tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86785101697418885952024-03-13T02:56:29.345-07:00Montezuma's RevengeE Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-91533774340822063552009-04-07T09:13:00.000-07:002009-04-07T21:40:35.200-07:00Diva Las Vegas<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">W</span></span>hat happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" -- an adage that's often repeated (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">if not lived by</span>). This past weekend, I was actually able to abide by it (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">despite this, um, public blog post...</span>). Anyway, after months of organizing and outfits planned, my friends and I made the long awaited trip to Las Gaygas where we prepared for the worst... and anticipated the crazy. I can easily relay tid-bits of the entire weekend in a mere paragraph slump, but that's <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">so</span> unlike me. Let's break it down:<div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">TIMELINE</span></span></span></span></div><div><div><div><div><div><div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfL3_lhSKyBxg8lJtXyqwDW8ZAJvp1MBOIMavw0opgYXRleDb8dmkPObtowDI_FGzFiu4EGF6jbHJfnyuXAnqVrT1SN_DQATMZWwBsmbBv95XrfWDubAUJWqJCClrcYqENCyTl3vm4CoE/s200/2643_94433307208_585697208_2824564_549541_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322109044783480466" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">Friday, April 3rd: 1:34 p.m. - The Car Ride.</span></div><div>And it wasn't your typical car ride. It was your Popstar <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">intensified</span> car ride. With tunes from Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, and Hilary Duff intermixed with lollipops and teen pop magazines, what more can a boy ask for? <div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">3:23 p.m. - The Gas Station.</span></div><div>When you're with friends, why make a typical gas stop boring? We transformed the station into a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Top Model </span>photo shoot. "Two girls stand before me, only one can stay...". Suffice to say, it was a blast.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnEsqwRsDPUIo2ouQMmBq2yTtcVGmxiLIs05G3728y3YhmH1l3r2yCLFZJAoD9MSqtJBWBVec1YvFf4QTN2wpTj4nYfpXEVmD_Ot3g0G3EhM0QpmjITo0yT9nymZ90ytl9d700WIPrII/s200/2643_94433327208_585697208_2824568_4919901_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322109520419303106" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">5:21 p.m. - The Near Death Experience.</span></div><div>Just about two hours later, a vehicle drives beside us, rolls down their window and frantically points to the hood of the car. Paolo dismisses them politely and we continue driving. Well, it turns out we'd been driving with the hood still open - flapping around just waiting to fly open. Incidentally, Paolo knew about it the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">entire</span> time!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">5:25 p.m. - The Pee Break.</span><br /></div><div>So after pulling over and securing the hood, it was time for the obligatory pee break. The only problem... we were in the middle of nowhere. Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go...</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcG0KJlHe02hjCvOqDo0SqM6RA7qmriQXANKQdBefTbrmCdjTesDYXg1ilap7faKFW82F3yhL7kdqzZf2Ic0dZOVVX7JQS3atQdSSdGGS8BPdoT-A3-nuOCIHSm-n-lSBYj_mieuanlqY/s200/n8203751_39019153_4117226.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322110168112750594" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">6:30 p.m. - The Hotel.</span></div><div>Ironically, we departed from the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">city</span> Hollywood only to stay in the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">hotel</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="">Planet Hollywood</span>. While we could have stayed in any ole' actor's room (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Darryl Hannah anyone?</span>), we were able to stay in a <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000201/">Michelle </a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000201/">Pfeiffer</a> decorated room. Catwoman over the bathtub? ... um, meow.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">7:25 p.m. - The Strip.</span></div><div>And no, I'm not talking about taking off my clothes! It was time to take the city by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">storm</span>... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">literally</span>. We refueled with pizza adjacent to an indoor rainstorm. Only in Las Vegas would you be treated to a slice of cheese with a side of rainfall.</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOqFvOEP9HlKZiUYMinBzhr5M9TasqXmocNdfoFCLqtCBxZJJWp0ggnjg5j_ApwQkqC4zLzxRtAyRcY26ZOvJxK-mw_2ZaJ83FxDO_4fdFBrjfOT6tiNva24jX_WaJ9nUEsyZ5taA4i0/s200/n8203751_39019165_7019262.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322110669258941298" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">11:00 p.m. - The Gay Bar</span></div><div>After a few hours of gambling (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">and losing</span>), we decided to make our way to the trashy gay bars of Vegas. And trashy they were... Fortunately, we were treated to a nice cup of Hot Chocolate. (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">oh, by the way, Hot Chocolate's the name of the drag queen.</span>)</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">2:30 a.m. - French Fries and Gambling.</span></div><div>While we know Vegas never sleeps, it's safe to say my friends sure do. After most of them dropped like flies, Jamison and I tried our luck for a few more hours. Jamison won! I did not.</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrNISGP4bqrFRjv9WM9dJVlx7MTphw6vclx3-BO7mPwanaRjpx97uYSV4wQluZfalZtjNQ6UXTw1lIrEaHofYawezbWloqOwkMG-BClm_CflmL-dpAYDsKAkWV-u9c_5Iu2yTQ8txqaU/s200/2643_94433497208_585697208_2824599_6123847_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322111031969398066" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">April 4th, 2009: 12:30 p.m. - The Buffet.</span></div><div>When in Vegas, it's almost mandatory to dine at an all-you-can-eat buffet. And boy did we! After our fourth plate, it was unanimously decided we'd never go to a buffet again. Our thighs would eventually thank us for that promise. (And p.s... the plate to the right was the work of a Mr. Paolo. He and his sweet tooth makes Willy Wonka look like a diabetic.)</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFeKSNpklvqmiitZOyM5s9iBWRDHTQ1HgQuvX_9D3JJ1yNY0YsQTnzc74nbXzETLdHmLh9u1yasrxDI8uI_yF5nhgiij0M8F2EJykyBzc_IaNqri3tm5f9Nu6iKvpMK3PnOwfaR12Knis/s200/n8203751_39019178_2036764.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322111406221384354" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">6:25 p.m. - The Divide.</span></div>After a much needed rest, it was time for an evening of shows. A third of the group went to see the divine <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000541/">Bette Midler</a>, another third went to see Peepshow (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">starring Spice Girl <a href="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0014409/">Mel B</a></span>), and the remaining peeps decided to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">show</span> everyone that drinking margaritas and vodka at 7 o'clock was actually a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">good</span> idea. (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Oh yeah, that person was me...</span>)</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">10:00 p.m. - The Last Night.</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span></div><div>A math equation: Eight friends <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">+</span> alcohol <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">+</span> a gay bar <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">x</span> debauchery, a fist, a hand towel, and cement construction tubes <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">=</span> utter mayhem. Our last night consisted of a few memorable moments (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">and even more forgotten ones</span>). However, after what seemed like Nevada's house of shame, I'd have to say the trip was an overall success!</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ihqsTrVRuNUAKuRn4Ldqfp01ehknC43ff9xA4jAwr_MKRnd7vNYd0VgYw6TnVW0L42Df5dWTCBV42TJBEeScLo5Qkoty5L9XdkWcwrXbzfqc1Il329KWlD197-As3oJJYlbtBcWKqAg/s320/2643_94433592208_585697208_2824615_2107412_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322112051044319906" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">4:20 a.m. - French Fries Part Deux.</span></span></div><div>Hey, it seemed only appropriate... </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div><div>Having been an official college graduate for nearly two years now, I've encountered many different obstacles in my life. From unemployment to taxes, I've realized growing up isn't as glamorous as my delusional 19-year-old self envisioned. It's tough. It's exhausting. It's nothing like <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108778/">Friends</a></span> makes it out to be. However, after actually experiencing the journey, I've realized there are only a few things I'm certain about in Los Angeles: Constant creativity, traffic jams, pollution, and the reliability and grandeur of my friends.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Though, not exactly in that order.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-78559369383974635052009-03-18T15:22:00.000-07:002009-03-18T15:39:34.221-07:00Comment vas-tu?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-TbxSwgznB-iGqhcAEIPWbxtHQ5P-ae6KJb1Hl5auo9_YpWq0Nb_20u4Qgvh7xjBYKsPokmRPIXjc0Lf_pzZQPdZosSYbq7rQ-fnI_vpT6hUmFjkb22FvXiA_eCsbYFxaA0gKVxsY1I/s1600-h/6a00d8341c964853ef00e54f3e11f38834-800wi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-TbxSwgznB-iGqhcAEIPWbxtHQ5P-ae6KJb1Hl5auo9_YpWq0Nb_20u4Qgvh7xjBYKsPokmRPIXjc0Lf_pzZQPdZosSYbq7rQ-fnI_vpT6hUmFjkb22FvXiA_eCsbYFxaA0gKVxsY1I/s400/6a00d8341c964853ef00e54f3e11f38834-800wi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314661031988723922" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></span>here's something about the French language that's so hypnotizing. In fact, there's something about most foreign languages that pulls me in -- like a literary magnet, allowing me to observe a completely different culture. I've deigned to create a short film that's completely foreign to me (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">both literally and metaphorically</span>). Why I've chosen to do this, I have no idea. However, the more I dive into this project, the more captivating the story becomes. <div><br /></div><div>Human language is a tricky thing. Two people who don't necessarily share the same language can have a completely intimate interaction. A connection that's not formed through dialogue, but a human connection. That's beautiful to me. The words are important, yes. But what's really relevant is the relationship -- real and fascinating. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Je</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">n'oublierai</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">jamais</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">les</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">choses</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">qui</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">m'ont</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">fait</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">sourire</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">autrefois</span>.</span></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-33737001311535799122009-03-05T17:30:00.000-08:002009-03-05T18:15:05.285-08:00Random Ramblings<span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">I</span></span></span>t almost shames me to admit that I've been an <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">American Idol </span>watcher for a whopping 8 years. That confession goes hand-in-hand with the fact that I'm an avid decoupage enthusiast, read PerezHilton.com daily, and actually enjoy dining at <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Chili's</span>... (What? I like their chips and salsa...) Anyway, ever since Kelly Clarkson donned the Idol crown, I've dedicated my Prime Time life to that of Simon Cowell and the gang. I don't include Paula in the lineup since she's never entirely "there" either.<div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">However, this season I've noticed that my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">AI </span>obsession is dwindling and my attention span for reality shows equals that of the time it takes to drink a can of Diet Coke. Fortunately, I've gotten into the habit of DVR-ing the episodes and fast-forwarding through 80% of it. Wouldn't it be great if we had that luxury in life? Traffic jams and blind dates wouldn't stand a chance. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>In fact, just this past week I went to a few networking mixers where I left the hoodie sweatshirt at home and packed the business cards in my back pocket. With any social situation, it's inevitable that we encounter people we'd happily DVR straight through. I met a few myself. (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Side note: I'm convinced wine is the networking equivalent of DVR. Tune out. Get out.</span>) Yet, this time I sailed on through -- swift and smiley. I think I enjoy interacting with actors the best. Little ego since we're on a different playing field (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">and I don't have to listen to the "film guy" drag on about the fact he's a tortured artist</span>). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>What was I talking about? Oh yeah, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">American Idol.</span> This is definitely one of my periodic babble-blogs. I don't really have one coherent thought, but random ramblings that don't really make complete sense.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm drinking the Green Tea Frappacino from Starbucks. It's like crack.</div><div><br /></div><div>EDIT: Another side note. My friend created this hilarious promo pic for our Vegas Vacation 2009. Just the gays and our favorite artist. Yes, that's Jennifer Hudson. More evidence that my past Idol obsession has become widespread...</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJBNKrdaf7B5Vl-nx1V2ljfm1V4Id4EJr8emoIOh7SHfm7EDUZvQb_OdZTP-t7-QZXnta6uW4CG8I2-EWXDMoZpYbnGqzHzlCl_EdKXdgB2l80fqYMqOCzFYt8qQtg1QXYZLi8e46JLI/s400/n1476650682_1368015_8338.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309889980758046482" /></div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-26584389979133675092009-02-26T13:08:00.000-08:002009-02-26T13:32:29.877-08:00Fate Stepped In<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">I</span></strong>t's a brand new day and the air has never been fuller. Circumstances have arisen that set a completely new cycle into motion. I won't bore anybody with the details, but it involves three things: More writing time. A new found energy. And a path that's inevitably better than yesterday's. (<em>p.s. Who thought up the word "severance"? Or "sever" for that matter? The image of Jason Voorhees and a knife always comes to mind</em>). <div><br />Anyway, I have a feeling that better opportunities are around the corner and my <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2009/02/diagnonsense.html">previous post </a>concerning irrelevance is, well, irrelevant. It's time to put my metaphorical running shoes on, focus on my primary goal, and chase after my dreams.</div><br /><div>I'll see you at the finish line.</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-32893837775634891182009-02-20T10:22:00.001-08:002009-02-20T10:47:41.740-08:00SlumHOG Millionaire<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLidhRbqlXN4zpWBQIXg_Beqfrak7rHVRsolRpNpLdjY8QSeiUlLGObHvSQb_QqnSLhUpgT2fzp9F2kjlrw1zUjw4zHzoII0Ju1m0wWI4cIwsPxakFSG0Fqwz5Vt_Hc2iaKwAc_s5UBww/s1600-h/Oscars.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304952064718908370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 207px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLidhRbqlXN4zpWBQIXg_Beqfrak7rHVRsolRpNpLdjY8QSeiUlLGObHvSQb_QqnSLhUpgT2fzp9F2kjlrw1zUjw4zHzoII0Ju1m0wWI4cIwsPxakFSG0Fqwz5Vt_Hc2iaKwAc_s5UBww/s400/Oscars.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong><span style="font-size:180%;">I</span></strong>t's that magical time of year again. The red carpet's been rolled out and the statuettes have been shined. Oscar Sunday is this weekend and I must admit, my enthusiasm is rather lackluster. Sure, I'm looking forward to the fashion, speeches, and the months of speculation being put to rest. However, this awards season has been anything but exciting -- primarily due to a little/big film called <em>Slumdog Millionaire</em>.<br /><br /><div>Don't get me wrong, this film is one of my <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2009/01/after-countless-hours-at-cineplex-tons.html">top favorites this year</a>. However, it's hogging every precursor award thus far extinguishing any possible build-up or anticipation for this Sunday's telecast. <em>Slumdog</em> mania has taken over! In fact, just yesterday I was driving on the 405 freeway, minding my own business, and my iPod frequency was interrupted by another driver passerby. Guess what he was listening to? The <em>Slumdog Millionaire</em> soundtrack.</div><br /><div>Instead of posting my predictions like every Joe Shmo out there, I'll wish upon my lucky stars for potential upsets including:</div><br /><div>- <em>Best Cinematography - </em>Claudio Miranda (<em>Benjamin Button</em>)</div><br /><div>- <em>Best Original Screenplay</em> - Mike Leigh (<em>Happy-Go-Lucky</em>)</div><br /><div>- <em>Best Actress</em> - Anne Hathaway </div><br /><div>- <em>Best Picture</em> - <em>Milk</em></div><br /><div>Hey, no guts, no glory. Right?</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-91391752115752582242009-02-11T11:35:00.000-08:002009-02-11T12:20:35.838-08:00Self-DiagNonsense<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GuMFmOysHYkM2S3e25BDSKvRnbHp-35JnaTbRnqBq3XQeQJDdI_4W_z4FbKsI02UKH8DzCrB3YRN4RyoFEFDPyxHodkxqqyEc9C_iuGbM4qKP1ugiHVB7UGkQqbOIK4VJU9dW8nnun8/s1600-h/Trapped.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301632882819665874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GuMFmOysHYkM2S3e25BDSKvRnbHp-35JnaTbRnqBq3XQeQJDdI_4W_z4FbKsI02UKH8DzCrB3YRN4RyoFEFDPyxHodkxqqyEc9C_iuGbM4qKP1ugiHVB7UGkQqbOIK4VJU9dW8nnun8/s400/Trapped.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">T</span></strong>here's nothing like the seasonal slump. The sky seems foggier, the air seems more polluted, and the days drag on like a timeless universe. Or maybe it's just me. After a few weeks of dismal proportions and a conscious hiatus, I've decided to claw myself back into literary civilization. I must admit, it wasn't easy and it took almost every ounce of my effort, but I think I'm finally back. Well, for now at least.<br /><div></div><br /><div>However, this mental self-diagnosis didn't occur overnight. It took days of observation and countless hours of analysis to discover what was actually wrong with me. I'm at a stand-still. While I originally thought time was moving forward with me along for the ride, it seems time actually decided to leave me far behind. Waiting -- hoping -- <em>needing</em> some sort of change that will finally shake me from this common day monotony. </div><br /><div></div><div>I know, I know. At twenty-four, I shouldn't expect much, if anything, to go exactly how I originally planned <em>(especially in this industry, right</em>?). However, it seems like the "routine" of my life has taken over any spontaneity and I feel trapped. Yes, trapped. I'm stuck in this dark corner where the realm of possibilities seem distant and the Groundhog Day effect seems inevitable. </div><br /><div></div><div>Therefore, before I let this disorder get the best of me, I've decided to write myself my own prescription. A prescription that will allow me to break free from this entanglement and into something more fulfilling. A prescription that inspires instead of hinders. And finally, a prescription that involves some huge life changes (<em>both professionally and personally</em>) that will ultimately change me into the person I want to become. </div><br /><div></div><div>I mean, I've come this far, right? What's another 50+ years?</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-27533272605627209142009-02-02T16:45:00.000-08:002009-02-02T16:57:28.984-08:00I'm Puxatony ill...<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">E</span></strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ach</span> year, like clockwork, I unfortunately encounter an inevitable time of year - the seasonal slump. I reach a point in my life where my lack of motivation meets spontaneous self-loathing and I lock myself in this uncomfortable rut. It's my own <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">equivalent</span> to PMS... but with less tampons. Which, in due part, explains my lack of blog posts.<br /><br />Therefore, it probably comes as no surprise that I've been lacking inspiration. Perhaps I'm verging on exhaustion. Or maybe Los Angeles is wearing on me. Either way, I better shake things up quickly before I officially become cynical.<br /><br />Fortunately, I have the ideas... I just need the motivation.<br /><br />Motivation where are you?<br /><br />Why have you left me so?<br /><br />Come back.E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-49078087669621316322009-01-15T11:05:00.000-08:002009-01-16T15:14:54.001-08:00My Top Ten ('09)<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">A</span></strong>fter countless hours at the cineplex, tons of popcorn consumed, and many movie passes used, I've finally been able to recap my favorite films of this past year. If you have even the slightest clue about me, you know that I'm a total list maker. I make lists when I go to the grocery store, pack a suitcase, and as a salute to 2008 -- <strong>My Top Ten Films of 2008</strong>.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rP4pdCDoRZGBd7Z7Jn4IOBlZ69McFKk9CaZ2frgYmtDkqvdD_e28AMBMeBIyTS09pzRROMyG9mdcnj1Rk9WLF1KQyGw4DsjGu3W7SOp1vtmBl5N5k8LmjITrolQl2XwxHhR8HDLiWgg/s1600-h/frostnixon_1.jpg"></a><br /><strong>10. Frost/Nixon</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rP4pdCDoRZGBd7Z7Jn4IOBlZ69McFKk9CaZ2frgYmtDkqvdD_e28AMBMeBIyTS09pzRROMyG9mdcnj1Rk9WLF1KQyGw4DsjGu3W7SOp1vtmBl5N5k8LmjITrolQl2XwxHhR8HDLiWgg/s1600-h/frostnixon_1.jpg"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291601245649055442" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 152px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rP4pdCDoRZGBd7Z7Jn4IOBlZ69McFKk9CaZ2frgYmtDkqvdD_e28AMBMeBIyTS09pzRROMyG9mdcnj1Rk9WLF1KQyGw4DsjGu3W7SOp1vtmBl5N5k8LmjITrolQl2XwxHhR8HDLiWgg/s200/frostnixon_1.jpg" border="0" /></strong></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Upon entering the movie theatre, I wasn't really sure what to expect. I mean, the ingredients for this movie seemed all too perfect -- talented cast, Tony-Award winning play, rock star director. Yet, I still wasn't the least bit excited. If I wanted to watch a televised interview between a TV anchor and a politician, I'd have stayed home with Tina Fey and Amy Poeler. Then, without even a warning, a surprising thing happened on my way to the exit... I actually liked it. Not only was this film intriguing, but it was thoroughly entertaining. Who'd have thought a simple stage play between two talking heads could transform into such a nail biting political thriller.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2I6jKuxB6GYoiG662zjxJelYwiZ8ORNtYR3P9dpIRtr6cTYpeNE9ZcDVgKlkmQfKknZ0P4O5dF6UW4YrJ5BA-pfutCbGxK41LNRaRKKu7BuwryrMcDFFK-DrkIRzNkTYXjr13r6DdLY/s1600-h/Dark.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291605475301451026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 222px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2I6jKuxB6GYoiG662zjxJelYwiZ8ORNtYR3P9dpIRtr6cTYpeNE9ZcDVgKlkmQfKknZ0P4O5dF6UW4YrJ5BA-pfutCbGxK41LNRaRKKu7BuwryrMcDFFK-DrkIRzNkTYXjr13r6DdLY/s200/Dark.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>9. The Dark Knight</strong><br /><strong></strong>Heath Ledger. Heath Ledger. Heath Ledger. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a huge fan of the superhero franchise. In fact, I spent an entire summer interning at Marvel Studios where I was painfully swimming in a sea of weird cartoon magazines -- I think they're called comic books? Therefore, when I decided to jump on the highly publicized band wagon, I attempted to mask my inevitable skepticism with a forced calmness. ...And then a revelation. Heath Ledger graced the screen with an almost unrecognizable portrayal of the Joker and I was sold. Next stop: Oscar.<br /><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNygPuOuJ8zBfiVvDc2svkoItiTtEhDL3t1gkHaAzVfN-ibp5FZ6-K-hGqezVnGs6TnedmBcC2aHTww3kUzY0zTd0QHWPdIGhAby-gMVUtiajdWnO3_2HAU-hx0iP95IfHJpohvUCdyfU/s1600-h/Sex.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291611195078957154" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 149px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNygPuOuJ8zBfiVvDc2svkoItiTtEhDL3t1gkHaAzVfN-ibp5FZ6-K-hGqezVnGs6TnedmBcC2aHTww3kUzY0zTd0QHWPdIGhAby-gMVUtiajdWnO3_2HAU-hx0iP95IfHJpohvUCdyfU/s200/Sex.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>8. Sex and the City: The Movie</strong></div><div>While most boys were counting down the days till the latest batman installment, I was anticipating a very different movie. Ever since Carrie Bradshaw packed up her Manolo Blahniks on HBO's hit comedy, I've been going through <em>Sex</em> withdrawals. Seriously, my palms were sweaty and I had the shakes! Then, after what felt like a decade, I saw it! Make no mistake, it wasn't the best picture ever made (<em>and doesn't hold a candle near the series</em>). However, like a drunken night after the Beta Kappa luau, it certainly was satisfying.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291615497506571474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 149px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM6je8JvssuimKEpmi0bwYfPgwYdZHXAvitiAAfrBp0rNQCas1JLSkLw9nxYHZ2NGpNqqTGlUCjPUChIVeK9exoxHd___Ye3Wdi2sAi-4v_HZa-W8zWqVJu2ZplxohkdYeeWYte8ump5s/s200/Doubt.jpg" border="0" /><strong>7. Doubt</strong><br />Is there anything Meryl Streep can't do? I'm convinced that woman could portray William Howard Taft and <em>still</em> be nominated for an Oscar. As my previous <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/11/doubt-review.html">blog </a>expressively implies, I was beyond impressed with Michael Patrick Shanley's stage-to-screen adaptation. Everything from the writing to the performances deserves praise, especially having dealt with such a controversial subject matter. I have no, um, <em>doubt</em> that it'll get kudos come award season. By the way, that "doubt" pun never gets old. Okay, maybe it does....<br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UtjDp7lRTjR7xoBa53KWFEkpni7L42P5yCbcw3Ojj5xitUf2pDOyVr3ow9fQnLlgwEjApjYjqHg4qs0K7MOoS35La0jjMGQTXrCydw2MNEHVK3p9g4hQk9-kEnMCeLwcRvNohzLdd-4/s1600-h/WallE.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291619969253449970" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 149px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 224px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UtjDp7lRTjR7xoBa53KWFEkpni7L42P5yCbcw3Ojj5xitUf2pDOyVr3ow9fQnLlgwEjApjYjqHg4qs0K7MOoS35La0jjMGQTXrCydw2MNEHVK3p9g4hQk9-kEnMCeLwcRvNohzLdd-4/s200/WallE.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>6. Wall-E</strong></div><div>Who knew robots could be this cute? I was under the impression that most robots were either terrifying (<em>the Terminator</em>), creepy (<em>Hayley Joel Osment in 'A.I.'</em>) or gay (<em>C-3PO). </em>Yet, <em>Wall</em>-<em>E </em>proved that it doesn't take many characters or excessive dialogue to create a heartfelt story. Hell, I even rooted for the nasty-ass cockroach. Pixar proves once again that they're the masters behind well-made animation films. Now, if they could only make a film about a tape worm on a whimsical quest in a digestive tract... <strong><br /><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6hqK5LLmjfc7TbECYK3LlP0Tg-D4uhf3od336knZc_-KTxTelxfdz3r_7WshkpaBupfOdptXo8r7uIbeBtdcgwgzz_h_YXWiBjV4zkI8sv0xUpXiAKWKZnrBy845qfhANnPJDIB8ASw/s1600-h/milkposter.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291624241276129314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 147px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6hqK5LLmjfc7TbECYK3LlP0Tg-D4uhf3od336knZc_-KTxTelxfdz3r_7WshkpaBupfOdptXo8r7uIbeBtdcgwgzz_h_YXWiBjV4zkI8sv0xUpXiAKWKZnrBy845qfhANnPJDIB8ASw/s200/milkposter.jpg" border="0" /></a></div>5. Milk</strong></div><div>"My name is Harvey Milk and I'm here to recruit you". Just hearing Sean Penn say these words sends a shiver down my spine. Initially, I walked into this film with relatively little knowledge of Harvey Milk. I knew he was a gay activist. I knew he was assassinated. Beyond that, I wasn't too familiar with his political background. Then, this 2 hour and 8 minute film did something I didn't expect... it became a stirring admonition on the participatory political process, and an unspoken incitement to get involved.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDGzi9MGVOcS1PZR3agI7gOm12xZD6zLChm6Xs1j5P-6E5QAfnod5nNQtwMz-Y9wqVsaA3l-Ia5skwZjCr9VG6O0zYAfWWx1O64c3ei8YjCVGvkU823iSXuBbjP18JtG2GwSAtEaLUlA/s1600-h/rachelgettingmarriedposter.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291633507583801250" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 151px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 218px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDGzi9MGVOcS1PZR3agI7gOm12xZD6zLChm6Xs1j5P-6E5QAfnod5nNQtwMz-Y9wqVsaA3l-Ia5skwZjCr9VG6O0zYAfWWx1O64c3ei8YjCVGvkU823iSXuBbjP18JtG2GwSAtEaLUlA/s200/rachelgettingmarriedposter.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>4. Rachel Getting Married</strong></div><div>Have I ever mentioned that I'm an Anne Hathaway fan? It's true, I can't make this stuff up. Therefore, when I finally stumbled upon the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wDDgSwEo1s">trailer</a> for this Jonathan Demme film, I was obviously elated. My favorite gal pal doing what she does best - acting! However, after screening the movie in its entirety, I discovered that it was much more than the Anne Hathaway show. The story was beautifully written and the film was well crafted. It was the best looking home video I've ever seen.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDF8ZbxDCzux0IrI-dl_3sJEO972yR1UhGptxQy8rX0BfT-S1Za1VTG0asSjP0r7MKi3Uc6366N1hGNwV7L7xlEHvEbNKvgFg89djsr9coWpaAuVU_ywC3RcEVvWepwDdVOX4pc3cJ9Y/s1600-h/Button.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291660677468144306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 218px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDF8ZbxDCzux0IrI-dl_3sJEO972yR1UhGptxQy8rX0BfT-S1Za1VTG0asSjP0r7MKi3Uc6366N1hGNwV7L7xlEHvEbNKvgFg89djsr9coWpaAuVU_ywC3RcEVvWepwDdVOX4pc3cJ9Y/s200/Button.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>3. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button</strong></div><div>Three hours is excruciatingly long for any movie. I coped through <em>Titanic</em>. I forgave all <u>three</u> <em>Lord of the Rings. </em>I suffered through <em>King Long (er, Kong...)</em>. And it's safe to say that <em>Australia </em>and I aren't talking. Therefore, you can imagine my hesitation when I heard <em>Button</em> was another epic long film. Yet, somewhere between my hesitation and Brad Pitt's lips, I seem to have moved beyond any weariness and into complete awe. Having seen it twice, I can honestly say it's the best epic I've seen in years... with a Brad Pitt cherry on top.</div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXFoSTELkDtEXg1rbZsLVRvmf8lPTAcXIXkbha_8HSE11ENzqutefTR2T_LNbuU-y4lKWGJtqOdhz1kd7RaaWVbjUwMXNK9LfsaHnRSqqI9KfktxibyUS_OqpJ5k5l0W7ZMKaI5TTbrc/s1600-h/Slumdog.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291664126724635234" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXFoSTELkDtEXg1rbZsLVRvmf8lPTAcXIXkbha_8HSE11ENzqutefTR2T_LNbuU-y4lKWGJtqOdhz1kd7RaaWVbjUwMXNK9LfsaHnRSqqI9KfktxibyUS_OqpJ5k5l0W7ZMKaI5TTbrc/s200/Slumdog.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>2. Slumdog Millionaire</strong><br /><div>A little over 3 months ago, I was invited to a special screening of this movie. After one look at the poster, I dismissed the invitation assuming it revolved around some sort of marathon and its million dollar prize (<em>Doesn't it look that way??</em>). Little did I know, this film would eventually become a cinematic phenomenon and a Best Picture front runner. This is a prime example why someone should never judge a book, or movie, by its cover. Now if you don't mind, I must go put all my eggs in one basket, cross a bridge before I get there, and cry over spilt milk.</div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong><br />1. Happy-Go-Lucky</strong></div><div>I'm not sure why, but I've gotten into the habit of choosing feel-good comedies as my favorite movies of the year. Two years ago, I picked <em>Little Miss Sunshine</em>. Last year, <em><a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-top-ten.html">Juno</a></em>. Now, I've gotten so blatantly obvious, I went and selected a film with <em>happiness </em>smack down in the title. Mike Leigh's film about an excessively peppy school teacher, named Poppy, did what so many films neglect to do -- open the audience's eyes. After seeing the film, I attempted to see the world the way Poppy does. Carefree and positive. However, after a mere two days, I aborted the experiment. I'm sorry, but I'm convinced Poppy was popping Percocet...</div><div></div><div></div><div><br />Anyway, I say in complete honesty, <em>Happy-Go-Lucky </em>is a film that deserves to be seen. Still feeling hesitant? Perhaps Poppy's worldview optimism is exactly what you need.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><br /><object height="295" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tdjb98LOuEw&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tdjb98LOuEw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-7452039400648796752009-01-12T11:47:00.000-08:002009-01-12T22:34:21.828-08:00The Belfast Invasion<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFb90v2N_WSCzjauZEC4PGMAOZigX5dpxd830JgVXUmcyiGJBWTYvt3LxZg2UDehp25BLJbsAGoHQ0MbFqLPWtIH6Vx9Aaih508NbO7jfjzOnLGaL0E3W3CHbzy_uyt-0QsW_PG-tyf4/s1600-h/Belfast+Invasion.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290579447041874274" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 262px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 187px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFb90v2N_WSCzjauZEC4PGMAOZigX5dpxd830JgVXUmcyiGJBWTYvt3LxZg2UDehp25BLJbsAGoHQ0MbFqLPWtIH6Vx9Aaih508NbO7jfjzOnLGaL0E3W3CHbzy_uyt-0QsW_PG-tyf4/s320/Belfast+Invasion.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">W</span></strong>hen the words 'house guests' are immediately mentioned, most people have the tendency to become stricken by instantaneous exhaustion, needless worrying, and an inevitable urge to be as hospitable as possible. Two weeks ago was no exception. Upon returning from Christmas break, I was introduced to a brand new clan of characters. Jessi, my <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/11/new-york-city-day-2.html">alcoholic roommate</a>, had previously spent an entire year in Ireland where she was fortunate enough to befriend a hand full of international natives. Being the devoted chums that they are, they packed their best vacation attire, braved the 10 hour transcontinental flight, and took America by storm.<br /><br /><div><div><div>Initially, I wasn't really prepared of what to expect. I mean, I've heard horror stories of the Irish. They're needlessly vicious, speak with almost undecipherable accents, and can drink circles around any Joe Shmo. However, after spending a significant amount of time with them, I was pleasantly proven wrong (<em>well, except for the drinking part...</em>)</div><br /><div>Within the week, not only did I get to know each of them on an individual basis, friendships were actually developed. We talked. We ate. We even had a few drinks. Then, like the analytical inebriate I am, I started thinking about friendships. How many friends can you sincerely call "actual friends"? We all have acquaintances, we have old colleagues, school friends, frienemies, and stand-alone buddies. Yet, the friends we tend to <em>connect with</em> are few and far between. Ordinarily, it would take me a good chunk of time to develop a friendship. Genuine relationships aren't built on a whim, they need to be watered and nourished. It usually takes time for that mutual connection switch to click on. However, when opportunity meets wine, something rare can happen -- you can connect with someone instantly. </div><br /><div>It can't be explained. Perhaps the planets were aligned and the universe took advantage of the moment. Perhaps the Irish have some sort of voodoo magic they smuggled into the U.S. <em>(and by "magic", I mean whiskey</em>)<em>.</em> Or perhaps, as I make my way into a brand new year, my previous <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2009/01/2009s-new-black.html">post</a> proves true and I'm finally able to see life in a positive light. </div><br /><div>Let's just hope that light lasts. I think it will. It has to.</div></div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-21581115285951273822009-01-08T15:56:00.000-08:002009-01-08T16:59:39.832-08:002009's the New Black<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289086369123264482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 274px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWv06xdKKZVF6Ne-JdCZQiaq52R9AG0lZFSGBTP0AQZDvrmZNOhP6zJzi_xX_Yn-W9wsYkYsVtN-4zuZ5ckwpZYJ775Donk7cGSiVP4_xFykwdn01XspgXlXc3ZGSYWkcLYBQJcsutj4/s400/New+Year.bmp" border="0" /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">T</span></strong>his morning I had an epiphany. Perhaps it's because I've been hanging out with the Irish lately or maybe it's because I've had rose-colored glasses <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">permanently</span> implanted on my face. Either way, I've recently become consciously aware of my daily outlook on life. I've come to realize that every detail of my actions and second of my thoughts correlates to a certain preconceived outcome. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sheesh</span>, I'm like a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">freakin</span>' billboard for <em>The Secret! </em>However, I believe they actually have something there ("<em>secret", my ass).</em><br /><div></div><br /><div>As the New Year kicks off in full gear, I've encountered a myriad of people proclaiming that 2009's gonna "kick 2008's butt". They admit 2008 was undeniably miserable and have positive hopes for the future. Well, that's all fine and dandy, but how positive can anyone be starting a new year when their memories of the last is tainted? That's a lot of unnecessary baggage to be carrying around, don't you think?</div><br /><div></div><div>I'm not saying I'm any better. A year ago I <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2007/12/2007-is-so-last-year.html">posted a blog </a>that fits seamlessly within the accused. I was all too eager to say, "fuck you 2007" and expect 2008 to treat me any better. Therefore, I'm taking action. I'm learning from my mistakes and taking the proverbial high road. Wow, look at that.... I must be growing up. </div><br /><div></div><div>So, 2008: Thank you for a fantastic year. We've had quite the journey. Though you've posed a lot of obstacles and challenges, I've gained more than you could possibly know. I've appreciated every second you've given me. And now, as I carefully tuck my memories into my traveling suitcase, I must bid you farewell. A new year has arrived and she's calling out to me.</div><br /><div></div><div>Happy New Year. Here's to good health and the days.</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-44283796482174298872009-01-05T13:22:00.000-08:002009-01-05T14:18:54.711-08:00Year-in-Review<span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>C</strong></span><span style="font-size:100%;">a</span>n you believe a whole year has gone by? It feels like just yesterday I purchased my Manduka high performance yoga mat half-off from Target (<em>only to be untouched for 11 months...</em>). Now, 2009 has snuck out of nowhere and I'm confronted with the inevitable resolutionatory question. I find that New Years is front-loaded with arbitrary expectations that tend to disappoint. How many times can one person swear the oath of exercise?<br /><br />However, I had a good time last year. I met a few friends, had a drink or two, and avoided waking up in a stranger's bedroom. That's grounds for celebration! In fact, I'm banking on a similar finale this year...<br /><br />On another note, I'm über excited to take down my Christmas decorations. In all actuality, I tend to think of my roommates as yuletide bulimics. They tend to go inappropriately overboard on the paper snowflakes, ornaments, etc. In fact, I've purposely avoided the front room in fear of becoming momentarily blind. Yes. It's true.<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287935525299429058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLkfjlkYwhKqor-ORzlrCBADKxM-yy-OXA_Nbl0qEmy7fB-fjLmZI1tBajO5NdDlyt5OR9GhtErc4iLgnbdLgzlHkmvjgJsFQ7BEyEc-xtMvrTMtquOSStYlT6ai9HXaMJ3DjGbNxLu6U/s400/Snowflakes.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>Okay, resolutions: Last year, I made a resolution to purchase a 3-piece suit for the obligatory job interview. However, the closest I came to a suit was a $10 jumper from Buffalo Exchange. Does that count? I did, though, make good on a few other resolutions. Screenplay. <em>Check</em>. Website. <em>Check</em>. Read two books a month. <em>1/2 check</em>. Treat myself more. <em>Double check</em>. </p><p>My 2008: <em>Expensive</em>.</p>This year, I resolve to fix any mistakes I made last year, try my hand at that contraption called a stove, and find a boy (<em>easier said...</em>). I will write more. And I'm gonna shoot for the friggin' stars if it kills me (<em>John Glenn, watch out!</em>).<br /><br />And this, my friends, was random babbling from yours truly. Hey, I had to start off the year somehow....E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-67395085626887222152008-12-21T15:11:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:30:08.319-08:00Christmas - Shaken. Not stirred.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKPFUepSse13jfc3dFvzTHVCWozHNrIwtJmSlZkM3xC5poIq-iU0cRoSckLjSBPZv7u_hyphenhyphenvnTbYxw64LQsL8VN2mz6TQlLXx9mbm2tnxjv71y__0Ls0WUMRBV6l1dmq3A6UzsVFcn4MY/s1600-h/cocktail+(2).jpg!size-305.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 305px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKPFUepSse13jfc3dFvzTHVCWozHNrIwtJmSlZkM3xC5poIq-iU0cRoSckLjSBPZv7u_hyphenhyphenvnTbYxw64LQsL8VN2mz6TQlLXx9mbm2tnxjv71y__0Ls0WUMRBV6l1dmq3A6UzsVFcn4MY/s400/cocktail+(2).jpg!size-305.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282403587134988546" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">W</span></span>hen the stress of the Holidays become unbearably monotonous and the world around me transforms into a destructive minefield congested with deranged Christmas shoppers, it seems likely (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">if not necessary</span>) to attend a fabulous party. This past Saturday night, I dusted off my favorite festive sweater, grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay, and headed over to my friend's annual Christmas gathering. Amidst the crowded room, I noticed that this soiree wasn't your typical yuletide get-together. Sure, Christmas tunes played from a nearby stereo while the cater waiters handed out tasty hors d'oeuvres. However, something still felt "off". Upon further investigation, I discovered that professional "Industry types" were the primary source of people in the room and their assertive personalities exuded just that. You know what I'm talking about, vodka-guzzling agents and their twenty-something girlfriends. <div><br /></div><div>Yet, these agents, managers, and PR reps weren't the ones that irked me. In fact, they were actually the ones who inspired the more honest conversations. It wasn't until later when a reality television producer showed up with his boy-band entourage (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">twenty years his junior</span>). That's when my curiosity really kicked in. It was like half the November Abercrombie ad walked through the door -- each guy maintaining a quality of external perfection and beauty. I even noticed two of them checking themselves out in a nearby mirror... (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Um,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">hose egos aren't gonna build themselves</span>). It was obvious that these guys were tagging along for networking purposes, but when does it stop being socially acceptable and start being seen as exploitation?</div><div><br /></div><div>It got me thinking. Living in Los Angeles, everybody's out for themselves. It's impossible to come across a person without catching on to their own personal agendas. With that in mind, were these <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Zoolander</span> impersonators simply playing the game or merely abusing their narcissistic power? How far is too far until the old adage, "when you got it flaunt it", proves to be untrue? As someone involved in the "industry game" myself, I was always taught to do what I know, never hold back, and keep pushing forward. Therefore, aren't I doing the same thing? Doesn't all forms of art require some sort of exploitation? Sure, what I'm flaunting may not be disguised with perfectly toned six-packed abs and smoldering features, but I'm in the very same boat they are. I think we all are. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps this Nation isn't that different from Los Angeles. We all have our own personal agendas secretly tucked away in our back pockets. We all can see the light at the end of the tunnel. And finally, as we move through this adventure we call 'life', we have our own egos that need a little assisting. Ours just may be a little bit more towards the left.</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-15772859992355786172008-12-14T15:25:00.000-08:002008-12-19T11:23:56.817-08:00Blogiversary<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">C</span></strong>all off the search parties and wipe your foreheads, I'm alive. Barely. As we approach this upcoming week, I've become overwhelmingly bombarded with yuletide obligations. From Holiday shopping to annual Christmas parties, this month has become a seasonal poo-poo platter of merriment and debt. I'm just doing my part to bolster the national economic index (<em>and relieve a little guilt...</em>)<br /><br /><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_585sZNMhQFygWVooOysFfCeTcGqSL6w3eXn7pA3R-ar5v9wpVEvzWL5E42NrG59A5SCzoyhyQ3smjrtHe2MUiH6fwt5XSdUhoIi5P6ql1ym6kAJYq5rhLREOwtlcyc6O7XHlzM-MhOo/s1600-h/nutcracker+jack.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281582804707130210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_585sZNMhQFygWVooOysFfCeTcGqSL6w3eXn7pA3R-ar5v9wpVEvzWL5E42NrG59A5SCzoyhyQ3smjrtHe2MUiH6fwt5XSdUhoIi5P6ql1ym6kAJYq5rhLREOwtlcyc6O7XHlzM-MhOo/s200/nutcracker+jack.jpg" border="0" /></a>Anyways, this time of year also marks another monumental occasion. Just one year ago, I started writing this little blog as an outlet for my thoughts and frustrations. Most of which sparked by my life here in Los Angeles. Suffice to say, a lot has changed in a year. I've matured as a person while maintaining an air of innocence that often becomes jaded from living in this big city. Hopefully, the next year will be just as eventful and memorable as the last one.</div><div></div><br /><div>In honor of my <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2007/12/my-first-time.html">first post ever</a>, I'd like to give a shout-out to Nutcracker Jack. He and I would like to wish everyone a Happy Holiday. May your Christmas be merry and <em>gay</em>... with extra rum-spiked eggnog of course...</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-58290548576539358152008-12-10T11:23:00.000-08:002008-12-19T11:37:52.865-08:00Oscar on the Brain<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9iIarU6g63l1W4lYqGz5rCtVIInupZtXdRkaVJmKwcaGO44CBHaTUUiBx3MDRdVVB6eCn5Hlmsnd5VJpRdV0hEJs5xc9muIxbC0BDz_ZG9lUtMk2kFvvF8xSZVmULlhAM0O8hXVAXpY/s1600-h/oscars3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278255927880637810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 299px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9iIarU6g63l1W4lYqGz5rCtVIInupZtXdRkaVJmKwcaGO44CBHaTUUiBx3MDRdVVB6eCn5Hlmsnd5VJpRdV0hEJs5xc9muIxbC0BDz_ZG9lUtMk2kFvvF8xSZVmULlhAM0O8hXVAXpY/s400/oscars3.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong><span style="font-size:180%;">D</span></strong>o you hear that? Listen closely. If you stand completely still, you'll hear the sound of 28 Oscars being created. Yes, that's right. Awards season has kicked off in full force and, like every other movie junkie, I've jumped on to the highly-obsessive band wagon. Like most cinephiles, I also have a list of projected filmmakers, writers, and actors I expect to be announced nomination morning. However, every year I grip tightly onto the idea that certain personal favorites would appease my addiction and ultimately make the Academy's shortlist.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0112459/"></a></div><div>In 2006, I was on team <em>Devil Wears Prada</em>. It was inevitable that Queen Meryl would get a nomination, but screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna and costume designer Patricia Field's fate seemed less likely. Fortunately, the latter clinched the Oscar Nod while Aline wasn't as lucky. </div><br /><div></div><div>Then, in 2007, I began a short lived love affair with <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/01/diablo-cody-weekend.html">Diablo Cody</a>. Need I say more?</div><br /><div></div><div>This year, as the Christmas season approaches, I have merely three names on my Santa wish list:</div><br /><div></div><div>1. <strong>Anne Hathaway</strong> - The buzz surrounding her performance, not to mention her early precursor awards, has almost guaranteed a nomination. Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to be able say, "Oscar nominee (winner?) Anne Hathaway". </div><br /><div></div><div>2. <strong>Claudio Miranda</strong> - Or better known as the Director of Photography for <em>The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons</em>. He's an amazingly talented cinematographer and the film looks terrific. Not to mention, we represent him, so that doesn't hurt...</div><br /><div></div><div>3. <strong>Regina Spektor</strong> (for writing 'The Call') - She's one of my favorite singers/artists out there. Her voice is spectacular and if she doesn't get nominated for this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNsQewlFtEs">award-worthy song</a>, so help me God....</div><div><br /><div></div><div>Oh, and <em>Milk</em> winning Best Picture wouldn't hurt either.... </div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-78568146984866493232008-12-05T15:51:00.000-08:002009-02-12T15:48:21.609-08:00That's Not My Name<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">W</span></strong>hile in high school, through the thick of homework and extra curricular activities, I worked as a server at a local retirement community. <em>Park Regency</em> was its name, and assisted living and skilled nursing services was its game. Anyway, once 6th period let out, I'd throw my apron on, jump in my '93 Infiniti G20, and head to work ready to take the elderly by storm. I'd show up promptly at 4pm as if the weight of the world fell on my shoulders. Okay, not really. Unless you consider evening dinner detrimental to the universe (<em>Which, incidentally, some of the residents did...</em>).<br /><br />In all honesty, these people were some of the most interesting people I've ever met. Their stories. Their history. Their jokes! One of my favorite residents, Mr. Diello, would shuffle in the dining room as he leaned against his brass walker, and shoot me a disgruntled stare. I'd approach him eagerly and ask, "Good evening Mr. Diello, where would you like to sit?". He'd reply, "On the roof! Is there room on the roof?!" LoLoL, oh Mr. Diello...... I guess you needed to be there.....<br /><br />Unfortunately, for my entire "career" at <em>Park Regency</em>, the residents had a problem with calling me by my actual name -- Elias. Perhaps their hearing aids were purposely turned down, but they seemed to always forget the 'S' and mistake it for a 'T'. Therefore, my serving name was permanently "Elliot" and I was subsequently always asked to "phone home". Uh, childhood trauma much? I'm pretty sure that's why I go by Eli now...E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-28422838114438790792008-12-03T11:00:00.000-08:002008-12-03T17:48:42.794-08:00Blast from the Past - Part 5<div align="left"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong><span style="font-size:100%;">Y</span></strong>et another <em>embarrassing</em> journal entry from my collegiate days. Seriously, what was my damage? This doesn't even make sense! And to be frank, I'm actually a little hesitant to re-post this...</span><br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275644267267350274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtQLU0kgliObkJ-kBmS-MaF1tyXRxc_F7Y-4f-UZGBNuoDY4686qQo9tv_2isA1jTKX4rHxNungTWuITto-CFFIpB7LsFxOfkzGRLcg5xeM1XeAOtMZN0jp0i-ri6KGmd2L3Ak6Nd7bs/s400/Monkey.jpg" border="0" /><span style="color:#666666;"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666666;"><strong>Monkey 1: <em>"What was Eli writing about?"</em> Monkey 2:<em> "I have no idea."</em></strong></span></p><p><span style="color:#666666;"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">W</span></strong>hen did humans develop language? Are the origins of language lost in the mist of time, or does science provide us with some clues as to how this ability appeared? To me, it seems that language appeared out of nowhere, since no other species has anything resembling human language. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising when another language recently emerged at the University of Arizona – a language I like to call <em>The Sex Code</em>. </span></p><p><span style="color:#666666;">Now, I'm certainly not a specialist of linguistics (nor lingaystics), but in a world where communication is key in any relationship, how can we be so sure we're speaking the same language. Think about it, how many times have our words been tangled in the dating web? It’s a peculiar world out there. Since when does the phrase, ‘let’s be friends’ translate to ‘I want you!’. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#666666;">Serio</span><span style="color:#666666;">usly, this form of miscommunication is often exemplified within this theatre major. I’m a huge advocate on friendship and networking, however it’s hard to approach any egotistical college student without being presumably judged for "hitting on them". In the world of relationships, do we need a translator or are we just left to be stared at like a gaylien? </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#666666;">Well, luckily there is a solution to this verbal mishap and a key to unlock this Sex Code. I've learned to simply learn the dating lingo, separate my networks from those I'm actually interested in, and always be myself. I’ve also learned, if someone likes me, they should be able to directly say it out loud – any form of deciphering shouldn't be a problem. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#666666;">The human language has always been a complicated issue in today’s dating society. Why does it have to be this difficult? Fortunately for us, this lingo isn’t necessarily a road block to happiness. There's a way around this bewildering language and, as we become more accustomed to it, this Code will hopefully get lost in the mist of time.</span> </p>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-84939846005793293402008-11-25T10:54:00.000-08:002008-11-25T12:28:13.602-08:00Giving Thanks<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">W</span></strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ith</span> Thanksgiving just around the corner, I've thought extensively about what I'm personally thankful for in my life. Obviously, my family, friends, and health deserve my primary gratitude, but with all that the world has to offer, it seems foolish not to be thankful for so much more.<br /><br />This Universe is filled with all kinds of people. Big, small, tall, short, dark, light, old, young - each distinguished with a unique look and personality. Neighborhoods are filled with an array of diverse characters waiting to be written in the pages of their own book. Therefore, as I walk these sidewalks and pass by complete strangers, I can't help but appreciate the subtle nuances they have to offer. Their smiles. Their laughs. Their walks. Their stances. Their <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">frustrations</span>. Their tears. Each embodying the tiniest of details that are too distinct to be written -- if not imagined.<br /><br />So, yes, I'm thankful for strangers. Complete strangers. Unknown men and women that haven't directly entered my life, but have ultimately entered my thoughts.<br /><br />The following video was created by <a href="http://www.vimeo.com/user903555">Crush & Lovely</a>, a group of filmmakers who asked one question, and elicited a multitude of responses -- not to mention some of those subtle personality traits I've grown so fond of....<br /><br /><object height="225" width="400"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2164626&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2164626&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"></embed></object>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-65760939205296131042008-11-21T11:19:00.000-08:002008-11-21T13:11:10.996-08:00Back to Reality<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPRXiuFU88RrId0zCBOjq5r3xZfzWX4QyvlgdJDj2Cjjl7yPddbCl3sv6F1MPNvOBoaU4VFTQK4o1dPIUFCyiNrzTUvICXcHYo_ZmtsVFsrBupUvvFkGo0PbNcrbOzCRNotlWcp6zA34/s1600-h/revolutionaryroad_l200811031838.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271215954063576050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 261px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 385px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPRXiuFU88RrId0zCBOjq5r3xZfzWX4QyvlgdJDj2Cjjl7yPddbCl3sv6F1MPNvOBoaU4VFTQK4o1dPIUFCyiNrzTUvICXcHYo_ZmtsVFsrBupUvvFkGo0PbNcrbOzCRNotlWcp6zA34/s400/revolutionaryroad_l200811031838.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong><span style="font-size:180%;">F</span></strong>or most people in this recession-filled world, the movie theatre is regarded as a far-off retreat created to distract the mind <em>(and the pocketbook</em>)<em>.</em> A sanctuary where people flock towards when the horrors of this economy and frustrations of primetime television become exceedingly overwhelming<em>.</em> Therefore, it took me by surprise when my latest venture to the movies turned out to be anything but an escape from reality.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTSjVEpdHNjxvH81RjrEFRnPrDJq_ECiTtboMcBuM1WOAhuKM_rua0Ql8g0AGe6R0EJtctD4iYK2knm9gLvBLrexfricX0r5SSinasabPVtDG5E0fTFAiU4F4r7gMheo99TmtMMLk38U/s1600-h/leonardo_dicaprio.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271216094003576162" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 208px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 270px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTSjVEpdHNjxvH81RjrEFRnPrDJq_ECiTtboMcBuM1WOAhuKM_rua0Ql8g0AGe6R0EJtctD4iYK2knm9gLvBLrexfricX0r5SSinasabPVtDG5E0fTFAiU4F4r7gMheo99TmtMMLk38U/s320/leonardo_dicaprio.jpg" border="0" /></a>Last Sunday, I arrived at the Academy building bright and early where I was eager to catch a screening of Sam Mendes' <em><strong>Revolutionary Road</strong></em>. I didn't really have any expectations for the film, despite the rekindling of my childhood infatuations - <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120338/">Jack and Rose</a> <em>(i.e. my earliest inclination for a bonafide threesome...</em>). Anyways, the movie itself was lackluster. Meaning, it <em>lacked</em> any real depth since Mendes, being the theatre director he is, puts everything out on the table for everyone to see. It <em>lacked</em> subtly - a directing trait that's definitely <em>not</em> one of his strengths. And although Kate and Leo did a commendable job and will undoubtedly get nominated for an Oscar (<em>more so Kate, than Leo...)</em>, they <em>lacked </em>any real humility. I felt they yelled through the whole thing. Come on people, why not just get a freakin' divorce?!</div><br /><div>Sorry, I got distracted. This wasn't meant to be a review. Back to the story. As the movie reached its final 10 minutes, the audience was pulled from their cinematic trance due to a sudden wheezing. At first I thought the tension from this movie proved too much for an emotional viewer. As I peered back from my seat, I noticed someone had rendered themselves completely unconscious. </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXH-FHLzvFjfmTbXr_8b8m7bFho4MKDUBr683coiDLKOhuzNDLSuYGYXMACX59u2OSnhYuRQ5nwYgn5EeiO2pN5skiq6k8etuY5iohPWUWTzbaDRPlICuedY7kish5a6MKpUuF-mijwA4/s1600-h/kate_winslet.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271216305272054082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 220px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 270px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXH-FHLzvFjfmTbXr_8b8m7bFho4MKDUBr683coiDLKOhuzNDLSuYGYXMACX59u2OSnhYuRQ5nwYgn5EeiO2pN5skiq6k8etuY5iohPWUWTzbaDRPlICuedY7kish5a6MKpUuF-mijwA4/s320/kate_winslet.jpg" border="0" /></a>Suddenly, the lights flickered on, the film turned off, and everyone centered their attention around this person. It appeared she was experiencing a seizure. Coincidentally, nobody had their cell phones on them because they're prohibited from the screening room. Thankfully, some disobedient woman pulled her blackberry from her purse and called an ambulance.</div><br /><div>Once the immediate shock wore off, the woman was treated by paramedics and taken to a nearby hospital (<em>and according to sources, she's made a full recovery</em>). That being said, you must put yourselves in our shoes. <em>Revolutionary Road</em> isn't a movie for the light hearted. It's a <em><u>depressing</u></em> film. Hell, it makes <em>American Beauty</em> look like a romantic comedy. This real-life incident only elevated the intensity and melodrama of the story. Like I said... <em>de-press-ing</em>.</div><br /><div>In the end, however, the Academy thanked us for our cooperation and allowed us to finish the film. Now, mind you, before the unfortunate incident, we had just finished the <em>saddest</em> part in the entire movie. Therefore, according to them, it made perfectly good sense to rewind it five minutes prior so we can relive that moment once again. Joy...!</div><br /><div>Once the emotional dust cleared, I was left with a foul taste in my mouth . <em>Revolutionary Road</em> wasn't the cup of tea I had expected, but I believe that's because of the unintentional fusion of reality and "fantasy". It was tainted. But now that a few days have passed and I'm able to absorb the film in its entirety, perhaps I should re-evaluate my initial reaction. Or, dare I say, see the movie again? </div><br /><div>Maybe I will -- this time I'll just be sure to have extra Kleenex, a paper bag, and a sedative handy.</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-68215702671760011572008-11-17T11:18:00.000-08:002008-11-17T13:44:37.544-08:00Doubt Review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUpni8Khnh0cUvFlPK4awxlNrbGf9EXOofkGETisdzzDoS3hgkvezWUL3b-hC78UhFInkF7-P5feX-abZBfR6w5bTZG2gPIgnpYspizI75rj8IL0NN8YgAjUTg8NuajL_Ia4bUIdA1to/s1600-h/Doubt.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269732163492188338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 273px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUpni8Khnh0cUvFlPK4awxlNrbGf9EXOofkGETisdzzDoS3hgkvezWUL3b-hC78UhFInkF7-P5feX-abZBfR6w5bTZG2gPIgnpYspizI75rj8IL0NN8YgAjUTg8NuajL_Ia4bUIdA1to/s400/Doubt.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">T</span></strong>his past Sunday, while most Americans received their familiar football fix, I was fortunate to be treated to a double dosage of movie magic. Sunday morning, I braved the morning dew to attend an Academy screening of Sam Mendes' <em>Revolutionary Road</em> (more to come). However, my weekend didn't <em>really</em> begin until that evening when I experienced John Patrick Shanley's wonderfully adapted <em><strong>Doubt</strong></em>. In fact, the studio even set up a panel of the crew consisting of director/writer Shanley, cinematographer Roger Deakins, editor Dylan Tichenor, production designer David Gropman, costume designer Ann Roth, and composer rock star Howard Shore.<br /><br />For those not completely familiar with the stage-to-screen storyline, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0918927/plotsummary"><em>Doubt</em> </a>centers on Sister Aloysius Beauvier (<em><strong>Meryl Streep</strong></em>) who becomes increasingly suspicious of Father Flynn's relationship with the school's first black student. While I admit to not having seen the stage version <em>(shameful, I know),</em> I must confess that I was instantly drawn to Shanley's impeccable writing style. Just a tiny reminder, this is the man who wrote <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0099892/">Joe Versus the Volcano</a></em>... I'm just sayin'. With precision, humility, and an intentionally interwoven wit, he made this screenplay seem almost effortless. It's no wonder why he racked up all the theatre awards three years back.<br /><br /><div><div></div><div>Anyways, when asked what compelled him to transfer the play into a film, Shanley quipped "When they asked me to make it". And thank God they did! If they hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to compile a cast of actors that made this dialogue seem as fluid as my Uncle Richard's drunken slurs. According to Shanley, "I hired Meryl Streep because I wanted to see what she would do". He added, "I then hired Phillip Seymour Hoffman because I knew he'd make [Streep] work like a dog". And boy did he ever! I wouldn't be surprised if Hoffman, Streep, <em>and</em> the talented <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0205626/">Viola Davis </a>heard their names announced nomination morning.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiRUu5q-C7HbQLehUoP0kAiTfBcq1qLz81n6zD5B1XcO8is7CZMWz6R7b33zeCnt43UDHgndAIqMt_VNAektxIOYlf7_KHppkzBqPzNKYJHP6B60Ukc2Cg2NLrIaNCCYXKnjj5GjisO0/s1600-h/Streep-DOUBT.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269732346834142786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiRUu5q-C7HbQLehUoP0kAiTfBcq1qLz81n6zD5B1XcO8is7CZMWz6R7b33zeCnt43UDHgndAIqMt_VNAektxIOYlf7_KHppkzBqPzNKYJHP6B60Ukc2Cg2NLrIaNCCYXKnjj5GjisO0/s320/Streep-DOUBT.jpg" border="0" /></a>Speaking of Streep... it was inevitable she was going to provide a powerhouse performance. That was obvious. However, it wasn't clear <em>how much</em> conviction and sincere detail she would devote to Sister Aloysius. According to Roth, Streep was so invested in this character, she and an on-set seamstress had a contest to see who could finish knitting a shawl first. As a result, the winner's design would eventually be used in the film <em>(Wow, that's so Project Runway!).</em> To nobody's surprise, Streep was <em>in</em> and the seamstress was <em>out</em>. What can I say? Meryl's a master at creating the most meaty character traits and her subtext is undeniably second nature. Once the film rolled its last credit, I waved dismissively and declared, "just give her the Oscar now".</div><br /><div>All in all, this film ultimately dives into the tension between unbending principle and the call for compassion and human understanding. It reaches far beyond 1964, and can be thematically related to the current <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/11/with-spirit-of-service-sacrifice.html">changing times of today</a>. </div><br /><div>That being said, I'm optimistic critics will latch on to this film, and even more assured audiences will as well. In fact, afterwards I was asked if I thought this film had a chance at a Best Picture nomination, and without any hesitation I adamantly replied... "I have no doubt". </div><br /><div>I guess we'll have to wait and see....</div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-65372848197223521272008-11-14T16:19:00.000-08:002008-11-16T08:16:49.114-08:00New York City: Day 5<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">I</span></span>'m not much of a traveler. In fact, I can probably count the places I've visited on one hand. I'm embarrassed to admit I've never even traveled internationally.... I don't even own a passport! Therefore, New York was more than just a mere vacation. It was actually a life experience. Although I've visited the Big Apple before, I can honestly say I never grow tired of its culture. The people, history, and architecture are awe-inspiring and I can definitely guarantee residency in the future. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE0tkZTgB-EzNT0kI4N7406vCctMQ4QG7ZDR5Lk8Vl5Gd2a_wqI4DuVwZw3nGq64320YLeK35-qE3WQJv2nBJABaKbAcm-gj5_pjLfJ-mnnCXGK1kW-7iCPuNP8VDufBW0NcZWE4u88yY/s200/n10112132_40630497_227.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269066573067234898" /><div>Anyways, the last day of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">New York <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Vacay</span> 2008</span> ended as memorable as it began. After visiting tourist must-sees like the Statue of Liberty, Ground Zero, and Little Italy (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The food there was fantastic... thanks to our new friend Tony "Soprano"), </span>we dressed to the nines, threw caution to the wind, and painted the town red. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We grabbed dinner at an ultra-touristy restaurant where the food was expensive and the waiters busted out in song. At first, the performances were entertaining (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">it was homo-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">palooza</span> in there</span>). However, after a failed attempt of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J72thWNW6PE">Defying Gravity</a>, </span>I had just about enough. We stuffed the $20 veggie burgers in our mouths, threw down our "hard earned" cash, and booked it to see the amazingly brilliant musical <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.intheheightsthemusical.com/">In the Heights</a>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2DWLHhKQvOWO8mbq6dP6V3RumpeXuETpeaCA3QYAVRltObmbkRhFetRb37kv208OEYDRwQln_T1b7DVfpY7Vw2nBQOSKxqPU34zPvM3pSBYyVQZCtjRix_TI6wML4Z38iEVRdcj3P6bM/s320/n10112132_40630503_2343.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269066198152905714" /></span></div><div>It goes without saying that this experience was undeniably memorable. The itinerary was filled with surreal opportunities, spectacular sites, and also a drink or two... However, what really made this vacation great were the people I spent it with. Monica, Lisa, Jessi, and Sarah have always been fantastic amigos (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">and even better accessories</span>). They're continuously there for me when the times get tough, they never cease to make me laugh, and to be able to have this opportunity to share such a spectacular city with them... well, that was just fabulous. </div><div><br /></div><div>That being said, I have one final message for my estranged lover named New York... we shared a beautiful week together and you did not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">disappoint</span> me. You made me feel complete (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">and, at times, confused</span>) But, alas, I must bid you farewell. Adieu my love. I take comfort that this isn't a permanent goodbye, but a brief 'until later'. I promise you.... you have not seen the last of me! :)</div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-75120421653099570102008-11-13T14:22:00.000-08:002008-11-14T13:22:37.539-08:00New York City: Day 4<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">I</span></strong>t goes without saying that day <u>four</u> of my <strong>New York Vacay 2008</strong> consisted of several glasses of water, a handful of Tylenol, and a coffee the size of my head. After several nights of drinking, dancing, and gallivanting, our minds and bodies were thoroughly exhausted. Some R & R was definitely in order. Not to mention it was Sunday... God's day... The day of rest! It was crucial we found a sanctuary that wasn't only spiritual, but <em>accepted us...</em> despite our aforementioned hangover and inevitable dark circles.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268274915517891378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsHmL0ZLgA0B7sAzWdfVZGWUAkv3RBZK8okvFjQvvkyZVN0gGOmxTO2RfyRqxRXbo45jG0igOYtkGoNmpTMS3yL_kjYHNZwklzoH49Lioc36lKvmwtg7DszXrnQpeMdq0NZYbzqjckC9E/s400/Brunch.gif" border="0" />However, instead of finding a church to worship in, we had to settle for a hole-in-the-wall drag diner in Greenwich Village. So in place of a Priest, we were treated to Baby <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Honeychild's</span> lip-syncing sermon. And communion consisted of unlimited Mimosas.... What? I can't have a Mimosa at breakfast? I'm on vacation! (<em>Dear Madonna - Bless us with good health, a happy future, and killer footwear. And deliver us from male pattern baldness. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Gaymen</span>.)</em> <div><div><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRvJyjceooeWINrcrSZi32dxYooShBj4_swwVY0voCJNQA3IdN8J-qKGVswzz6qBLg22l7Sd8D6fdXJ83vyF5FEoHvS5mThbaAlJhdOnjYpb9ECdzsjzv-Fv3R9WSLvVLRogkCV-jd8oQ/s1600-h/Drag+Girls.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268585400607711010" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 269px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 193px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRvJyjceooeWINrcrSZi32dxYooShBj4_swwVY0voCJNQA3IdN8J-qKGVswzz6qBLg22l7Sd8D6fdXJ83vyF5FEoHvS5mThbaAlJhdOnjYpb9ECdzsjzv-Fv3R9WSLvVLRogkCV-jd8oQ/s320/Drag+Girls.jpg" border="0" /></a>Afterwards, we decided to hit the tourist circuit visiting key locations like Rockefeller Center, NBC Studio, Central Park, and Times Square. Also, to add a little more excitement to our already jam-packed day, we decided to try our luck on a Broadway show lottery. <em>Yes, drinking <u>and</u> gambling on a Sunday....</em> We waited outside the <em>Avenue Q</em> theatre, held our breath with sheer hopefulness, and watched as they drew various names from a bucket. As you could probably guess, Monica's name was selected from the damn bunch. (<em>What's with this chick? How lucky can one person be?!)</em></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIhMySRKkAswSdIi3eyOhy4AS7hFESOoLXi-tdVH9BJk8zsqQcq3lmms6ywuU9Q5zIrt2sHclG4gv1j6aFABjfFA_zoDXxFzGiS9BGAyKwISH-h0HFo9alinheSEjP-H48faX08wIRPc/s1600-h/Group+Ave+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268585802181040786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 195px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 256px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIhMySRKkAswSdIi3eyOhy4AS7hFESOoLXi-tdVH9BJk8zsqQcq3lmms6ywuU9Q5zIrt2sHclG4gv1j6aFABjfFA_zoDXxFzGiS9BGAyKwISH-h0HFo9alinheSEjP-H48faX08wIRPc/s320/Group+Ave+1.jpg" border="0" /></a>Anyways, <em>Avenue Q</em> was phenomenal! The Tony Award winning musical consisted of furry puppets, lavish sets, and unbelievably peppy songs. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hmmm</span>, how can I further explain it to you... Do you remember the first time you really understood the meaning and significance behind <em>Sesame Street?</em> When Big Bird, Elmo, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Snuffleupagus</span> taught us about morals, ethics, and kindness. Yeah, this show was <em>nothing</em> like that. In fact, it was quite the opposite. With songs like "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Everyone's</span> a Little Bit Racist", "It Sucks to be Me", and "<a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/04/sex-and-valley.html">You Can be as Loud as the Hell You Want (When You're Making Love)</a>", the show teetered on the line of social decency. That being said... it was awesome. We were even fortunate to meet the cast!</p><p>Afterwards, we decided to end the night early. No bar. No alcohol. No run-in with the cops. It just didn't really seem appropriate. After all, we had a moderately calm and enjoyable day... we figured our livers were entitled to the same luxury...</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268586335821260194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqGcIqJcgGa8bdRvkmpDO3FYgqBIh3ltFMuI_2C5bEHE-ymupYopNZ9LyFBzYYod6avIM6r1gr2lAkAniI6Vw_YT_irvCcP_nZF-rB-0o02M1w0XTV_erdfRBeX-Hk-jxSftmrCzzAQQ/s320/Me+ave+q.jpg" border="0" /></p></div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-15871379527098797492008-11-12T11:16:00.000-08:002008-11-14T12:20:45.490-08:00New York City: Day 3<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">H</span></strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">igh</span> school -- It's an inevitable right of passage in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">everybody's</span> life. Some graduate with intentions of never looking back. Others leave with an inner turmoil and yearn for longer days. I was neither here nor there. My time in High School was fine. I was in the symphony orchestra, historian of the National Honors Society, Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper, and anything lower than an 'A' was unheard of. I had great friends (<em>and even greater acquaintances</em>) and ultimately enjoyed every moment of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Dobson</span> High days. Though, like <em>most</em> of my classmates, I've moved well beyond those memories.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi25Q_rcx1oIrG93Yrz7Fo8inGaznMKofPvPUxKsqe3FquAZ4ELO3Jxp7gaKBEgsiXn__O8wzTIp8hTArHtnX0JcViBQ3aYTyOlGG9OZW0j53UbZ8brJC7oqJOwtFcOfqZxMUynk2SRY48/s1600-h/Awesome+80s+copy.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyQXpnDfu-tPtNqTVsv5or2_g-k0iw6cO9hHhE5FRXFpXX9_h-I8433ROW9volSppRPYmZ6wXmMe6NQXtTbcgrO7dfiuyKcPgPjOk3RBg8ic6pTuIvbsay5t2T2oOozFtkD1pbQKSKIg/s1600-h/Prom+Queen.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgKPYF8sQgq7QntyGycoRjeVlb8hoRITzmzdUnCf4lDqapnh3goxR8ZGCfWpWkj0BLhDHVQBtxwLpUUIfzN3ePQhrI8GEluIo7FqjFEvFbstESZqzb6lCZLvyui_dd1Mg0z0M6s3h8cQ/s1600-h/Captain+of+the+Football+Team.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8oAgMMutNUVZQsGt4Uapv4772VZ82A5N0m71BT7d7gH8CJYX-kKu4imrHOaPofz-SUwIu9wkzBTqow0c95fX6YsEj1oow1AJPtuQ2IclJtmcEybo9ASZ1Cl7EClYEzOUFoeofgvQCsIU/s1600-h/Captain+of+the+Football+Team.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267929788517143090" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8oAgMMutNUVZQsGt4Uapv4772VZ82A5N0m71BT7d7gH8CJYX-kKu4imrHOaPofz-SUwIu9wkzBTqow0c95fX6YsEj1oow1AJPtuQ2IclJtmcEybo9ASZ1Cl7EClYEzOUFoeofgvQCsIU/s200/Captain+of+the+Football+Team.jpg" border="0" /></a>Therefore, when Lisa suggested attending <em>Awesome 80's Prom -</em> an interactive show where actors pose as High School stereotypes - I took it with the proverbial grain of salt. I've been through the prom scene before. I've voted for prom royalties, befriended the foreign exchange student, and been ignored by the head cheerleader. Why would I want to return?<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Perhaps I feared returning back to the "High School Eli".... The closeted, shy, never-really-took-any-chances Eli. Fortunately, I had New York on my side. With my friends nearby, we sported our costumes for one more night, clutched arms, and took the <em>Awesome 80's Prom</em> by storm.<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDH8ZbIAWcWFfMCeM9LUbJwA5uxyUfdOyGbhxwOuIzA_iBUuto9XDa8rMJLEbxXrpei74FZAt9_-4k_qlCHmqsY2p60_uqaY0v4lh6d0rONQ753p_KBvxpshdb0mWJvO89rimTwsvgYI4/s1600-h/Foreign+Exchange.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267929988092141714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDH8ZbIAWcWFfMCeM9LUbJwA5uxyUfdOyGbhxwOuIzA_iBUuto9XDa8rMJLEbxXrpei74FZAt9_-4k_qlCHmqsY2p60_uqaY0v4lh6d0rONQ753p_KBvxpshdb0mWJvO89rimTwsvgYI4/s200/Foreign+Exchange.jpg" border="0" /></a>It only seemed appropriate to immerse ourselves into the environment. Naturally, we all took interest in a certain cast member. Lisa was drawn to the "bad-boy" rebel while Sarah flirted with the captain of the football team. Jessi befriended the student body president and Monica re-enacted the <em>Romy and Michelle</em> dance with the foreign exchange student. Me? I was naturally ignored by the head cheerleader... but true to self, I eventually slow danced with the highly stereotyped "nerd". Remember that girl? The one who barely was noticed in the classroom and was severely talked about behind her back. I know this was purely fiction, but it was definitely drawn from reality.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QDwMa-NERKpDb-Ni1kE-LXRDEKxtP2CLa9Ms9btLrdcXe3lEb4ONFOtz8Yet0fd0R9ccS98ckWeA9veKfEc_h6RSHrdc8CuRzVJbzwSpQ_AB-DrbvbCO6ba2jjvilEjM_GWsPQaC9y8/s1600-h/Foreign+Exchange.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgw8xgqP6lvEvugiivPR59eKqSehGYGihbn43vgVdlDk_I7fDNOj36dKNEci0kUgpHS1R4XO6yg_iopBBRyOXPqyPPtbDB9zJDV6yl9hVtBOHRWBV7xG_ttL7wA7usSKK6kWNIPpbZ-8/s1600-h/Prom+Queen.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267930170332654450" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgw8xgqP6lvEvugiivPR59eKqSehGYGihbn43vgVdlDk_I7fDNOj36dKNEci0kUgpHS1R4XO6yg_iopBBRyOXPqyPPtbDB9zJDV6yl9hVtBOHRWBV7xG_ttL7wA7usSKK6kWNIPpbZ-8/s200/Prom+Queen.jpg" border="0" /></a>Anyways, after hours of dancing, the costume contest began. My posse and I walked across the stage to be judged by the jury (<em>Judgement? In high school? Weird...)</em>. Though, after a short deliberation, we couldn't pull off the win. That went to the scary-ass villain from <em>Saw</em>. Yet, on a positive note, we did take home <em>second place!! </em>W<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hich</span> was accompanied by t-shirts and <em>New Kids on the Block</em> tickets (<em>We were definitely on a winning streak!). </em><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ldkhzobVeN1XLaj9nEnOMrc7Dx1VUhShyU3vyWqQFUenmd5eMUvpUlRQI2ZI7DE7_vAIX8vFyr1GdQNqvZTfdtQQzWaphhC5zhtDEYQdNpHzLVUc0ixMkQYZfM4AIETBptl5BH3RKxw/s1600-h/Goodie+GOodie.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267930356724764210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ldkhzobVeN1XLaj9nEnOMrc7Dx1VUhShyU3vyWqQFUenmd5eMUvpUlRQI2ZI7DE7_vAIX8vFyr1GdQNqvZTfdtQQzWaphhC5zhtDEYQdNpHzLVUc0ixMkQYZfM4AIETBptl5BH3RKxw/s200/Goodie+GOodie.jpg" border="0" /></a>So as you can see, all in all it was an excellent <u>third</u> day in New York City. Albeit, I may have referred back to my own High School experience a little <em>too </em>often. However, I prefer to think of that as an homage to my youth. Everything I learned in school has made me the person I am today. I'm no longer shy. I take chances. And I've never been more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">comfortable</span> in my own skin. In all actuality, I appreciate the people who were less-than-kind to me. As Christina <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Aguilera</span> would say, "Thanks for making me a fighter". All I can do now is cherish the moments, be thankful for what I learned, and move forward to an even better tomorrow.</div><div></div><div></div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br />Now if you don't mind, I better get back to my English report.... It's, like, totally late.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-18676102728135052732008-11-11T12:07:00.000-08:002008-11-14T12:15:00.531-08:00New York City: Day 2<div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267574232668595570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOWVe2SBP-TECtrm8OeTD0K-7p-ka_cRi9lkBarhC8CRIv6e4K6vWGHiohg91X62xymucyaB97xCYPF9Hh_QmThrsL34u0pc7TtzWoQPu3maEhdhyphenhyphen535hs24D42WCweI1RTnCmupP88U/s400/Group+Front+film.jpg" border="0" /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">F</span></strong>or most people in this day and age, Halloween eve consists of piles of candy, a myriad of pricey costume possibilities, and overly-congested bars filled with inebriated <a href="http://www.spirithalloween.com/images/spirit/products/processed/00012450.zoom.a.jpg">slutty cats</a>. For me, however, Halloween this year was so much more than that. On day <u>two</u> of my <strong>New York <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Vacay</span> 2008</strong>, my posse and I hit the streets of Manhattan decked out in our festive garb. Let me preface this post by admitting that I'm not much of a Halloween fiend. In fact, I'd much prefer a quiet night at home with roasted popcorn seeds and <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107120/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hocus</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Pocus</span></a></em>.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNE8wDQ1ZoDYq1XTjw80vjesB4Gbmvx0Lx5af7XFUGipngT4u6rkHeWcgQTatgdsL_UvtxEYah5jNKq0SUYVoucTgsy6l1xA98-K5Di-smUu76Q28x-vJzYF4HmkfWBIcAVy6LULgXUYI/s1600-h/Costumes.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhX-Ye3iL-UYWW4FdwuVK306X8RFbpsulH99jIoWOfk-vLPLX2vRqjQWwMYvJ1p0h9Cihc327kOJWCOID1JowcpmOcYpmNeLHK66erFLQzf5TOgJY8-8BZ5hz3lY7_pmvODpkgtRKDVQ/s1600-h/Costumes3.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHF81-V8pydq_WDrWAjyyyiADnjl1iXt7G5dcm3kKYhSLh-4IDKrDpvYJ1E9uJhEtJVk3RCyTHjGGQViKdAHIov_iOkDI_1y6vLZInkpkwGW5-S58dGhZyLk_hUr6GBZuVkLOgxHd6UkU/s1600-h/Costumes3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267943244644741042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 101px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHF81-V8pydq_WDrWAjyyyiADnjl1iXt7G5dcm3kKYhSLh-4IDKrDpvYJ1E9uJhEtJVk3RCyTHjGGQViKdAHIov_iOkDI_1y6vLZInkpkwGW5-S58dGhZyLk_hUr6GBZuVkLOgxHd6UkU/s400/Costumes3.jpg" border="0" /></a>Anyways, bright and early, Monica and I braved the morning subway in<em> full costume</em> to attend the Halloween taping of <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Regis</span> and Kelly</em>. Let me just tell you... apart from having to hike through New York City dressed as a scarecrow <em>(so embarrassing</em>)<em>,</em> the turn-out was incredible! The block surrounding the <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Regis</span> and Kelly </em>studio was utter mayhem. Seriously, it looked as though Halloween threw up... People went hog-wild with their costumes. It made my sad, little scarecrow costume look like a hand-me-down from Goodwill.<br /><br /><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6-FDjOuSmmibH8pVwWlFueI1Wr-mvXbTiajDdZN2OKPO5Y0bRh2H9BSGZvkhccEpykNAPQFTUbsAj9b6gmolNoz4xrSbpHwJmPjZUgsqW7RsADkOFmVOxSl5TmGciZRAFgS9bKD0ofA/s1600-h/Audience.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267943063398605842" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6-FDjOuSmmibH8pVwWlFueI1Wr-mvXbTiajDdZN2OKPO5Y0bRh2H9BSGZvkhccEpykNAPQFTUbsAj9b6gmolNoz4xrSbpHwJmPjZUgsqW7RsADkOFmVOxSl5TmGciZRAFgS9bKD0ofA/s400/Audience.jpg" border="0" /></a>Upon entering the studio, I noticed how compressed everything was. Television sure does wonders for size <em>(that's what she said</em>)<em>. </em>Despite the fact that the entire show was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pre</span>-taped (<em>except for two segments with the co-hosts</em>), the show was quite entertaining. I mostly credit Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra for the laughs <em>(no offense <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Regis</span>....)</em> Anyway, to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">nobody's</span> surprise, the ladies dressed as a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">freakin</span>' <u><em>roller coaster</em></u> won first place<em>. </em>However, I'm certain <em>I</em> actually won the <em>bigger prize</em>... Kelly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Rippa</span> turned to me and said, "you look fierce". If that isn't the ultimate compliment, I don't know what is...</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267943404440453282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 175px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHpaBiS4duwA8AiKGmx3pJJDntyibHrSfCN-7mv135dbFgJhP1TKustuu3oMJjRHksa85C1Vjkj5ULM-u2RedZh9hx3ttTOeZVjmqAtDfJHMd69VJEQUEBoqLfsvbYvbxzX-YRyrQD9U/s400/Parade.jpg" border="0" />The night, on the other hand, was total debauchery. Without any hesitation, <em>The Wizard of OZ</em> gang attempted to walk the <a href="http://www.halloween-nyc.com/">Greenwich Village Halloween parade</a><em>.</em> Mind you, this wasn't merely a simple gathering of people. This parade consisted of <em>thousands and thousands</em> of costume wearing whores and their "better halves". Including everything from Joe the Plumber to about three-hundred Jokers<em> (I'm sure Heath Ledger's looking down thinking, "Seriously people? Be a little bit more fucking creative.")</em> Anyways, if it weren't for my costume accessories -- vodka and tequila -- I'd have gone completely insane.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The rest of the night is still kind of a blur. I assure you, good times were had. Though, it's still difficult to pinpoint whether we got kicked out of the bar <em>before</em> or <em>after</em> Jessi dropped a bottle of Perrier and continued to drink from it...<br /></div></div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267574421692587218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTN8Hr3Mls9f3yYs_BQ5asvhcZ-LinsEs45mPu6iF7oUrYQCsb-UqMPhVj6JxmQ_hYJk6EGFqBKEagkuBRkuI9MfD-CyknJk9lcOanyZn_A7SjjsnLKDQ0XX7tU9UT1UsNunEATtcdp8/s400/Group+Back+Film.jpg" border="0" /></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-48086336743935368692008-11-06T12:41:00.000-08:002008-11-14T14:47:45.519-08:00New York City: Day 1<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">I</span></strong>t's a relatively known fact that the busiest and most popular cities in the United States can be easily distinguished on an American map. Chicago, Philadelphia, Houston, and Phoenix are simply a few of those over-populated, bustling locations <em>(new plague, anyone?).</em> So what does someone do to escape the chaos and frustrations of Los Angeles? He visits New York City of course...<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266020730624488242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AoVDXluR1RuECFv31tcdnXNMzZDmz5qgddsryW6qMEvzpj3vEPiugeN8HJ17kJguWbA-E9MP9v3yZM9Bt1jw9nuHjXuKN1OwspBM72aSXQq7nvk5J1TsfO2JLKIYAJkhHr3SFDXbkA0/s400/NYC.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>This past week I put my vacation days to good use, booked my Frontier Airline flight, and headed to the Big <u>BIG</u> Apple (<em>otherwise known as my other home</em>). My roommates, Jessi and Sarah, felt it necessary to visit our dear friends before the distant memories of our college days began to fade. Fortunately, Lisa and Monica were kind enough to house us for five days. A hospitality offer I, myself, would have reconsidered.... </p><p>If I were to relay the entire trip in this one blog entry, I assure you it would go on for days. Instead, I'll ease you in by simply breaking down the entries. Starting with the <u>first</u> full day of my <strong>New York Vacay 2008</strong>! </p><div><div><div><div><div><div>As most of my amigos know, I'm an <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/01/fashion-road-kill.html">enormous fan </a>of <em>Sex and the City</em>. In fact, my earlier <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/06/blast-from-past-part-1.html">college entries </a>are obviously reminiscent of Carrie Bradshaw's column (<em>embarrassing? Yes. Ashamed.... kinda)</em>. Fortunately, my friends are just as obsessed. We decided to take the ever-popular <em>Sex and the City Tour</em>. We traveled all over Manhattan visiting key film locations.<br /><br /><div><div><div><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF46NKqbWUfKwO_vw64XKCxS5y2relbB76tep6iR0PpbQTFFZbvIOF9dplxD3jjR6bceNFAa6aab-pzib98FCU59ApZBFuQbxHbYQzraDrhL1d4b25BBROzput-R4QQi7MoZDBE0b7Gx8/s1600-h/PHOTO1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266016520964706594" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 187px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF46NKqbWUfKwO_vw64XKCxS5y2relbB76tep6iR0PpbQTFFZbvIOF9dplxD3jjR6bceNFAa6aab-pzib98FCU59ApZBFuQbxHbYQzraDrhL1d4b25BBROzput-R4QQi7MoZDBE0b7Gx8/s400/PHOTO1.jpg" border="0" /></a>1)</strong> <strong>First Stop:<em> The Pleasure Chest</em></strong>. Remember the Rabbit? For those of who aren't in the "know", the girls visit a sex shop filled with erotic goodies - including an array of dildos. I'm talkin' the works! Acrylic dildos, glass dildos, silicone double-sided rubber dildos, jelly vibrating dildos, mahogany dildos, three-strap harness... with dildo, strap-on dildo with vibrator and remote control...... shall I go on? As you can see from my picture above, I'm completely appalled.... and slightly intrigued.<br /></div></div><div><br /></div></div><div><strong>2) Second Stop: <em>The Bookshop.</em> </strong>Remember the guy Miranda met who liked to have sex in public places? In the midst of the busy streets of Manhattan, Monica and I decided to recreate the scene. "I'll have to check that out after I finish <em>FDR: The New York Years</em>". I'll have you know, we recreated <em>many</em> scenes on that tour -- an act almost unbearable to think back on.<br /></div></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div><div><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFM-B7L4sHIVSDUkgVDHOukrxpqVD_6XcqSirPAzjLHF_htldhDXERbzVgja1-Fzh2O8QF-_Mt_-su1pmZehy64dHsjhlhohzCdEAaGKLE1t6PjWLNq-ItiZsFO7VgxMiz6IULEZGf6k/s1600-h/PHOTO2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266017106835568962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 171px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFM-B7L4sHIVSDUkgVDHOukrxpqVD_6XcqSirPAzjLHF_htldhDXERbzVgja1-Fzh2O8QF-_Mt_-su1pmZehy64dHsjhlhohzCdEAaGKLE1t6PjWLNq-ItiZsFO7VgxMiz6IULEZGf6k/s400/PHOTO2.jpg" border="0" /></a>3) Third Stop: <em>Carrie's Stoop: </em></strong>Incidentally, the <em>one</em> location completely taboo to visit. Apparently, after years of bus tours, the current apartment owner forbids anyone from visiting. The tour guide wouldn't even tell us where the stoop was located! However, my <em>SATC </em>knowledge reaches far beyond the average fan. Knowing that her fictitious apartment was located on Perry street, my friends and I trespassed the chained entry and snapped a photo. We discovered later that <em>security cameras</em> surrounded the stoop.... whoops!<br /><br /><strong>4) Fourth Stop:<em> Scout:</em> </strong>Or more formally known as Steve Brady's bar. Like your average alcoholic, we decided to buy Cosmopolitans at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. To make matters worse, we brought a flask of vodka to give these beverages a stronger kick. Do you judge me?<br /><br /><strong>5)</strong> <strong>The Final Stop: </strong>Actually, it wasn't a stop at all. The tour guide ended the day with trivia questions from the series. As if this bitch could really stump us? Between the five of us, we answered about 95% of the questions. We won two Magnolia Bakery cupcakes and Chicago tickets. I'm not sure if that makes us winners.... or losers.<br /><br /><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266017224170871906" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 171px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7i_qFPHt2T6hyn8r5MsewvVWlHNATQNOI4N7atYHWPqE4ZFeZQpifet0K70pxIhR15dTnEzZbZLhFAY1PX9771aEhQFqccqIJDJURznJV5sV61FalXA5b7GypcD30LgwZV2-SIe5wD0/s400/PHOTO3.jpg" border="0" />6) F.A.O. Schwartz:</strong> I've never been fortunate enough to visit this mega toy store. So needless to say, I was in complete shock and awe! I was literally 7-years-old again wandering around my dream haven. The entire store was filled with puppets, doll houses, train sets, barbies, and micro-machines. These Harry Potter characters were actually created from Legos! The re-enactment, however, was all us.<br /><br /><strong>7) F.A.O. Schwartz - <em>Big</em> Style: </strong>Yes. Your eyes aren't deceiving you. Jessi and I actually played "Heart and Soul" on the gigazmo piano. And yes, an audience of customers surrounded us and observed our duet. And yes, we were also accompanied by a 3-year-old boy. I never said we were cool.<br /><br /><strong>8) Adam Pascal:</strong> Our first day ended with two dear friends. Adam Pascal - original cast member of <em>Rent</em>. And tequila - original cast member of <em>See You Tomorrow</em>. Earlier that week, we made reservations at the Chatterbox theatre - a small piano bar that primarily covers musicals. To our surprise, Adam (a.k.a Roger) decided to drop by for an interview. He also graced us with a song ("Music of the Night" from <em>Phantom of the Opera</em>). I believe I was coherent when I talked to him. Jessi on the other hand....<br /><br />All in all, the first day was filled with surprises, chaos, and downright fun. Little did we know the following four days were going to be just as eventful....<br /><strong></strong></div></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678510169741888595.post-24132942234426459002008-11-05T11:38:00.001-08:002008-11-14T13:26:49.405-08:00The 44th President of the United States<span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong><em>"With a spirit of service, sacrifice, responsibility, and patriotism: together with humility and determination."</em> - <span style="color:#000000;">President Barack Obama</span></strong></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFs7MWMBSLMcQMBI2P3J0o8FnjFi_mT1UN802bwILfAB09Hi6F_it7MuMmzOzpxBIvy2vtl9fysNo_0D7P1DS0lA-hcW97iIUFxBf2uIVCGVEuA5-lfej4-HNaY-Uqqlvm50Ws81ySzaQ/s1600-h/Obama+Wins.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265260458776923378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFs7MWMBSLMcQMBI2P3J0o8FnjFi_mT1UN802bwILfAB09Hi6F_it7MuMmzOzpxBIvy2vtl9fysNo_0D7P1DS0lA-hcW97iIUFxBf2uIVCGVEuA5-lfej4-HNaY-Uqqlvm50Ws81ySzaQ/s400/Obama+Wins.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">D</span></strong>o you remember the first time you heard Martin Luther King Jr's <em>'I Have a Dream'</em> speech? Which class were you in when you studied Rosa Parks or Harriet Tubman? History is made up of certain instances where moments are so preciously imprinted in the corner of our minds and hearts, we can recount the <em>exact </em>place where the moment unfolded. The feeling and emotion attached to that specific moment rushes through our veins -- it's like a historical high. Last night was no exception.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGbS-n1o2fAVzAM7s5k2X1QjU3GAT3q6YxHANR7BZJBzD4z-hfAwRyGg4tBzXmMGY3xkb7hnSVTMFGkrGBEQTo0urScBt-l7ornQZEnnF08C7Q4KDgDaFshSCxJlR_ZJL9iI81UHIWAA/s1600-h/Crying.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265273672824461234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 259px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 193px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGbS-n1o2fAVzAM7s5k2X1QjU3GAT3q6YxHANR7BZJBzD4z-hfAwRyGg4tBzXmMGY3xkb7hnSVTMFGkrGBEQTo0urScBt-l7ornQZEnnF08C7Q4KDgDaFshSCxJlR_ZJL9iI81UHIWAA/s320/Crying.jpg" border="0" /></a>This election has undoubtedly sparked a completely new chapter in my life. A chapter where America has <em>finally</em> found the progressing road to a promising future of acceptance and equality. Sure, there are still some road bumps along the way (<em>i.e. the passing of <a href="http://mzrevenge.blogspot.com/2008/10/proposition-8.html">Proposition 8</a> - fuck you half of California</em>), but this path is eventually destined for an amazing outcome. Barack Obama is merely the navigator whose perseverance and inspiration will lead us to a better tomorrow.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265273065705512050" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 275px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 192px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmU-bAuqQr-ndHkqMohCP-hGAL3U6ilBIBGgmdDf6c03AWzGeEQTG7Te5gJcJLvhkjZZ6I_uZ4XI08g8GSOxFGW6ueV8i7Be5bevwBEY11Q_LhFffcCYEAgezPlvVC9cJJjCWKeeOU0I/s320/Wins.jpg" border="0" />Okay, enough with the political hodge podge - back to <em>my </em>experience. Last night, as I channel surfed through CNN, NBC, ABC, C-SPAN and even BBC -- I hovered around the television set like a political addict. Anderson Cooper was my dealer and this election was my drug of choice. Without any hesitation, I soaked in the Obama electoral votes like it was heroin. Nothing could bring me down from this political high.<br /><br />Then, as I began to calm my internal fix, the words appeared on the screen: <strong>Barack Obama Elected President</strong>. Almost immediately, I nearly overdosed. I lost control of myself and began reacting in involuntary fits of excitement. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God". I literally had to pinch myself.... "Can this really be happening?" Albeit, I acted a tad over-dramatic. But History is only made once, right?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgd2VsdZdAz2JGVEfWeYrK01qi18Ij6qhu59DDCPgx3pGxN-5Sh5yBQIDWF0DHkPUorxCmcXK61lxE-HdzjHVGFO0767WzXZUOPqbuGVmqvokm7gUev-PNWogDIKj6t5VN7JAISHYr2Y/s1600-h/Obama+Jumping.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265275373949194482" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 272px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 182px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgd2VsdZdAz2JGVEfWeYrK01qi18Ij6qhu59DDCPgx3pGxN-5Sh5yBQIDWF0DHkPUorxCmcXK61lxE-HdzjHVGFO0767WzXZUOPqbuGVmqvokm7gUev-PNWogDIKj6t5VN7JAISHYr2Y/s320/Obama+Jumping.jpg" border="0" /></a>My roommates and I popped open a bottle of bubbly, raised our glasses, and cheered to change and a stronger future. It's only a matter of time until the nation is united and President Obama can make good of what he promised. After all, MLK Jr sure did.... and that flame has never stopped burning.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><em>We cannot walk alone.</em></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em>And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.</em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em>We cannot turn back.</em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000000;">- Martin Luther King Jr.</span></strong></span></div>E Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16092167817913017197noreply@blogger.com2