With such delights as suitcase surcharges, the barefoot security line scuffle, frequent delays, and insufficient leg room (unless, however, you happen to have the leg span of a primordial dwarf or an oompa-loompa), it is no wonder that many people find air travel to be incredibly irritating. Ryan Bingham, however, is not one of those people. As a very frequent flyer, Ryan (George Clooney) takes to sterile airport existence like a duck to water. From the creative mind of writer-director Jason Reitman, "Up in the Air" is the story of a man who makes a living out of stylishly firing people, but through his relationships with fellow frequent flyer, Alex (Vera Farmiga), and fresh-out-of-college, work colleague, Natalie (Anna Kendrick), he begins to realize that his predisposition for isolationism is not the most satisfying way to go through life.
“Up in the Air” is the third feature for the enormously talented Jason Reitman, who earned oodles of accolades for his first two films, “Thank You for Smoking” (2006) and “Juno” (2007). One of Reitman’s fortes as a writer is breathing hilarity into a casually pitched, insensible remark. The trailer does an excellent job of evidencing appropriate instances of this flair without stealing the thunder of the film’s more serious significance, which involves the growth and development of the central characters.
As an actor’s movie, the trailer’s main focus is to foster character understanding. Suitably so, the trailer doesn’t make use of any extraneous narration. Instead, it relies solely on quips and quotes that come straight from the characters’ mouths, especially Ryan’s - wise choice given the fact that you’d have to be off your rocker to choose the voice of “that announcer guy” over the do-me-now cadence of George Clooney. The trailer is very successful with respect to the dialogue and scene tidbits that it employs to create an empathetic tone for the film’s central relationships. It shows the uptight Natalie serving as a brilliant, comedic foil for Ryan, and it leaves the audience rapt and intrigued about the ensuing affairs between Ryan and Alex, two ultra sexy peas in a peripatetic pod.
As a film that is generating a lot of Oscar buzz, the trailer for “Up in the Air” serves it well. Setting the tone of a feel-good film with an edge, the trailer effectively communicates the film’s dual comedic and tragic nature through the traits and foibles of the characters without making the film seem contrived.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Chapter 4: North Park and the Russian Giant
The very next night, Stacey and I put our game faces on and hit up the bar scene in a new area of San Diego called North Park, which is delightfully Indie-chic. Converse sneakers and side-swept bangs flock to North Park the way droolosity and rock-hardness flock to Matthew McConaughey’s abs.
While out in NP, I met an uberly tall, string bean skinny, Russian, biochemist named Ilya. Over the next couple of weeks I went out with Ilya four times. Each of our outings was entertaining and I always had a reasonably good time. But the thing was, in spite of being a nice, sweet, decent human being - Ilya was a nice, sweet, decent human being…yawn, and I liked Marc more. Also, not to totally doggy paddle around in the shallow end of the pool, but Ilya was a bit on the eye spam-ish side and I couldn’t help cringing a little every time he went in for a lip lock.
Anyways, at the end of date numero four, Ilya was clearly looking for a carnal goody bag. Instead, however, he got to sit on the opposing end of my Salvation Army couch and work out celebrity crossword puzzles…sexy right? Ilya apparently didn’t think so. As he moved in for a make-out, I halted him with 4 across: 11 letter movie title starring Ryan Reynolds and Amy Smart (Just Friends). He left shortly afterwards, never to be heard from again.
Oh well!
While out in NP, I met an uberly tall, string bean skinny, Russian, biochemist named Ilya. Over the next couple of weeks I went out with Ilya four times. Each of our outings was entertaining and I always had a reasonably good time. But the thing was, in spite of being a nice, sweet, decent human being - Ilya was a nice, sweet, decent human being…yawn, and I liked Marc more. Also, not to totally doggy paddle around in the shallow end of the pool, but Ilya was a bit on the eye spam-ish side and I couldn’t help cringing a little every time he went in for a lip lock.
Anyways, at the end of date numero four, Ilya was clearly looking for a carnal goody bag. Instead, however, he got to sit on the opposing end of my Salvation Army couch and work out celebrity crossword puzzles…sexy right? Ilya apparently didn’t think so. As he moved in for a make-out, I halted him with 4 across: 11 letter movie title starring Ryan Reynolds and Amy Smart (Just Friends). He left shortly afterwards, never to be heard from again.
Oh well!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Chapter 3: Sailor Boy
So if you recall from previous posts, I had started a little, dating/whatever fling-thing with a Maine born, sailor boy named Marc around Halloween time. We hadn’t been dating for very long, however, before my little Gilligan decided to take a leave of absence from San Diego to return to his home in Maine for a couple of months of R&R.
Surprisingly enough, Marc and I kept up the communication while he was gone and made plans to continue hanging out once he returned to the west coast.
Initially, he told me he was due to make his grand Sandy Eggo reappearance at the end of January…
(…I hate admitting this, but in Marc‘s absence, I had sort of been holding off on dating other boys and was kind of waiting for him…strong emphasis on the “kind of.” I was obviously wide open to the idea of finding his replacement but I didn’t do a whole lot of active trolling. Plus, while he was gone, I totally romanticized the little rat because I am such a sucker for a love story where any form of pining is involved. Unrequited love stories are my favorite. So yeah, I was an eager beaver for Marc to return to San Diego so I could determine the ratio of truth to whimsical fantasy with my romarcticizations…)
But alas, he calls me one night in late January and informs me that it could be another month before he returns to San Diego. And then, when he finally does return, it might only be for 2 weeks.
…you can make that reality check out to Little Miss Pineshine for the amount of “It’s time to move on tout de suite.”
…
Surprisingly enough, Marc and I kept up the communication while he was gone and made plans to continue hanging out once he returned to the west coast.
Initially, he told me he was due to make his grand Sandy Eggo reappearance at the end of January…
(…I hate admitting this, but in Marc‘s absence, I had sort of been holding off on dating other boys and was kind of waiting for him…strong emphasis on the “kind of.” I was obviously wide open to the idea of finding his replacement but I didn’t do a whole lot of active trolling. Plus, while he was gone, I totally romanticized the little rat because I am such a sucker for a love story where any form of pining is involved. Unrequited love stories are my favorite. So yeah, I was an eager beaver for Marc to return to San Diego so I could determine the ratio of truth to whimsical fantasy with my romarcticizations…)
But alas, he calls me one night in late January and informs me that it could be another month before he returns to San Diego. And then, when he finally does return, it might only be for 2 weeks.
…you can make that reality check out to Little Miss Pineshine for the amount of “It’s time to move on tout de suite.”
…
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Chapter 2: Eddie's Place
But never fear. Soon after I flew the coop from the preschool, I landed a job hostessing/waitressing at a brand new restaurant called Eddie’s Place. The commute to Eddie’s is a kick ass 20 minutes, which totally blew my hour and a half long commute to the navy job to smithereens. Plus, the earliest shift doesn’t start until 10 am, so I can still squirrel away all of my precious z’s sans problemo. Plus plus Stacey also got a job working there, which makes the work much more entertaining.
During the dawn of my Eddie‘s Place career, aside from a few irritating kinks in the computer system, and a hand full of ‘tude-toting, queen-ish customers (Whatever happened to the fear of the booger-burger?), everything was peaches n’ cream. The work was pretty easy and the rest of the employees were a lot of fun to hang out with, especially the other hostesses, Veronica and Kayla.
The honeymoon phase didn’t last long, however. Eddie, who shall hereby be known as E.G.G. (evil, gay giant), turned out to be a little, money-grubbing whore. First, he cut our hours, then he laid off Veronica, then he took over the dinner shifts (the better tipping ones) by working them himself (bee tee dubs, Eddie gives the tip money he receives during his shifts to his cabana boy boyfriend as his “salary,” who he has playing Cinderella washing dishes because he also laid off the original dishwasher).
Plus, Eddie likes to berate the hostesses in front of customers and seems to think we all have the brains of bowls of oatmeal. Quote: “Michaela, when you run out of quarters, you can use dimes and nickels instead…because two dimes…plus a nickel…equals 25 cents!” Good to know E.G.G. And that’s coming from a guy who was born and raised in Philly, yet still managed to misspell Philadelphia, as in Philadelphia cheese steak, on all of the menus. Today’s soup is cream of dumb ass.
I still work there but I am hotly searching for new employment. Now, I just spend most of my time at Eddie’s Place fantasizing about cracking E.G.G. over his hard-boiled head with a frying pan. The guy is a millionaire! He had been retired for three years at the age of 45 and just got bored! And that’s why he decided to open a restaurant! Purely for ha ha’s!
Grrr…
During the dawn of my Eddie‘s Place career, aside from a few irritating kinks in the computer system, and a hand full of ‘tude-toting, queen-ish customers (Whatever happened to the fear of the booger-burger?), everything was peaches n’ cream. The work was pretty easy and the rest of the employees were a lot of fun to hang out with, especially the other hostesses, Veronica and Kayla.
The honeymoon phase didn’t last long, however. Eddie, who shall hereby be known as E.G.G. (evil, gay giant), turned out to be a little, money-grubbing whore. First, he cut our hours, then he laid off Veronica, then he took over the dinner shifts (the better tipping ones) by working them himself (bee tee dubs, Eddie gives the tip money he receives during his shifts to his cabana boy boyfriend as his “salary,” who he has playing Cinderella washing dishes because he also laid off the original dishwasher).
Plus, Eddie likes to berate the hostesses in front of customers and seems to think we all have the brains of bowls of oatmeal. Quote: “Michaela, when you run out of quarters, you can use dimes and nickels instead…because two dimes…plus a nickel…equals 25 cents!” Good to know E.G.G. And that’s coming from a guy who was born and raised in Philly, yet still managed to misspell Philadelphia, as in Philadelphia cheese steak, on all of the menus. Today’s soup is cream of dumb ass.
I still work there but I am hotly searching for new employment. Now, I just spend most of my time at Eddie’s Place fantasizing about cracking E.G.G. over his hard-boiled head with a frying pan. The guy is a millionaire! He had been retired for three years at the age of 45 and just got bored! And that’s why he decided to open a restaurant! Purely for ha ha’s!
Grrr…
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Marathon Recap:
Ok. I need to do oodles of back tracking. So much has happened over the last couple of months! Gahh! So let the recapping begin!
Chapter 1: The Preschool
In the beginning of January, I was briefly employed as a Catholic preschool teacher. This job lasted for a whopping two whole days. Why only two days, you ask? Well, let’s just say, I wasn’t cut out to spend nine hours a day brandishing my power as an “authority figure” as I stifled the imagination of three year olds, all in the name of Cheese-And-Rice Superstar. Call me crazy, but I think three year olds should spend the bulk of their time playing games and making messes, not sitting silently while they complete work book exercises.
So yeah, that job bit the dust.
Chapter 1: The Preschool
In the beginning of January, I was briefly employed as a Catholic preschool teacher. This job lasted for a whopping two whole days. Why only two days, you ask? Well, let’s just say, I wasn’t cut out to spend nine hours a day brandishing my power as an “authority figure” as I stifled the imagination of three year olds, all in the name of Cheese-And-Rice Superstar. Call me crazy, but I think three year olds should spend the bulk of their time playing games and making messes, not sitting silently while they complete work book exercises.
So yeah, that job bit the dust.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Buggy buggy
In Hollywood, you’ve got show-stopping performances and eye-popping beauties. But what about those Hollywood beauties whose eyes just pop? Some celebrities are recognized by their plunger lips, or by their adorable pair of dimples, while others are distinguished by their bulging peepers. The bug-eye feature is very hit or miss, however. On one hand, bug-eyes have the ability to create unconventional gorgeosity in a person, but on the other hand, they are also capable of making good faces go Muppet.
Christina Ricci falls into the former category of bug-eyed celebrities. Her sizeable peepers are reminiscent of the large, doe-eyes of Disney Princesses like Snow White and Ariel, and they only enhance her level of attractiveness. Fittingly, Christina made her acting debut in the film “Mermaids” starring opposite Cher and Winona Ryder. Since then, Christina and her Bratz doll eyes have been featured in over 30 films, including “Speed Racer,” “The Opposite of Sex,” and of course, “The Addams Family,” in which her giant peepers traded in their doe-eyed sparkle for dreary stoicism as the all together ooky Wednesday Addams.
While you’ve got the unconventional eye-candy variety of bug-eyed celebs, whose breed also incorporates actors like Mena Suvari, Jonathan Rhys Myers, and Bette Davis (the original bug-eyed belle), you’ve also got the eye-spam strain of super-sized peepers. These bug-eyed chaps are often typecast as creepy, or crazed characters - think Steve Buscemi, one of the most talented American independent film actors, who nearly always plays either a neurotic, snarky loser or a sleazy, weasel-like scumbag as in “Reservoir Dogs” and “Fargo.” Then you’ve got Christopher Walken, a versatile actor who continuously creeps out audiences with his googly eyes and off-kilter deliveries in films such as “Sleepy Hollow,” “The Deer Hunter,” and “Batman Returns.” While it’s true that Steve Buscemi and Christopher Walken may look a bit like deranged Muppets, and you may not see them in leading roles all too often, but over the course of their prolific careers, these two actors have brought to life a slew of unforgettable supporting characters, who frequently steal the show.
And then, last but certainly not least, there is Marty Feldman, who puts all of the aforementioned eye-popping celebrities to shame with his epic set of protruding peepers. Marty is a London born comedian who began his career as a comedy writer for British television shows, including several Monty Python sketches. Marty made his American television debut in the late 60’s appearing on “The Dean Martin Show” and “Dean Martin Presents the Gold Diggers.” His popularity with American audiences soared, and in 1970 he was given the chance to star in his own television series called “The Marty Feldman Comedy Machine.” In 1974, Marty and his bug-eyes, which were the result of a thyroid condition known as Graves’ disease, landed the role that they were born to play, that of Igor (Eye-gore) in Mel Brooks’ “Young Frankenstein.” In the film, many of Marty’s lines were improvised, so when Gene Wilder’s character exclaims “Damn your eyes!” it was only natural for Marty to look into the camera and say with a puckish grin, “Too late!”
Christina Ricci falls into the former category of bug-eyed celebrities. Her sizeable peepers are reminiscent of the large, doe-eyes of Disney Princesses like Snow White and Ariel, and they only enhance her level of attractiveness. Fittingly, Christina made her acting debut in the film “Mermaids” starring opposite Cher and Winona Ryder. Since then, Christina and her Bratz doll eyes have been featured in over 30 films, including “Speed Racer,” “The Opposite of Sex,” and of course, “The Addams Family,” in which her giant peepers traded in their doe-eyed sparkle for dreary stoicism as the all together ooky Wednesday Addams.
While you’ve got the unconventional eye-candy variety of bug-eyed celebs, whose breed also incorporates actors like Mena Suvari, Jonathan Rhys Myers, and Bette Davis (the original bug-eyed belle), you’ve also got the eye-spam strain of super-sized peepers. These bug-eyed chaps are often typecast as creepy, or crazed characters - think Steve Buscemi, one of the most talented American independent film actors, who nearly always plays either a neurotic, snarky loser or a sleazy, weasel-like scumbag as in “Reservoir Dogs” and “Fargo.” Then you’ve got Christopher Walken, a versatile actor who continuously creeps out audiences with his googly eyes and off-kilter deliveries in films such as “Sleepy Hollow,” “The Deer Hunter,” and “Batman Returns.” While it’s true that Steve Buscemi and Christopher Walken may look a bit like deranged Muppets, and you may not see them in leading roles all too often, but over the course of their prolific careers, these two actors have brought to life a slew of unforgettable supporting characters, who frequently steal the show.
And then, last but certainly not least, there is Marty Feldman, who puts all of the aforementioned eye-popping celebrities to shame with his epic set of protruding peepers. Marty is a London born comedian who began his career as a comedy writer for British television shows, including several Monty Python sketches. Marty made his American television debut in the late 60’s appearing on “The Dean Martin Show” and “Dean Martin Presents the Gold Diggers.” His popularity with American audiences soared, and in 1970 he was given the chance to star in his own television series called “The Marty Feldman Comedy Machine.” In 1974, Marty and his bug-eyes, which were the result of a thyroid condition known as Graves’ disease, landed the role that they were born to play, that of Igor (Eye-gore) in Mel Brooks’ “Young Frankenstein.” In the film, many of Marty’s lines were improvised, so when Gene Wilder’s character exclaims “Damn your eyes!” it was only natural for Marty to look into the camera and say with a puckish grin, “Too late!”
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Unexpected Celebrity Career Changes
In the celebrity world, career dabbling is a relatively common occurrence. Once a person has risen to celebrity status, they have easy access to the necessary resources, such as agents, publicists, and various other in-the-biz connections, which will allow them to change careers almost as often as they change their bed sheets - think celebrities like Jennifer Lopez and Hillary Duff who oscillate between being actresses and singers. Career changes like these are especially made possible in today’s celebrity world thanks to contraptions like auto-tune, which has lead to the replacement of talent and skill with marketability as the key component in determining the level of success with a celebrity career switcharoo. Most marketable celebrities are able to make relatively seamless career transitions. Yet, there are definitely those select few…ahem cough cough David Hasselhoff and his musical stylings…who are either down right mocktastic, or beg the question, “What the hell were they smoking?”
Both are the case with two-time Academy Award nominated Joaquin Phoenix’s decision to abandon his acting career in favor of morphing into a snappily dressed, rapping grizzly bear. There is a lot of speculation surrounding Mr. Phoenix’s anomalous profession transition, however. When Joaquin first announced that he was going to scrap acting for hip-hop, most people drew the same conclusion: the boy is chock full-o-nuts, mm hmm. Yet after a recent Las Vegas performance where Joaquin dazzled the masses as he spit and sputtered robotic rhymes from three songs from his upcoming album (not to mention the grand finale when he fell off the stage, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that hip-hop is in fact Joaquin’s true life calling), it seems much more likely that Mr. Phoenix is pulling an elaborate Andy Kaufman-esque hoax with the help of his brother-in-law, Casey Affleck. According Entertainment Weekly, Joaquin reportedly told a source, “It's a put-on. I'm going to pretend to have a meltdown and change careers, and Casey is going to film it.” Apparently, Joaquin’s motivations behind this alleged career swap are both to satirize pretentious actors and to prank the paparazzi. At any rate, whether Joaquin’s rapping grizzly bear persona is for real or all for the sake of a Phoenix/Affleck mockumentary, either way it’s pretty entertaining.
Now, while Joaquin Phoenix’s outlandish career change may be a giant sized practical joke, other celebrities like Kevin Federline are very serious about their latest vocation endeavors. K-Fed, everyone’s favorite former backup dancer/second rate rapper, is stepping up to the profession plate for a third time. Kevin is looking to redeem himself for his first two career strike outs with a hit as a children’s clothing designer. That’s right folks, the former Mr. Britney Spears is going into the tiny tot costume business. Kevin’s design plan hasn’t been set in stone yet, but according to the MTV Newsroom, Kevin has been chatting up fashion executive Gerard Guez about the launch of his proposed line of children’s clothing, which he aims to make affordable yet stylish. So what can we expect from the man whose debut album pales in comparison to even that of David Hasselhoff’s? Probably something along the lines of a Baby Gap stocked with an array of tiny wife beaters, baggy baby jeans, and heavy gold chains…perfect for teething.
Another celebrity to take a stab at an unlikely, vocational alteration is Kevin Costner, who recently expanded his field of dreams to include lead singer of the country-rock band, Modern West. According to People Magazine, Kevin has been playing music with some of his Modern West band mates for close to twenty years, but it wasn’t until this past November that the group released their first album, which features twelve songs, six of which were co-written by Mr. Costner. “I remember looking out into the crowd, thinking, ‘This just feels right.’” Kevin previously said about performing at an early Modern West show. Hey, the man’s career didn’t completely pull a Titanic after Waterworld and The Postman, so who knows, maybe Mr. Dances...err Sings with Wolves will be the next Garth Brooks.
Celebrity career changes are fairly common and some certainly work better than others. To conclude, here is a list of some of the more unexpected career alterations:
Kate Moss - actress (apparently she does have a voice)
Steven Seagal - singer with his gem of an album “Songs from the Crystal Cave”
Lance Bass - astronaut (N’Sync’s Space Cowboy must have really struck a chord)
Clint Eastwood - singer (Dirty Harry cut a pair of singles and a long playing record called “Rawhide’s Clint Eastwood Sings Cowboy Favorites” in the 60’s)
And of course the perennial favorite of career chameleons, Arnold Schwarzenegger, the former body builder/actor turned governor of California.
Both are the case with two-time Academy Award nominated Joaquin Phoenix’s decision to abandon his acting career in favor of morphing into a snappily dressed, rapping grizzly bear. There is a lot of speculation surrounding Mr. Phoenix’s anomalous profession transition, however. When Joaquin first announced that he was going to scrap acting for hip-hop, most people drew the same conclusion: the boy is chock full-o-nuts, mm hmm. Yet after a recent Las Vegas performance where Joaquin dazzled the masses as he spit and sputtered robotic rhymes from three songs from his upcoming album (not to mention the grand finale when he fell off the stage, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that hip-hop is in fact Joaquin’s true life calling), it seems much more likely that Mr. Phoenix is pulling an elaborate Andy Kaufman-esque hoax with the help of his brother-in-law, Casey Affleck. According Entertainment Weekly, Joaquin reportedly told a source, “It's a put-on. I'm going to pretend to have a meltdown and change careers, and Casey is going to film it.” Apparently, Joaquin’s motivations behind this alleged career swap are both to satirize pretentious actors and to prank the paparazzi. At any rate, whether Joaquin’s rapping grizzly bear persona is for real or all for the sake of a Phoenix/Affleck mockumentary, either way it’s pretty entertaining.
Now, while Joaquin Phoenix’s outlandish career change may be a giant sized practical joke, other celebrities like Kevin Federline are very serious about their latest vocation endeavors. K-Fed, everyone’s favorite former backup dancer/second rate rapper, is stepping up to the profession plate for a third time. Kevin is looking to redeem himself for his first two career strike outs with a hit as a children’s clothing designer. That’s right folks, the former Mr. Britney Spears is going into the tiny tot costume business. Kevin’s design plan hasn’t been set in stone yet, but according to the MTV Newsroom, Kevin has been chatting up fashion executive Gerard Guez about the launch of his proposed line of children’s clothing, which he aims to make affordable yet stylish. So what can we expect from the man whose debut album pales in comparison to even that of David Hasselhoff’s? Probably something along the lines of a Baby Gap stocked with an array of tiny wife beaters, baggy baby jeans, and heavy gold chains…perfect for teething.
Another celebrity to take a stab at an unlikely, vocational alteration is Kevin Costner, who recently expanded his field of dreams to include lead singer of the country-rock band, Modern West. According to People Magazine, Kevin has been playing music with some of his Modern West band mates for close to twenty years, but it wasn’t until this past November that the group released their first album, which features twelve songs, six of which were co-written by Mr. Costner. “I remember looking out into the crowd, thinking, ‘This just feels right.’” Kevin previously said about performing at an early Modern West show. Hey, the man’s career didn’t completely pull a Titanic after Waterworld and The Postman, so who knows, maybe Mr. Dances...err Sings with Wolves will be the next Garth Brooks.
Celebrity career changes are fairly common and some certainly work better than others. To conclude, here is a list of some of the more unexpected career alterations:
Kate Moss - actress (apparently she does have a voice)
Steven Seagal - singer with his gem of an album “Songs from the Crystal Cave”
Lance Bass - astronaut (N’Sync’s Space Cowboy must have really struck a chord)
Clint Eastwood - singer (Dirty Harry cut a pair of singles and a long playing record called “Rawhide’s Clint Eastwood Sings Cowboy Favorites” in the 60’s)
And of course the perennial favorite of career chameleons, Arnold Schwarzenegger, the former body builder/actor turned governor of California.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Frownie Brownie Oscars
Movies started out as a comic medium. With the birth of film around the turn of the 20th century, the first movies to be made were silent films, which relied heavily on comedic methods, such as slapstick and burlesque. Silent movie comic icons like Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton, and Charlie Chaplin pantomimed their way into the hearts of Americans with their clownish, Keystone chase scenes and their charming characters like “The Tramp.” When reliable synchronized sound was introduced into movies in the 1920’s, comedy films could take humor to new levels. Jokes could now be incorporated into the dialogue and complex farces could be crafted. This would lead to the development of the subgenre of the comedy genre, called the screwball comedy, which gained prominence in the 1930’s with films like “The Awful Truth“ and “It Happened One Night.” Other groundbreaking screwball comedians, such as the Marx Brothers and the Three Stooges, emerged during this time period.
It is pretty clear that laughter has played a significant role in both the birth and the sustained popularity of film as an entertainment medium. So why is it then that when it comes to the Oscars, comedies tend to get the cold shoulder?
The Oscars have been around for more than three quarters of a century, yet only a handful of true comedies have managed to snag the big tuna, best picture prize. The most recent of which is Woody Allen’s “Annie Hall,” which won the best picture trophy in 1977. You do the math. That’s more than 30 years ago! While it’s true that 1998’s Oscar champ, “Shakespeare in Love,” can be classified as a comedy, this film is one of those sphinx-like, hybrid movies that is part comedy, part biopic, and part romance. Plus, it carries considerable tragic weightiness with it as well.
So after 30 solemn years, it would seem that the Oscars are long overdue to award an outstanding comedy film. Unfortunately, however, it looks as though humor will have to wait another year before it can even make an appearance at the Oscars, as apparently the Academy has fumigated for comedy this year and has removed all traces of laughtermites from the 2009 best picture line-up. The storylines of this year’s nominated films range from the heartbreaking journey of a young orphan from the slums of Mumbai in “Slumdog Millionaire” to an account of the tragically brief career of the first openly gay, American politician in “Milk.” These dramatic films may be wrought with emotional meatiness that tugs on heart strings, but let’s not forget that it is often comedic works that present the most lucid analysis of a society’s idiosyncrasies and apprehensions. Some fine comedy films to go unrecognized by this year’s Oscars include, “In Bruges,” “Happy-Go-Lucky,” and “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” Two other noteworthy comedies that were at least nominated for Oscars are 2006’s “Little Miss Sunshine” and 2007’s “Juno.” These two films may not have been able to snag the best picture trophy, but they represent two of the more original and charismatic films to hit American theaters in a long time.
At the Oscars, it’s not just the best picture category that is typically anti-comedy. The best actor/actress categories also usually favor dramatic performances over comedic ones. Of the more than 300 acting Oscars that have been awarded, fewer than 30 of them have been handed out for performances whose emotional muscle had arisen mostly from the actor or actresses aptitude for tickling the audience’s funny bone. It is likely that this disparity exists on account of the perception that dramatic roles are more challenging to perform and are therefore more award-worthy. It may be true that for many comedies and comedic roles, the level of emotionality is about as weighty as Nicole Ritchie tied to a flotilla of helium balloons (take “City Slickers” or “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective” for example). Dramas and dramatic acting roles are capable of tapping into a broader and deeper range of emotions, which can include laughter and happiness, along with anger, and sadness, and the rest of the emotions gang. Whereas comedies and comedic acting roles tend to be restricted to communicating funniness, lest the humorific mood be spoiled. But this is by no means to say that dramas and dramatic roles truly are more laudable than comedic ones. The skill set used to craft commendable comedic performances is just different, that’s all. In fact, there is a saying that goes, “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”
Perhaps the Oscars should take a lesson from the Golden Globes and create a separate category for comedies. After all, a distinct category for best animated film was made when it became apparent that animated films didn’t have a shot in hell of taking home an overall best picture trophy. So why not do the same for comedies? When Los Angles Times writer, Patrick Goldstein, posed the idea to the motion picture academy president, Sid Ganis, Mr. Ganis dismissed the idea, saying that if comedies have won the Oscar for best picture in the past, then why wouldn’t a deserving comedy be able to do so in the future? Well, Mr. Ganis, your response wreaks of the fumes of cop out. It seems pretty obvious that the message here is clear: Oscar is a drama queen.
It is pretty clear that laughter has played a significant role in both the birth and the sustained popularity of film as an entertainment medium. So why is it then that when it comes to the Oscars, comedies tend to get the cold shoulder?
The Oscars have been around for more than three quarters of a century, yet only a handful of true comedies have managed to snag the big tuna, best picture prize. The most recent of which is Woody Allen’s “Annie Hall,” which won the best picture trophy in 1977. You do the math. That’s more than 30 years ago! While it’s true that 1998’s Oscar champ, “Shakespeare in Love,” can be classified as a comedy, this film is one of those sphinx-like, hybrid movies that is part comedy, part biopic, and part romance. Plus, it carries considerable tragic weightiness with it as well.
So after 30 solemn years, it would seem that the Oscars are long overdue to award an outstanding comedy film. Unfortunately, however, it looks as though humor will have to wait another year before it can even make an appearance at the Oscars, as apparently the Academy has fumigated for comedy this year and has removed all traces of laughtermites from the 2009 best picture line-up. The storylines of this year’s nominated films range from the heartbreaking journey of a young orphan from the slums of Mumbai in “Slumdog Millionaire” to an account of the tragically brief career of the first openly gay, American politician in “Milk.” These dramatic films may be wrought with emotional meatiness that tugs on heart strings, but let’s not forget that it is often comedic works that present the most lucid analysis of a society’s idiosyncrasies and apprehensions. Some fine comedy films to go unrecognized by this year’s Oscars include, “In Bruges,” “Happy-Go-Lucky,” and “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” Two other noteworthy comedies that were at least nominated for Oscars are 2006’s “Little Miss Sunshine” and 2007’s “Juno.” These two films may not have been able to snag the best picture trophy, but they represent two of the more original and charismatic films to hit American theaters in a long time.
At the Oscars, it’s not just the best picture category that is typically anti-comedy. The best actor/actress categories also usually favor dramatic performances over comedic ones. Of the more than 300 acting Oscars that have been awarded, fewer than 30 of them have been handed out for performances whose emotional muscle had arisen mostly from the actor or actresses aptitude for tickling the audience’s funny bone. It is likely that this disparity exists on account of the perception that dramatic roles are more challenging to perform and are therefore more award-worthy. It may be true that for many comedies and comedic roles, the level of emotionality is about as weighty as Nicole Ritchie tied to a flotilla of helium balloons (take “City Slickers” or “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective” for example). Dramas and dramatic acting roles are capable of tapping into a broader and deeper range of emotions, which can include laughter and happiness, along with anger, and sadness, and the rest of the emotions gang. Whereas comedies and comedic acting roles tend to be restricted to communicating funniness, lest the humorific mood be spoiled. But this is by no means to say that dramas and dramatic roles truly are more laudable than comedic ones. The skill set used to craft commendable comedic performances is just different, that’s all. In fact, there is a saying that goes, “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”
Perhaps the Oscars should take a lesson from the Golden Globes and create a separate category for comedies. After all, a distinct category for best animated film was made when it became apparent that animated films didn’t have a shot in hell of taking home an overall best picture trophy. So why not do the same for comedies? When Los Angles Times writer, Patrick Goldstein, posed the idea to the motion picture academy president, Sid Ganis, Mr. Ganis dismissed the idea, saying that if comedies have won the Oscar for best picture in the past, then why wouldn’t a deserving comedy be able to do so in the future? Well, Mr. Ganis, your response wreaks of the fumes of cop out. It seems pretty obvious that the message here is clear: Oscar is a drama queen.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I don't Tan, I burn.
It is officially official, Stacey and I have penetrated the inner swing circle at Henry’s, boo yah. No longer do we gawk Wilson from Home Improvement style at the swingers from our designated posts behind the dance floor’s partition. No siree, Bob. Now, when we make the swing scene, we roll patio side with our new, swingterranean chums, and it is glorious. We still look like buffoons on the dance floor, but it’s cool, a work in progress.
The swing dancers who frequent Henry’s Pub are like the cuddliest bunch of people that you will ever meet. They are all a pack of bouncy, saddle shoe wearing, teddy bears.
One such teddy bear stands out from among the crowd. His name is Tan and he is this scrawny, California born stick of energy who used to teach swing dancing lessons at UCSD but now works as a math teacher for rich folks’ kiddies down in Brazil.
Unfortunately, however, Tan was only in San Diego for about a month while his Brazilian school was on vacation. Nevertheless, I still got to get plenty of top-notch dances in with him before he had to fly the coop.
One Tuesday, I had to cut swing night short because I had to rise and shine at the ass crack of dawn the next day for a job interview. My Tancing buddy was not pleased with my early departure plan, so I pinky swore that we would dance together the next night until the sun came up. This was probably one of the more ill-advised phalange contracts that I little fingered my way into, since I’m fairly certain that it is Red Bull, not blood, that streams it’s way through Tan the man’s veins.
The next night was so much fun though. The festivities commenced with a swing dance lesson at UCSD conducted by two of Tan’s old chums and was followed by a trip to the Firehouse where Stacey and I dazzled the masses with our new swingtastic dance moves…and by “dazzled” I mean continued to look like buffoons.
Afterwards, we went downtown to hang out at the condo where Tan was staying while we was in town. Tan’s two Brazilian friends, who accompanied him on his trip back to SD, had us in stitches laughing all night regaling us with tales of their sleep walking adventures and near death experiences. There’s just something about animated broken English that makes me happy.
Anyways, at around 3 my goose was cooked (didn’t quite make it ’til sunrise, but close enough) so Tan drove Stacey and myself back to our apartment, sweet, apartment.
Then, about half an hour later, I got a call from Tan asking me out to lunch with him the next day. Mmm I’ll have the “Oh crap” mixed salad with a side of curly, “I think this is might be a date” fries.
Order up.
Yep, totally was a date. After we finished lunching at the Tai restaurant in Hillcrest, we took a leisurely stroll around the block, where crouching Tan, hidden motive made his move. The gist of the happening was…
Tan: “So I’m in the market for a girlfriend, any takers? …Bueller?”
Actually, if truth be told, Tan the man was out shopping for a wifey (I don’t know what it is about San Diego, but I have met so many early nesters out here!).
Frick on a stick. I felt so bad. I wanted to let the little guy down easy. He is so genuinely sweet, but I was so genuinely uninterested. Therefore, I went into “Ward off unwanted male attention” mode and applied a generous helping of “Let me tell you about my fake boyfriend” cream to the infected situation (Side effects may include: headache, nausea, sad puppy dog eyes, and persistent awkward silences).
After a solid ten minutes of side effect number 4, my dancin’ friend bounced back and we ended the afternoon with pleasantries and a friendly hug.
Thumbs down for date sniping.
The swing dancers who frequent Henry’s Pub are like the cuddliest bunch of people that you will ever meet. They are all a pack of bouncy, saddle shoe wearing, teddy bears.
One such teddy bear stands out from among the crowd. His name is Tan and he is this scrawny, California born stick of energy who used to teach swing dancing lessons at UCSD but now works as a math teacher for rich folks’ kiddies down in Brazil.
Unfortunately, however, Tan was only in San Diego for about a month while his Brazilian school was on vacation. Nevertheless, I still got to get plenty of top-notch dances in with him before he had to fly the coop.
One Tuesday, I had to cut swing night short because I had to rise and shine at the ass crack of dawn the next day for a job interview. My Tancing buddy was not pleased with my early departure plan, so I pinky swore that we would dance together the next night until the sun came up. This was probably one of the more ill-advised phalange contracts that I little fingered my way into, since I’m fairly certain that it is Red Bull, not blood, that streams it’s way through Tan the man’s veins.
The next night was so much fun though. The festivities commenced with a swing dance lesson at UCSD conducted by two of Tan’s old chums and was followed by a trip to the Firehouse where Stacey and I dazzled the masses with our new swingtastic dance moves…and by “dazzled” I mean continued to look like buffoons.
Afterwards, we went downtown to hang out at the condo where Tan was staying while we was in town. Tan’s two Brazilian friends, who accompanied him on his trip back to SD, had us in stitches laughing all night regaling us with tales of their sleep walking adventures and near death experiences. There’s just something about animated broken English that makes me happy.
Anyways, at around 3 my goose was cooked (didn’t quite make it ’til sunrise, but close enough) so Tan drove Stacey and myself back to our apartment, sweet, apartment.
Then, about half an hour later, I got a call from Tan asking me out to lunch with him the next day. Mmm I’ll have the “Oh crap” mixed salad with a side of curly, “I think this is might be a date” fries.
Order up.
Yep, totally was a date. After we finished lunching at the Tai restaurant in Hillcrest, we took a leisurely stroll around the block, where crouching Tan, hidden motive made his move. The gist of the happening was…
Tan: “So I’m in the market for a girlfriend, any takers? …Bueller?”
Actually, if truth be told, Tan the man was out shopping for a wifey (I don’t know what it is about San Diego, but I have met so many early nesters out here!).
Frick on a stick. I felt so bad. I wanted to let the little guy down easy. He is so genuinely sweet, but I was so genuinely uninterested. Therefore, I went into “Ward off unwanted male attention” mode and applied a generous helping of “Let me tell you about my fake boyfriend” cream to the infected situation (Side effects may include: headache, nausea, sad puppy dog eyes, and persistent awkward silences).
After a solid ten minutes of side effect number 4, my dancin’ friend bounced back and we ended the afternoon with pleasantries and a friendly hug.
Thumbs down for date sniping.
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Fam Came Out West!
So yes, the whole fam, brothers and all, came out west to visit me over the holidays.
It was great having them all out here…for the first five minutes.
My family is uberly sarcastic and competitive with one another (there was a code orange situation between my brothers over a bet to see who could name the most Samuel L. Jackson movies) and when we are forced to cohabitate tight quarters with one another for extended periods of time, such as hotel rooms and tiny rental cars, the mood is often tense and hostile.
(Side note: why is it that practically every guy I know secretly lusts after Samuel L. Jackson? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the almighty Shaft was the surreptitious star of many a chicken choking fantasies. Let’s not forget that this is the man who brought us the film Snakes on a Plane. Wince.)
But no, all in all, I had a great time with the fam and we got to do a lot of fun-filled family activities. The most sock rockin’ of which were going to L.A. for a day, spending an afternoon south of the border in Tijuana, and lunching at the Kansas City Barbeque, a.k.a. the Top Gun Bar.
While I uncompromisingly publicly deride the lofty level of fromaginess of what is quite possibly Tom Cruise’s most immortalizing of movies, the truth is that my mockery serves as a flimsy shroud for my covert adoration of Top Gun and all things Cruise related. As far as I am concerned, Tommy boy can spring a crazy leak on as many of Opera’s couches as he likes and I will always support him, even in his choice to rob the cradle of Mushy-Face McHolmes.
Spending the day in L.A. was so fantastic! My body was peppered with goose bumps the entire time. Mostly at the thought of having a close encounter of the celebrity kind (Unfortunately, however, we did not see a single celeb…not even a double D-list star like Anna Faris), but also because I think L.A. is going to be my next life pit-stop after my Sandy Eggo coach turns into a pumpkin.
The greatest part of going to L.A. was visiting the Kodak Theater (for those of you who don’t know what that is, the Kodak Theater has been the casa of the Academy Awards for the past 7 years). It was magnificent. The entire time I was there, I was fighting back the urge to either burst into tears or defecate my pants, like an overly enthused, pants-wearing monkey. During the tour, I sat in the front row, 4th chair from the right (if you’re facing the stage) and now, I so can not wait for Oscar night to see whose caboose is parked in my seat!
Starry eyed sigh. No matter how many times I brush my teeth, I can’t seem to get the taste of Oscar ambrosia out of my mouth. Mmm minty fresh pipedreams.
It was great having them all out here…for the first five minutes.
My family is uberly sarcastic and competitive with one another (there was a code orange situation between my brothers over a bet to see who could name the most Samuel L. Jackson movies) and when we are forced to cohabitate tight quarters with one another for extended periods of time, such as hotel rooms and tiny rental cars, the mood is often tense and hostile.
(Side note: why is it that practically every guy I know secretly lusts after Samuel L. Jackson? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the almighty Shaft was the surreptitious star of many a chicken choking fantasies. Let’s not forget that this is the man who brought us the film Snakes on a Plane. Wince.)
But no, all in all, I had a great time with the fam and we got to do a lot of fun-filled family activities. The most sock rockin’ of which were going to L.A. for a day, spending an afternoon south of the border in Tijuana, and lunching at the Kansas City Barbeque, a.k.a. the Top Gun Bar.
While I uncompromisingly publicly deride the lofty level of fromaginess of what is quite possibly Tom Cruise’s most immortalizing of movies, the truth is that my mockery serves as a flimsy shroud for my covert adoration of Top Gun and all things Cruise related. As far as I am concerned, Tommy boy can spring a crazy leak on as many of Opera’s couches as he likes and I will always support him, even in his choice to rob the cradle of Mushy-Face McHolmes.
Spending the day in L.A. was so fantastic! My body was peppered with goose bumps the entire time. Mostly at the thought of having a close encounter of the celebrity kind (Unfortunately, however, we did not see a single celeb…not even a double D-list star like Anna Faris), but also because I think L.A. is going to be my next life pit-stop after my Sandy Eggo coach turns into a pumpkin.
The greatest part of going to L.A. was visiting the Kodak Theater (for those of you who don’t know what that is, the Kodak Theater has been the casa of the Academy Awards for the past 7 years). It was magnificent. The entire time I was there, I was fighting back the urge to either burst into tears or defecate my pants, like an overly enthused, pants-wearing monkey. During the tour, I sat in the front row, 4th chair from the right (if you’re facing the stage) and now, I so can not wait for Oscar night to see whose caboose is parked in my seat!
Starry eyed sigh. No matter how many times I brush my teeth, I can’t seem to get the taste of Oscar ambrosia out of my mouth. Mmm minty fresh pipedreams.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Christmas Eve Eve Eve
I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas! It really does not feel like it. I have been pretty devoid of Christmas spirit this year…scroogetastic. I guess that’s mostly because being in a warmer climate, I have been in denial that it is in fact winter and Christmas time. I mean, San Diego has definitely decked its halls with plenty of fuh-la-la, but it just never sank in for me. Plus, I’ve been stressed out.
So yes yes, instead of going back to Beantown for Christmas, my family is coming to visit me in San Diego! They arrive around 7:30 PM west coast time on Christmas day. I am just as pleased as holiday spiked punch that they are making the trip out. I really wasn’t looking forward to having another family-free Christmas like last year.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, celebrating Christmas in Prague last year was definitely beyond fantastic and an entirely unforgettable experience (nothing says holiday cheer like a Christmas Eve ghost tour regaling tales of a gentile-slaying, claymation golem), but ya just gotta be with your family on Christmas…it’s a Yule rule.
So yeah, 3 more days! Can’t even wait!
P.S.
Here is my preemptive new year’s resolution: achieve electrolightenment and become a practitioner of verbal eloquence, not diarrhea.
Just told the cashier at Food 4 Less that he’s probably schizophrenic.
Of course, out of context that sounds a lot more abrasive than it actually was. He laughed (albeit awkwardly) after I said it!
But still, I shouldn’t be handing out DSM diagnoses in jest to strangers. Especially around the holidays.
No one likes a stocking full of bipolar disorder or a gift card to OCD.
http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/twas-the-night-monologue/866361/
…Why John Malkovich is amazing.
So yes yes, instead of going back to Beantown for Christmas, my family is coming to visit me in San Diego! They arrive around 7:30 PM west coast time on Christmas day. I am just as pleased as holiday spiked punch that they are making the trip out. I really wasn’t looking forward to having another family-free Christmas like last year.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, celebrating Christmas in Prague last year was definitely beyond fantastic and an entirely unforgettable experience (nothing says holiday cheer like a Christmas Eve ghost tour regaling tales of a gentile-slaying, claymation golem), but ya just gotta be with your family on Christmas…it’s a Yule rule.
So yeah, 3 more days! Can’t even wait!
P.S.
Here is my preemptive new year’s resolution: achieve electrolightenment and become a practitioner of verbal eloquence, not diarrhea.
Just told the cashier at Food 4 Less that he’s probably schizophrenic.
Of course, out of context that sounds a lot more abrasive than it actually was. He laughed (albeit awkwardly) after I said it!
But still, I shouldn’t be handing out DSM diagnoses in jest to strangers. Especially around the holidays.
No one likes a stocking full of bipolar disorder or a gift card to OCD.
http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/twas-the-night-monologue/866361/
…Why John Malkovich is amazing.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Long post...
This past week was uberly un-fun.
I spent it darting all over town jumping through a series of irritating pre-hire hoops for the navy job. All of which were the very same pre-hire hoops that I had previously jumped through for the first job that the navy hired me for, which they then snatched away when I no longer maintained my status as a student. Mind you, all of the other persons hired for said job were undergraduate students…but that’s another can of worms for another time.
As frustrating as it’s been though, there is no point in gnashing my teeth about it. Because when the navy says, “Jump!”, the only acceptable response is, “How high, Navy?” then bend over.
I will gnash my teeth about this, however. On Tuesday, after I rode a bus for an hour and a half to get to the navy’s HR office just to put my John Hancock on two lousy pieces of paper, I was informed that it is likely that my pay is going to be docked by $2.50.
$13.70 - $2.50 = salary castration.
And let’s not forget about the 3 hour round-trip commute to the child development center where I am supposed to be working. That is definitely the lip stick on this fantastic job offer.
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…
I won’t actually be able to start this navy job until January 15th, however. So for the meantime, I posted an ad on Craig’s List marketing my babysitting/tutoring services.
Last Friday, I received a response from a very progressive, libertarian mom named Anna, who has two foster children - a girl and a boy, ages 3 and 8 months.
I met the kids on Sunday and then spent a couple more afternoons sitting for them during the week while Anna ran errands and got housework done. All in all, the kids are both very cute and reasonably well-behaved.
On Thirsty Thursday, Anna wanted me for an evening babysitting gig, which would necessitate me spending the night at her house. The reason being that while she said she most likely wouldn’t stay out past midnight, she wouldn’t feel comfortable with me taking the bus home at that late hour should something happen to me.
Now, I wouldn’t say that I was exactly keen on the idea of spending the night at a relative stranger’s house, but I was reasonably cool with it. That was, however, until Anna revealed that she was not reasonably cool with the idea of compensating me for the inconvenience of the overnight.
But of course, I know I’m being overly avaricious here. It’s totally acceptable to stiff the babysitter. Probably shouldn’t tip waitresses either.
I didn’t want to leave her in the lurch though, so I reluctantly agreed to do the freebie overnight. But for the future, I said if she wasn’t willing to shell out the dough, then I wasn’t willing to do any more late night sitting.
So la la la, the evening hours passed without a hitch. Played some games, watched The Jungle Book, then I tucked the kids soundly into bed.
Oh side note: as she’s running out the door, Anna informs me that the little girl was going to be sharing a bed with me. Umm…
Today’s soup is cream of questionable sleeping arrangements.
I spent it darting all over town jumping through a series of irritating pre-hire hoops for the navy job. All of which were the very same pre-hire hoops that I had previously jumped through for the first job that the navy hired me for, which they then snatched away when I no longer maintained my status as a student. Mind you, all of the other persons hired for said job were undergraduate students…but that’s another can of worms for another time.
As frustrating as it’s been though, there is no point in gnashing my teeth about it. Because when the navy says, “Jump!”, the only acceptable response is, “How high, Navy?” then bend over.
I will gnash my teeth about this, however. On Tuesday, after I rode a bus for an hour and a half to get to the navy’s HR office just to put my John Hancock on two lousy pieces of paper, I was informed that it is likely that my pay is going to be docked by $2.50.
$13.70 - $2.50 = salary castration.
And let’s not forget about the 3 hour round-trip commute to the child development center where I am supposed to be working. That is definitely the lip stick on this fantastic job offer.
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…
I won’t actually be able to start this navy job until January 15th, however. So for the meantime, I posted an ad on Craig’s List marketing my babysitting/tutoring services.
Last Friday, I received a response from a very progressive, libertarian mom named Anna, who has two foster children - a girl and a boy, ages 3 and 8 months.
I met the kids on Sunday and then spent a couple more afternoons sitting for them during the week while Anna ran errands and got housework done. All in all, the kids are both very cute and reasonably well-behaved.
On Thirsty Thursday, Anna wanted me for an evening babysitting gig, which would necessitate me spending the night at her house. The reason being that while she said she most likely wouldn’t stay out past midnight, she wouldn’t feel comfortable with me taking the bus home at that late hour should something happen to me.
Now, I wouldn’t say that I was exactly keen on the idea of spending the night at a relative stranger’s house, but I was reasonably cool with it. That was, however, until Anna revealed that she was not reasonably cool with the idea of compensating me for the inconvenience of the overnight.
But of course, I know I’m being overly avaricious here. It’s totally acceptable to stiff the babysitter. Probably shouldn’t tip waitresses either.
I didn’t want to leave her in the lurch though, so I reluctantly agreed to do the freebie overnight. But for the future, I said if she wasn’t willing to shell out the dough, then I wasn’t willing to do any more late night sitting.
So la la la, the evening hours passed without a hitch. Played some games, watched The Jungle Book, then I tucked the kids soundly into bed.
Oh side note: as she’s running out the door, Anna informs me that the little girl was going to be sharing a bed with me. Umm…
Today’s soup is cream of questionable sleeping arrangements.
So yeah...
The evening hours slowly turned into wee morning hours and there was still no sign of Mom-of-the-year. Fantastic.
I love being kept up all night by the hourly cries of a hungry baby and the copious “I want my mommy now!” outbursts of a three year old and not being paid for it.
It wasn’t until 5 frick-on-a-stick AM that Anna finally returned home and I got to go to bed.
Twenty minutes later, however, just as I was dozing off, I was awoken by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.
Then, the front door opened and I could hear the voices of two men, growing in volume as they approached the door to the room where I was sleeping.
Then, the voices hushed and I heard the door creak open as a shadowy figure entered the room and made like he was going to get into bed with me.
“Ummmm…The babysitter is sleeping in here!” I hollered at him.
“Ohh…uhhh…sorry! My bad.” stammered the shadowy figure as he hastily retreated from the room.
Under normal circumstances, I probably would have freaked out a lot more about this, but when I first met Anna, she explained to me that she has a lot of twenty-something male friends, many of whom are recovering drug addicts and aspiring rap artists, who frequently crash in her spare bedroom. And who doesn’t love a slumber party with a VIP guest list like that?
But yeah, after this babysitting adventure, I don’t think I’ll be doing any more over-night shifts for Miss Anna Banana. I’d like to steer myself clear of any future, accidental spooning sessions with recovering druggernauts.
Ok. Enough tomfoolery. Here’s a good bit of news for ya…
Stacey just started seeing this loveable hostel manager named Iain! It’s all still very new, the relationship like just popped out of the womb, but I can just tell that it’s going to be lovely. Seeing them together is like watching a Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan movie, chock-full of that A-list, adorable, movie magic chemistry.
And he is just so sweet to her. Chew on this sucrose-coated, chocolate-dipped example…
Text from Iain to Stacey after their first official date: You are kick ass. You make me a happy man.
How cute is that? I am officially J to the EALOUS.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Golden Globe Noms!
The Golden Globe noms are out! It’s officially awards season, baby!
Now, I am not a sports fan by any means. Well, except for hockey. Gotta say that I do enjoy me the elegant brutality of big, burly men gliding gracefully with Kwan-like poise one minute, and then smashing their opponents’ faces into glass walls the next, oh yeah.
But, to make a sports related comparison illustrating my zeal for film awards, the Golden Globes are my World Series and the Academy Awards are my Super Bowl.
I am pathetically out of shape for this year’s awards season, however. I haven’t been to the movies in a dog‘s age! (Seeing Four Christmases over Thanksgiving totally does not count since the experience was more like staring at a pile of garbage for an hour and a half than watching an actual movie.)
My top 6 list of must-see movies for the '08/'09 season are…
1. Revolutionary Road
2. Burn After Reading
3. Happy-Go-Lucky
4. The Reader
5. In Bruges
And…
6. Slumdog Millionaire
Last year, I had to miss both the Globes and the Oscars while I was teaching in France due to a television deficiency, which was a major bummer. So this year, my cup runneth over with excitement about the awards shows!
Especially since my Leo scored another best actor nomination. This time it’s for his role as Frank Wheeler in Revolutionary Road. Can't say that I've seen the film yet (it doesn't come out until December 26th), but I have a feeling in my bones that ‘09 is going to be Leo’s year. Cross those phalanges, people, and cross ‘em good!
Leo would have had a really good shot at nabbing himself a pair of book ends last year for The Departed and Blood Diamond if it hadn’t have been for Forrest Whitaker’s freakishly amazing performance in The Last King of Scotland. Damn you, Mr. Whitaker. Damn you.
If you haven’t yet seen The Last King of Scotland, I implore you to immediately report to the nearest Blockbuster and rent it. Forrest’s portrayal of Idi Amin is absolutely, terrifyingly ferocious, but in the daaamn, give this guy major props kinda way. Plus, James McAvoy, who has the dreamiest bedroom eyes on the planet, is in it.
Luckily, however, Mr. Whitaker will be spending this year’s award season on the bench. Plus, Heath Ledger’s Joker nom is in the best supporting actor category, so both his and Leo’s talents can be justly awarded.
Go team DiCaprio!
Now, I am not a sports fan by any means. Well, except for hockey. Gotta say that I do enjoy me the elegant brutality of big, burly men gliding gracefully with Kwan-like poise one minute, and then smashing their opponents’ faces into glass walls the next, oh yeah.
But, to make a sports related comparison illustrating my zeal for film awards, the Golden Globes are my World Series and the Academy Awards are my Super Bowl.
I am pathetically out of shape for this year’s awards season, however. I haven’t been to the movies in a dog‘s age! (Seeing Four Christmases over Thanksgiving totally does not count since the experience was more like staring at a pile of garbage for an hour and a half than watching an actual movie.)
My top 6 list of must-see movies for the '08/'09 season are…
1. Revolutionary Road
2. Burn After Reading
3. Happy-Go-Lucky
4. The Reader
5. In Bruges
And…
6. Slumdog Millionaire
Last year, I had to miss both the Globes and the Oscars while I was teaching in France due to a television deficiency, which was a major bummer. So this year, my cup runneth over with excitement about the awards shows!
Especially since my Leo scored another best actor nomination. This time it’s for his role as Frank Wheeler in Revolutionary Road. Can't say that I've seen the film yet (it doesn't come out until December 26th), but I have a feeling in my bones that ‘09 is going to be Leo’s year. Cross those phalanges, people, and cross ‘em good!
Leo would have had a really good shot at nabbing himself a pair of book ends last year for The Departed and Blood Diamond if it hadn’t have been for Forrest Whitaker’s freakishly amazing performance in The Last King of Scotland. Damn you, Mr. Whitaker. Damn you.
If you haven’t yet seen The Last King of Scotland, I implore you to immediately report to the nearest Blockbuster and rent it. Forrest’s portrayal of Idi Amin is absolutely, terrifyingly ferocious, but in the daaamn, give this guy major props kinda way. Plus, James McAvoy, who has the dreamiest bedroom eyes on the planet, is in it.
Luckily, however, Mr. Whitaker will be spending this year’s award season on the bench. Plus, Heath Ledger’s Joker nom is in the best supporting actor category, so both his and Leo’s talents can be justly awarded.
Go team DiCaprio!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Swing Night at Henry's
Henry’s is by far our favorite bar in San Diego and it is speedily becoming our Cheer’s. Well, sort of. It’s more of a work in progress, like the Familia Sagrada in Barcelona.
Last week, we exchanged pleasantries with Justin, the bartender, so there is some potential there. And one of the bouncers has clearly noticed us, as he has remarked several times now that we sure do come to Henry’s an awful lot.
I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that he just thinks we have a drinking problem. So he only half counts.
But hey, slow and steady can still win the make-nice-with-the-bar-staff race so you can get discount cocktails and all-you-can-eat maraschino cherries!
One of the coolest thing about Henry’s is that it does theme nights. Wednesday is rhythm and blues, Thursday is 80’s, Friday and Saturday are hip-hop, Sunday is karaoke, Monday is mixmasters, and Tuesday (my favorite) is swing night.
Swing night features a live, rock-a-billy band called The Stillettos, who are amazingly T-Birdish. And all of the bar's T.V. screens show clips of people from the 50’s doing the Lindy Hop, the Charleston, the Shag, and the Balboa (trying to become well-versed in swing lingo, or as I like to call it - swingo - so that I can impress all of my new, wannabee swing friends).
The crowd of dancers that swing night draws is seemingly rather elitist. They dress to the nines in 50’s attire and all sit and chit-chat together between sets on the far side of the dance floor, while all the non-dancing cubes and clydes congregate near the bar like the lepers of middle school dances.
Stacey and I, however, have made it our mission to penetrate the inner swing circle. We actually made a little bit of headway with our goal this past Tuesday.
A fancy-footed, college professor named Mark took a liking to us and he showed us some of the swinging ropes.
He was a little too into the turns, however. After awhile, I almost had to say to him, “Ok Marky Mark, you keep spinning me like a maniacal dreidel and I am going to vomit on your saddle shoes.”
Then along came a herd of delightful Marine boys - all the size of redwoods, all sporting buzz cuts - so typical.
They were very sweet, but they had absolutely no skills and zero rhythm. But I gotta give them all A pluses for their afforts. Even though as they were attempting to spin Stacey and myself, we undoubtedly looked like nightmarish, dislodged ferris wheels.
My guy was so adorable though...like a really meaty, lost puppy. After we haphazardly bopped and jiggled around on the dance floor for awhile, he goes, “Ok, I’m gonna flip you around now!”
“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
It was amazing. Totally razzed my berries (yep, I’m a cool cat - I googled 50’s jargon. What about it?). Not gonna lie though, I definitely donkey kicked several innocent bystanders in the back. But hey, go big or go home…or to the hospital to tend to your possibly ruptured kidneys. Whoops.
Can’t wait for next Tuesday!
Last week, we exchanged pleasantries with Justin, the bartender, so there is some potential there. And one of the bouncers has clearly noticed us, as he has remarked several times now that we sure do come to Henry’s an awful lot.
I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that he just thinks we have a drinking problem. So he only half counts.
But hey, slow and steady can still win the make-nice-with-the-bar-staff race so you can get discount cocktails and all-you-can-eat maraschino cherries!
One of the coolest thing about Henry’s is that it does theme nights. Wednesday is rhythm and blues, Thursday is 80’s, Friday and Saturday are hip-hop, Sunday is karaoke, Monday is mixmasters, and Tuesday (my favorite) is swing night.
Swing night features a live, rock-a-billy band called The Stillettos, who are amazingly T-Birdish. And all of the bar's T.V. screens show clips of people from the 50’s doing the Lindy Hop, the Charleston, the Shag, and the Balboa (trying to become well-versed in swing lingo, or as I like to call it - swingo - so that I can impress all of my new, wannabee swing friends).
The crowd of dancers that swing night draws is seemingly rather elitist. They dress to the nines in 50’s attire and all sit and chit-chat together between sets on the far side of the dance floor, while all the non-dancing cubes and clydes congregate near the bar like the lepers of middle school dances.
Stacey and I, however, have made it our mission to penetrate the inner swing circle. We actually made a little bit of headway with our goal this past Tuesday.
A fancy-footed, college professor named Mark took a liking to us and he showed us some of the swinging ropes.
He was a little too into the turns, however. After awhile, I almost had to say to him, “Ok Marky Mark, you keep spinning me like a maniacal dreidel and I am going to vomit on your saddle shoes.”
Then along came a herd of delightful Marine boys - all the size of redwoods, all sporting buzz cuts - so typical.
They were very sweet, but they had absolutely no skills and zero rhythm. But I gotta give them all A pluses for their afforts. Even though as they were attempting to spin Stacey and myself, we undoubtedly looked like nightmarish, dislodged ferris wheels.
My guy was so adorable though...like a really meaty, lost puppy. After we haphazardly bopped and jiggled around on the dance floor for awhile, he goes, “Ok, I’m gonna flip you around now!”
“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
It was amazing. Totally razzed my berries (yep, I’m a cool cat - I googled 50’s jargon. What about it?). Not gonna lie though, I definitely donkey kicked several innocent bystanders in the back. But hey, go big or go home…or to the hospital to tend to your possibly ruptured kidneys. Whoops.
Can’t wait for next Tuesday!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Mantyhose...
Attention ladies!
Having trouble coming up with holiday gift ideas for the men folk in your lives??
Well, look no further. I have the perfect solution that is guaranteed to rock the world of any manly man-ladies' man-man about town-gentleMAN, man.
Just click on the link below and experience all of the magic of what the future of men's lib holds...
e-MANcipate!
p.s. if you stumble across the comments made by user names fanofMantyHose4ever and 1jungdaddylikeahorse - that's me and Stacey. We always make productive use our of our free-time.
Having trouble coming up with holiday gift ideas for the men folk in your lives??
Well, look no further. I have the perfect solution that is guaranteed to rock the world of any manly man-ladies' man-man about town-gentleMAN, man.
Just click on the link below and experience all of the magic of what the future of men's lib holds...
e-MANcipate!
p.s. if you stumble across the comments made by user names fanofMantyHose4ever and 1jungdaddylikeahorse - that's me and Stacey. We always make productive use our of our free-time.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
The squeaky wheel gets the grease!
I finally got a real job! After three long months of job hunting, I finally scored one!
Well, I’m almost sure I have a real job.
See, no one actually said to me in so many words, “You’re hired.”
But the program director sent me an email Monday morning saying, and I quote: “Looking forward to you coming on board.”
That has to mean I got the job, right??? It would be a big ol' bowl of caprese crap salad if it didn’t!
At any rate, I plan on keeping my glass half full…of happy juice, jam-packed with vitamin YouGotTheJob.
So! The nitty-gritty…
The job is an educational aide position with the Navy. The duties are basically that of a preschool teacher, which I am thrilled about - I’ll get to play with Navy babies all day long!
I can’t even express just how relieved I feel. My bank account is on the brink of hitting rock bottom and my parents really aren’t in any position to be my financial crutch right now. So thank you, THANK YOU to the Navy.
Plus, even though the job is with the Navy, I will be working at the Air Station in Miramar. Which is where only the most quintessentially flighty rebel movie of 1986 takes place featuring a cast with more snappy nicknames than any other film throughout film history.
Of course, I can only be talking about one film, and one film alone. And that film would be…TOP GUN.
(Maverick
Goose
Iceman
Jester
Cougar
Wolfman
Slider
Merlin
Hollywood
Stinger
And last and kind of least, Kelly McGillis as Charlotte a.k.a. Charlie)
Let’s bring back that loving feeling, baby!
Well, I’m almost sure I have a real job.
See, no one actually said to me in so many words, “You’re hired.”
But the program director sent me an email Monday morning saying, and I quote: “Looking forward to you coming on board.”
That has to mean I got the job, right??? It would be a big ol' bowl of caprese crap salad if it didn’t!
At any rate, I plan on keeping my glass half full…of happy juice, jam-packed with vitamin YouGotTheJob.
So! The nitty-gritty…
The job is an educational aide position with the Navy. The duties are basically that of a preschool teacher, which I am thrilled about - I’ll get to play with Navy babies all day long!
I can’t even express just how relieved I feel. My bank account is on the brink of hitting rock bottom and my parents really aren’t in any position to be my financial crutch right now. So thank you, THANK YOU to the Navy.
Plus, even though the job is with the Navy, I will be working at the Air Station in Miramar. Which is where only the most quintessentially flighty rebel movie of 1986 takes place featuring a cast with more snappy nicknames than any other film throughout film history.
Of course, I can only be talking about one film, and one film alone. And that film would be…TOP GUN.
(Maverick
Goose
Iceman
Jester
Cougar
Wolfman
Slider
Merlin
Hollywood
Stinger
And last and kind of least, Kelly McGillis as Charlotte a.k.a. Charlie)
Let’s bring back that loving feeling, baby!
Monday, December 8, 2008
Stripical Behavior
So Stacey and I are admittedly very white chicks. And true to the stereotype about our fellow lack-of-pigmenters, we can not dance for squat.
BUT! We ain’t no quitters. Instead of rolling over and settling for the one acceptable white person dance that God gave us (you know, the Carlton side-step, snap n‘ twist), we decided to oh-so wisely invest our precious mula in Carmen Electra’s Advanced Striptease DVD, oh yeah.
Obviously, during the first run through, we looked like a pair of baby giraffes learning to walk for the first time. But after…ohh...the twenty-third, twenty-fourth viewing, we had that suckah nailed, like the bona fide sex pistols that we clearly are.
So much so, in fact, that we decided that Ms. Electra could no longer hold a candle to our expert stripnotizing moves. So we shut that amateur shiznit off, grabbed some props, and took our routine to the next level.
Like any good, little, rising strip star, we looked to la crème de la crème for inspiration…aka Britney Spears, pre-nose dive into the deep end of the crazy pool - we must have watched the I’m a Slave for You video at least 43,857,437 times.
Totally worth it.
At the end of the day, we had choreographed our own full-length, professional quality, naughty librarian strip tease, chock-full of saucitude.
Time well spent, oh yeah.
BUT! We ain’t no quitters. Instead of rolling over and settling for the one acceptable white person dance that God gave us (you know, the Carlton side-step, snap n‘ twist), we decided to oh-so wisely invest our precious mula in Carmen Electra’s Advanced Striptease DVD, oh yeah.
Obviously, during the first run through, we looked like a pair of baby giraffes learning to walk for the first time. But after…ohh...the twenty-third, twenty-fourth viewing, we had that suckah nailed, like the bona fide sex pistols that we clearly are.
So much so, in fact, that we decided that Ms. Electra could no longer hold a candle to our expert stripnotizing moves. So we shut that amateur shiznit off, grabbed some props, and took our routine to the next level.
Like any good, little, rising strip star, we looked to la crème de la crème for inspiration…aka Britney Spears, pre-nose dive into the deep end of the crazy pool - we must have watched the I’m a Slave for You video at least 43,857,437 times.
Totally worth it.
At the end of the day, we had choreographed our own full-length, professional quality, naughty librarian strip tease, chock-full of saucitude.
Time well spent, oh yeah.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Thanksgiving Back East
I had the pleasure of going back east for a few days last week to spend some quality time with friends, family, and my monster puppy. I even got to see the dirty Jerz, Italian fam-clan, who never fail to put on a good show.
My grandma Lucy has always been a bit…uhh…how shall I say…mmm…eccentric.
She was in rare form this visit, however. But ya gotta admit, her ridiculous antics do make for some top-notch grandma theater.
It is a well established fact that my grandma carries the heavyweight champion of the world title when it comes to Debbie Downering.
Using her prowess for pessimism, my grandma could morph a pile of rainbows and teddy bears schmeared with baby laughter paste into a suicidal heap of arthritis, crumbling economies, and tumors.
Pretty much every story that she told concluded with one of the following three endings:
1. And then he died (classic grandma).
2. And then she grew a tumor.
Or my favorite…
3. And then he was trampled to death (this one was a new addition to the repertoire of gloom).
Grandma is always the life of parties.
Oh, I also made the mistake of mentioning to her that I had been sort of dating someone in San Diego.
Normally, I am a strict minimalist when it comes to all forms of relationshippy conversations with family members because awkwardness and discomfiture are always soon to follow.
But, an uncomfortable pause transpired in the conversation, somewhere after either John Smith was trampled or Jane Doe grew a tumor, when I had absolutely no idea how to respond, and quite frankly, couldn’t handle another ultra depressing story.
So yeah, in a fraught attempt to change the subject, I told grandma about the sailor boy, Marc, that I had been dating. I told her that he worked as an engineer on a battleship and that he did a lot of traveling with his job.
Without skipping a beat, grandma’s response to this information was, “He’s probably got a different girl in every port, you know…pass the lasagna.”
Good talk, grandma. I wish only the best for you too.
Moving on…
All in all, my trip back east was delightful. Although, also somewhat strange.
The first night I spent back in Walpole, I had the Garden State realization that the house that I grew up in wasn’t really my home anymore. It was just like in the pool scene when Andrew says to Sam…
“It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist…and you won’t ever have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself.”
Weird. Realizing this, made me feel sad - and kind of hollow. But at the same time, I recognized just how much I do like being on my own out in California - I’m so happy to be back.
Oh and p.s. I decided that I do indeed like that sailor boy. Probably not the best idea, however, considering he’s gone now, back to Maine until sometime in January…
Dum ti dum ti dum.
My grandma Lucy has always been a bit…uhh…how shall I say…mmm…eccentric.
She was in rare form this visit, however. But ya gotta admit, her ridiculous antics do make for some top-notch grandma theater.
It is a well established fact that my grandma carries the heavyweight champion of the world title when it comes to Debbie Downering.
Using her prowess for pessimism, my grandma could morph a pile of rainbows and teddy bears schmeared with baby laughter paste into a suicidal heap of arthritis, crumbling economies, and tumors.
Pretty much every story that she told concluded with one of the following three endings:
1. And then he died (classic grandma).
2. And then she grew a tumor.
Or my favorite…
3. And then he was trampled to death (this one was a new addition to the repertoire of gloom).
Grandma is always the life of parties.
Oh, I also made the mistake of mentioning to her that I had been sort of dating someone in San Diego.
Normally, I am a strict minimalist when it comes to all forms of relationshippy conversations with family members because awkwardness and discomfiture are always soon to follow.
But, an uncomfortable pause transpired in the conversation, somewhere after either John Smith was trampled or Jane Doe grew a tumor, when I had absolutely no idea how to respond, and quite frankly, couldn’t handle another ultra depressing story.
So yeah, in a fraught attempt to change the subject, I told grandma about the sailor boy, Marc, that I had been dating. I told her that he worked as an engineer on a battleship and that he did a lot of traveling with his job.
Without skipping a beat, grandma’s response to this information was, “He’s probably got a different girl in every port, you know…pass the lasagna.”
Good talk, grandma. I wish only the best for you too.
Moving on…
All in all, my trip back east was delightful. Although, also somewhat strange.
The first night I spent back in Walpole, I had the Garden State realization that the house that I grew up in wasn’t really my home anymore. It was just like in the pool scene when Andrew says to Sam…
“It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist…and you won’t ever have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself.”
Weird. Realizing this, made me feel sad - and kind of hollow. But at the same time, I recognized just how much I do like being on my own out in California - I’m so happy to be back.
Oh and p.s. I decided that I do indeed like that sailor boy. Probably not the best idea, however, considering he’s gone now, back to Maine until sometime in January…
Dum ti dum ti dum.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Grad School Ding-Dong-Ditch
Incoming! 411 bomb! This tid bit of knowledge is about two months overdue but whatever…
SO…I decided to pull the plug on the whole grad school snazzle dazzle business.
Jigga-whaaa?
Yep, it’s true. King me!
Frankly, I had been a grad school-flight risk since before I even moved to San Diego. But I never would have made the move if I hadn’t had a tangible reason for doing so. And I realllly wanted to come to California.
So, I kept paddling along in de Nile river, hoping I’d fall in love with social work.
Mmm not so much.
I only had class one day a week, which was outstanding. But after class every Wednesday, I would have a series of mini melt-downs, which got progressively worse with each passing week. These melt-downs were also super fun for my roommate to deal with, God bless her.
Withdrawing from SDSU was quite the snaggletooth situation. The school was being a little bitch about letting me out of their iron fisted grip. But dear old dad was ready to go all Johnny Cochrane on their asses and take ‘em down town Lester Brown.
It was nice to see pops play his white knight card for his darling daughter, but also slightly terrifying.
I started getting calls from the president of the university being like, “So…uhh…I spoke with your father today…(uncomfortable silence)…He seemed very…(wheels turning for words besides crazy, scarily hostile, hugely a-holeish)…concerned.”
So yes, like a proper gentleman sans a rubber, I pulled out before things really erupted.
Now I am a much happier camper. So pitch a tent for them apples.
SO…I decided to pull the plug on the whole grad school snazzle dazzle business.
Jigga-whaaa?
Yep, it’s true. King me!
Frankly, I had been a grad school-flight risk since before I even moved to San Diego. But I never would have made the move if I hadn’t had a tangible reason for doing so. And I realllly wanted to come to California.
So, I kept paddling along in de Nile river, hoping I’d fall in love with social work.
Mmm not so much.
I only had class one day a week, which was outstanding. But after class every Wednesday, I would have a series of mini melt-downs, which got progressively worse with each passing week. These melt-downs were also super fun for my roommate to deal with, God bless her.
Withdrawing from SDSU was quite the snaggletooth situation. The school was being a little bitch about letting me out of their iron fisted grip. But dear old dad was ready to go all Johnny Cochrane on their asses and take ‘em down town Lester Brown.
It was nice to see pops play his white knight card for his darling daughter, but also slightly terrifying.
I started getting calls from the president of the university being like, “So…uhh…I spoke with your father today…(uncomfortable silence)…He seemed very…(wheels turning for words besides crazy, scarily hostile, hugely a-holeish)…concerned.”
So yes, like a proper gentleman sans a rubber, I pulled out before things really erupted.
Now I am a much happier camper. So pitch a tent for them apples.
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