Stop Cancelling My Shows

Please network folks… Stop cancelling the shows I like. Eastwick, I miss you. Hung, say it ain’t so. The Riches, I know it’s been awhile, but I still mourn the loss.

I mean, yes, it frees up a little space on my DVR, but I need a steady stream of recorded shows to watch at any time, commerical free.

I watch TV. Stop taking away my TV shows. That’s all I can say.

70 is the New 30?

I’m pretty sure that I’m turning 70, not 30, this year. If it pleases the court, I give to you as evidence:

1. I really, really crave boxed chocolates. And I don’t mean Godiva… I’m talking Russell Stovers. I like to buy my own private box so that I can bite into each and if I don’t like one, I can put it back half eaten into its crinkly littler wrapper.

2. I don’t dance on bars anymore. I go to book club once a month as a social activity. And believe me, it’s a social experiment in its own little sector of nightlife. I have a glass of wine and some hummus on pita and discuss books.

3. I don’t stay up late. I go to bed at 11, even on weekends and I feel guilty if I sleep in late. The early bird gets the worm, and apparently, a less crowded dining experience.

4. I say things like, “Oh, dear…” and “Well then…”

5. I marvel at the fact that I will be able to tell my kids: I lived before the Internet. I paid a separate long-distance phone bill. I saved my allowance to have my film processed.

6. I’m already able to look back at my high school and college years and think of them as my “glory days”.

7. I wear solids. Neutral solids. Mostly black. All the time. It’s all I buy. To date, I have not purchased a moo-moo, but I am starting to see the appeal of such comfort. Although, I think they sell those in mostly florals and I don’t do florals. Maybe a poncho is what I need.

8. Oh, dear… I’m thinking about moo-moo’s and ponchos again.

9. I put on my pajamas immediately after dinner. That’s like 6 pm most nights. And I’m happy about it. My husband does the same, so I don’t have to feel guilty about being a schlup. But, let’s be honest… I wouldn’t feel guilty anyway.

10. At times, I’m just plain crotchety. No reason, no excuse – just crotchety.

So jury, I ask you: Am I turning 30 or 70?

Arrrgh! A Pirate’s Xmas

My friend Kathryn and I had a plan to take her baby, Hudson, to the Governor’s Mansion for the Holiday Open House. I’m a sucker for all things Christmas and was very excited! Despite the rain, stroller discrimination, and the need to parallel park (way to go, Kathryn!), we made it to the event and walked in to the mansion to be greeted by sooooo many people crammed into a roped off lobby. It was beautiful and the carolers were carolling their hearts out, but we were all, including Hudson, done with the experience after about 15 minutes.

Not ready to call it a day, we decided to hit the Knights of the Black Flag exhibit I had been longing to visit at the NC Museum of History. Hudson, at just 13 weeks, was very into the idea, in my opinion. I think he might have said, “I’m ready for a swashbuckling good time.” Maybe.

Now let me back up for just a second. Upon arriving at Kathryn’s pre-departure, we exchanged Christmas gifts. Much to my delight, Kathryn had given me The Pirate Primer: Mastering the Language of Swashbucklers and Rogues. That’s right, my very own guide to Pirate Speak. It seemed suiting that we should end up at the exhibit where I could try all my new seawoman’s vernacular on Hudson. He really, really dug it when Mommy or “Aunt” Jenna told him, “Aaargh, you’re a salty dog!” After first infusing Pirate-love into my niece, Adelaide’s, heart on International Talk Like a Pirate Day and now Hudson’s little head, I’m pretty sure my new purpose is to spread Pirate Awareness to all those under the age of 5.

Arrgh - Me wench aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge

The exhibit was so well done, curated perfectly to provide a mixture of art, artifacts, history, and interaction. The exhibit was an experience, rather than just a show and tell, which always pulls at my Art Historian heart in the best of ways. I may have been coaxed into putting on the pirate garb and posing for a few photo opps on the pirate ship. I may have.

After we had our fill of Pirate lore, our belly’s were growling so off to Cafe Carolina for some grub. Great day, good friends, and that’s all there is of it.

I’ll be done with my babble for now, but hear ye, I will return, savvy?

General Ranting I Want to Do It All

I just can’t do it all. I want to. Most of the time I really want to do it all. I want to keep up with my blog. I want to write daily and publish to both of my Examiner columns. I want to work on furthering my freelance career. I want to sit and think on great article topics and send out queries to the appropriate publishers. I want to draw more, paint more, go see more exhibits. Keep up with the art community. I want to workout hardcore. I want to create a fitness program that combines the gym, yoga, and outdoor walks. I want to keep my life so organized I can’t screw up if I try. I want my house clean all the time. I want to pick out recipes and plan dinners. I want to bake all the things I clip out of Everyday Rachel Ray. I want to read the endless stack of books that are collecting dust on my shelves. I want to see all the movies that made it to Sundance. I want to see all the movies that didn’t make it to Sundance. I want to volunteer.

I want these things.

I envision that I could have all of that if I didn’t have to have a full-time job. But I know that probably isn’t the case. The more time I have, the lazier I become. My level of production is in direct correspondence with the amount of free time I have, and in my case, the less free time, the more productive.

I have struggled with this for as long as I can remember. I’m a really confusing hybrid of a very ambitious and a very relaxed person.

So you see, I really have two things going on here to prevent me from doing and being all that I described. 1. I do, no wiggle room, have to have a full-time job. 2. I acknowledge and accept my character flaw that allows me to get in my own way.

And let’s enter in one more factor in this equation, shall we? Family and friends. They are and forever will be of the utmost priority and importance in my life. Therefore, if I have one hour and that hour could be spent with family or friends or it could be spent doing/ attaining anything previously mentioned, I will always choose the former. A balance you say? I do not understand that concept. Balance to me is something you do so you don’t fall from say, a ladder. It is not something that I know how to apply in my daily life.

And so here is where I end up. Wherever this is.

Dane Cook… Su-Fi… Oh, yes…

On November 8, Dane Cook performed his Isolated Incident tour at the RBC Center in Raleigh, North Carolina. The smell of candied nuts permeated the air as underdressed college girls filed into the arena arm in arm, giggling to each other and giving the “superfinger”, Dane Cook’s signature gesture, to everyone. Soon, Dane would take the stage, entertaining his crowd of devotees with his wit and charm, comically accentuated by his uncanny sound effects and exaggerated movements. His performance never falls short of dynamic.

Smaller cities like Raleigh are not guaranteed stops for headlining tours, and when they are included in the lineup, the locals normally thank the talent by way of a packed venue. On this occasion, clusters of people were connected only by empty chairs, making it hard not to notice the impact of the economic recession. With a half full venue, the seat designation on your ticket meant little. There were plenty of other empty seats much closer to the stage, and many availed themselves to “seat jumping”.

The lights dimmed in the typical “shows about to start; sit your ass down” fashion and an odd, if not unfitting, choice of intro songs, Danzig’s heavy metal anthem, “Mother”, started playing. The opener, comedian Robert Kelly, came out to lackluster applause, but after a few short minutes, his self-deprecating humor won over the eager-to-laugh crowd. The majority of his act was new material, but it rapidly progressed to a repertoire of a highly sexual nature. Not prudish in the least, I didn’t expect to feel so utterly violated and uncomfortable, but Kelly went past the nuances and innuendo that color most comedians sexual skits, and went full on groping crotch shot to the camera. After succeeding in making me feel like I needed a shower and a couch session with a highly-qualified therapist, Robert Kelly dismounted the stage.

What happened next was a type of security maneuver that must have come straight from the Secret Service’s playbook. A fully choreographed routine ensued where security men came out two by two in a sort of drum core parade march. They took their places along each side of the entrance aisle, standing arms outstretched, hands locked, in an “arms around the world” pose. The idea was to create a barricade to prevent anyone from reaching out and touching and/ or groping Dane Cook. (Or maybe he was just worried about contracting H1N1?) With security in place, out came Dane like a prized fighter punching the air, waving, and running in his adorably pigeon-toed way to the stage.

After watching any of his previous comedic performances, his HBO special Vicious Circle or his Comedy Central Presents for example, you come to expect a certain level of energy from Dane Cook. And he lives up to it each time. He reached the stage and began prowling it as he does, very animal-on-the-hunt-esque, targeting each section of the arena one joke at a time. His humor is very relatable, perhaps what gives him such a devoted following. His jokes poke fun at the kinds of things everyone thinks or does and turns the common into highly exaggerated examples of utter ridiculousness.

In his deep voice meddled with falsetto he begins, “So here’s my theory slash hypothesis on…” and continues for a good hour with the ease of a seasoned comic.

“Hysterical!”
“Good one!”
“That is so funny!”
“Ha… Wait, I heard that before…”
“…and that.”

It seemed for every bit of fresh material, there were at least one or two skits that he pulled verbatim from his other shows. Audiences rely on new jokes when they come to see a live performance or else they could stay at home and watch Comedy Central. Dane… we expect more! Maybe it was more obvious that the material was recycled because the group of girls next to me kept repeating his jokes in loud, chortling echoes.

Ok, so the sparse crowd cast a depressing damper, the opener made me squirm in an altogether unpleasant manner, and Dane tried to pull one over on us with his old bits… Not the recipe for a can’t miss event, but for $40, I got a lesson in sociology, a few hearty laughs, and an evening out with friends.