I Finally Met the Von Trapps

I risked not getting a seat at all when I chose to wait standby for the 70 mm screening of The Sound of Music at the Motion Picture Academy last night in Beverly Hills. When you are on the standby list, you may not get in, and if you do, you may get the worst seat in the house, craning your neck to increasingly awkward angles while attempting to see around the tall gentleman sitting in front of you. Or, you may be lucky and end up sitting a couple of seats down from Charmian Carr and one row in front of Kym Karath. Those names sound insignificant until you know that they played the eldest and the youngest of the Von Trapp children, respectively.

A kind woman that I chatted with in the standby line and I decided to sit together. Though the theater appeared filled to capacity save some lone straggler seats between groups, we decided to venture further down the aisles to view all seating options. We noticed a string of seats together and somehow didn't notice the "guest of Carr" signs draped over them. We unknowingly asked Charmian herself if we could sit there and she consented. Thus making us, technically, "guests of Carr." We weren't even disobeying the sign.

For my entire life, people have told me that I "must see" The Sound of Music. Not doing so, I was informed, meant missing out on a cinematic masterpiece and an American classic. Despite assurances to them, I brushed off the idea and figured I would get to it eventually. Well, eventually happened last night. I understand every rave review and positive comment about the movie now- in fact, they all seem like understatements.

The Sound of Music transported me away from my life and into a magic world. The Von Trapps and Maria tapped into every emotional vein in my body. I laughed out loud, tapped my feet to the tunes already ingrained in my memory, clutched the armrests in tension towards the end and never failed to be enchanted. Despite the long running time, boredom never crept into the emotional spectrum I experienced while in the theater. The constant movement from scene to scene and within the scenes themselves paired with the stunning visuals wouldn't allow for any boredom. Knowing the film's basis on true facts made it all the more powerful. The resilient human spirit and its ability to stand up to forces like Hitler and his army never cease to strike a chord with me.

Side note- relative newcomer on the Hollywood scene, Michael Fassbender, remarkably resembles young Christopher Plummer. I was taken aback at the facial similarities between the two men. Also, Christopher Plummer was one sexy young man!

Who Shot Rock And Roll??

It took far too long for the play on words in the photography exhibit “Who Shot Rock N’ Roll” to “click”. Did you get that pun? I am so witty. My mind couldn’t seem to wrap itself around the association of “shot” with photography- it kept going back to the gun theme. That confused me even more, because I couldn’t grasp the concept of how someone could shoot an entire musical genre.

Confusing Exhibition Name

The exhibit features photography of the greatest rock and roll legends from Elvis Presley to Alice Cooper. A short documentary springboards attendees of the free exhibit into the world of rock star photography. The film features recollections and musings of the photographers who, to answer the question of the exhibit title, “shot rock and roll.” Among the featured photographers are El Colver and Henry Diltz. Informative and aesthetically-pleasing, the documentary taught me about an era in which I constantly wish I lived. The soundtrack, appropriately, featured songs of the rock stars in the film.

The Annenberg Space for Photography is a modest venue. Narrow hallways which fill quickly to produce a cozy, if not claustrophobic atmosphere surround the main digital presentation room. However, modest does not equate to unsatisfactory. Oh contraire. The venue provides ample wall space for rock n’ roll photography featuring Madonna, Michael Jackson, The Police, Radiohead and Bob Dylan (to name a few). 

Additionally, the venue features free concerts throughout the duration of the exhibit which runs until October 7. There’s a catch, however; space is limited so RSVP-ing is a must. Free of charge, this exhibition provides the perfect artistic outing for everyone. Well, except children or sensitive folk- they should be wary as there is partial nudity and questionable language featured in some of the photos. For more information, visit www.annenbergspaceforphotography.org (what a mouthful! Or, a Web address bar-full).

Keep Calm and Watch the Olympics

In case you live under a rock and weren't aware, it's time for the 2012 Olympics. The 17-day event which will bring pride, honor and worldwide recognition to eager athletes, began on Friday evening in London. Everyone who's anyone is there in a rare show of global unity. Politicians, celebrities, athletes and millions of ecstatic fans are attending the ancient and prestigious sporting event. Social media is exploding with their reactions. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is talking about it.

Don't worry, The Expendables aren't allowed to compete in the Olympic games (Just wouldn't be fair…) Coming August 17th… PREPARE TO RELOAD!
— THE EXPENDABLES 2 (@Expendables2) July 27, 2012

An estimated one billion viewers will watch the Olympics which officially kicked off with the opening ceremony Friday. Fans and athletes brimming with excitement posted tweets and photos of the festivities in London. The ceremonies were, appropriately, as British as could be- choirs of children sang traditional songs, men wearing top hats and suits with tails strolled beneath fabricated clouds and read excerpts from The Tempest and horse-drawn carriages encircled the stadium.

@LashindaDemus/Twitter

Athletes competeing for team USA, many hailing from Los Angeles, shared their thoughts on the impact of such a powerful experience via social media outlets. One Angelino athlete tweeting his excitement was Chay Lapin, who will compete in water polo for the United States.

An amazing experience walking into the stadium... The dream @bearmann4 #openingceremony #london2012 twitter.com/ChayLapin/stat…
— Chay Lapin (@ChayLapin) July 28, 2012

Lapin, who once competed in the sport for UCLA, is a first-timer at the Olympics. On the other end of the spectrum, repeat participants shared their insights as well. While prepping for his final Olympic games, seasoned veteran Michael Phelps reminisced about his first go-around:

Talk about a blast from the past... First Olympics way back when.. The start of my last one Tom!!!lockerz.com/s/228668286
— Michael Phelps (@MichaelPhelps) July 27, 2012

Though Phelps is ready to relax after Olympic retirement, many fans are sad to see him leave.

@MichaelPhelps please Michael, Stay for another Olympics! You're such a role model to everyone!!!
— Azzam Abbas (@Azzam_ab22) July 27, 2012

From all these tweets, posts and pictures, one thing is for sure- the whole world seems infected with Olympics fever. And that fever is truly infectious.

Vegan Potluck

Vegans know how to party. And how to potluck. Yes, I just turned potluck into a verb- please don't report me to the grammar police. I don't want to be incarcerated alongside the people who misuse past participles by saying such atrocities like "I shoulda went."

Back to the focus of this post- vegan potluckers (there I go again inventing vocabulary). I was impressed by what seasoned vegan cooks can do with plant-based ingredients- moist chocolate cake which melts in your mouth, coconut rice with steamed spinach, chili packed with seasoned vegetables... I could go on. But I'm not going to. The supermarket purchases were scrumptious as well- falafel bites accompanied by hummus for dipping, grape leaves bursting with rice and veggies, soy-based mocha ice cream... all enticing enough to make you forget that stomachs have limited capacities. I left holding my belly and groaning like I'd just enjoyed a Thanksgiving feast.

Blueberries and Bananas Make the Best Bread

That's my argument and I'm sticking to it like the noxious rubber cement that schoolchildren use. Or, that they used in my early scholastic days. Still determined to meet people who share my interests, I signed up to attend a local vegan potluck tomorrow. Proper potluck practice (determined by the public patrons for potlucks?) dictates that atendees bring a dish to share. Up to my ears in blueberries and bananas, I elected to concoct a culinary creation utilizing both (what's with all the alliteration today?). I considered saving the blueberries for my morning cereal, but opted otherwise. After eating my weight in the fruit over the past week, I was beginning to feel like this:

dearmrvernon.net

And we all know what happens to that girl. If you are scratching your head in confusion, I'm sad for your tragic youth and order you to rent a copy of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory. The Gene Wilder version, not the Johnny Depp abomination (unless you wish to trigger a series of particularly disturbing nightmares).

I switched on Julia Child mentality and sprang into cooking action. Thankfully, one of my three handy-dandy vegan cookbooks (in this case, How it All Vegan) contained a recipe for blueberry banana muffins. Since our kitchen lacks a muffin tin, I modified the recipe and turned it into a bread. I am a culinary magician. Other Marisa modifications included adding vanilla extract and using almond milk instead of soy.

Here's what goes into the bread:

Trader Joe's should pay me for this free advertisement. Not pictured: blueberries and the carton of almond milk. They were feeling shy and unphotogenic (slash I had already used the blueberries when I snapped this photo and forgot the almond milk).

-3 1/2 cups of whole wheat flour
-2 tsp baking powder
-1/2 cup sugar
-2 mashed bananas
-1 cup blueberries
-1/2 cup oil
-1 3/4 cups almond milk
-2 tbsp ground flaxseeds
-2 tsp vanilla extract

1) Preheat oven to 350 degress. Spray a bread pan with cooking spray.
2) Combine the dry ingredients (flour, powder, sugar, flaxseeds) in a large bowl
3) Add the oil, milk, mashed bananas and vanilla and stir to combine
4) Gently fold in blueberries and spread batter in prepared pan
5) Bake for about 60-70 minutes, checking readiness by inserting a knife in the center

Done! Phew! Go watch Willy Wonka while your bread cools.

Bees, Santa Monica and Bat Caves

On the brink of exhaustion, I have to ask myself why I decided to come home and blog. Dedication to my readers? Sure, why not.

I ventured out of my bat cave today, providing the world with a rare glimpse of my recently-secluded self. I felt like an endangered species on a nature special, my imagination concocting a BBC voice to document my actions. "The elusive Marisa peeks out from the darkness..." Coincidentally, I dressed like a bee this morning. They are endanged now, right?

Speaking of bees, I saved one from my kitchen today by luring him onto the knife I used to cut an avocado. I held the knife, bee perched upon it, up to the window and off he fllew. Single-handedly solving colony collapse! Ok, maybe not. Wow that was a boring story. It was a slow day in my life.

Santa Monica is a contendor in the battle for my affections raging among various SoCal cities. But it is strange that Santa Monica and Los Angeles are duking it out, since the former is a neighborhood in the latter. It is like twins battling for the love of one man. Maybe not twins, on second thought- Santa Monica and Los Angeles are drastically different- maybe just sisters. In any case, Santa Monica looked lovely draped in a crystal-blue sky. Last time I saw her she was not in her element- shrouded in a cloudy tapesty emitting rain. That was not the case today. I was incessantly charmed.

Okay- I don't care what writing manuals tell me- I am going to end this without giving any thought to the proper way to do so. Night!

If You Want to See Where I Saw Ruby Sparks...

You have to go see Ruby Sparks. As it happens, there is a scene filmed in the auditorium at the Hammer Museum, which was packed to capacity Friday for an advanced screening of the film. I erroneously assumed that my arrival one hour prior to the film would allow for sufficient leeway in addition to a guaranteed front-row seat (to see Paul Dano up close). I naively thought that I would be one of the few weirdo celebrity-stalker types motivated by the promise of seeing Paul Dano, Zoe Kazan and the directors of Little Miss Sunshine. Then the revelation that I live in Los Angeles hit me square in the face.

Though, the majority of those behind whom I was waiting in line were not creepers like me just desiring to be within 100 feet of Mr. Dano. The majority were drawn there by the film and their desire to appreciate a new potential cinematic masterpiece.

The Q&A after the film had me suppressing a few giggles. That is, after the ability to giggle restored itself when my respiratory system came out of arrest brought on by Paul Dano taking the stage. My favorites were the audience members who initiated their question with "I want you to know that I loved that. It was so deep," or something of the sort. My mischievous inner-self wanted some bold individual to say they didn't like it. Because let's be honest, no one is going to critique a movie in front of those that poured their heart and soul into the project. Myself included. Now, however, I am no longer in front of them and I therefore plan to critique away.

For those of you who haven't seen the preview yet, the plot focuses around Dano's character, a Los Angeles-based writer named Calvin. He is a washed up author past his prime and still living on profits earned from his novel written years ago. Experiencing major writier's block, Calvin goes to his therapist for help. He leaves the office with a writing assignment which, along with a dream about a girl, launches Calvin into writing a new novel on an antiquated typewriter. One day, to his astonishment, the female protagonist of his tale, Ruby Sparks, manifests herself out of thin air in his apartment, which he attributes to an "overactive imagination".

The rest of the film follows their romance and its ups and downs, often caused by a visit by Calvin to his typewriter in attempts to control Ruby's growing independance. The film is laced with themes, both subltle and otherwise, pertaining to relationships. Despite its best intentions, he story fails to captivate after about the first 30 minutes. Certain scenes seem out of place or lacking in purpose. The film is a completely conventional "indie" film, echoed in the music, the not-so-subtle placement of soy milk on the breakfast table, and the quirky personality of the protagonists who are both, of course, artists.
Ruby Sparks was enjoyable enough, yet more so for me given the circumstances of the showing and the attendance of the main cast and directors.

Observing LA Observed

Day one: this being my first time on the site, I decided to get a feel for the layout. I observed a well-balanced appearance. I did not feel as if I'd wandered into a blizzard from so much white space, nor as if an individual's ADD would act up from an ambush of text and pictures. Often times, news sites overwhelm or underwhelm their visitors with one or the other (text/white space) and use insufficient photos to titilate readers. LA Observed perfects the online home page with easy navigation.

Day two: front pages of publications from Yahoo! News to the LA Times are plastered with varying angles on one story: the Aurora, Colo., shooting. LA Observed does not ignore the story, but places it respectfully in the "America" section. Other media outlets are milking the situation of every ounce, plastering photo after photo of Holmes with his orange hair and interviewing individuals who claim to have seen Holmes at bars on the evenings leading up to his shooting. The appropriate placement of the article pertaining to the shooting and restraint from flashy, dramatic stories emphasizes that LA Observed has one main focus- Los Angeles. Of course, the site includes stories focusing on national issues. I also observed a lack of a world news section, which piqued my interest as most publications, web or otherwise, contain at least a small dose of world news.

Day three: as usual, the site presents Los Angleles-centric news in the form of short blurbs that interested readers can pursue further if desired. These blurbs intermingle with photo and video in an aesthetically-pleasing layout. Also as usual, the site keeps news not pertaining to Los Angeles to a minimum, but includes the major national stories, generally found below the LA stories which take precedence.

Overall thoughts: LA Observed boasts a high readership, largely, in my opinion, due to the focus of their content. Anyone possessing interests pertaining to Los Angeles can find news tailored to those interests at the click of a button.

Control Yourselves, Audience!

Los Angeles is quite the seductress, bearing striking resemblance Sirens of Greek mythology. It seems my recent affair with San Diego did not phase her. I hope my actions do not initiate an inter-city battle over my affections. I arrived to see her beaming beneath the purest blue sky which could give the purest aquamarine a run for its money. Her crisp air tantilized my nostrils as I breathed in and a light breeze ruffled my dress as I strolled down Wilshire Boulevard to, you guessed it, the Hammer Museum.

Today's featured community event was a panel discussion on drones and robotic warfare. Sounds drier than a piece of burnt toast in the Sahara, right? Let me just say that strange events draw you in when you are alone with no better way to spend your evenings. One of the youngest audience members by a longshot, I sat amongst a sea of gray hair awaiting the start of the discussion. The Hammer Museum is punctually tardy (there's some irony for you) as every event I attend starts, without fail, five minutes after the scheduled "start" time.

Speaking on the panel were three experts on the topic of drones and robotic warfare and a journalist mediator. All made their opening remarks accompanied by PowerPoint presentations informing the audience about UAVs and their civic and public functions and the ethics surrounding their use. I wonder if the panelists knew they walked into the lion's den. I pitied Eric Johnson, the engineer working with UAV development, the most. Possibly thanks to being an engineer, he struggled with public speaking as it was. When the discussion turned to audience questions, he came under immediate attack and did not handle it well. John Villasenor faced as much scrutiny for emphasizing the positive functions of UAVs in search and rescue and other similar scenarios.

The only panelist able to evade the audiences' scrutiny was Patrick Lin, whose presentation focused on the ethical issues surrounding the use of robots in war. I have some serious beef (that's a saying, right?) with the audience present at the panel. The age of those posing questions indicated that they had enough years and wisdom to show restraint and respect in front of distinguished individuals. Oh contraire, dear readers. People yelled out crude remarks about how Villasenor and Johnson were warmongers and essentially accused them of being void of morals. When handed the microphone, one elderly man ranted about philosophy without reaching a real point. It disappointed me that people couldn't show some restraint and respect and have a discussion in a mature way, which is the point of academic forums.

The forum was immensely educational for me, but I was disappointed with the behavior of the audience.

Over the River and Through the Woods...

...to Grandmother's house we go! Or in my case, over the traffic-ridden, stress-inducing, pothole-infested SoCal highways and through beach cities along the scenic Pacific coast to Grandma and Grandpa's house in San Diego I go. But, with a few lyrical alterations, it's basically the same song. On that note, does anyone even know the rest of the lyrics to that little diddy?

Yes, I am in San Diego. I figured I would get a visit in before officially-deemed Carmageddon 2 closes a major stretch of the 405 Freeway next month. Though candidly speaking, I have no idea if it would even affect my route. I need to be less dependent on the Garmin. That's going to get me into trouble someday.

Look up "stress" in the dictionary and a picture of me will likely grace the page. Los Angeles is a lot of things: exciting, bustling and diverse, but leaves me craving a sanctuary. My grandparent's house in the hills of San Diego beneath a clear azure sky (once the marine layer dissipates) is just that, and the warmth provided by their loving presence makes the notion of returning to the madness that much harder. Spending time with them is always a treat and this short trip was no exception.

Blast From The Past-Ice is an Amazing Thing

I noticed that I have about 15 draft posts that never made it through to the public. Here is one from my trip to Munich almost a year ago now, so enjoy!

Sorry I have not posted in a few days, there was a slight issue with internet use and I am making up for that now in Munich. So, brace yourselves for the longest post in the history of this blog.
Well, I am not sure what the deal is, but there seems to be a general lack of A/C usage in Germany. Also their trains suck, especially after I was so spoiled with awesome Czech trains. Dianna and I are currently en route to Munich on the most uncomfortable train ever. There are what appear to be signs informing us of the air conditioning on this train, so I am not sure if they are not using it intentionally to make us suffer, or if this particular train does not have it, or if it is so ungodly hot outside and there are way too many people and their bags stuffed into too small of a space and the combination of such things cancels out any affect the air conditioning would have.
It is time for me to list the little things that I completely miss about the states, and what I am looking forward to upon my return.
1) ICE- in general, I have not encountered any use of ice in beverages in Europe. When I am sweating like a pig in 90 to 100 degree weather, all I really want is a free water filled with ice. But even the things that they refrigerate are not that cold at all, which is extremely disappointing.
2) Free water- I am so sick of drinking lukewarm bottled water after lukewarm bottled water. I just want to be able to go to a restaurtant and be presented with a nice glass of cold, ice water and be able to drink as much as I want of it for free.
3) Free bathroom usage- all I really have to say on this topic is when nature calls, you should be able to take care of that without having to drop ,70 euro.
Okay, now I should probably stop complaining and get to the good part. Lake Constance was truly quite a wonder. I know that I never would have visited this heavenly location if not for my friend residing there, so I am extemely thankful for that. It was also an ideal spot because of it's proximity to both Switzerland and Austria. Because of that, we were able to take a day trip to Bregenz, Austria to do a bit of walking around on the mountain there. It was a gorgeous mountain, we are talking lush greenery, gorgeous views of more mountains and Lake Constance, and even a small zoo and playground at the top. I particularly enjoyed when an elderly German man went down the slide while smoking a cigarette in the playground.
Also, fun fact time, Bregenz is where part of Quantum of Solace was filmed during the scene where they were at the opera. So, now maybe I will recognize it when I see the movie next, although that may not happen because it was not a very high-quality flick.
Ah this will be an enjoyable train ride, there is a lady sitting across from me staring angrily and a group of drunken teen males behind me, conversing much too loudly to be acceptable in public with two six packs on their little table. In a couple more uncomfortable hours, we shall be in Munich and ready to start another adventure.

The Dark Knight...Falls?

"Wow, that was long". That's what she said. And what I thought twice during the eve of the Dark Knight Rises premiere. The line of Batman enthusiasts extended far from the entrance of the historic Fox Theater in Westwood, CA. It wove around street corners, broke briefly in front of restaurant entrances so as not to impede incoming diners and began again, snaking around and ending what seemed like a half mile away. After about 30 minutes of waiting and listening to conversations against my wishes, the expressions of those in unsurpressable anticipation lit up. We were finally granted entry.

Perhaps a main reason impeding me from giving The Dark Knight Rises my oh-so-coveted seal of approval is the fact that I was judging it as a follow-up to The Dark Knight as opposed to as a stand-alone film. The new villain, Bane, could never compare to Ledger's portrayal of The Joker. A tip of my hat to the late Ledger- nothing could ever dethrone him as the king of psycholocial antagonists. I still recall how disturbed I was by The Joker. Bane, on the other hand, simply invoked me to wonder what was under his weird, Darth Vader-esque facial apparatus. There was a breif attempt at explaining its purpose, but I was still confused. Did it help him breathe better? Did it reduce the facial pain he felt? Or was it just to change the tone of his voice and make him extremely hard to understand (I probably caught about 15% of his dialogue with clarity- it almost became entertainment to try and guess what he was saying)?

A standard in Christopher Nolan's triology, the soundtrack takes a cheap shot at the audience, using swelling brass instruments to tell us when to feel inspired. Another recurring element in his films, Nolan once more establishes his ability to affectively cut his audience to the psychological quick. But let's try and stick to one national stress-inducer, shall we? By trying to bring worries of nuclear warfare, political issues and the possibility of being cut off from the mainland (while living on an island connected by a few bridges) to the forefront of the audiences' minds, the plot starts to get a little cramped. Loose threads hanging everywhere. That's really saying something considering the film's running time of about 2 hours, 45 minutes. While exiting the theater, I once again thought "wow that was long". I guess Nolan decided to go head to head with Peter Jackson to see who could draw out a movie ending longer.

I have read inexplicable praises of Anne Hathaway as Catwoman. Personally, her presence confused me and seemed far from necessary except to provide some sex appeal (to supplement that already provided by Marion Cotillard) and to spit out some predictable, not-very-amusing one liners. Though, the audience in my theater definitely enjoyed them. I was seated amongst some very participatory young people, many apparently under the influence of alcohol. I read an interview with Hathaway in a magazine about a month ago concerning her preparation for the role. Aside from learning that she is a vegan (woot! go vegans!) I learned that she had to drop significant weight for the film. Why? So I could be distracted by her jutting-out collar bone? If that was the goal, then it was definitely achieved. I guess the anorexic, Angelina Jolie at the 2012 Oscars look is back in. Sorry ladies.


Ann shows off her new collarbone... I liked the more hidden one.

Though my critique here suggests otherwise, I do think the film was worthy of props. Yet, when a trilogy peaks at number 2, it is hard to be too impressed by the one to follow. That was the case here. Would I recommend seeing it? Yes. But don't expect it to even remotely live up to the precedent set by The Dark Knight.

When I am in the Same Room as Paul Dano...

...I tend to get a little crazy. The mere knowledge that he would be participating in an audience Q&A along with Zoe Kazan, Chris Messina and the directors from Little Miss Sunshine guaranteed the advanced screening of Ruby Sparks at the Hammer Museum a spot in my agenda. Not penciled in, either. I wrote down that event in Sharpie. Apparently I was not alone in that sentiment. Even arriving one hour early proved insufficient, and I found myself waiting in the second twisty-turny line in two days for a film. I now see why people say you wonder how you ever lived sans smart phone once you have one. Thankfully the Hammer has free WiFi.

I feel like I am taking advantage of the Hammer by not becoming a member. As a venue, it opens its doors to me and welcomes me warmly, and I look down on it condescendingly and laugh- PSH, you WISH I would give you money! I feel like the guy who turned down Oliver Twist when all he wanted was a little more gruel. I mean, $50 a year for membership is basically gruel. Maybe I could justify it if I get a job.

The kindest thing the Hammer has done for me thus far- introduced me to Paul Dano. Now I feel like I'm livin' the LA dream. Somehow, I could handle being in the same space as Brooke Shields like a champ. Not the case with Paul. As the Brits say, I got a little bit "mental" when I saw him. My expectations were just that- I would see him on stage and our enconter would end there. However, after the Q&A I some strange wave of courage overcame me and I decided to be "that fan" and ask for a picture. Perhaps provoking this uncharacteristic gesture was the fact that I was in the front row, so only about 2 feet from him. This proximity, and other individuals asking for his autograph (a request to which he humbly obliged) eventually brought me to his side. Then I made a huge idiot of myself.

Me (tapping Paul's shoulder): Um, hi, could I be the annoying fan and ask for a picture? (not having considered that I had no one to take a picture for me)
Paul: Yeah, no problem at all
Me (handing phone to closest person): please take a picture of us!! You just hit the button...
(She gave me a weird look)
Paul: So what's your name anyway?
Me (a name?? What's that?): Uh, Marisa! I love Little Miss Sunshine
Paul: Well, thanks a lot!
Me: K thanks!

I found it difficult enough to stand on wedges when I wasn't under a celebrity induced shock. After shaking his hand, my legs turned to play-doh. After the crowd thinned, I recognized someone I had met at a prior event at the museum. That guy has been in the biz for awhile, so he greeted all of the actors with total ease. It's going to take me a long time to be able to do that. Eventually, only he and I and the actors and some of their friends remained. I had ample opportunity to continue conversing with them, but I found my thoughts limited to "I just met Paul Dano" on repeat.



Somber Day for Us All

Creative juices cascaded around my mind upon my return from the midnight screening of The Dark Knight Rises yesterday. After cozying up under the covers, I put thought to notepad and scribbled the ideas most prone to rapid dissipation for the sake of their preservation and called it a night. It was, after all, 4:07 AM.

I woke to a beautiful day. The marine layer was long gone- it packed its bags and headed elsewhere. The start of this glorious day I planned to spend whipping up my review of the film. However, after checking text messages and news headlines I felt the wind was knocked out of me. I am still reeling from the story- perhaps to a greater degree than many as the shooting happened to close to my hometown. As my mother noted, I could have easily been there. But I wasn't.

My heart reaches out in pure sorrow to the individuals affected by the shooting. At the moment, my shaken mentality prevents me from writing and releasing a review injected with a tone that would juxtapose the horror of Aurora's shooting. The film itself will, for at least a while, have a tainted reputation. I will write about it later, but for the moment, I think refraining is a matter of respect. Humaity shows us the cruelty of which it is capable. Now we need to come together in our support as a nation and combat that with compassion.

Exorcism!

It's all about who you know. Connections, connections, connections. That's what "they" say.

Making the acquaintance of the sound director for the theatrical production of The Exorcist was considerably one of those aforementioned connections. Thanks to him, I obtained free admittance to the show at the Geffen Playhouse. My proudest moment as an audience member was when I realized that I was not starstruck by Brooke Shields in one of the leading roles. She acted well, but I did not feel my eyes widen in awe at her mere presence.

I can sense the anticipation of my blog readers dying to know my thoughts on the production. However, I am tired and want to let my reflections fester a bit more before publishing them on this blog. I will give you this mental tidbit to much on: the play was profound. It did not affect me to the extent of the film, which induced nightmares for months on end. It did come close, however.

Aside from my attendance of the play, my day was a bit mundane. My guitar/singing gig in Culver City introduced me to a charming part of Los Angeles. As I wandered the streets I felt safe, and the cultural vibe rang strong. My performance was less than impressive. However, receiving a free meal as "payment" more than made up for my humiliation at forgetting lyrics. Prior to venturing to Culver City, I spent a good part of the day writing, reading, studying, and running. I have embraced my solitude. I can safely say that I no longer feel lonely despite being technically alone. 

Gawker vs. New York Times

The first thing that jarred my attention as far as differences between the New York Times website and Gawker's was the categorization of news pieces. On the New York Times' webpage, a sidebar listing categories entitled "world", "U.S.", "business" and other newspaper standards held a place in the upper left corner. On Gawker, however, the categorizations ranged from "sex scandals" to "rants" to "idols". One similarity between the two pages was election coverage. This clearly indicates that whether a publication can be deemed serious or otherwise, it still must adhere to general expectations of the readers by presenting them with the prominent happenings in the world. A New York Times reader generally seeks the facts shedding light on the confusion surrounding the downpour of political information whereas a Gawker reader may seek to escape the seriousness of it all.

Greatly juxtaposing the headlines of the New York Times which are clean cut and free of inappropriate language, the Gawker article titles often contain foul language and take on a sarcastic tone. This is a foreshadow to the less-than-serious nature of the rest of the piece. Though it's true that some Gawker pieces take on a traditional writing style in their leads, these are exceptions, not the norm. Leads in the New York Times, in contrast, follow standard reporting practice, including the 5 W's. Following the lead, the prestigious newspaper continues along the inverted pyramid structure which places the most important information early in the article  and wanes down to less dire information.

Gawker articles take on their own style and structure. However, articles dealing with more serious issues tend to veer towards the traditional inverted pyramid style as well. For example, an expose-style piece about a nanny who worked for Rupert Murdoch presented detailed information as well as quotations from the nanny herself. The sarcasm in this piece was highly diluted when detectable at all. Sarcasm has no place in New York Times articles and would seem completely out-of-place if used. The Times protects its reputation as a leader in traditional journalistic practice well, by maintaining strict grammar and reporting the facts.

This is Humidity?

Popeye's spinach consumption is spot on. I digested the leafy green three times today and my energy level was higher than a stoner watching The Big Lebowski on 4/20. For this reason, despite the late hour I am engrossed in "writing mode". Maybe the spinach was the culprit for making me use the word "engrossed" right now. I am in writing mode, and the mode that makes one want to save Olive Oil from whatever mishap she has gotten herself into.

Weather reports on Los Angeles news stations amuse me even more than the hamster on a piano video. When temperatures veer even slightly from the ideal 78 degrees (give or take a degree or two), complaints roll off the meteorologists' tongues, followed by reassurances ranging from: "the good news is, this humidity will end soon!" (when you can just barely detect moisture lindering on the air) to "well, the forecast shows it will finally be cool enough to go outside within the next few days!" (when it is 82 degrees). As someone who spent time in actual climate extremes, I have to laugh.

After my run the other day, I passed by my neighbor's house and found him outside painting. His work intrigued me- in particular, a colorful, cartoony paintings of a cheerful puppy. I said hello, but did not introduce myself. Today, I passed by again, and decided to do the neighborly thing and tell him my name. He responded in turn, saying his name was Harry. His shirt, displaying the word "Prague" beneath a sketch of the skyline, provoked me to question if he had ever been there. He informed me that it was his dream as he loves Czech culture and Kafka novels. I think he and I will get along just fine.

At night, I debated whether to attend a story telling campfire session in the Pacific Palisades or hit up my regular venue, the Hammer Museum, for an event entitled "open projector night". Easily starstruck as I am, when noting the MCs for the open projector night were the Sklar twins who appeared in such television shows as It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and hosted the show Cheap Seats on ESPN. The premise of the program went as follows: any filmmaker could enter a film. 90 seconds of it would be screened, and the audience would decide if they wanted to see the rest. They ranged from trippy to touching, surreal to hilarious. Once again, a triumphant event at the Hammer.

After the event, I headed to the Glendale bar for their happy hour and was starstruck on a whole new level- Brooke Shields was there!

Syrian at the Hammer

Alone in a big city, waking up to a cloudy sky is the last thing my morale needs. Yet I battle the morning gloom like a ninja, get my sorry butt out of bed and face the day head on. A job would certainly help in this department.

The venue for today's event forcing me out of the apartment was once again the Hammer Museum. At 7:30 (well, let's be honest, it was California time. Which is not so leisurely as Spain time, but borderline), Syrian pianist and composer Malek Jandali took the stage. To describe his performance as touching, passionate, powerful and moving would all be understating the truth. To ascertain the sentiments that he poured into his music, one would need to be present. Greatly augmenting the significance of his concert, Jandali interwove telling tales of Syria's past and its dire present situation amongst his compositions. His heart, and those of his captivated audience members, went out to his hometown. Emphasizing the urgency of the troubles in his home country, he asked the audience to write to the senate asking for three things. 1) A Syria no-fly zone. 2) Increased humanitarian aid. 3) Access to the media.

Tones of true saddness intermingled with the music notes echoing throughout the modest concert hall. They swirled around, reached my ears, and made me feel more than I had in awhile. Events at the Hammer have proved worthwhile ventures. Also, complete unrelated and much less serious side note, Steve Jobs' sister was at the concert. Previously, the fact that he was Syrian was unbeknownst to me.

For the first time, I attended an event accompanied. The other day I met a young man from New York here on a job with a theater company putting on a production of The Exorcist. I plan to see it, though the film scarred me beyond reckoning mentally, on Wednesday, so stay tuned for a review!

Dowwwnnntownn! (Like the song?)

Wow, downtown LA, you sure know how to show a girl a good time. Oh wait, no you don't. You know how to scare the hell out of someone though.

When you move to a new place, it is important to take it in like a stray cat. Or dog, or insert animal with potential of being a stray of your choice here. Given the fact that I have zero friends with which to occupy my time, I have been able to unleash my inner mental cartographer (or whatever you call the people who make maps) and wander the different parts of Los Angeles and neighboring regions. So far, I have dined with the rich and ramous in ritzy Beverly Hills, spent the night watching a movie under the stars in Hollywood, got my beach fix in Malibu and Santa Monica, tried my patience in traffic getting to and from LAX and mingled with students at UCLA and Westwood.

Heeding the warnings of many back home that Downtown LA is seedy to say the least, I decided that the best time to check out the area (being a single lady and all) would be during the day. I figured it would be practical to get to know the region, and, I admit it, I wanted to see where 500 Days of Summer was filmed.

I had previously mentioned "taking in the city" like you take in a stray animal. Well, in the case of Los Angeles, that stray animal is a chameleon or a bi-polar bear. That place changes on a dime- one block will be clean and safe and the next, even one on the same street, you will find yourself looking over your shoulder and clutching your bag just a little tighter to your side.

First stepping foot in the finace district at 6th and Flower, my eyes widened in awe. Tall buildings loomed overhead, each bearing the title of a famous bank, and the streets were clean and practically uninhabited. The sentiment that I wish I had chosen to live there instead and the thought that everyone who told me it was a dangerous area should be thrown in the nut house hit me square in the face. I walked a little further, however, and retracted the aforementioned thoughts. I am happy to be near Beverly Hills, thank you very much.

I continued my educational stroll through the financial district until I arrived at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, essentially a replica of the Guggenheim in Bibao, Spain. At this point, I still felt safe, and wondered what all of the hubub saying otherwise stemmed from. Well, I was about to find out. I turned down 1st, and walked all the way to Los Angeles Ave (how cocky of you, Los Angeles, to name a street after yourself! Sheesh, show some humility!). Then I took a right down Main, and everything changed, chameleon style.

I was instantly terrified of the shady characters hanging around, and even as I ventured further into the heart of downtown, it almost got worse. In broad daylight, I witnissed three drug deals by people with no attempt of hiding it whatsoever. Where are the cops at those moments? I tried to take mental note of the street blocks that freaked me out, but eventually my mental notepad reached capacity so I just scratched the idea of ever returning downtown alone, daytime or otherwise.

Barbie Wasn't Home

No sign of her, or her hunky man Ken, in Malibu today. Or her weird cousin whose name no one can remember. I just looked it up- apparently Barbie has a very extensive family. Who knew?

Under cloudy skies offering little promise of clearing up, I headed up the Pacific Highway amid horrendous traffic despite the unassuming time of day to the Rockin' Truck Grub event. Among the Los Angeles food trucks perched along the highway were Calbi Tacos, Baby's Bad*** Burgers, and the Rolling Sushi Van. There were a few others, such as the Lobsta Truck, but embedding all of those links just now was exhausting. Look them up if you want. Of course, it was after I left the event that the vegan food truck showed up, but I still found animal free dining at Calbi Tacos, where I ordered the tofu corn tacos with no cheese. All that needs to be done to get your mouths watering as mine was is to show you the following:

So tasty!
There was also live music by local musicians, among them Hannah Mulholland. Her original songs were soulful and rang full of southern charm, and I did a short interview with her afterwards for one of my journalism courses. She informed me that she is moving to Nashville shortly since the country music scene in Los Angeles is essentially less existant than a hair on Bruce Willis' head (my own embellishment, not hers). I recommend looking up her stuff, though her first CD release isn't set until September. I found her on YouTube. I liked best about our talk her advice concerning songwriting. I told her of my constant struggle with original music writing, and she said that she was the same way until she started writing songs as if no one would ever hear them. I will give that a try.

After our chat, I walked down a trail that wound its way down to the shore, dodging lizard after lizard along the way. The clouds were starting to clear, so on my way back I snapped this photo of the line of food trucks:

I had RSVPd to an artist's talk at the Malibu Civic Center at 5 o clock. Being only 2, I did the obvious thing and headed to the nearest Starbuck's for my coffee fix. The one that my beloved Garmin led me to was in a charming, Spanish tile roofed shopping center set among palm trees. I relaxed among the over tanned Malibu locals and read until it was closer to the event. When I got there, however, no one showed up and around 5:15 I got sick of waiting and began my long ride in even worse traffic back home. Now, off to karaoke. I am sure tonight is the night that I will meet someone!

Ghosts in Hollywood

Though I am starting to feel as if my readership is diminishing, I am going to keep posting anyways because I know a few of you would miss me if I did not keep this thing up.

My complete lack of even one friend is likely the culprit of my inner conflicts occuring on a regular basis. Marisa has basically become two entities. One is a sad newcomer to a big city who just wants to sit in her apartment wallowing away in grief at her lack of friends. Two is a determined individual bent on defying the aforementioned attitude and exploring the city. They fight like little children and personality two generally wins, so I go out to events and try to ignore how silly I look being alone at them. In general, I end up being pleased that number two won the internal battle.

Today was a good example. I headed to Hollywood for an outdoor screening put on by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (aka the Oscar people) of the film Ghost, which I had never seen prior. I arrived early, set up my blanket, and tried not to look pathetic sitting there alone. It was a pretty cool scene, I have to admit- a lot like Boulder's outdoor cinema. However, it was on the grass and in Hollywood and there were two food trucks. I had already eaten dinner, but it was a bit brisk so I went to the Brasil Kiss truck which offered coffee and teas, and got a decaf green tea and was informed by the worker that I look like Emma Stone. I highly disagree, but he was insistant and it was the second time I have heard so.

I have to hand it to LA- they have amazing port-o-potties. I mean, high class stuff. They smell like a freshly cleaned department store restroom and have soap, toilet seat covers and even flush. Don't know where the flushed stuff goes, but maybe I don't want to.

Prior to the movie, we were treated to a bunch of old ads that used to screen at drive-in movies. That really tickled my nostalgia bone, I loved it. Better still was the black and white Popeye cartoon that preceded Ghost. And perhaps better still was that before Popeye, the casting director, set designer, producer and a main actor from Ghost all came on stage to give some insight/thoughts about the film and what it was like to work on it. As with the Henry Rollins case, I was not phased in the slightest when Tony Goldwyn, who played Carl, came on stage. Then during the movie I realized that he is basically the main character, and I understood what he meant when he said that the role of Carl made everyone hate him.

During my drive back, I got to see how shady it is in Hollywood at night. And by that I mean, going there as a woman alone walking would basically be equivalent to wearing a sign that said "rape me". Therefore, I was glad to be safe in my car.

LA Tips

There are things that you learn about LA living right away. First, let me pass on some tips about a visit to Beverly Hills. One, if you want to fit in, you need to do two things: dress as well as you possibly can, and act like a big shot. Here, I have already noticed, attitude is everything. If you at least strut your stuff with confidence and act like you belong, people will most likely believe you do. You have to be an actor on some level when living here- whether it’s pretending to be rich and confident or acting on screen.

A rule for LA in general: do not be so easily star struck. Yes, celebrities with varying degrees of fame are everywhere. For my first couple of days, I went weak at the knees when I heard something as minimal as an aspiring TV writer discussing a pitch with his agent. Then imagine how I was around a writer for the show Parenthood and Henry Rollins (who I actually found out way later of his celebrity status).

The driving is as bad as they say. However, a good rule of thumb to determine how long it will take you to get from point A to point B is to double whatever the Garmin tells you it will take. As long as you have a good deal of patience, there are a ton of great radio stations to listen to while hung up in traffic. Just remember to breathe and, without fail, plan on delays. When you expect horrendous traffic in advance, it makes it a lot easier to tolerate.

The hipster, artsy vibe thrives in this city like fruit flies on bananas. Last night, I dragged my lonely little butt to the Hammer Museum to attend the Literary Death Match. In this competition of sorts, four authors are judged by three panelists on the literary merit of their words and how well they performed the aforementioned readings. The first two compete, then a winner of the two is declared, followed by the second two, and then the last two standing compete. My favorite part of the night was when the event host passed around bottles of wine to the audience and stated that it was on our honor that we were 21. Only in LA?

As I discovered today, people here are climate spoiled. A cloudy sky producing rain drops I could count on one hand may as well have been the apocalypse for LA dwellers. I detected a tone of panic on the news anchor's voice as he noted how humid it was today. Clearly he has never been on the east coast or in Minnesota for the summer. If I ever complain about the weather here, it will be an open invitation for a slap in the face. Yet that invitation is only valid as of now, not retroactively- the first night here I complained of the cold. Now, I have sweaters in tow nightly.

One last thing before I "over and out" for the night- an announcement, actually. Brace yourselves! You are all lucky enough to read my class homework for the next couple of months! I know you're excited. We were told to post our assignments on either a new or an existing blog, and since I do not feel like creating a new one, they're goin up here!

Salty Joe

Let me begin by expressing my disappointment in Trader Joe's. One of the enticing things about living in LA was the newfound ability of shopping at the market which did not exist in Boulder. One of the first things my dad and I did was take a quick shopping trip there. I wrongly assumed that all of the Trader Joe's brand items were healthy choices. Wrong. Today for lunch, I heated up one of their Asian noodle bowls which closely resmbles the brand Annie Chun's. As I was eating it, I noticed that it tasted a bit salty. As I continued the lunching process, it began to feel more than just "a little salty"- more like I was spooning the Atlantic down my throat. Yet, I supressed these thoughts assuming that Trader Joe's would never have such high sodium levels in their food. I decided to check the box anyways only to discover that I had just scarfed down 1400 mg of sodium. Enough to make any nutritionist cringe, that is a whopping 58% of your daily recommended dose. Nasty. Now time to bloat up like a balloon.

In other news, my father left today. I am now truly on my own in a big city, and it certainly feels that way. Instead of wallowing around in the apartment, I am insistant on forcing my reluctant self to get out and explore in hopes of meeting someone. Yesterday my dad and I did a little bit of exploring on campus and happened upon their impressive collection of plants in the extensive botanical gardens. We could all learn a lesson in getting along from these trees from all over the world that intermingle harmoniously. Trees from New Zealand share neighboring soil with trees from China, and Mexican cacti cozy up to American coffee trees. Some of the trunks shot up in the sky so far that it seemed they could be no younger than 300 years old. It really is paradise for any plant lover and free to wander around and gather your thoughts.

For dinner, we once again ventured to the hangout spot of the rich and famous in Beverly Hills. We waltz down Rodeo Drive and felt marginally less out of place than yesterday as we planned our outfits more accordingly. Vegan food was once again a snap to find, and we dined in style at a place called Oliver's. I kept looking out the corner of my eye to see if Bruce Willis or some other celebrity would show up, but unfortunately I am still waiting for my first celebrity sighting.

Popped Collars on Santa Monica

The waiter at Da Pasquale Trattoria in Beverly Hills could not have looked any less surprised upon hearing that I was new to the area. Not sure exactly what tipped him off- my jean shorts or my casual top, but amongst the popped collared polos and business suits I eventually realized how out of place I looked. From the parking garage where every spot but ours seemed filled with Jags and Beamers to the restaurant where every patron seemed an elderly man in the dining company of a young sexy blonde, the stereotypes were overwhelmingly present.

And after the phenomenal meal and service we experienced, I could understand where those young sexy blondes were coming from. I was this close (visualize me holding my fingers about a centimeter or so apart) to throwing in the towel on any career and pulling an Anna Nicole Smith right then and there. The food was hot and scrumptious and delivered quicker than if Speedy Gonzalez had brought it himself. The waiters were charming and friendly.

Wow- a crazy wave of exhaustion just washed over me thus disabling me from finishing my tale of how I got to Los Angeles. Well, you will all just have to wait. Try not to lose sleep over it.

Off to LA!

Who wants to hear about day one of my drive to Los Angeles?? Raise your hands if you do! Woah there eager beavers, you can put them down now. Brace yourselves- as is expected during any road trip with one's father through the southwestern states, some exciting stuff happened. My only issue stems from where to begin my epic tale. Just to be different, though it actually isn't so unheard of in modern day story telling, I'm going to begin at the end.

Pink lemonade. That is what Best Western hotels provide their guest in the lobby when they are located in Las Vegas. In hotels in parts of the world where there is not a sweltering heat that makes you feel like you need a shower when you just had one, they give you coffee. I would suggest iced coffee. But we can't always get what we want, as The Rolling Stones tell me. Though my dad and I certainly did get what we want in a hotel- it may be in Vegas, but it is far enough from the Strip that the sounds of drunkards and chiming slot machines will not impair our sleep. Air conditioning provides an escape from the 100+ degree weather, and a massive TV and clean rooms are amenities that, as a hostel frequenter, I am ecstatic about.

My alarm got my drowsy butt out of bed at 7:00, and preparations for leaving shoved sadness induced by leaving my family to a mental storage unit in my brain's attic. Yes, my brain has an attic. It's really a nice piece of real estate, you all should check out the floor plan sometime. My dad and I said our goodbyes to my mother and grandmother. We hugged, we kissed, we almost cried- it could have been an Oprah special. Then we were off. On the painful to endure spectrum, I would rate today's drive at a 3. A 1 is a nice evening out at a French bistro with your best friend, and a 10 is a root canal without novocaine. There's your point of reference. Conversation with my incredible father who agreed to drive me out to Los Angeles kept things from getting dull, but today also happened to be the day when every moronic driver came out of the woodwork to piss us off. That included, but was not limited to, truck drivers trying to pass other truck drivers, two young guys clearly en route to get their hooker fix in Vegas tailgating me and two women with the world "delishus" on their license plate driving in between two lanes.

Lunch at Subway and dinner at a surprisingly decent dinner buffet at the rather sketchy sounding Ocean Buffet provided our sustenance, Best Western our lodging, and hopefully the remaining four hours to tomorrow are just as smooth as today! Over and out, readers!

Moonrise Kingdom a Must-See

Nothing created by Wes Anderson falls short of magical. With each successive viewing of his films, he climbs higher and higher on my list of favorite directors. His vibrant characters and settings bring life to his imaginative plots. He incorporates songs, sets, colors and sounds which invigorate the senses creating movies that are can only be described as treats for the eyes, ears and mind. After various painful cinematic experiences at the theaters recently (*ahem* Seeking a Friend for the End of the World), Moonrise Kingdom was a breath of freash air which transported me to a whimsical world and the desire to inhabit it forever. A charming tale of young love, Moonrise Kingdom follows a misunderstood boy and girl who run away from friends and families to be together.

Edward Norton and Bill Murray provide, as usual, talented acting performances as the boy scout equivalent troop leader and the girl's father, respecively. Bruce Willis mastered his role as the island police officer as well. Not a single line of dialogue uttered by the relatively small number of characters was out of place or unnecessary, and most caused the entire theater audience to erupt in laughter. The simplicity of the plot makes for a charming, almost fairy-tale like film based on the joys and struggles of young love. I can say confidently that I enjoyed every single moment of Moonrise Kingdom, and would eagerly return to see it again.

Boulder Nostalgia Bug

Today, and over the past few days, I was bitten by a nostalgia bug. That particular kind of insect leaves a rather unpleasantly itchy wound not unlike that of a mosquito, but not quite as bad as a deer fly bite. This was no normal nostalgia bug, however- it was a subspecies know as a Boulder nostalgia bug. Characteristic of this subspecies are wings decorated with pot leaves and dreadlocks, and they tend to frequent locations such as the Boulder Public Library and Whole Foods. They go after people, like me, who are about to move away.

Symptoms of a Boulder Nostalgia Bug bite include saying things like "aw, that is the last hippie guitar guy I will see for awhile," or "aw, I'm going to miss that marijuana dispensary!" Comments like that, stopping just short of "aw, I'm going to miss that naked lady gardening." No. Old ladies bending over while gardening naked are something I will definitely not miss. I am not nostalgic in the slightest to be leaving charming quirks of Boulder such as that behind me.

As I prepare to trade pine trees for palms, I am starting to get a bit gooey over leaving certain things that have been so familiar in my life for the past 18 years or so spent with the flatirons looming nearby.

A Fourth of July with No Fireworks

Is much like a Christmas without a tree. An Easter without a basket of chocolates. A birthday with no cake. A Halloween with no pumpkins.  Okay, I think you get my point. The devastating fires which have wreaked havoc on the state of Colorado and the nation (there is a really bad one in Wyoming) made it unsafe to have the displays so classic to our celebration of freedom. It seems that to get my firework fix, I will have to listen to Katy Perry's song "Firework" or watch a YouTube video of a prior display.

Yet, if I have learned anything from classic holiday cartoons such as The Grinch, it is that you do not need all the extra "stuff" to celebrate the true meaning of the day. If the Who's could do it, so can Coloradans. And this firework-less 4th provides potential for a Grinch sequel- maybe his brother tries to steal the 4th of July by getting rid of all the fireworks (bwa-ha-ha). Alright, maybe not. But given the ideas that movie makers are coming up with these days, it would not surprise me in the least if that was the next summer blockbuster.

I wish all of my readers a happy 4th of July- remember to cherish our freedoms that so many people of this world are deprived of. We complain a lot about our great nation and too often take our freedom for granted, and those that fight to protect it.

Last Night, I Shared a Bed With...

Woah there Marisa, getting a little scandalous are we?? Don't worry, this post is not going to morph into a semi-pornographic, steamly letter to Penthouse. Hope you're not too disappointed by that, but I generally try to keep these posts G rated (well, maybe sometimes PG). Anyways, didn't mean to leave you all hanging- last night, I shared a bed with a little Westie dog and an orange tabby cat. Let me tell you, they are not the best nocturnal companions.

My life has gotten very "wild kingdom" since I've begun watching the house of a family friend who is on holiday (look at that British word slipping into my vocab...blame my Ireland travels) with her family. Aside from the Westie and the tabby, they have two other cats, and though I have not seen them (thankfully), a family of conniving raccoons living under the porch. They keep me busy, that's for sure.

The aforementioned orange tabby generally lives outside, but I let it in whenever it decides to grace me with its presence. It caused me a good deal of concern, actually, as it only showed up after the first two days of watching the house. I let it in, fed it tuna (much to its pleasure) and then headed up to bed. All night, meows of different pitches and tones, all coming from the same cat, prevented my chances of falling asleep. I erred in the assumption that they were meows of protest at being kept inside, but I knew I could not let it back out as I had been instructed to only do so during the day. When my exhaustion became unbearable, I exited the room and almost tripped over the cat. Her qualm was actually with not being in the same room as me. In a well-rested state, I would have been touched that I had made a feline friend, but in a groggy one, I was just glad that the meows ceased.

So, it is now about 3 AM. Cats, I suppose, do not get tired. Or at least not this one. She spent all night pacing around the bed, rubbing her head against my leg. The dog posted itself next to a street-facing window and would growl or bark at every passing vehicle or creature, human or otherwise. At one point I was glad to have a lookout, however, as I heard some noises which would not have been out of place in a horror film. Maybe tonight I will down a full bottle of Melatonin. Ok, maybe not the best idea...

Root Canal- in Two Acts

What's more fun than a root canal? A root canal done in two stages. I'm sure many of you were not filled in as to my dental dilemma prior to departing to Europe, so first, some background information. My body sure knows how to time things- it decided to hit me hard with a toothache two mornings before my flight to Madrid. As most would do, I brushed aside the thought that I should call the dentist, reasoning that their schedule would be packed with such short notice. As the day wore on and the pain failed the subside, my mind's worry grew more immune to that reason. Thus, the desire to call won, and I phoned the dentist begging them to squeeze me in for a quick peek. They said, as I had assumed, that their schedule was packed tighter than a sardine tin (ok they did not literally use the sardine tin comparison). But, given my circumstances, they took pity on my and said they could fit me in for a brief look.

Well, that brief look required the aid of an x- ray, which displayed a potentially dead nerve beneath the malicious little tooth. The dentist informed me that I needed a root canal. Oh, the joy that brewed within me! I had two options to mull over in my overwhelmed brain: I could mosey out of there with pain pills and antibiotics and wait until my return to do the procedure. Or, I could do part one of a root canal, which involves opening the tooth and removing the dead nerve, then they would temporarily seal it and do the rest upon my return. The issue with option one is I would run the risk of extreme pain flaring up in the tooth when in the plane, as altitude is notorious for causing such things. Shockingly, the idea of being in head-splitting pain for a combined total of 10 hours of air travel did not appeal to me. So, door number two, please! Let me just say, I hate novocaine shots. I could make a list of hundreds of unpleasant things I would prefer to do before get a novocaine shot. Yes, I love the result of the shots, but the actual thing... Ouch. I always clench up and dig my nails into the hand of the poor, unsuspecting dental assistant attempting to calm me down. Part two of the procedure, which I had done today, called for three of them. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes, by my pride forced them to stay put. At least it it is behind me now!

Steve Carell: Cradle Robber Extrordinaire

As mentioned in a previous post, movie trailers are becoming increasingly misleading. When I first saw the preview for Seeking a Friend for the End of the World, I thought there was no way that Steve Carell and Keira Knightley would be thrown together romantically. The snip-its shown with them together portrayed a father-daughter relationship: Steve Carell carrying a sleeping Keira Knightley across a threshold, Knightley telling a police officer who just pulled them over that she is trying to help Carell get to the "woman he loves" before the end of the world. Add that to the fact that Carell is 49 years old and Knightley is 27 and all signs point to innocent, friendly relationship. Well, SPOILER ALERT (seriously), they end up falling for each other.

"Confused" is more of an understatement than saying that Lady Gaga's outfits are a little odd when I try to express how I feel about certain Hollywood romantic pairings in movies. Steve Carell seems to be the worst offender. Seeking a Friend is just one example among many, another being his role opposite Ann Hathaway in Get Smart. Well, at least when he was on The Office he got together with women closer to his age. Perhaps it is some kind of denial that celebrities go through. I imagine that making the transition from playing the young leading lady/man to more age appropriate roles is just as bad as going through a mid life crisis. I woder if celebrities have multiple "mid life crises"- one when they are really hitting the downturn on the arc of life and one when they must play older characters. Botox can only stave it off for so long, Cameron Diaz- I feel like she was playing the mid-twenties hot leading role way past when she was actually in that age range.