What I've been up to lately

'All The Same To Me', Anya Marina


ANYA MARINA - All the Same to Me
Artist: Anya Marina
Director: Winch and Pulley
Choreography: Sara Fenton
Dancers: Yonna Kari, Rosanna Rizzuto, Nisa Wong



SUNKIST - Team Awesome
I'm the granny in the beige.

Please stop saying:

Please stop saying:
fashionista
besties
out of the box
edgy
taking it to the next level
fashion forward
revolutionary

unless you really mean it.

Rockin' out with Anvil

Me with Lips tonight at the Regency.

ANVIL: Go see it.

Anvil: The Story of Anvil. The incredible documentary based on the LEGENDARY Canadian metal band, ANVIL.

Directed by Sacha Gervasi, the film has won multiple awards including:
Truer Than Fiction Award: Nominee Film Independent's Spirit Awards
Best Documentary Feature: Edmonton Film Festival
Best Documentary Feature: Calgary Film Festival
Best Documentary Feature: Galway Film Fleadh
Audience Award: Los Angeles Film Festival
Audience Award: Sydney Film Festival

Visit the movie's website: ANVILTHEMOVIE.COM

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

The Magic Kingdom

I'm very excited to be visiting Disneyland for the very 1st time on Monday!!!

there is only one of you

"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost. The world will not have it. -Martha Graham
This quotation comes from a letter written by Martha Graham to her biographer, Agnes DeMille.

The Freshest thing on YouTube

For some reason it's not displaying correctly on my browser. Click to it
Batman Vs. Joker Interactive B-boy Battle

For the love of Dance!

I'm not sure when it happened, or why, but sometime last year I fell out of love with Dance. I used to be head of heels in love, almost obsessed, I lived Dance and breathed Dance.

Somewhere along the way, the things that once drew me to Dance started to irritate me. I started to wonder, did it always breathe so loudly? Did it always make so much noise while watching TV? Would it be too hard for Dance to consider me for a change and leave the toilet seat down? Dance, you never bring me flowers anymore!
I mean sure, we still hung out all the time, but it wasn't special anymore. It felt routine.

So, I started hanging out with Improv. I'd spend a night or two a week with Acting, leaving Dance waiting by the phone, disappointed with me that I'd said I'd call, but once again I hadn't.

I saw you last night, Dance and again this morning and Dance, you left me with a sense of longing, pining for how you used to make me feel.

I think it's time to patch things up. Let's hang out again. Nothing too crazy, just casual. What are you doing this weekend?

"I'm worried that you hate me"

Text message I received April 29th 12:32 AM:

Do you hate me? Cause I’m really sorry for being so harsh and having not called you in a long time. And I realize that it may not sound sincere in a text message but I am really worried that you hate me.
-rockstar

Do I hate you?
I’m not sure how to respond to such a ridiculous question especially when posed, late night, via text message 6 months after the incidents in question.

Let’s just reminisce for a moment, shall we?

How exactly were you “being so harsh”?
Was it how you showed up drunk to our date?
How you took me out with your friends then abandoned me to fend for myself, not knowing anyone?
Was it harsh how you spent the whole night bragging like a douchebag about how your song was going to be single of the week on iTunes?
Or was the harsh part how you spent most of the night with some other girl named Amy that I think I walked in on you kissing.
Oh no, wait!
Maybe the harsh part was when you were falling over drunk and I had to practically carry you home and you dropped your phone so I picked it up only to get a text from your supposed Ex saying, “I need you”.
It might have been harsh when you got upset with me for “expecting to much from you” and then said that you didn’t think you owed me a daily phone call.

I actually liked you a lot and you did nothing but hurt me and make me feel pathetic.
No, I don’t hate you.
I am disappointed in you and I am disgusted with you.
Wait, that was 6 months ago…
Now, I’m just indifferent.

Inspired by Letters to My Exes

Entitlement

A sense of entitlement is one of the things which disgusts me most as a character trait.
Self centered narcissists and their offspring make me want to quit humanity.
This is why I do not want to work at Bar Mitzvahs anymore.

Pull yourself together

As I write in this blog for the 1st time in over a month, I wonder whether I'm actually capable of staying with anything for an extended period of time.
I feel like the only things I've done consistently throughout my life are breathe, and sleep, even eating had its moments when I'd put it on pause.
I need a closer. A finisher. Someone who will get on me 'til the job gets done. Someone relentless with a mountain of patience.
Now accepting headshots and resumes:
msmighty@gmail.com

Love

I love the existence of the following:

libraries
co-ops
Meals on Wheels
public bicycles
ride shares
the Getty center
Griffith Observatory
moms and dads
crossing guards
public radio and television
hostels
recycling
public gardens
free walking tours
volunteers

Eat. Pray. Love. Rethink Genius.

Elizabeth Gilbert talks about how to calm the anxieties associated with being an artist.

Thanks Jennrock!

Box of Broken Dreams: In Search of a Soul Lost and Found in LA

Work was soooooo slow last night. Nobody wanted sushi on Superbowl Sunday. I had the rare chance to read an entire story in LA Weekly. I just couldn't put it down. It's a long read but well worth it.

BOX OF BROKEN DREAMS: IN SEARCH OF A SOUL LOST AND FOUND IN L.A.
A young photographer's belongings are abandoned on a Hollywood street, leaving our writer to piece together the fragments of his life.
BY MARK GROUBERT

Oh, yeah, sure. Tell me you haven’t done it. You’re walking along and you see that box of stuff near the curb. You know the box. The one with scratched picture frames, a pretty darn good dish rack, slightly scuffed shoes, a VHS copy of Jagged Edge, maybe a tattered Friends script next to a torn Scarface poster. There are books you don’t have but don’t really want, various half-used toiletries and some clothing that looks really interesting, if you lost weight. A lot of weight.

You know the box. The box that’s left by folks who are not moving to another place in Los Angeles, but home. Home to Wallace, Idaho, or Quincy, Illinois. Home to Greenville, Alabama, or Ardmore, Oklahoma. Small-town America. The places where dreams are born. The box is the stuff that can’t fit in the back of the U-Haul. The box is the life being left behind.

It is the box of broken dreams.

Sometimes we stare in wonder. Sometimes we turn away in embarrassment. Sometimes we just keep walking. Sometimes we actually rustle through the box. At least, I do.

FULL STORY