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 Ones that would not make me seem outdated and weird to my friends.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!"