I'll be MIA for maybe this entire week - I'm on vacation, hence the boyfriend is taking me camping. But don't worry! I like camping. Then a little Six Flags action on Thursday, and on the 4th I'm heading to the Hamptons with my roomie to take advantage of his mother's summer home (I guess there are upsides to sharing an apartment with him, specifically his mother's wealth).
Even though I'll be on vacay, that doesn't mean you guys should slack off - here's your task: I've recently started working with a producer, and currently we're developing a show for A&E based on hypnotherapy. But he's always open to other documentary ideas, and he's always prodding me for my opinion about what I think should be developed.
Aside from the fact that it's fucking weird that anyone would take me seriously, I'm really trying to provide him with the "young" and "hip" material that would be a ratings hit. Not as easy as it may sound. So! Do you have an idea for a reality series or a documentary that you think is original and interesting? Something fresh, something weird? If so, send the idea my way. If your idea gets developed you will be handsomely rewarded (and no, Vern, I will not dole out blow jobs).
I personally think a doc on people with Morgellons would be fascinating - ugh, or vomit-inducing. I haven't thought it through yet.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A question for anyone with a face and a body (take a seat, floating brains)
I have a mild form of adult acne. It's nothing too bad - I really only break out when I'm about to start my menses.
But a while back I discovered an interesting phenomenon occurs when I break out. First, I get a pimple, then a day or two later, I will get another pimple...on the exact spot directly symmetrical to the spot where the original pimple popped up.
In case I'm not explaining this well, I drew a picture:
Day 1
2 Days later:
See what I'm talking about? 99% of the time, my zits receive a doppleganger within days of their arrival.
And it doesn't end with the zits - I've noticed symmetrical hair growth on my face as well. I'm not growing a Grizzly Adams beard or anything, but I do have a couple of hairs that I pluck every few weeks. At first, it was just one hair on the right side of my chin, but within a few months, another one sprouted - in the exact place on the opposite side.
This type of biology makes sense. Humans are bilateral, meaning that if you were to evenly fold us in half vertically, we would match up - two arms, two legs, eyes, eyebrows, etc. Our physicality is very symmetrical.
But I've never read anything regarding the symmetry of zits or random hair growth on the human body. In the days of the internet, you would think this phenomenon would be discussed, somewhere, but a google search turned up nothing.
Maybe that's because it only happens to me. Does it? Am I the only one affected by twin pimples and identical chin hairs?
You know the drill: your welcomed answers can be left in the comments!
But a while back I discovered an interesting phenomenon occurs when I break out. First, I get a pimple, then a day or two later, I will get another pimple...on the exact spot directly symmetrical to the spot where the original pimple popped up.
In case I'm not explaining this well, I drew a picture:
Day 1
2 Days later:
See what I'm talking about? 99% of the time, my zits receive a doppleganger within days of their arrival.
And it doesn't end with the zits - I've noticed symmetrical hair growth on my face as well. I'm not growing a Grizzly Adams beard or anything, but I do have a couple of hairs that I pluck every few weeks. At first, it was just one hair on the right side of my chin, but within a few months, another one sprouted - in the exact place on the opposite side.
This type of biology makes sense. Humans are bilateral, meaning that if you were to evenly fold us in half vertically, we would match up - two arms, two legs, eyes, eyebrows, etc. Our physicality is very symmetrical.
But I've never read anything regarding the symmetry of zits or random hair growth on the human body. In the days of the internet, you would think this phenomenon would be discussed, somewhere, but a google search turned up nothing.
Maybe that's because it only happens to me. Does it? Am I the only one affected by twin pimples and identical chin hairs?
You know the drill: your welcomed answers can be left in the comments!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Remember when you read this blog post? Those were good times, man
VH1 really couldn't wait another 1.5 years for the decade to be over? (I know, technically the decade wouldn't be over until 2011, but the rules of time aren't recognized by VH1) Just saying, I would find I Love the New Millennium infinitely more interesting if I wasn't living in the same decade that is being profiled.
It's a shame that they have ruined my inevitable nostalgia for the early millennial years. Even though the talking heads can get annoying, I have thoroughly enjoyed watching Michael Ian Black, Hal Sparks, and the various other I Love commentators regale me with tales about the 70's, 80's and 90's - omg it was all so crazy, fun and kitschy! Sure, there might have been wars, riots and drug epidemics happening throughout the latter part of the 20th century, but when Michael Ian Black talks about "new-fangled" inventions, like Post-Its, I'm in awe of just how easy the peeps of yore were entertained by something so simple and stupid. OMFG, people back when must have been retarded! Not like us millennial geniuses who have made Flavor Flav and Paris Hilton national icons.
No, I kid. But it is interesting to experience the pop culture your parents did when they were growing up, and it's fun to revisit events that happened when you were a wee child so you can go, "Hey, I vaguely remember that! Wasn't Uncle Harold super-pissed about that New Coke stuff?"
But I Love the New Millennium takes a look back on stuff that happened, like, two hours ago. Their witty commentary falls flat when they discuss American Idol because how in the fuck can you wax nostalgic about something that is still on the air and viewed by millions of people? You can't really make any "historical" opinions about it because you don't know its fate. People might say "Wait a second Marcie! People wax nostalgic about SNL all the time" but the vast difference there is that SNL has been on for 30 years and launched many a career, as well as many an untimely death. It is steeped in much lore and wonderment. American Idol needs time to mature, its contestants need time to succumb to debilitating drug use and/or a gay sex scandal before we can look back on it and determine what its existence says about that time in American culture.
I Love the New Millennium is a show I could have enjoyed if they made it, say, in 2012. But to watch it now is stupid. And since HBO On Demand can't seem to get its act together and make that Polanski film available, I'm going to keep watching it since there is nothing better on, and its easier to zone out than read a book.
I am the problem in America after all. Yikes.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The boss-lady has a complaint
I found this NY Times Social Q's column via Jezebel, and if it weren't for all the circumstantial differences, this article would be about me.
In fact, I'm half-convinced it is about me.
But that doesn't make sense. The sender is from Milwaukee; I live in New York (hence, so does my boss). But what if my boss used a fake city just to throw me off?
I am not completing my MBA (um, ever), but what if my boss said that to throw me off too? Because I am looking to expand my horizons, and it explicitly said in the question, "she wants to move out into the business world." My boss knows I'm looking for another job, ergo...
Why does EVERYTHING have to revolve around me? I am getting really sick and tired of being the anonymous feature in advice columns. First my bf asks Eye Weekly about his bukkake fetish, and now this.
The assistant described in the query is me, verbatim (except for all the crazy business aspirations). My office is laid-back - no fancy clothing necessary, so I usually wear jeans, tennis shoes or sandals, no make-up, and 90% of the time my hair is pulled in a loose knot on the back of my head. Though I shower every morning, sometimes I won't wash my hair, and it can get greasy, I guess...and I've been lazy and haven't painted my nails or toenails. Ugh, I'm disgusting, no wonder my boss wrote in asking about my appearance! I don't know how I can expect her to work when my cracked, brittle feet are in her sightline.
Ok, so maybe it wasn't my boss who sent in this question. Nonethless, I've started straightening my hair every night to ensure it is straight and luxurious for work. And I'm only wearing tennies until my toenails grow out and I paint them a bright summery color. And I'm eating Altoids three at a time in case my breath smells, and wearing 8 different types of perfume, and douching with candy-cane flavored Summer's Eve to cure all those "down there" smells.
But no way am I wearing make-up everyday. That only comes out on special occasions, like for job interviews, or Jim Morrison's birthday.
In fact, I'm half-convinced it is about me.But that doesn't make sense. The sender is from Milwaukee; I live in New York (hence, so does my boss). But what if my boss used a fake city just to throw me off?
I am not completing my MBA (um, ever), but what if my boss said that to throw me off too? Because I am looking to expand my horizons, and it explicitly said in the question, "she wants to move out into the business world." My boss knows I'm looking for another job, ergo...
Why does EVERYTHING have to revolve around me? I am getting really sick and tired of being the anonymous feature in advice columns. First my bf asks Eye Weekly about his bukkake fetish, and now this.
The assistant described in the query is me, verbatim (except for all the crazy business aspirations). My office is laid-back - no fancy clothing necessary, so I usually wear jeans, tennis shoes or sandals, no make-up, and 90% of the time my hair is pulled in a loose knot on the back of my head. Though I shower every morning, sometimes I won't wash my hair, and it can get greasy, I guess...and I've been lazy and haven't painted my nails or toenails. Ugh, I'm disgusting, no wonder my boss wrote in asking about my appearance! I don't know how I can expect her to work when my cracked, brittle feet are in her sightline.
Ok, so maybe it wasn't my boss who sent in this question. Nonethless, I've started straightening my hair every night to ensure it is straight and luxurious for work. And I'm only wearing tennies until my toenails grow out and I paint them a bright summery color. And I'm eating Altoids three at a time in case my breath smells, and wearing 8 different types of perfume, and douching with candy-cane flavored Summer's Eve to cure all those "down there" smells.
But no way am I wearing make-up everyday. That only comes out on special occasions, like for job interviews, or Jim Morrison's birthday.
Monday, June 16, 2008
When rabid dogs take over the world, only one man can save us...
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I'm not trying to denigrate Cesar Milan - his contributions to the dog community and humanity are infinite.
But who was the photographer that imagined the post-apocalyptic dog hell pictured here? Whoever came up with this concept is the next Stephen King I tell ya. Really, if this were a movie poster, I'd totally see it in the theater. They should have used this advert for that wretched Costner movie, The Postman.
And how did they get that blonde dog on the left airborn? Did they put him in a slingshot?
And the dog in the background on the right...why is he just chillin when all the other dogs are freaking out?
My questions may never be answered, but I thought I'd share his DVD cover with you, since it had me giggling for a good 5 minutes.
And a bonus: More dreamy pics of Cesar!
Swoon!
Work it, you Bitchy Brute!
Ladies and gentlemen, you are welcome for today's installment of hot Latin, dog-loving eye candy.
The 12 y/o Boy inside Me rears his music tastes
Ew, I hope I didn't break any decency laws with that title.
Anywho, have you guys seen that awesome GTA: Liberty City commercial? Well I have, and I'm now obsessed with the song in the commercial, "Vagabond" by the Greenskeepers.
It doesn't really make sense that a 24 y/o lady such as myself would be into a song used to sell a video game, but it's got a sinister vibe, and I'm all about that (I used to be a HUGE fan of that Smiths song "How Soon is Now," then Charmed cheapened it. Shannon Doherty ruins everything!)
For a listen, click here.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Hey look - a roommate-bashing diatribe!
This is a post I've been hesitant to write, though the urge to write it has hit me many, many times. Before, my reluctance was out of an unsaid loyalty, a respect to not air the dirty laundry of the people you know, especially the people you live with. The sheer fact that you share a household with someone makes you privy to private aspects of their lives, and if you have any morals (or sense of karma), you refrain from telling the rest of the world about their bathroom habits and annoying foibles.
But my fuse is burnt. My roommate has gotten on my last nerve, and I need to vent, despite the fact that people who know him may or may not read this. Despite the fact that he might read this.
Let me preface by saying that he has blogged very private things about my life on his livejournal. Things about my sex life, and although these walls are thin, I expected a little more respect for my personal life. His blogging wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't being read by people that know me. Furthermore, though I don't know for a fact, I'm 99% sure he still blogs private things about my life on his livejournal - only now, he's smarter than to let it slip that he has been busy publicly writing all the dirty details that I prefer kept private.
Thus, I feel entitled to vent in a very public forum.
So picture Dom Deluise, but not as funny. Now forget anything cool and delightful you know about Dom Deluise, and imagine he is awkward. And weird to be around. And so socially inept it KILLS YOU to be out in public with him. There you have my roommate, and it is no joke that just going to grab a beer with the guy will make you want to gag yourself on 30 shots of vodka; you almost have to just to tolerate his presence. It used to be that, when I'd venture out with him, I worried how others would react to his non-sequitirs, his ill-informed yet strong opinions, his tendency to comment on conversations that he wasn't even a part of in the first place. But now, I just ignore him, as do most of the other regulars at the local bars. My roommate is a weirdo; just chalk him up to that.
When I first lived with him, I tried not to get down about the situation. At least he pays his bills and rent, I thought. At least he knows better than to lay a hand on me, because I'd bash his fuckin skull in. Though in the beginning his crush on me was palpable, his romantic affection for me waned; after about 5 months of living together, it finally felt like we were really becoming friends, and the giant elephant that was his crush evaporated.
But everything I have ignored, all his quirks, his awkwardness, his cheapness, his ability to mooch off his mom while simultaneously despising her, his unwarranted touching (not as weird as it may sound, but still), his laziness, his arrogance, his talk of doing great things with his life
yet sitting on his ass playing video games and watching anime, his rudeness toward my boyfriend, and most of all, HIS SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT - it has all come to a head.
What has set it off requires another long and involved story, so I'm not going to get into it. I will sum it up as this:
The lease for our apartment requires us to pay our gas bill separately. In two winter months, the bill reaches $750 (the rent is $1500). After a huge hassle, we discovered our bill is so high because the boiler is severely outdated. We asked the landlord to compensate us, and he refused.
Ok, so folks, what would you do in this situation? You've found out you're not at fault for the high gas bill, and that in fact your landlord has been scamming you. Get pissed? Sure. Get a lawyer? Quite possibly. Bitch to anyone who will listen? I totally recommend it.
But, above all, the one thing you would do that makes perfect sense, is move. You. Would. MOVE!!!! And you know better the second time around, when looking for apartments, to ask for a two-year record of all the utility bills.
Yesterday we got our gas bill. Only $100, but still high when you consider the fact that we don't even have the heat turned on. My roommate and I commiserated over it, then I said, "There's no way we can live here next year."
"Why not?" my roommate asked.
"Because we can't afford the gas bill," I replied, rather feeling like I was speaking to a retard. "And I don't want your mom taking care of the $1700 balance like last time." (Yeah, that happened)
"Well we don't have the choice to move," he said.
"Umm, why not?"
"Well because," he mumbled, trying to think of a fake reason. "The landlord already replaced the boiler. Now all he has to do is fix the plumbing."
Digression: The landlord did not replace the boiler, and do you know how long it will take to replace the ancient plumbing? Months, and it would require us to vacate the apartment in that time. Not gonna happen.
"Also," my roomie continued,"I just don't feel like moving."
You fat, lazy, mommy-mooching piece of shit. Maybe you like your mom paying your credit card bills, car loan, and insurance payment, but I wasn't raised that way. Yes, it will be a pain in your dimpled ass to haul your shit and move, but when you consider the fact that your mommy will hire you movers and the most you'll have to lift is your ass from the couch, why in the fuck are you reticent?
My roommate is the reason I'm glad I grew up poor. I know the value of a dollar, and I know that the worst thing to take for granted is that life is easy. Life is not easy. Your normal, day-to-day, just-trying-to-survive life is not easy. Shit is going to fly at you, and you will moan and groan and go why do I have to deal with this? But you deal with it because you don't have money to throw at it, and you deal with it because you know it's the right thing to do.
It's not right that our landlord is scamming us, yet my roomie lacks the sense of pride that makes me want to move. I don't like being scammed, and I HATE the fact that his mother, though fairly rich, paid our fucking gas bill. But the roomie is fine with this set-up. Whatever you pussy piece of shit, go read some manga and jerk-off to Sailor Moon.
But hey, happy ending: I've decided to move in with my boyfriend! Let me make it clear, I'd been wanting to move in with him for a while, and not because I can't stand my roommate, but because I love him and want to make a life with him. So yay for me!
I'm sure my roomie will be fine - his mom will cover my share of the rent.
But my fuse is burnt. My roommate has gotten on my last nerve, and I need to vent, despite the fact that people who know him may or may not read this. Despite the fact that he might read this.
Let me preface by saying that he has blogged very private things about my life on his livejournal. Things about my sex life, and although these walls are thin, I expected a little more respect for my personal life. His blogging wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't being read by people that know me. Furthermore, though I don't know for a fact, I'm 99% sure he still blogs private things about my life on his livejournal - only now, he's smarter than to let it slip that he has been busy publicly writing all the dirty details that I prefer kept private.
Thus, I feel entitled to vent in a very public forum.
So picture Dom Deluise, but not as funny. Now forget anything cool and delightful you know about Dom Deluise, and imagine he is awkward. And weird to be around. And so socially inept it KILLS YOU to be out in public with him. There you have my roommate, and it is no joke that just going to grab a beer with the guy will make you want to gag yourself on 30 shots of vodka; you almost have to just to tolerate his presence. It used to be that, when I'd venture out with him, I worried how others would react to his non-sequitirs, his ill-informed yet strong opinions, his tendency to comment on conversations that he wasn't even a part of in the first place. But now, I just ignore him, as do most of the other regulars at the local bars. My roommate is a weirdo; just chalk him up to that.
When I first lived with him, I tried not to get down about the situation. At least he pays his bills and rent, I thought. At least he knows better than to lay a hand on me, because I'd bash his fuckin skull in. Though in the beginning his crush on me was palpable, his romantic affection for me waned; after about 5 months of living together, it finally felt like we were really becoming friends, and the giant elephant that was his crush evaporated.
But everything I have ignored, all his quirks, his awkwardness, his cheapness, his ability to mooch off his mom while simultaneously despising her, his unwarranted touching (not as weird as it may sound, but still), his laziness, his arrogance, his talk of doing great things with his life
yet sitting on his ass playing video games and watching anime, his rudeness toward my boyfriend, and most of all, HIS SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT - it has all come to a head.
What has set it off requires another long and involved story, so I'm not going to get into it. I will sum it up as this:
The lease for our apartment requires us to pay our gas bill separately. In two winter months, the bill reaches $750 (the rent is $1500). After a huge hassle, we discovered our bill is so high because the boiler is severely outdated. We asked the landlord to compensate us, and he refused.
Ok, so folks, what would you do in this situation? You've found out you're not at fault for the high gas bill, and that in fact your landlord has been scamming you. Get pissed? Sure. Get a lawyer? Quite possibly. Bitch to anyone who will listen? I totally recommend it.
But, above all, the one thing you would do that makes perfect sense, is move. You. Would. MOVE!!!! And you know better the second time around, when looking for apartments, to ask for a two-year record of all the utility bills.
Yesterday we got our gas bill. Only $100, but still high when you consider the fact that we don't even have the heat turned on. My roommate and I commiserated over it, then I said, "There's no way we can live here next year."
"Why not?" my roommate asked.
"Because we can't afford the gas bill," I replied, rather feeling like I was speaking to a retard. "And I don't want your mom taking care of the $1700 balance like last time." (Yeah, that happened)
"Well we don't have the choice to move," he said.
"Umm, why not?"
"Well because," he mumbled, trying to think of a fake reason. "The landlord already replaced the boiler. Now all he has to do is fix the plumbing."
Digression: The landlord did not replace the boiler, and do you know how long it will take to replace the ancient plumbing? Months, and it would require us to vacate the apartment in that time. Not gonna happen.
"Also," my roomie continued,"I just don't feel like moving."
You fat, lazy, mommy-mooching piece of shit. Maybe you like your mom paying your credit card bills, car loan, and insurance payment, but I wasn't raised that way. Yes, it will be a pain in your dimpled ass to haul your shit and move, but when you consider the fact that your mommy will hire you movers and the most you'll have to lift is your ass from the couch, why in the fuck are you reticent?
My roommate is the reason I'm glad I grew up poor. I know the value of a dollar, and I know that the worst thing to take for granted is that life is easy. Life is not easy. Your normal, day-to-day, just-trying-to-survive life is not easy. Shit is going to fly at you, and you will moan and groan and go why do I have to deal with this? But you deal with it because you don't have money to throw at it, and you deal with it because you know it's the right thing to do.
It's not right that our landlord is scamming us, yet my roomie lacks the sense of pride that makes me want to move. I don't like being scammed, and I HATE the fact that his mother, though fairly rich, paid our fucking gas bill. But the roomie is fine with this set-up. Whatever you pussy piece of shit, go read some manga and jerk-off to Sailor Moon.
But hey, happy ending: I've decided to move in with my boyfriend! Let me make it clear, I'd been wanting to move in with him for a while, and not because I can't stand my roommate, but because I love him and want to make a life with him. So yay for me!
I'm sure my roomie will be fine - his mom will cover my share of the rent.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Just a reminder...
My play opens tonight, at the 78th Street Theatre Lab, 236 78th St on the Upper West Side. The festival starts at 8 pm. If you're dying to go (c'mon, I had to have gained at least one stalker! If not, why am I even blogging?), please visit www.theatervision-playtime.com for ticket info.
It's also playing tomorrow night, and possibly Friday night (if it's chosen as the best out of the festival). Here's to hoping.
It's also playing tomorrow night, and possibly Friday night (if it's chosen as the best out of the festival). Here's to hoping.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
An abbreviated rant concerning SaTC: The Movie
This post was once a seven paragraph long diatribe against the Sex and the City movie, which I saw Friday night. But then I read everything I wrote and it depressed me - if I hated the fucking movie so much, why did I feel compelled to blog about it? Ew and I wasted at least 20 minutes bitching. So Select All, delete, yep that's what I did.
I will sum my experience watching the Sex and the City movie as this: If I were a less respectful movie-goer, I'd have heckled that piece of shit excuse for cinema the entire 14 hours it was on the screen (ooops, I mean 2.5 hours - whatever, that's an easy mistake to make).
At one point, a girl directly behind me was talking on her cell phone (something I always thought was an urban myth - who knew that people could be such raging douchebags!) Just as I was about to turn around and tell her to STFU, I thought, wait a second, I don't even care about this movie, it sucks! I'm gonna listen to this girl's conversation instead...
If you have yet to see the "biggest cinematic event of the year," take my advice and don't bother. Get a bootleg copy and watch it at home - I wouldn't normally advocate watching bootlegs, but that fucking movie had so much explicit product placement, the producers/actors/director/crew/catering people can afford to have you not pay them to see it.
As a sidenote, I want to draw your attention to a movie trailer that I saw during the previews of the SaTC movie. I will no
t be seeing this movie, because wow, I rolled my eyes so many times as it played, I thought my eyeballs would disconnect from their retinas. I was actually embarrassed for it, like when I went and saw The Matrix:Reloaded with my friends, and that scene where all the Zionists are going crazy, jumping around and dancing, came on the screen. You watch it and can't believe how utterly ridiculous it is, and you go wow, I have no training in film or editing, but this is just egregious...what in the hell were they thinking when they filmed this scene?
So here it is, the trailer for Nights in Rodanthe (omg, the name alone screams "lame"), starring Richard Gere and Diane Lane. Please tell me how many times you wanted to gag while you watched (note: I am not responsible for dry cleaning bills).
Nights in Rodanthe Trailer
I will sum my experience watching the Sex and the City movie as this: If I were a less respectful movie-goer, I'd have heckled that piece of shit excuse for cinema the entire 14 hours it was on the screen (ooops, I mean 2.5 hours - whatever, that's an easy mistake to make).
At one point, a girl directly behind me was talking on her cell phone (something I always thought was an urban myth - who knew that people could be such raging douchebags!) Just as I was about to turn around and tell her to STFU, I thought, wait a second, I don't even care about this movie, it sucks! I'm gonna listen to this girl's conversation instead...
If you have yet to see the "biggest cinematic event of the year," take my advice and don't bother. Get a bootleg copy and watch it at home - I wouldn't normally advocate watching bootlegs, but that fucking movie had so much explicit product placement, the producers/actors/director/crew/catering people can afford to have you not pay them to see it.
As a sidenote, I want to draw your attention to a movie trailer that I saw during the previews of the SaTC movie. I will no
t be seeing this movie, because wow, I rolled my eyes so many times as it played, I thought my eyeballs would disconnect from their retinas. I was actually embarrassed for it, like when I went and saw The Matrix:Reloaded with my friends, and that scene where all the Zionists are going crazy, jumping around and dancing, came on the screen. You watch it and can't believe how utterly ridiculous it is, and you go wow, I have no training in film or editing, but this is just egregious...what in the hell were they thinking when they filmed this scene?So here it is, the trailer for Nights in Rodanthe (omg, the name alone screams "lame"), starring Richard Gere and Diane Lane. Please tell me how many times you wanted to gag while you watched (note: I am not responsible for dry cleaning bills).
Nights in Rodanthe Trailer
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Just what, exactly, is Alyssa Milano doing in this scene from Fear?
Jump in your time machines, folks, I'm revisiting the childhood classic movie, Fear.
Fear came out in August of 1996, starring Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon. I was 12 at the time, and Fear instantly became staple movie-watching at slumber parties, or while I was babysitting (after I had put the brats to bed, natch).
I have to admit, though, there is a scene in Fear that has always perplexed me. No, not the part where Wahlberg's character blithely breaks some dude's neck, or the part where Wahlberg's gang chops off a dog's head and drops it through the doggy door - I'm talking about this scene where Alyssa Milano is, uh, "entertaining" a fella (I possess neither the know-how nor the utilities to cut this video to the one minute clip I am referring to, so just fast-forward to 7:14 and stop it at 8:17).
I beg of you, explain it to me. Every time I watch this freakin movie I come to this scene and am simultaneously embarrassed and confused. Are they having sex? Is she just gyrating on his lap? She's wearing underwear and his pants appear to be on, and he's smoking out of a pipe - even the most hardcore of stoners put down the bong whilst getting laid (though he might be smoking crack, in which case...wtf, is he smoking crack or weed?)
Is Alyssa having some kind of ecstasy-induced seizure? Is she trying to scratch an itch? WTF IS GOING ON?
I blame this scene for any misconceptions my virginal mind had about sex, men and relationships, because even if Alyssa is just gyrating, um.....WHY? Even my adult, sexually experienced head can't make any sense of it. Please leave your explanations in the comments.
Fear came out in August of 1996, starring Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon. I was 12 at the time, and Fear instantly became staple movie-watching at slumber parties, or while I was babysitting (after I had put the brats to bed, natch).
I have to admit, though, there is a scene in Fear that has always perplexed me. No, not the part where Wahlberg's character blithely breaks some dude's neck, or the part where Wahlberg's gang chops off a dog's head and drops it through the doggy door - I'm talking about this scene where Alyssa Milano is, uh, "entertaining" a fella (I possess neither the know-how nor the utilities to cut this video to the one minute clip I am referring to, so just fast-forward to 7:14 and stop it at 8:17).
I beg of you, explain it to me. Every time I watch this freakin movie I come to this scene and am simultaneously embarrassed and confused. Are they having sex? Is she just gyrating on his lap? She's wearing underwear and his pants appear to be on, and he's smoking out of a pipe - even the most hardcore of stoners put down the bong whilst getting laid (though he might be smoking crack, in which case...wtf, is he smoking crack or weed?)
Is Alyssa having some kind of ecstasy-induced seizure? Is she trying to scratch an itch? WTF IS GOING ON?
I blame this scene for any misconceptions my virginal mind had about sex, men and relationships, because even if Alyssa is just gyrating, um.....WHY? Even my adult, sexually experienced head can't make any sense of it. Please leave your explanations in the comments.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Update on my play
My play, When Turtles Fly, opens in about a week. IF anyone reading this is interested, it's playing June 11 and 12 at the 78th St Theatre Lab (236 West 78th St, NYC). The festival starts at 8 pm, and you can get tickets at http://www.theatervision-playtime.com/
I went to a rehearsal for the play this past Sunday, and I was thrilled at what I saw - it's really something to see a piece of work you penned brought to life - like, actors were speaking and living the dialogue I wrote. Not to be too sentimental, but my heart swelled when I saw this. It's just a small form of validation, I guess.
The play will be great when the actors get completely off-book....yeah. I now know how every director I ever had must have felt when his/her actors were struggling with lines. Like, it's so close, it could be so good if these motherfucking actors would get their heads out of the clouds and remember this goddamn stuff. As a former actor, I can empathize, but I also know from experience that memorizing 20 pages worth of dialogue in two hours is entirely possible.
After the rehearsal, the director and I met and cut some more of the play. Here's the sitch: When I originally sent my play to TheaterVision, the company that is putting my play on, they intimated that they were looking for one-act scripts between 30 min and an hour long. I knew mine fell just short of 60 minutes in length, so I sent it to them.
They are now telling the director that my play, which at it's very shortest and speediest can only be performed within 45 minutes, that it can go no longer than 30 minutes. Not to mention, the director has had to eat a lot of the costs for the rehearsal space fees, and is constantly bothered by TheaterVision seeking updates on the day-to-day minutia of the play's production. At $20 a pop for tickets, TheaterVision is reaping a tidy sum on the performance of the three one-acts together (my play is part of a festival - two other one-acts will be performed the same nights).
Apart from pairing the writers with the directors, covering the fee of the spaces on the nights of the performance, and some minor publicity, I really don't know what role TheaterVision is playing, but whatever. Oh yeah, I almost forgot: I got invites printed up for the play, with the intention of inviting agents, and then I found out that I can't use them unless they have been approved by TheaterVision, and have their logo on them. Sooo, guess I won't be sending those bad-boys out to any people who can influence my career! That sucks!
What was I talking about? Oh yes, so the play can't exceed 30 minutes. We cut out some more dialogue, but odds are the play will run 45 minutes. But what can they do? Once it goes up, it goes up, and there's no way they can stop it from completion.
But let's focus on the positive. My director, Christopher Cohen, is really smart and innovative. He's my age, but I can see already that he has a promising career as a director ahead of him (despite his refusal to take my advice on a prop - if you're reading this Chris, you should know that my direction of a scene from Cowboy Mouth earned me an A in Intro to Directing! I know a thing or two about this thing you call directing!) Also: According to Chris, looks like there was a scramble amongst the TheaterVision directors to take on my script - during an initial orientation with the directors and actors, the actors got to talking, and when my actors expressed that they were doing When Turtles Fly, all the other actors and directors whined that that was the play they were hoping to get slotted with.
Did you guys follow that story? Maybe if I explained the whole TheaterVision process and how my play got a director, you'd comprehend what I am talking about....meh, but I don't feel like it.
Sorry if this post was completely incoherent, but I have a lot on my mind (oh yeah, and I'm at work, blogging on my boss's dime - makes me nervous and quick to wrap things up).
More later!
I went to a rehearsal for the play this past Sunday, and I was thrilled at what I saw - it's really something to see a piece of work you penned brought to life - like, actors were speaking and living the dialogue I wrote. Not to be too sentimental, but my heart swelled when I saw this. It's just a small form of validation, I guess.
The play will be great when the actors get completely off-book....yeah. I now know how every director I ever had must have felt when his/her actors were struggling with lines. Like, it's so close, it could be so good if these motherfucking actors would get their heads out of the clouds and remember this goddamn stuff. As a former actor, I can empathize, but I also know from experience that memorizing 20 pages worth of dialogue in two hours is entirely possible.
After the rehearsal, the director and I met and cut some more of the play. Here's the sitch: When I originally sent my play to TheaterVision, the company that is putting my play on, they intimated that they were looking for one-act scripts between 30 min and an hour long. I knew mine fell just short of 60 minutes in length, so I sent it to them.
They are now telling the director that my play, which at it's very shortest and speediest can only be performed within 45 minutes, that it can go no longer than 30 minutes. Not to mention, the director has had to eat a lot of the costs for the rehearsal space fees, and is constantly bothered by TheaterVision seeking updates on the day-to-day minutia of the play's production. At $20 a pop for tickets, TheaterVision is reaping a tidy sum on the performance of the three one-acts together (my play is part of a festival - two other one-acts will be performed the same nights).
Apart from pairing the writers with the directors, covering the fee of the spaces on the nights of the performance, and some minor publicity, I really don't know what role TheaterVision is playing, but whatever. Oh yeah, I almost forgot: I got invites printed up for the play, with the intention of inviting agents, and then I found out that I can't use them unless they have been approved by TheaterVision, and have their logo on them. Sooo, guess I won't be sending those bad-boys out to any people who can influence my career! That sucks!
What was I talking about? Oh yes, so the play can't exceed 30 minutes. We cut out some more dialogue, but odds are the play will run 45 minutes. But what can they do? Once it goes up, it goes up, and there's no way they can stop it from completion.
But let's focus on the positive. My director, Christopher Cohen, is really smart and innovative. He's my age, but I can see already that he has a promising career as a director ahead of him (despite his refusal to take my advice on a prop - if you're reading this Chris, you should know that my direction of a scene from Cowboy Mouth earned me an A in Intro to Directing! I know a thing or two about this thing you call directing!) Also: According to Chris, looks like there was a scramble amongst the TheaterVision directors to take on my script - during an initial orientation with the directors and actors, the actors got to talking, and when my actors expressed that they were doing When Turtles Fly, all the other actors and directors whined that that was the play they were hoping to get slotted with.
Did you guys follow that story? Maybe if I explained the whole TheaterVision process and how my play got a director, you'd comprehend what I am talking about....meh, but I don't feel like it.
Sorry if this post was completely incoherent, but I have a lot on my mind (oh yeah, and I'm at work, blogging on my boss's dime - makes me nervous and quick to wrap things up).
More later!
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