Thursday, October 28, 2010

RIP Lisa Blount

Lisa Blount, star of Chrystal and Randy and the Mob (and An Officer and a Gentleman, who knew?) and 1/3 of Ginny Mule productions (with her husband Ray McKinnon and Walton Goggins) died today at age 53.  Now as someone who fucking loves everything Ginny Mule put out, when Matthew called to tell me the news, I was really, really sad.  

In other news, Lindsey Lohan is still alive!!!  Life isn't fair sometimes.  It is, in the words of Tommy Weiseau, "Tearing me apart!"

Rest in Peace, Lisa.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

I've been after my BFF, Matthew, to watch The Shield for months.  I love it so much that I want to share it with him.  I want to talk to him about it and the way it's written and try to deconstruct it down to the bones, the technique, the raw writing itself.  I want to know how these characters are so dispicable and yet loveable.  I want to know how to take the chances they did and how to get away with just about everything.

He finally sat down at started season one.  And he called me up after a few episodes and said, very gently, "I understand why you like Shane Vendrell so much."

"Because he's got great eyes and a hot ass?" I deflected.

"I wouldn't go that far," Matthew countered.  "You are Shane Vendrell.  You're Shane and I'm Vic."

I thought about that for a moment, wondering if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.  I know what happens to Shane.  I know all the awful, unspeakable things he does throughout the course of seven seasons.  But before I slammed down the phone, I realized what Matthew was really saying.

My God, I thought.  I am Shane Vendrell!

It's not just the tight jeans and the great ass and the pretty eyes and that I'm originally from Oklahoma City.  It's that I don't always think through what I'm doing.  I'm a kick-down-the-door, shoot first, apologize later kind of gal.  And Matthew plans carefully, thinks things through, ponders the options and the exits before he makes his move.

I wasn't always this way.  Much of my childhood was spent behind told to settle down, lower your voice, watch your language, you are not going out of the house dressed like that.  My first boyfriend squelshed all of my freedoms and passive-agressively dictated what I wore, what I said, who I hung out with, what I ate.  When we broke up, my loud mouth became a defense mechanism.  I had been silent for so long, and now I was going to say what I meant regardless of who it offended.  I vowed to use my powers for power, not just to be an anonymous troll on the internet.  I had opinions, and I was going to voice them without fear. 

And people got offended.  At graduate school, when I spoke out against the rape-as-cosmic-punishment violently prevelant in Liz Hand's vulgar reading from Generation Lost, I was told by some twenty-sided dicer who I wasn't even talking to, "oh, we've heard this before," as though I was speaking out of turn because I don't like it when writers use rape to punish their female characters for so-called transgressions.  How dare I speak out against this published writer?  How dare I, as a woman, have opinons that vary from the norm?

This doesn't just go for me shooting off my big mouth.  I've packed up and moved to places all but overnight, with no job lined up and take the first apartment I can find.  I gave my ex-boyfriend of seven years his ring back and jumped ship for an art student I'd known for a few months.  (We're still together).  I send out submissions when most of the writers I know cower at the thought of rejection.  I make up new recipes.  I wear what I feel like wearing.  I run away to Denver, Chicago, Florida, Indiana, NYC when I feel like it.  I keep moving, keep testing my boundries.  I've touched the electric fence a few times, but it never stops me.  I'm improv, I'm a firecracker, I'm fearless.  I have to be.      

By contrast, Matthew is an Art Of War kind of guy.  He plays a long game, he looks to see what can net him the most of what he wants.  He speaks carefully, arranges the chess pieces, aimes carefully and fires. I prefer to just light a match and walk away from the slow-motion explosion.  I try to think ahead, but I usually get only one or two moves before I act.  He's got his reasons, just like I've got mine.  And, like Vic and Shane, we compliment each other, we piss each other off, but ultimately, we're partners.  Sometimes we do things his way, sometimes we do things my way.  Sometimes his way works, sometimes mine does. 

At one point, when Vic is lying in a hospital bed, he says to Shane, his voice thick with morphine.  "When we retire, we're going to play golf everyday."

"I'd like that," Shane replies, his voice thick with tears. (no man can cry quite like Walton Goggins.  He makes it look manly)

Through it all, Matthew and I are partners.  We're family.  We're a team. Vic needs Shane to spring him to action the same way Shane needs Vic to help him plan ahead.  So maybe being Shane isn't such a bad thing.  Especially if it means I get to wear tight jeans.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Throwing Things at David Arquette--Fish in a Barrel Edition

Sorry I'm a little late to the David Arquette party, but I had to stop by the bakery.  You may be wondering, "Why all the hatin' on David Arquette, what did he ever do to you?"

He fucked up my BFF's movie.

My BFF wrote the movie Slingshot.  I read the original draft, and a lot of the novel.  It was good stuff.  And then Arquette had to come along and fuck it all up.  He wouldn't come back for reshoots because he had to go to a baby shower, which, by the way, REAL men don't attend.  He rewrote a bunch of stuff.  And he was just a general bag of douche, which, frankly, he doesn't have the power to be.  You made Eight Legged Freaks, David.  And last I checked, that didn't win an Oscar, so you don't have an excuse to swat a fly, let alone be a dick.

And now it comes out that he is splitting from only connection to the Hollywood scene, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective star Courtney Cox (teehee).  He's done.  He has nothing to offer anyone.  He's a terrible actor who isn't good looking and who probably couldn't pick up rejects from Rock of Love.

The only upside is that if that he hadn't ruined the movie, my BFF would be in Hollywood instead of close to me, and we wouldn't have gone to grad school together and I wouldn't have a blog, which would be a drag.

So because I'm childish, and because I like to kick a man when he's down, today we're throwing:


That'll teach you to fuck up my BFF's movie, you pot-smoking, skank-banging, fashionless douche-bearded fat-headed sweathog!