Inside the Actors Studio

The other day, in one of my more bored moments, I thought about what I would say if James Lipton ever asked me the questions he poses to his guests at the end of "Inside the Actor's Studio." Here's what I'd say:

What is your favorite word? Peace, in all its incarnations.

What is your least favorite word? Lynching.

What turns you on? A really clever inside joke

What turns you off? Insecurity, in all its incarnations.

What sound do you love? Laughter - the kind that's slightly out of control and about something that you couldn't possibly explain to anyone who wasn't there in the moment.

What sound do you hate? The sound of my neighbors having sex. Fortunately, it's not a problem in my current apartment. That's either a testament to good soundproofing, or I have very lonely neighbors.

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt? Kept woman.

What profession would you not like to participate in? I wouldn't want to clean animal cages at the zoo. Or anywhere for that matter. I don't even want a cat unless he or she goes to the bathroom outside.

What is your favorite curse word? God***n, mother f***ing, sh*t! When said properly, it has a fantastically rhythmic cadence with a satisfying punctuation at the end.

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? "Orlando Bloom isn't here yet, but he's dying to meet you." And then God would chuckle at his own joke.

Yes, that's what I'd say to James Lipton. His loss that I'm not an actor.

Lyrics

I like to listen to music. I like folk, rock, country, really anything except rap music. I like songs that have something to say, and I'm a sucker for acoustic guitar and a good voice. Early Dylan, Indigo Girls, Amos Lee, Tom Petty, Alison Krauss - all OK by me. I'd like John Mayer, too except that he makes that weird scrunchy face when he sings and I keep thinking that he's smelling farts. Really distracting.

That said, I'm also a total sucker for mindless pop music. Catchy tunes and repetitive rhythms? Love them! I've gathered that there are 2 ways to make money with pop music: 1) write totally schmaltzy nonsense, or 2) just write complete and utter nonsense. Allow me to explain:

Category 1: Schmaltzy Nonsense

Example #1: "I'll Be There For You" - Bon Jovi
And Baby you know my hands are dirty
[Has he been repairing the car? Gardening?]
But I wanted to be your valentine
[But he's not, because apparently, she has a "clean hand only" rule for valentines. Very smart.]
I'll be the water when you get thirsty, baby
[Wouldn't he be dirty water? Why would she want that?]
When you get drunk, I'll be the wine
[Ironically, when he sings this line, he's actually the "whine"]

I'll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
[And you said he couldn't count.]
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I'll be there for you
I'd live and I'd die for you
[But, no pressure.]
Steal the sun from the sky for you
[Cool! Go ahead!]
Words can't say what a love can do
[And this song proves it in spades.]
I'll be there for you
[Great]

Example #2: "Always" - Bon Jovi
Yeah I, will love you, baby
Always
And I'll be there forever and a day,
Always
I'll be there, till the stars don't shine
Till the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme
[Guess he'll be leaving since shine and rhyme don't rhyme.]
I know when I die you'll be on my mind and I'll love you
Always

[But wait, here are the best lines in the song:]
If you told me to cry for you, I could
If you told me to die for you, I would [Really?]

Example #3: "Shape of My Heart" - Backstreet Boys
Sadness is beautiful loneliness that's tragical
[Even more tragical, they don't bother to rhyme this non-word with "magical."]
So help me I can't win this war, oh no
Touch me now, don't bother if every second it makes me weaker
[Umm, what's the point if you just get weaker?]
You can save me from the man I've become
[A weak non-rhyming illiterate?]

Lookin' back on the things I've done
I was tryin' to be someone
[A weak non-rhyming illiterate?]
I played my part, kept you in the dark
Now let me show you the shape of my heart
[If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you didn't show me the shape of your heart.]

Example 4: "Accidentally in Love" - Counting Crows
Well baby I surrender
To the strawberry ice cream
[That's some pretty intimidating ice cream!]
Never ever end of all this love
Well I didn't mean to do it
But there's no escaping your love
[Or the ice cream, apparently]

Category #2: Just plain nonsense. I believe that no one can hold a candle to Duran Duran in this department. I love Duran Duran, but hell if I can figure out what they're singing about.

Example 1: "Union of the Snake" - Duran Duran
Telegram force and ready
I knew this was a big mistake.
[Better to acknowledge before recording the song.]
There's a fine line drawing my senses together,
And I think its about to break.
If I listen close I can hear them singers, oh oh oh...
Voices in your body coming through on the radio,ho,ho...
The union of the snake is on the climb..
Moving up, it's gonna race, it's gonna break through the, borderline
[It makes no sense. None. And these fellows made lots of money. Lots. No sense at all.]

Need more evidence? Here's Example #2: "The Reflex:"
You gone too far this time
But I'm dancing on the valentine [????]
I tell you somebody's fooling around -
With my chances on the dangerline
I'll cross that bridge when I find it
[Be hard to cross before you find it, I suppose]
Another day to make my stand, oh..
High time is no time for deciding
If I should find a helping hand, oh..
So why don't you use it
Try not to bruise it
[Use what? Don't bruise what? ??????]
Buy time don't lose it
The reflex is an only child, he's waiting in the park
The reflex is in charge of finding treasure in the dark
And watching over lucky clover isn't that bizarre
Every little thing the reflex does leaves you answered with a
Question mark
[Just like every line in this song]

That's all for today. Stay tuned for more examples of money-generating nonsense.

Random observations

Over the past few days, I've accumulated a random assortment of observations that I'll submit for your review and possible amusement.

1) Last week, my dissertation research focused on Georgia history. There's really nothing like reading southern history. You just never know what you'll learn. For example, I learned that the state of Georgia didn't ratify the Bill of Rights until 1939. That's right, 1939. More than 100 years after our forefathers added the amendments to the US Constitution, apparently ignoring Georgia's obstinate objections. So, why bother to ratify the Bill of Rights in 1939? Well, apparently, the Great Depression was pretty darn great and depressing in Georgia. Bad enough that the state finally ended its 100 year temper tantrum and agreed that perhaps, the right to bear arms wasn't so bad after all.

2) In a related story, the local paper carried a report about a camp for 8-18 year olds. At the week-long camp, young kids learned how to fire guns safely. According to the report, one camper picked up a spent shell casing and held it to his nose, "because he likes the smell of gunpowder." I wondered if Yankee Candle has found a new market - "New scent from Yankee Candle: Gunpowder. Your eight year-olds will love it." Well, probably not Yankee Candle. Maybe Southern Redneck Candle. At least it would be a safer way for this youngster to indulge his olfactory predilections.

3) The other day, I went to the local grocery store. As I drove past the stores in the attached strip mall, a young man stepped off the curb right in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes, squealing to a stop. He looked startled, waved to me, then walked off, with his tub of vitamins, or whatever he bought at the "get muscles NOW" store. I drove on, thinking, "Why bother with vitamins if you're just going to walk out in front of cars?" Perhaps he's hoping to get so buff that he can just bounce off of cars. It's going to be one hell of a testing period for him.

4) Children don't like Target. I don't know why parents insist on torturing their children by taking them there. Denying them toys "because you just got one yesterday," forcing them to ride in carts with larger siblings who hog the whole seat, not letting them pull the price tags off of unpurchased merchandise, forcing pre-pubescent boys to trail along through the women's underwear (OK, that one IS unreasonable). I've never been around so many miserable children in my life.

5) Speaking of underwear, it's called underwear for a reason. If your clothes don't cover your undergarments, your clothes are too small. Even if it's hot and humid out, your clothes, at a bare minimum, should cover your underwear. This is what I thought as I looked at a woman in short, short, short shorts, a tank top and a black bra. I don't know this woman and there's no good reason why I should be able to tell you what color her bra was. And, her shorts were camouflage print. Given the brevity of the garment, I'm left wondering what she hoped to accomplish. Seriously. Is it really helpful if the six inches from her waist to the bottom of her hips disappear in the woods? People, animals, and whatever else she encounters are still going to see the hot pink tank top and the bottom half of her ass hanging out of the shorts.

6) And finally, speaking of camouflage, someone in my apartment complex owns a camouflage row boat. What's the point of that? Unless you're planning to keep the boat on the shore or in the woods, why paint it camouflage? And if you're not going to take it out on the water, you could have a camouflage bench and accomplish the same thing. Do they think people will look out on the water and wonder why there's a big bush floating down the river? Or maybe fish will look up and think, "Whew, I thought that was a boat, but no, it's just a bush. I think I'll swim closer and get that fat worm magically suspended in the water." I just don't understand why you'd want a camouflage boat.

Motherhood Survey

Last May, I came across this survey. Now, I don't have any children, but I know plenty of people who do (for instance, my mother has children). I read this survey with some interest, and noted my reflections in brackets.

Woman's Day/AOL motherhood survey
04/20/07

1000 mothers responded to this survey are published in the May 8, 2007 issue of Woman’s Day magazine. Here are the top answers in each category.

If stay-at-home moms got a paycheck, how much should they earn annually?
35% responded: $50,000
[$50,000?? That's it?? Now, to be fair, we don't know that the other choices were, but c'mon! ]

What was/is the most challenging stage of your child’s life for you as a mom?
31% responded: When they were teenagers

What stage was/is the most enjoyable?
39% responded: Ages 1 to 3, full of first steps and big accomplishments
[So, have all the fun you can with your young children, because apparently, you're in for a long, long road ahead. And so are your children, as they will have experienced their "big accomplishments" by age 3. Maybe that's why they're such miserable teenagers.]

Forget about dishes or household chores: If your husband were able to spend more time at home, how would you use that time?
39% responded: Just enjoying being a couple
[For wives, this meant talking, sharing personal feelings, holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes. Husbands, on the other hand, thought this meant sitting around watching sports, drinking beer, and scratching themselves, with their wives sitting nearby.]

Who’s the hottest celebrity mom?
40% responded: Angelina Jolie

Pick the celebrity dad you’d most like to have kids with.
37% responded: Johnny Depp
[Duh. I don't even want children and I'd have children with Johnny Depp.]

Which TV mom is most like you?
49% responded: Debra Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond
[Just imagine if a bunch of Peg Bundys responded to the survey.]

What’s your ultimate goal for your children?
83% responded: That they get into good colleges and have rewarding careers
[And stop mooching off their parents!]

Rate yourself as a mother:
65% responded: I do the best I can.
[Wonder what the other choices were. "I stink at it." "I have no maternal instincts and my children would be better off raised by wolves."]

Are moms better off today than they were in the 1950s?
45% responded: We may have different challenges than our mothers did, but we’re not any better or worse off.
[And Betty Friedan just turned over in her grave. Thanks, second-wavers. Good to see your efforts weren't in vain.]

If you work outside the home, what’s your primary motivation?
52% responded: We need the money.
[Other choices - "I need to get away from my children." "I need adult contact." "I'd go bat-shit crazy if I had to stay at home full-time."]

What’s the most difficult thing about being a mom?
52% responded: Making time for myself—I sneak into the bathroom just to have a moment alone.
[I don't ever want to have a life where I have to sneak in the bathroom just to have a moment alone.]

When it comes to your kids, do you have a favorite?
84% responded: No. I love my kids equally.
[Seriously, what were the other options? "I love my first born, but that second kid has got to go."]

Do you and your husband share the responsibilities of child-rearing equally?
39% responded: I take care of their daily needs, but we make the major decisions about our children together.
[Other choices: "No, he does everything." This choice scored a negative percentage from respondents.]

Moms have spoken. Things are different, but not better. And, they want to have kids with Johnny Depp. Interesting that the magazine doesn't ask if they'd rather have kids with Johnny Depp or their own husbands. Probably best to let that sleeping dog lie.

Ant Protests

This morning, in my research, I came across a typo in the May 14, 1960 issue of the Savannah Tribune. On the front page, there's an article about the mayor's quasi-legal city ordinance directed at black protesters. The headline announces: "Ant-Picketing Law Passed By City Council."

I'm not really sure how to work ant discrimination into my work. I'll have to look for more city government efforts to squash the ant protest. One thing's for sure, the ants had straight picket lines. Maybe if the ants had formed an effective coalition with other insects, they could have achieved their objectives - whatever those were. Eating at lunch counters? Building homes in any neighborhood they chose? Ending ant-ist stereotypes - as in "he's got ants in his pants"? Freedom of assembly - especially at picnics?

Memphis

Last August, I hit the open road and headed to the Mississippi Delta on a research trip. On the way, I stopped in Memphis, TN. Here's a reprise of my reflections from that visit:

Yesterday, my travels took me to Memphis, TN. I drove four hours across western Tennessee. For anyone planning to make the same trip, there's lots of kudzu and not much else. I’ve rented the world’s cheapest rental car – a Kia Rio. Since getting the car, I’ve been singing my own version of the Duran Duran song: “Her name is Rio, and her engine is from a lawn mower.” It's the kind of car where you hit the accelerator and you can almost hear the engine respond, "Oh, you gotta be kidding me!"

Anyway, today, I went to Graceland and the National Civil Rights Museum. It was Memphis in August. It was hot as hell. I was really looking forward to Graceland, expecting lots of colorful Elvis fans. Elvis Week starts in two days after all. That’s the time of year when Elvis fans gather to mark the King’s death. Today, there were precious few crazies. The only near-crazy was this British woman who warbled "All Shook Up" in the Trophy Room. There we were, serious tourists, crammed into this small dimly lit space with all the gold records and Grammys, quiet as church mice, listening intently to our audio tours, and all the sudden, without warning: “I’m in love, I’m all shook up…” at full volume. I just about jumped out of my skin. Talk about all shook up.

Besides that, it was just me and the Harley dudes and dudettes reminiscing in front of the Vegas jumpsuits. “Remember when he wore that outfit in Vegas…” For my taste, there was too much Elvis worship and not enough Elvis realism. I realize the family has an image to protect, even if it’s totally fabricated, but to display his badge from the federal narcotics enforcement branch (a gift from Nixon) and not to mention Elvis’s drug use is just sad. As we went into Graceland, a little girl in front of me asked her dad how Elvis died. He diplomatically responded, “He had a heart attack.” I decided not to add, “Yeah, kid, after years of stress and strain, his heart finally said, 'Check, please.'”

Graceland is first and foremost a shrine to bad 1970s home furnishing. We can all be thankful because anyone else who had this stuff in their homes has long since traded it in for Ikea. You can’t go upstairs at Graceland because that was Elvis’s private space when he was alive so out of respect, the family maintains it that way. It just seems silly to say, “Here’s his parents’ bedroom on the first floor, and their bathroom. Go ahead, look around, invade their privacy. You can’t see Elvis’s room – but here’s the bed and dresser, complete with oversized ceramic tiger statue on top.”

After picking up some more tacky souvenirs (pose-able Elvis doll), I headed to the Lorraine Motel, now the National Civil Rights Museum. On the way, I got lost and ended up crossing the Mississippi River into Arkansas. I quickly turned around, afraid I'd get stuck in Arkansas, which has always been my worst nightmare.

I have to say that I wasn’t particularly interested in seeing King’s (the real King) last hotel room, but I did want to see the motel in its surroundings – since you only ever see the picture after he’s been shot. Once I got there, I decided to go inside, I'd come all that way after all. The non-profit that runs the museum has done a nice job of telling the movement story, but it all felt unsettlingly voyeuristic to me. You can look into the hotel room, carefully preserved to show what it looked like right before King went outside to the balcony. There are ghosts there, I don’t care what you say. I wanted to yell, “Stop! Don’t go outside!” But, of course, he did go outside.

The non-profit has also purchased the boarding house where James Earl Ray stood in the bathroom with a high-powered rifle. I didn’t spend much time there. They have all of his personal effects, including the rifle. I didn’t need to see that. To stand where he stood, looking at the motel balcony, and thinking about that rifle and the hate that went along with it was just too much. Then, I saw the actual bullet pulled out of King's body. I left, and was glad to put the place behind me.

As I drove on to Greenwood, Mississippi, I thought about King and Elvis – and Memphis’s tourism industry built on lost promise. I think the key to Graceland and the Lorraine Motel is that you have to be able to block out the end of the story. To see Elvis go from a reasonably sensible, healthy person to a bloated paranoid shell was just depressing. And the Lorraine Motel was beyond depressing – it was sickening and unsettling.

Am I sorry I went? No, but I’m not in a hurry to go back.

Elizabethtown and Garden State

I’ve decided to write a review of two movies: Elizabethtown and Garden State. I wouldn’t be the first person to suggest that these are not two movies, but the same movie with different casts and different settings. The storyline is the same: emotionally-numb boy returns to family’s home because a parent has died, boy meets quirky girl who “reawakens his spirit”, boy goes on a “journey” (catch word for “learning an obvious life lesson that the rest of us learn without a lot of hoopla”), boy resolves everything that’s wrong with his life, boy ends up with quirky girl. The main difference between the movies is that Orlando Bloom is much better looking than Zach Braff, and Garden State has some genuinely funny moments.

Here’s what I want to say about these movies: they seem to be offering a social statement about a larger non-problem in US society, namely, the angst of the mid-late 20 year old male. Poor Andrew Largeman (Braff) and Drew Baylor (Bloom) can’t get their lives together. Braff’s character medicates himself to forget his “loser-ness” and Bloom’s character deals with a colossal failure at work by throwing away all of his belongings (never breaking a sweat, by the way) and designing a ridiculously complicated suicide machine using a kitchen knife and an exercise bike. Then, a parent dies. Each character returns home, New Jersey in Braff’s case and Kentucky in Bloom’s case. I think we can all agree that Bloom gets the better end of this deal. No one (except Bruce Springsteen) wants to go to New Jersey, and the food and whiskey are better in Kentucky. And, Bloom is still much better looking.

In each case, both characters meet quirky girls who are “totally present,” code for experiencing every day without plans for the next. Natalie Portman’s Samantha pulls Braff out of his funk, and Kirsten Dunst’s Claire does the same for Bloom. Neither girl has a career, neither girl has any ambitious plan of their own. So, how do these underachieving miracle workers help? Well, they listen to the ramblings of these poor, angst-ridden young men and respond with complete non-sequitors, or pithy statements like, “Well, you failed. You failed, you failed, you failed, you failed. So what?”

What can we learn from this? Well, first, it seems no one is listening to angst-ridden 20-something year-old boys, if they turn to these complete strangers for comfort. You know why no one else is listening? Because these guys are BORING! And, they’re pathetic! “Oh, poor me, I can’t get my life together. Why can’t I get my life together? Why didn’t I have a good relationship with my dad? Why don’t I have any real friends? Where’s the instant success I was promised? Why is life so haaarrrddd?”

But, wait, I stand corrected. Someone is listening to these boys. Hell, I watched both movies so now I’ve listened to them. But, I would imagine the primary audience for these movies is adolescent girls. What’s the message for them? In a nutshell, your job is to listen, and be equal parts goofy and unambitious. If you can do these things, you’ll be a suitable muse for your angst-ridden (very good looking) boyfriend. As a result, he’ll come to rely on you for all of his happiness, since he’s completely incapable of dealing with his own problems without your cheerful insights into his psyche. If you think he’s going to help you do anything with your life, ha! Joke’s on you! You’re supposed to be fulfilled because you’ve cured this guy, and he’s professed his love for you. That’s it. Game over. You win. Except you’re really not any better off. Well, you might get to make out with Orlando Bloom, but don’t pay any attention to that. Just start thinking of a way to top the map/scrapbook with soundtrack project (see E’town), because if you can’t, your guy is right back where you found him, wallowing in unfounded self-pity.

All of this is, of course, very gendered. What if you’re an ambitious, cynical, angst-ridden 20-something woman? Well, there’s no way that you’re supposed to go find some quirky, unambitious, “totally present” boy. No, you’re supposed to find Mr. Has-His-Shit-Together. The implication is that if Mr. Angst meets Ms. Quirky, they won’t end up in a tent, living on Coors and cereal. But, if Ms. Angst meets Mr. Quirky, only bad things can happen. Because quirky girls are charming, but quirky boys are lazy and dangerous.

Now, a word about the soundtracks. Every review mentions the soundtracks. Cameron Crowe personally selected the tunes for E’town and I don’t know who found the dirges in Garden State. At least E’town has a couple of upbeat (relatively) tunes. No wonder these people are depressed. A little Abba goes a long way, folks.

Renters Insurance

I've recently moved back to the southland and have almost completed the process to erase all traces of my existence in the northeast. As a part of this seemingly never-ending process, I updated my renters insurance. The other day, I received my updated policy in the mail. I usually don't read the paperwork, preferring a "need to know" relationship with my policy - if nothing happens, I don't need to know. But, the other day, I decided to flip through the policy, just to see what's what.

Here are the highlights from the "Causes of Loss Covered: Descriptions and Limitations" page [I've noted my reflections in brackets]:

4. Earthquake: One or more earthquake shocks that occur within a 72 hour period will constitute a single earthquake. [It might seem like lots of earthquakes, but it's only one.]

5. Explosion: no limitations [Even it's caused by an in-home meth lab?]

6. Smoke: We will not cover smoke damage from agricultural smudging or industrial operations. [What's agricultural smudging? I'm picturing a cow scooting across the ground, but I don't know how this generates smoke, unless the cow is moving really fast.]

7. Aircraft: This includes self-propelled missiles and spacecraft. [Whew!]

10. Theft: We will not cover property lost or misplaced. [OK, first, this wording sounds like Gilbert and Sullivan. Next, if you're absent minded, this renters insurance will be of no help to you.]

13. Falling objects: We do not cover loss to property contained in a building unless the roof or an exterior wall of the building is first damaged by a falling object. Damage to the falling object is not covered. [Mental note to self: Don't throw the TV out the window.]

14. Sudden and accidental tearing apart, cracking, burning or bulging [All of these sound like medical problems, not covered under renters insurance.]

17. Volcanic eruption: This does not include loss caused by earthquake, land shock waves or tremors. [Last time I checked, there aren't any volcanoes nearby, so I think I'm safe.]

Then, causes of loss not covered:
1. War
2. Undeclared war
3. Civil war
4. Insurrection
5. Rebellion
6. Revolution
7. Warlike act by a military force or military personnel
8. Discharge of a nuclear weapon will be deemed a warlike act, even if accidental. [So, if someone fires a nuclear weapon, intentionally or not, my renters insurance will not cover any damages. I don't think I'll care at that point.]

[Wait, they're not done...]
9. Nuclear reaction, radiation, radioactive contamination, whether controlled or uncontrolled, however caused - is not covered.

I've certainly learned a lot from this. I've learned that my stuff won't be covered a war zone or near a nuclear facility. Frankly, I think that would be the least of my worries if I lived in a war zone or near a nuclear facility. I've also learned that my stuff is covered if my apartment is hit by a self-propelled missile, but not if military personnel fire the missile in a warlike act, and not if it's a nuclear missile. So, if a civilan leisurely fires a non-nuclear self-propelled missile and happens to hit my apartment, I'm covered. That's a relief. If a spacecraft falls from the sky onto my apartment, my stuff is covered, but the spacecraft is shit out of luck.

I'm feeling safer already.