More Ugly than True

"The Ugly Truth" falls into the same category as "Superbad" - a category of  over-the-top, vulgar wannabes.

While I didn't expect anything particularly thought-provoking, I did expect to have fun watching Katherine Heigl and Gerard Butler hate each other and then fall in love. There's a long tradition of hateful relationships, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, for one, and audiences love to hate their love/hate relationship. 

"The Ugly Truth" offers that, topped with (my new favorite word) scads of scategorical humor, vibrating underwear and plenty of R-rated dialogue. I loved "Old School." I loved "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." I am not against the occasional naked butt or f-bomb. But if it's easy to see that an R-rating was the goal and a PG-13 could have given that same plot a little classier, I'm really turned off.

I even left the theater in a bad mood.

Butler gives an admirable performance, despite his character's despicable opinions about women, and as usual, he's convincing. Heigl has found her place among the Sandra Bullocks and Lauren Grahams of the world as a neurotic. But how many times must we watch a neurotic woman make a fool of herself over a man? For a long time, it was the lonely, frustrated housewife that needed to be set free. Now, we have the successful, gorgeous career woman - frigid, unhappy and cat-owning. I guess women only have two categories. 

There were funny moments, sure. And some sincerity, OK.

Couldn't save it in my eyes.

Ink...again

I just realized that my last entry promised ink but only talked weddings. Here's the deal:

I'm working on a story for my news writing class about the tattoo studios in Syracuse. So far, I've talked to a tattoo artist, a guy that works at a tattoo parlor as just an appointment guy and a tattoo studio owner. It's going really well and it's a far more interesting topic than one might expect. I was worried that they story I suspected was there wasn't - but that's always the case when just starting a story! Sterilization is a big issue - though disposables seem to  be the trend now - as is general safety. The artistry, of course, is addressed but I was surprised to learn today that the man I talked to said he hires people with art backgrounds - and traditional ones like painting and drawing. He has architecture training and design experiences, even though he doesn't actually tattoo. He does the piercing. I don't want to go to in depth with my findings because who knows if I could actually sell this story, if it's any good when I finish it up next week!

I can't believe what different feels each studio has thus far. If I were looking to get inked, my options would certainly be open. I wonder if there are marked personality differences in clientele at these places.

My other story finally came to fruition today, too. Let's just say I'm having a great reporting day! That is going to be published in the Post Standard Sept. 5 so I'll make sure I put a link to it what it comes out. For our Issues for Arts Journalists class, all the AJ students are putting out a Sunday supplement called The Mix and that's where my piece will be published.

I'm beginning to see the arts and culture in Syracuse in the same way I saw them in Buffalo and feel I'll be able to write a lot more once I get fully immersed. A lot of cool places are hidden - like this little coffee place I got a mocha at today. It's called Freedom of Espresso and is located directly across the street from Starbucks in Armory Square. I felt so bohemian shunning a delicious soy chai latte at Starbucks for organic, free trade coffee products. It's decorations are minimal, had one person behind the counter - a shaggy-haired, Hollister T-shirt wearing barista - and Willie Nelson playing from a little stereo set up. Announcements for local events covered one wall and a huge, gorgeous watercolor of a young woman hung on the opposite. 

I brought my newspaper and drank my mocha in preparation for my interview, which was just down the street. While I had to deal with a gaggle of teen girls, they also made me smile because they were in there. If no one has noticed, I love non-chain cafes and coffee places. I always write about them! But I seek them out. The other day a guy in my program and I went to get coffee at Dunkin Donuts in Armory Square before class and I just missed Tim Horton's and Spot so much. However, Freedom of Espresso is about the same distance from The Warehouse as Dunkin so, maybe I don't have to succumb to the bitter taste of their coffee - and the woman who called me "baby" and Jason "sweetie" (actually, sort of funny).

In other words, I'm figuring out this Syracuse thing. One cup of coffee, one interview, one vegan restaurant at a time.

Weddings and ink

Being a graduate student is quite a bit busier than one would expect. I am in class eight hours a day and reading the news or doing assignments the other hours I am awake. I'm tired, but not stressed, and alone in my place, but not lonely.

It's all a very good thing!

I also attended the wedding of my roommates Ben and Chelsey this past weekend. It got me thinking about the cultural norms of weddings: a church, a little "Here Comes the Bride" (read: "Bridal Chorus" by Wagner), some blue borrowed new things. It's usually wonderful.

Ben and Chelsey did not do it that way. First of all, they got married on a beach. Chelsey wore white, but she walked down the aisle to Jason Mraz. They cut the cake and shoved it in each other's faces but they didn't make us listen to schmoozy music at dinner. We heard Bright Eyes, Damien Rice and other great indie artists, as well as some classic crooners. 

They also bucked a recent trend: Chels is 22 and Ben is almost 25. They are incredibly young to be getting married. I read that for the first time, 30 is the average age to get married (though I think women still hit about 28). Those numbers make me feel pretty good about where I am, but then again, my friends know they love each other.

And that's comforting.

I would also like to mention that the movies are true - maids of honor hold the bride's dress while she visits the restroom. 

I did that on Saturday night.

Billie Jean A Capella

Take me out to the ball game

Somewhere in Pennsylvania there has to be a Pittsburgh Pirates fan that would sell his soul to the devil for a winning season. He might be middle-aged, middle-mangement real estate salesman living in the suburbs with his wife. From the outside, it might seem like the American dream - almost. 

The Cortland Repertory Theater proves that the American love for baseball has changed little over the course of a century in their current production of the 1950s musical "Damn Yankees." 

Joe Boyd (Jef Canter) a man very much like that Pirates fan, says "hell" so much during a poorly played Washington Senator's game that the devil himself shows up to offer him a deal: to leave his wife and become 22-year-old Joe Hardy, star baseball player from nowhere. 

He takes it. 

Canter sings well as Boyd, channelling a Willy Loman-like despair, especially into his interactions with his ignored wife Meg, played sweetly by Erica Livingston. But the best moment for Boyd is his change into Hardy, a truly surprising moment on stage when Canter walks out a door only for his Superman counterpart, played by Peter Carrier, to walk in.

Carrier can do no wrong as a singer, confidently grasping notes others might reach for and offering tenderness as well as power; "A Man Doesn't Know" is particularly touching. Still, Hardy isn't the deepest of characters and though Carrier's vocal talent is evident, his abs might be more memorable than his A's.

Alyson Tolbert, playing the scantily clad Lola, might have a similar problem. Her miles-long legs stretched to the ceiling say more than any line she sings - they scream that she's a dancer who doesn't get a chance to bust a move. Such is the almost stagnant nature of several dance numbers, with the exception of "Shoeless Joe" danced with footlights-to-spotlights energy by Megan Rozak as journalist Gloria Thorpe. 

Tolbert did redeem a lackluster "A Little Brains, A Little Talent" in the second act with "Who's Got the Pain" in part because of a number of talented male dancers, dance captain Jared Titus and the soon-to-be-on-Broadway Gerald Avery (He starts in "Spiderman" in just a few weeks) particularly. Her scenes with standout Dominick Varney are equally as charming.

As Applegate - the devil - Varney comes across more mischievous than sinister and he makes it work as the show needs a little comedy amidst all of Joe Hardy's moral dilemmas: Does he go back to his wife? Or should he remain a big baseball star?

However, much of the fun of "Damn Yankees" comes from the supporting players: The Senators.

The team functions as a character all its own - a rambunctious, sometimes partially dressed character. Each of the men's ensemble add something remarkable to the performance simply by doing their work as actors. They appear united, a team through and through, but each, if you watch closely, has given himself over to a unique character that has a moment to shine with each choreographic shift or new song. Nathan Norrington's enormous grin, Robert Conte's endearing bumbling and Kristopher Dean's adorable slides through the crowd of men's legs continually brighten a sometimes moody show. And their singing ain't too bad either. "Heart," their inspirational number right at the beginning, comes across sincere, rather than corny. As I met the gentlemen portraying the Senators, I think a lot of that comes from the performers themselves bringing joy to the stage and each other, not just the script calling for jolly good guys. 

"Damn Yankees" has got heart, in 1953 and in 2009. It both condemns and glorifies the life of the average American - but even that analysis might be too serious for a show just right for the season and just right for CRT. Guaranteed, you'll leave smiling. 

The Wegmans That Time Forgot

Today's adventure occurred early. I woke up, had breakfast and decided to run some errands sporting my Lemuria "Get Better" T-shirt. Repping Buffalo is important in a new city :-D. Much of my driving around so far has been aided by my TomTom GPS. American English Molly kindly tells me where to turn right and "go straight on." She also lets me search for things like "Nearest Petrol Station" and Wegmans, both of which I visited today. I knew when I found the gas station that I would be in for a treat at Wegmans because the atmosphere made my poor suburban heart clutch my purse under my arm as I walked to and from the little convenience store in which I paid for my measly 10 gallons ($2.73 each. Ugh.). So when I saw that the nearest Wegmans was only a couple miles away, I thought it might be very Amherst Street, maybe even like the now-closed Waldon store. I had no idea. 

First of all, the front doesn't even look like a Wegmans. I thought the GPS had taken me to the wrong store. I should have taken a picture - I think this was the Pond Street store, could be known as First North also. Anyway, inside it resembled a Jubilee more than a Wegmans, not that that really matters, right? There was no Nature's Market, hardly a prepared foods section to speak of and when a customer (a white chick with cornrows no less) asked a woman doing price checks where the contact solution was she said "You know as well as I do. No idea." She vaguely gestured behind the deorderant and returned to her job. It was so unWegmanslike, in addition to the fact that this employee wore jeans and white T-shirt. When I checked out, I then spotted some front end coordinators - I think - one in a huge Wegmans polo and one in a fourth of July T-shirt and jeans. Now, I know that some stores allow outfits like that on holidays, but it wasn't even neat. 

I have to admit that I understand people working at this Wegmans probably reflect the clientele since they are from the same geographic pool but I was under the impression that Wegmans was able to transcend those constraints. It truly was the Wegmans time and Danny Wegman forgot. It didn't look updated, the employees obviously have not seen any Who We Are videos or anything. Now, it wasn't a bad experience but after having visited the Cicero store on Thursday, this was quite a shocking reality.

You know what else is? People slamming doors at 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday that is also a holiday. Unnecessary fellow tenants! 

I-90 East

I am now blogging to you from my new apartment in central New York State. Despite all of the trouble I thought I would have - no stove, one sink, no living room - it's really cute and just my size. (And it has room for a five inch high cactus named Merve. How nice is that?) I've just put up all my posters and pictures, said good-bye to my parents ( :-( ) and took a turn about the neighborhood. I had to find a convenience store to buy a lighter so my new candle could start counteracting the smell of Fantastik in this little room I now call my studio apartment. You know what? It's clean, it's close to campus and my car is parked in the garage right across the street ($800 later...). I think life is going to be good here! Additionally, lucky me gets to see Meg tomorrow because she's pretty durn close to me doing "Damn Yankees." I'll give my report on how that goes after I see the show Sunday!

Yesterday my dad and I had a full day. Between making deposits at the bank and picking up things like stamps, we managed to see a pretty cute movie and grab some cheap and friggin' awesome tunes. 

I'm listening to Ryan Adams' "Heartbreaker" right now, a yesterday purchase and recommendation from two illustrious Gannon Knight editors (shoutttts Ab!). Though a 2000 release, the hubby of Mandy Moore is new to me. I first caught wind of him around The Knight office and then he popped up on my "Waste" (Phish) station on Pandora. It's like Bob Dylan met Johnny Cash, had a baby and that baby met Griffin House and produced Ryan Adams. He's got that old-time feel of classy country crooners and a modern sensibility that would probably translate to a rock audience as well as it does to the CMA crowd. I'm loving it, particularly "To Be Young" - which made me cry as I pulled away from my house - and "Come Pick Me Up" - which made me dance on my way through the torrential downpour on I-90 East.  

I also picked up "Reflections," a collection of Carly Simon's greatest hits. Now, I would never turn down a listen to Simon in my dad's van, but I have very little of her catalogue and so would not call myself a fan per se. I must be now! From "You're So Vain," classic, to "Jesse" and "That's the Way I Always Heard It Should Be," I feel like she and I could have been friends, thinking about the same things. I can concede that she did it much more eloquently than I can in song, though :). Her songs are conversations with her audience, something that's pretty unique as artists usually seem to write for an audience, but aren't necessarily asking for anything back. Simon's songs seem to ask for that as if she needs us as much as we need her songs. 

As for the free Snow Patrol album I got, "Final Straw," I didn't expect much. I got it because it was buy one get one and I love the song "Chocolate." Yep, that's the best one on the album, which isn't a bad one, it's just not as good as "Eyes Open." I think polish is the difference.

I've got to get back to reading my AP Stylebook. Yes, reading, not consulting. Tomorrow, things really get going!