Today is the first day of the last year of my 20s. Up until a month or two ago, I hadn't put any thought into milestone birthdays since my 19th, which was all about the promise of a new era of drinking and clubbing (a la Last Days of Disco - sans the clap) . Not surprisingly, I've had heavier issues on my mind leading up to my 29th.
I'm extremely fortunate in that the really important stuff in my life -- relationships with family and friends who I love more than anything -- is going just fine. There's just this little, tiny thorn in my side called "Lack of Career Fulfillment" that's really starting to drive me nuts. The enlightened side of me (grossly undeveloped as it is) wants to ignore it. You aren't what you do, so why should what you do matter? I've tried to burn that mantra into my psyche, but so far, it's just not working. I've grown up believing one's career is a huge part of one's identity. To which enlightened me counters, "Identity is an illusion!" Maybe so, but it keeps me awake at night.
So, my goal this year is to figure out what to do with my life. I'll write updates here and we'll see where I am this time next year. Maybe I'll find some answers, or maybe I'll develop my enlightened side to the point that I won't care about answers anymore. Either way, it's going to be heavy, man. I'm glad I have cake in the fridge.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Growing Up Grunge, Part 1
I recently completed my third round of revisions on my third screenplay - my life's obsession since the summer of 2007 - and for the first time it feels like the end is in sight. At the same time, I'm at the very beginning of a brand new story. I've got the concept down, but the characters are just shadows at this stage. The more I work on it, the more I'll come to know.
Right now, one thing that's for certain is that the characters I'm writing will be my age, and given that, the question that I'm pondering tonight is, what are the lasting after-effects of growing up grunge?
I started junior high in 1991, the year that Nirvana's Nevermind and Pearl Jam's Ten exploded into the mainstream, causing a paradigm shift in rock'n'roll and pop culture as a whole. By the time I started high school in 1993, grunge was the mainstream. It defined my teenage generation, even though by about 1995, grunge was already starting to fade into the past, painfully superseded by the rise of Oasis, Dave Matthews and, eventually, Britney and the Backstreet Boys. It was around this time that I began to shun new music altogether and sought solace by fantasizing about what it would have been like to go to high school ten years earlier -- from grade 11 on, my music collection was almost exclusively devoted to New Order, the Smiths, the Cure, early U2 and the Psychedelic Furs. I don't know that I would be the 80s music fanatic that I am today if music hadn't been as goddamn awful as it was in my last two years of high school (notable exceptions: Radiohead, Nine Inch Nails and the Foo Fighters. Youngsters these days might accuse me of being downright delusional for claiming that the era that produced these brilliant bands was a dark time for the rock'n'roll business. But they didn't have to live through the horror that was Hootie).
So far I've been writing more about the end of grunge than the era of grunge itself. With respect to the latter, I could free associate about Doc Martens, thrift store shopping, mosh pits, greasy hair, flannel, Reality Bites, My So-Called Life, black eye-liner, heroin chic, rock star suicides and overdoses, Lollapalooza, Woodstock II, Queen Street west (to Bathurst -- one needed to go no further in those days), Kurt and Courtney, SPIN magazine, Pulp Fiction and the cult of Tarantino...the list of icons goes on and on. What I want to nail down is how having one's teen years roughly coincide with the duration of the 1990s affected us, how growing up over any other span of time would have felt very, very different, even if it overlapped the era that I'm writing about here. We started grade 7 in 1991 and turned 20 in 1999 -- my gut feeling is that our experience was somehow unique. Perhaps not coincidentally, there were next to no contemporaneous teen icons in the media during those years, save for our generation's patron saint, Angela Chase in My So-Called Life -- perhaps the first and last time that a major network cancelled an overwhelmingly popular teen show, for seemingly no other reason than that it was just too damn good for television. As far as teen movies go, there were really only two -- Dazed and Confused (1994), which was, ironically, about being a teen in the mid-1970s, and Clueless (1995), a cheeky, uber-unrealistic adapation of Jane Austen's Emma, directed by Fast Time at Ridgmont High's Amy Heckerling. Both were great films, but neither reflected the reality of high school in the 1990s. Beverly Hills, 90210 came before us, Dawson's Creek came after. We were the teens in between, and there is virtually no pop culture record of our existence. Maybe that's why I'm so determined to try to define it, to articulate it, to convince those who didn't live through it -- and maybe even some of those who did -- that it actually happened. To one degree or another, we grew up grunge. What that means is yet to be determined. But I'm pretty determined to figure it out.
Right now, one thing that's for certain is that the characters I'm writing will be my age, and given that, the question that I'm pondering tonight is, what are the lasting after-effects of growing up grunge?
I started junior high in 1991, the year that Nirvana's Nevermind and Pearl Jam's Ten exploded into the mainstream, causing a paradigm shift in rock'n'roll and pop culture as a whole. By the time I started high school in 1993, grunge was the mainstream. It defined my teenage generation, even though by about 1995, grunge was already starting to fade into the past, painfully superseded by the rise of Oasis, Dave Matthews and, eventually, Britney and the Backstreet Boys. It was around this time that I began to shun new music altogether and sought solace by fantasizing about what it would have been like to go to high school ten years earlier -- from grade 11 on, my music collection was almost exclusively devoted to New Order, the Smiths, the Cure, early U2 and the Psychedelic Furs. I don't know that I would be the 80s music fanatic that I am today if music hadn't been as goddamn awful as it was in my last two years of high school (notable exceptions: Radiohead, Nine Inch Nails and the Foo Fighters. Youngsters these days might accuse me of being downright delusional for claiming that the era that produced these brilliant bands was a dark time for the rock'n'roll business. But they didn't have to live through the horror that was Hootie).
So far I've been writing more about the end of grunge than the era of grunge itself. With respect to the latter, I could free associate about Doc Martens, thrift store shopping, mosh pits, greasy hair, flannel, Reality Bites, My So-Called Life, black eye-liner, heroin chic, rock star suicides and overdoses, Lollapalooza, Woodstock II, Queen Street west (to Bathurst -- one needed to go no further in those days), Kurt and Courtney, SPIN magazine, Pulp Fiction and the cult of Tarantino...the list of icons goes on and on. What I want to nail down is how having one's teen years roughly coincide with the duration of the 1990s affected us, how growing up over any other span of time would have felt very, very different, even if it overlapped the era that I'm writing about here. We started grade 7 in 1991 and turned 20 in 1999 -- my gut feeling is that our experience was somehow unique. Perhaps not coincidentally, there were next to no contemporaneous teen icons in the media during those years, save for our generation's patron saint, Angela Chase in My So-Called Life -- perhaps the first and last time that a major network cancelled an overwhelmingly popular teen show, for seemingly no other reason than that it was just too damn good for television. As far as teen movies go, there were really only two -- Dazed and Confused (1994), which was, ironically, about being a teen in the mid-1970s, and Clueless (1995), a cheeky, uber-unrealistic adapation of Jane Austen's Emma, directed by Fast Time at Ridgmont High's Amy Heckerling. Both were great films, but neither reflected the reality of high school in the 1990s. Beverly Hills, 90210 came before us, Dawson's Creek came after. We were the teens in between, and there is virtually no pop culture record of our existence. Maybe that's why I'm so determined to try to define it, to articulate it, to convince those who didn't live through it -- and maybe even some of those who did -- that it actually happened. To one degree or another, we grew up grunge. What that means is yet to be determined. But I'm pretty determined to figure it out.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Generation Why
I am weary from working late this evening, however I feel the need to write something, and, not feeling coherent enough to revise script pages, I decided I could perhaps muster a blog entry. You be the judge.
Last week, I did a couple of things I haven't done in a while. I "helped" a friend look for apartments in a variety of Toronto neighbourhoods. I don't think I really helped all that much, but I did enjoy being permitted to look around other people's wacky abodes. The experience led me to ponder numerous questions, such as why do single guys like fridge-magnet poetry so much? Can a futon ever really look "made"? And, what percentage of twentysomethings with Nietzsche and Kerouac on their bookshelf have actually read both Nietzsche and Kerouac? (such book collections seem more like intellectual IKEA to me).
I also applied for a(nother)/new job, which involved taking the rather satisfying/traumatizing step of deleting the line "PhD. anticipated 2008" from my resume. Then came the much-loathed task of writing a cover letter. One of the few things I despise more than bullshit is formalized bullshit. And that's pretty much what a cover letter is. One can try (and God knows I have) to make cover letters original, heartfelt, inspiring or just plain honest, but in the end, the rigors of cover letter rhetoric (read: bullshit) demand that they all sound ickily ingratiating. Furthermore, have you ever noticed that it's a HELL of a lot harder to make yourself sound less overqualified than it is to make yourself sound less underqualified? Why is that?!
So many questions, so few answers. And after tomorrow, so much Coldplay. Let's end on a positive note, shall we? Three very cool things I have experienced in the past 24 hours: Mark Ronson's Version, raccoon language, and three pieces of chocolate cake.
Last week, I did a couple of things I haven't done in a while. I "helped" a friend look for apartments in a variety of Toronto neighbourhoods. I don't think I really helped all that much, but I did enjoy being permitted to look around other people's wacky abodes. The experience led me to ponder numerous questions, such as why do single guys like fridge-magnet poetry so much? Can a futon ever really look "made"? And, what percentage of twentysomethings with Nietzsche and Kerouac on their bookshelf have actually read both Nietzsche and Kerouac? (such book collections seem more like intellectual IKEA to me).
I also applied for a(nother)/new job, which involved taking the rather satisfying/traumatizing step of deleting the line "PhD. anticipated 2008" from my resume. Then came the much-loathed task of writing a cover letter. One of the few things I despise more than bullshit is formalized bullshit. And that's pretty much what a cover letter is. One can try (and God knows I have) to make cover letters original, heartfelt, inspiring or just plain honest, but in the end, the rigors of cover letter rhetoric (read: bullshit) demand that they all sound ickily ingratiating. Furthermore, have you ever noticed that it's a HELL of a lot harder to make yourself sound less overqualified than it is to make yourself sound less underqualified? Why is that?!
So many questions, so few answers. And after tomorrow, so much Coldplay. Let's end on a positive note, shall we? Three very cool things I have experienced in the past 24 hours: Mark Ronson's Version, raccoon language, and three pieces of chocolate cake.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Madonna Memories No. 2
Okay, so maybe I was just a little grouchy in my last post due to not having a snowball in hell's chance of landing Madonna tickets. I might placate myself by getting tickets to see the Foo Fighters and the Kooks at the Virgin music fest in September. But we'll see. The call of the cottage is mighty strong on Labour Day weekend.
So getting back to my trip down Madonna memory lane...
Madonna (1983) - specifically "Lucky Star" and "Holiday", and later "Borderline"
A dead-heat tie for my favourite Madonna album, along with True Blue (1986). I associate "Lucky Star" and "Holiday" with a Mini-Pops Madonna medley to which I used to choreograph dances in my basement with my best friends circa age six or so (if you read my "Madonna Memories No. 1" blog, you'll see that my preferred activities changed relatively little in high school). I also recall an "Easy Lover"/"Owner of a Lonely Heart" medley on the same cassette, as well as a pretty snappy melee of Duran Duran covers. I think I wore that cassette out, as it was pretty much our favourite until the Dirty Dancing soundtrack came along.
Perhaps due in part to its being left off the Mini-Pops' hit roster, I wasn't really familiar with "Borderline" until later on in high school, when I coerced my boyfriend to buy The Immaculate Collection on CD so that we could listen to it in his car. Since then, it's been one of my most-loved Madonna tunes. And now every time I hear it, it takes me back to being 17, a time in my life that, like early Madonna music itself, seems more and more rosy and innocent the further it gets in the past.
On that note, I shall sign off for now. But first, two more thoughts about Madonna albums of the 1980s: 1) True Blue is awesome for so many reasons, not the least of which is the dedication to Sean Penn in the liner notes... and 2) If there is one slow song I wish I'd danced to with a gorgeous boy in junior high, it's "Crazy For You" (off the Vision Quest soundtrack, but you already knew that, right?). Instead, we had Whitney Houston belting out "I-ee-I-ee-I will always love HUuuu..." And I always bolted for the refreshment table during the slow songs anyway (see: Backflip in the Long Program). But there you go.
So getting back to my trip down Madonna memory lane...
Madonna (1983) - specifically "Lucky Star" and "Holiday", and later "Borderline"
A dead-heat tie for my favourite Madonna album, along with True Blue (1986). I associate "Lucky Star" and "Holiday" with a Mini-Pops Madonna medley to which I used to choreograph dances in my basement with my best friends circa age six or so (if you read my "Madonna Memories No. 1" blog, you'll see that my preferred activities changed relatively little in high school). I also recall an "Easy Lover"/"Owner of a Lonely Heart" medley on the same cassette, as well as a pretty snappy melee of Duran Duran covers. I think I wore that cassette out, as it was pretty much our favourite until the Dirty Dancing soundtrack came along.
Perhaps due in part to its being left off the Mini-Pops' hit roster, I wasn't really familiar with "Borderline" until later on in high school, when I coerced my boyfriend to buy The Immaculate Collection on CD so that we could listen to it in his car. Since then, it's been one of my most-loved Madonna tunes. And now every time I hear it, it takes me back to being 17, a time in my life that, like early Madonna music itself, seems more and more rosy and innocent the further it gets in the past.
On that note, I shall sign off for now. But first, two more thoughts about Madonna albums of the 1980s: 1) True Blue is awesome for so many reasons, not the least of which is the dedication to Sean Penn in the liner notes... and 2) If there is one slow song I wish I'd danced to with a gorgeous boy in junior high, it's "Crazy For You" (off the Vision Quest soundtrack, but you already knew that, right?). Instead, we had Whitney Houston belting out "I-ee-I-ee-I will always love HUuuu..." And I always bolted for the refreshment table during the slow songs anyway (see: Backflip in the Long Program). But there you go.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Coming Up Short, With Dignity
Well, no Sticky and Sweet Tour tickets for me. Not that I really thought I had much of a chance of getting a pair, especially considering the half-ass effort I put into getting tickets to just about any Ticketmaster gouge-a-palooza. In every instance, I try the conventional, "little people" avenues of touch-tone redial and Internet queuing for what I deem to be a reasonable period of time relative to the show in question. For Madonna, this was about four minutes (no, really). I figured my efforts were pretty futile from the start, but it's kind of like Rolling up the Rim and hoping for a Toyota Prius, or trying to Scratch and Save 75% off at the Bay -- you know the odds are stacked miles high against you, but even so, for a brief moment in time, anything's possible so you try anyhow.
I always pretty much suck at getting hold of tickets to hot concerts. Usually, apathy and frugality are the primary causes. There's also a certain loss of pride involved in many of the methods via which people successfully land impossible-to-find concert tickets, eg. camping out overnight on Yonge Street, reciting ridiculous radio jingles, calling up that ex-boyfriend who's dad's company has box seats at the ACC....the list goes on. But I can't go for that. No can do. My dignity is more precious. Hence the fact, this summer, I'll be more likely to be seeing Def Leppard in concert for the third time than prostrating myself for a chance to land Madonna tickets. It's all about holding your head up high, folks.
The fact that I won't be seeing Madonna in concert any time soon has not, however, dampened my deep affection for her music, so I will resume my Madonna Memories reflections next time. Until then, perhaps some of you reading this entry would like to offer up some of your own fond recollections relating to Madonna's music, movies, fashion statements, etc. Or concert tickets -- I'll take those too.
I always pretty much suck at getting hold of tickets to hot concerts. Usually, apathy and frugality are the primary causes. There's also a certain loss of pride involved in many of the methods via which people successfully land impossible-to-find concert tickets, eg. camping out overnight on Yonge Street, reciting ridiculous radio jingles, calling up that ex-boyfriend who's dad's company has box seats at the ACC....the list goes on. But I can't go for that. No can do. My dignity is more precious. Hence the fact, this summer, I'll be more likely to be seeing Def Leppard in concert for the third time than prostrating myself for a chance to land Madonna tickets. It's all about holding your head up high, folks.
The fact that I won't be seeing Madonna in concert any time soon has not, however, dampened my deep affection for her music, so I will resume my Madonna Memories reflections next time. Until then, perhaps some of you reading this entry would like to offer up some of your own fond recollections relating to Madonna's music, movies, fashion statements, etc. Or concert tickets -- I'll take those too.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Countdown to Sticky and Sweet Saturday: Madonna Memories No. 1
This Saturday at 10 AM, I am going to try to achieve the impossible -- land a pair of tickets to Madonna's "Sticky and Sweet" show in Toronto this October. While I have little to no prayer of actually seeing Madge perform "Like a Prayer" live any time soon, for the moment I choose to live in hope that I just might be successful. Unfortunately, I have never seen Madonna in concert, but have been a fan since I was four, which is to say, since the dawn of Madonna's career. In celebration of my 25 years as a Madonna devotee, I've decided to write a series of blog entries on the memories that I associate with some of my favourite Madonna albums and songs. Today's selection: Like a Virgin (1985). Specifically, "Material Girl". As a side note, my two current favourite tracks from that album are "Angel" and "Dress You Up". But neither has the same nostalgic associations as "Material Girl". So here we go...
"Material Girl" - In high school, one of the dubious highlights of the spring semester was the Battle of the Air Bands contest. Some participants took the conventional route of lip-synching and/or air-guitar strumming along to a popular rock tune of the day. There were occasional creative and/or shocking variations, such as one group's dead-on re-enactment of the video for U2's "Numb", or the rather unfortunate stripping incident of '96, involving a pasty, scrawny-bodied male classmate who was dragged off the stage still thrusting away in his none-too-white tighty whities. Then, every year, you could count on at least one group of popular girls to push the envelope with a performance that was perennially well-received...the luridly suggestive, scantily-clad dance number to a super-hot Janet Jackson/Mariah Carey chart-topper du jour. To this day, I have no idea what qualified these performances as "air bands", so much as paper-thin excuses to prance around in front of the entire panting male student body in fishnet tights and heels and not get sent home to change one's clothes. The faculty seemed to condone these dirty little dances. Feminist-minded young women in the audience like myself perhaps should have objected to the blatant, well, objectification on parade, but we were too busy firing off catty remarks about which of the dancers' asses looked the fattest.
What the hell does all this have to do with Madonna, you ask? I'm getting there, I swear. OK, so by the time grade 12 rolled around, a couple of my best friends and I were ready to put our own take on the whole slutty air band phenomenon. The twist, however, was that we didn't want anyone to think that we were actually doing the performance in earnest. It was of ultimate importance that our camp intentions be at least somewhat palpable to our plebeian audience, otherwise we'd be no better than the girls we'd ruthlessly mocked for the past three years. In fact, we'd be worse because we weren't the hot, popular girls -- if taken as sincere, our act would end up looking like an excruciatingly naive, inept attempt at being something we were not, which to this day is, in my mind, one of the most mortifying acts one can commit. Even though right from the get-go, our goal was to subvert the very conventions of the erotic high school air band performance, we did hope that we might spark a genuine fan following amongst a gaggle of Farmer Ted-esque grade 9 guys who could be bribed to buy us cookies from the caf, or carry our backpacks.
Song choice was critical. Right from the beginning, Madonna was a front runner -- all of us worshiped her and her discography up to that point offered many rich possibilities for cheeky, postmodern-camp-kitsch air band interpretation. We eventually settled on "Material Girl", "Like a Virgin" seeming a little too "on-the-nose" even to our sassy, self-aware 17 year-old sensibilities. We talked about it for weeks, then met for one glorious practice session in my basement during which we dreamed up costumes (Flashdance risque in style), props, bit players (cameos from aforementioned Farmer Ted niners) and an impressive thirty seconds or so of actual choreography. I can still remember the saucy little snaps we had timed to the chime that sounds somewhere around the third stanza of the intro to that song. Unfortunately, we got no further than that. Term papers, prom plans and general apathy - the brilliant teenager's worst enemy - put an end to our air band dreams. But every time I hear "Material Girl", I think back to what might have been. I never once performed in front of my entire high school, preferring to embarrass myself in front of numerous select groups and individuals instead over my four years as a student there. Our (self-consciously) slutty Madonna air band could have been my moment to shine. Or it could have been my worst high school memory (and that's saying something). We'll never know. But thanks, Madge, for supplying the soundtrack. I couldn't have not done it without you.
"Material Girl" - In high school, one of the dubious highlights of the spring semester was the Battle of the Air Bands contest. Some participants took the conventional route of lip-synching and/or air-guitar strumming along to a popular rock tune of the day. There were occasional creative and/or shocking variations, such as one group's dead-on re-enactment of the video for U2's "Numb", or the rather unfortunate stripping incident of '96, involving a pasty, scrawny-bodied male classmate who was dragged off the stage still thrusting away in his none-too-white tighty whities. Then, every year, you could count on at least one group of popular girls to push the envelope with a performance that was perennially well-received...the luridly suggestive, scantily-clad dance number to a super-hot Janet Jackson/Mariah Carey chart-topper du jour. To this day, I have no idea what qualified these performances as "air bands", so much as paper-thin excuses to prance around in front of the entire panting male student body in fishnet tights and heels and not get sent home to change one's clothes. The faculty seemed to condone these dirty little dances. Feminist-minded young women in the audience like myself perhaps should have objected to the blatant, well, objectification on parade, but we were too busy firing off catty remarks about which of the dancers' asses looked the fattest.
What the hell does all this have to do with Madonna, you ask? I'm getting there, I swear. OK, so by the time grade 12 rolled around, a couple of my best friends and I were ready to put our own take on the whole slutty air band phenomenon. The twist, however, was that we didn't want anyone to think that we were actually doing the performance in earnest. It was of ultimate importance that our camp intentions be at least somewhat palpable to our plebeian audience, otherwise we'd be no better than the girls we'd ruthlessly mocked for the past three years. In fact, we'd be worse because we weren't the hot, popular girls -- if taken as sincere, our act would end up looking like an excruciatingly naive, inept attempt at being something we were not, which to this day is, in my mind, one of the most mortifying acts one can commit. Even though right from the get-go, our goal was to subvert the very conventions of the erotic high school air band performance, we did hope that we might spark a genuine fan following amongst a gaggle of Farmer Ted-esque grade 9 guys who could be bribed to buy us cookies from the caf, or carry our backpacks.
Song choice was critical. Right from the beginning, Madonna was a front runner -- all of us worshiped her and her discography up to that point offered many rich possibilities for cheeky, postmodern-camp-kitsch air band interpretation. We eventually settled on "Material Girl", "Like a Virgin" seeming a little too "on-the-nose" even to our sassy, self-aware 17 year-old sensibilities. We talked about it for weeks, then met for one glorious practice session in my basement during which we dreamed up costumes (Flashdance risque in style), props, bit players (cameos from aforementioned Farmer Ted niners) and an impressive thirty seconds or so of actual choreography. I can still remember the saucy little snaps we had timed to the chime that sounds somewhere around the third stanza of the intro to that song. Unfortunately, we got no further than that. Term papers, prom plans and general apathy - the brilliant teenager's worst enemy - put an end to our air band dreams. But every time I hear "Material Girl", I think back to what might have been. I never once performed in front of my entire high school, preferring to embarrass myself in front of numerous select groups and individuals instead over my four years as a student there. Our (self-consciously) slutty Madonna air band could have been my moment to shine. Or it could have been my worst high school memory (and that's saying something). We'll never know. But thanks, Madge, for supplying the soundtrack. I couldn't have not done it without you.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
You've Been Shamwow!ed
There are many, many things I could be writing about this evening. But given that I've been up since 5am, spent 13 hours in the car yesterday and 8 hours slinging Madonna and Grand Theft Auto 4 today, I don't really feel bad about devoting a blog entry to a shady-looking but OMG-hilarious infomercial product I recently learned about via the wonders of American cable TV: the Shamwow!. Due to my own fatigue and the unspeakably amusing nature of Shamwow!'s promotional ads (don't miss the "Testimonials" videos on the website), not much more can or need be said in this blog entry, other than that Shamwow! is now officially my new favourite word (apologies to "bitchazz") and that I wish I wish I WISH I could find a link containing the ad I saw that depicts a dog being rigorously Shamwow!ed. So funny I could cry. Just take my word for it.
P.S. - I recognize that I'm coming rather late to the Shamwow! party -- online reviews and parodies already abound, many quite entertaining. But if only one person hears about Shamwow! for the first time here, I feel my blog will have served a noble purpose. I'm going to sleep.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Guttenberg Galaxy
Not all that infrequently, TV provides the answers to my pop-culture prayers. Like that I'd live to see the day that Steve Guttenberg's career is resurrected to its former glory. Despite recent appearances in such films as P.S. Your Cat Is Dead! (2002), and Single Santa Seeks Mrs. Claus (2004; co-starring alongside Crystal Bernard, no less...still awaiting her own post-Wings resurrection a la Thomas Haden Church), Guttenberg has yet to make a Hollywood comeback worthy of his superstardom in the 1980s. For a number of years, I've found the Guttenberg situation troubling, to say the least. I mean, back in the day, this guy was the shit. As the charismatic, wisecracking Sgt. Carey Mahoney, he was the Tom Cruise of the Police Academy crew. Then came two more successful franchises, Cocoon - in which he more than held his own as the cast's sole non-octogenarian - and Three Men and a Baby. But the dawn of the 1990s seemed to bring an end to the age of Guttenberg. Then, almost 20 years later, along comes the 6th season of Dancing with the Stars, giving the much-deserving Guttenberg an opportunity to foxtrot right into America's hearts once again.
Granted, a Dancing with the Stars turn may not be the most preferable route to comeback heaven. But if any 1980s movie icon deserves a second chance at stardom, it's Steve Guttenberg. Should he sign on to a Police Academy 7 reunion project (which I'd pitch as Police Academy meets Cocoon), I'd happily forgive him for skipping out on Police Academy 5 and 6 -- which, looking back, was probably a really wise decision on his part. So Hollywood, if you're listening (and I mean YOU, Ron Howard), it's time to pay tribute to the Gutte and show him a little casting sugar. You know we love him. Now's the time to bring him back. And while you're at it, here's a few more 80s superstars who also deserve to be removed from the "Where are they now?" D-list and put back in the spotlight (a la "Dr. McDreamy" Patrick Dempsey, formerly known as "that guy from Can't Buy Me Love):
Kathleen Turner - Romancing the Stone, Jewel of the Nile, let's go for the trilogy, folks. I'm
sure Michael Douglas and Danny DeVito would be up for it. And think of the DVD collector's edition re-release box set sales!
Shelley Long - The world is divided into Diane Chambers people and Rebecca Howe people. I am a devoted Diane person, which is part of why I would looove to see Shelley Long make a comeback. She's a genius at screwball comedy (exhibit A, The Money Pit, one of my all-time favourite films). She's worthy of so much more than perennial Carol Brady gigs.
Nick Nolte - Unfortunately, young people these days know this former "Sexiest Man Alive" (1992) solely from his humiliating DUI mug shots. I stand by my claim that the man's still got it goin' on. I adored his turn in Paris je t'aime, and it got me thinking...someone needs to call up Sofia Coppola and put Nick's considerable charms back on the map with a Lost in Translation-esque age-gap romance. Brilliant, I know. Let's make it happen, people.
There's so many more stars that could be added to this list...perhaps this entry will have a sequel. Suggestions, anyone?
Granted, a Dancing with the Stars turn may not be the most preferable route to comeback heaven. But if any 1980s movie icon deserves a second chance at stardom, it's Steve Guttenberg. Should he sign on to a Police Academy 7 reunion project (which I'd pitch as Police Academy meets Cocoon), I'd happily forgive him for skipping out on Police Academy 5 and 6 -- which, looking back, was probably a really wise decision on his part. So Hollywood, if you're listening (and I mean YOU, Ron Howard), it's time to pay tribute to the Gutte and show him a little casting sugar. You know we love him. Now's the time to bring him back. And while you're at it, here's a few more 80s superstars who also deserve to be removed from the "Where are they now?" D-list and put back in the spotlight (a la "Dr. McDreamy" Patrick Dempsey, formerly known as "that guy from Can't Buy Me Love):
Kathleen Turner - Romancing the Stone, Jewel of the Nile, let's go for the trilogy, folks. I'm
sure Michael Douglas and Danny DeVito would be up for it. And think of the DVD collector's edition re-release box set sales!
Shelley Long - The world is divided into Diane Chambers people and Rebecca Howe people. I am a devoted Diane person, which is part of why I would looove to see Shelley Long make a comeback. She's a genius at screwball comedy (exhibit A, The Money Pit, one of my all-time favourite films). She's worthy of so much more than perennial Carol Brady gigs.
Nick Nolte - Unfortunately, young people these days know this former "Sexiest Man Alive" (1992) solely from his humiliating DUI mug shots. I stand by my claim that the man's still got it goin' on. I adored his turn in Paris je t'aime, and it got me thinking...someone needs to call up Sofia Coppola and put Nick's considerable charms back on the map with a Lost in Translation-esque age-gap romance. Brilliant, I know. Let's make it happen, people.
There's so many more stars that could be added to this list...perhaps this entry will have a sequel. Suggestions, anyone?
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
The Mighty iTunes Oracle
For my first blog entry in many months, I looked to my iTunes for inspiration, and a little personality game I came across on My Boring Life. Try it out yourself - just hit shuffle and watch as some of life's big questions are magically answered right before your eyes! Just remember - no skipping allowed!
Q. What would best describe your personality?
A. Breathe – Michelle Branch
Hmmm…sounds girly and upbeat, but lyrics are about being this close to falling apart. Yep, I’d say that pretty much sums me up.
Q. What do you like in a guy/girl?
A. What’s New, Pussycat? – Tom Jones
Q. How do you feel today?
A. Say Something – James
Q. What is your life's purpose?
A.
OMG – the all-seeing iTunes shuffle has spoken! I believe it is my life’s purpose to champion cheesy 80s music. That, and to sing a duet with Kenny Rogers.
Q. What is your motto?
A. Dance Dance Dance – Beach Boys
Fucking A!
Q. What do your friends think of you?
A. Glittering Prize – Simple Minds
Not sure what to make of this. Maybe that I’m sparkly? And also a prize.
A. Over and Over – Wilson Phillips
Um…kay. Now this is just getting embarrassing. Yes, I have Wilson Phillips on iTunes. And I think this will surprise NONE of my friends.
Q. What do you think of your parents?
A. Stand Back – Stevie Nicks
This doesn’t really work either. But God I love Stevie Nicks!
Q. What is your life story?
A. Tu t’laisses aller – Charles Aznavour
Great...thanks for the self-esteem boost Chuck.
Q. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A. Sunday Bloody Sunday – U2
I want to be Bono.
Q. What is your hobby/interest?
A. Don’t – Elvis Presley
I am most definitely interested in Elvis.
Q. What will they play at your funeral?
A. I Wanna Be Your Lover – Prince
OMG, someone needs to put this in my will!
Q. What is your biggest secret?
A. Got to Get a Message to You – Bee Gees
Great, now everyone knows I’ve got early Bee Gees on my iTunes. But considering the Wilson Phillips debacle earlier, I guess this is pretty minor.
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