My day at Actorfest LA 2010, a huge casting conference and networking opportunity.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Sprint, Part II
So after a couple of days to catch up on sleep, I have sat down, eyes rested, belly full of delicious pot roast, carrots, and sweet potatoes (an incredibly hearty, perfect-for-fall recipe which my mom used to make), and determined that now is an appropriate time to write until my fingers fall off. While I may not elaborate in the same scope of detail and sentimentality which usually embodies my writing style, I shall at least endeavor to create a concise recollection of the past month, for posterity's sake.
On Wednesday, October 13th, I flew home to that great country (ahem, state.. woops..) of my birth, the mighty Texas. While I do not consider myself to be a guns-blazing, hell-raising defender of the greatest place on earth, I do adore Texas, and she will always hold a comfortable, soothing place in my heart. After my mom picked me up from the airport, noting how 'grown-up' I suddenly appeared (cue mad dash to Walgreen's to purchase anti-wrinkle cream?), I was amazed at how slow traffic now seemed, as well as at the large, open fields, complete with livestock, the flat terrain, and the lack of individuals assuming I was vegan or vegetarian, naturally. My afternoon included a much-dreaded visit to my dentist, Doctor Schellhase.
I should begin by making clear my relationship with this old-school dentist, whose office resembles something between a county prison, with high, gated windows and awful fluorescent lighting spilling yellow mustiness onto the sallow skins of its inmates, and a late 1960s hunting lodge, with cracked, peeling wallpaper and framed, washed-out pictures of ducks, standing menacingly among cattails and swirling skies of heinous pallor. I should then establish the fact that, the last time I went to see the dear doctor, back in December of 2009, for a filling between two teeth, while administering the anesthetic with his absurdly large hands, he hit a blood vessel in my jaw. When this happened, I didn't even have time to register pain - the tears simply gushed out of my eyes as I bolted upright in the dental chair, face pulsing and breath erratic. It took me a good ten minutes to regain enough composure to finish the procedure, the whole while trying not to revert to tears out of sheer terror, and it wasn't until I got to my car and looked in the rearview mirror that I observed a large, white vein popping out of the right side of my face, all the way from my hairline to my jaw. Suffice it to say, I have an unnatural fear of dentists.
Yet on this most glorious afternoon, the dear doctor decided that a mere cleaning would suffice, and I left the office triumphant, after paying for my brother's dental work, on behalf of our parents, and being treated like royalty by the hygienist, who, bless her darling, southern-sounding self, had decided I was the next best thing to Carrie Underwood, after discovering i was living in Los Angeles as an aspiring actress. While 'aspiring actress' reads 'starving and unemployed' to most people, it read glamorous movie star to this giggly woman, and I left the dentist's office - dare I say it - actually smiling. Read: win.
On Thursday, October 14th, I continued my annual health check-ins with an optometry appointment, which I don't believe I had had in over four years. The optometrist, a quiet, softly smiling Filipino woman, did a mostly-good job of hiding her horror at the disclosure of this fact, and a few minutes later, unsurprisingly, I was shuttled into the lobby area, so that the receptionist could assist me in selecting a pair of frames for my new glasses. Having now had the glasses for a couple of weeks, I am still adjusting to having to wear spectacles all the time, but I am getting used to them. Perhaps the sultry, dark frames balance my recently very blond hair, and I am able to come across as still possessing some degree of genuine intelligence. Fingers crossed, if you please.
Speaking of intelligence - or, more appropriately, of wit and cleverness - I was lucky enough to spend the latter part of the day with my darling friend Matt, a wonderful writer and aspiring 'professional blogger' (yes, this is a real profession; yes, this is a fantastic revelation). After a delicious, much-anticipated family dinner night at The Swingin' Door, which makes such good barbeque it was requested to cater for the White House a few years ago, I met up with Matt to go see what Matt had affectionately deemed 'the Owl Movie', also known as 'Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole'. We showed up at the theatre for the 10:30pm showing and actually snagged the entire theatre for ourselves, which led to several hours of verbal critiquing, raucous laughter, and an intense amusement at the solemnity with which the film was able to employ (multiple times) the use of the word 'gizzard', including the catch phrase, 'Use your gizzard', which, I have no doubt, will soon be a popular tee shirt slogan.
Following the movie, and deciding that we had not yet had quite enough tomfoolery for one evening, Matt and I headed to Denny's, seeing as our beloved T.G.I. Friday's was closed. We each got a cup of tea and chattered on and on about life, from relationships to career aspirations, from blogging to the Paleo diet (which Matt is an avid follower of, and which I have now been following for several weeks). Around 3am, admitting that I was exhausted, we parted ways for the time being. Yet as of yesterday, as part of following up on the writing dream in either San Francisco or Los Angeles, Matt booked a one-way ticket to California and will be staying with me for a bit in the new year! This will undoubtedly result in many healthy meals, lengthy discussions at odd hours of the night, continued movie mockery, and lots and lots of writing, all of which leave me ecstatic for what 2011 will bring. After eight long months of living alone, I will get to live with one of my best friends for a good while! All is right in the world.
On Friday, October 15th, I had my third (and final) health-related appointment, the dreaded women's annual fun-day, which was surprisingly quick and simple, praise be to Sugarland Memorial. That afternoon, Stephen and I worked on a photo collage for my grandparents, and then joined my parents and headed to the small town of Weimar, Texas, where Grammy and Popo live.
The first thing I noticed when we arrived at Grammy and Popo's house (after seeing Sassy, the dog, limp down the driveway, and being convinced that Sassy must be the oldest dog known to mankind) was how remarkably Popo's health had turned around. In May, when Popo had come to Pittsburgh for my college graduation, he had been so frail and so slow that even a few steps exhausted him, to the point of needing a chair constantly. His reactions and awareness had lacked that dazzling speed of a man who had spent years and years as an engineer, and Popo had seemed so very melancholy. To see this same man jumping up and down, sheepishly grinning and enthusiastically waving his arms overhead as my family drove up, was nothing short of breathtaking. Popo even made a point of showing me how he could jog in place, and I was so overjoyed to see him back to his normal self. I think a similar sense of joy permeated our extended family, for, as we spent several hours at the Weimar Veteran's Memorial Hall that evening, setting out candles and tulle and hanging (surprisingly tricky) gold garlands and fairy lights about, everyone remained lighthearted and glad to be spending this time in such good, strong company. I even heard a rumor from a certain cousin of mine that Popo stole a drink or two from the keg the next morning, on the drive to the hall with the booze for the party. "Just don't mention anything to your Grammy," he mentioned as he took a sip, that same familiar twinkle from telling Brer Rabbit stories back in his eye.
October 16th, the day of the actual festivities for my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary, was no different. We were surrounded by excellent food, loving people, upbeat polkas, laughing family members, and lovely weather on a day meant to celebrate a commitment to love. I could think of no better way to honor my grandparents, and I believe they felt happy and humbled to be blanketed with such joy on their special day.
On Sunday, October 17th, we speedily celebrated my darling Choo's (aka, daddy's) birthday, as he and my mom were headed back to Houston for some pre-arranged dance lessons that afternoon. After lunch, I headed up to Austin with my best friend and beautiful, goofy little sister, Katelyn. Katelyn and I shared a room together for almost our entire childhood, even through high school in London, and we are ridiculously close, as well as with Stephen. We are the sort of siblings who will plan some sibling vacation fifteen years from now, to go skiing or some such nonsense, and then sneak out to the lodge at 3am to have hot cocoa and laugh and play 'Capture the Steve', a brilliant game which includes Stephen frantically running away, and Katelyn and I giddily chasing and capturing him. A simple concept, I know, but it is sheer genius.
At any rate, Katelyn and I got back to Austin not only in time to try out the Doctor Scholl's foot analyzer at HEB - which Katelyn proved can actually be quite difficult to successfully complete - and to purchase multiple sets of $1 and $2 lottery tickets from the gas station attendant, who may or may not have seen us jumping up and down and excitedly screaming, pennies in hand, in Katelyn's car, but also in time for what I am deeming 'Asian Dessert Night'. At around 12:30am, we gathered with Myra and Laura, Katelyn's darling roommates and childhood friends, and made filipino shaved ice, which Myra makes at home with her family. Although this did partially consist of Myra swearing and attempting to bludgeon the shaved-ice machine - much to our approval - the end result of shaved ice topped with fruit jelly, lychees, coconut jelly, condensed milk, and other delicious condiments was well worth the wait. I was also able to meet Ron, the newest addition to the household. Although I am partially convinced that 'Witten', as the stealthy orange kitten has been affectionately named, may secretly be Bunnicula dressed as a cat, he makes up in mischievous cuteness what he lacks in manners.
October 18th was a day which had been anticipated for, quite literally, months, as Cari and I, two relatively well-behaved Southern dames, had registered for - drumrolls-slash-blinders, depending on your perspective, please - a pole dancing class. The idea had first been discussed months earlier, and upon my booking a trip to Texas, became a dream which we realized could not be squashed in the dust of might-have-beens. So that evening, we pulled on our shorts and our tank tops, drove to the little dance studio, and walked back to a mirrored studio in the back. For the next hour, the two of us, as well as one other brave lady, learned the basics of 'the dance', including a routine - with, get this, a spin - as we bumped and bruised our legs and found our deep inner abdominal muscles. I can honestly report that the experience did not feel awkward or trashy in the least; our instructor was a cute, sweet lady who wanted us to feel sexy and to have a good time doing it, which we achieved. It wasn't over-the-top, and my goodness, it was a delicious little workout. So the next time you and a group of girlfriends want to try something new, may I suggest you try out pole dancing. Legitimately. As a fitness enthusiast and a girl, it was a great time. I am definitely storing that one in the piggy bank for my bachelorette party someday.
After our dance class, Cari and I met up with Clint and their friend, Adam. After a couple of drinks and a bit of Monday night football, we headed back to Clint's apartment and chilled out for a while. After Cari, the responsible adult with a day job to get to the following day, headed over to her place to get some sleep, the three of us engaged in one of my favorite close-friend pursuits: tipsy Rock Band at 2am, accompanied by my excitedly discovering frozen Salmon fillets and cooking up two of them by 3am. While I am not a gamer, I must admit that, when I am surrounded by my childhood friends and a few bottles of good vino, I can cover drums, bass, guitar, or vocals with ridiculous enthusiasm and rigor. This proved to be, like all slightly tipsy Rock Band sessions, a phenomenal idea. The salmon was also a phenomenal idea at the time, although it didn't taste nearly us 'unbelievable' the next day at 4pm. What did prove equally phenomenal the following day, while on the drive back from Austin to Houston, was stopping at a roadside Texas store and discovering full-sized, whole pecan pies in their outdoor vending machine. This discovery left me flabbergasted, amazed, and downright thankful; what an ingenious thing to put in a vending machine, however impractical. Cari and I were also able to spend a solid three hours talking about life, love, and everything else under the sun on the trip back to my house, which was lovely.
On October 20th, with my fill of family, barbeque, friends, Rock Band, and general Texan merriment, I got on a plane back to Los Angeles, California. And then there were stunties. :) But that's part three... stay tuned!
Chiraayu Comes to Visit
Former Donner resident and current friend Chiraayu was in town for a job interview, so we met up, along with his friend Tony, for a night out and about. Also featured is a shout-out to our dear, dear friend Brad Miller up at Berkeley, as well as a quick tour of my apartment (Mom, this one's for you!). Enjoy!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
The Thirty-One-Day, Ten-Hour and Twelve-Minute Sprint
This warm November evening, at precisely 10:13pm, world history was made when an up-and-coming, unkown actress completed the longest-ever sprint to date. The sprint lasted a whopping and insurmountable thirty-one days, ten hours and twelve minutes, at which point the actress' knees gave out and she was forced to sit down to write a blog entry. Friends and family members, who had not seen or heard from the actress in over a month, were deeply relieved to discover that the actress had not, in fact, been sold to the medical community for organ harvesting.
Well, hallelujah. :) Hello, folks.
I have to admit, given all of the texts, emails, facebook messages, and personal threats to my life following my extended absence from the blogging community, I feel a bit like I'm about to release the next installment in the Harry Potter series. While my life is certainly a bizarre one to tell the story of, please be aware ahead of time that, sadly, there are no magic wands, dueling wizards, or even Bertie Bots' Beans. That being said, even if no one reads this entry, it will at least be recorded, due in large part to my personal need to restore sanity and some sort of recollection of my life over the past month plus. For those of you who have heard these stories, or story-morsels, in bits and pieces, I hope this can complete the little world of mischief and mayhem for you.
Roughly a month ago, I began taking a seven-week weekly Improv class through AFTRA. After having discussed this with my commercial agent as a fantastic way to stay fresh and present as an actor, I had been doing some shopping around for an inexpensive class when I got an email about upcoming AFTRA events, including this free workshop series, hosted by "Carnegie Mellon graduate and former casting director Joe Reich.' Clearly, this was a class I was destined to be in, so I submitted an application, as well as a headshot and resume, and found myself registered for the class by its' early October start date. Inevitably, despite the very clear and polite email reminder to 'please be on time, per Joe's request', I was ten minutes late to our first class on October 7th, due to a classmate calling me on my way out the door, having just lost her wallet in West Hollywood and desperately needing someone with a car to help her relocate it. Joe seemed amused at this excuse, as he grinned to finally see 'the Carnegie lady' (as I was affectionately named), and joked that I couldn't have gotten away with being late back in Pittsburgh (he was right).
The little Improv class has two meetings remaining, and has thus far been a fun way to unwind and to refocus my attention on the craft of Acting, by letting go. The best moment so far has to be from this past Thursday's class, when Joe was calling us up in front of the class in pairs to do an exercise where the pair is given a scenario and must then say one line each to create the scene, with the first word of each line beginning with the last letter of the previous line. Two tiny, petite women, one an Asian-American and the other a delicate Afghan woman, were instructed to play out a blind date in this manner. They nodded their heads at the instruction, paused to take a breath, and then the Afghan woman, Laila, calmly stated, "So, I don't know if the agency told you this, but I'm actually blind." This is precisely the type of understated, thigh-slapping cleverness which seems to permeate this class each week, in one brilliant way or another, and I adore it.
On Friday, October 8th, I went on my first 'official' date with Evan, whom I can now officially site as being named Sebastien in all actuality. After not seeing each other at all during the week, Seb claiming it was important for the sake of the first date, we were both geared up for a relaxing night of acoustic music at some random venue. Having had my eyes on a pair of unaffordable Jack Johnson concert tickets for the same evening since moving to Los Angeles in May, and subsequently having moped due to a lack of funds for said tickets, Seb had assured me that we would have a fun evening out anyway. He told me that the venue was a surprise and that he didn't have a clue what music would be playing, but that he had taken his best friend to the venue before, and they had both enjoyed the evening immensely. I enjoy trying out new places, and I love live music, so I wholeheartedly agreed to the plan.
At five o'clock, Seb arrived at my little bungalow, and I opened the door to find him standing on my front porch with a small, dark brown chest. "Open it," he instructed me as he walked into the apartment, grinning his little side smile, a surefire sign of mischief afoot. Trying to hide my blushing cheeks, I unlatched the box and opened the lid. There was a sheet of white tissue paper, which read, "pull me." I lifted the delicate paper to discover an immaculate red rose. I lifted another layer to discover a box of beautiful chocolate-covered strawberries, which Sebastien had made with Swiss chocolate from back home. The next layer revealed a small manilla envelope, on which was written 'Spork', my nickname, as well as the date, 10.08.2010. I asked if I should open the envelope, and after a few moments' consideration, Seb decided that I could open the envelope later in the evening, and casually mentioned that I could bring it along. Unbelievably, a bottle of wine also emerged for the refrigerator, and a new wine opener was presented to me, to replace my sad, $3.99 wannabe from Target.
At this point, I grabbed a jacket, and we headed down to Hollywood to walk around for a while. Most people can attest to the fact that you never do the touristy things in your own city, and Los Angeles is no exception. We walked by the Kodak Theater, enjoyed looking at names on the Walk of Fame below our feet, and laughed at the giant hands and tiny feet immortalized in the concrete squares surrounding Grauman's Chinese Theater. Seb suggested we grab a snack, so we headed to our local favorite grocery store, Fresh & Easy, and bought drinks and two Tomato and Mozzarella sandwiches (tomato and mozzarella anything seems very much to be our thing; no complaints here, mind you). We took our fares and walked along Hollywood Boulevard, enjoying the sunny weather and the lighthearted, summery attitude of Hollywood early on a Friday evening. Thinking we were heading toward a grassy knoll or table somewhere for a spontaneous picnic, it suddenly dawned on me that we were actually walking with lots of other people, all of whom were heading toward the Hollywood Bowl, a famous Los Angeles concert venue. My face lit up in absolute surprise, and I turned to Seb, only able to get out, "Oh my gosh.." before he laughed at me and then told me I could open the envelope.
Sure enough, to my sheer delight and ecstatic squeals of girly joy, inside the envelope were two tickets to the Jack Johnson concert. "You really didn't know?" Sebastien asked, to which I gawked and honestly admitted my complete naivete on the matter. "Well that's a relief," Seb responded. "I spent the last week checking Facebook practically every five minutes, to make sure no one posted anything on my wall about 'having fun at Jack Johnson' or something." Seb also proudly declared that he had not lied at all, as he truly was unsure about the music that would be playing (he had only listened to a bit of Jack Johnson before), and he had enjoyed going to the John Mayer concert at the same venue with his best friend. The concert was lovely and also featured the talents of Zee Avi (whom I quite like, due to her charming simplicity) and G-Love, who was - get this - a combination of New Jersey rap with harmonica. Wine, cheese, and chocolate-covered strawberries once we got back to my apartment wrapped up an incredible first date on a very romantic note. I just want to take a second to say that I am a lucky, lucky lady. Thank you and kudos to the man upstairs. Big-time.
On Sunday, October 10th, I was able to go see my neighbor, Mike, and his band, 'Dead Day Revolution', play at the well-known Viper Room here in Los Angeles, Johnny Depp's own venue for up-and-coming artists. After baking the trio good-luck cookies during the day, it was nice to finally see the band perform that evening. I didn't know anyone else at the venue, but as I mentioned before, I love listening to new music. I also believe that one of the top things artists can do to not only extend and enhance their own body of work, but also to advocate art in a broad sense, is to get out and support fellow artists, whether by attending gallery openings to showcases, to concerts to plays, to anything. I would even love to be part of a flash-mob someday. Just putting that out there. In case someone around me was debating putting a flash mob together, I'll be there, come rain or come shine.
***
At this point in time, not because I am very tired, but because my stomach just may eat itself alive (and I have literally no food in my house), I am going to hit the pause button. Watch the video posts for the time being, as those took a bit of time away from my writing for editing purposes. I am going away for a small surprise getaway with Sebastien tomorrow. HOWEVER, the rest on the sprint will be fully explained on Monday night. Keep on truckin', yinz. Big, big, big love.
Well, hallelujah. :) Hello, folks.
I have to admit, given all of the texts, emails, facebook messages, and personal threats to my life following my extended absence from the blogging community, I feel a bit like I'm about to release the next installment in the Harry Potter series. While my life is certainly a bizarre one to tell the story of, please be aware ahead of time that, sadly, there are no magic wands, dueling wizards, or even Bertie Bots' Beans. That being said, even if no one reads this entry, it will at least be recorded, due in large part to my personal need to restore sanity and some sort of recollection of my life over the past month plus. For those of you who have heard these stories, or story-morsels, in bits and pieces, I hope this can complete the little world of mischief and mayhem for you.
Roughly a month ago, I began taking a seven-week weekly Improv class through AFTRA. After having discussed this with my commercial agent as a fantastic way to stay fresh and present as an actor, I had been doing some shopping around for an inexpensive class when I got an email about upcoming AFTRA events, including this free workshop series, hosted by "Carnegie Mellon graduate and former casting director Joe Reich.' Clearly, this was a class I was destined to be in, so I submitted an application, as well as a headshot and resume, and found myself registered for the class by its' early October start date. Inevitably, despite the very clear and polite email reminder to 'please be on time, per Joe's request', I was ten minutes late to our first class on October 7th, due to a classmate calling me on my way out the door, having just lost her wallet in West Hollywood and desperately needing someone with a car to help her relocate it. Joe seemed amused at this excuse, as he grinned to finally see 'the Carnegie lady' (as I was affectionately named), and joked that I couldn't have gotten away with being late back in Pittsburgh (he was right).
The little Improv class has two meetings remaining, and has thus far been a fun way to unwind and to refocus my attention on the craft of Acting, by letting go. The best moment so far has to be from this past Thursday's class, when Joe was calling us up in front of the class in pairs to do an exercise where the pair is given a scenario and must then say one line each to create the scene, with the first word of each line beginning with the last letter of the previous line. Two tiny, petite women, one an Asian-American and the other a delicate Afghan woman, were instructed to play out a blind date in this manner. They nodded their heads at the instruction, paused to take a breath, and then the Afghan woman, Laila, calmly stated, "So, I don't know if the agency told you this, but I'm actually blind." This is precisely the type of understated, thigh-slapping cleverness which seems to permeate this class each week, in one brilliant way or another, and I adore it.
On Friday, October 8th, I went on my first 'official' date with Evan, whom I can now officially site as being named Sebastien in all actuality. After not seeing each other at all during the week, Seb claiming it was important for the sake of the first date, we were both geared up for a relaxing night of acoustic music at some random venue. Having had my eyes on a pair of unaffordable Jack Johnson concert tickets for the same evening since moving to Los Angeles in May, and subsequently having moped due to a lack of funds for said tickets, Seb had assured me that we would have a fun evening out anyway. He told me that the venue was a surprise and that he didn't have a clue what music would be playing, but that he had taken his best friend to the venue before, and they had both enjoyed the evening immensely. I enjoy trying out new places, and I love live music, so I wholeheartedly agreed to the plan.
At five o'clock, Seb arrived at my little bungalow, and I opened the door to find him standing on my front porch with a small, dark brown chest. "Open it," he instructed me as he walked into the apartment, grinning his little side smile, a surefire sign of mischief afoot. Trying to hide my blushing cheeks, I unlatched the box and opened the lid. There was a sheet of white tissue paper, which read, "pull me." I lifted the delicate paper to discover an immaculate red rose. I lifted another layer to discover a box of beautiful chocolate-covered strawberries, which Sebastien had made with Swiss chocolate from back home. The next layer revealed a small manilla envelope, on which was written 'Spork', my nickname, as well as the date, 10.08.2010. I asked if I should open the envelope, and after a few moments' consideration, Seb decided that I could open the envelope later in the evening, and casually mentioned that I could bring it along. Unbelievably, a bottle of wine also emerged for the refrigerator, and a new wine opener was presented to me, to replace my sad, $3.99 wannabe from Target.
At this point, I grabbed a jacket, and we headed down to Hollywood to walk around for a while. Most people can attest to the fact that you never do the touristy things in your own city, and Los Angeles is no exception. We walked by the Kodak Theater, enjoyed looking at names on the Walk of Fame below our feet, and laughed at the giant hands and tiny feet immortalized in the concrete squares surrounding Grauman's Chinese Theater. Seb suggested we grab a snack, so we headed to our local favorite grocery store, Fresh & Easy, and bought drinks and two Tomato and Mozzarella sandwiches (tomato and mozzarella anything seems very much to be our thing; no complaints here, mind you). We took our fares and walked along Hollywood Boulevard, enjoying the sunny weather and the lighthearted, summery attitude of Hollywood early on a Friday evening. Thinking we were heading toward a grassy knoll or table somewhere for a spontaneous picnic, it suddenly dawned on me that we were actually walking with lots of other people, all of whom were heading toward the Hollywood Bowl, a famous Los Angeles concert venue. My face lit up in absolute surprise, and I turned to Seb, only able to get out, "Oh my gosh.." before he laughed at me and then told me I could open the envelope.
Sure enough, to my sheer delight and ecstatic squeals of girly joy, inside the envelope were two tickets to the Jack Johnson concert. "You really didn't know?" Sebastien asked, to which I gawked and honestly admitted my complete naivete on the matter. "Well that's a relief," Seb responded. "I spent the last week checking Facebook practically every five minutes, to make sure no one posted anything on my wall about 'having fun at Jack Johnson' or something." Seb also proudly declared that he had not lied at all, as he truly was unsure about the music that would be playing (he had only listened to a bit of Jack Johnson before), and he had enjoyed going to the John Mayer concert at the same venue with his best friend. The concert was lovely and also featured the talents of Zee Avi (whom I quite like, due to her charming simplicity) and G-Love, who was - get this - a combination of New Jersey rap with harmonica. Wine, cheese, and chocolate-covered strawberries once we got back to my apartment wrapped up an incredible first date on a very romantic note. I just want to take a second to say that I am a lucky, lucky lady. Thank you and kudos to the man upstairs. Big-time.
On Sunday, October 10th, I was able to go see my neighbor, Mike, and his band, 'Dead Day Revolution', play at the well-known Viper Room here in Los Angeles, Johnny Depp's own venue for up-and-coming artists. After baking the trio good-luck cookies during the day, it was nice to finally see the band perform that evening. I didn't know anyone else at the venue, but as I mentioned before, I love listening to new music. I also believe that one of the top things artists can do to not only extend and enhance their own body of work, but also to advocate art in a broad sense, is to get out and support fellow artists, whether by attending gallery openings to showcases, to concerts to plays, to anything. I would even love to be part of a flash-mob someday. Just putting that out there. In case someone around me was debating putting a flash mob together, I'll be there, come rain or come shine.
***
At this point in time, not because I am very tired, but because my stomach just may eat itself alive (and I have literally no food in my house), I am going to hit the pause button. Watch the video posts for the time being, as those took a bit of time away from my writing for editing purposes. I am going away for a small surprise getaway with Sebastien tomorrow. HOWEVER, the rest on the sprint will be fully explained on Monday night. Keep on truckin', yinz. Big, big, big love.
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