L.A.'s steaming asphalt.
The Squid and the Whale
Storytelling-wise this film is seriously flawed, but the perfect parts make up for the sloppy whole. Noah Baumbach's film captures the painful fallout of divorce pitch-perfectly and Jeff Daniels should get Best Actor nominations up the ying yang. (Please note: I haven't seen Woody Allen's Match Point yet. That film might sink this one to number 11.)
Honorable mention for stylish experiments in black and white:
Sin City
Gritty, ultra-violent and damn cool.
Good Night, and Good Luck
A politically minded gem.
Noticeably absent:
Brokeback Mountain
(See entry below for the reasons why.)
Tropical Malady
WTF? The movie nerds luv it. First half? Quiet, slow, mkay. Second half? I'd rather club baby seals than sit through that again. Nah, it would be a tie.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Brokepromise Mountain
Universally applauded. Critically acclaimed. Totally boring.
WHA-? Yes, that's right. I didn't enjoy Brokeback Mountain. I was bored to the point of looking away from the screen and wishing for it to be over. Now, I know what this admission means: 1) I am obviously a heartless bitch; 2) I will be hearing howls crying foul from those who've raved about it.
Before I launch into my tirade, let me say that 90% of the people who see this film will sing its praises and shed its tears. I know I've been a little too hard to please at the theater of late. Plus, when you consider all the dreck that's playing at cinemas, this film does rise to the top.
The acting was terrific. Jake and Heath make their characters believable, likeable and sympathetic. Although the critics seem to have more of a hankering for Heath's gutteral, Cooper-esque stylings, I think it's Jake who showed himself to be more of a master of his craft. My friend C-girl and I agreed that while Jake's face registers few changes in expression, he is somehow able to convey the subtlest of emotions. And he's gorgeous, which is neither here nor there, but a plus in the movie's appeal column, fo'sho. Some stand-out moments? Their desperate kisses outside Heath's over-the-laundromat apartment. Their tender post-romp hotel conversation. This, I liked. This, I wanted more of.
All of the dialogue between Jake and Heath feels real and right, as sparse as it is. It is their moments that make the movie. Unfortunately, those moments only comprise about 50% of the film. The rest is riddled with redundant and cartoonish side stories about obnoxious, one-dimensional girlfriends, wives, children and parents. Sure, some of that is necessary to convey their long lapses apart and to illustrate how much the odds were against a gay couple in the 60s and 70s. But you know what? All that societal stuff is common knowledge. We don't need it to be hammered home over and over in the fleeting two hours we've got to share with Jake and Heath. We understand the hardships and prejudices they faced. Let's get to the love between these men and linger with it a little longer.
Isn't that why the film is really being celebrated? Because it sensitively portrays homosexual love in a major motion picture? I admit, the sophisticated soap opera way this story is told will make it more palatable to a bigger audience, which will translate to bigger box office and more opportunities for future well-crafted gay love stories. For that reason, I see that it might have been for the best that Ang Lee helmed it and Larry McMurty co-wrote. But something tells me it would've been more of a cinematic masterpiece versus easily embraceable entertainment if Gus Van Sant had manned the director's chair and Tony Kushner had scripted it.
Here's the thing. The movie I anticipated in my mind did not appear on the screen. I know it's not really fair to review the movie that I think should have been made versus the one that was. But if you would have seen the movie in my mind, I think you would've preferred my director's cut, too.
My Brokeback would have had a heartfelt romance that grew slowly, but surely, in momentum and significance as the men grew to know each other and we grew to know them. A heart-wrenching romance that took place against the backdrop of utterly breathtaking wilderness--the kind that makes reviewers describe the landscape as another lead character. A bittersweet romance that was lovingly filmed with luscious cinematography. Lots of dramatically composed long shots with just the men and their mountain.
Now, I know a lot of people might feel like they saw all that on the screen. I didn't. What I saw was a TV mini-series chopped down to a two-hour mish-mash of a family drama. Sloppy storytelling. Lifeless lighting. Hamhanded editing.
Speaking of the editing, I'm no film school graduate, but there were some cuts in the film that were whiplash-inducing. A couple of cuts that stuck out like sore thumbs: 1) Heath stumbling out of a tent to a beautiful overcast, snow-shrouded scene. It was on the screen for about five seconds, then we cut to a shot of Jake returning to camp (in full sun with only wee patches of snow on the ground) saying something about how the snow had melted quickly. WHA-? Why did we need the snow moment? We'd already seen that they were fighting the elements. At least let us linger in the snow scene. Let something happen in the snow scene. Otherwise it looks like a mistake. In another scene, we see Heath driving away and cut to a scene of him looking out a second-story window. For a second it felt like he was looking at himself drive away. WHA-? I'm sure the editors on this film have a trailer full of awards, which makes these jarring choices all the more annoying.
The sloppy storytelling was my main complaint with the film. There was no narrative momentum. I guess you could argue that since the story takes place over 20 years, it would be hard to keep momentum building. I disagree. Sure, there will be lulls, but there were so many side trips in this film that I lost interest in rooting for the two lads. Sure, we need to see them deal with their "off the mountain" lives, but there was just too dang much of it. Side story after side story that ate up screen time while only reiterating things we already knew about the characters. The tangent about the barmaid that Heath dates took about 20 minutes to unfold, when she could've easily been relegated to a line of expository dialogue. Ang, baby, we know Heath is a stoic fella with commitment issues. We get it. Let's see how that affects him and Jake, please. PLEASE?
I know, I know. I'm ranting now. But the only reason I'm so pissed and continue to blather about it is that I care so much and expected so much from this film.
In summary, I appreciate the will it took to make this movie. I just wish it had had more grace.
WHA-? Yes, that's right. I didn't enjoy Brokeback Mountain. I was bored to the point of looking away from the screen and wishing for it to be over. Now, I know what this admission means: 1) I am obviously a heartless bitch; 2) I will be hearing howls crying foul from those who've raved about it.
Before I launch into my tirade, let me say that 90% of the people who see this film will sing its praises and shed its tears. I know I've been a little too hard to please at the theater of late. Plus, when you consider all the dreck that's playing at cinemas, this film does rise to the top.
The acting was terrific. Jake and Heath make their characters believable, likeable and sympathetic. Although the critics seem to have more of a hankering for Heath's gutteral, Cooper-esque stylings, I think it's Jake who showed himself to be more of a master of his craft. My friend C-girl and I agreed that while Jake's face registers few changes in expression, he is somehow able to convey the subtlest of emotions. And he's gorgeous, which is neither here nor there, but a plus in the movie's appeal column, fo'sho. Some stand-out moments? Their desperate kisses outside Heath's over-the-laundromat apartment. Their tender post-romp hotel conversation. This, I liked. This, I wanted more of.
All of the dialogue between Jake and Heath feels real and right, as sparse as it is. It is their moments that make the movie. Unfortunately, those moments only comprise about 50% of the film. The rest is riddled with redundant and cartoonish side stories about obnoxious, one-dimensional girlfriends, wives, children and parents. Sure, some of that is necessary to convey their long lapses apart and to illustrate how much the odds were against a gay couple in the 60s and 70s. But you know what? All that societal stuff is common knowledge. We don't need it to be hammered home over and over in the fleeting two hours we've got to share with Jake and Heath. We understand the hardships and prejudices they faced. Let's get to the love between these men and linger with it a little longer.
Isn't that why the film is really being celebrated? Because it sensitively portrays homosexual love in a major motion picture? I admit, the sophisticated soap opera way this story is told will make it more palatable to a bigger audience, which will translate to bigger box office and more opportunities for future well-crafted gay love stories. For that reason, I see that it might have been for the best that Ang Lee helmed it and Larry McMurty co-wrote. But something tells me it would've been more of a cinematic masterpiece versus easily embraceable entertainment if Gus Van Sant had manned the director's chair and Tony Kushner had scripted it.
Here's the thing. The movie I anticipated in my mind did not appear on the screen. I know it's not really fair to review the movie that I think should have been made versus the one that was. But if you would have seen the movie in my mind, I think you would've preferred my director's cut, too.
My Brokeback would have had a heartfelt romance that grew slowly, but surely, in momentum and significance as the men grew to know each other and we grew to know them. A heart-wrenching romance that took place against the backdrop of utterly breathtaking wilderness--the kind that makes reviewers describe the landscape as another lead character. A bittersweet romance that was lovingly filmed with luscious cinematography. Lots of dramatically composed long shots with just the men and their mountain.
Now, I know a lot of people might feel like they saw all that on the screen. I didn't. What I saw was a TV mini-series chopped down to a two-hour mish-mash of a family drama. Sloppy storytelling. Lifeless lighting. Hamhanded editing.
Speaking of the editing, I'm no film school graduate, but there were some cuts in the film that were whiplash-inducing. A couple of cuts that stuck out like sore thumbs: 1) Heath stumbling out of a tent to a beautiful overcast, snow-shrouded scene. It was on the screen for about five seconds, then we cut to a shot of Jake returning to camp (in full sun with only wee patches of snow on the ground) saying something about how the snow had melted quickly. WHA-? Why did we need the snow moment? We'd already seen that they were fighting the elements. At least let us linger in the snow scene. Let something happen in the snow scene. Otherwise it looks like a mistake. In another scene, we see Heath driving away and cut to a scene of him looking out a second-story window. For a second it felt like he was looking at himself drive away. WHA-? I'm sure the editors on this film have a trailer full of awards, which makes these jarring choices all the more annoying.
The sloppy storytelling was my main complaint with the film. There was no narrative momentum. I guess you could argue that since the story takes place over 20 years, it would be hard to keep momentum building. I disagree. Sure, there will be lulls, but there were so many side trips in this film that I lost interest in rooting for the two lads. Sure, we need to see them deal with their "off the mountain" lives, but there was just too dang much of it. Side story after side story that ate up screen time while only reiterating things we already knew about the characters. The tangent about the barmaid that Heath dates took about 20 minutes to unfold, when she could've easily been relegated to a line of expository dialogue. Ang, baby, we know Heath is a stoic fella with commitment issues. We get it. Let's see how that affects him and Jake, please. PLEASE?
I know, I know. I'm ranting now. But the only reason I'm so pissed and continue to blather about it is that I care so much and expected so much from this film.
In summary, I appreciate the will it took to make this movie. I just wish it had had more grace.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Man crazy
Two questions: Who is this Andy Samberg and why isn't he my boyfriend? If you're wondering who Andy is yourself, he's the shaggy haired partner to Chris Parnell in the SNL video I linked in the previous entry.
Any guy who can profess his love for Magnolia cupcakes and the crazy delicious joys of intermingled Mr. Pibb and Red Vines with such unequivocal bravado is my kinda hombre. Unfortunately, I found out about him after he and two of his The Lonely Island peeps got hauled away by Lorne Michaels to revive the lumbering comedy show. Now Andy will be swimming in poontang. My timing sucks.
In other news, I've decided what I want for Christmas. I just need to e-mail the chubby red-suited guy my request:
Dear Santa,
I've been a very good girl, despite the poopy things that happened to me this year. In light of this, I'm making a bit of an unusual request.
Santa, for my Christmas present, I would like to be cast as the female lead in a major motion picture. Here's the pitch. This film tells the story of two men, a bookish orthinologist with a wickedly wry wit (played by Ralph Fiennes, natch) and a tenderhearted, introspective surgeon with breathtaking sexual prowess (played by Alexander Siddig, my Syriana crush who is pictured below). These two men are locked in a lifelong battle for the love of an honorable woman (played by moi), an impeccably attired sculptress who works exclusively in marble. Who will win the ever-so-worthy heart of this fair maiden? Why, I could spend a blissful fortnight outlining the plethora of possible scenarios, but joint custody just feels right.
Now, Santa, I know financing a film of this scope with this kind of blue-ribbon talent will cost a pretty penny, so I want you to know I'm willing to work for scale. See what you can do. Love to the missus.
Sincerely yours,
Nictate
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
SNL + funny = crazy rare
If you haven't seen the hilarious SNL rap video spoof about two guys going to see The Chronicles of Narnia, please do so at You Tube. I can't believe they even fit in a shout-out for the illin'-est cupcake bakery in NYC.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
The state of things
Just when things seemed to be on the upswing in the land of Nictate, I got side-swiped. Quite literally. By an apparently drunk driver who fled the scene. Fortunately, I didn't sustain any injuries. My poor car is another story. Here's hoping my insurance company does the right thing versus the cheap thing.
I was trying to figure out why the accident rattled me so, besides the obvious reasons. I think it's because it made me realize what a small part of one's life one can actually control. Being a control enthusiast, I am never pleased when I get a peek at the seamy underside of life's underlying chaos.
Nevertheless, I'm grateful for the reassuring cops, careful tow truck driver and good friends who rescued me. Not to mention the denizens of downtown L.A. who ran up to my car asking if I was OK. So it's one drunk jerk vs. about 20 decent people. I think I can live with that ratio.
In entertainment news, I decided to postpone seeing Brokeback Mountain until the crowds die down a little. My mom asked if I was planning to see "the queer cowboy" movie. That's right, little lady. My friend P-girl is pumped to see it, too. (She calls it the "Marlboro man-on-man movie.")
Instead, I saw Syriana after waiting for 10 minutes while the simulataneously largest and most inept concession crew I've ever seen struggled not to burn the popcorn and coughed (accidentally) on my cherry Icee.
I enjoyed Syriana for its ripped-from-the-headlines bravado, but it felt more like a politically charged checklist than an intense thriller to me. Corrupt oil businessmen bribing foreign leaders? Check. Suicide bomber recruitment? Yep. Creepy government cover-ups? Check. Torture sequence? Sure, why not. Sympathetic family moments thrown in to humanize characters in ten minutes or less? Check.
It was just too much. Too many characters, too many storylines, too many targets, too many loose threads. The only character I cared about was the handsome emir-in-waiting and that was just because I thought he was hot.
While I applaud the filmmakers and financiers for having the guts to put out a film that isn't shy about taking on volatile subject matter (especially when it couldn't be more important to do so), I'd put this film in the "ambitious to a fault" column.
I was trying to figure out why the accident rattled me so, besides the obvious reasons. I think it's because it made me realize what a small part of one's life one can actually control. Being a control enthusiast, I am never pleased when I get a peek at the seamy underside of life's underlying chaos.
Nevertheless, I'm grateful for the reassuring cops, careful tow truck driver and good friends who rescued me. Not to mention the denizens of downtown L.A. who ran up to my car asking if I was OK. So it's one drunk jerk vs. about 20 decent people. I think I can live with that ratio.
In entertainment news, I decided to postpone seeing Brokeback Mountain until the crowds die down a little. My mom asked if I was planning to see "the queer cowboy" movie. That's right, little lady. My friend P-girl is pumped to see it, too. (She calls it the "Marlboro man-on-man movie.")
Instead, I saw Syriana after waiting for 10 minutes while the simulataneously largest and most inept concession crew I've ever seen struggled not to burn the popcorn and coughed (accidentally) on my cherry Icee.
I enjoyed Syriana for its ripped-from-the-headlines bravado, but it felt more like a politically charged checklist than an intense thriller to me. Corrupt oil businessmen bribing foreign leaders? Check. Suicide bomber recruitment? Yep. Creepy government cover-ups? Check. Torture sequence? Sure, why not. Sympathetic family moments thrown in to humanize characters in ten minutes or less? Check.
It was just too much. Too many characters, too many storylines, too many targets, too many loose threads. The only character I cared about was the handsome emir-in-waiting and that was just because I thought he was hot.
While I applaud the filmmakers and financiers for having the guts to put out a film that isn't shy about taking on volatile subject matter (especially when it couldn't be more important to do so), I'd put this film in the "ambitious to a fault" column.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
As you were
I recently read about a cool traveling exhibit (in Santa Monica from January to May, for you L.A. types) that studies the natural harmony between humans and animals through photography, film, art and letters.
Artist Gregory Colbert spent 13 years putting this project together. It's entitled Ashes and Snow and the images are awe-inspiring, as you can see by the photo here. There are more visuals, along with some of the story behind the project, at the link above. The article I read mentioned that no photo manipulation was used. It all happened in the lens.
***
Hear ye, hear ye: Gunner Palace should be required viewing for all Americans. (Now on DVD!)
While the film itself is only so-so by documentary standards, the subject matter is gripping, heartbreaking and vitally important. Gunner Palace captures several weeks in the lives of the young male and female U.S. soldiers who are "defending their country" by patrolling another--Iraq. The timing: after the pre-emptive invasion settled down from shock and awe into rumbling rebellion.
It is frightening what these troops, some still skinny teenagers, face on a daily basis--dodging improvised bombs that could be lurking in any random trashbag, shoring up shoddy vehicle armor with scavenged scrap metal, staving off boredom by writing raps about mortar shells, trying to bond with the natives who may shake their hands one day and spit on them the next.
The filmmaker is even-handed in capturing the options facing Iraqi citizens in their fractured country. We meet a native translator/informant turned traitor, a burly "super cop" who helps capture insurgents, detainees taken into custody despite the fact no evidence of suspected weaponry was found in their home (next stop: Abu Gharib) and a street kid hooked on drugs.
One of the most touching moments was of an American soldier cradling a sickly Iraqi baby. The baby had been separated from her mother. The soldier holding the infant explained to the camera that his own wife back in the U.S. had just had a baby--a baby he hadn't met yet. He then tried to gather his emotions as he looked down into the hollow eyes of the child in his arms.
You know what? Screw the magnetic yellow ribbons stuck on the back of SUVs. There's a better way to support our troops. Get some truth. You can start by renting this movie.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
A ham is born
Well, I have to say the little improv shew went veddy well. Our semi-recently formed comedy troupe was pumped even before the moment the crowd started humming the theme to Rocky (due to the fact that a circuit got overloaded and blew out our sound system seconds before show time).
Everyone had their chance to shine, like Ben accusing his girlfriend of knitting him a gift he didn't like ("You know I don't wear shoes like that!"). Or when Matt started a scene about a clown hired to entertain at a wake with a big-top goofy, hilariously sing-songy, "Sorry about your loss!" My favorite line of my own (if you'll indulge me) was when I ended a couple-stuck-on-a-rollercoaster-ride scene with the line, "But it says do not remove under penalty of law!" Like most improv moments, you had to be there.
But if you would have been there, you would've been with 80(!) kind fans made up of friends and family who were rooting us on. Some balanced their behinds on pillows and some had to stand the whole hour since we were short on chairs. This, my friends, was an audience that gave as much as the people on-stage.
As for my fears of pulling a Cindy Brady? Luckily, those were unfounded. Curiously, my usual public speaking-type nerves (feverish flashes and gurgling G.I. tract) weren't in appearance. Oh, sure, I had to urinate on a half-hourly basis, but always being the consummate professional, I made a point of leaving the stage before relieving myself.
My adrenaline was strangely focused in propelling me forward through each pregnant pause. My aura was gigantic, thanks to the pre-show breathing exercises Sandeep lead us through. Yes, whether I was under the spotlights or hanging back to watch others shine, I had a complete and utter blast. And yes, in the time it would take you to spell trichinosis, I've become a grade-A ham.
Everyone had their chance to shine, like Ben accusing his girlfriend of knitting him a gift he didn't like ("You know I don't wear shoes like that!"). Or when Matt started a scene about a clown hired to entertain at a wake with a big-top goofy, hilariously sing-songy, "Sorry about your loss!" My favorite line of my own (if you'll indulge me) was when I ended a couple-stuck-on-a-rollercoaster-ride scene with the line, "But it says do not remove under penalty of law!" Like most improv moments, you had to be there.
But if you would have been there, you would've been with 80(!) kind fans made up of friends and family who were rooting us on. Some balanced their behinds on pillows and some had to stand the whole hour since we were short on chairs. This, my friends, was an audience that gave as much as the people on-stage.
As for my fears of pulling a Cindy Brady? Luckily, those were unfounded. Curiously, my usual public speaking-type nerves (feverish flashes and gurgling G.I. tract) weren't in appearance. Oh, sure, I had to urinate on a half-hourly basis, but always being the consummate professional, I made a point of leaving the stage before relieving myself.
My adrenaline was strangely focused in propelling me forward through each pregnant pause. My aura was gigantic, thanks to the pre-show breathing exercises Sandeep lead us through. Yes, whether I was under the spotlights or hanging back to watch others shine, I had a complete and utter blast. And yes, in the time it would take you to spell trichinosis, I've become a grade-A ham.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Show time
I'm approximately 48 hours away from my first improv show in front of a real audience. Holy todelo, I'm gonna be sweating floorboards the night of our improv class's premiere. I haven't told too many peeps about this, because I want to do it under cover of night. I want to make sure I don't freeze like Cindy Brady when it's lights, camera, action time before I invite friends to watch.
The good news is the people in my class are talented, funny and play well with others. And one of them is going to teach me a breathing technique that is supposed to enlarge my aura. I will tell him that I'd like to get my aura to the largest size possible, but not so big that I can't squeeze through a doorway without sucking in my belly.
While watching the "biggest finale ever" of America's Next Top Model (that's right, I watch it, bucko) this week, I was inspired by the words of America's Previous Top Model, Naima, when she coached this season's wannabes before their scary catwalk challenge. She advised that they could take their nervous energy and turn it into something really powerful and exciting. (I'm paraphrasing, but I think I captured the spirit of Naima's words.) As Tyra would say, that's really fierce.
I think between supersizing my aura and Naima's guidance, I'm gonna be able to ward off the Cindy Brady Syndrome with grit and grace. If not, the experience will at least be an entertaining, however personally horrifying, story.
***
In other news, even though she doesn't wash her hands after using the restroom, I'm getting a girl crush on the hilarious writer Jill Soloway (author of the previously linked diamond story). Her brain works in marvelous ways and she's got a wickedly witty book out called Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants. Check it out, yo.
The good news is the people in my class are talented, funny and play well with others. And one of them is going to teach me a breathing technique that is supposed to enlarge my aura. I will tell him that I'd like to get my aura to the largest size possible, but not so big that I can't squeeze through a doorway without sucking in my belly.
While watching the "biggest finale ever" of America's Next Top Model (that's right, I watch it, bucko) this week, I was inspired by the words of America's Previous Top Model, Naima, when she coached this season's wannabes before their scary catwalk challenge. She advised that they could take their nervous energy and turn it into something really powerful and exciting. (I'm paraphrasing, but I think I captured the spirit of Naima's words.) As Tyra would say, that's really fierce.
I think between supersizing my aura and Naima's guidance, I'm gonna be able to ward off the Cindy Brady Syndrome with grit and grace. If not, the experience will at least be an entertaining, however personally horrifying, story.
***
In other news, even though she doesn't wash her hands after using the restroom, I'm getting a girl crush on the hilarious writer Jill Soloway (author of the previously linked diamond story). Her brain works in marvelous ways and she's got a wickedly witty book out called Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants. Check it out, yo.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
O bonafide leader, where art thou?
So Vice President Cheney recently spouted that critics of the Iraq war who are revisiting the lies that led up to the invasion are guilty of "revisionism of the most corrupt and shameless variety."
Um, hello? That's the pot calling the kettle black on speed dial. Dontcha think, dick? Oops! I mean, Dick. Oh, no. I was right the first time.
And now Dubya is trying to take credit for the great state of the U.S. economy. Well, I don't remember much from my college economics class (something about guns and butter), but my understanding is that no administration can take full credit or blame for the state of the economy during their specific term since so many influences are at play. (At least that's what I read Clinton critics say about his surplus that was more robust than Ms. Lewinsky's be-thonged backside.)
A recent poll showed that a majority of Americans weren't feeling so sanguine about the economy themselves. Maybe that's because the gap between the rich and poor is widening and the middle class is shrinking. Must look pretty sunny from the top, but the radio news report I heard that lead with the great economic news was followed by a story of several thousand workers being laid off from General Motors. Brings to mind ole former VP candidate John Edwards' little presidential election stump speech about "the two Americas." Maybe the dems can brush that little number off for the 2008 presidential election. Something tells me it will ring clearer then, considering the shadow of the federal deficit that's looming over our heads like a bad perm, while the entrenched hell of Iraq promises no frizz-taming mousse.
***
A rerun of O Brother, Where Art Thou? is reminding me of the utter joy I felt when watching it for the first time on the big screen. So unexpected and unlike anything else. Has to be one of the funniest screenplays ever. The fact that the Coen brothers haven't been cooking much from scratch lately is intolerable cruelty.
Um, hello? That's the pot calling the kettle black on speed dial. Dontcha think, dick? Oops! I mean, Dick. Oh, no. I was right the first time.
And now Dubya is trying to take credit for the great state of the U.S. economy. Well, I don't remember much from my college economics class (something about guns and butter), but my understanding is that no administration can take full credit or blame for the state of the economy during their specific term since so many influences are at play. (At least that's what I read Clinton critics say about his surplus that was more robust than Ms. Lewinsky's be-thonged backside.)
A recent poll showed that a majority of Americans weren't feeling so sanguine about the economy themselves. Maybe that's because the gap between the rich and poor is widening and the middle class is shrinking. Must look pretty sunny from the top, but the radio news report I heard that lead with the great economic news was followed by a story of several thousand workers being laid off from General Motors. Brings to mind ole former VP candidate John Edwards' little presidential election stump speech about "the two Americas." Maybe the dems can brush that little number off for the 2008 presidential election. Something tells me it will ring clearer then, considering the shadow of the federal deficit that's looming over our heads like a bad perm, while the entrenched hell of Iraq promises no frizz-taming mousse.
***
A rerun of O Brother, Where Art Thou? is reminding me of the utter joy I felt when watching it for the first time on the big screen. So unexpected and unlike anything else. Has to be one of the funniest screenplays ever. The fact that the Coen brothers haven't been cooking much from scratch lately is intolerable cruelty.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Over the 2005 jive
As 2005 winds up, I have to say I won't miss it much. There were a pleasing amount of highlights, to be sure, but overall it was absolutely my most stressful year ever--and that includes my "personal Vietnam" years (I'd rather deal with a pissy teenager than an emergency eye surgery any day).
But I don't want to be a grinch about it. After all, I've still got my peepers in working order, which is a gift I will never be grateful enough for, and I've got amazing friends and family who decorate the douglas fir tree of my life. And work is good. And this was the year of my Rudy moment, when I won over a doubting improv teacher to get "best in class" props. And one more year of the Dubya administration is now behind us. All these things are cause for celebration. Still, I will shed no tears when 2005 rides into the sunset. I will give it a hearty "hee-ya" and smack that horse's arse goodbye.
On the lighter side, it's time to wrap presents (one my most favoritest things of all time) and write up my Top Ten film and album list. This year's version will be an odd one, for sure. Let's just say it involves Bragelina. Yep, it was an off-kilter anum.
But I don't want to be a grinch about it. After all, I've still got my peepers in working order, which is a gift I will never be grateful enough for, and I've got amazing friends and family who decorate the douglas fir tree of my life. And work is good. And this was the year of my Rudy moment, when I won over a doubting improv teacher to get "best in class" props. And one more year of the Dubya administration is now behind us. All these things are cause for celebration. Still, I will shed no tears when 2005 rides into the sunset. I will give it a hearty "hee-ya" and smack that horse's arse goodbye.
On the lighter side, it's time to wrap presents (one my most favoritest things of all time) and write up my Top Ten film and album list. This year's version will be an odd one, for sure. Let's just say it involves Bragelina. Yep, it was an off-kilter anum.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Lunch in Los Angeles
Just another average day in the city of L.A.
A photo shoot mid-crosswalk blocked my auto's way.
The model, she tilted and tossed her brown locks,
As my Honda idled patiently partway down the block.
When the crew waved me on, I happened to pass
A homeless man who wanted a quarter for gas.
So I gave him a buck and told him "good day,"
Then he loudly suggested dinner and a play.
What the hay? A homeless man just asked me out?
While nearby a model pimped out her pout?
I shook my head, incredulous, and threw him a wave.
Just another average day in the city of L.A.
A photo shoot mid-crosswalk blocked my auto's way.
The model, she tilted and tossed her brown locks,
As my Honda idled patiently partway down the block.
When the crew waved me on, I happened to pass
A homeless man who wanted a quarter for gas.
So I gave him a buck and told him "good day,"
Then he loudly suggested dinner and a play.
What the hay? A homeless man just asked me out?
While nearby a model pimped out her pout?
I shook my head, incredulous, and threw him a wave.
Just another average day in the city of L.A.
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