MY RIFLE, MY PONY, AND ME

RIO BRAVO -- this western flick made in 1959, has easily become one of my favorite movies.

And look at me. Do I look like the kind of person that really likes to watch John Wayne films? NO. However, there's something about this particular movie -- something that's highly endearing and captivating.

Maybe I like the idea of the solitary macho man -- the guy who wants to defend the town from ruffians and thugs all by himself. Perhaps it's the idea that the film expresses -- the idea that no matter how much a person might want to fight his battles alone, he has to open his eyes to see that people are willing to help him.

Maybe I just enjoy underdog stories -- stories of recovering alcoholics and debilitated old guys (guys who shouldn't necessarily be heroes) stepping up to do something good.

Anyway, that stuff's neither here nor there.

I think the real reason I like this movie so much comes down to about two minutes of screen time. Two minutes of celluloid that are decidedly "un-western".

There's this scene, about two-thirds of the way through the film, where the action stops and Dean Martin sings a duet with Rick Nelson -- a song about stopping and enjoying the simple things in life, a song about being a lonely cowboy.

For some reason, whenever I stumble upon this scene, I get tears in my eyes. And I think it's for the same reason that I get tears in my eyes during "Edelweiss" in THE SOUND OF MUSIC or when Belle and the Beast are dancing and the camera pans up to the ceiling painting of angels in BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.

There's something in the way a perfectly placed song can make you stop and appreciate the gift of being alive... in life and in film. It's when everything quiets down and you can really get a good sense of the people that are around you.



I think I'm going to stop this entry here. I just felt like sharing this with you guys tonight while I'm sitting here alone in my apartment, my brain turned to mush from reading, writing and studying all day.

Ciao for now.

SAVE TONIGHT

Last year, around this time, I wrote a blog entry wherein I attacked certain middle-aged buffoons for saying that nobody would listen to my generation's music 25 years from now. It's not my favorite post on this blog, so I won't link back to it, but the reason I'm bringing it up right now is that I want to write about it again -- "it" being music.

If you're a generation Y-er or a "millennial" as I am, when I use the title "Save Tonight", your mind probably wanders back about 12 years to savor the sweet sounds of Eagle Eye Cherry. Or you might have no idea what I'm talking about. If the latter is the case, plug "Save Tonight" by Eagle Eye Cherry into the ol' iTunes for a refresher. As a matter of fact, you should just listen to some 90s music while reading this entry. I think it will help.

So, I want to play Cameron Crowe for a few moments and just wax a little bit about music, or more specifically, about catchy tunes (mainly from the 90s). I'll give a thousand dollars to the person who can present to me a more effective time machine than an old song. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know when I say that listening to music you grew-up with does more than simply excavate your memories, it literally re-instills your past feelings right into your present-day body. And there's not an experience or pastime that really rivals it.

All of us have that pocketful of songs in our arsenals that make us so nostalgic we want to cry. Ricky Martin's "Shake Your Bon-Bon" will forever remind me of my birthday party at the roller skating rink (I turned 12 and my friends requested the song in my honor). Every time I hear Juvenile's "Back that Azz Up" I think about this Bat Mitzvah I went to, where I shared a steamy dance with the guy I had a major crush on. So, we were 13. So, what? Then, I always get this lifted happy feeling when I stumble on Sugar Ray's "Every Morning." I think about driving through downtown Milwaukee in the back of my mom's blue Chrysler mini-van.

What's so wonderful about generationally definitive tunes is that they infiltrate our collective subconscious. In college, my friends and I were able to bop around to Mariah Carey or sing Third Eye Blind in the car. It didn't matter that we came from all different parts of the country. We could all share in the same blissful feeling. Why? Because we all had personal associations with the songs. No matter where we came from, we all heard the same music as children. Not to be cheesy, but nostalgic tunes really bring people together.

And I just love that so much.

I love it so much that I can spend hours in front of my computer just listening. I love it so much that I make a specific playlist for every year of my life.

When I was younger (at that formative age of 12) and my family decided to move from Wisconsin to Alabama, I clung to Britney Spears. The day our blue Chrysler mini-van slowly drove on down the street right after we had just parted ways with our closest Milwaukee friends, my mom sat in the front seat and wept like a baby. I sat in the back with my headphones and my walkman, blasting...

She's so lucky
She's a star
But she cry, cry, cries
In her lonely heart

You know the rest...

Anyway, I wasn't thinking about moving or the major transition that I was embarking upon in that moment. I was just alone with my music... and the fantasy of one-day growing-up to be like Britney. When my parents told me that I was shutting out the world, that I should take my headphones off and be social, I got unbelievably frustrated with them.



But now I kind of understand their point.

So, it's 11 years later and I'm once again on the cusp of a major move and transition. Though sadly, I won't be traveling in a blue Chrysler mini-van... It's time to grow-up and start a new chapter on the west coast.

And would you believe...

All I want to do is crawl into my cozy magic portal and fly back to 1999 by way of Lauryn Hill. I suppose that what I'm feeling now is somewhat similar to the feeling I felt when I moved as a kid. Perhaps, I'm looking back to that time period for guidance or something. All I know is that my supreme urge to go back in time supersedes my urge to do much else, including prepare for my future.

There are thousands of more productive things I could be doing than sitting here listening to the Backstreet Boys. (getting a job, maybe?)

But, alas...

Just like 11 years ago when I listened to Britney Spears to distract myself from the fact that I was leaving behind my friends and my youth, today I also distract myself... with more music and nostalgia.

I guess it's an age-old question. When can we (especially as millennials) stop living in the past and come to face our futures? It just seems to take (some of) us a little longer to mature.

Sure, the music is fun, but 1999 is over and it ain't coming back. Sadly.



Ciao. For now.

MAUDLIN POETRY

I just realized that I haven't blogged in quite some time. It's not that I don't have anything to say. I just haven't really felt compelled to get on my soapbox or get anybody's attention lately. However, it just occurred to me that if I don't buck-up and write something, I might forget about this blog forever or (worse) you guys might forget about me. That being said, I'm not going to advertise this present entry to the world. It's meant for the casual person to stumble upon and lampoon. (I'm sorry. I'm still trying to work on that whole self-respect thing...) At the risk of turning this blog into a flickr account...

GRAHAM CRACKER
You can stack on me whatever you want
Chocolate, marsh mellows
You can stick me in the microwave
Why? Cause I can take the heat
You can even spread peanut butter on me
And I won't be humiliated
'Cause I've seen worse
And worse has been done to me
Don't be fooled by my boxy, square appearance
I'm actually very sweet
And if you get to know me,
You might want me too much
But be careful
Eat me in bed
And I might leave crumbs
For you to pick-up for days
- Anonymous


SOCK TOE
My sock has a hole in it
And my middle toe pops out
And I look like a hobo
And screw anybody that judges me

Just because a sock has a little hole in it
Doesn't mean it can't serve its purpose
- Anonymous


LIGHT
It seems to me that the most
Beautiful sight in the world to behold
Is light

It's light, after all, that makes us see

Out of darkness, life

As I travel down the highway
Following the setting sun to the west
I notice it all around me

Pink and orange clouds in the backdrop
While in the foreground, bright street lamps

They merge together
God's light and man's light
They guide the way

I breath deeply
I feel at peace
- Anonymous


SABERTOOTH SMILE
I like people who grin with their whole mouth
Who lift one side of their upper lip
Just a little bit higher
So we can see their cuspids
These people are sexy. And happy.

And it shows in their fangs
- Anonymous


EATING PIE WITH CROCODILES
Last night, they took me out for a massive dinner
Wine, salads -- the works

Then onto dessert
My best friend had peach pie
Her fiance had raspberry and I copied him,
Finally getting my slice of the big time.

But then when we finished,
I left my debit card in the restaurant, and
Before I could retrieve it,
I was confronted by a massive crocodile
With a 3 foot wide jaw
And zillions of little teeth
He stared at me with beady eyes
Then opened his mouth and extended his tongue

His big, pink monster wrapped around me
And he swallowed me whole

I was never to be heard from again
Plus, I never got my debit card back
- Anonymous


QUEEN
I told them that if I were a ruler
I'd probably be Henry the 8th
A fat bitch laughing on a thrown
As people performed plays for me
I'd devour turkey legs like a barbarian
Slurp some sort of sweet pudding for desert
And I'd reject people for not being good enough
But to see failure,
All I'd really need to do
Is take a look in the mirror...
- Anonymous

So, maybe it's not the greatest sample of structureless rambling in my canon. And maybe one day... I'll have courage enough to admit that I am responsible for the silliness that you just read... not some person named "Anonymous".

Ciao for now.

JUST A LITTLE SOMETHING

There's something I've blogged about before and it's something I'll probably blog about 1000 times more before I'm done... just because I think it's the most beautiful and worthwhile thing in the entire galaxy. I want to keep writing about it because I want to do it justice and talk about it in an eloquent/meaningful/succinct way. It deserves that kind of justice.

So, what am I talking about? I'm talking about something that I'm forced to contemplate a lot in writing and analyzing dramatic stories; something that I come into contact with every day by virtue of the fact that I watch Grey's Anatomy on instant netflix. Perhaps I'm making a much bigger fuss over this special something than is really necessary. Maybe I don't get out enough and I think the world is one giant movie of which we are all stars... but I don't think so. I think this something is very important.

I'm talking about a little something called "heroic sacrifice" -- the act of putting yourself aside in order to do right by another person. Yes, the notion of sacrifice is pertinent in creating a meaningful work of dramatic art, but I think it's also pertinent in creating a meaningful life.

I believe there's a great misconception floating around out there that big, HEROIC sacrifices are only for characters in stories -- characters who, through their noble/selfless actions, give us clues as to our own morality and how to survive in the world. After all, those who take big life-threatening risks - like jumping into a burning building to save young children from certain desecration - often have movies or plays made about them.

In an existence where doing larger-than-life deeds often bears larger-than-life rewards, it's easy to feel like a bit of a failure -- that in some small regard you're coming up short. If you're anything like me, you often ask yourself...

What am I doing with my life that has any impact or value?

When's the last time I got off my ass to help somebody?

What difference have I made in the world and who needs me?

You know... fundamental questions asked by everybody who has a roof over his/her head and food in his/her tummy. (When we have our basic needs met, we look further for spiritual satisfaction).

Well, what is the value of your life? When's the last time you were in Port Au Prince to build houses for impoverished families? And have you booked your flight to Sendai yet to sift through rubble and help people who've lost everything try to re-build?

Well, if you haven't-- and if you feel insufficient for not stepping up as a giving citizen of the planet, then this blog entry is for you.

Many of us agree that giving help to people in crisis is a good thing. We just don't necessarily go looking for opportunities to REALLY do it. We're scared, we're clueless. Plus it's easier to sit at home and text the Red Cross a $10 donation and quietly cry from our couches as Jennifer Hudson belts out a U2 song on some telethon. The truth is that while we have the best of intentions, many of us are NOT what Grey's Anatomy refers to as "doers," and there's a great self-disappointment that comes with that.


But this blog entry is not about what we can't, won't and have a hard time doing. This is about what we CAN do... what we DO do (so to speak).

I like to believe that for every crazed lunatic that dumps herbicide into the roots of an old tree, there's another person standing by, ready to help out, ready to plant seeds for another tree (Alabamians will get this metaphor).


And we all hear plenty of accounts of the jock who decided to risk is popularity to walk home with a put-upon nerd after school only to find out that the poor nerd had planned on killing himself that very evening. However, because the jock took a little time to talk to the nerd, he showed him that life was worth living. Just by spending some quality time with the guy, he saved his life!

Everyday there are hundreds of thousands of miniature accounts of life saving that roll by completely undetected. Sure, there's desecration and destruction and things so horrible that to know of their very existence might plague us with unshakable depression, BUT the population of the world is nearly 7 billion. I don't think ANY of us would be here for longer than a few days if it weren't for the hope and compassion shown to us at some point by somebody else.

For the accounts of ruin and despair, there are equal accounts of endurance and generosity. There are two sides to EVERY coin -- it's just that the grim side gets talked about more often.

I guess the primary reason I chose to put this rant out there is to say to you and to say to myself that it's the little gestures along with ostentatious ones that matter. Our existences mean something in the grand scheme of things. Watch It's a Wonderful Life if you're having any doubts.

Usually I'd save this message for overkill in some crappy script I'm working on, but sometimes it needs to be said plainly to people who are adrift and just working to get through the day -- which I know a lot of people are.

You do things, things that help people. For that, you're a hero. And that's something. SO PUT THAT THOUGHT IN YOUR BACK POCKET!

All right, I'll go back to my quiet little routine of being awe-inspired by Frank Capra and Grey's Anatomy now.

So, ciao.

MY INTERNET INFERIORITY COMPLEX

Two weeks ago, I was writing this blog fairly anonymously... churning out maybe two posts a month and sharing them only with my 25 twitter followers and a couple of family members. I don't make much of an effort to share this blog with people. Here's why--

It's a hell of a lot easier to write when you think nobody's paying attention. I like the invisibility. In fact, it's become a very close friend.

Last week, after I posted a blurb written by my friend Marcie, something different happened. Marcie has more confidence than I do. When she does something, she rarely has reservations about sharing it with other folks. Naturally, after I posted her "Ugly Betty" article, she told people about it on facebook.

To my great surprise, after Marcie's advertising, a few friends of mine wrote on my wall to tell me that they related to a few of my previous entries. Someone even texted me, asking if he might contribute an article. This made me happy because I didn't think anybody really noticed.

But now I'm in a predicament.

I used to consider implementing facebook to let my friends know about this blog, but something always held me back -- my insecurities. Sharing my thoughts on facebook is more daunting to me than sharing them on twitter just because more people see my facebook. I have a little less than 300 "friends" (modest by a lot of peoples' standards) -- it's a nice handful of potential eyes.

And even though 90% of them would never click on a link I post, I still get very bashful. Why is this? Am I really worried that people are going to laugh at me? Or call me stupid? Or talk about me behind my back, saying "wow, what a nerd-- the audacity she must have to think we care about 10 reasons she likes The Sopranos"?

You BET I worry about that kind of stuff... because I know I'd talk smack about you if you started a blog. I'd think you were a loser with no social life to speak of, so you had to start using the internet to let out your many feelings. You know I'd make fun of you for thinking you had something meaningful to preach about movies or politics or pop culture or life...

I'd criticize and laugh at you to make myself feel better. I'm insecure. The way I build myself up is to tear other people down. It's always been my way of life, BUT I bet it's always been your way of life too. We're human. It's what we do. In some form or fashion, we're always trying to dominate over each other.

And don't get me started about how the internet just helps to perpetuate our social shortcomings. It's so easy to hide behind screens and not have to own up to our thoughts, or even our physical appearances.

It's easy to have fake confidence. We talk up a storm over the internet, even approach people we admire or have crushes on, but when we try talking to those people in person, it's unbearably nerve-wrecking and sweaty.

All this to make the statement - I think I really need to own up to myself and take credit for what I have to say.

Let this be a proclamation. From here on out, you're going to get a story every so often on your facebook newsfeed that says I've written a new blog entry. Odds are you'll probably keep scrolling on down and not give it a second thought... but maybe you'll take a look at it. Maybe it will give you something to chuckle about for a minute or two, even if that something is me and what a foolish dork I am for taking my imaginary audience to seriously.

I don't care. I am who I am. I enjoy writing. I enjoy blogging. I like to share my silly little thoughts on the internet. And I like to make fun of you, just as much as you like to make fun of me.

So, let's all start blogs and say hi to each other when we pass in the street. Okay -- the latter might take a little more time and effort... but that's neither here, nor there.

At the risk of having made myself sound a little too self-deprecating and cynical...

Ciao for now.

UGLY BETTY & ME (by guest contributor Marcelena Mayhorn)

Friends and readers! A milestone is occurring as today this blog welcomes its first guest contributor! Please put your hands together and join me in giving a big Loco-style welcome to Marcelena Mayhorn.

My first college roommate, Marcie is a dear pal and downright lovely individual. What? You've never heard of her?! Okay, she's not Pauline Kael or anything... BUT she does currently reside in Austin, Texas where she's trying to pay rent by doing something that makes her happy, i.e. - nothing that involves cash registers, customers, uniforms or taking out trash. But seriously, she's a self-proclaimed optimist. She also likes UGLY BETTY a lot, which is why for her LOCO MUSINGS debut (and first blog entry ever) she's chosen to write a thank you letter of sorts to that bespectacled TV optimist we know as Betty Suarez.

Take it away, Ms. Mayhorn!



It is 12:57 A.M on a Friday night. One would think I would be out drinking the night away at the usual bar I inhabit, but tonight I wasn't feeling it. Tonight, I decided to stay in and watch the final episode of UGLY BETTY. And now, I can't shake this sadness. Let me explain...

I started film school four years ago. At about the same time, the show UGLY BETTY was premiered on ABC. I read about it, not quite sure what its premise was, but nonetheless I went about my business. It wasn't until my mother told me that she was a regular fan only after a few episodes that I started to become slightly intrigued, though I would never tell anyone this. The show revolves around around Betty Suarez, a 22-year-old Mexican-American girl trying to succeed at her job of personal assistant to the executive of a fashion magazine in New York City. Betty of course does not fit the "fashion" mold at all, with her frizzy hair, horrible red glasses and, most notably, her shining silver braces. She fits the description of "ugly". I watched a few episodes with my family, bouncing from season to season with word of mouth descriptions of what was happening and general boredom. Finally though, in the winter of my 4th year of college, I decided to give Betty a shot. I found a used copy of Season 1, and my friends and I embarked on a Betty path. I think it is safe to say that we went for two weeks straight watching at least one episode a day. We couldn't tear ourselves away from it.

The show struck me in a way that I did not think possible, and for one reason only - I could relate to everything that Betty was going through. Here was a girl trying to gain respect in a world so different from her own. She wasn't the "type" of girl that people were used to; she was ridiculed, taken advantage of, and pushed to quit. But Betty didn't... She faced every challenge with her head held high, even if she was afraid. She taught me that it is okay to be different. During my four years at school, I have constantly questioned myself and my abilities, asking myself almost every day if this is what I'm really meant to do. Seeing a show like this gave me hope - that I too, am just like Betty Suarez. Yes, being Mexican-American is part of it, but really that hard work pays off, and that, as cheesy as it may sound, dreams really do come true.

SPOILER ALERT I just finished watching the final episode of the show. It was recently cancelled on ABC, and the final episode premiered this past week. And I must admit - I was a little disappointed with the ending. But then I took a few minutes and thought about it... And, what do you know? I cried. Because in the end, Betty got what she wanted. At first I thought, "Wow, big surprise, Betty runs her own magazine now, that's what she's always wanted, no twists whatsoever." But then I remembered the past four seasons of the show, and how every episode was a new obstacle for Betty to conquer, and how it has taken her four years to achieve this goal. I cried harder because this show is coming to close just as my college career is ending. It's almost as if Betty herself has been embarking on this journey with me, telling me that everything is going to be alright, and that every day is an obstacle we must hurdle in order to achieve that dream of ours.

Betty got what she wanted, and I know that I will too. Because of her, I have learned to also keep my chin up, to battle the Whilimena's and Amanda's and the rest of the world that might not think I am capable of much, and to prove that I am anything but "ugly," just as she did.

I will miss you so much, Betty Suarez. I will never forget your heart and soul, your fumblings and bumblings and your cheesy smile. But I will always carry you in my heart, along with my own Ugly Betty, to show that people like you and I have the world in our hands. And we're not going to let people forget it. - Marcie Mayhorn

SILENCE IS GOLDEN

A couple of years ago, I was sitting in a film school class, receiving feedback for a script that I wrote. Reception was fairly positive and people were nice. However, one particular criticism really crept up on me and kicked me in the butt. My classmates said that my protagonist felt invisible to them -- that she wasn't as out there or interesting as the other characters in the script. This note really vexed me. Okay... she was a quiet, almost silent character, but that didn't mean she was supposed to be uninteresting. She was the protagonist... How could she not be fascinating?

Then, a few months later, I was watching the DVD commentary on the THE LITTLE MERMAID. In it, directors John Musker and Ron Clements mentioned something along the lines of how when they were developing their script, people felt that their protagonist, Ariel, wasn't a very strong presence... that she didn't really pop in the script. Musker and Clements told such doubters to wait and see what happened on screen.

And SEE, they did. After watching THE LITTLE MERMAID, it's difficult to imagine that Ariel was ever a character that lacked "presence," or that she was passive and uninteresting. I think she's one of the most easily accessible characters in all of cinema, but that's just me.

It's fascinating to note, however, that (having traded her voice to an evil sea witch) Ariel is silent for nearly the entire second half of the movie.

I'm not comparing my skills as a screenwriter to those of the Disney story department that birthed an entire animation renaissance...

... but I don't think it's a coinkydink that we got the same notes on our scripts. I DO think it's hard to convey a character who doesn't say very much, and whose primary actions are movements and facial expressions. Limited to mere verbs and descriptive words on a page, it's hard to transmit to a reader or an audience the feelings of silent characters. This is all because the dramatic potency of a person who speaks very little lies in the realm of the SEEN.

Oftentimes, I think we (especially writers) tend to forget that the film medium began in silence without the benefit of dialogue to help get ideas across. In an environment where the ante is constantly being upped with big, loud, perilous action sequences and ever-evolving 3-dimensional lushness, we can forget the sheer power of a person's face -- of glances and stifled smiles.

Cool camera moves or 3-dimensionality can only be as riveting as the subject matter that they are capturing -- and few subjects are as engaging (or confounding) as a human being in conflict, particularly if that human being is in conflict within him/herself.

The main purpose for my writing this blog entry is not to preach or nag, but to celebrate and advocate. Though they may not necessarily "pop" on the page, silent or quiet characters are a total asset to movies. And darn it, I just love watching them. I feel more for a character who I SEE trying to hide his tears than I do for one who tells me that he feels bad. This is the very nature of subtext (you know that thing where people never say what they mean, or mean what they say). The whole reason for subtext and the like is that we don't trust what we're told. Rather, we glom onto what we see -- what we can interpret for ourselves... the very stuff that makes film a truly splendid medium.

If you've made it this far into the entry, you're probably scratching your head, wondering if these ramblings have some sort of REAL point. Here--

Recently, to increase my Disney buff-dom, I watched all the studio's 2D animated "classics" in chronological order. Of the many staggering conclusions that I drew from this study, one left a nice impression on me.

Plain and simple -- many Disney films are among our culture's most memorable. Why? For the same reason that Charlie Chaplin's films endure today. They rest their hats on non-verbal communication -- the physical language, the universal language... the language that can easily be dubbed for release in other countries. It's facial expressions, body language and glorious songs that reveal the contents of one's soul and innermost desires. The reason Disney films (at their best) are so undeniably resonant and popular is that they utilize the two original facets of filmmaking -- image and music. No punches pulled.




After thinking about Dumbo's self-esteem issues, about Tinkerbell's quiet shift in morality, about Dopey's puppy-like innocence, and yes... about Ariel's voiceless yearning... I came to the conjecture that the movies of today should each have at least one silent (or quiet) presence...

But then I thought about some recent awesome film characters like SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE's Jamal Malik, or Benjamin Button, or even BLACK SWAN's Nina Sayers -- characters who keep it on the inside, who have feelings and desires that are ripping at the seams, waiting to come out...

And through all of it, I realize that most of the people who can get a movie made have some sense of what they're doing. They pepper their films with brilliant silent moments -- even if it takes a little more effort to spot them. So maybe I should stop theorizing about what's best for cinema and, like the characters that I so cherish, just keep my yap shut.

On that note, ciao for now.