Saturday Night Live dreams, w/ William Shatner

Dreamed that I was on Saturday Night Live again as a cast member. The dreams are very vivid, with reciting dialog and a variety of sketches, relying on my previous dream-SNL experience (I always reference I’m a veteran, compounding earlier SNL dreams).

Upon waking up, I typically feel the urge to watch the recorded show to see how I did. It takes time to realize, say, this time: 1) It was a dream on Friday night, 2) I was in Oregon all day and not in New York.

I was on Weekend Update trying out some new catch phrases, sketches relying on silly attitudes and some of my dodgy celebrity impressions, but the longest one was a dragged-out end-of-show experimental slop skit that was largely improv and with William Shatner. We were light on the goals of the sketch, knew it was tanking, then were amusing ourselves and if the audience followed along, bully for them.

After the show, Shatner and I got into an argument in a parking lot. Possibly because I made fun of his acting style on air. Then I woke up. These aren’t performance-anxiety dreams, as embarrassment or shame don’t intrude.

‘New Girl’, vagina technique: everybody gets a churro

A terrific moment from ‘New Girl’, a show that seemed it would bug the shit outta me but is hilarious and moving toward greatness. Could it be I’ve progressed from chewing psycho-emotional cud over teenage angst to late 20s-early 30s cud? Counts as progess. I may be mature by age 60 at this rate. Excellent!

Schmidt, accomplished ladies’ man, is here consulting with a lesbian gynecologist. Schmidt has lost sexual confidence and they exchange techniques here. We laughed so hard we missed the final line: “Everybody. Gets. A churro.”

Another storyline involved procrastinating on writing. Not that I’m doing that, right now, by blogging instead of writing.

The core of Scmidt’s technique, because Valentine’s Day will be here before you know it:

Then what I’ll do is, is I’ll go outside, get the paper, and shake the neighbor’s hand.

Then what I’ll do is I’ll tie a bow on it, because it’s birthday time, then get onstage and collect my Oscar, and say “Thank you!” to the people, “Thank you!” to the people. Then get back down off stage and get everybody into the sharing circle, right down in there on the sharing circle, and then SPIKE THE VOLLEYBALL.

What I like to do is, I like to arrive at the bridge, meet the troll, and then answer his riddles three. And then what we do is we’re dancing, we’re just gonna dance, we’re gonna dance for a while, dance until you can’t dance anymore, dance until you can’t dance ANYMORE. Then everybody. Gets. A churro. [mouth pop]”

The sparkly Twilight loaf, it is pinched!

I’ve seen all five Twilight movies. Knowing there is inner dialog and motivations going on that cannot be conveyed onscreen has me less focused on why everyone looks so burpy, and more often bored.

Two scenes are pretty good. When Jacob hastily strips before the grown-up audience’s proxy, Bella’s dad, to change into a wolf to PROVE to the dad there are THINGS in this world that are SUPERNATURAL he has NO IDEA about, both actors do a good job selling it as comedy.

The battle scene near the end is cathartic. The special effects are poor, but it’s delightfully brutal and chock full of “Wow, did they just do that?” For people emotionally involved with the characters, it must have been a roller coaster. For a distant observer, it was daring given the constraints.

It also serves as testimony that when heading into battle, thick wool clothing and heavy capes are a LOUSY idea when combatting people in more nimble clothing. Especially weird given vampires don’t need to keep warm. And for a collection of Eurotrash based in Italy, why no Italian accents among the Volturi? It was all that non-committal mid-Atlantic accent where you cannot pinpoint where the character is supposed to be from, other than not AMURHICA.

“Alice” and “Jasper”. They’re not really centuries old.Jasper’s head. It makes me smirk or laugh. A fixation every movie. The actor’s candid photos look normal-ish, but when he’s onscreen, you can sense him reciting to himself: “I am wise and older than I look, oh, the things my character has seen.” Whatever he’s doing, it doesn’t work.

Are the movies lazy about when vampires are pale versus sanguine? Flesh tones are all over the place in this series. If this inconsistency is explained in the books let me know.

CGI Renesme looks awful. Uncanny. They put CGI on her face as a baby, toddler, and grown-up. It floats over where the face should be and lags a tetch behind the body itself. In the baby scenes, I imagined the actors carrying around an infant baby model covered in green and little white dots they use in motion capture and started laughing.

I am the spawn of the undead and a mopey teen, but it is CGI that makes me an abomination.When it was all over, it was like finishing flavorless food. Not flavorless, more like a grilled Velveeta sammich. Took the kids, who had only seen the first movie, and reflected they could follow the story without having seen the intervening three movies.

Is there anyone watching these movies a second time? Anyone truly caught up in the romance? I’m way out of the demographic (moms, teens) but it seems the culture hardly references the films now, no quoting of lines, re-enacting scenes. Watching this “Epic Finale That Will Live Forever”, it felt like a national obligation we were all “Meh” about. Seems unlikely kids will be viewing the movies five years from now. Or two years.

Andrés 3000, get your silly ass back into the studio

Andrés 3000 from OutKast (and effectively a solo artist): enough with your primping razor commercials with professional squinter Adrian Brody and that cuddly Spanish actor. You’re so fresh and so clean, we GET IT, but we don’t like you for your grooming. We like you because you’re funny and funky in your music.

Get back in the studio and make another album. Take in Big Boi if possible, or not.

In defense of palooka Billy Joel

I have no idea whether Billy Joel has recorded an album in the last thirty years. The Billy Joel I know has a weird chip on his shoulder about being disrespected by critics in the late 70s and 80s for, I guess, not being Paul Simon?

New York already has a Paul Simon. It only needs the one Paul Simon. I don’t see Billy Joel falling into a sustained melancholy like Paul Simon, or at least ENJOYING the melancholy like Paul Simon. I would go eat pizza with Billy Joel without thinking. I’d have some hesitation about eating pizza with Paul Simon, though I have more of his music.

The Nylon Curtain is a favorite album. I haven’t listened to it all the way through since the 80s. The songs aren’t all great, but even as a kid listening to it on cassette what was appealing was Billy Joel making an effort to stretch. “Goodnight Saigon” is a moving song. “Pressure”, thinking about this right now, might have been inspired by Peter Gabriel. Especially the video. Oh shit. I may have to go on a walk after posting this.

“Allentown” is a hallmark song for Joel. Listening it today it’s still pretty great, and he marvelously adds seven or eight syllables in the first word of “restlessness was handed down”. He may STILL be in the studio in the middle of pronouncing “restlessness”. I remember reading in Rolling Stone mentioning the people in Allentown, PA not caring for the song. That saga is interesting.

“We Didn’t Start the Fire” is a horrible fucking song. Not a horrible song for fucking (that too), but on the all-time list of awful songs. Bottom five on my list. Baby boomer apologia. If reading the mention of the song compels you to listen to it, you got a Google or iTunes, go for it. I won’t link to it. I love you way too goddamn much to be that conduit.

“You May Be Right” is a future karaoke song for me. Once done, I may expire fully content. Joel’s performance below gets cut off before the finish. He is a major dorkus malorkus here, unclear whether he knows that or if he thinks he’s being menacing. Whatever he’s doing, he’s OWNING it here, which deserves RESPECT, you mook, and you may laugh when you start viewing this, but when it ends abruptly you will feel blueballed/ovaried!

Christy Turlington and me.

Born the same year, supermodel Christy Turlington and I share a certain kinship. We’re often mistaken for each other in public or at parties (I know, Christy. Hilarious, right?) but she lets me know she’s a few months wiser than me. Alla time.

Saw this magazine ad with the tagline “Her heart. Her soul. Her beauty. Her scent.” Thought it needed a few more lines.

Her heart. Her soul. Her beauty. Her scent.
She strolled. She sprinted. She stopped. She went:
“You gambol, you laugh, you eat, you write.”
I thought. I smirked. I held her. “That’s right.”

‘Breaking Dawn’ Part 2: Tackle that cat!

I’ve seen the other ‘Twilight’ movies and will gleefully pinch the loaf and watch the final one when released.

This preview makes me forget the 7-8 hours of my life already given over to the films chock full of dull talking. Now I only recall a constant loop of vampires of dogs running at each other in the same field over and over.

Get More: 2012 VMA, Artists.MTV, Music

 

Five! Five wondervul movies! Ah ah ah!

Snapshots of “Paparazzi”

Driving with the kids for about two hours today, we listened to Lady Gaga and Adele. Putting them on means the kids keep the headphones off. We shifted to ‘West Side Story’ in the last 20 minutes.

“Paparazzi” came on, and I visualized (while still driving safely) the three moments in the video I like the most.

1.) Malady-afflicted celebrity bravely and stylishly taking to the red (okay, lavender) carpet on crutches (2:54 mark):

2.) The Mickey Mouse ensemble with plastic/wax lips she has when poisoning her attempted murderer (5:45 mark):

3.) Dishevelled sass when getting her mugshots at the police station (7:16 mark):

The full video for your convenience (all about saving you the keystrokes in a search engine):

Quickie post – Marilyn and James Joyce

A fast entry because I’m tired of a squirrel carcass being the toppamost post. Here’s a photo of Marilyn Monroe reading ‘Ulysses’ by James Joyce. One may snort derisively. Remember Monroe was married to esteemed playwright Arthur Miller. She likely enjoyed the book. Also this photo is adorable and brainy and hot.

Magic power chargeups.

Meditation (or time for calm concentration) is a Very Fine Thing. This message on the back of a van was confusing. It makes prayer like when a Pokemon charges up its power, or when one of the X-Men needs a second or two to do his/her thing. Prayer shouldn’t be like getting a bonus on a Dungeons and Dragons die roll, should it?

That noticeable smudge is bird poop on my windshield. All other smirches are on the van.

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