There are a handful of directors whose latest project will always pique my interest, no matter what.
John Waters is one of those directors. His latest movie is called A Dirty Shame. The trailer looks like this might be fun. That it has been rated NC-17 only makes it more appealing.
Too, I love you, Edith Massey, wherever you are.
Our show was reviewed in the August edition of The Buzz, under the headline Mature Content. I thought I'd post my thoughts on the review.
If I had any criticisms of 'theatre reviews' in The Buzz (and, of course, on those rare occasions that a review of a "local" show actually appears in The Guardian), it would have been that they were not reviews so much, but, generally, endorsements written by a fan/friend of the people involved in the show being reviewed. On a small island, where so many in the arts community know each other, it's difficult to be willing to make negative comments on a production. To this end, reviews have become little more than another form of advertising (and, it should be noted, for productions with such limited budgets as ours, they are welcome advertisements). With this in mind, I'd like to applaud The Buzz, and reviewer Jane Ledwell for writing a review that actually contains more than laudatory comments and fluffy praise. In fact, I find, lately, that The Buzz seems to be more willing to print 'critical (and fair)' reviews than it has been in the past. This is good.
I cannot really complain about most of the criticisms that Jane offers. Generally the comments she makes are valid for the opening week performance that she saw. There are a few points she makes that I disagree with, but these are merely point-of-view, or matter-of-taste comments, and her view and taste is just as valid as mine.
Some things I would like to address, though:
- "They need to drop the pop culture impressions and bad accents-other-than-the-Island-one (which risked being obscure, absurd, racist, or poorly executed)." I was (along with the rest of the people in the production) confused by this sentence. I was not sure what "pop culture impressions" we do, or what "bad accents" she was referring to. The somewhat troublesome implication that we "risked being... racist" raised a few eyebrows within our group as well, as we couldn't figure out to what Jane was referring. Her reply to an email questioning that implication left us, frankly, dumbfounded. I don't think it's fair to Jane to reprint her response here without her permission. Perhaps it will suffice to say that her interpretation of a certain character's origins and purpose is surely hers alone, and maybe speaks more about the need to analyse and find meanings behind comedy than it does about the intentions in making comedy. Sometimes a funny voice and costume is simply a funny voice and costume.
-"I was just disappointed that “Sketch-22” alienated part of its audience with crude material when the truly “mature” content still had edge and still got laughs." This is a fair comment, we have found out. It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Jane saw the show during the first week of our run. We have since realised that some of the crude material was a bit too juvenile or shocking-for-shock's-sake. After week one, the show was cleaned up (and shortened) somewhat, so hopefully, we've found a better balance between taste and distaste.
- "Rob provides the show’s most truly “mature” content". I hope this means what I think it means, and it's not just another way of saying that I'm the oldest in the cast. :)
- I'll not comment on her wish to see more Seagalls or shamless hussies.
After reading the review a couple of times, I'm still not sure if Jane liked the show. She says she wore herself out laughing and that the show is hilarious for those not easily offended. This implies she liked it, yet the general tone of the review seems, to me, to somewhat bely that laughter and hilarity. Maybe it's just my frail ego reading too much into the criticisms?
Still, apart from that one mis-guided opinion on us risking racism, I appreciate very much having a person write critically about our show.
Thanks, Jane. And, thanks, The Buzz.
Yes, you've come a long way, baby. But I gotta say, you're tampon commercials are getting a little too... descriptive.
Used to be the closest we'd get to any sort of reference to the actual goings-on was a woman (and before that, a man in a white scientist coat) who'd pour a pleasantly innocuous blue liquid on two tampons, showing how one was more absorbant than the other. Or we'd see an animation of a flying tampon, to illustrate the fact that such-and-such brand now had wings.
Now, though, they seem to have turned a corner in their marketing direction. Case in point, the latest ad, which shows a couple of women, in tight, pale slacks, who have been supposedly crouching down behind a sofa, waiting for a surprise party "Surprise!!!". The voice-over talks about how awful it is when a gal's been in a certain position for a lengthy amount of time and then suddenly changes position, causing the embarrassment of leakage and shifting, or some such thing. The 'leakage' line happens just when the visuals show the women jumping up to shout 'surprise!', and then freeze frames. I literally have to avert my eyes from the television, in fear that I'll catch a glimpse of some leakage. And what an ugly word. Leakage. Ugh.
I really don't like the images this commercial conjures up in my head when it's on as I'm eating my suppertime hamburger, taco or sloppy joe.
Can't they go back to the way it used to be. Suggestive advertising was so much nicer. How about some nice animated butterflies flying out from the crotchal region? Or a cartoon of a beaver building a dam in some idyllic stream, surrounded by lush vegetation? Or get Bambi to be your spokesperson.
Or even go back to the scientist guy telling women that such-and-such napkin will serve you fine. Just fine. Didn't you trust that guy, girls? I trusted him. He was a scientist. He must've known. He probably did leakage research with copious amounts of pleasant blue liquid.
Can't we bring him back?
Confed Centre cancels 'Men' showCHARLOTTETOWN — The poor tourism season has struck the Confederation Centre of the Arts, forcing it to cancel one of its summer productions.
The play Broadway Heroes: A Salute to the Great Leading Men was scheduled to play in the Studio Theatre in August. CEO David MacKenzie cites poor ticket sales for the cancellation, and blames this summer's downturn in P.E.I.'s tourism industry.
"This year's tourism is down significantly to date," says MacKenzie. "We were aggressive in our selection of productions and the number of productions this year. With visitation being down we wanted to concentrate on the shows that are doing better."
David MacKenzie says the centre will not be cancelling any more shows this season.
It's not the downturn in this summer's tourism industry, David. It's a show called Broadway Heroes: A Salute to the Great Leading Men.
That's the reason nobody was buying tickets.
Some of the anti-Bush people have been supposing that Osama Bin Laden will be 'found' in the next couple of days, during the Democratic National Convention. Some presume that Bin Laden's location is already known, and that the US government is waiting for the most opportune time announce his capture, and that during the DNC would be a goot time, taking headlines away from the democrats.
I cannot believe that the Bush administration would be so blatant as to do this during the DNC. I don't think it'll happen, but I sure hope it does. Poor some gasoline on that conspiracy, folks.
Do it. Do it. Do it.
This season of Six Feet Under certainly seems to have dropped a notch or two from the incredible quality of writing of its first three seasons.
This post isn't about that. This post is about incredible acting.
I really enjoy small acting moments. A movie, play, whatever, can be not so good, and I can come away happy if there are a couple of great acting moments in it.
Last night's Six Feet Under (which was a pretty good episode, actually) had such a moment. It was a scene, probably 20 seconds only, without dialogue. Without giving away this season's plots (I know some readers are watching previous seasons on DVD and would rather remain in the dark about this season), I'll just say it's a scene between David and Nate. David is standing at attention, at yet another funeral. Nate comes down the stairs and simply stands beside David. The range of emotions that David goes through in about 10 seconds is simply wonderful. Nate smiles in recognition of David's response. That's it. That's the scene.
If I was to compile my favourite film/video moments, that'd be on it.
Another moment that would be on it comes from Sketch 22. In one of the video segments there is a moment when a crashing noise occurs, and Josh Weale performs what I consider to be a perfect double take.
Well done, Michael C. Hall, Peter Krause, and Josh Weale.
It is a week away from pre-season training camp for NFL teams. Those of you who have been reading this place for a while will know that I am a Miami Dolphins fan.
You may also know that I literally can't wait for the NFL season to start. It is really the only sport I have a true passion for. The Dolphins are the only sports team I have a true passion for.
This has not been a good off-season for the Dolphins. Still, as always, I was full of hope. It is my duty as a fan to be full of hope. Why was it a difficult off-season?
Well, the Dolphins needed to address their largest weakness, which was their ineffective offensive line. They didn't do that. Instead, they have a bunch of rookies who will likely get eaten up (Still, being an optimistic fan, I hoped that they'd all surprise us and perform to an acceptable level). They tried to find a General Manager, and failed (no problem says optimistic fan). They brought in Dan Marino, Miami hero and icon, to be President of the team. He quit a week later (odd, thought Optimistic fan. Odd, but not too damaging). Their beloved Offensive Coordinator, Norv Turner, left to a plum college head coach job (could hurt, but let's give the next guy a chance). The guy that replaced him quit about a month and a half later after suffering from exhaustion. (okay, this is getting weird thinks Optimistic Fan). The current OC is a babe in the woods, this being his first opportunity with the position. The Dolphins have an adequate quarterback in Jay Fiedler, but all agree an upgrade was essential. They went and got another team's third string qb, AJ Feely (at too high a cost, may feel) to compete for the starting position. (Just watch. He'll prove to be a shining star who was never given a fair chance. This is his chance). Currently, a week out of training camp, it seems Feely isn't up to competing against the incumbent adequate qb (there's still hope, says I). A couple of the Dolphin's players were arrested/charged with crimes, one of which involved a player assaulting his pregnant wife (it should be noted that she was also charged with assaulting him, I think) (okay, this happens all the time in the NFL, so no big deal, as far as snuffing out the flames of hope).
Even after all that, a truly awful, chaotic off-season, I had hope for the season. This would be the year, I thought, that expectations on/from the Dolphins would be lower, and the team would rise above it all and be the surprise of the season.
I believed that, firstly because I am an optimistic fan, and secondly, because the Dolphins have Ricky Williams. Without question, Ricky Williams is the star of the team. The running back, around which the entire team has been built. Just adequate qb? No problem, hand it off to Ricky. Rookie OC? No problem, just hand it off to Ricky.
Ricky Williams is such a great player that other teams are forced to defend against him specifically, otherwise he'll eat them up. Ricky Williams is an elite running back in a game of elite running backs. Ricky Williams has the ability to set new records for rushing in a game and in a season. Ricky Williams is All That.
Most importantly, Ricky Williams will win us (the Dolphins and their fans) games this year. Even after a horrible off-season, I've been looking at perhaps 11 wins this season.
All hope is pinned on Ricky Williams. I am such a fan of the Dolphins, and such a fan of the potential of what Ricky Williams can do for this team, that, when he joined the team two years ago, I actually bought a McFarlane figurine of Ricky Williams. Yes, Ricky Williams is important enough to me that I bought a doll of him. And I love the doll.
Today, I discover, Ricky Williams has suddenly decided to retire. At the age of 27. In the prime of his game. A week before training camp starts. Leaving the Dolphins without any valid offensive weaponry. They are sunk.
I am hope-broken. I'll not be getting NFL Sunday Ticket this year, just to watch the Dolphins lose 12 to 14 of 16 games this season.
It is a sad, sad, sad football day for me.
If God wanted to truly test Job, he should've pulled this stunt on him.
One of my favourite PEI blogs to read is Frankie's. I find her observations to be funny, quirky and unexpected. From her remarks regarding this blog, seems she's a fan of this place as well.
Until last night, our mutual appreciation club had never met. Last night, however, Frankie introduced herself to me after coming to see Sketch 22.
I had some preconceptions as to what she looks like. These notions were somewhat solidified when I asked Cynthia to describe her. Cynthia had met her when Frankie became involved in Cyn's The Vagina Monologues last year.
So, anyway, I had a vague mental picture as to what I imagined Frankie to look like. I imagined her to be a cool, kinda subtly-hip looking mom. Turns out she is pretty much that, only not so mom-ish.
Then I started to wonder what she was expecting of me, and I immediately, horrifyingly thought of one particular image of me last night on stage...traipsing around on stage wearing nothing but black socks and a black velvet diaper, pale-white belly jutting out, leading me wherever I went.
Frankie, whatever you were expecting, you probably weren't expecting that.
sigh
Had the incomparable fish and chips (breaded, with crispy crispy fries) at Cedars today. And you know, it tastes even better when you are merely a couple of hours away from a two-week vacation.
Yes, I'm on vacation for two weeks. I'll be hanging around, close to home. My goal is to get as much beach experience in as possible. I've not been a beach bum for quite a number of years, but I think I'm ready to give that a go. I hope my milk-white body doesn't totally revolt.
There's a title that'll guarantee some disappointed google searchers when they stop by.
One of my greatest failings, I think, is my inability to self-promote. There are many reasons for why I resist talking up my 'artistic' pursuits. Chief among them lies in the adage 'do unto others what you would want others to do unto you' (or whatever it is). Basically, I don't like it when people aggressively promote themselves, so I tend not to promote my self at all. I find it too... desperate. I understand the need for self-promotion, but I seem to rail against it, to the point where I probably hinder the potential success of projects in which I am involved.
In other words, I am so scared of becoming a media/promotional whore that I go too far in the other direction.
Also, (even though this will likely come across as immodest) I think I am modest, to a fault. I enjoy receiving praise for my work, but I go to great lengths not to pull praise out of people. Again, probably at a detriment to my potential success.
With all that in mind, I feel compelled, however, to promote Sketch 22. It really is a very funny show.
See? Almost 200 words of justification and preamble just so I can be comfortable enough to say "It really is a very funny show" and not feel like I'm a cheap theatre-hooker.
And still, I feel like a cheap theatre-whore.
That's a hard 'g', there in the title.
How much do I hate cutting the grass. That's not a question. I absolutely dread cutting the grass. It's a chore that takes my breath away, causes me to sweat to within an inch of a heart attack, I am sure, and causes untold numbers of muscles and bodily-apparati to rebel against me. It's a solid two hours of hard-labour, wide expansive lawn, tortuous hills and valleys to navigae. By the end of it, I am a dripping, walking, moaning zombie.
I so hate cutting the grass that I cannot take any pleasure in its being cut. My wife oohs and aahs at how nice the lawn looks after its cut. But I don't see that. All I see is grass that will only need to be cut again in a week or so. From the moment the lawn-mower (a gas-powered push mower, by the way. I'd never whine and complain if I had a ride-on mower. Rich benefactor, are you listening?) powers down, I start dreading the fact that it'll have to be done again in a week's time. Seven short days. Yes, as soon as the last blade of grass gets mowed, instead of celebrating an accomplished task, I begin to get depressed that the chore will have to be repeated again in a week.
That's how much I hate mowing the lawn.
Now, though, there is a bit of relief. My son has finally reached the age where he can help. Over the course of the summer so far, each grass-cutting, he has taken more and more of the responsibility, to the point where there is currently a 2/3 to 1/3 labour distribution ratio, me taking the higher. It would be a fifty-fifty split if there weren't the ditch and hill parts of the lawn to cut. I don't think he's old/strong enough to handle those clines yet.
His motivation for helping is not driven by mere humanity, helping the old man kind of feelings. No, it's strictly economic, and I have no problem with that.
He is truly saving my life. Truly. For that, I pay him well.
Maybe next year, the entire lawn-mowing responsibility will be with him, and I'll be free. Gloriously Free!! One day it will be so.
And on that day, I will understand, a little, how joyous the French felt in June, 1944.
I was watching Last Comic Standing last night, and the challenge they faced was to pitch a sitcom idea with only 2 hours to prepare. The only rule was that each comic had to star in the sitcom they pitch. My wife supposed that I would have no trouble with that challenge as I likely have a couple of sitcom ideas floating around in my head.
I do, in fact. I have two.
Right away, I thought of Bolo. I think it's time for a sitcom starring a monkey, and Bolo The Monkey is that monkey. At first , I was going to call the sitcom "The President's Monkey", but after some thought, I think "The Monkey's President" is better. In "The Monkey's President", I star as a high-ranking presidential aide. Through a complicated series of events that nobody can quite figure out (perhaps involving a gift from a foreign diplomat), I am given a monkey - Bolo, The Monkey - as my assistant. Naturally, high-jinx abound as Bolo causes, and (at the end of each episode) solves untold numbers of hilarious problems. "We can't let the press find out that a monkey is running the country!" would be a common utterance. "Bolo!!!!" would be another. This idea is Gold, I tell ya. Gold!!!
So, that's "The Monkey's President".
My other idea for a sitcom is called "Jumping The Shark", and I think this one might actually be worthwhile. The phrase "jumping the shark" refers to the episode in Happy Days when Fonzie jumped the tank full of sharks on his motorcycle. Now, "jumping the shark" is a phrase that's used to represent the episode in any episodic television program in which, through a desperate and absurd stunt, the series loses its credibility or believability.
The premise of Jumping The Shark would be that every episode would be the jumping the shark episode of the series. Every episode would revolve around that implausible event or stunt that causes fans to say 'oh come on' in disbelief.
I'm not sure, yet, exactly what the episodes would entail. Whether it would center around the same group of individuals, or whether each week would showcase a different sitcom.
I kinda like the idea that each episode would be about a different sitcom. That way we could spoof the various genres. There'd always be a core group of actors who would star in these jumping the shark sitcom one-off episodes. The challenge, since each week would showcase a different one-off sitcom, would be to ensure that each sitcom feels lived-in, inhabited. As if they were running for a couple of years, have run out of ideas, and have resorted to pulling this week's stunt in order to keep the viewers.
There. What a great idea! Sign me up, producers.
Went to see Anchorman on the weekend, and I know many of you have been waiting for my opinion before you went yourselves to form your own opinions. So, here is my opinion:
Overall, I was generally disappointed. Yes, there were a lot of funny moments, but they didn't seem to go anywhere (kinda like Marx Brothers movies, I suppose, where the plot is merely the container for a bunch of skits and jokes).
I think what threw me off most was the pacing of the film. It seemed as if it had a TV sitcom feel to it at times, almost as if they were pacing the jokes to accomodate the laughter of an audience. It just seemed kind of off and a bit too loosey-goosey.
I am a huge fan of Will Farrell, and will laugh at almost anything he does. I found myself smiling quite a bit at him in this movie, but not as many laugh out loud moments as I would have liked. Too many of his attempts at humour were flat and/or desperate. Of course, there were a handful of moments from him that were hilarious, but they were balanced too much by moments that didn't go anywhere.
I laughed at pretty much anything Steve Carrell said as the dim-bulb weatherman, but I found the other two in the 4-man news-team rather lacking. Not bad, just lacking. Christine Applegate was good, but didn't really have much to do. Fred Willard, I think, was pretty much wasted in his role. He did a good enough job playing it pretty much straight, but the comedy he was given (or came up with by himself through improv?), regarding his son, was pretty inferior and forgettable.
So, in a nutshell: lots of smile-along moments. A few real big laugh out loud moments. Not enough moments in between. Perhaps it would work better for me if I saw it on television?
When I become Mayor-Hole of this burg, one of the first crazy laws that I will force all establishments to follow is this: in restaurants of all description, any and all burgers will come with cheese as the default. If you want a burger without cheese, then make that special request. Unless it's specifically called a "Hamburger", I expect cheese on something that has the 'burger' suffix.
I went to A&W for lunch today, and ordered a Poppa Burger. Only when I opened the thing, did I realise that cheese is not the norm on a Poppa Burger. Why oh why not? Still, it was a fantastically great burger. Where else does that happen? Well, with the Whopper at Burger King. One must remember to order a Whopper With Cheese. When I am Mayor-Hole, I will force Bush Dumville to change it so that one must order a Whapper Without Cheese if one doesn't want cheese.
By the way, another of my plans for when I become Mayor-Hole is to take over the Tim Hortons on University Aveneue (by the KFC) and have it set up as a Drive-Thru Complaint department. It will be, in fact, the only place in town where The City will take note of complaints. And only Drive-Thru complaints. There will be no Walk-In complaints. If you don't have a car, tough crap. If you want to complain about it, hire a taxi to take you through the Drive-Thru Complaint Department.
Oh, I have all kinds of crazy ideas for when I become Mayor-Hole.
This post over at xtcian, about running into a tureky, reminded me of a bird experience I had about 20 years ago. (you know what? I had originally typed '10 years ago', thinking it was actually 10 years ago. I then had the sudden explosion of realisation that it was actually 20 years ago. Holy crap! 10 years just flew by my eyes. Am I that old?)
At that time, I used to golf quite a bit, with college buddies. One day we were on our way to Green Gables (this, in the days when one's PEI golfing options could be counted on one hand) for an afternoon round. I was driving my military green 1978 Honda Civic, and as we were about to drvie down into a little valley, I noticed on the road on the incline on the other side of the valley, a crow was standing in the middle of my side of the road.
Being a goof, I told the guys to watch this, we were gonna play chicken with a crow. I gunned the motor, and charged towards the bird. As we kept approaching, the crow kept its back to us. "He's playing us" was the general consensus from the car. Suddenly, about 10 seconds before we reached where the bird was, it turned around and stared at us. It stared us down.
It stared me down. The driver. The only one who really mattered in this test of wills. Our eyes locked, and I could tell that this crow was not going to budge. If we were to win this game of chicken, we'd have to hit the crow.
At the last second, I swerved out of the way and drove past the crow. The crow did not move. As I drove away, up and over the hill, I looked in the rearview mirror. Shivers still go down my spine as I recall the icy stare of that crow in that mirror.
Yes, I was beaten by a crow.
The following is messy writing. Please forgive, but I don't have the energy or desire to clean it up....
I've been giving some thought lately about different songs that I've liked from different periods of my life, and how those songs represented more than just the music they provided.
Wondering, specifically, about those few songs that not everyone knew, but that those who should've known, knew about, and therefore offered a sort of kindred spirit vibe.
So, I've been trying to come up with some quintessential songs from different periods in my life, focusing on that one song that, if you were aware of it, would endear you to me. That is, if I met you, say in the 80's, and you were aware of a certain song, we'd be that much closer to being instant kindred spirits.
Of course, the 80's contained within it all kinds of different musical appreciations. Early on for me, it was all about punk and (on PEI) subtle anarchy. By the end of the 80's, I was on my way towards exploring the singer/songwriter side of music.
Taking it all together, I think, then, the Quinessential 80's Song of Endearment To Rob would have been: Add It Up from the Violent Femmes self-titled first album (yes, album). If you were 'in the know' about that song, then you would've been all right in my book.
I've been having trouble coming up with a 90's equivalent, I think because music in that decade wasn't as important to me, and I found myself diversifying quite a bit into all kinds of musical likes. Yet, if I had to come up with one, the Quintessential 90's Song of Endearment To Rob would have been: If I Can't Change Your Mind by Sugar If you were aware of that song, then you were practically a guaranteed member of Rob's Musical Appreciation And Therefore Cool About Other Things Too Club.
I was walking back to work a couple of days ago, when I saw a Winnebago type RV driving towards me. In the big window behind the driver, in the area where I imagine the dinner table and the semi-circled upholstered bench was, I saw a teenage girl. She was looking out the window. Just an everyday kind of girl, but what drew my attention to her was the smothering suffocation of boredom that was contained in her look. If her sadness would have allowed it, we'd have made eye contact. As it was, she simply dirged past me, shackled to her misery, in her motorized prison.
How sad did she look? Well, if she was placed in amongst any random train-car, sardine-packed with WWII occupation-enslaved Jews on thier way to the death-camp, she'd stick out as 'the sad-looking one'. How sad did she look? She looked like it was her third time watching Nancy Beck's latest show. It was as if she had Matthew's death-scene (where Marilla sings "I Can't Find The Words") in Anne of Green Gables on permanent replay loop in her mind. That's how sad she looked.
She looked so sad that I immediately thought, after the RV drove past, that if I had only three wishes, I'd waste one of them just so I could make time go back fifteen seconds, so that when she drove past me again, I'd wave at her, and hopefully instill some small glimmer of kindness in her life. Even if it only boost her spirits for a moment, and only if the boost was miniscule, it'd be worth it. For humanity. That's how sad she looked.
Then I thought: she's likely on vacation, in her parent's lovely big RV which means she's probably in a family that's economically stable, most likely pouting because she's not in Cavendish and her parents are gonna force her go on an afternoon walking tour full of Charlottetown history, while I'm trudging back to work on a sunny 27 degree day on PEI, while my car rusts out. My car's in such a sorry state that the stereo can't even play cassettes, and the back-end is making noises like an elephant squealing at a mouse.
My final decision was not to use one of my three wishes on her. I decided instead that she can take her sullen sorry ass and give it a kick.
Well, seven months of casual preparing, followed by a month of pretty intense preparation all culminated in our opening night last night. I'm not sure of the number, but it looked like the house of 130 seats was about 3/4 full. Of course, the usual post-premiere audience-member thing to do is give accolades and props, whether deserved or not, but everyone seemed genuinely thrilled, excited and encouraging.
There were great big laughs where we thought there'd be big laughs, big laughs at moments that we hoped would get laughs, and only a few times when the laughter wasn't as big as we thought it'd be for certain lines/moments. I've been to shows, and in shows, where the auidience laughter is generated as polite encouragement. I shudder at that type of laughter. Fortunately, the laughter for our show was, generally, at such a height and pitch that it was obvious that it was real and honest. Only a couple of times did I think the audience was laughing to support the material, rather than laughing at it.
From the performance side, it was a really good show, especially for a first night. No major mistakes (I froze and then blanked at a moment near the end of the show. Dammit.), and only a few technical hiccups. A great job by everyone involved.
So, good on us.
I find weeks go quicker when I have a TV Program To Look Forward To.
Since the end of this season's (fantastic) The Sopranos, I've only had one TVPTLFT. That being Sunday night's Six Feet Under. I'm sad to say that so far, this season hasn't been satiating my year-long hunger of anticipation for it.
Now, though, I have a new TBPTLFT: The Amazing Race 5. Yes, it's back, on Tuesday nights. I've been waiting for awhile for this, my favourite "reality" tv show. After one episode in, it's like being re-acquainted with an old friend. Phil is exactly the same smirking bemused host. The contestants are another batch of typical flustered contestants.
Here's to The Amazing Race remaining a TVPTLFT.
It's 4:10 in the pm of the day. Our show opens tonight. I was interviewed, along with Graham, this am on CBC Island Morning. It went pretty well. I didn't get lost in a thought, which is always a fear of mine when I'm speaking live in front of people, so I'd have to call it a success.
Just now, the butterflies have begun fluttering around in my stomach. I expect they'll be there until sometime after I perform the one sketch that I'm personally most worried about. Our rehearsals have been going pretty good the last few days, dress rehearsal went really well (which some say is not a good thing, however I don't believe in that crap). Some of the stuff (especially a couple of the videos) are kick-ass shit-stainingly funny. I've never been so confident in the material before a show's opened, as I am with (most) of this stuff. Same with the rest of the cast. This of course, has us worried that we're overconfident.
All that's left is to wait for the crowd and see what they think.
Complete details tomorrow about whether the show's da bomb or a bomb.
This topic was brought up a while ago at a lunch. People were skeptical as to the validity of my claim. It's not a wild claim, certainly not an interesting one, nor one worth making up. Yet since the skepticism exists, I do now feel compelled to somehow validate it here by making it public.
Usually, I have a pretty "regular" morning routine. Most days, I could, if need be, reserve the bathroom for the same precise 10 minute period when I'd most need it. Sometimes, however, in the rush of morning activity, I forget to "go to the bathroom". I leave the house having not watered or weeded. (I'm trying hard not to type "pee" or "poop").
That's sometimes. Most times, on these 'sometimes' days, I'll take care of bladder & bowel business at work. Occasionally, though, on these 'sometimes' days, I neglect to "expunge my internal records" and my day will carry on as usual. At the end of these occasional sometimes days (does that sound like a tampon line?), I will come home, eat supper, and then, an hour or two later, realise that I have a rather full Recycle Bin and will then go about permanently deleting the contents.
Yes, this topic was brought up at a lunch.
I am not proud.
So, there's a story in today's Guardian, in the sports section, that wonders why the so-called Battle of Canada doesn't draw more rivalry from the players or loyalty/interest from fans.
Hmmm?
Let's see: The Blue Jays and the Expos are both at the bottom of their respective divisions. The Expos are owned by MLB, that is, by the rest of the teams (that statement so deserves a "Huh?") ever since they were supposed to be moved and/or dissolved a couple of years ago. When the Expos last had a "legitimate" owner, he purposefully tried to ruin the club, practically begging (by his actions) Expos fans to stay away. Fortunately for him, they listened. The two teams play in separate leagues, and inter-league play is generally seen as No Big Deal by anyone.
Those are just some of the reasons why there's not so much interest in the Battle of Canada. But I think the main reason why there was such a lack of interest in the Toronto Blue Jays vs. Montreal Expos games this weekend was:
THEY WERE PLAYED IN FRIGGIN' PUERTO RICO!!
Morons. I so hate baseball.
Well, we've spent a furious last couple of weeks getting ready for the premiere of Sketch 22 (starting this Thursday and Friday, and running those days until August 27, at the ARTS Guild, Charlottetown), and are now "very fine tuning" the show. Having spent a number of months with this stuff, we are at the stage now where we question if the stuff we've written was ever funny, and must trust in our remembrances of the initial readings of the various skecthes, and at how hard we've laughed at the stuff at various stages in the rehearsal process.
Of course, it being all new material, we are nervous as to how it will be received. We've performed 3 of the 22 sketches at two different functions, and they were very well enjoyed, so that is encouraging.
Two more rehearsals, and then we see if we're as funny and smart and clever as we think we are.
