Trip the Light Mingtastic: January 2013

Sing a SONG.

In case my friends don't find my constant musical outbursts annoying ENOUGH, I have decided to Make it Official. As of this week, I started the UCB's Musical Improv class. Sooooo, over the course of 8 weeks, I'm learning to continue long form improv, completely made up scenes,.... all in song. (OR SOMETIMES FREESTYLE RAP).

It's weird and stressful for sure; but it's so much easier to swallow the stress of improv when there's a song! The accompanist plays a tune based on the suggestion, and as long as you understand song structure, it's really not that terrifying. In fact, I love it so far and I've only been to one class.

You may laugh and roll your eyes now, but someday I will meet Wayne Brady in a dark lounge somewhere....and we will ascend the stage.....each give a nod to the jazzy pianist with the cigarette....and sing a song about a random one word suggestion from the audience.

These Thighs Don't Lie.

A few months ago, the writer/director/producer/actor (Note, it does NOT say model) Lena Dunham was effectively stoned by bloggers after wearing the above ensemble to an event. They chastised her, demanding to know why she was forcing the masses to see her ample thighs. Well, she had a lot to say and wasn't shy to say it, but she summed it all up in this:

"My response is, get used to it because I'm going to live to be 100 and I am going to show my thighs every day until I die."

Me too, girl.

Excuse me, my thighs are huge. They're strong and thick and useful. I'm healthy and active, and there is absolutely no reason to shield the masses from the 'horror' that is the view of them. I love Lena for laughing about this, instead of checking herself straight into fat camp, like so many of the young starlets do. Guess what, girls? If you are talented, there is talent in your THIGHS, too. If you aren't, whittling your thighs away won't bring any to you.

Don't Throw Things.

Listen.

I consider myself fairly well plugged in to the movie world. I like movies, and I pride myself in being able to appreciate a well made film, no matter the genre. Despite all of this well-rounded cinema taste and experience, I do carry one deep, dark, secret.

I've never seen Star Wars.

...AND I DON'T WANT TO.

{photo source}

I just don't get why I would like it; and now I have a bad attitude about all of the backlash I will receive in response to this confession.

People are MAD over this film, and I'm sure I will receive a self-righteous text or two over my negligence in this matter. Don't care.

I think the obsession is stupid, and whenever I find myself in conversation with others who don't share my opinion, I just fake it. YES, I LIE. Whatever, man. No one likes people who know more about Star Wars than they do, anyway. I, really, just enable the enthusiasm of true fans. I just throw around a few words like "ewok" and "saber", "jedi" and "yoda". None the wiser.

Making Funnies

{Green Room at the Comedy Store}

New thoughts on StandUp Comedy:

There are not enough girls. This is good because I don't feel a lot of competition, it's bad because GIRLS ARE FUNNY. I will say this, I have encountered a lesser percentage of funny female comics than the other. Which is a bummer.
There are not enough non-white people. Funny minority comics are usually great, by my experience. Make more of them famous, America.
Male comics will hit on anything. Hiring security is not ridiculous.
There is so much politics and unspoken 'manners' about even this part of the industry, it's insane. For a talent borne of dorks and the unaccepted, could be ease up on the ego? Garsh. shut up.
I've really been having fun with the character part. I usually dress super girly and childish, just so people can laugh harder when I talk about sex and poop. Juxtaposition, guys.
It's not scary. In fact, it's the least scary out of the mixed bag of auditioning, improv, and comedy. Think about it, guys. You get handed a mic, a stage, a spotlight, and a captive audience. It's all laid out for you. Magic.
New year, new comedy. I've been working on some new stuff; can't wait to get up and try it out. Eek!

the LA Brush-off

(I may just start my own mating dance)

In Los Angeles dating, tread lightly. Don't take anyone or anything seriously. Everyone here is in pursuit of a dream, whether it be acting or art, music, writing, or sport. They are all the pride and joy of their small town, and come to the Big City, with a population of low brow drama teachers rallying behind them. They save all of their money and arrive bright eyed and full of ambition.

So No One will get in their way. No one can be a priority over their Big Deal, and everyone here has a Big Deal. In addition, attraction overfloweth. Gorgeous faces and bodies thrust themselves into your view at every coffee shop, printer store, gym, and restaurant. There's always someone more beautiful, charismatic, or with more 'industry contacts'. Woof.

So the inevitable result is that you make a connection, you are taken with each other's newness and possibility. You dance for two weeks..... and then, he....just.......disappears. Literally (say it in a British accent when reading this) drops off the face of the planet. No calls, text, voicemails. No smoke signals, fruit baskets, carrier pigeons. Pony Express just clomping past your door, day after day.

Well what happened? Another Someone, or another Big Deal. It's not like I was in love; but I am starting to wonder when it's appropriate to just go ahead and file that Missing Persons Report.

The second part of this observation is the story of the One on Orbit. I got the LA brush off, but then this guy kept cycling around every 3 weeks. Disappears, gone, then reemerges like Lazarus from the tomb; all innocent and casual. Well, I'm INNOCENT AND CASUAL. So I didn't make a big deal of it. We're young and free! We don't have to be bogged down with common courtesies and polite truths! So I entertained the revolve.

But I got tired, annoyed, and a sudden burst of self-esteem. I knew that I was just distracting myself and that this was pretty pathetic. I hadn't heard from this guy for almost a month, despite our last encounter being pretty intense and SO I DELETED HIS NUMBER. I deleted all of the text messages, any recent dials, any trace of him from my mobile device. I would have had to call At&T for my phone records in order to contact this person again. I felt empowered, proud and self-contented. I smiled to myself as I put my phone down and set out for my day. I briefly considered wearing a cape for being such a feminist hero.

Guess who texts 90 minutes later?

How did he know?!
I tell you what, it's a lot harder to delete that number the second time. Eye roll.

How We Torture Ourselves

The Best Conversation Between a Friend and Another Friend

Her: Are you dating anyone?

Him: Well I "love" someone but she doesn't know it.

Him: Love is in quotes because it's finite.

The last line was nonsense. Literally. He told us later that he doesn't even know what that means and he texted it in a half-asleep and half-drunk state.

But the story here is that, we girls got this message late in the evening. Instead of laughing at the ridiculous rhetoric and just going to bed, we stayed up for an embarrassing long time, analyzing and explaining this cryptic note.

"Well, finite means having limits, so I'm sure he means that it's in quotes because he doesn't see it going anywhere."

.....and then we argued over the definition of 'finite' for a few minutes.

"No, I'm sure he means that it's in quotes because he doesn't know what love means, or maybe it means something different to her than for him."

"Well wait, is this a line from a song or something?"

..... Quick google break.

"Hang on. He said it's in quotes to US, but maybe that's because he's embarrassed to tell us he loves someone. You know, because he's a brooding musician."

We finally fell asleep murmuring about love and definitions and musicians and communication and THIS IS WHY GIRLS ARE RIDICULOUS.

Disgust-xy.

It's late, but I still want to talk about Halloween.

Instead of looking sexy, I like to look absolutely disgusting on this revered slut-iday. In fact, I would go so far as to say that looking disgusting on Halloween is when I feel the sexiest. This is just one of the adorable and weird quirks that I have woven into my consciousness. Gag.

The weekend before Halloween this year, I flew to Nashville to spend the time with my bestie, Ashley. The burger/fry combo had been a sensation of a hit in 2000, during the Valley Christian Fall Spirit Day "Food Fest". My hometown friend Jasmine and I originated these costumes, won Best Dressed, and were the most popular and revered sophomores for the rest of the year. I'm not one to waste a bad idea. So this year, Ashbo (She calls me Mingbo because the first time she tried to text my name, her autocorrect changed it. and we love it.) and I scoured craft stores in Nashville for the perfect foam sheets and made these costumes that did me so well a decade ago.

You know what the best part of it was? We were out at a bar, dancin' and carrying on as usual. On any other night, young and old men alike would get brazen on the dance floor, descend upon young things like us, and start getting grabby. It's rude, and an invasion of personal space. Plus, I need room for my moves. On this particular night, men would go ahead and descended upon us as usual, reach around our bodies for a feel, and get a HANDFUL OF FOAM. Game over.

For Halloween 2.0, I was back in LA and scurried off to a fun and fancy Hollywood party thrown by a band and set in the famous Forever Cemetery. Pop princesses and sitcom kings were seen there. The DJs were renowned musicians. The alcohol flowed freely. The decor was outlandish.

And I showed up spray painted in smurf blue. Again, the best part? No one could tell if I was pretty or ugly, hell maybe not even man or woman. All pressure was taken off the table and I was free to just laugh like a damned fool, dance battle famous comedians, twirl about with drag queens and sweat myself silly.

Disgusting is sexy. Start the campaign.

Too Cool.

LA is a cool place.

None more apparent than this last October, when the space shuttle Endeavor was flown on the back of a 747 over the city, making a big circle before landing at LAX. Then, the shuttle was rolled through the streets, making a 12 mile journey through neighborhoods and parks, before reaching it's final resting place in the California Science Center. Its journey started at night from LAX, and it moved at a snails pace past throngs of families and onlookers with cameras and binoculars. Kids in jammies sat on their parent's shoulders and excitedly pointed at it, grazing by trees and brushing mailboxes.

{photo source

It was really effing cool.

I was slightly annoyed at the traffic disturbance as I happened to be picking a friend up from the airport at this time, but even my curmudgeon was quickly squashed by the sight of such grandeur. It was so cool.

This is only one example of why LA's so cool. Celebrities and moviemaking notwithstanding, LA is filled with crazy awesome fun for kids. Disneyland. Magic Mountain. Universal Studios. The beach is beautiful and spacious; everyone lives near one. Anything ever released be it video games, sneakers, or new sports, is released first here. There isn't anything you can't find, and growing up here with certain means has got to render oneself a well-stimulated, well-fed, and well-played childhood.

But is that a good thing? I don't know, I tend to think that it's not entirely beneficial for children to have so much splendor in their early years. If you are exposed to such amazement in your developing years, what have you to aspire to? Are you every impressed by anything?

When I go down to Orange County and walk the white sand beaches down there, I just cant get over how gorgeous it is. In my wise old age, I have discovered that I only feel this way because I don't take it for granted; it's so unlike the landscape I grew up in. But I bet the kids down there take it for granted. So when they go to other places, are they ever in awe? Does anything ever compare?

The rest of the world is not Magic Mountain. Hollywood and Highland is not a basic shopping centre. The rest of the world has to wait to see new movies, and don't know people with access to screener dvds during awards season (you need one? I've got a few...). Professional athletes and movie stars don't visit hospitals regularly everywhere else, and guess what. Oranges aren't in season all year round.

So what happens when they grow up and disperse to other corners of the world; where it's just not as cool, people aren't as outwardly impressive, and entertainment isn't so neon lighted? What are these kids set up to handle? Yikes. Get these kids to Spokane, stat.

Kindly. (ish)

{photo source}

Here's just another thing on the Long List of Things That Annoy Me.

Ahem.

The experience of dating as an adult has absolutely NOTHING to do with anything you did while younger than the age of 24 . So if you met your Someone at an age younger than 24, kindly shut up.

In our younger years, dating is on autopilot. In high school, you're milled around in a vat of hormones. Notes are passed, friends get involved. You dance, you play sports, you get assigned lab partners. Romance abounds.

In college, you're still in a vat of hormones, but now you're 'independent' and in a different world. People are unfamiliar, foreign and sexy. Alcohol pushes you into the arms/tongues of random strangers you will inevitably see again. You get internships, you spring break (whoo-hoo!), you get assigned lab partners. Romance abounds.

By the time our generation emerges from all of that slip-n-slide, over half are Boo-ed up. This is the half that go on to commit, get married, procure golden lab and subsequent attitude.

Dating As an Adult:

We have been graduated and working for more than a few years. The letdown is in full swing. We don't understand where our lives are and why we're there. We feel like we could still be on the verge of that Something Great we love, but don't know how to get there. We don't have partners to make sacrifices for, so we live for ourselves. We want it all, and we have a taste of it. We have mortgages and phone calls from parents buggin about retirement. It's not cute to whoo-hoo. We meet people but have gotten so cool in our adulthood that we don't know what we mean to each other, and can't owe anyone anything. We're spoiled by our independence. Free, lonely, confused, unabashed, annoyed, hopeful.

So, how does one find bliss in the mess of that muck?

Hell if I know, but this is my request. Listen to my stories. Laugh, commiserate. Drink wine with me and roll your eyes when I do. If I'm sharing these experiences with you, I must think you're pretty great and in my corner. I, however, do nowhere think that you're a dating mentor.

BEING IN A SUCCESSFUL RELATIONSHIP DOES NOT MAKE YOU AN EXPERT.

It makes you lucky. So don't be a prick about it.

I genuinely don't resent you for being in a happy relationship. It actually gives me hope that it can still work in our whirlwind, messy world. But still, you don't get to give anecdotes on a world that will remain at-large for you. Seriously, you just don't know.

So while I understand you are not living in my mishaps, I absolutely wont tolerate instructions.

"Just relax!"

"Be yourself!"

"Try harder!"

Yes, how DOES one TRY to fall in love? I'm fascinated at my lack of effort toward acquiring a deep feeling of affection toward another human being. Please, regale me.

I'm being an asshole. I won't be regaled. Just drink your wine and listen to this latest horror story.

What the Face

Recently, this photo was taken of me. I was unaware, and surrounded by a group of people that I did not know. Upon seeing this photo, I was overwhelmed with the need to address a phenomenon that has been building over the last ten years.
Now is the time to acknowledge this one thing that has been haunting me:
I have bitchface.

This is not something that is easily understood by my peers, to whom I constantly appear as such:

Apparently, to the general public and strangers, I carry such a heinous look on my face as the previous photo; making me wholly unapproachable to anyone that hasn't been previously acquainted to my pudding-filled personality. It's refutable to people who know me, they all say that's impossible. But I've been told more than once. When in presence of unfamiliar people, I somehow express a look of seething disdain and unexplained annoyance.

An example: When I lived in Spokane, I frequented a yoga studio downtown. One of my dear friends, Kirsten, recommended it to a coworker of hers. She sent her there, also telling her to introduce herself to the little asian girl (ahem, superfriendly me!) who would inevitably be practicing there as well. This coworker went to yoga and noticed me plainly, but she didn't say anything. WHY, I would ask Kirsten later??

BECAUSE I DIDN'T LOOK FRIENDLY.

Well, scoff. I dont know! How does one change the way they naturally hold their face in neutral?! Is there a class I can take or exercises I can do?! Is this why I have always felt so safe in foreign countries and never get bothered on the bus? What am I supposed to do?! Walk around in my life with a dopey grin on my face?! Is that what YOU DO?!