Cosmo-mystery

I’ve started receiving Cosmopolitan Magazine in the mail.

Why? I have no idea.  I stopped reading Cosmo when I was 19.  It’s got my name on it, as well as my address.  But really, who’s playing a joke?  When the New Yorker and Cosmo come in the same day’s mail, it must look like I’m schizophrenic or hiding a teenager in the house.

Since Cosmo is so handily delivered to me, it would just be wasteful not to read it- right?  I mean, a little glance through it won’t hurt anyone.  But wow… lest I speak too soon.  (I thought my mom was so square when she would frown on my high-school Cosmo addiction.  But looking back on it, I see her point.)

What is Cosmo teaching us these days? Let’s see…

The kicker was receiving the last issue, in which readers listed what they value most.  I’m paraphrasing a bit (since it is now in the trash), but the list was something like this:

What our readers want:

• Money 27%
• A great boyfriend 25%
• A great social life 20%
• Fantastic clothes 10%
• To be famous 9%
• To have a well-paying job 5%
• To be intelligent 4%

Really?  That’s depressing.

Here’s another thing Cosmo revealed that’s depressing:

Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

I’ve been hooked on the Tudors and am waiting impatiently for Netflix to send me the second disc of Season 3.  (And yes, I know the show isn’t historically accurate- so what?)  Despite the fact I find the women on the show most interesting, there’s no doubt King Henry’s a hottie.  But I’ve always gotten the impression Mr. Meyers doesn’t play on my team.  Cosmo may, in fact, prove this.

When asked about his perfect “date,” Jonathan Rhys Meyers replies: “I think every girl should have two pairs of Christian Louboutin shoes.  All you need is good shoes, a good handbag, and a good coat.”

They *are* awfully cute, aren't they?

Of all things, a good pair of designer heals?

Although I’d rather take sartorial advice from Meyers than the two tragically hip clerks at Buffalo Exchange who recently rejected my two bags of new Banana Republic clothes (while wearing what looked like Ed Hardy), fashion consciousness is not usually the first thing I look for in a guy.

So, Cosmo, I’m through with you. You and I had a thing once upon a time, but I’ve outgrown you.  Don’t try to sneak back into my life- I know your evil ways.

Just add levity

I’m failing as a blogger.

I never took to journaling the old-fashioned way, but once upon a time, I regularly updated my MySpace blog.  Then, MySpace gave way to Blogger… which I eventually abandoned for WordPress with no remorse when a more tech-savvy blogger emphatically asserted I was missing the proverbial blogging-boat.  Over the last year, I’ve accepted more responsibilities at the day-if-you-define-day-as-24-hours job, started contributing here and here, and erected a second blog dedicated solely to rabble-rousing for my favorite cause.  Therefore, with free-time at a premium, the personal blog has been long neglected and is in bad need of a spruce-up.  So, here is where I make a new year’s resolution to update more frequently. And here is where I add the caveat that while making resolutions public improves chances of success, resolutions generally have a shelf-life of about 1 month– evidenced by the distinct drop-off in gym attendance after January.  (Admittedly, I read this statistic somewhere.  Seeing this trend in action would actually require that I go the gym, instead of writing that $50/month off as my charitable donation to 24-Hour Fitness.)

Amendment: here is where I vow to make a good-faith effort to update more frequently in 2010. Not for any of you readers (if you’re out there), but because I think the outlet is good for me.  You see, my best friend recently related that someone described me as “intense.” And not necessarily in a good way.  Being the sensitive type that I am, the self-doubt nearly devoured me… until I decided to get to the root of the problem.  I looked to the Free Dictionary for solace, which defines “intense” as:

1.  Possessing or displaying a distinctive feature to an extreme degree: the intense sun of the tropics.
2. Extreme in degree, strength, or size: intense heat.
3. Involving or showing strain or extreme effort: intense concentration.
4. a. Deeply felt; profound: intense emotion.
b. Tending to feel deeply: an intense writer.

Ah, yes.  That all sounds about right.  But what’s wrong with any of that?  Perhaps the real issue is that I tend to take myself too seriously. This is only natural for a recovering drama queen an artistically inclined individual.  Therefore, this blog will now be dedicated to diffusing the ticking time bomb that is my sense of injustice in this world.  With humor.  With levity.  With perspective.

(I write this while Gandhi plays in the background.  Baby steps.)

This blog will henceforth be a catalog of musings, rants, and an account of those existential crises and personal foibles suitable for public consumption.  (Read: none.)  If you find this sort of blogging self-indulgent, you are absolutely right and are free to stop reading here.  However, if you’re mildly amused by someone’s pluck in earnestly attempting to air her follies in a public forum, stick around– I’ve got plenty of good material to work with.

Vote of confidence

I have an admission: I’ve been apathetic about politics for a long time.  I have wavering faith in my ability to influence any real change.  I have wavering faith in the media to provide me with objective, unbiased feedback on our candidates and leaders.  I am turned off by all the mud-slinging and slander that goes on between candidates and politicians.  I have lost interest in all the meaningless generalizations about who’s best for this job or that- so rarely rooted in facts or tangible evidence.  I’ve had an ideological problem with voting for the lesser of evils… so I haven’t consistently been an active voter.

However, I have never been so shamed as I was today.  Walking to my booth at Poe Elementary, I passed a man being helped by a poll volunteer.  As another volunteer handed me my slip, she remarked that the man claimed he couldn’t read or write and therefore, needed to be helped through the process.  After having voted, I walked past the man on my way out and on second glance, it appeared as though he might be homeless.  And I couldn’t help but be moved.

If this man, illiterate and potentially homeless, either believes he can effect change or merely values the ‘right’ to vote enough to show up at the polls, what has been my excuse?  And what is the excuse for the millions of people who fail to take part in the political process?

I ask this question while accepting my part in it.  Our system is only as good as we make it.  Each one of us has the ability to restore faith in our government and the political process- starting with ourselves.  Get out and vote today.

http://harrisvotes.com/

Cabaret Revisited

After reading responses to the recent production of Cabaret on the TUTS blog, I was inspired to write about audience expectations and propriety in the theatre on my Chron blog here.  But I hadn’t seen the show yet…

Now I have.  And though I know plenty could live out their days without hearing my opinions on the subject, a few of you have expressed a desire to know what I thought of the production.  So here they are…

Sidenote: My date to the musical is a friend and someone who has attended more than a few productions with me over the years.  As we sat down in our seats, he leaned over to tell me that had put on his “Jenni-theatre-watching-filter.” You may wonder what this means.  What it means is, in short, that I am a pain in the ass to accompany to the theatre.  I have a lot of opinions about what I see… and guess what!  If you’re sitting next to me, you will get to hear them.

TUTS’ Cabaret: if I had to sum it up, I would say it wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn good.  Certainly worth attending… and worth staying through the second act, which concludes with one of the most striking moments in theatre I’ve ever seen.

Especially after the good reviews from trusted sources and after having written the blog, I was hoping to be swept away from the show’s first drum roll.  Admittedly, this was not the case.  The set was visually interesting; the emcee was as he should be; the voices and costumes were fantastic… but it nonetheless felt like the first few numbers were phoned in.  (This isn’t entirely surprising given it was a Tuesday night after a day off.  Maybe they were just getting warmed up?)  Still, I was surprised that neither Don’t Tell Mama nor Mein Herr- two of the most fun and familiar production numbers- inspired too much applause or stir in the audience.  In the case of Mama, I feel like the costumes- though cute- did the number a disservice.  No longer was it about the lyrics or the choreography, but about watching Sally and 6 chorus girls fiddle with their costumes in an effort to take them off piece by piece.  (If there was ever to be a song about buttons, snaps, and the like, this was it.)  Mein Herr lacked the costume complications, but wasn’t much better in terms of pizazz.  In the end, Sally’s singing didn’t do it for me in these two numbers.  Miss Leslie Kritzer proved herself to be a more than capable singer in several of the later numbers, but her first two simply lacked panache.  Perhaps it was her stylistic efforts that obscured the lyrics, but the ends of her vocal phrases were dropped or thrown away in ways that ultimately undermined the camp of the routines.

It was just at the point that my hopes starting waning that Two Ladies restored them.  Cute, naughty… but just right.  (It was also at this moment that the exodus of offended audience members began.  Sadly.)  Nonetheless, the emcee was pretty fantastic from start to finish.  His was a different emcee than Joel Grey or Alan Cumming, but he won me over with his candid repartee with the audience at the top of Act II… as well as his holding his own in a kick routine with the Kit Kat girls.  Big kudos to Leo Ash Evens!

The moments I was positive the show was going in the right direction were the two back-to-back songs: It Couldn’t Please Me More and Tomorrow Belongs to Me.  The former was sweet and genuine… and was probably my first laugh-out-loud moment in the show.  The latter was beautiful- idyllic even- in harmony and performed by several Adonis-like men and a single dancer.  It set the tone for the reprise in a subtle way… hinting of nationalism, but in a less sinister light.  The show only gets better from this point…

The action of Cabaret escalates until reaching its pinnacle in the middle of Act 2, in a scene in which Cliff urges Sally to open her eyes to the impending disaster around her.  His insistence and her resistance are the jumping-off points for Sally’s final number: Cabaret.  And here’s where I get really picky.  Vocally, I couldn’t have asked much more from Kritzer… but it seemed as though the song was plucked from a review and placed into the show, rather than coming on the heels of having her hand forced in a stressful decision.  In a perfect world, I’d like to see that pressure underneath Sally’s portrayal of Cabaret… isn’t she blowing off steam in that number?  The scene following- which was acted beautifully by both Kritzer and Hanes (Cliff)- only emphasized this point in my opinion.

The ending was the highlight of the show.  While parts of the show were slightly off the mark, the ending couldn’t have been more perfect.  The gradual emptying of the stage, the unresolved chords hanging in the air, the desolation of a society on the brink of collapse- one could see it all.  And for that reason, I am saddened for those who chose to walk out of the show earlier, as they missed the culmination of all the vulgarity they witnessed and the ultimate point.  For the first time in the entire production, there was silence… from singers, orchestra and audience.  That kind of tension isn’t achieved easily.

And here’s the kicker: when it comes to propriety, Houston audiences should start with modifying their own behavior.  There was a lot of fidgeting, chatting, and candy unwrapping during this production.  And- as my date and I agree- the only things for which you should be rifling through your purse during a show are an asthma inhaler or an epi-pen.

The moral of the story? Go see it.  The production is far, far too good to be playing to smaller audiences… help fill in those empty seats this weekend.

Don’t Tell Mama, but Cabaret’s Dirty!

Am I just desensitized or is this a bunch of hoo-hah? TUTS’ Attendee Responses to Cabaret

Maybe I’m just a dirty girl, but what is all the fuss about? Houston- strip-club capital of Texas!

So I wrote THIS.

Tria Wood aptly pointed out that a tour of the Mendes version came to Houston in 2000. I even saw it… featuring Leah Thompson, who- despite being my childhood girl-crush and a capable singer/dancer- couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag on stage.

I see the show tonight. (Thank you, former colleagues!) Will report back with even more uninvited opinions…

Classical music accused of snobbery? You don’t say!

A friend of mine- who happens to be an opera conductor- posted a link to this article about classical music’s alleged elitist tendencies.

I certainly have opinions on this matter, but before I share them, I’d like to hear from YOU.

Please take a moment to fill out my very short survey… it will be most appreciated!!

So won’t you be my neighbor

Just a reminder that I invite you, at any time, to let me know when I’m being a jerk.  Go ahead.  Any time you wish.  But here’s what that means: in return, I reserve the right to tell you that you’re being a jerk.  Deal?  So here goes…

Howdy neighbor,

I know we don’t know each other that well.  I know that, despite that fact, we’ve seen each other in varying states of undress.  That said, you seem like a pretty cool person.  And it seems that you’re a pretty swell neighbor, too, despite not taking the trash to the curb very often and that propensity of yours to slam the door.  (I suppose you could take issue with my singing in the shower at the top of my lungs, so let’s call us square on that front.)  But I have to ask your opinion- or rather, your preference- about something.  You see, I have a dog that eats most anything.  You might think there are limitations to that statement, but… no, not really.  So, when I see him hovering over a pile of broken glass downstairs, directly under your door, I get a little upset.  When I see him trying to eat the cigarette butts in the same area, I am also not pleased.

I am not a detective, but here’s what I think may have happened: someone at your place was drinking and smoking outside and dropped their wine glass from the balcony.  They probably thought, “Whoops! Let me clean that right up,” went back inside to get the broom and dustpan, and then, either had a heart attack, got mugged or was abducted by aliens before they could take care of the mess.  I imagine, by the time they were revived, recovered or returned, they had forgotten all about the cigarette butts and broken glass downstairs.  And that’s cool- I totally understand.  Furthermore, I imagine since our yard is strewn with all kinds of interesting paraphernalia- a downed TV antenna, a rusted basketball goal, a variety of dying potted plants belonging to a former neighbor- it’s easy for a pile of broken glass to go unnoticed.  I mean, we are just renters after all.

But here’s the deal: I don’t like bleeding puppy paws.  And I really don’t want my dumb dog to ingest glass and start bleeding from the inside.  So, it’d be really awesome if that pile of glass could go away.  And maybe the cigarette butts, too, for good measure.  I would do it myself, except that I only have an ‘inside’ broom and don’t really want a bunch of glass in it.  In other words… I don’t want to.  So, here’s my question: Would you prefer I leave you a note about this, knock on your door and tell you, or passive-aggressively blog about it?

Let me know when you have a chance- thanks!

Cheers,

JR

PS: I know I am being a jerk.  No need to tell me this time.

New Soap Box Erected

The cat is out of the bag now, so here it is: some of the blogs that would normally be appearing here will now be posted to my new blog on Chron.com.  A Chronicle staffer with a sense of adventure (and perhaps questionable judgment) invited me to be a part of their City Brights stable.  This is exciting as it’s a new platform through which I might occasionally be able to share something of value with a different audience.  The arts are sadly unrepresented in most publications (excepting the NY Times), so here is my humble effort in the campaign.  You can find the blog, Heavy Artillery, in City Brights, in the Featured Reader Blogs, and occasionally on the home page.  I make no promises to behave myself and will probably do a lot of whining about arts funding.  Consider yourself forewarned.

Sarah, watch your back.

I haven’t managed to blog in a while.  I promise I will get back to it soon.  In the meantime, fun with drag!

I came across this picture of a guy friend of mine on Facebook and believe it goes nicely alongside a picture of Sarah Silverman.  Voila!

Boys, don’t underestimate all the great career possibilities that accompany dressing like girls.

Cheers!

To all you Twaters out there:

If you don’t want to read about my last meal, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to read my feedback on a movie or TV show I just watched, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to hear about the bizarre incident I just witnessed on the highway, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to hear the side-splitting comment I just overheard from the drunk girl sitting next to me at a bar, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to know about the great party I’m enjoying (where you just might be welcome), unfollow me.

If you don’t want to hear about the causes dear to my heart, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to see a picture of something that made me smile, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to see a clip of a video that made me cry my eyes out, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to hear a song that made me giggle, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to read an article that inspired rage in me, unfollow me.

If you don’t want to read more about the world news I felt like sharing, unfollow me.

And if you don’t care to know the details, the minutiae… that serve as sign-posts  marking the handful of notable moments making up my life each day… then, go right ahead and hit that ‘unfollow’ button.

But don’t put me down for sharing.  And don’t judge those who enjoy this connection- perhaps only virtual- we share.  The world is a lonely place, and we are constantly grasping for common ground.  As the digital age pulls us farther apart, must we criticize a tool to bring us together?  The wonderful people I’ve met, the fun quips of strangers, the goings-on at events across the country, the helping hands when I have a question… these are the things that have sold me.  With ‘140 characters or less,’ I know I am not alone- through the highlights and the tedium.  And that means something.  And doesn’t it mean something that I want to know the minutiae of your life, too?

They say the beauty’s in the details.