Tag Archives: TV

Your Friday Randomness

7 Mar

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Listen, I have these two bananas left on my desk…so do you want one? 

…I’ve been pushing them on everyone since I came in today.  Apparently bananas have a shelf life of about a day-and-a-half in my house, cuz I swear they were mostly green when I got them Wednesday, and now they’re on the ass-end of being brown-freckled to death.

Stupid fruit.

…See, this is why I do vegetables, instead.  This always happens to me. The apples get soft brown spots, the berries grow fuzz and the oranges sound like slushies when you shake them…all within about 48 hours from date of purchase.  I need to just stop trying anymore and buy my fruit as nature intended I consume it: In Oikos yogurt.

Meanwhile…

I did this really stupid thing yesterday at “lunch.” I watched the finale of “Burn Notice.”

…I was naturally devastated and useless for about three hours after, and super pissed, but in the good way…cuz it HAD to end the way that it did…with the people and the things and the stuff, and it was a moment of total bad-assness on it’s own terms…but still. It wasn’t okay. And you need to know that.

…Lucky for me I still have “Cagney & Lacey” to consume as I lick my wounds. Which…I dunno if you’ve seen it in a while or not…but it ain’t like those cheesy 80’s shows with bad writing, and dated everything else. That show, is tops. I mean laughing out loud and getting pissed and emotional EVERY EPISODE kind of good.

…Plus it continues to feed my current “Celebricrush” fulfillment on Sharon Gless.

…Know what else feeds that? (Other than my Amazon wish list?) Google and the YouTubes.

…In fact, Google and the YouTubes are tops when it comes to “Celebristalking.” So many happy hits of joy to seek and mine. Of course I choose to refer to this action as “study time” more than “stalking”…in as much as I am gaining valuable information useful to my daily life and career, and not just general gossip about which brand she smokes (none, she’s quit), or how many per day (three packs, at her highest.)

…Lessons like, “Every Fucking Way To Use A Cigarette As A Prop.” This is an important update to the unwritten book Bette Davis first wrote back in the 30’s. And with the theme of characters on my resume, this can ONLY be considered invaluable information. So too, “How To Make Your Interviewer Blush.” “Wig & Hair Ornamentation Tips.” “How To Be The Darling Of The Gays.” “Out Dirty-Laughing The Dirty Laughers.” “How To Embrace & Love The ‘Fat Farm.'” “How To Be A GILF.” “Marriage Ain’t For Everyone.” And, “How To Tell A Critic To Fuck Off.”

…I think perhaps the last one is my particular favorite. Mostly for its context:

“The woman in San Jose slammed everything I did from the minute the curtain came up! She hated every moment of it and criticized my orgasm! …I wanted to write her and say, ‘Look lady, I don’t know what yours are like or if you’ve ever had one, but I did mine standing up and got applause every night.'”

…That was Gless at age sixty-something, P.S.

Just: “Winning.” The end.

In Other News: I am now eating my second banana of the day. Can you OD on them? I dunno. I only bought them for the vitamins and you CAN OD on those…though I still don’t understand how.

…As part of my “trying to embrace and love the ‘Fat Farm,'” lesson, I decided a natural food detox with vitamin bump would be a good idea. So looked up a bunch of all natural stuffs, together with recommendations of friends, and now am choking down weeds and powders in pill form, every morning, in lieu of breakfast.

…I tried to fix that too…which is where the bananas come in.

…Only turns out that raiding my pantry for pills from the last health kick I was on, showed toxic levels of too muchness in the daily intake. Like 2000 IUs of vitamin D instead of the Pac NW recommended 1000…the difference meaning I could accidentally die of like liver failure and twelve other things…OR if not consuming enough: keel over from weak bones, contract MS, have breast issues, or fade into a ghost jellyfish from general lack of sunlight.

…For a hypochondraic, this kind of research and study is enough to send you absolutely over the edge with anxiety…but I’ve managed rather well under the circumstances. I’ve set myself a nice and balanced little chart to follow, and am trying my best to wean myself off the crap-consumption so my body can actually take advantage of it. Soda and junk food is out. There isn’t a lick of salt in my house. A few cheats here and there from the evil Starbuck drive-thru and late night nibbles after rehearsal are still a battle, but that’s been set with a kill date of tomorrow.

…Other than that, the booze are really the last of the hump. Its a big one…I don’t wanna climb that hill…it sucks. Wine and whiskey are delicious! But its time, its good. I’ve done my Wakes and taken my break and puffed out like a float in the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Time to reel it in now.

…Detox. Whatta bitch.

~D

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Victorian Commando

29 May

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The Fella just left from a cheese-eating, line-running, catch-upping date of yay: he over a beer, me over a whiskey.

…He brought me condiments, from the house, as he is in the final process of “move-out,” where he will be soon to join The BFF in the land of New Orleans.

Every theatre (and it’s people) in town will mourn his leaving, on scales: artistic, inventive, technical and in performance.

I frankly don’t even want to think about it.  So stop bringing it up.

…He helped me level out my TV sound system while here.  Cuz he’s a Wizard. 

The WHS Pimp had brought in a kick ass sub woofer et al for office use, to which I said, “Balls to that!  I’m taking this shit HOME!”  And I did.  And set it on the lowest possible level.  And instantly became the kind of asshole apartment neighbor we all hate, with constant booming rumbles through the entire length of a movie. 

I made sure to put in a good action one to really show off.  The explosions were awesome, and the helicopter sounded like it was actually landing in my own living room.  I’m sure the neighbors thought so too.  But then, once The Fella came over, I had him fiddle with it to get a better talking balance versus the constant sound of impending doom that a sub woofer seems able to deliver by instinct.  He of course managed it beautifully, killed the added echo, upped the treble, and has it balanced like a dream.

…Only it’s too late now for ‘splosion movies, so I’ll have to play with it again tomorrow.

In the mean time: a second session of Pilates.

…And tomorrow: laundry and rehearsal, followed by post-cast-bonding…under the express encouragement of Mdm. Director.

Laundry is a total must.

Down to my default underwear again.  And I’m seriously considering going “commando,” over wearing that butt-floss thong bullshit, (which I keep only for such emergency purposes.)

…Only somehow, I don’t think “commando” wears well on Gwendolen.

…Something tells me, Mamma wouldn’t approve.

(Beat.)

…Course, what she doesn’t know, couldn’t hurt her…

~D

Killing Off The Lead

19 May

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I’d like to start a petition to kill off Mr. Selfridge from the next season of “Mr. Selfridge,” only they almost never will kill off the lead.  Especially when the whole show is titled for him. And it’s based on history. And he lived into his 90’s.

…I can’t take watching Jeremy Pivin that long.

…I can’t take watching him this long.

I get this horribly overwhelming empathy for every poor bastard he does a scene with, which actually drives me to continually shout at the screen in every scene he is in.  Things like:

“HOW ARE YOU THIS BAD AND STILL EMPLOYED?!”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO YELL EVERY SINGLE FUCKING LINE?!”

“HOW DO YOUR BRITISH CHILDREN AND AUSTRALIAN WIFE ALL SPEAK WITH BETTER AMERICAN ACCENTS THAN YOU?! YOU COME FROM ILLINOIS!”

“I’VE WATCHED TAMPON COMMERCIALS WITH PEOPLE WHO EXPRESS MORE CHARACTER MOTIVATION!”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE THE ONE REPRESENTATIVE AMERICAN…YOU MAKE US ALL LOOK LIKE TOTALLY TALENTLESS, INCOMPETENT, ASSHOLES!”

“I HAVEN’T BEEN THIS PISSED OFF FROM TOTAL WASTE OF CO-ACTORS SCENE-GIFTING, SINCE THE TOM CRUISE CASTING FIASCO IN ‘VALKYRIE’!”

“HOW DO YOU NOT HAVE SEXUAL CHEMISTRY WITH THAT?  HAVE YOU SEEN HER?!?”

…and…

“WHHHHHHY?!?”

…I’ve stuck with it because the critics are right: tons of other characters are totally invested and worth it.  ‘Specially the women. Which just makes him stick out worse.  My old favorites are acting perfectly up to speed of my expectations of their excellence, and new ones have been found to join them in the ranks.  It is often delightful, always eye-candy, the wigs make me breathless, (and the Frenchman), I’m appropriately in love with everyone I’m supposed to be, and hate the ones I’ve been taught to…except for the leading character…which is just totally screwing up the whole balance of everything.

…He was bedridden for one episode and it was one of the best parts of my day. Cuz he slept through about 85% of it.

…Then the bastard woke up again.

…And I yelled at the screen some more.

Meantime, I feel I should clarify that this is not merely a matter of a “character” I happen to dislike, (as one frequently does in BBC drama…and usually for well plotted and planned out reasons, as supplied by the writers.)  I am saying that the character would be ideal if played as written…by a seductive, charismatic, likable human, with some shred of sexual chemistry, and the ability to deliver a line without yelling it in a monotone manner at whomever he happens to be facing at the the time. 

…And yes, I have to say “yelling AT” because he has yet (7 episodes in) to have an actual “conversation” with anyone.

…And I have to say “facing” because that is all he does.

…And I have to say “lack of any sexual chemistry” as he (apparently) fucks everything that moves, and yet every times he goes to kiss one of the poor women I actually, physically wince for them.

If one was looking for someone to “SHARE” a scene, or converse appropriately, or conduct some sparks with: Joe American Entourage King, sure as hell ain’t it.

…He ain’t.

…And isn’t.

…And I’ve been festing this now across some days.  

…So I feel like I’ve certainly given him more than a fair share of opportunity to prove me wrong.

…But he didn’t.

…And he won’t.

…And I know there is a second season coming.

…And because I’m a history geek, I know that bastard is gonna live forever.

…And I’m sorta really bummed out about it, frankly.

…(And that Lady Mae didn’t re-sign. Cuz she’s one of my most delicious character favorites.)

Oh, the woe that is my LIFE!

…Good thing I’m back to rehearsals tomorrow.  My artistic frustration needs a good blowout.  Obviously, yelling at the TV isn’t quite cutting it.

~D

Can’t…Stop…

18 Mar

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Hand cramp galore.

…Band Aid fingers…from crochet needle wear and tear.

Eyes wigging out with forced focus change: TV to my fingers.

Must finish this row and go to sleep.

~D

Displaced Stuffs & A Happy Christmas!

25 Dec

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Playing with all my new toys, and finding homes for them around the house. 

…This is no small feat as my little home is already jam-packed, and in some cases a little displacement has had to take place. This always takes twice as long as it prob’ly does for other people, because changing things around makes me second guess the new options. I know I need to just make a choice and leave them till I get used to it…which won’t be for several days…but I keep getting all impatient and shift and re-shift them endlessly.

…Two and a half hours later, my brain is so “done,” you guys.

…Meanwhile, tomorrow am back to work, then home to strike the decorations on account that rehearsals this week need me to. I need enough time to clean  before the small New Years party Marty has nominated me to hold for all us cast adults. We’ll be too busy working scenes on the night of, and not enough time after to dress and get anywhere else afterwards.

Am uncommonly excited about it 🙂 

…No better way I can think to usher in the next year than with a bunch of family, after spending an evening doing something I love.

The bar is stocked.

Marty is floating food ideas in her head.

…And I can only do so much futzing ‘tween now and then, what with a full work schedule ahead.

Sitting here now with “Bells of St. Mary’s” on, sipping some Ceylon Orange tea, trying to calm my brain a bit as I gawk at Bergman’s face, roughly the size of my own, looking back as me from a new significantly larger TV screen. In fact, I keep getting sucked into it and forgetting that I’m s’posed to be writing something.

…I love you and all…but Bergman close-ups outrank you.

Don’t feel bad.

…They outrank pert near every person who has ever breathed.

And that’s the truth.

Ask anyone.

~D

P.S. Incidentally…in this last hour of Christmas, you should totally watch this:

From Our Foreign Correspondent: The BFF

19 Oct

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And now, a word from our Foreign Correspondent.

…She is back folks!

And, in more thinky terms of life changing philosophy, is here to share with you, (via our satellite offices) what it’s like to cry into your baking in abandoned woe, and roast a chicken in 90 degree heat (because goddamn it, it’s OCTOBER!)…what it’s like to haunt Kraft Service tables as an Extra on sets all day, and her burgeoning possible 8th career into Circus Performance Art, et al. Hold onto your hats, a lot of fun is coming at yuh! But first: we must begin at the beginning…and not give everything away right off the bat.

I give you: The BFF.

***

I am writing this from somewhere inside Elysian Park.

My lack of knowledge about my current whereabouts and my decision not to worry about being eaten by some large bush-dwelling park creature reflects the uncanny sense of calm I now feel in the face of the big, scary, directionless life change I made three weeks ago.

I am calm now. Make no mistake, I was not calm nine days ago.

WHO AM I

WHAT AM I DOING

WHERE AM I

WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?!?!?

These questions and more had a good week-long free-for-all over my entire conscious being, often paralyzing me creatively and socially, negating the very reason I ventured south in the first place: meet people, do things, make art.

You make some chocolate mousse at 11:30 in an empty apartment on a Saturday night, you cry, you read about the execution of Socrates, and then you realize, suddenly and violently, that every terrifying thought stopping you up to this point, exists solely

INSIDE YOUR HEAD.

A breath, a cough, you put away the mousse, you pry your self out of the pillow fort, and you begin, once again, to live life.

In almost 3 weeks of living in Los Angeles, I have:

Been an extra on 2 television shows (it’s really much much easier than it sounds)

Met and learned from many fellow artists.

Danced the night away.

Followed leads (some fruitful, others not.)

Conversed with many strangers.

Propositioned some clowns.

Sharpened the vision of my future theatre company.

And as of this afternoon, I may very well have landed myself both a job and some serious training at LA’s premier circus school.

PEOPLE OF THE WORLD: LISTEN.

All you have to do is something, it’s very easy although we most often make it very hard.

Sometimes, things will be shit. But everything changes, always, so dwelling is utterly futile.

Move, with life, and you will be fine.

Inspiration, though keen to strike us over the head when we least expect it, most often will only come out and play after much coaxing and many compromises. As an artist, you must place yourself in an environment where inspiration is apt to dwell, even if it does not instantly adjust, even if it requires hours of sweet-talk and ass-kissing, there are places where inspiration is more easily found than others.

We must find it, and we must know that just because we have found it, does not mean we will automatically be inspired.

This is my challenge, alone, in the belly of the beast, consistently adjusting the lighting, fluffing the pillows, and playing some Marvin Gaye in the recesses of my mind on the off chance that inspiration happens to drop by.

I left [home] because it was no longer a place that invited my inspiration. Los Angeles is terrifying and large and harsh, but for me, a jungle is always better than a desert.

Much love,

The BFF

***

…And equal love,

~D

Travel Writing & Lines

27 Sep

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So yesterday’s post was composed on the way to, (and in the parking lot just before), rehearsal. 

…Because that is when I had time.

We are only in blocking now. Clearly, I need to figure out how to get a few blogs in draft form holding ready for immediate posting as needed.  Because if I hadn’t had a particularly funny rehearsal to write about yesterday, I would have had to settle for the bird eating a french fry off the sidewalk, or nomad (of the homeless persuasion), cussing at his invisible friend while looking for something that had fallen to the bottom of his shopping cart.

…When you have all of fifteen minutes to write in, you can’t be picky, people.

Also, I’m already having “line guilt.”

…This is the guilt you feel when you are not yet off book, and yet try to enjoy things like your new “Thor” Bluray specials, but can’t because the whole time you are trying to tell yourself you’re “having a good time,” but are secretly freaking out about how you have like ten gillion lines that haven’t been learned yet. Because of Theatre religious connotations, its a lot like Jewish and Catholic guilt really. Only a little bit worse. Cuz you can’t just “absolve” it later when you still don’t know the lines, and really, really, really wanna watch the “Castle” season opener. But can’t.

…So I’m going with the “rewarding” plan of attack. This is based on the “buy one, get one free” schematic.

For every French Scene I memorize, I getta do one thing NOT having to do with lines. (Like write a blog for instance.) Then I go back and kick another one’s ass and get to play with another thing. Only, my memory has always been a little for-shit in that temporary storing part where lines live? Which means I spend twice as long learning them, then taking a break and re-learning them…over and over and over again, until they finally stick.

…It took me three hours just to get my first scene down yesterday, mid phone bookings at work. And then I had to relearn the entire fucking thing on the way home. And again while in the shower after my walk, but before rehearsal. When I woke up this morning and tried it, all of a sudden I actually remembered it. Which could totally change by noon today…who even knows. The fact I’m not even using the meter to help me learn ’em, (so I don’t get all stuck in it later), hasn’t been the greatest help either.

…Which means, I’ll prob’ly still be on scene three when next we speak, and I STILL won’t fucking know what happened “the morning after” for Kate n’ Castle.

Basically, this is just me bitching about the essential necessities of acting, because, “poor me,” I have a job and lines to learn…and how it is TOTALLY getting in the way of my fav TV show fixations. Which is not to say I am ungrateful…cuz I do love me the theatre…I just hate that I’m not one of those photographic memory people who can look at a law book once through, then pass the Bar, all in one afternoon.

It would be a super handy skill, no lie.

…Meanwhile, I have to go back to my Open Order report now. So I can finish it and spend the next five hours afterward, trying to slam three monologues into my brain, while I file.

It’s a glamourous life I lead.

You only WISH you were me.

~D

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