Last year at this time San Diego was vying for a new precipitation record -- the wettest season ever. But as the the 2004-2005 season came to an end, the rain halted and the record stalled at third wettest, somewhere in the neighborhood of 22 inches for the year.
Now it seems that when the rains stopped last year, they stopped for good. This year, San Diego has been vying for another new precipitation record -- the driest season ever. From the July beginning of the 2005-2006 season to the start of this month, San Diego had seen less than 3 inches of rain. But in March the rain began.
On the 19th, a 0.02 inch drizzle took the season total out of contention for driest ever, with 3.03 inches beating the 2001-2002 record low of 3.02. Since the 19th, the rains have continued. Storms last night pushed the season total to 3.70 inches, past the 1960-1961 second place spot of 3.46. Now the season can finish no lower than the third driest.
Of course, in this case the word "storms" is relative. In fact, with an unofficial tally of 0.35 inches for the night in a season barely crawling toward the 4 inch mark (we're expected to break it by Thursday), it's almost laughable.
But it was awfully nice, nonetheless.
P.S. Happy Birthday, Grabbingsand. And Happy Belated, Denise Irene LPPN.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Stage Name Revealed?
The president of the theatre company I am currently working for forwarded me a brief personality test, not knowing my weakness for such tests. It was a mass mailing; she had no clue who would respond, or that I would immediately jump on the thing.
The question to be answered was "which movie star are you?" After answering a mere 10 questions, my personality would be compared to those of the stars "researchers" had painstakingly analyzed. In the end, I would be compared to one of six stars: Madonna (wild and crazy but in control of her own life), Doris Day (fun, friendly, and popular: a real crowd pleaser), Debbie Reynolds (the cute, witty best friend that no one risks losing), Grace Kelly (a lover with passion and commitment), Katherine Hepburn (a real thinker who doesn't take crap from anyone), or Elizabeth Taylor (who knows what she wants and how to get it -- or him).
I couldn't resist. And -- no surprise to anyone, I'm sure -- I came out as the commitment-minded Grace Kelly.
Of course, just whent the stage name "Kelly Grace" started to sound good, the Movie.com test came along and asked me the same question. And who did I turn out to be this time?
George Clooney  Everyone loves you, and you're only getting better (and better-looking!) with age. You're a generous, loyal and fun-loving friend, and you also seem to really care about your politics, consistently putting yourself on the line for your beliefs. We wish there were more of you out there. |
Well, aren't I dashing! Maybe I should ditch the "Kelly Grace" idea and go with "Kelly Clooney."
On second thought, no. It just reeks of Rosie O'Donnell lusting after Tom Cruise. Which reeks a little of TV's Jack McFarland lusting after Cher, now that I think about it. Which brings me back to "Grace" -- sans "Will."
"Kelly Grace." I like it. I'm drawn to broad farces, so a name like "Grace" serves up just the right amount of irony.
Whattaya wanna bet it's been done?
If you're a sucker for these darned things too, I found a link to the first test online.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
So Says the iPod
Should you ever wake up in a deep blue funk, take to heart this lesson my iPod taught me in the wee hours of this morning: there's damn little that a powerful dose of Stevie Wonder, George Benson, Al Jarreau, Johnnie Taylor, and Aretha Franklin can't fix. But Michael Franks should be avoided at all costs.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Welcome to the Pleasuredome
I am once again jumping on a meme from Grabbingsand’s blog. Rather than admit to a dearth of original thought, I say that I am merely responding to a general “tag” appropriately. Besides, it’s a musical Magic-8 ball – how can I resist?
Here’s how it works: you ask your iPod a question and hit shuffle for your answer. My results were so consistently funny and/or dead on that I feel the need to point out that this is exactly, 100%, what the iPod threw me. I’m not making any of this up.
How does the world see you? Sympathy for the Devil -- The Rolling Stones. “Please allow me to introduce myself…”
Will I have a happy life? I Just Can’t Let Go – Ambrosia
“What’s the matter, baby, is the truth too hard to hear?”
What do my friends really think of me? Cat Scratch Fever – Ted Nugent.
‘Nuff said.
Do people secretly lust after me? Lady – Little River Band.
“Don’t be thinking that I don’t want you, ‘cause maybe I do.”
How can I make myself happy? Agent Orange – Tori Amos.
He’s my favourite.
What should I do with my life? American Woman – The Guess Who.
Does this mean I don’t have to get a real job?
Will I ever have children? Innuendo – Queen.
“Oh yes, we’ll keep on tryin’. Tread that fine line. Oh, we’ll keep on tryin’” Success unnecessary.
What is some good advice for me? Goodnight Saigon – Billy Joel.
We said we’d all go down together.
How will I be remembered? Word Up! – Cameo.
Do your dance, do your dance, do your dance quick! Mama, come on, baby, tell me what’s the word?
What is my signature dancing song? Good Enough – Sarah McLachlan.
I note this is a slow dance. “Don’t tell me I haven’t been good to you...”
What do I think my current theme song is? Third Rate Romance – The Amazing Rhythm Aces. “Talk was small when they talked at all, they both knew what they wanted."
What does everyone else think my current theme song is? Stand Tall – Burton Cummings. “Never been this blue. Never knew the meaning of a heartache. But then again, I never lost at love before…”
What song will play at my funeral? Evil Woman – ELO.
“Ha, ha very nice to know… that you ain't got no place left to go.”
What type of men do you like? It’s Raining Men – Weather Girls.
Tall, blonde, dark and lean… rough and tough and strong and mean
Random shuffle. Swear to God!
What is my day going to be like? He’s So Shy – The Pointer Sisters
PS: Before posting, I asked the iPod what I should title this post. You can thank Apple technology for the Frankie Goes to Hollywood title, from the Toys Soundtrack.
Here’s how it works: you ask your iPod a question and hit shuffle for your answer. My results were so consistently funny and/or dead on that I feel the need to point out that this is exactly, 100%, what the iPod threw me. I’m not making any of this up.
How does the world see you? Sympathy for the Devil -- The Rolling Stones. “Please allow me to introduce myself…”
Will I have a happy life? I Just Can’t Let Go – Ambrosia
“What’s the matter, baby, is the truth too hard to hear?”
What do my friends really think of me? Cat Scratch Fever – Ted Nugent.
‘Nuff said.
Do people secretly lust after me? Lady – Little River Band.
“Don’t be thinking that I don’t want you, ‘cause maybe I do.”
How can I make myself happy? Agent Orange – Tori Amos.
He’s my favourite.
What should I do with my life? American Woman – The Guess Who.
Does this mean I don’t have to get a real job?
Will I ever have children? Innuendo – Queen.
“Oh yes, we’ll keep on tryin’. Tread that fine line. Oh, we’ll keep on tryin’” Success unnecessary.
What is some good advice for me? Goodnight Saigon – Billy Joel.
We said we’d all go down together.
How will I be remembered? Word Up! – Cameo.
Do your dance, do your dance, do your dance quick! Mama, come on, baby, tell me what’s the word?
What is my signature dancing song? Good Enough – Sarah McLachlan.
I note this is a slow dance. “Don’t tell me I haven’t been good to you...”
What do I think my current theme song is? Third Rate Romance – The Amazing Rhythm Aces. “Talk was small when they talked at all, they both knew what they wanted."
What does everyone else think my current theme song is? Stand Tall – Burton Cummings. “Never been this blue. Never knew the meaning of a heartache. But then again, I never lost at love before…”
What song will play at my funeral? Evil Woman – ELO.
“Ha, ha very nice to know… that you ain't got no place left to go.”
What type of men do you like? It’s Raining Men – Weather Girls.
Tall, blonde, dark and lean… rough and tough and strong and mean
Random shuffle. Swear to God!
What is my day going to be like? He’s So Shy – The Pointer Sisters
PS: Before posting, I asked the iPod what I should title this post. You can thank Apple technology for the Frankie Goes to Hollywood title, from the Toys Soundtrack.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
... And Number Three
They can't all be good. Michelle Diaz of the Poway Chieftain didn't like the show. Or, more accurately, she really, really, really didn't like the script.
“Boy Gets Girl” — currently playing at PowPAC — takes an up-to-the-minute issue and really wants to make a point. However, the stalker suspense piece gets bogged down in efforts at symbolism and lofty speeches. In the end, the script bypasses art in favor of philosophizing. "
I hate to admit that here she makes a point. At least, in hating the play, she throws me a bone:
"PowPAC’s Kelly Lapczynski does well as Theresa Bedell, who is the object of a loner’s obsessive romancing. Her uptight character — a successful New York journalist with little time for a personal life — goes from annoyed to angered to terrified with believability and appropriate intensity.
"Yet the story arc that Theresa travels seems inevitable from the get-go, as does the development of every other character. Going into the play with any prior knowledge of the subject matter, a viewer could easily predict where the characters — as individuals and as a whole — will find themselves at the close of the final act."
From that point on, Diaz herself does a lot philosophizing about the structural problems of the script -- the forced trajectory of the stalker's escalating "creepiness factor," the distracting introduction of a seemingly superfluous character, and the scene by scene pattern of the play which makes the plot seem contrived. She ends with:
"While the actors and director Jeffrey Gastauer make a commendable effort to breathe convincing life into the faulty script, by the semi-anticlimactic ending, the play hasn’t managed to illuminate a slice of reality in a unique way."
And with that, I will believably hunt down some lunch to chew with appropriate intensity.
“Boy Gets Girl” — currently playing at PowPAC — takes an up-to-the-minute issue and really wants to make a point. However, the stalker suspense piece gets bogged down in efforts at symbolism and lofty speeches. In the end, the script bypasses art in favor of philosophizing. "
I hate to admit that here she makes a point. At least, in hating the play, she throws me a bone:
"PowPAC’s Kelly Lapczynski does well as Theresa Bedell, who is the object of a loner’s obsessive romancing. Her uptight character — a successful New York journalist with little time for a personal life — goes from annoyed to angered to terrified with believability and appropriate intensity.
"Yet the story arc that Theresa travels seems inevitable from the get-go, as does the development of every other character. Going into the play with any prior knowledge of the subject matter, a viewer could easily predict where the characters — as individuals and as a whole — will find themselves at the close of the final act."
From that point on, Diaz herself does a lot philosophizing about the structural problems of the script -- the forced trajectory of the stalker's escalating "creepiness factor," the distracting introduction of a seemingly superfluous character, and the scene by scene pattern of the play which makes the plot seem contrived. She ends with:
"While the actors and director Jeffrey Gastauer make a commendable effort to breathe convincing life into the faulty script, by the semi-anticlimactic ending, the play hasn’t managed to illuminate a slice of reality in a unique way."
And with that, I will believably hunt down some lunch to chew with appropriate intensity.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Review Number Two
You can't sneeze at this one. Everyone, in one way or another, received a nice notice out of Ruth Lepper from the North County Times. But since you don't know the rest of those folks unless you're reading this in San Diego, I'll rather obviously stick to what it says about the production as a whole or me in particular.
"PowPAC... continues to come through with top-notch entertainment with actors deserving to have their names up in lights.
"The current production, "Boy Gets Girl," is a perfect example. The suspense thriller by Rebecca Gilman is riveting from beginning to end. Director Jeff Gastauer made excellent choices with his casting. All of the actors bring a down-to-earth believability to their characters."
"Kelly Lapczynski is superb as magazine writer Theresa Bedell. She has the character's personality down, a no-nonsense kind of gal who can express anger and fear when necessary. When she accepts a blind date with Tony, her life is never again the same."
Here we skip the other cast kudos, which said, in short, that every one gave credence -- or the right amount of slime -- to his character.
The review ends:
"Boy Gets Girl" has mature language and subject matter not recommended for younger audiences. Other than that, it's a great production and shouldn't be missed.
Yea-rah!
By the way... I corrected the spelling of my name here. In the article, they left out the "C." And thus, one more flavor in the Baskin Robbins selection of my name online is discovered.
"PowPAC... continues to come through with top-notch entertainment with actors deserving to have their names up in lights.
"The current production, "Boy Gets Girl," is a perfect example. The suspense thriller by Rebecca Gilman is riveting from beginning to end. Director Jeff Gastauer made excellent choices with his casting. All of the actors bring a down-to-earth believability to their characters."
"Kelly Lapczynski is superb as magazine writer Theresa Bedell. She has the character's personality down, a no-nonsense kind of gal who can express anger and fear when necessary. When she accepts a blind date with Tony, her life is never again the same."
Here we skip the other cast kudos, which said, in short, that every one gave credence -- or the right amount of slime -- to his character.
The review ends:
"Boy Gets Girl" has mature language and subject matter not recommended for younger audiences. Other than that, it's a great production and shouldn't be missed.
Yea-rah!
By the way... I corrected the spelling of my name here. In the article, they left out the "C." And thus, one more flavor in the Baskin Robbins selection of my name online is discovered.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Follow Me. You Know... If You Want To
Today I discovered that I am a:
Scroll over the color blocks to learn what each represents.
Have 30 minutes to spare and a curious desire to know your own Personal DNA? Click here.
Scroll over the color blocks to learn what each represents.
Have 30 minutes to spare and a curious desire to know your own Personal DNA? Click here.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Yet Another Op'nin'
Four weeks, you rehearse and rehearse
Three weeks, and it couldn't be worse
One week, will it ever be right?
Then out of the hat it's that big first night.
-- Another Op’nin’ Another Show, from Kiss Me Kate
Boy Gets Girl opened this weekend with three performances. There were reviewers in the audience on Friday and Saturday nights and my father attended the Sunday matinee, where he would be joined by judges from ACT-San Diego (the organization which awards the Aubrey).
To friends in the theatre, I joked that if ACT sent judges to the matinee, there must be an early favorite in the heavily-laden Drama category this year. Theatre is a nighttime sport, I quipped, and judging the performance of so emotional a script mere hours after the lead has had her morning coffee smacks of election tampering. Especially if said lead’s father is going to be in the audience that day. Yep, I decided, in the Aubrey crap shoot, I’d be rolling snake eyes. But in the end, I felt the matinée was the best overall performance of the three.
One of the two reviews has already been distributed. Despite having now been reviewed by Robert Hitchcox three times, I still have no idea where he publishes his reviews; but as I have friends in the theatre kind enough to provide me with copies, I do, at least, get to read them.
Though Hitch (like my father) felt the script itself could be “tightened up,” he enjoyed the performance of it. Of me he said “This is Theresa’s tale and Lapczynski excellently moves through the deteriorating life of the World Magazine writer. Her emotions are absolutely real.”
He goes on to say “Boy Gets Girl is no walk in the park. This is a tough tale. It is profane. It is, at times, hard to watch. However, it is important to watch. It is important to feel what a woman goes through when she becomes a victim of a stalker. Lapczynski shows us the pain and the supporting cast shows us what to expect if one of our own is ever stalked.”
Hitch saw the Saturday performance, and the review of opening night will be published on Thursday, but the response of the ACT judges won’t be known until Aubrey nominations are announced in July. Still, even if Sunday’s matinée was the capper, I won’t be holding my breath for the summer nod. The play is too often distracted with set changes that slacken the tension between its 18 scenes. It might be just enough distraction to leave judges feeling better served by, say, Coronado’s Wait Until Dark, or Patio Playhouse’s Book of Days, or its The Diary of Anne Frank, or….
Anyway, I can’t be greedy. They liked me last year.
Three weeks, and it couldn't be worse
One week, will it ever be right?
Then out of the hat it's that big first night.
-- Another Op’nin’ Another Show, from Kiss Me Kate
Boy Gets Girl opened this weekend with three performances. There were reviewers in the audience on Friday and Saturday nights and my father attended the Sunday matinee, where he would be joined by judges from ACT-San Diego (the organization which awards the Aubrey).
To friends in the theatre, I joked that if ACT sent judges to the matinee, there must be an early favorite in the heavily-laden Drama category this year. Theatre is a nighttime sport, I quipped, and judging the performance of so emotional a script mere hours after the lead has had her morning coffee smacks of election tampering. Especially if said lead’s father is going to be in the audience that day. Yep, I decided, in the Aubrey crap shoot, I’d be rolling snake eyes. But in the end, I felt the matinée was the best overall performance of the three.
One of the two reviews has already been distributed. Despite having now been reviewed by Robert Hitchcox three times, I still have no idea where he publishes his reviews; but as I have friends in the theatre kind enough to provide me with copies, I do, at least, get to read them.
Though Hitch (like my father) felt the script itself could be “tightened up,” he enjoyed the performance of it. Of me he said “This is Theresa’s tale and Lapczynski excellently moves through the deteriorating life of the World Magazine writer. Her emotions are absolutely real.”
He goes on to say “Boy Gets Girl is no walk in the park. This is a tough tale. It is profane. It is, at times, hard to watch. However, it is important to watch. It is important to feel what a woman goes through when she becomes a victim of a stalker. Lapczynski shows us the pain and the supporting cast shows us what to expect if one of our own is ever stalked.”
Hitch saw the Saturday performance, and the review of opening night will be published on Thursday, but the response of the ACT judges won’t be known until Aubrey nominations are announced in July. Still, even if Sunday’s matinée was the capper, I won’t be holding my breath for the summer nod. The play is too often distracted with set changes that slacken the tension between its 18 scenes. It might be just enough distraction to leave judges feeling better served by, say, Coronado’s Wait Until Dark, or Patio Playhouse’s Book of Days, or its The Diary of Anne Frank, or….
Anyway, I can’t be greedy. They liked me last year.
Friday, March 10, 2006
I'll Alert the Media
Here's another one of those commercials that make you look twice:
A wife swipes her Bank of America card through the reader at the register and tells her husband "I just put 45 cents into our savings." He sneers. Next, she tells him she saved another 61 cents. He rolls his eyes. Then, on the phone with the bank, she announces they've saved $230 so far. He does a spit take.
A husband swipes his Bank of America card through the reader at the register and proudly tells his wife "I just saved 8 cents."
But, well no, he didn't. He put the card in upside down (so did she, by the way). Great for the camera; bad for savings. And, for that matter, buyings.
Would you please return all those items you didn't pay for, folks? Thanks.
A wife swipes her Bank of America card through the reader at the register and tells her husband "I just put 45 cents into our savings." He sneers. Next, she tells him she saved another 61 cents. He rolls his eyes. Then, on the phone with the bank, she announces they've saved $230 so far. He does a spit take.
A husband swipes his Bank of America card through the reader at the register and proudly tells his wife "I just saved 8 cents."
But, well no, he didn't. He put the card in upside down (so did she, by the way). Great for the camera; bad for savings. And, for that matter, buyings.
Would you please return all those items you didn't pay for, folks? Thanks.
It's the Day of the Show, Ya'll
I’ve been coming to this circle for about five years and measuring it. The diameter and the circumference are constantly changing, but the radius stays the same. Which brings me to the number 5. There are five letters in the word Blaine. Now, if you mix up the letters in the word Blaine, mix ‘em around, eventually you’ll come up with Nebali. Nebali. The name of a planet in a galaxy way, way, way… way far away. And another thing. Once you go into that circle, the weather never changes. It is always 67 degrees with a 40% chance of rain.
Yeah, it’s a lot like that. Only different.
I feel a little like Libby Mae Brown. “I been working here at the DQ for about, um… eight months? Seven? I don’t know, somethin’ like that. It’s fun. Just do the cones… make the sundaes, make Blizzards, ‘n… put stuff on ‘em ‘n… see a lot of people come in, a lot of people come to the DQ… burgers… ice cream… anything, you know? Cokes… just drive in and get a Coke, if you’re thirsty.”
Yep, I’m just makin’ the cones.
It’s fun.
Yeah, it’s a lot like that. Only different.
I feel a little like Libby Mae Brown. “I been working here at the DQ for about, um… eight months? Seven? I don’t know, somethin’ like that. It’s fun. Just do the cones… make the sundaes, make Blizzards, ‘n… put stuff on ‘em ‘n… see a lot of people come in, a lot of people come to the DQ… burgers… ice cream… anything, you know? Cokes… just drive in and get a Coke, if you’re thirsty.”
Yep, I’m just makin’ the cones.
It’s fun.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Pale Ails
I spend a lot (most… all…) of my daytime kicking around the house looking for things to do. And over the course of the last few days, I’ve gathered a few observations.
First of all, daytime TV is crap. It doesn’t matter that most of the time I’m not watching it (I can remember only one time in recent weeks when I’ve sat on the couch at all); I like to have the TV on during the daytime to keep me company as I roam about doing other things. I can’t even tell you what’s on most of the time, but by 11 a.m., I’ve pretty much turned to HGTV and left the room. Occasionally I look for something interesting, but there’s never anything else on. Debbie Travis and Candice Olsen are, I’m sure, in my living room multiple times every weekday. Every once in a while, though, something makes me look up and take a gander at the screen. Usually, it’s the commercials that start me thinking.
For example, here’s a question: drive 3,000 miles away from Middle Tennessee and what do you get? Answer: really horrible commercials featuring Wynonna Judd and someone called Cowboy Troy hawking a new season of “Nashville Star.” And endless commercials for the Opry. During the Opry commercials, the camera pans down the lights of the “Batman” building, so that, from San Diego, I see it multiple times a day. Never mind that odds are that no one outside of Tennessee recognizes the Bell South “Batman” building for the Nashville icon that it is, it’s prominently featured.
Then there are the really stupid commercials that make me talk back to the TV. For example, one for iSold It. Have you seen this? A chick on screen tells us that, if we are like her, we don’t have time to sell our junk on eBay, but we can easily drop our stuff off at iSold It and let them do the work for us. I’d be with her on that point if it weren’t for the testimonial aspect of her pitch in which she tells us that this is why she started the company. Right there, she loses me. Does she really want me to believe that she didn’t have time to upload a few digital snapshots of her unused guitar but she had time to START A COMPANY? No, no, no, no, no.
Other commercials draw me so far into the personal life of the seller that I forget all about the product. For example, when the inventor of the Hoveround comes on screen, I can’t get past the fact that his name is Tom Kruse. He might have a very exciting transportation product for those with limited mobility, but all I can think about is how many times a day people must hang up on him when he calls. How does this man book a hotel room? “No, no, no… it’s Kruse. With a K! Really. Please, I’m not kidding. Can I get a reservation or not?”
Odd bits of news filter through, too. Like this bit: Dana Reeve, Christopher Reeve’s widow, died yesterday of lung cancer. The media made a point to tell us she’d never smoked a cigarette in her life, because we are to assume that if you die of lung cancer, you were a smoker. It’s sad when the vices one did not have must be enumerated in death. “Jane Doe, who never smoked crack, died of heart degeneration.” It’s just wrong. Isn’t it more important to note that after Christopher’s 2004 death, Dana’s death this week leaves her 13-year-old son orphaned? No one mentioned that on the news.
Now, of course, as I’m not really watching TV most of the time that it’s on, daytime TV has not supplied me with all of the observations I’ve gathered this week, so before I sign off, let me share one other with you: India Pale Ale is horrible! Yuck, yuck, ptooey! My Boy Gets Girl character drinks the stuff when her date brings it to her, and, as we were inching ever nearer to having an audience without having that particular bottled prop, I bought a 6-pack today and did my professional duty to empty a bottle for stage use.
Don’t ever let me do that again.
I now have to go shave my tongue. Until tomorrow, talk amongst yourselves.
First of all, daytime TV is crap. It doesn’t matter that most of the time I’m not watching it (I can remember only one time in recent weeks when I’ve sat on the couch at all); I like to have the TV on during the daytime to keep me company as I roam about doing other things. I can’t even tell you what’s on most of the time, but by 11 a.m., I’ve pretty much turned to HGTV and left the room. Occasionally I look for something interesting, but there’s never anything else on. Debbie Travis and Candice Olsen are, I’m sure, in my living room multiple times every weekday. Every once in a while, though, something makes me look up and take a gander at the screen. Usually, it’s the commercials that start me thinking.
For example, here’s a question: drive 3,000 miles away from Middle Tennessee and what do you get? Answer: really horrible commercials featuring Wynonna Judd and someone called Cowboy Troy hawking a new season of “Nashville Star.” And endless commercials for the Opry. During the Opry commercials, the camera pans down the lights of the “Batman” building, so that, from San Diego, I see it multiple times a day. Never mind that odds are that no one outside of Tennessee recognizes the Bell South “Batman” building for the Nashville icon that it is, it’s prominently featured.
Then there are the really stupid commercials that make me talk back to the TV. For example, one for iSold It. Have you seen this? A chick on screen tells us that, if we are like her, we don’t have time to sell our junk on eBay, but we can easily drop our stuff off at iSold It and let them do the work for us. I’d be with her on that point if it weren’t for the testimonial aspect of her pitch in which she tells us that this is why she started the company. Right there, she loses me. Does she really want me to believe that she didn’t have time to upload a few digital snapshots of her unused guitar but she had time to START A COMPANY? No, no, no, no, no.
Other commercials draw me so far into the personal life of the seller that I forget all about the product. For example, when the inventor of the Hoveround comes on screen, I can’t get past the fact that his name is Tom Kruse. He might have a very exciting transportation product for those with limited mobility, but all I can think about is how many times a day people must hang up on him when he calls. How does this man book a hotel room? “No, no, no… it’s Kruse. With a K! Really. Please, I’m not kidding. Can I get a reservation or not?”
Odd bits of news filter through, too. Like this bit: Dana Reeve, Christopher Reeve’s widow, died yesterday of lung cancer. The media made a point to tell us she’d never smoked a cigarette in her life, because we are to assume that if you die of lung cancer, you were a smoker. It’s sad when the vices one did not have must be enumerated in death. “Jane Doe, who never smoked crack, died of heart degeneration.” It’s just wrong. Isn’t it more important to note that after Christopher’s 2004 death, Dana’s death this week leaves her 13-year-old son orphaned? No one mentioned that on the news.
Now, of course, as I’m not really watching TV most of the time that it’s on, daytime TV has not supplied me with all of the observations I’ve gathered this week, so before I sign off, let me share one other with you: India Pale Ale is horrible! Yuck, yuck, ptooey! My Boy Gets Girl character drinks the stuff when her date brings it to her, and, as we were inching ever nearer to having an audience without having that particular bottled prop, I bought a 6-pack today and did my professional duty to empty a bottle for stage use.
Don’t ever let me do that again.
I now have to go shave my tongue. Until tomorrow, talk amongst yourselves.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Gee, My Foot Tastes Terrific!
I’ve often told people that the thing I love about acting is having two hours a day when I know the script. Two hours when I know how to react, know exactly what to say, and know how someone else will react when I say it. Two hours when I don’t feel completely awkward and inept at human relationships. I often wish the rest of my life came with a script. Dailies would be fine, thank you.
Obviously, no one gets such a luxury. But most people are better at winging real life than I am. Still, I believe in miracles. One day, the right words will come out of my mouth at the right time. And then I’ll be hit by a bus.
Obviously, no one gets such a luxury. But most people are better at winging real life than I am. Still, I believe in miracles. One day, the right words will come out of my mouth at the right time. And then I’ll be hit by a bus.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Oscar's 78th
As I mentioned here last February, “each year I host an Oscar party. A select group of close friends gathers at my house for an evening of snacking, chatting, betting, and catching-up. For some of us, getting together during the year is difficult, so the Academy decides for us the one night a year that we are duty-bound to meet. This year, we are not meeting. Because I'm not there.
In truth, I'm the only one who really cares about the awards. Because (sorry, guys) I'm the only one who consistently wins the pot. The others come to humor me and enjoy what has become a tradition.”
Well, it happened again. I was not there, so there was no annual duty-bound meeting. Apologies to Chris and Kenny for failing to pop up the corn, invite the wings, and steal a buck from your pockets. I thought of you both and wished I was there.
Here, though, I took both my 11th win and 2nd loss in 12 years. How? For the first time, I was in two pools.
Like last year, I had what is, for me, a poor showing – 15 of 24 correct -- but it was enough to eke out a win in the Boy Gets Girl cast pool. It was not, however, enough to beat my father in the family pool. The only other loss I’ve suffered was to him, in what was, ironically, the year of Titanic.
Usually I take the time to create my own ballot for the Oscar party; but without an official party to host – and suffering paper burnout from creating props for the play – I skipped that step this year. Seems now, I should have kept the tradition alive. Dad pulled away with 17 correct after choosing to change his vote for Documentary Short before turning in his IMDB ballot.
He’d noticed a trend. In all the other “small” documentary and short film categories, he’d randomly selected the movies with the longest names. So, in keeping with the trend, he changed his vote from “The Life of Kevin Carter” to “A Note of Triumph: The Golden Age of Norman Corwin,” ten words/41 characters which won the gold. But had he had the Oscar.com ballot, his vote would have been different. IMDB gave an incorrect and incomplete title for the Kevin Carter doc. Had it read correctly, my father would have chosen “The Death of Kevin Carter: Casualty of the Bang Bang Club,” (my pick, by the way) for its 11 words/ 47 characters. As it was, we did not cast similar votes and Dad took the win in that category (I need to speak to the folks over at IMDB about that). It’s an odd strategy, picking the longest name, but in a race where most of us can do little better than throw a dart at the ballot and vote for what’s hit, one strategy is as good as another.
But next year, you can be sure we’ll all be aiming at the same ballot.
In truth, I'm the only one who really cares about the awards. Because (sorry, guys) I'm the only one who consistently wins the pot. The others come to humor me and enjoy what has become a tradition.”
Well, it happened again. I was not there, so there was no annual duty-bound meeting. Apologies to Chris and Kenny for failing to pop up the corn, invite the wings, and steal a buck from your pockets. I thought of you both and wished I was there.
Here, though, I took both my 11th win and 2nd loss in 12 years. How? For the first time, I was in two pools.
Like last year, I had what is, for me, a poor showing – 15 of 24 correct -- but it was enough to eke out a win in the Boy Gets Girl cast pool. It was not, however, enough to beat my father in the family pool. The only other loss I’ve suffered was to him, in what was, ironically, the year of Titanic.
Usually I take the time to create my own ballot for the Oscar party; but without an official party to host – and suffering paper burnout from creating props for the play – I skipped that step this year. Seems now, I should have kept the tradition alive. Dad pulled away with 17 correct after choosing to change his vote for Documentary Short before turning in his IMDB ballot.
He’d noticed a trend. In all the other “small” documentary and short film categories, he’d randomly selected the movies with the longest names. So, in keeping with the trend, he changed his vote from “The Life of Kevin Carter” to “A Note of Triumph: The Golden Age of Norman Corwin,” ten words/41 characters which won the gold. But had he had the Oscar.com ballot, his vote would have been different. IMDB gave an incorrect and incomplete title for the Kevin Carter doc. Had it read correctly, my father would have chosen “The Death of Kevin Carter: Casualty of the Bang Bang Club,” (my pick, by the way) for its 11 words/ 47 characters. As it was, we did not cast similar votes and Dad took the win in that category (I need to speak to the folks over at IMDB about that). It’s an odd strategy, picking the longest name, but in a race where most of us can do little better than throw a dart at the ballot and vote for what’s hit, one strategy is as good as another.
But next year, you can be sure we’ll all be aiming at the same ballot.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Weekend Whoas
It’s one of those days. You know, the kind of day where you can’t walk two feet without bumping into the wall or stepping on a nail. Although, knock wood, I haven’t actually done either of those two things. Yet.First thing this morning, barely on my second cup of coffee and test driving a new knife on an old apple, I expertly sliced right through my thumb. Let me testify now: that new knife -- it’s a sharp one. Ooh baby, yes. Sharp indeed.
Once I’d fashioned a toilet paper tourniquet for my injured appendage, I began a morning-long lesson on the importance of opposable thumbs. I was learning quite a lot and considered writing an ode to my damaged digit when, quite unexpectedly, I blinded myself.
Okay, well, now… it wasn’t wholly unexpected. You see, I knew I’d be temporarily blinded when I took off my disposable contacts and threw them away. What I didn’t know was that my glasses were on spring break. Apparently, they hitched a ride to Walla Walla for the week. (Hey, do you know where glasses go to party? I thought not!) They didn’t leave a note, but I’m looking forward to seeing the pictures – when they come back.
If they come back.
Admittedly, my relationship with my glasses is not a close one. I’m not entirely sure that they came to San Diego with me at all. They might have skipped off to storage in Nashville with some close friends. Or they might be napping in my makeup case at the theatre. Luckily, as I won’t be back to the theatre for three days, I have no shortage of extra contacts.