I know I'm late to the party with this, but I just saw an article about Snowball here on the BBC this morning. It seems that the scientific community had always considered the ability to dance a uniquely human characteristic, so this little feathery guy set off quite a re-jiggering of hypotheses. (Since the Beeb link has an ad embedded, I'm posting an older Animal Planet one here.)
But whatev's -- it just makes me smile. And not only because my friend Kristen is married to a member of Snowball's favorite boy band.
You go, boy.
30 April 2009
29 April 2009
the continuing adventures of the nerd herd
I really wish I'd thought of that name myself, but it's Mr. UB's baby. He sent me a text message on Saturday morning that said "Since you're teaching all day, I'm off to Ren Faire with the nerd herd." And last night he let me know that members of his Guild have posted links to the "House" promo with me in it on their message board (where I am known as Kazguhl's Future Wife.") Sorry, ladies -- he's taken!
I don't usually get to participate in their weekly activities (which are just like reindeer games, only with less reindeer and more dragons) because they happen on the night I teach at S. But I made an exception a few weeks ago for a very special occassion: the birthday of our Best Man.
Where did we go? Where else!:
Yes, that's right -- Medieval Times. I know you're jealous.
The whole night was organized as a surprise by the birthday boy's girlfriend. They're a lovely, demure couple.
No, there's nothing "metaphorical" about that photo at all -- how dare you?!
It's a good thing that these people arrived last, because he might've guessed what was in store for him if all of us had been milling around his living room like this:
No, that's not anyone's car. We wisely arranged to be transported in style (aka an Airporter shuttle bus.) Why?
That's why. They serve you beverages that are larger than your head. On purpose. (Side note: said beverages were the main reason I agreed to this excursion. I doubt I'd've survived it otherwise.)
I tried repeatedly to photograph this plastic sword thingy so that you could tell it lights up. Stoopid auto-flash camera.
This is our friend D. Mr. UB has known him since college, and he once cast me in a play as a ballet-dancing giant squid. (Yes, really.) He also writes children's books.
What does one do at Medieval Times, while waiting for the jousting to start?
Why, have the birthday boy knighted, of course!
In my habit of regularly finding minutiae in my surroundings to obsess about, I decided that I have to have these for my bathroom at home.
Oh, right ... did somebody say jousting?
Here comes one!
Hello, Lady!
Fortunately for the attention span of anyone still reading this, the battery in my camera died. Suffice to say that those jousters do not eff around. Sadly, the novelty of eating a meal sans utensils (authentically of-the-era, don'tcha know?) was somewhat soured by the other novelty of eating a meal amidst the odor of horse poop.
I don't usually get to participate in their weekly activities (which are just like reindeer games, only with less reindeer and more dragons) because they happen on the night I teach at S. But I made an exception a few weeks ago for a very special occassion: the birthday of our Best Man.
Where did we go? Where else!:
Yes, that's right -- Medieval Times. I know you're jealous.
The whole night was organized as a surprise by the birthday boy's girlfriend. They're a lovely, demure couple.
No, there's nothing "metaphorical" about that photo at all -- how dare you?!It's a good thing that these people arrived last, because he might've guessed what was in store for him if all of us had been milling around his living room like this:
No, that's not anyone's car. We wisely arranged to be transported in style (aka an Airporter shuttle bus.) Why?
That's why. They serve you beverages that are larger than your head. On purpose. (Side note: said beverages were the main reason I agreed to this excursion. I doubt I'd've survived it otherwise.)
I tried repeatedly to photograph this plastic sword thingy so that you could tell it lights up. Stoopid auto-flash camera.
This is our friend D. Mr. UB has known him since college, and he once cast me in a play as a ballet-dancing giant squid. (Yes, really.) He also writes children's books.What does one do at Medieval Times, while waiting for the jousting to start?
Why, have the birthday boy knighted, of course!
In my habit of regularly finding minutiae in my surroundings to obsess about, I decided that I have to have these for my bathroom at home.Oh, right ... did somebody say jousting?
Here comes one!
Hello, Lady!
Fortunately for the attention span of anyone still reading this, the battery in my camera died. Suffice to say that those jousters do not eff around. Sadly, the novelty of eating a meal sans utensils (authentically of-the-era, don'tcha know?) was somewhat soured by the other novelty of eating a meal amidst the odor of horse poop.
plodding along with paper products
I've been wanting to make lined envelopes, to fancy up our invitations a little. And I finally figured out how to do it, without spending $$ plus shipping to order a template that I'll never use again.
All I needed was this stuff, a roll of wrapping paper from the clearance aisle at Target that cost 85¢, and a box of 150 leftover Ivory A7 envelopes bought from a girl in Westwood. (Again, Sir Craig, I salute you.)
Step 1: grab a used manila folder
Step 2: carefully measure one of the envelopes you'll be lining, and subtract about 1/2" from the width & height for the ideal liner size. Cut the manila folder into a template to trace onto the wrapping paper.
Step 3: dig remainder of manila file from trash for when you screw this up the 1st time, and try again
Step 4: start cutting!
I'm not sure exactly how long this took, but I watched most of "The Biggest Loser" last night, and listened to a fair amount of Jim Rome's radio show this morning. (Yes, I'm demographically schizophrenic. What of it?)
How many envelope liners does one average-sized roll of wrapping paper make?
About 60.
I made an assembly line to keep from losing my place (and mind). First, I cut the wrapping paper & placed each liner inside an envelope. Then I went back through my stack & glued the liners down. Finally, I used a bone folder to crease the liners along the envelope fold.
The best part is how well everything is matching so far.
That sheet of paper is the stationary for our invites. The ribbon below is what's going to bind the various pieces together.
The colors of the liner look a little grayer on film than they are in person -- everything's a really nice, creamy palette.
In the rest of my spare time, I've been working on these:
I bought 12 styrofoam balls, but only need 6 to hang on the chairs at our ceremony. The decorator lady from our party venue suggested re-using them to decorate the patio at the party, which I think is a great idea -- so I'm just going to make all 12 into these paper pomanders. (Original project how-to found here.) It occurred to me that we could hang 2 from each chair at the ceremony ... but I'm wondering if that won't make it appear as if our chairs have testicles. Thoughts?
... Is all of this starting to erode my sanity? Why do you ask?
All I needed was this stuff, a roll of wrapping paper from the clearance aisle at Target that cost 85¢, and a box of 150 leftover Ivory A7 envelopes bought from a girl in Westwood. (Again, Sir Craig, I salute you.)Step 1: grab a used manila folder
Step 2: carefully measure one of the envelopes you'll be lining, and subtract about 1/2" from the width & height for the ideal liner size. Cut the manila folder into a template to trace onto the wrapping paper.
Step 3: dig remainder of manila file from trash for when you screw this up the 1st time, and try again
Step 4: start cutting!
I'm not sure exactly how long this took, but I watched most of "The Biggest Loser" last night, and listened to a fair amount of Jim Rome's radio show this morning. (Yes, I'm demographically schizophrenic. What of it?)
How many envelope liners does one average-sized roll of wrapping paper make?
About 60.I made an assembly line to keep from losing my place (and mind). First, I cut the wrapping paper & placed each liner inside an envelope. Then I went back through my stack & glued the liners down. Finally, I used a bone folder to crease the liners along the envelope fold.
The best part is how well everything is matching so far.
That sheet of paper is the stationary for our invites. The ribbon below is what's going to bind the various pieces together.
The colors of the liner look a little grayer on film than they are in person -- everything's a really nice, creamy palette.In the rest of my spare time, I've been working on these:
I bought 12 styrofoam balls, but only need 6 to hang on the chairs at our ceremony. The decorator lady from our party venue suggested re-using them to decorate the patio at the party, which I think is a great idea -- so I'm just going to make all 12 into these paper pomanders. (Original project how-to found here.) It occurred to me that we could hang 2 from each chair at the ceremony ... but I'm wondering if that won't make it appear as if our chairs have testicles. Thoughts?... Is all of this starting to erode my sanity? Why do you ask?
27 April 2009
a better perspective
I need to hang out with my friend Tolley more often. I auditioned for a project she's casting today, and while we were chatting afterwards I told her that my non-planning snit was still running strong. (She knows ... she reads this.)
Her: Couldn't spending time with someone who's doing a reading at your wedding technically be considered "doing wedding stuff"?
Me: I should think so.
Her: Mani/pedi?
Me: I love you.
And that's how I found myself in a tiny shop on Robertson, being massaged simultaneously by 3 surprisingly strong Asian women. (Hands, feet, shoulders.) I kind of want to live there.
I skipped nail polish, because one of the things I know about myself is that I will ruin it before I get to my car. Tolley suggested that I get them buffed (am I really writing about this? No wonder my friends are teasing me ...) and I have to say, they look quite nice. I should do this a couple more times before my hands are featured prominently in photographs.
As an old model (you know, over 23) I have a wealth of model tricks to make things look better in pictures. (No one puts Preparation H under their eyes -- that one's an urban myth.) But my hands ... they've always been a lost cause. To wit: I remember being asked by my first Italian modeling agent, Alfonso, to show him my hands and see if I could be sent on specialty jobs. (Go ahead, say "hand jobs." I'll wait.) The girl in line in front of me had the most elegant hands, with smooth skin & long, narrow fingers. (Think you obsess about your body?) "Like a classical piano player," he said approvingly. And then he looked at my hands.
"You ... you have hands like you've been working in the field." This from the more-than-a-little-portly, hairy man who once pinched my stomach & told me to lose one kilo. (That's 2.2 lbs. for those of you playing the home game.) But I digress ... my point is, my hands are strong, and generally useful, but not exceptionally pretty. And when I'm at S Factor, we use spray bottles of rubbing alcohol to keep the poles non-slippery. Try grinding that toxic stuff into your cuticles 4 days a week, and tell me how your hands look.
But after today, I'm willing to consider moving them out of the "lost cause" column.
Also, in addition to my episode of "House" airing tonight (woo hoo!!), I booked the play I went out for a few days ago. Apparently, I'm going to be playing most if not all of the female roles, which is awesome on two counts. First, because that's going to be a lot of fun, and second, because I won't have to do my wretched Nicholson impression in public.
Her: Couldn't spending time with someone who's doing a reading at your wedding technically be considered "doing wedding stuff"?
Me: I should think so.
Her: Mani/pedi?
Me: I love you.
And that's how I found myself in a tiny shop on Robertson, being massaged simultaneously by 3 surprisingly strong Asian women. (Hands, feet, shoulders.) I kind of want to live there.
I skipped nail polish, because one of the things I know about myself is that I will ruin it before I get to my car. Tolley suggested that I get them buffed (am I really writing about this? No wonder my friends are teasing me ...) and I have to say, they look quite nice. I should do this a couple more times before my hands are featured prominently in photographs.
As an old model (you know, over 23) I have a wealth of model tricks to make things look better in pictures. (No one puts Preparation H under their eyes -- that one's an urban myth.) But my hands ... they've always been a lost cause. To wit: I remember being asked by my first Italian modeling agent, Alfonso, to show him my hands and see if I could be sent on specialty jobs. (Go ahead, say "hand jobs." I'll wait.) The girl in line in front of me had the most elegant hands, with smooth skin & long, narrow fingers. (Think you obsess about your body?) "Like a classical piano player," he said approvingly. And then he looked at my hands.
"You ... you have hands like you've been working in the field." This from the more-than-a-little-portly, hairy man who once pinched my stomach & told me to lose one kilo. (That's 2.2 lbs. for those of you playing the home game.) But I digress ... my point is, my hands are strong, and generally useful, but not exceptionally pretty. And when I'm at S Factor, we use spray bottles of rubbing alcohol to keep the poles non-slippery. Try grinding that toxic stuff into your cuticles 4 days a week, and tell me how your hands look.
But after today, I'm willing to consider moving them out of the "lost cause" column.
Also, in addition to my episode of "House" airing tonight (woo hoo!!), I booked the play I went out for a few days ago. Apparently, I'm going to be playing most if not all of the female roles, which is awesome on two counts. First, because that's going to be a lot of fun, and second, because I won't have to do my wretched Nicholson impression in public.
25 April 2009
when procrastination equals planning
I bought the latest issue of Martha Stewart Weddings three days ago, and I haven't read it yet. Not because I'm testing myself, in some sort of weird willpower-that-no one-will-ever-see exercise, but just because I haven't bothered yet. I view this as tremendous progress in re-claiming my sanity.
In other, "real" progress this week, Mr. UB's father, aka His Dad, has come through with a major favor: the Mark Hopkins Hotel, where he always stays when he's in the city for business, is giving our wedding party & guests rooms at $75/night.
It's an incredibly nice hotel, with a bar on the top floor (in a building at the top of a hill) that has views to die for. And in a city that's not exactly famous for its hotel bargains ... as much as I try to keep her in check, my inner snob is very happy. On our budget, I was afraid we'd be at a Motel 6.
I'm amazed at how many things are coming together for this wedding. Maybe I should take another week off from planning, and see if a free-roaming caterer rings my doorbell.
In other, "real" progress this week, Mr. UB's father, aka His Dad, has come through with a major favor: the Mark Hopkins Hotel, where he always stays when he's in the city for business, is giving our wedding party & guests rooms at $75/night.
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It's an incredibly nice hotel, with a bar on the top floor (in a building at the top of a hill) that has views to die for. And in a city that's not exactly famous for its hotel bargains ... as much as I try to keep her in check, my inner snob is very happy. On our budget, I was afraid we'd be at a Motel 6.
I'm amazed at how many things are coming together for this wedding. Maybe I should take another week off from planning, and see if a free-roaming caterer rings my doorbell.
23 April 2009
the Actress Diaries, ch. 3
{At the suggestion of A.Mountain.Bride, who was actually helpful in response to my griping about wedding burn-out, I'm just going to ramble on about my strange days as an actress in L.A. Please note that, even when I seem like I'm whining, I'm still very happy that I don't work in a cubicle.}
Yesterday was quite the busy day. Three auditions, a photo shoot, and an S class to teach. (Yes, I slept well when it was over.) Part of my brain is always in Observation Mode, because I'm aware of just how absurd most of what constitutes an actor's day is. It helps me keep my sense of humor about it ... most of the time.
Audition #1: Low-budget feature film (that's a movie that barely pays, in non-jargon). It was in the valley, which is also known as the portal to the sun on warm days, so I was happy to be going there early. I had to wait longer than expected, and as I sat there going over my script, I noticed the conference room we were sitting in had rather strange decor:
It's hard to tell in the crappy cell phone pic I took on the sly, but all of the posters on the wall (required by law in an office where movies are produced) were covered with plain brown paper.For the un-initiated, the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles is widely known as the epicenter of pornography production worldwide. Yes, we're so proud. I took a few seconds to process this, and texted Mr. UB:
Me: All the movie posters in this production office are covered by brown paper. I'm in the valley. I smell a porno!
Him: Ew.
Me: google _____ pls
Him: There's a company that made 1 movie in 1990. It starred Esai Morales.
Me: weird but not scary
Him: also an anime company, but that would be a voice-over audition. ____ is a popular name.
Him again: Oh, wait. Yep, there's a porn company called that. Run!
Of course by the time that message came through, it was already my turn to audition. They were polite & normal-seeming, and liked my read. All in all, I'm guessing their company is trying to "cross-over" into mainstream stuff. (Because crappy B-movies are where the real money is?!) The character I was reading for is a reporter investigating a serial killer who's targeting porn stars. Here comes my Oscar bid.
Audition #2: A play, which is being produced by people who's last show I did. (That last show, "All About Walken," was sheer brilliance & heaps of fun to do. It re-enacted the life & times of Christopher Walken, both on & off-screen, with 8 different actors playing Walken. Two were women, 2 were Asian, all were hilarious.) Their new show is going to be "All About Jack." As in Nicholson. I suspect hilarity will ensue. We weren't given a script for the audition, so I went in just expecting to riff with P., the writer/producer/head guy in charge.
P: Do you do a Jack impression?
Me: Um, no.
P: Try.
Me: (painfully unsuccessful attempt, accompanied by the realization that I should've predicted this, and perhaps PREPARED?!?!)
P: Okay, moving on. How about these women -- Faye Dunaway.
Me: Vaguely Transylvanian, with a beret & a cigarette holder. Sister! Daughter! Sister! Daughter!
P: Shelley Duvall.
Me: You're gonna have to be Kubrick & call me a worthless dumbass for several months. No, seriously, I always picture her in Faerie Tale Theatre, dressed in a huge princess gown, with that wide, odd smile of hers.
P: Jane Fonda
Me: (on the floor doing Jazzercize) Feel the burn & you can marry a billionaire!
P: Kim Basinger.
Me: Ooh! Vicky Vale - best comic book heroine name ever. (Mussing my hair, using breathy voice) "F**k you, Katie Holmes!"
I think it went well. We shall see.
On the way to my photo shoot, I stopped by the dry cleaners because I needed to ransom out a shirt for my last audition. They were using these new green canvas "eco-friendly" re-usable garment bags. As in non-transparent. As in, I got home & realized that I had someone else's clothes. And I didn't like them better than mine.
Me: "F**k you, Earth Day!" (I sometimes lose that sense of humor. Usually when it impacts my feeding schedule, like when I have to make a second freakin' trip to the damned dry cleaners. Grrrr.)
Photo shoot: Product shots for S Factor's new & improved website.
I enjoy these because I don't have to fix my make-up.
Audition #3: Short film. Really interesting script, where I got to play an actress for the first time. It's an interesting exercise to "change characters" mid-script like that. Although they made me do a French accent on the fly ... dammit, that is on my resume, isn't it? I was pleased with how I did, but the absolute best part: they validated parking. Hooray, saving $12!
Work: (Yes, none of the above really constituted "going to work" for me. And people wonder why I'm a little nuts sometimes.) I love teaching my classes. It's the only possible explanation for how I could work out for 2 hours (8-10pm) after a day like this one. The best part is that I think my last 2 girls are going to sign on for another session with me -- no small thing, in this economy. I wish sometimes that there was a way to give it away for free ... but that seems like a poor business plan. Yet another reason why I teach, instead of working upstairs in Corporate.
Dear OPEC: Please lower the price of gasoline. Thank you.
21 April 2009
chuck it all
It's finally happened: Wedding Blog Burnout. I did next to nothing in regards to wedding planning last week, and could barely even bring myself to look at my daily roster of must-read wedding blogs. Perhaps because work has (finally) picked back up & I have less free time? Perhaps because I was still reeling from our best man's joust-a-thon birthday party? Or because I've just reached a saturation point?
The truth is, I don't really care. Mr. UB is being his usual amazing self & picking up the slack. And I've got scripts to study for three (3!) auditions tomorrow. I'm sure this is just a temporary lapse ... but forgive me, for not having a damn thing to say about the shindig we're planning.
Oh, and I'm trying to swear less, ever since I found out how many family members are reading this. (Hi, Aunt Lee!) Please feel free to follow my lead & blame Billy Bob.
The truth is, I don't really care. Mr. UB is being his usual amazing self & picking up the slack. And I've got scripts to study for three (3!) auditions tomorrow. I'm sure this is just a temporary lapse ... but forgive me, for not having a damn thing to say about the shindig we're planning.
Oh, and I'm trying to swear less, ever since I found out how many family members are reading this. (Hi, Aunt Lee!) Please feel free to follow my lead & blame Billy Bob.
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