DUST BUNNIES BE GONE
Television is doing some serious sweeping right about now. The first week of the fall sweeps has been chock full of quality programming. Granted, I have stopped sampling the rather large crop of first-year shows and solidified my viewing schedule by watching shows I know I like, but those shows are currently operating at a very high level.
Saturday Night Live was actually funny this past week with Eric McCormack hosting and Jay-Z as the musical guest. The cold opening with Darrell Hammond as Rudy Guiliani taping his endorsements for the election had a brilliant punchline and set the tone for a particularly irreverant episode. A spoof of "The Bachelor" provided some solid laughs, and I cracked up at a fake commercial for ABC's Tuesday night lineup which features Bonnie Hunt, Jim Belushi, and John Ritter, dubbed "Last Chance Tuesdays." My favorite bit of the night was a skit with three couples playing Celebrity, a game which I've played several times recently with friends whereby everyone writes the names of celebrities and fictional characters down on slips of paper and puts them in a bowl. The couples then take turns giving and receiving, a la "$25,000 Pyramid" and unselfish foreplay, trying to get their partner to say the name of the celebrity. My Girl and I have played twice in the last month or so with the same group of people, but neither one of us had any idea that the game was known outside this little circle. The SNL skit acutely captured the nuances of people's behavior while playing the game, eventually amping up the unavoidable competitiveness for great comedic effect. Both of Jay-Z's performances were excellent, the first one a duet with Lenny Kravitz, the second one a duet with Beyonce Knowles with Lenny on guitar. I was only marginally familiar with Mr. Z's music and was thus highly impressed by the talented rapper. Eric McCormack did a good job, with his best work coming in a courtroom sketch in which he silently played a defendant who keeps interrupting the witness by sounding a bullhorn, pissing off the judge, who was played by Will Forte, an SNL newcomer who I know from my sitcom days.
Sunday night was a tremendous night of television. "The Sopranos" episode entitled "Mergers and Acquisitions" was an outstanding one after a subpar effort last week, appropriately titled "Watching Too Much Television." Carmela strikes back after finding a female fingernail in the house and correctly assuming that Tony is having an affair. Tony hesitates to commit to the affair beyond a one-night stand because he feels like the woman is tainted goods for having slept with Ralph. But the more Tony investigates whether or not the woman slept with Ralph (she claims she didn't), the more it becomes apparent that Ralphie is a hardcore sexual deviant. "Curb Your Enthusiasm" followed "The Sopranos" with its funniest episode of the season, called "Krazee-Eyez Killa". The title character refers to Wanda's professional rapper fiance, who Larry interacts with at a barbecue. In what may be the most hysterical exhange in the show's history, Krazee-Eyez Killa reads Larry some rap lyrics he wrote that morning and asks for Larry's opinion. Larry suggests Killa change a "motherfucker" to "bitch," and the unlikely pair forge a bond, with Killa asking Larry, "Are you my nigga?" Krazee-Eyez confides in Larry that he loves eating girls out and can't get enough, despite the fact that he's engaged, and makes Larry promise not to tell Wanda. In another storyline, Larry tries to replace a sports jacket he wore while filming an earlier scene in the Scorsese movie. Having no idea the jacket was a part of the movie wardrobe, Cheryl threw the jacket out, and now Larry needs it to wear while filming more scenes. In another outrageous scene, Larry goes down to Mitchell's on Melrose to acquire another jacket and miraculously finds an identical one. But, he pisses off the anal retentive store owner, who then refuses to sell him the jacket. Once again, Larry has a stroke of luck when he finds another identical jacket in Krazee-Eyez Killa's closet while taking a tour of his house. At the end of the hilarious scene, Killa gives him the jacket. Larry is so excited he asks Killa, "Are you my caucasian?" Wanda finds out that Killa is cheating on him, even though Larry told Cheryl and Cheryl did not repeat it to Wanda. Krazee-Eyez assumes Larry spilled the beans to Wanda and comes over to the house enraged. Larry tries to hide upstairs, but Killa hears him stepping on bubble wrap and calls him out. Larry insists he didn't say anything, but Krazee-Eyez Killa doesn't believe him and demands Larry give him the jacket back. Seemingly unfazed, Larry performs oral sex on Cheryl and gets a pubic hair stuck in his throat. Larry shows up on the set of the Scorsese movie without the jacket he needs to wear, but the wardrobe woman bails him out by having a backup. Martin Scorsese is left muttering "This guy's gonna kill me. How many more scenes we got with him?" In the middle of filming his scene in the movie, Larry again gags and chokes on the pubic hair.
Instead of recapping Tuesday night's episode of "24" in detail, I just want to comment that the pace continues to be relentless. Kiefer continues to carry the show on his back, but seems to have more help this season. Now that we've been to hell and back with Palmer and Kim on Day 1, there isn't as much of a lull when we leave Kiefer to check in on the secondary plot lines. Apparently, I'm not the only one who feels the show has improved.
Last night Democrats got their fictional revenge for Tuesday night's beating by electing Jed Bartlett to another four years as POTUS on "The West Wing".
I missed "American Dreams" on Sunday night, probably because I started to get bored with the show and my desire to watch it has waned. I still think it's a great premise, but the execution feels soft. However, it appears NBC has great confidence in the freshman show.
There's much more to life than TV though. That's why I badly need TiVO.
Birthday shout out to the most passionate and loyal TV viewer I know and a best friend since fourth grade, J-Yoz. Happy Birthday, Wizard of Yoz!
Thursday, November 07, 2002
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
TEMPORARY BLUES AND BLAHS
Nothing is wrong. I just feel blah, that’s all. Where is it written that I have to be upbeat and funny all the time? Nowhere, that’s where. I suppose I hold myself up to that ideal, because, really, it’s more fun for me. Once again, I am temping this week at a certain Hollywood studio with a knack for turning Little Creatures and Little People into pots of gold. I’m comfortable here, but there’s a limit to just how comfortable one can be as a temp. I can never really settle into one desk or department or assignment. Every day and every week has the potential to be one of transition. Consequently, the larger issues are weighing on me: Where is this going to lead? Is this helping my career? Do I have a career? How have I managed to work in this industry for almost eight years and not have a career? How am I going to work my way out of debt making ten bucks an hour? The smaller issues are nagging at me: I’ve got to get back to eating right. I’ve got to resume my running regimen. I’ve got to write every day. I’ve got to finish something. But, in actuality, nothing is wrong. I’m working pretty consistently. I’ve been having a lot of fun lately. I’m reading a great book. My relationship is going really well. My ideas are good. I just haven’t been as strict with my diet and exercise and I’m not writing as much as I’d like. I can turn that stuff around in a hurry. The other stuff, the big stuff, may take a little time to straighten out. Temping seems perfect for me right now, during this period of plotting. I can bounce around, try a bunch of different things, but not be tied to any one of them. Sure, I’m going to have to get a permanent job soon, there’s really no way around it. But, taking my time and methodically maneuvering into position will hopefully ensure that I’ll land in the perfect place.
Nothing is wrong. I just feel blah, that’s all. Where is it written that I have to be upbeat and funny all the time? Nowhere, that’s where. I suppose I hold myself up to that ideal, because, really, it’s more fun for me. Once again, I am temping this week at a certain Hollywood studio with a knack for turning Little Creatures and Little People into pots of gold. I’m comfortable here, but there’s a limit to just how comfortable one can be as a temp. I can never really settle into one desk or department or assignment. Every day and every week has the potential to be one of transition. Consequently, the larger issues are weighing on me: Where is this going to lead? Is this helping my career? Do I have a career? How have I managed to work in this industry for almost eight years and not have a career? How am I going to work my way out of debt making ten bucks an hour? The smaller issues are nagging at me: I’ve got to get back to eating right. I’ve got to resume my running regimen. I’ve got to write every day. I’ve got to finish something. But, in actuality, nothing is wrong. I’m working pretty consistently. I’ve been having a lot of fun lately. I’m reading a great book. My relationship is going really well. My ideas are good. I just haven’t been as strict with my diet and exercise and I’m not writing as much as I’d like. I can turn that stuff around in a hurry. The other stuff, the big stuff, may take a little time to straighten out. Temping seems perfect for me right now, during this period of plotting. I can bounce around, try a bunch of different things, but not be tied to any one of them. Sure, I’m going to have to get a permanent job soon, there’s really no way around it. But, taking my time and methodically maneuvering into position will hopefully ensure that I’ll land in the perfect place.
Monday, November 04, 2002
MY GIRL WANTS TO PARTY ALL THE TIME
Rattling around in my head today is the question: “What makes a party great?” As a social being, and with all the special occasions this year, I’ve often felt like a professional party attendee. I don’t blame these party-throwers one iota for inviting me, as I am a damn good guest. I’m pleasant, entertaining, and I can handle my liquor. But, my presence is only a small fraction of what it takes to make a fun fiesta transition into a barnstorming bash.
First things first, you need to set the proceedings into motion. That means, at the very least, you must provide the basics: namely alcohol, music, and people. Without these, your party doesn’t even have a chance to get off the ground. Now, to get the thing to spread its wings and soar, some other element must be introduced into the mix. This very slippery X-factor is not so easy to get a hold of.
THEME: If the gathering coincides with a holiday or a birthday, you’ve got yourself a theme, and that always helps. Halloween lends itself particularly well to creating a unique atmosphere, but nothing says you can’t have a costume party at any time during the year. If no holiday or event, like the Super Bowl, can be attached and you really want some sort of theme, you have to get creative. You can come up with a concept – 80s, Day-Glo, rave, nitrous tank, pajama, etc. – but, honestly, it’s not entirely necessary. Great parties don’t need to be theme parties.
ALCOHOL: You can never have too much.
MUSIC: A live band can lift a party to great heights if they get the revelers on their side, but it can also kill any chance for greatness by sucking up the joint and sucking the life out of the room. You run the same risk with a DJ, although you can always tell the person spinning to play something different, whereas you might not have that option with a band. If you’re planning a party on a budget, a few mixes can often do the trick, but they must be well conceived to sustain the energy level for several hours. The mixes can’t be too obscure, but they can’t lean on the standards either. I find the mix method to be more effective than simply throwing a bunch of CDs into the changer and letting things ride. Inevitably, after the initial batch of CDs gets played out, someone from the party thinks they know exactly what’s needed and takes over the stereo. Usually, they only know what music they’d like to hear and a power struggle over music control ensues. Then there’s always digital radio…
SNACKS: Not essential, but always welcome. Unless you're serving a five-course gourmet meal, keep it simple: Salt and Chocolate.
PEOPLE: The crowd at any shindig is a reflection of its hosts. Taking this into account, I suppose it’s only natural that you have to be a pretty magnetic person to attract an assortment of interesting individuals. Unfortunately, if you’re not such a person, you should probably hire someone who is to take the reins and plan your party. Very important: The logistics of the setting dictate how many people you can accommodate. So, whether you have a little tiny apartment or fantastic house with no available parking, you have to make sure you don’t invite too many people, otherwise you’ll find a big fat barrier blocking your bash from breaking on through to the other side.
The Halloween/Dia De Los Muertos Party I attended on Friday night at the home of Ken Layne and Laura Crane had all of the above in spades. There were costumes, oodles of booze, a campfire, Tarot card readings, a flying electronic bat, a huge bowl full of candy and mini-chocolate bars, live music performed by party guests, sing-alongs, and volumes of strange and interesting conversation. The hosts did an outstanding job of setting things into motion and the X-factor was present in a variety of forms. My Girl and I had to sneak out just before 5 am because we didn’t want to interrupt the circle of music, which didn’t seem to be losing any steam, to say goodbye. Nor did we get a chance to thank our gracious hosts, who stirred all these ingredients together to make a truly great party and a memorable night. So thanks Layne and Crane.
Rattling around in my head today is the question: “What makes a party great?” As a social being, and with all the special occasions this year, I’ve often felt like a professional party attendee. I don’t blame these party-throwers one iota for inviting me, as I am a damn good guest. I’m pleasant, entertaining, and I can handle my liquor. But, my presence is only a small fraction of what it takes to make a fun fiesta transition into a barnstorming bash.
First things first, you need to set the proceedings into motion. That means, at the very least, you must provide the basics: namely alcohol, music, and people. Without these, your party doesn’t even have a chance to get off the ground. Now, to get the thing to spread its wings and soar, some other element must be introduced into the mix. This very slippery X-factor is not so easy to get a hold of.
THEME: If the gathering coincides with a holiday or a birthday, you’ve got yourself a theme, and that always helps. Halloween lends itself particularly well to creating a unique atmosphere, but nothing says you can’t have a costume party at any time during the year. If no holiday or event, like the Super Bowl, can be attached and you really want some sort of theme, you have to get creative. You can come up with a concept – 80s, Day-Glo, rave, nitrous tank, pajama, etc. – but, honestly, it’s not entirely necessary. Great parties don’t need to be theme parties.
ALCOHOL: You can never have too much.
MUSIC: A live band can lift a party to great heights if they get the revelers on their side, but it can also kill any chance for greatness by sucking up the joint and sucking the life out of the room. You run the same risk with a DJ, although you can always tell the person spinning to play something different, whereas you might not have that option with a band. If you’re planning a party on a budget, a few mixes can often do the trick, but they must be well conceived to sustain the energy level for several hours. The mixes can’t be too obscure, but they can’t lean on the standards either. I find the mix method to be more effective than simply throwing a bunch of CDs into the changer and letting things ride. Inevitably, after the initial batch of CDs gets played out, someone from the party thinks they know exactly what’s needed and takes over the stereo. Usually, they only know what music they’d like to hear and a power struggle over music control ensues. Then there’s always digital radio…
SNACKS: Not essential, but always welcome. Unless you're serving a five-course gourmet meal, keep it simple: Salt and Chocolate.
PEOPLE: The crowd at any shindig is a reflection of its hosts. Taking this into account, I suppose it’s only natural that you have to be a pretty magnetic person to attract an assortment of interesting individuals. Unfortunately, if you’re not such a person, you should probably hire someone who is to take the reins and plan your party. Very important: The logistics of the setting dictate how many people you can accommodate. So, whether you have a little tiny apartment or fantastic house with no available parking, you have to make sure you don’t invite too many people, otherwise you’ll find a big fat barrier blocking your bash from breaking on through to the other side.
The Halloween/Dia De Los Muertos Party I attended on Friday night at the home of Ken Layne and Laura Crane had all of the above in spades. There were costumes, oodles of booze, a campfire, Tarot card readings, a flying electronic bat, a huge bowl full of candy and mini-chocolate bars, live music performed by party guests, sing-alongs, and volumes of strange and interesting conversation. The hosts did an outstanding job of setting things into motion and the X-factor was present in a variety of forms. My Girl and I had to sneak out just before 5 am because we didn’t want to interrupt the circle of music, which didn’t seem to be losing any steam, to say goodbye. Nor did we get a chance to thank our gracious hosts, who stirred all these ingredients together to make a truly great party and a memorable night. So thanks Layne and Crane.
Friday, November 01, 2002
SEAT FILLER EXTRAORDINAIRE
For the first time in a week I'm back at work, temping at New Line Cinema. This time I'm at a satellite location in the production finance department and there isn't much for me to do. It's extremely quiet here. Basically, I'm just a warm body occupying this desk in case the phone rings, which it has only three times so far today. My cell phone just rang for the third time since I've been here, equaling the total number of calls coming into this office. And answering the phone those few times has been the extent of my duties. Luckily, I ran into a friendly face, one whose house I've been to many times for little dinner parties. At lunchtime, we walked down Santa Monica Boulevard to Baja Buds, which I haven't had in a long time, and I got myself a delicious Quesadilla Grande. After being called in at the last minute this morning, I arrived here and realized by looking at the pictures on the cubicle walls that I know the woman I'm filling in for. So, although I'm in foreign territory, I'm never far from friends in the New Line Universe.
I've passed most of the time today reading news stories about Israeli politics and Jam Master Jay. I've also been doing the blog rounds, spending most of my time reading Tony Pierce, who posts more actually writing per day than any blogger I've found so far. He seems to love blogging more than anyone else, myself included. And I'm talking about the kind of blogging where the person actually writes stuff, not just comments on stuff other people have written and links to it. I have no idea what's going on with Ken Layne, as all the text seems to have disappeared from his blog. And let's face it, the text is the best part. His lovely wife seems to have abandoned her home in cyberspace as well. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to catch up with them this evening at their post-Halloween Day of the Dead party.
For the first time in a week I'm back at work, temping at New Line Cinema. This time I'm at a satellite location in the production finance department and there isn't much for me to do. It's extremely quiet here. Basically, I'm just a warm body occupying this desk in case the phone rings, which it has only three times so far today. My cell phone just rang for the third time since I've been here, equaling the total number of calls coming into this office. And answering the phone those few times has been the extent of my duties. Luckily, I ran into a friendly face, one whose house I've been to many times for little dinner parties. At lunchtime, we walked down Santa Monica Boulevard to Baja Buds, which I haven't had in a long time, and I got myself a delicious Quesadilla Grande. After being called in at the last minute this morning, I arrived here and realized by looking at the pictures on the cubicle walls that I know the woman I'm filling in for. So, although I'm in foreign territory, I'm never far from friends in the New Line Universe.
I've passed most of the time today reading news stories about Israeli politics and Jam Master Jay. I've also been doing the blog rounds, spending most of my time reading Tony Pierce, who posts more actually writing per day than any blogger I've found so far. He seems to love blogging more than anyone else, myself included. And I'm talking about the kind of blogging where the person actually writes stuff, not just comments on stuff other people have written and links to it. I have no idea what's going on with Ken Layne, as all the text seems to have disappeared from his blog. And let's face it, the text is the best part. His lovely wife seems to have abandoned her home in cyberspace as well. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to catch up with them this evening at their post-Halloween Day of the Dead party.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
SWEPT AWAY
As viciously as critics and movie audiences rejected Madonna and hubby Guy Ritchie's new film "Swept Away", those big bad networks have begun slashing struggling shows from their schedules as November sweeps approaches. Heavy-handed TV hitmaker David E. Kelley's new show "girls club" got the ax yesterday by Fox. Today, CBS killed off their Sunday night sitcom "Bram and Alice". Neither show was given much of a chance to find an audience, as "girls club" aired twice and "Bram and Alice" ran only four episodes. The cancellation of "Bram and Alice" is more painful on a personal level because a friend of mine got his first staff writing gig on that show and he and his wife just had their first child. I hope the wicked television tide turns in his favor and he surfaces on another show soon.
As far as good television goes, on Tuesday I watched the season two premiere of "24" and an outstanding episode of "The West Wing" last night. The premise for the new season-long day of "24" involving the threat of a rogue terrorist group setting off a nuclear weapon in Los Angeles is instantly riveting. The show has added a couple of new characters and the ensemble acting seems better already now that Jack Bauer's wife has been killed off. I had mixed feelings about watching the special season premiere episode presented without commercial interruption. On one hand, I love good television without commercials because it makes it feel more like a movie, (see The Sopranos and Six Feet Under) and I could easily see enjoying this show even more on a premium cable station. On the other hand, I like the breather that commercials give you while watching such an intense program, and "24" has that great gimmick of the ticking clock counting down the last few seconds to a commercial break.
Boo! Happy Halloween.
As viciously as critics and movie audiences rejected Madonna and hubby Guy Ritchie's new film "Swept Away", those big bad networks have begun slashing struggling shows from their schedules as November sweeps approaches. Heavy-handed TV hitmaker David E. Kelley's new show "girls club" got the ax yesterday by Fox. Today, CBS killed off their Sunday night sitcom "Bram and Alice". Neither show was given much of a chance to find an audience, as "girls club" aired twice and "Bram and Alice" ran only four episodes. The cancellation of "Bram and Alice" is more painful on a personal level because a friend of mine got his first staff writing gig on that show and he and his wife just had their first child. I hope the wicked television tide turns in his favor and he surfaces on another show soon.
As far as good television goes, on Tuesday I watched the season two premiere of "24" and an outstanding episode of "The West Wing" last night. The premise for the new season-long day of "24" involving the threat of a rogue terrorist group setting off a nuclear weapon in Los Angeles is instantly riveting. The show has added a couple of new characters and the ensemble acting seems better already now that Jack Bauer's wife has been killed off. I had mixed feelings about watching the special season premiere episode presented without commercial interruption. On one hand, I love good television without commercials because it makes it feel more like a movie, (see The Sopranos and Six Feet Under) and I could easily see enjoying this show even more on a premium cable station. On the other hand, I like the breather that commercials give you while watching such an intense program, and "24" has that great gimmick of the ticking clock counting down the last few seconds to a commercial break.
Boo! Happy Halloween.
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
SMOOTH 70s GROOVES, SUGARED CEREAL, & THE SPACE NEEDLE
Finally, I had a chance to break out those dancing shoes my horoscope promised several weeks ago I would get to use. My Girl and I flew up to Seattle for yet another wedding weekend. Mercifully, this is the last scheduled wedding I will attend this year. I was invited to seven, went to five, and feel guilty about the two I missed, which were held in Oklahoma City and Cancun.
This one was another wacky affair, 70s-themed with a relatively silly ceremony and karaoke during the party. Each table was named after a different cereal and was represented by the corresponding bobble-head doll. Although I was seated at Cap’n Crunch, I staged a major coup by walking away with Count Chocula. The ceremony was brief and performed by a friend of the couple who they paid to take an online certification course to become an ordained minister of the universal consciousness, or something like that. At the beginning of the ceremony, the groom’s group of close college friends, ironically nicknamed The Stupids being that they’re all smart and attractive and eloquent and successful, stood up to say a few words. Their charismatic leader announced they would be reciting a hymn and the audience was asked to participate by joining in on the refrain “Skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight.” Each member of The Stupids read a verse, which consisted of the lyrics to a song from the 70s, and the tone for the wedding was set. The ordained friend shared a few humorous anecdotes about the couple, and then, like the wedding the week before, the bride and groom exchanged romantic vows they had written, then the rings, and within minutes they were married. The majority of the cocktail hour was spent seeking out the hors d’oeuvres trays and commenting on the ridiculous outfits, one of which I was wearing. Having realized I forgot my tuxedo as we were waiting to board our flight out of Los Angeles, My Girl and I had to scramble around Seattle’s vintage shops the day of the wedding to find something for me to wear. I settled on a tight silky shirt with a wide collar showcasing my chest hair. The detailed print features a scene from the shores of Venice, Italy. I found some polyester paints that blended nicely and we high-tailed it back to our lovely and quaint room at the Marqueen Hotel in the historic Queen Anne district of Seattle. We were a little late to the wedding, as the groom had told us it started at 6:30 when it was actually called for 6:00, but luckily when we got there, everyone was mingling and the ceremony hadn’t started yet. My outfit/costume was easily outdone by some of The Stupids. One wore a baby blue tuxedo with an orange ruffled shirt and had let his hair grow out for eight months so he could go with the afro for the outrageous occasion. A few of The Stupids grew mustaches and I even saw one person with a fake mustache. And, of course, many of The Stupids sang songs during the karaoke portion of the party, and they sang them well. Seemingly, The Stupids do everything well, unlike your favorite Piker, who chose "Luck Be a Lady" to showcase his lack of musical talent. Let me just say that the arrangement wasn't the Sinatra arrangement I was used to and threw me off my game immediately. After a verse and a half, the groom stood up and came towards me and mercifully cut the song short. In that moment, I identified with all of those losers who were gonged before they completed their act on The Gong Show. But, the groom gave me a chance to redeem myself with another song and I very appropriately chose "That's Life." Thank the karaoke lord that this arrangement was indeed the Sinatra one I was used to because I belted that thing out, not particularly well, mind you, but with enough gusto to get the wedding party audience back on my side using the subtext of having sucked up the joint on my first attempt to give the performance a dimension it would not have had otherwise. Kudos also go to My Girl, who volunteered for the always difficult task of singing the very first song, choosing Blondie's "The Tide is High," which is a fun song, but not a singer's song, and My Girl has a great voice that she didn't really get to use. But we did get to use those dancing shoes, as the band had us grooving to one soulful seventies tune after another, and the bar consistently fueled our buzzes to the bitter end while never getting us wasted. This allowed us the privelege of being among the faithful few left at the end to usher the blushing bride and glowing groom out the door and into the crisp Seattle night to begin their life together as a married couple.
Finally, I had a chance to break out those dancing shoes my horoscope promised several weeks ago I would get to use. My Girl and I flew up to Seattle for yet another wedding weekend. Mercifully, this is the last scheduled wedding I will attend this year. I was invited to seven, went to five, and feel guilty about the two I missed, which were held in Oklahoma City and Cancun.
This one was another wacky affair, 70s-themed with a relatively silly ceremony and karaoke during the party. Each table was named after a different cereal and was represented by the corresponding bobble-head doll. Although I was seated at Cap’n Crunch, I staged a major coup by walking away with Count Chocula. The ceremony was brief and performed by a friend of the couple who they paid to take an online certification course to become an ordained minister of the universal consciousness, or something like that. At the beginning of the ceremony, the groom’s group of close college friends, ironically nicknamed The Stupids being that they’re all smart and attractive and eloquent and successful, stood up to say a few words. Their charismatic leader announced they would be reciting a hymn and the audience was asked to participate by joining in on the refrain “Skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight.” Each member of The Stupids read a verse, which consisted of the lyrics to a song from the 70s, and the tone for the wedding was set. The ordained friend shared a few humorous anecdotes about the couple, and then, like the wedding the week before, the bride and groom exchanged romantic vows they had written, then the rings, and within minutes they were married. The majority of the cocktail hour was spent seeking out the hors d’oeuvres trays and commenting on the ridiculous outfits, one of which I was wearing. Having realized I forgot my tuxedo as we were waiting to board our flight out of Los Angeles, My Girl and I had to scramble around Seattle’s vintage shops the day of the wedding to find something for me to wear. I settled on a tight silky shirt with a wide collar showcasing my chest hair. The detailed print features a scene from the shores of Venice, Italy. I found some polyester paints that blended nicely and we high-tailed it back to our lovely and quaint room at the Marqueen Hotel in the historic Queen Anne district of Seattle. We were a little late to the wedding, as the groom had told us it started at 6:30 when it was actually called for 6:00, but luckily when we got there, everyone was mingling and the ceremony hadn’t started yet. My outfit/costume was easily outdone by some of The Stupids. One wore a baby blue tuxedo with an orange ruffled shirt and had let his hair grow out for eight months so he could go with the afro for the outrageous occasion. A few of The Stupids grew mustaches and I even saw one person with a fake mustache. And, of course, many of The Stupids sang songs during the karaoke portion of the party, and they sang them well. Seemingly, The Stupids do everything well, unlike your favorite Piker, who chose "Luck Be a Lady" to showcase his lack of musical talent. Let me just say that the arrangement wasn't the Sinatra arrangement I was used to and threw me off my game immediately. After a verse and a half, the groom stood up and came towards me and mercifully cut the song short. In that moment, I identified with all of those losers who were gonged before they completed their act on The Gong Show. But, the groom gave me a chance to redeem myself with another song and I very appropriately chose "That's Life." Thank the karaoke lord that this arrangement was indeed the Sinatra one I was used to because I belted that thing out, not particularly well, mind you, but with enough gusto to get the wedding party audience back on my side using the subtext of having sucked up the joint on my first attempt to give the performance a dimension it would not have had otherwise. Kudos also go to My Girl, who volunteered for the always difficult task of singing the very first song, choosing Blondie's "The Tide is High," which is a fun song, but not a singer's song, and My Girl has a great voice that she didn't really get to use. But we did get to use those dancing shoes, as the band had us grooving to one soulful seventies tune after another, and the bar consistently fueled our buzzes to the bitter end while never getting us wasted. This allowed us the privelege of being among the faithful few left at the end to usher the blushing bride and glowing groom out the door and into the crisp Seattle night to begin their life together as a married couple.
SELFISH: THE BLOG POST
Here's a little something I wrote on the plane Monday night flying back to LA from Seattle:
At the moment I'm at a cruising altitude of 37,000 feet on Southwest Airlines. This airline brings out the worst in people. But, in all honesty, it doesn't take much to accomplish that. Most people have no regard for other human beings. It's evidenced by the way the drive, the way they obliviously push their shopping carts around the supermarket with no concept of their bodies in space, and on Southwest Airlines, by the ruthless way they shove themselves into position to board the plane. Southwest does not assign seats. They divide passengers up into A, B, and C groups and board them in that order. First on, first choice of seats. I suppose the premise is designed to save time and hassle, but the reality is that it pits people against one another. This policy is a spiritually bankrupt one. Here in the supposed New Age, the idea, theoretically, is to learn to coexist peacefully and help each other out in order to come together as a people. But, there aren't too many folks who buy into that philosophy, certainly not the majority of those who fly Southwest Airlines. Here at Southwest you will find the ugliest American attitude of "I'll get mine... no matter how many people I have to step on" permanently on display. The Golden Rule is very simple: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." I wish the person kicking My Girl's seat would think about those words for just a moment. How would they like it if the person behind them were doing the same thing to their seat? I'd also like the person next to me to be fair and let me have the armrest for a little while. Does he not know that there is one armrest for us to share? Of course he knows, but he doesn't care. He got there first and he's not budging. That's the Southwest Airlines way. People at their worst.
Here's a little something I wrote on the plane Monday night flying back to LA from Seattle:
At the moment I'm at a cruising altitude of 37,000 feet on Southwest Airlines. This airline brings out the worst in people. But, in all honesty, it doesn't take much to accomplish that. Most people have no regard for other human beings. It's evidenced by the way the drive, the way they obliviously push their shopping carts around the supermarket with no concept of their bodies in space, and on Southwest Airlines, by the ruthless way they shove themselves into position to board the plane. Southwest does not assign seats. They divide passengers up into A, B, and C groups and board them in that order. First on, first choice of seats. I suppose the premise is designed to save time and hassle, but the reality is that it pits people against one another. This policy is a spiritually bankrupt one. Here in the supposed New Age, the idea, theoretically, is to learn to coexist peacefully and help each other out in order to come together as a people. But, there aren't too many folks who buy into that philosophy, certainly not the majority of those who fly Southwest Airlines. Here at Southwest you will find the ugliest American attitude of "I'll get mine... no matter how many people I have to step on" permanently on display. The Golden Rule is very simple: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." I wish the person kicking My Girl's seat would think about those words for just a moment. How would they like it if the person behind them were doing the same thing to their seat? I'd also like the person next to me to be fair and let me have the armrest for a little while. Does he not know that there is one armrest for us to share? Of course he knows, but he doesn't care. He got there first and he's not budging. That's the Southwest Airlines way. People at their worst.
Thursday, October 24, 2002
THEY CALL ME MR. PIKER
Last week I watched “In the Heat of the Night” for the first time. Great movie. And, although some may say it’s outdated, the movie is very representative of its time. Smack dab in the middle of the civil rights movement, here’s this story of a racist southern sheriff who needs the help of a Black homicide detective from Philadelphia to solve a murder case. The role of Bill Gillespie, Sparta Chief of Police, won Rod Steiger an Oscar for Best Actor, but it’s easy to argue that Sidney Poitier was just as good, if not better as Detective Virgil Tibbs. By now, even those who haven’t seen the movie are probably familiar with the movie’s most famous line, “They call me Mr. Tibbs.” Not only is the movie a first-rate murder mystery with outstanding acting, writing, and directing, but is culturally significant as an allegory for Whites and Blacks learning to live and work together, as well as respect each other. By the film’s end, Steiger’s bully of a police chief grows to kind of like Mr. Tibbs and I believe admire him for his skill and intelligence as a police officer. “In the Heat of the Night” very deservingly won the Academy Award for Best Picture for 1967 by vividly capturing a very specific time and place in our country’s evolution. It’s a highly enjoyable film and an extremely important one. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it sooner.
Last week I watched “In the Heat of the Night” for the first time. Great movie. And, although some may say it’s outdated, the movie is very representative of its time. Smack dab in the middle of the civil rights movement, here’s this story of a racist southern sheriff who needs the help of a Black homicide detective from Philadelphia to solve a murder case. The role of Bill Gillespie, Sparta Chief of Police, won Rod Steiger an Oscar for Best Actor, but it’s easy to argue that Sidney Poitier was just as good, if not better as Detective Virgil Tibbs. By now, even those who haven’t seen the movie are probably familiar with the movie’s most famous line, “They call me Mr. Tibbs.” Not only is the movie a first-rate murder mystery with outstanding acting, writing, and directing, but is culturally significant as an allegory for Whites and Blacks learning to live and work together, as well as respect each other. By the film’s end, Steiger’s bully of a police chief grows to kind of like Mr. Tibbs and I believe admire him for his skill and intelligence as a police officer. “In the Heat of the Night” very deservingly won the Academy Award for Best Picture for 1967 by vividly capturing a very specific time and place in our country’s evolution. It’s a highly enjoyable film and an extremely important one. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it sooner.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
PURE IMAGINATION, PURE CHOCOLATE, PURE LOVE
How strange that my horoscope on Friday instructed me to put on my dancing shoes. At the time, I felt like it was right on the nose, being that I had a wedding the next day and all. But, as it turned out, there was no dancing. Sure, I twirled My Girl around the lawn a few times just for kicks, but it wasn’t sanctioned dancing. There was, in fact, no dance floor. A band played for the first couple of hours of the lavish affair, but they were packed up and gone before the party really got going. Make no mistake about it, this was a fantastic wedding, it just didn’t include dancing, which my horoscope had specifically prepared me for.
The ceremony began with a comedy sketch performed by a group of friends who happen to be an irreverent up-and-coming comedy troupe known as The Ministry of Unknown Science and their interns, on a balcony off the sprawling Italian Villa in Sierra Madre, high above the grounds and the assembled. On the heels of laughter, the eclectically dressed and numerous wedding party (about ten on each side including My Girl on the bride’s side and Me on the groom’s side) made their way down the elaborate stone steps and settled on the stage overlooking the vast lawn filled with over two hundred guests. The bride and groom chose one of their very good friends to officiate the wedding, and he made his grand entrance to “Pure Imagination”, in character as Willy Wonka. He wore a custom-made purple velvet coat, brown top hat, crazy vest and bow tie, and strutted down the stairs using the signature Wonka cane as a prop. The bride and groom began their descent together from the top of the stairs, split up at the landing, then reconvened at their rightful places in the middle of the stage. Led by Willy Wonka, the ceremony struck the perfect balance of comedy and heartfelt emotion. The Ministry added another bit, with their interns passing out onions to the crowd to generate more tears, before the bride and groom read the vows that they had written to each other. The bride set the bar high with her piece, as she eloquently and beautifully related that in the groom she had found her Fonzie, sweetly tearing up at the end of her reading. The groom intoned “What’s the point?” before saying his peace. He said he left the ending blank hoping that inspiration would strike at the precise moment he needed it, but there were no magic words, he was just happy that he found someone who made him a better person. Willy Wonka instructed them to repeat some words after him, they exchanged rings, Wonka pronounced them husband and wife, they kissed, and then lip synced “I Found Love” as the wedding party backed them with a doo-wop shuffle. The audience cheered, blew bubbles, and shook their gigglehammers as the newlyweds began the recessional back up the stairs. The wedding party followed and the ceremony was complete.
Not only was there no dancing at the reception, but there were no assigned tables and no formal dinner, which made for a free-flowing mingling get-to-know-everyone affair. There were food stations around the grounds, including a table with a cheese fondue which seemed to contain some sort of addictive substance, seeing as the same group of people congregated in the area and refused to leave. Others would fill up their plates, go back to where they were, and inevitably return to the cheese. One station offered several varieties of soup, while another featured finger sandwiches of delicious roast beef. Then there was the dessert table of chocolate and caramel fondue, and a wedding cake made up of layers of scrumptious cupcakes. The only structured portion of the reception was a series of toasts and performances. One couple sang a song from “The Jerk”, the bridesmaids listed the top ten reasons why David should marry Apryl, and the best man channeled the groom’s deceased father in the first half of his toast and brought the house down with the second half. The Ministers did one final sketch as they made their collective toast, picking on one of their members who delivered a weak speech by detailing how much everyone else was willing to do for the married couple. Judging by the amount of effort and coordination put forth by so many in executing this grand wedding, it was obvious the people close to this couple would go to the ends of the earth for them.
How strange that my horoscope on Friday instructed me to put on my dancing shoes. At the time, I felt like it was right on the nose, being that I had a wedding the next day and all. But, as it turned out, there was no dancing. Sure, I twirled My Girl around the lawn a few times just for kicks, but it wasn’t sanctioned dancing. There was, in fact, no dance floor. A band played for the first couple of hours of the lavish affair, but they were packed up and gone before the party really got going. Make no mistake about it, this was a fantastic wedding, it just didn’t include dancing, which my horoscope had specifically prepared me for.
The ceremony began with a comedy sketch performed by a group of friends who happen to be an irreverent up-and-coming comedy troupe known as The Ministry of Unknown Science and their interns, on a balcony off the sprawling Italian Villa in Sierra Madre, high above the grounds and the assembled. On the heels of laughter, the eclectically dressed and numerous wedding party (about ten on each side including My Girl on the bride’s side and Me on the groom’s side) made their way down the elaborate stone steps and settled on the stage overlooking the vast lawn filled with over two hundred guests. The bride and groom chose one of their very good friends to officiate the wedding, and he made his grand entrance to “Pure Imagination”, in character as Willy Wonka. He wore a custom-made purple velvet coat, brown top hat, crazy vest and bow tie, and strutted down the stairs using the signature Wonka cane as a prop. The bride and groom began their descent together from the top of the stairs, split up at the landing, then reconvened at their rightful places in the middle of the stage. Led by Willy Wonka, the ceremony struck the perfect balance of comedy and heartfelt emotion. The Ministry added another bit, with their interns passing out onions to the crowd to generate more tears, before the bride and groom read the vows that they had written to each other. The bride set the bar high with her piece, as she eloquently and beautifully related that in the groom she had found her Fonzie, sweetly tearing up at the end of her reading. The groom intoned “What’s the point?” before saying his peace. He said he left the ending blank hoping that inspiration would strike at the precise moment he needed it, but there were no magic words, he was just happy that he found someone who made him a better person. Willy Wonka instructed them to repeat some words after him, they exchanged rings, Wonka pronounced them husband and wife, they kissed, and then lip synced “I Found Love” as the wedding party backed them with a doo-wop shuffle. The audience cheered, blew bubbles, and shook their gigglehammers as the newlyweds began the recessional back up the stairs. The wedding party followed and the ceremony was complete.
Not only was there no dancing at the reception, but there were no assigned tables and no formal dinner, which made for a free-flowing mingling get-to-know-everyone affair. There were food stations around the grounds, including a table with a cheese fondue which seemed to contain some sort of addictive substance, seeing as the same group of people congregated in the area and refused to leave. Others would fill up their plates, go back to where they were, and inevitably return to the cheese. One station offered several varieties of soup, while another featured finger sandwiches of delicious roast beef. Then there was the dessert table of chocolate and caramel fondue, and a wedding cake made up of layers of scrumptious cupcakes. The only structured portion of the reception was a series of toasts and performances. One couple sang a song from “The Jerk”, the bridesmaids listed the top ten reasons why David should marry Apryl, and the best man channeled the groom’s deceased father in the first half of his toast and brought the house down with the second half. The Ministers did one final sketch as they made their collective toast, picking on one of their members who delivered a weak speech by detailing how much everyone else was willing to do for the married couple. Judging by the amount of effort and coordination put forth by so many in executing this grand wedding, it was obvious the people close to this couple would go to the ends of the earth for them.
Monday, October 21, 2002
IF IT AIN'T BROKE DON'T FIX IT, EVEN IF IT ROYALLY SUCKS
Not surprisingly, there will indeed be a Season 2 of summer's smash hit "American Idol." Apparently, nobody involved with the production thought that it needed to be improved much. All three "American Idol" judges will return to the show. A fourth judge will be added. Frankly, I think three was the right number of judges, but two of the seats were filled by the wrong people. Paula Abdul is too emotional and too nice to judge anything and while she's pretty and all, she's not... how do I say this... smart. Randy Jackson, while serving to balance the judges demographically, is not eloquent or entertaining enough to be on television. Both of them should have been replaced for the next go-round of "Idol." As for the show's bumbling co-hosts, Ryan Seacrest is set to return, but in a shocking announcement, Brian Dunkleman has said he will not be back. My guess is the producers were going to can his candy ass, but gave Dunk the chance to save face by sending out a press release making it seem as though it was his decision. Of course, it'll be hard for him to save face now, being that we've already seen his ugly mug on camera and we're well aware of how painfully unfunny he is. I just can't shake this feeling that this guy is going to continue to get work in showbiz. Look no further than Keanu Reeves for proof that it can be done. Honestly, I don't even know why I care about this crap. The show got worse and worse as it went on and I hated more and more each week. As I was watching a number from the "American Idol" Reunion Performance, I vowed never to watch anything associated with the show again. But, it still catches my attention when I'm scanning headlines. And, when Tamyra Gray's album comes out, I'll probably buy it. P.T. Barnum would have his way with me.
Not surprisingly, there will indeed be a Season 2 of summer's smash hit "American Idol." Apparently, nobody involved with the production thought that it needed to be improved much. All three "American Idol" judges will return to the show. A fourth judge will be added. Frankly, I think three was the right number of judges, but two of the seats were filled by the wrong people. Paula Abdul is too emotional and too nice to judge anything and while she's pretty and all, she's not... how do I say this... smart. Randy Jackson, while serving to balance the judges demographically, is not eloquent or entertaining enough to be on television. Both of them should have been replaced for the next go-round of "Idol." As for the show's bumbling co-hosts, Ryan Seacrest is set to return, but in a shocking announcement, Brian Dunkleman has said he will not be back. My guess is the producers were going to can his candy ass, but gave Dunk the chance to save face by sending out a press release making it seem as though it was his decision. Of course, it'll be hard for him to save face now, being that we've already seen his ugly mug on camera and we're well aware of how painfully unfunny he is. I just can't shake this feeling that this guy is going to continue to get work in showbiz. Look no further than Keanu Reeves for proof that it can be done. Honestly, I don't even know why I care about this crap. The show got worse and worse as it went on and I hated more and more each week. As I was watching a number from the "American Idol" Reunion Performance, I vowed never to watch anything associated with the show again. But, it still catches my attention when I'm scanning headlines. And, when Tamyra Gray's album comes out, I'll probably buy it. P.T. Barnum would have his way with me.
Friday, October 18, 2002
WE'LL DO THE TWIST, THE STOMP, THE MASHED POTATO TOO
Now I'm not sure if this is some sort of cosmic coincidence or not, but tonight marks the beginning of another two-weekends-in-a-row wedding run for My Girl and I. The festivities kick into high gear this evening, as The Spludsterns, the very close friends who My Girl and I met through, hold a rehearsal for their entertainment-filled wedding and a fiesta in their fantastic gigantic hotel suite. The wedding takes place tomorrow afternoon and I'm sure it'll run late into the evening and will be full of surprises and all sorts of weirdness. The mod design-obsessed couple sent out highly-stylized invitations in the form of a 45 record jacket and disc, easily the most creative wedding invitations I've ever seen. They are calling for a dress code described as "vintage cocktail attire," and while I don't remember the exact defintion they gave, I know it included the likes of Audrey Hepburn, Elvis (both thin and fat), Twiggy, and the Rat Pack. Even at this late hour, I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to wear. I suppose I'll use my existing tuxedo as a base and try to funkify it a bit. I promise juicy and colorful details of the event next week. Mazel Tov to the happy couple!
Big shout out to Young Goodman Brown, Piker's most loyal reader. He checks the stats more often than I do.
Gemini Horoscope for Fri Oct. 18, 2002 by Astrocenter.com:
It is time to put your dancing shoes on, dear Gemini, because the next few weeks are going to be filled with a great deal of social activity that you won't want to miss. Today is the start of a planetary transit in which you will experience a greater boost of energy in the department of love and romance. Connect with others for events and gatherings that make you feel alive and young.
Now I'm not sure if this is some sort of cosmic coincidence or not, but tonight marks the beginning of another two-weekends-in-a-row wedding run for My Girl and I. The festivities kick into high gear this evening, as The Spludsterns, the very close friends who My Girl and I met through, hold a rehearsal for their entertainment-filled wedding and a fiesta in their fantastic gigantic hotel suite. The wedding takes place tomorrow afternoon and I'm sure it'll run late into the evening and will be full of surprises and all sorts of weirdness. The mod design-obsessed couple sent out highly-stylized invitations in the form of a 45 record jacket and disc, easily the most creative wedding invitations I've ever seen. They are calling for a dress code described as "vintage cocktail attire," and while I don't remember the exact defintion they gave, I know it included the likes of Audrey Hepburn, Elvis (both thin and fat), Twiggy, and the Rat Pack. Even at this late hour, I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to wear. I suppose I'll use my existing tuxedo as a base and try to funkify it a bit. I promise juicy and colorful details of the event next week. Mazel Tov to the happy couple!
Big shout out to Young Goodman Brown, Piker's most loyal reader. He checks the stats more often than I do.
Thursday, October 17, 2002
PREP SCHOOL PAGETURNERS
I finished reading "A Separate Peace" by John Knowles yesterday at work. It was strange, usually the phone rings nonstop in that office, but for the majority of the late afternoon, after I began reading, it was quiet. The phone rang maybe four or five times and I was able to cover the last seventy pages. Maybe the universe was conspiring to give me a moment's peace to finish "A Separate Peace." Somehow, the novel eluded me throughout middle school and high school. Honestly, I never even heard of it until this summer when My Girl and My Mom were talking about while I was rereading "The Catcher in the Rye," which was one of the few books I actually read when I was in school.
I don't think I can say unequivocably that "A Separate Peace" is a better novel than J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye", but I submit that I enjoyed reading "A Separate Peace" a whole lot more. I didn't identify with Holden Caulfield's alienation nearly as much as I felt a kinship with Gene Forrester's bout with insecurity and desire to live in a bubble. When I think back on "Catcher", I get a wintery kind of feeling of cold and isolation. On the contrary, remembering "Peace" brings up summery thoughts of warmth and comraderie. Salinger's novel is dark in tone, with Holden rejecting nearly everyone he comes in contact with by labeling them phonies, and a jolting reveal at the end that Holden has been narrating his experiences from a sanitorium. Knowles' story has dark undercurrents, such as war both external and internal, and heavy themes, like fear, jealousy, hatred, and insecurity, but is essentially an exercise in nostalgia. Obviously, I dig nostalgia. Otherwise I wouldn't be reading two classic novels set at prep schools that are routinely assigned by grade school English teachers.
I finished reading "A Separate Peace" by John Knowles yesterday at work. It was strange, usually the phone rings nonstop in that office, but for the majority of the late afternoon, after I began reading, it was quiet. The phone rang maybe four or five times and I was able to cover the last seventy pages. Maybe the universe was conspiring to give me a moment's peace to finish "A Separate Peace." Somehow, the novel eluded me throughout middle school and high school. Honestly, I never even heard of it until this summer when My Girl and My Mom were talking about while I was rereading "The Catcher in the Rye," which was one of the few books I actually read when I was in school.
I don't think I can say unequivocably that "A Separate Peace" is a better novel than J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye", but I submit that I enjoyed reading "A Separate Peace" a whole lot more. I didn't identify with Holden Caulfield's alienation nearly as much as I felt a kinship with Gene Forrester's bout with insecurity and desire to live in a bubble. When I think back on "Catcher", I get a wintery kind of feeling of cold and isolation. On the contrary, remembering "Peace" brings up summery thoughts of warmth and comraderie. Salinger's novel is dark in tone, with Holden rejecting nearly everyone he comes in contact with by labeling them phonies, and a jolting reveal at the end that Holden has been narrating his experiences from a sanitorium. Knowles' story has dark undercurrents, such as war both external and internal, and heavy themes, like fear, jealousy, hatred, and insecurity, but is essentially an exercise in nostalgia. Obviously, I dig nostalgia. Otherwise I wouldn't be reading two classic novels set at prep schools that are routinely assigned by grade school English teachers.
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
JUST THROW YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR
Before last week, I hadn't seen a movie in a long time. During the week I saw "Knockaround Guys" at a free employee screening. Seeing as how I am sitting in the offices of the company which made the film, it probably wouldn't be proper to rip into the movie. But, I am just a temp... Let's just say the movie isn't good. With a cast that includes Dennis Hopper, John Malkovich, Vin Diesel, Barry Pepper, and Seth Green, it should be a lot better. There are some occassional laughs and a few solid lines of dialogue, but the plot is weak, the pace is plodding, and the energy surprisingly flaccid. Malkovich is simply awful. I don't think I've ever seen a worse performance from him, featuring the least convincing New York accent I've ever heard.
"24 Party People" is a much more fun movie. The subject is Tony Wilson, a Manchester native who somehow managed to place himself at the forefront of Punk, New Wave, and Rave cultures. Wilson parlayed a television magazine show about music into Factory Records, a cutting edge record label, and an ultra-hip nightclub called The Hacienda. Factory Records launched the careers of Joy Division, New Order, and the Happy Mondays. The Hacienda may have very well been the birthplace of the rave. This mocumentary is full of rich performances, most notably Steve Coogan as Tony Wilson, a slew of sentient music sequences, and some of the finest digital video cinematography to date. I took My Girl to see the flick at the Academy 6 in Pasadena. This old theater is quite a vivid experience, from the old-school version of stadium seating to the old-fashioned raffle-style tickets to the schlocky corridor serving as an arcade featuring a crumbling Ms. Pac-Man machine, Arkanoid, and three other old games. There couldn't be a more perfect place to see this scrappy movie, and it happens to be the last theater in Los Angeles playing the quality art-house film. Overall, this "Party" is definitely worth showing up for. To be courteous, you should probably bring a bottle of wine or a box of cookies or something.
Before last week, I hadn't seen a movie in a long time. During the week I saw "Knockaround Guys" at a free employee screening. Seeing as how I am sitting in the offices of the company which made the film, it probably wouldn't be proper to rip into the movie. But, I am just a temp... Let's just say the movie isn't good. With a cast that includes Dennis Hopper, John Malkovich, Vin Diesel, Barry Pepper, and Seth Green, it should be a lot better. There are some occassional laughs and a few solid lines of dialogue, but the plot is weak, the pace is plodding, and the energy surprisingly flaccid. Malkovich is simply awful. I don't think I've ever seen a worse performance from him, featuring the least convincing New York accent I've ever heard.
"24 Party People" is a much more fun movie. The subject is Tony Wilson, a Manchester native who somehow managed to place himself at the forefront of Punk, New Wave, and Rave cultures. Wilson parlayed a television magazine show about music into Factory Records, a cutting edge record label, and an ultra-hip nightclub called The Hacienda. Factory Records launched the careers of Joy Division, New Order, and the Happy Mondays. The Hacienda may have very well been the birthplace of the rave. This mocumentary is full of rich performances, most notably Steve Coogan as Tony Wilson, a slew of sentient music sequences, and some of the finest digital video cinematography to date. I took My Girl to see the flick at the Academy 6 in Pasadena. This old theater is quite a vivid experience, from the old-school version of stadium seating to the old-fashioned raffle-style tickets to the schlocky corridor serving as an arcade featuring a crumbling Ms. Pac-Man machine, Arkanoid, and three other old games. There couldn't be a more perfect place to see this scrappy movie, and it happens to be the last theater in Los Angeles playing the quality art-house film. Overall, this "Party" is definitely worth showing up for. To be courteous, you should probably bring a bottle of wine or a box of cookies or something.
Monday, October 14, 2002
HAIL MARE
The Dolphins-Broncos game last night was the best NFL game so far this season. Intensity from the kickoff until the last tick of the clock. I am amazed on many levels that the Dolphins pulled it out. For starters, and I know I keep repeating this, Jay Fiedler is not the kind of quarterback that can lead a team from behind. Fiedler caught a major break when his last pass of the game slipped through the non-stick hands of John Mobley and Dedric Ward managed to hold on to it. That was just enough to give Olindo Mare a chance to win it with 6 seconds left. 39 seconds after Jason Elam's nailed a 55-yarder and then high-stepped along the Miami sideline, Mare answered by drilling a 53-yarder of his own to win it. On the replay, it looked like that kick would have been good from 60 yards out. Considering how much the Dolphins struggle on the road and how often they lose to teams that are as good or better than them, this was the best Dolphin win in years. They let a 10-point lead evaporate in the last eight minutes, but didn't succomb to the change in momentum and showed incredible fortitude in fighting back to win it. Phenomenal effort from Jason Taylor and the defensive line. The Broncos front seven dominated a large portion of the game and it wasn't until Patrick Surtain returned a fourth quarter Brian Griese pass for a touchdown that either team had any kind of control of the game.
Sam Madison had an interesting night. He appeared to intercept a ball in the end zone, but the replay clearly showed he dropped it. Because ESPN went to a TV timeout, the Broncos had time to see the play on the Jumbotron at the stadium. Mike Shanahan immediately challenged the play and it was overturned. Madison returned to the field with a big smile on his face, nodding his head, and chanting "I'll get mine. I'll get mine." A short time later, he got his, making a real nice play to pick off Griese.
Ricky Williams is a tough guy. He carried 20 times and struggled for every one of his 49 yards and 2 touchdowns on the ground, plus he caught 4 balls for 30 yards, taking a beating in the process. The Broncos have an outstanding run defense and they were hitting extremely hard all night. Al Wilson popped Ricky but good in fourth quarter. However, last night and hopefully for the rest of the season and career, Ricky embodied the spirit of the Dolphins -- nothing came easy, he got knocked down repeatedly, but he kept getting up, coming back, and fighting hard.
I have very mixed feelings about Dave Wannestadt as a coach. It's hard to argue that he didn't have the team prepared, because the Dolphins most definitely rose to the occasion to show they were a force to be reckoned with in the AFC. But I question his in-game coaching methods. Following a Bronco touchdown to cut it to a two point game, the Dolphins got the ball back with three minutes and change left on the clock. The first play they ran was a pass to Ricky Williams in the flat that was successful, but ended with Ricky landing out of bounds and stopping the clock. The Dolphins ran another pass play on second down that went incomplete and stopped the clock yet again. So, here they are in exactly the position they want to be in, leading in the fourth quarter with a chance to let Ricky Williams run out the clock, and they've run off eight seconds on the drive. Luckily, Oronde Gadsen made a great catch on a very low throw on thrid down to extend the drive and keep the clock moving. But, they failed to get another first down and wound up punting it back to the Broncos with enough time for them to drive. And then, when the clock was stopped late and the Broncos were already in field goal range, the Dolphins called a time out. I couldn't believe they would waste a time out, knowing the Broncos would probably make the field goal and the Dolphins would need everything they had to put together a drive of their own. Thankfully, none of these coaching blunders cost the Phins the game. Wannestadt must've done something right in motivating these guys and making them believe they could win right up until the bitter end.
The Dolphins-Broncos game last night was the best NFL game so far this season. Intensity from the kickoff until the last tick of the clock. I am amazed on many levels that the Dolphins pulled it out. For starters, and I know I keep repeating this, Jay Fiedler is not the kind of quarterback that can lead a team from behind. Fiedler caught a major break when his last pass of the game slipped through the non-stick hands of John Mobley and Dedric Ward managed to hold on to it. That was just enough to give Olindo Mare a chance to win it with 6 seconds left. 39 seconds after Jason Elam's nailed a 55-yarder and then high-stepped along the Miami sideline, Mare answered by drilling a 53-yarder of his own to win it. On the replay, it looked like that kick would have been good from 60 yards out. Considering how much the Dolphins struggle on the road and how often they lose to teams that are as good or better than them, this was the best Dolphin win in years. They let a 10-point lead evaporate in the last eight minutes, but didn't succomb to the change in momentum and showed incredible fortitude in fighting back to win it. Phenomenal effort from Jason Taylor and the defensive line. The Broncos front seven dominated a large portion of the game and it wasn't until Patrick Surtain returned a fourth quarter Brian Griese pass for a touchdown that either team had any kind of control of the game.
Sam Madison had an interesting night. He appeared to intercept a ball in the end zone, but the replay clearly showed he dropped it. Because ESPN went to a TV timeout, the Broncos had time to see the play on the Jumbotron at the stadium. Mike Shanahan immediately challenged the play and it was overturned. Madison returned to the field with a big smile on his face, nodding his head, and chanting "I'll get mine. I'll get mine." A short time later, he got his, making a real nice play to pick off Griese.
Ricky Williams is a tough guy. He carried 20 times and struggled for every one of his 49 yards and 2 touchdowns on the ground, plus he caught 4 balls for 30 yards, taking a beating in the process. The Broncos have an outstanding run defense and they were hitting extremely hard all night. Al Wilson popped Ricky but good in fourth quarter. However, last night and hopefully for the rest of the season and career, Ricky embodied the spirit of the Dolphins -- nothing came easy, he got knocked down repeatedly, but he kept getting up, coming back, and fighting hard.
I have very mixed feelings about Dave Wannestadt as a coach. It's hard to argue that he didn't have the team prepared, because the Dolphins most definitely rose to the occasion to show they were a force to be reckoned with in the AFC. But I question his in-game coaching methods. Following a Bronco touchdown to cut it to a two point game, the Dolphins got the ball back with three minutes and change left on the clock. The first play they ran was a pass to Ricky Williams in the flat that was successful, but ended with Ricky landing out of bounds and stopping the clock. The Dolphins ran another pass play on second down that went incomplete and stopped the clock yet again. So, here they are in exactly the position they want to be in, leading in the fourth quarter with a chance to let Ricky Williams run out the clock, and they've run off eight seconds on the drive. Luckily, Oronde Gadsen made a great catch on a very low throw on thrid down to extend the drive and keep the clock moving. But, they failed to get another first down and wound up punting it back to the Broncos with enough time for them to drive. And then, when the clock was stopped late and the Broncos were already in field goal range, the Dolphins called a time out. I couldn't believe they would waste a time out, knowing the Broncos would probably make the field goal and the Dolphins would need everything they had to put together a drive of their own. Thankfully, none of these coaching blunders cost the Phins the game. Wannestadt must've done something right in motivating these guys and making them believe they could win right up until the bitter end.
Friday, October 11, 2002
WEEKDAY WOE
It's after three o'clock on Friday afternoon and I'm officially sick of working. I'm sure most people feel this way every week, but being that this is the first full week I've worked in eight months, I think my system is in shock right now. I cannot fathom how people do this without losing their minds. I don't know, maybe I'm just wired differently. After living free-form for so long, I'm having an extremely difficult time adjusting to having to be in a specific place at a specific time. Luckily, I'm only working as a temp, otherwise I would have already considered quitting. Answering phones in a busy office is down near the very bottom of my list of things I'd like to do for a living. If I had a job like this with no end in sight, I would surely develop a severe case of claustrophobia. Through all the insane hours on inane sitcoms, all the late night rewrites, all the tape nights that went into the wee hours, there was always the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Whether by cancellation or the end of production, I knew the show would come to an end and I would be free. Granted, most of the time I was hoping the show would be a hit and I could go on hiatus with the knowledge that I had a job to come back to, but that never happened. So as each season came to a close I became eligible to collect unemployment and regroup. Sometimes I would collect for a few months until the early summer when shows were starting up again, and sometimes I would collect until my yearly allotment ran out, like now. This year, I rode the unemployment wave all the way to the shore, but now it's flat and it might be quite awhile before the next set rolls in. Like it or not, I have to work. The thing is, working a full week at the measly rate they pay temps, I'll be lucky to clear what I was making on the newly-raised unemployment maximum. I'm not saying I'd be satisfied and proud of my life if I collected unemployment forever. In all honesty, I don't think I have an aversion to work, per se, just work that seems beneath me. That may sound elitist, but I believe I have a tremendous amount of talent and ability. Taking phone messages, scheduling meetings, and calling messengers feels like more of a waste of time than sititng on my purple velvet couch watching "Pardon the Interruption" or "The Anna Nicole Smith Show." What I have to do is use this experience as motivation to work harder. Write more. Write better. Find other ways to make money. This is of the utmost importance, considering this job could end any second and I still feel like I'm in a CAT scan machine, unable to move a muscle or maneuver in any direction. Trapped.
It's after three o'clock on Friday afternoon and I'm officially sick of working. I'm sure most people feel this way every week, but being that this is the first full week I've worked in eight months, I think my system is in shock right now. I cannot fathom how people do this without losing their minds. I don't know, maybe I'm just wired differently. After living free-form for so long, I'm having an extremely difficult time adjusting to having to be in a specific place at a specific time. Luckily, I'm only working as a temp, otherwise I would have already considered quitting. Answering phones in a busy office is down near the very bottom of my list of things I'd like to do for a living. If I had a job like this with no end in sight, I would surely develop a severe case of claustrophobia. Through all the insane hours on inane sitcoms, all the late night rewrites, all the tape nights that went into the wee hours, there was always the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Whether by cancellation or the end of production, I knew the show would come to an end and I would be free. Granted, most of the time I was hoping the show would be a hit and I could go on hiatus with the knowledge that I had a job to come back to, but that never happened. So as each season came to a close I became eligible to collect unemployment and regroup. Sometimes I would collect for a few months until the early summer when shows were starting up again, and sometimes I would collect until my yearly allotment ran out, like now. This year, I rode the unemployment wave all the way to the shore, but now it's flat and it might be quite awhile before the next set rolls in. Like it or not, I have to work. The thing is, working a full week at the measly rate they pay temps, I'll be lucky to clear what I was making on the newly-raised unemployment maximum. I'm not saying I'd be satisfied and proud of my life if I collected unemployment forever. In all honesty, I don't think I have an aversion to work, per se, just work that seems beneath me. That may sound elitist, but I believe I have a tremendous amount of talent and ability. Taking phone messages, scheduling meetings, and calling messengers feels like more of a waste of time than sititng on my purple velvet couch watching "Pardon the Interruption" or "The Anna Nicole Smith Show." What I have to do is use this experience as motivation to work harder. Write more. Write better. Find other ways to make money. This is of the utmost importance, considering this job could end any second and I still feel like I'm in a CAT scan machine, unable to move a muscle or maneuver in any direction. Trapped.
Thursday, October 10, 2002
OSCAR IN OCTOBER
Piker will admit to being a little obsessed with the tee-vee lately, but feels a sea-change coming on. After all, the cinema is Piker's true passion, not the idiot box. That being said, it should come as no surprise to this publication's handful of loyal readers that Oscar handicapping is a favorite Piker pastime. This is typically a period of time during the film year that is all about anticipation. Maybe one or two movies or performances have come out of the summer as leading candidates for nominations, but predominantly, November and December provide the bulk of Oscar-potential material. There are about ten movies I'm excited to see in the coming months and most of them are mentioned in this comprehensive Oscar preview. In particular, I'm psyched for "Adaptation", "Catch Me If You Can", "Gangs of New York", "Chicago", "About Schmidt", "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers", "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind", and "Solaris." Yeah, I'd say it's just about time to click off the old TV, grab a bucket of popcorn, pour in a bag of M&M's, and settle into a cold and dark movie theater.
Piker will admit to being a little obsessed with the tee-vee lately, but feels a sea-change coming on. After all, the cinema is Piker's true passion, not the idiot box. That being said, it should come as no surprise to this publication's handful of loyal readers that Oscar handicapping is a favorite Piker pastime. This is typically a period of time during the film year that is all about anticipation. Maybe one or two movies or performances have come out of the summer as leading candidates for nominations, but predominantly, November and December provide the bulk of Oscar-potential material. There are about ten movies I'm excited to see in the coming months and most of them are mentioned in this comprehensive Oscar preview. In particular, I'm psyched for "Adaptation", "Catch Me If You Can", "Gangs of New York", "Chicago", "About Schmidt", "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers", "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind", and "Solaris." Yeah, I'd say it's just about time to click off the old TV, grab a bucket of popcorn, pour in a bag of M&M's, and settle into a cold and dark movie theater.
WHO'S GOING TO SHOOT J.R THIS TIME?
Call it "Return to Southfork Ranch". One of my favorite TV shows of all-time is coming to a theater near you. "Dallas" is being updated and remade into a major motion picture. I'm anxious to see how The Ewings, perhaps the greatest soap opera family in TV history, translate to the big screen. If you'll notice in the Yahoo! article, no writer is attached yet...
Call it "Return to Southfork Ranch". One of my favorite TV shows of all-time is coming to a theater near you. "Dallas" is being updated and remade into a major motion picture. I'm anxious to see how The Ewings, perhaps the greatest soap opera family in TV history, translate to the big screen. If you'll notice in the Yahoo! article, no writer is attached yet...
THE ABCs OF TV
We have our first two cancellations of the fall television season. Both casualties happen to be shows that I sampled and wrote about. ABC has yanked "That Was Then" and "Push, Nevada" from the schedule. "That Was Then" is gone, done, finito, kaput, after only two episodes. Because of its interactive nature, "Push, Nevada" will be aired three more times to give viewers enough clues to solve the mystery and win (raise pinky to lips) one million dollars. Truthfully, I don't think "That Was Then" was given a fair shot, but I didn't like it enough to make a big stink about it. The arcane "Push, Nevada" serves as ABC's Thursday night sacrifice against "Must See TV" and "CSI" competition. For TV geeks like me, it's always kind of fun to predict the first show to get canceled. "MDs" was my pick.
We have our first two cancellations of the fall television season. Both casualties happen to be shows that I sampled and wrote about. ABC has yanked "That Was Then" and "Push, Nevada" from the schedule. "That Was Then" is gone, done, finito, kaput, after only two episodes. Because of its interactive nature, "Push, Nevada" will be aired three more times to give viewers enough clues to solve the mystery and win (raise pinky to lips) one million dollars. Truthfully, I don't think "That Was Then" was given a fair shot, but I didn't like it enough to make a big stink about it. The arcane "Push, Nevada" serves as ABC's Thursday night sacrifice against "Must See TV" and "CSI" competition. For TV geeks like me, it's always kind of fun to predict the first show to get canceled. "MDs" was my pick.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
CAN YOU VOTE ME OUT, PLEASE?
Call me the weakest link and say goodbye, 'cause I'm gone. I watched this past Thursday night's episode of "Survivor:Thailand" on tape and I can now safely say that I am sick of that show. Frankly, I haven't enjoyed it much since the original "Survivor" and "Survivor: The Australian Outback" with Colby and Elizabeth and Jeri and company. That season had great archetypes and rivalries and all sorts of weirdness, such as Michael passing out and getting his hands fried by the fire. Let's call it great casting. Since then, the "Survivor" franchise has consisted of an endless parade of whiners and morons. The third installment "Survivor: Africa" was a dud. The cast was flat out annoying. The old people versus young people tribal breakdown was ridiculous. A "Survivor" self-consciousness seemed to have crept in. The contestants were well aware what being on the show meant in terms of fame and whatever strategy this limited game contains. It bored me. I tuned out. I didn't tune back in until the finale, where Ethan the Soccer Player, won the title, either because of or despite his lack of any semblence of a personality. Lex was fairly interesting, probably because he had a bit of a temper and his tatoo sleeves read well on camera. The fourth installment of the aging series, "Survivor: Marquesas", was a complete disaster. The location was undeniably idyllic, but the cast was a nightmare. Hunter, seemingly a professional survivalist, was voted out early by his tribe of idiots, not necessarily because he was a threat but because he was bossy. The guy was the only one in the tribe who knew what he was doing! Ugh. That soured me right then and there. After disliking "Africa" so much, I was more than ready to ditch this series. But certain friends of mine who are fully committed to the enjoyment of reality television wouldn't let me quit. I begrudgingly watched a few more episodes with My Girl and this couple who we met through, are very good friends with, and whose wedding we will be attending next weekend. It was fun to make fun of the "characters", like Zooey the obvious lesbian who, in trying to win favor with her tribemates when she knew she was on the ropes, crafted some pretty shell bracelets for everyone. But I strongly disagreed with something the show did. The idiot tribe that voted off Hunter, easily their best player, should have been punished and made to suffer for their actions, yet the producers decided for the second straight season to switch up the tribes. Wholly unfair. One tribe was working as a team and getting along and winning challenge after challenge, while the Hunter-less tribe was divided and weak. They should have kept the tribes the way they were and let it play out. I wanted to see Hunter's former mates twist in the wind and get voted off one by one until the strong tribe had to finally start voting themselves out. That would have been an interesting game. But they switched it up and Vecepia, one of the idiots who conspired to oust Hunter, flew under the radar all the way to the finish line, beating that unlikable little hippie chick and winning a million bucks. As I have stated before, the finale of that season was one of the worst episodes of television I have ever sat through. With two poor players vying for the "Survivor" championship and Rosie O'Donnell warbling a Survivor-themed rendition of "Gilligan's Island," the series reached its jaw-dropping nadir. I vowed to stop watching. This season, "Survivor: Thailand" rolls around and My Girl won't let me off the hook. She's still into it and wants to share with me. So we cozied up to watch the aforementioned tape and I'm sorry to say it was more of the same. Two black characters from the same tribe were bickering. The female claimed the male groped her during the night, the male apologized, they hugged and all was forgiven. Then the female told the rest of the tribe what happened and got upset all over again. All kinds of miscommunication ensued and the tribe was in disarray. But the other tribe was worse. Apparently, they really wanted to vote out this lazy guy named Jed, who didn't seem that bad, so they let him try to figure out this puzzle on his own even though the group was supposed to be working on it together and immunity was at stake. Jed didn't come through. They lost and unceremoniously made Jed the first member of their tribe to be voted out. I'm only sorry it wasn't me. Tell Probst to come over and put my torch out. I want off the island. I'm through.
Call me the weakest link and say goodbye, 'cause I'm gone. I watched this past Thursday night's episode of "Survivor:Thailand" on tape and I can now safely say that I am sick of that show. Frankly, I haven't enjoyed it much since the original "Survivor" and "Survivor: The Australian Outback" with Colby and Elizabeth and Jeri and company. That season had great archetypes and rivalries and all sorts of weirdness, such as Michael passing out and getting his hands fried by the fire. Let's call it great casting. Since then, the "Survivor" franchise has consisted of an endless parade of whiners and morons. The third installment "Survivor: Africa" was a dud. The cast was flat out annoying. The old people versus young people tribal breakdown was ridiculous. A "Survivor" self-consciousness seemed to have crept in. The contestants were well aware what being on the show meant in terms of fame and whatever strategy this limited game contains. It bored me. I tuned out. I didn't tune back in until the finale, where Ethan the Soccer Player, won the title, either because of or despite his lack of any semblence of a personality. Lex was fairly interesting, probably because he had a bit of a temper and his tatoo sleeves read well on camera. The fourth installment of the aging series, "Survivor: Marquesas", was a complete disaster. The location was undeniably idyllic, but the cast was a nightmare. Hunter, seemingly a professional survivalist, was voted out early by his tribe of idiots, not necessarily because he was a threat but because he was bossy. The guy was the only one in the tribe who knew what he was doing! Ugh. That soured me right then and there. After disliking "Africa" so much, I was more than ready to ditch this series. But certain friends of mine who are fully committed to the enjoyment of reality television wouldn't let me quit. I begrudgingly watched a few more episodes with My Girl and this couple who we met through, are very good friends with, and whose wedding we will be attending next weekend. It was fun to make fun of the "characters", like Zooey the obvious lesbian who, in trying to win favor with her tribemates when she knew she was on the ropes, crafted some pretty shell bracelets for everyone. But I strongly disagreed with something the show did. The idiot tribe that voted off Hunter, easily their best player, should have been punished and made to suffer for their actions, yet the producers decided for the second straight season to switch up the tribes. Wholly unfair. One tribe was working as a team and getting along and winning challenge after challenge, while the Hunter-less tribe was divided and weak. They should have kept the tribes the way they were and let it play out. I wanted to see Hunter's former mates twist in the wind and get voted off one by one until the strong tribe had to finally start voting themselves out. That would have been an interesting game. But they switched it up and Vecepia, one of the idiots who conspired to oust Hunter, flew under the radar all the way to the finish line, beating that unlikable little hippie chick and winning a million bucks. As I have stated before, the finale of that season was one of the worst episodes of television I have ever sat through. With two poor players vying for the "Survivor" championship and Rosie O'Donnell warbling a Survivor-themed rendition of "Gilligan's Island," the series reached its jaw-dropping nadir. I vowed to stop watching. This season, "Survivor: Thailand" rolls around and My Girl won't let me off the hook. She's still into it and wants to share with me. So we cozied up to watch the aforementioned tape and I'm sorry to say it was more of the same. Two black characters from the same tribe were bickering. The female claimed the male groped her during the night, the male apologized, they hugged and all was forgiven. Then the female told the rest of the tribe what happened and got upset all over again. All kinds of miscommunication ensued and the tribe was in disarray. But the other tribe was worse. Apparently, they really wanted to vote out this lazy guy named Jed, who didn't seem that bad, so they let him try to figure out this puzzle on his own even though the group was supposed to be working on it together and immunity was at stake. Jed didn't come through. They lost and unceremoniously made Jed the first member of their tribe to be voted out. I'm only sorry it wasn't me. Tell Probst to come over and put my torch out. I want off the island. I'm through.