Whether you're an anchor for a sports recap tv slot, a White House Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff, or a sketch comedian on Studio 60 Night Live, the answer is probably... not good. And if you're a fan of any of the aforementioned tv shows, it's probably not a good day, either (because you have to wait all summer for new episodes).
Aaron Sorkin recycles all his actors and his episode titles. Like most of his plot devices, I imagine this self-reference is designed to make his fans feel just a little bit smug(ger).
And actually, coming on the tail end of a conversation about creative expression, let's look at the artistic lesson here:
Do one thing.
Do it well.
Do it over and over, and change the scenery each time.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Dear Proletariat,
Hello. It's been awhile.
You're looking slightly worse for wear. Your red walls (which used to intimidate the hell out of me) are looking a little grimy. Your furniture is still chic, but I saw it once in daylight and, goodness, we could use a little steam cleaning, no?
It's ok, this place is about the people. The musicians, artists, and occasional singing fratboys who fill the place on Friday nights for karaoke. The hipsters who lurk, drink, smoke, play Pacman and pool, and play the Postal Service and Bjork from the jukebox. (Let's not forget, it was Bjork and a birthday that saw the birth of this blog.)
I've met, dated, and to various degrees formed relationships with at least a dozen people as a direct result of you. Um, thanks. For all of them, really, though some more than others.
I've laughed, drunk, lost my temper, danced, cried, sung, been moved, been inspired, graded papers, spent too much money, been undercharged, given and received gifts, made resolutions, made out, made things worse and and made things better within your walls.
I am especially grateful for the shows: Crooked Fingers, Ted Leo, the Kimonos, the Watermarks, Spain Colored Orange, Meowcifer, Ume, the Singles, Kiss Kiss Kill Kill, American Analog Set, Stars, Broken Social Scene, Two Star Symphony, Sharks and Sailors, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, and all the ones I'm forgetting. Even when the sound was crappy.
I don't know how much longer we'll get to see each other, because your crowd keeps getting younger and I keep getting older. I don't do a lot of stuff I used to do when we were pals. A friend posted recently about the direct correlation between TV watching and happiness. If I'm watching TV instead of going to bars, how does that impact my overall happiness?
I don't have an opinion on this, really, although caring for my liver and lungs is indisputably a smart move. So here is my open-ended question: how do I incorporate the people I used to share this space with into my non-Proletariat life? What if those people live hundreds of miles away? What if they live only a few blocks?
These are some things I am trying to figure out, Proletariat. Picking up the phone is probably a good start. I hope we bump into each other again, maybe after the smoking ban goes into effect.
With love,
Mary
You're looking slightly worse for wear. Your red walls (which used to intimidate the hell out of me) are looking a little grimy. Your furniture is still chic, but I saw it once in daylight and, goodness, we could use a little steam cleaning, no?
It's ok, this place is about the people. The musicians, artists, and occasional singing fratboys who fill the place on Friday nights for karaoke. The hipsters who lurk, drink, smoke, play Pacman and pool, and play the Postal Service and Bjork from the jukebox. (Let's not forget, it was Bjork and a birthday that saw the birth of this blog.)
I've met, dated, and to various degrees formed relationships with at least a dozen people as a direct result of you. Um, thanks. For all of them, really, though some more than others.
I've laughed, drunk, lost my temper, danced, cried, sung, been moved, been inspired, graded papers, spent too much money, been undercharged, given and received gifts, made resolutions, made out, made things worse and and made things better within your walls.
I am especially grateful for the shows: Crooked Fingers, Ted Leo, the Kimonos, the Watermarks, Spain Colored Orange, Meowcifer, Ume, the Singles, Kiss Kiss Kill Kill, American Analog Set, Stars, Broken Social Scene, Two Star Symphony, Sharks and Sailors, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, and all the ones I'm forgetting. Even when the sound was crappy.
I don't know how much longer we'll get to see each other, because your crowd keeps getting younger and I keep getting older. I don't do a lot of stuff I used to do when we were pals. A friend posted recently about the direct correlation between TV watching and happiness. If I'm watching TV instead of going to bars, how does that impact my overall happiness?
I don't have an opinion on this, really, although caring for my liver and lungs is indisputably a smart move. So here is my open-ended question: how do I incorporate the people I used to share this space with into my non-Proletariat life? What if those people live hundreds of miles away? What if they live only a few blocks?
These are some things I am trying to figure out, Proletariat. Picking up the phone is probably a good start. I hope we bump into each other again, maybe after the smoking ban goes into effect.
With love,
Mary
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Your food is ready, and you need some paper towels...
Here is another thing that I don't understand.
We've all likely experienced the vibrating coaster, yes? These are used by food establishments to tell you that your food is ready, that your table is ready, that you are being summoned. And they vibrate. If they vibrate as strong as my phone vibrates, they can shake themselves right off your couch arm and on to the floor.
Except that they are shaped like, and billed as, COASTERS.
Does anyone actually put a drink on these things? Has anyone tried? You let me know how that works out...
We've all likely experienced the vibrating coaster, yes? These are used by food establishments to tell you that your food is ready, that your table is ready, that you are being summoned. And they vibrate. If they vibrate as strong as my phone vibrates, they can shake themselves right off your couch arm and on to the floor.
Except that they are shaped like, and billed as, COASTERS.
Does anyone actually put a drink on these things? Has anyone tried? You let me know how that works out...
Monday, June 04, 2007
New Guy Collides with Soup Night
The scene: check-out line @ Fiesta, new cashier. My basket contains milk, wine, bread, and about a dozen odd vegetables for making Pho.
Ronalfo: [Holds up produce bag] What are these? Are these onions?
Me: Green onions, yeah
Ronalfo: Hey, Tiffany! What's the code for green onions?
Tiffany: 4592
Ronalfo: Ok, and these?
Me: Bean sprouts
Tiffany: 2395
Ronalfo: ??
Me: Oh lord... baby bok choy. You are going to hate me by the end of this transaction.
Ronalfo: Are these "snap peas" or, uh, snow peas?
Me: Ummm...
Tiffany: 3892
Later:
Me: Those are jalapenos.
Still later:
Me: That is cilantro.
This lesson in produce brought to you by the fruitcake brigade. We're coming back for veggie tacos. Study up, Ronalfo.
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