A Little Dedication

I am not being over-dramatic. I was really upset when I heard Michael Jackson died and I know I might split my audience when it comes to my views on the man but hey, if you like it you can read on and if not, not to worry, I'm sure I'll be back to my witty, sarcastic self next time. For now, let me get emotional:

I feel like I was a generation behind the people who really experienced Michael's artistry at its best but after hearing "Black and White" in the 90s on the radio, I decided to invest in CDs of "Dangerous" and "Bad.". As an upper-middle class, white, Brit chick (btw, all the things that MJ was not, at least, before the surgeries) the world of Michael Jackson was everything fun and imaginative that was absent in my life. I lived in a nice area, went to school with mean, snobby kids, I was taught in the intellectual pursuits that most "nice" kids are offered and music, the few times we had it, was hymns and old folkish songs. There was one dance class I participated in but that ended after a small showcase of Madonna tunes shocked some of the parents and staff. MJ's music, videos and image was something I could escape to when I wanted fun, danger and my imagination to go wild. An expressive beat that resonated within my body and soul. I knew then that I was destined to entertain, not in the shadow of MJ but in my own way.

A couple of years went by, MJ became somewhat "uncool" and my fan loyalty drifted...it was all about other silly pop stars now. Ones that would not make me seem outdated and weird to my friends. Plus, he slept with little boys didn't he? How could I like a guy who was so weird.

THEN, I saw him in concert.

I was 13 and the "History" tour came to town. My friend Veronica and I were mildly excited to go, I had been listening to "You Are Not Alone" and was eager to see what he would do with it live. I left that concert swept away. Everything regarding the obsessive cult around this guy made sense. He came on and made every moment magical. Even the few tracks I had previously thought mediocre were electrified by Michael's dramatics, his specific muscle movements on stage could carry emotion all the way back to the other end of the auditorium. I had never been an "obsessive" fan (and, believe it or not, still am not) but now I understood the craze, the hype, the sub-human nature of it. Michael didn't just do a great show...he did a show that branded in your memory forever. THAT was the difference. It became an almost spiritual, magical experience that night. An example of the talent that a human being could have and so there MUST be a God. It was my first real music concert and can you believe it no other concert has ever topped it. Even Madonna.

Tomorrow I shoot a promo for the pilot I'm pitching. Weirdly enough it concerns the music industry and a make-believe pop star who is now a ghost. Even more scary, this is what happened a few days ago....

On Saturday, I lazed around and watched the Jackson Five movie-for-TV on VH1. That night I had a dream that my series was on the air and that for the last episode we were going to have a surprise guest...that guest was Michael Jackson and he sat across from the main actor and said "Can you revive me?" Now the "reviving" he was referring to was his career in my dream but do you understand now why I'm so emotional?

R.I.P. Michael. From just another fan xx.

It's hard not to make a dirty joke when you enter a place called "Big Wangs," one of Hollywood's staple sports bars.

I'd been to "Big Wangs" on Cahuenga before, as it's a block over from where I do improv and sketch shows. Now that Improv Olympic has a reduced bar capacity after the fire marshall charged in with "rules," I'm likely to be wandering into Wangs more often on Sunday night.

Happy Hour prices after 10pm- not bad, not bad. $10 for a pitcher of PBR anytime- niiiice. What I wasn't prepared for was "bikini bingo." No stretch of the imagination here, it's a game where a chick in a bikini gives you your bingo pieces and maybe (I didn't stay long enough to find out) she gives you your prize at the end of the night.

Equally entertaining is the bar's website: http://www.bigwangswings.com/ which has a constant sound effect of a talking crowd, just in case you mistakenly thought this was lonely-man-drowning-sorrows watering hole. A big cock (see it IS hard to not make a dirty joke) I mean, a rooster communicates to you via cartoon bubbles. And by "you" I mean men. Here are some bubble excerpts:

"Chicks Dig Big Wangs"

"Beer, Chicks, Sports and Food. What else does a man need.."

"Size matters"

AND my personal favorite, under MENU:

"Don't feed the chicks"

Hmm, okay, I'm not going to get ultra-feminist here, I promise. I understand the market for Spike TV and The Man Show and...penis enlargements but come on- "don't feed the chicks"?! How about sending the butcher out for rooster cause THIS chick likes to be fed.

But seriously, who wouldn't want to compete in the national Big Wangs Beer Pong League in Vegas....well, me, but I'm weird.

Oh and for extra entertainment look under the SPORTS link on the website and check out the blonde with the football on her head, the hot-pants and the Tee saying that famous quote again "Size Matters." Yeah, boys, I envision a new Princess Leah in a Golden Bikini fantasy starting up here. I'll put a football on my head any day for you lads....but it might end up a "soccer" ball instead.

Evolution of the RomCom

Make fun of romantic comedies all you want but they used to be good. Or were we just more romantic? The answer is probably BOTH.

I don't know why I believe there is more love in the old black and white movies, maybe because it's there...and not necessarily in the cheesy, cliched way we see in today's "Hollywood Feel-Good Output Factory."

In 1934's "It Happened One Night," a classic screwball comedy, directed by Frank Capra, made a killing at the Academy Awards. The Academy Awards? Yeah, can you believe we gave awards to romcoms because that's how good they were (and, possibly, that's how unjaded we were too). "It Happened One night" won the five biggies- best picture, screenplay, actor, actress, director. It's hard to imagine "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past" having the same kind of impact. Oscar? Yeah, maybe for Matthew McConaughey's hairdresser. By the way, how does she keep those blonde locks so firm and full?

And for all those modern audiences who might roll your eyes and say: "But old movies are boooring." Here's a bit of wit, from IHON, the mouths of the stars, Clark Gable (Peter) and Claudette Colbert (Ellie):
[after Ellen stops a car by showing her leg]
Peter: Why didn't you take off all your clothes? You could have stopped forty cars.
Ellie: Well, ooo, I'll remember that when we need forty cars.

You can cut the sexual tension between Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert with a sushi knife. Yes, a really big, sharp sushi knife. You can cut Matthew McConaughey and Jennifer Garner's sexual tension with..hmmm...a feather? Oh, okay, okay, a piece of playdough, that's fair.

But really, why do we insult our audiences by thinking they can't handle intelligent banter between an "I love you/I hate you couple?" That's what real relationships are, people trying to outwit the other person and fight against an irrational attraction. The old romantic comedies did that, on top of an already good story line. It was great entertainment....enough to make Paris Hilton cry out: "That's hot!" Announcement to all Hollywood writers: bring back the screwball in the romcom and, as Clark Gable says: "Don't hold that against me, I'm a little screwy myself!"

Das Klub

The club scene in L.A. is no different from any other big city except that it is tinged with some- how do you say it....desperation.

In London and New York the consensus of club-goers were 1) rich kids a la "Gossip Girl" 2) yuppie businessmen 3) old guys trying to hit on young chicks 4) occasional celebrity and entourage 5) some member of the royal family (Fergie? Can you hear me?). In L.A. there is a darker tinge to most of the club-hopping possy, many of them are hoping they will meet that special someone (and I don't mean soulmate or life-partner) with a golden ticket into Hollywood. Broke, young but beautiful actresses work their charms over crowds of early-30s men calling themselves "producers" and the latter scan the rooms for older bigwigs to officialize them in this town.

Yes, even after-hours, this town is at work.

I had not ventured into the club scene for a while but an acting class buddy was celebrating her birthday at "Les Deux" and she had a table arranged with no cover charge for her guests. How can a girl say no? It was a great time to venture back into the world of dressed-to-impress wannabes.

When you are escorted to your table the natural instinct is for everyone to look at you, to see if you might be mildly important and therefore mildly significant to talk to. Then one of two things happen...either there is disappointment in their faces and they turn and get back to their 12 dollar Kettle One & Tonic or they hang out, trying to figure out who you are, what you are and whether you're pretty enough to be worth a conversation. Sorry boys, but I did hear me some terrible pick up lines: "Can you give me directions? Cause I'm lost in your eyes." I'm walking through a crowd with my boyfriend and one guy even has the nerve to grab me. Yeah, that's gonna make me want you...a good grab. Lol. Two gorgeous African-American girls sat on top of the smooth leather couches, dressed to the nines looking unapproachable but ready for the kill if they saw something they wanted. Two guys next to me were already so smashed that every bottle or glass they held inevitably ended up shattering on the floor and the reluctant but hopefully high-paid cocktail waitresses would get things cleared up to "I'm sorry, honey" slurred in their ears. Mmm, this is hollywood living at it's best. I just have one question- where are the actual "famous" Hollywood people that all these people came to see? Nowhere. Probably at home learning their lines or closing late-night deals. Sadly enough for the club-goers, wannabes are hanging out with more wannabes.

It was a good night but more for hanging out with my class and having fun with the company I already had than venturing out to icky land. Is that judgmental? Well, it's just hard to enjoy meeting new people when there might always be an agenda behind their smile and next thing you know you have someone calling you the day after asking you if you know anyone that they can pitch their new horror film to. At least you know the agendas of the other cities- get drunk, have fun and get laid. Simple visceral goals.

I won't hold it against you clubs in the land of angels, I just somehow have more fun when you're located off the beaten path. And what's funny...I usually see more famous people at those places anyway. Guess that's the irony of the game.

Plastic Surgery & Joan

I got the audiobook: "Men Are Stupid and Like Big Boobs" by Joan Rivers, for my birthday (is my mother hinting at something?!).

I was expecting the usual stand-up routine by the outspoken one but instead found it WAS an actual tutorial on plastic surgery. Okay, so Joan has a few "opinions" and comedic antidotes in between but it's way more of an information source than an entertainment supply. Well...I guess this is ONE thing Joan can really claim expertise on (red carpet outfits are better left to my gay friends on E!).

Most of "Men Are Stupid.." gets so detailed with the medical intricacies of various procedures that it's hard to stay interested (unless you really are planning on having all that s*&t done in which case...owww & good luck!). But the history of plastic surgery and some of the procedures she talks about are pretty interesting.

The ancient Egyptians were the first people to care enough about beauty to put themselves under a knife. (And remember, there was no general anesthesia...ouch!) However, plastic surgery never moved into popular culture until after the World Wars, when PS salvaged horrible disfigurments and injuries caused by battle. The first commercial plastic surgeons took their knowledge from that era into a more public "battle"- the population's physical insecurities. Increased advertising and media images and available beauty products made women in the 20th Century more aware of their looks than ever before. (And let's face it ladies, it's us that gets nipped and tucked most, though the boys are climbing behind.)

The top 3 procedures: 1) Boob job (really? 15 years after Baywatch?) 2) Liposuction (ahh, yes, this doesn't surprise me, diets suck and so does lipo but with the latter the sucking gets out the fat) 3) Nose surgery (I can relate, every time I see a picture of myself and the nasal "face hog"?).

"Men Are Stupid and Like Big Boobs" is worth it if you're getting at least 3 procedures, or maybe wanna become a scammy plastic surgeon without a license and need to brush up on the info. Otherwise, it's probably a little too much info on stuff you'll never do (or pretend to never do, vaginal rejuvenation? really? really?)

But one thing's for sure, if you are really going under the knife, the hand behind it better be good, because after listening to Joan's list of "things that can go wrong" it's enough to make anyone demand the plastic surgeon sign on with his soul. Or simply remind him before surgery about that uncle with mob connections you have. I'm sure he'll do a good job then.

Now I'm off to...uh...un-deviate my septum?!

Music- The New/Old Food of Love

This week I gave the audiobooks a quick rest because (holy shmoly!) I went out and purchased two darn good albums: By Raphael Saadiq and James Morrison....in my opinion, examples of two men saving music.

I'm obsessed. Jim and Raph's tracks repeat on my laptop and I'm delighted that I can actually hear instruments on their tracks. If I didn't know any better I would have guessed these guys were from a few decades ago. But their album covers are clearly copyrighted to 2008 & 2009. Yeah- there's hope for music yet!

My personal favorites- well, with James Morrison, it's the commonly airplayed "Nothing Ever Hurt Like You" and with Raphael Saadiq it's "Never Ever Gonna Give You Up" which has a great harmonica solo by Stevie Wonder two-thirds of the way through. Hey, if it was good enough for Stevie to join in, it's goood enough for me.

It would be interesting to see how high the sales of these albums or singles were? As a music fan these days, you always hope people are "doing the right thing" and buying the artistic work they like. But who knows?! I have a younger brother who's an avid downloader, although I believe even he buys a percentage of his downloads. the ones he's really passionate about.

Why does the music industry think that the young generation aren't into basic good voices & instrumentals? If a song's good, it's good. Full stop. We'll buy it. I like electronic craziness as much as the next 20s white chick, but the songs on the radio have gotten so bad that on top of the descending talent in hip-hop I feel like an "old woman" craving the sounds of the past- Motown, Classic Rock, Soul, Jazz.

Take me back, baby!

Audiobooks & Ed

There are only so many crappy radio stations you can listen to while cruising the streets of L.A. I set myself a late 2009 resolution last week and decided that since I spend so much time in the car, I should spend it usefully.

Okay, so writing concertos or the great American novel with one hand on the steering wheel and the other clutching an ink pen might be dicey. I tried learning scene lines but I had a close call with a "Starving Students" moving truck while I was "down on the page." So if I plan on living to make it big, I have to substitute "doing" for listening...at least, in the car. What a great skill to sharpen for my ADD-ed Facebook/MySpace/Cellphone personality.

The first audiobook I pulled out was a Christmas gift from my mother- Rupert Everett's autobiography- what a ride. Rupert came from an upper class English family and spent his life rebelling against it. His chaotic attempts at fox-hunting are enough to produce school girl giggles from anyone, as are his antidotes on running away from boarding school, drinking his life away in London and getting thrown out of a pretentious English acting school. His fascination with Madonna makes him seem more obsessed with her than a true friend and his bittersweet stories about Miami's homosexual community are nostalgically descriptive and entertaining. This one's a keeper.

My second audiobook of choice (and I can't wait to get Series 2) is "Ed Reardon's Week." Thank you BBC Radio 4 for producing this masterpiece!! It's just what the doctor ordered. Each episode follows a writer, Ed, and his flawed attempts to escape poverty and gain the literary success he strongly feels is due. It's a must for any writer, or artist, who wants to laugh at the wonderful world of showbiz during gruesome, city traffic. As of now, I think the only way to get the series is order it on Amazon.co.uk. I was surprised that iTunes did not have it (or the regular U.S. Amazon) but even with additional shipping fees, it will be well worth it: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ed-Reardons-Week-BBC-Audio/dp/1408401193/ref=pd_bxgy_b_img_b

If anyone has great recommendations for audiobooks please let me know. I am particularly interested in comedy and any "hidden gems." I've been told the average American spends 4 years of his/her life in the car. I bet mine will be 8 and I plan on spending them laughing.