Some Love for Lake Street Dive

Well, well, well what to talk about this week? Last week I tackled some current events and went on a tangent about racism. I enjoyed it quite a bit, but I'm craving something a little lighter this weekend. I could talk about the recent Supreme Court ruling but I fear I don't have much more to contribute that hasn't been said by everyone else on the internet (but don't get me wrong, I'm very happy about it).

So I've decided to talk to you about one of my favorite music groups: Lake Street Dive.

Lake Street Dive is a quirky quartet that I first saw a while ago on The Mountain Stage in Morgantown, WV. Usually when I see a Mountain Stage show there is one act whose CD I have to buy after the show, and shortly after Lake Street came on I knew it was going to be them. A few months ago (March, I think) they came to Pittsburgh and I went to see them for a second time at Club Cafe. Let me just say that they never disappoint. [Inside joke to my friend, Jodi, who went with me: "Wow".]

I'm not the best at defining music by genre so I'm going to say that Lake Street is a fun mix of jazz, rock, and pop and leave it at that. Drummer Mike Calabrese keeps the group steady with an amazing energy; he's very fun to watch live. Bridget Kearney plays a mean bass while Mike "McDuck" Olson effortlessly plays guitar and trumpet, depending on the song. Rachael Price is the group vocalist who has a powerful voice that is suited perfectly to the songs.

The band's self-titled album isn't their first, they actually had some beforehand when they were still trying to figure out their sound. But Lake Street Dive is the definitive of who they are now and it was well worth the work they put into it. The songs are all sorts of fun, all of them penned by the band members. My personal favorites on that CD includes the fast-paced "Elijah", the cool "Hello? Goodbye!", and the sort-of ballad "Neighbor Song" (penned by bass player Bridget, which also features her sick bass skills).


Their latest album is an EP called Fun Machine which features six cover songs. I love a good cover and thankfully, Lake Street does some awesome covers. My favorites are George Micahel's "Faith", Hall and Oates' "Rich Girl" and Paul McCartney's "Let Me Roll It".

Their recordings are great, but nothing beats seeing them live. They just have such a fun, positive energy surrounding them. The love and friendship between the group is infectious, quickly making an entire room full of strangers feel like they're among old friends. Their songs are fun and clever without seeming stupid or cheesy. They don't get overly political or preachy with their tunes; it's simply great music.

Another awesome thing I can't quit is their youtube videos. Most of them feature the group in very intimate settings. There's a video of them singing "Elijah" on a front porch, while the above "Faith" video was filmed on a sidewalk. They have no problem performing with the bare minimum: a bass, a drum, and a trumpet is all the more they need to blow your mind. It's a refreshing change (at least for me) from music that features a lot of synthesizers and hullabaloo, like the musical guests you see on Saturday Night Live. I'd rather have ten Lake Street Dives than one Kanye West any day.

So what's next for LSD? And do you think their band name is a subtle drug reference? I guess it's possible, I don't know their lives. They don't seem like the kind of people that would be doing LSD but I guess you never know. I digress. At their Pittsburgh show they mentioned working on a third album and played a few songs from it (which, of course, sound great). In the meantime I keep looking for new videos of them breathing life into songs by ABBA or Fleetwood Mac. Such a terrific group.

I'll leave you the same way Lake Street Dive left Pittsburgh: with a balls-to-the-wall playing of their song "Got Me Fooled" that they like to use as an encore. Thanks for reading, I hope you guys will check out the fabulousness that is Lake Street Dive. And no, I don't work for them or anything. I'm just trying to spread some love.

One More Thing to Hate About Paula Deen

It's currently Wednesday evening. I just got home from my 2nd job of the day, and it's been a long one. For one thing, James Gandolfini died today. I've never watched The Sopranos, but from what little I've seen of him I know that he was a great actor and his death at such a young age (51) is truly tragic.

Also is the news today? Paula Deen is a racist.

I'll walk you through it.

Celebrity chef, restaurant owner, and butter enthusiast Paula Deen is currently involved in a lawsuit with a former manager from her restaurant. The plaintiff claims that Ms. Deen and her brother Bubba have used racial slurs numerous times while running the restaurant, along with some other really terrible offenses. Most of the claims go against Bubba (by the way, if your name is Bubba you're probably going to be involved in at least one lawsuit in your lifetime) but some other allegations towards Paula are her desire to dress her black servers in clean white jackets and shorts and have them dance around for a "true Southern wedding". (A summarized transcript of the case can be found here, which also includes a link to the full transcript).

Now I should explain: before today I had no real problem with Paula Deen. I was actually quite the fan. I know a lot of people hated her before all this stuff came out. She has a ridiculous accent, a fake-like cheeriness, and she makes really unnecessarily bad health choices.

But I was a fan; I found her charming in an old Southern way (apparently I was right). I've made my share of her recipes and even have a cookbook of hers (a gift from my Nana, who cannot stand Paula Deen). [Correction: book was gift from my aunt not my nana. Credit where credit is due.] But what I've always known about Paula is that you can't eat her food everyday because it's horribly bad for you. That's what comfort food is: food you make once in a while when you want to sacrifice health for taste. We're supposed to try to find a balance between health, taste, and time in our meal. But occasionally it's okay to sacrifice one for the other**. Just not all the time.

**I'm clearly not a doctor. This is just my view on eating. If you want to know how to eat right I suggest you google something from a professional. Or hit up Pinterest.

My reaction to Paula Deen being racist was the same as mine to Paula Deen having diabetes: "Yep, I believe that." I mean of course she's racist: she's an old white woman from Georgia. The odds were kind of in her favor, weren't they? But I don't condone it: racism is disgusting and anyone who uses slurs is also disgusting. Even if they do make a mean apple pie.

I actually kind of hope some of these claims are false. A little piece of me hopes that this cheery persona Deen has worked so hard to create has some tiny shred of honesty in it. But this is a celebrity chef we're talking about, so anything is possible. Paula Deen could be a huge racist asshole and Gordon Ramsay could actually be the sweetest man on the planet. It's hard to say what's real these days.
 
Reaction to all of this has been terrific, at least as far as comedy goes. As soon as this case was made aware to the public, people went nuts on Twitter. The hashtag #Paulasbestdishes instantly became a punchline for people to create "racist" food dishes, like Okra Winfrey or Trayvon Martinis. If you have a Twitter, I suggest you check out that tag. Because things like that are one of the best reasons to have a Twitter. Also, you should follow me. I'm fun. 

I grew up in West Virginia (recently celebrating it's 150th year) and throughout my school years I saw a ton of racist attitudes. I do not use the n-word in my own home (or any other time) because I don't want to associate myself with some of the kids I went to high school with. I remember one horrible redneck kid in my homeroom in high school who told his friends that "being gay was about as bad as being black." He was trying to sound tough in front of his buds, I'm sure, but damn that's always stuck with me. How terrifying that some kids are still brought up with this mindset.

But if you happen to be like Paula Deen (racist) just try this out: keep it inside. I mean seriously. I get that "it's your opinion" but let's be honest: your opinion is the wrong one. It is a backwoods opinion and a thing of the past. If you have an issue with someone for being a different race, it's on you. You are the one who has to get over it. The world is trying to become a progressive, friendly place and if you like to throw the n-word around, then you aren't helping anything.

Also, racists? Stop with this whole "why can't I say it if they can say it?" argument. It's stupid and makes you look ignorant. I won't go into a huge rant about it, but I went to an open mic night this week and another comedian (I forget his name, damn) summed it up perfectly:

"Gay people can say f****t, black people can say n****r, everyone's got a word. Except white people. Sorry white people. That's just the cost of privilege." Yep, he nailed it. White people get everything else, just accept that there are a few words you're actually not allowed to have.

Alright I didn't quite mean to get on a tangent about racism. Perhaps I'm just upset that someone I was fond of is probably going to screw up her career by saying things like "of course I use the n-word". But Independence Day is coming up and I just want to remind all the bigots that it's for everybody. But I'm sure my lovely readers aren't bigots. If you were, you probably wouldn't have made it this far down the page.

And if the baked beans you serve at the July 4th picnic happen to be Paula Deen's recipe, don't bring it up. Just make it with lots of love and offer it to anybody who wants some. That's the sign of a good cook/human being.

Job Hunting, and the Dread That Follows

Well it's the time of year again. Summer! Waterslides and picnics, right?

Wrong. It's Summer. One of your part-time jobs is ending for 3 months. You need to replace it. Actually you need to replace both of your part-time jobs. Actually you need a career, not just a job, aren't you listening to your mother? How are you going to afford things?

It's job hunting time.

Looking for a new job has always been something that gives me a great feeling of dread. I have two jobs currently, and I like them both well enough, but I know I could be doing better. So how does one go about that?

For starters, it'd be easier if I had any sense of direction. I'm not using my Theater degree so I'm literally looking for any new path. In my own little game of Life, I'll pick up any career card that comes my way. I'm also working on inventing a new ice cream flavor.

You'd think that would make it easier for me when I search for work; I literally have all options available to me. Well that's not totally true. I have to siphon through jobs that are too far away, ones I don't have enough experience for, ones that only offer 12 hours a week, etc. It's a frustrating process finding jobs I could consider doing and would still be able to do. Perhaps I'm too picky/neurotic, but right now I can kind of afford to be (this is what I tell myself).

So I look for jobs asking myself two questions: "What can I do?" and "What do I want to do?". The two rarely have the same answer. Because the things I want to do tend to be silly. I want to make people laugh, either in person or through a popular Twitter page, but seriously shut up Isaac. What do you want to do for real.

Well I'm not sure yet. I'm just looking for something to do in the meantime. 

And I'll say I'm thankful that I'm still not looking for theater work. If one of my friends who are looking would like to write a piece about looking for theater work, I'll happily post it. But I am far too neurotic to look for work all over the country that pays $100 a week for maybe 3 months and then having NO IDEA what to do when that's over. And also, you know, I wouldn't enjoy the work and aren't terribly good at it (that's how I started my theater cover letters).

But on those rare instances I find something and the people actually bother to answer me back, we create a whole new level of awkwardness: the interview.

I have had a fair share of bad interviews. In one, I completely forgot how to talk. In another, my interviewer said goodbye by saying "Good luck to you." which of course means I won't be hearing from them. What does one say back to that? "Thanks. Good luck to you too. Sorry neither of us will get that 15 minutes back."

The last interview I had was quite a doozy. For one thing, I was in no way qualified for it and couldn't imagine being a good fit. But whatever, I need experience in interviews so I went. It was winter so I bundled up in my gigantic coat because I had to take two buses to get there. I arrived at the building where I was one of probably at least 30 people they were seeing that day. The waiting room was full of youngish guys in nice suits and pea coats. Pea coats, by the way, are what you where when you have a car during the winter.

These guys also had those leather binder things that looked full of papers. And I kept thinking "what's in those? I have one piece of paper that represents who I am, and it basically says "RETAIL" in bold red letters.". If I had one of those leather binders it would be full of Spartacus fan fiction and blog posts like this one.

I should mention that at this interview I did forget to bring my resume. Stupid mistake on my part, I know. But give me a break, this was my first interview for a job that didn't involve wearing a t-shirt or a name tag in a long time.

So I give my name to the receptionist who is not much older than me. I sit down and fill out their little paper. One of the last questions was "who do you look to as a leader?" and DAMN do I wish I'd written something funny like "The Red Power Ranger" or "Cyclops". It's a stupid question right? What's the point of asking that?

Anyway while I'm filling out this form the receptionist is making small-talk with the other candidates, "where are you from" and the like. She then starts talking to me. I forget what she first asked because she pronounced my name wrong. She said at least 3 times "I-zack." If you've ever met anyone named Isaac before in your life, you know that that's weird and wrong.

So she asked "I-zack" where I was from. And I said (because I'm an asshole): "It's Isaac (pronounced right)". She said "What?" and I repeated myself. "I-zack?" she tried again. "No," I said, "Isaac. You don't have to hit the second part quite so hard."

This took literally thirty seconds and at the end of it, she looked like an idiot and I looked like a dick. At least one other person was sniggering in the waiting room. I thought "well if the decision is up to her, you probably won't get the job."

So the guy who's going to interview me comes out. And he goes to the receptionist "I wanna make this next one quick, I wanna be out of here by 10:30." It was 10:20 at the time. And I thought "Great. Taco Bell opens at 10:30 so this should work out well for everyone."

So we interview. To his credit, this man was very nice for someone who wanted to get out of there. I'll spare you the details of the job (ok, I forgot them) but it went fine. I'm much more comfortable when I know I'm not going to get the job. At the end he said "alright so part 2 of the interview is a group work shadow, where we bring a lot of candidates in and they see the job for a day. If we were to call you would you be free for [this weekend]?"

I said I would, which was kind of a lie. I wanted to say, "Sure. But you won't call me. I look like hell, I don't have a resume, and I embarrassed your receptionist. I wouldn't call myself right now, that's how badly I think this went."

But we just shook hands and both left. And I got a Doritos Locos Taco that day. They didn't call me back.

So I just had to share that story, in the middle of all my job searching and freaking out. Hopefully I'm not alone in this. If I have any advice it's this: 1) Bring a resume. 2) Buy a pea coat. 3) If the receptionist pronounces your name wrong, just let it slide. 4) The Doritos Locos Taco is kind of overrated.

......And we're off.

This last weekend I was fortunate enough to go to the Kentucky Derby. Sounds like fun, right? Something you can cross off your bucket list and tell your kids about years from now. Well that's half right; at the very least, I have a story to tell.

This trip was a Christmas gift from my cousins to my sister and me. We all hopped in a truck on Friday and drove towards Kentucky. Friday night we stayed in a nice hotel in Cincinnati and had a lovely time there.

Then Derby day came. We awoke around 6 and took turns showering. I woke up at 5, little insomniac that I am, and began researching our upcoming day. We had tickets in the infield. Now, when you think of the Kentucky Derby you think big hats and clean bleachers and beautiful people with loads of money. Well, the infield is not like that. The infield is like Mardi Gras or Jamboree in the Hills: a drunken mess.

Now I don't mind a drunken mess. But I originally had brought nice dress pants and a shirt to wear to said derby. After viewing pictures of mud wrestling in the infield and reading stories about people dancing on port-a-potties, I opted for a pair of jeans.

So we left Cincinnati for Louisville. As we approached, it started to rain. I brought nothing for the rain (you can't take umbrellas in with you). We stopped at a gas station nearby and I bought a poncho. It was easily the smartest decision I made the whole day.

So we parked the truck and started to head towards the field. It was a decent walk, and it started to rain. This was maybe a little before 11 AM. We got in, got scanned by metal detectors, and entered the infield. It wasn't as packed and we found a place near the first turn to put our chairs down. It continued to rain.

I can't state that enough: it RAINED. It rained for 4 consecutive hours without ever pausing once. We were quickly soaked clear through and shivering because it was also cold in addition to raining.

But we had high hopes: this was the Kentucky Derby, damn it. Let's do some stuff! So we bought a mint julep. If you've never had one before, it's bourbon. And there's some mint. But it's bourbon. I didn't love it, but everyone else HATED it so I drank it.

My friends Nick and Nate (both of whom are fantastic) did a drawing of me enjoying a mint julep when I told them I was going. This is it:

And here's the reality:

Then I decided I wanted to place a bet. Not on the derby, not yet. We had all day for that. I took a bet on the 6th race. I bet on horse #8, Icon Ike. I figured since we share a name somewhat ("Ike" being a nickname my family uses) this was one of those "go for it!" signs. So, not checking any stats, I placed a bid on Icon Ike to win his race.

Icon Ike up on the scoreboard.

After waiting a hour or so (it's a long process) race 6 happened. From the infield we saw roughly 3 seconds of horses running past.

Turns out Icon Ike runs about as fast as this Ike, and he came in 7th. Gambling sucks. I will never have a gambling problem, because I hate losing much more than I like winning. Also our racing program quickly turned into a sponge, so we had to make up our minds quickly.

Our program, near the end.

After that race we decided to have a look around (it hadn't stopped raining). So we walked under the track through a tunnel to enter the area under the "rich seats". Everyone and their mother was there, to stay out of the rain. It was pretty heinous: thousands of people in a small enclosed space. I had a slight claustrophobia fit as we pushed deeper and deeper into the hoard of people.

What a mess. The hat in the front left belongs to my sister.

As we walked around, it was clear that everywhere was essentially the same: there were places to bet, eat, and buy mint juleps. And that's pretty much it. Your options were: A) to stand out in the rain, freeze, and see a glimpse of a horse race, or B) stand inside where it's warm, not see a horse race, and be crushed by a mass of people.

It was roughly 3 o'clock and we were in our fourth hour of rain. The actual Derby race started at 6:30. At this point I realized there was no way I was staying for that. A text conversation with my mother went something like this:

ME: It hasn't stopped raining. I think we all want to leave.
MA: If you leave you can't get back in.
ME: Yeah. Why would we want to?
MA: To see the parade of roses!
ME: ......I don't think you quite understand what's happening here.

My cousin's coworkers collected money and had her place a large bet on a horse to win the Derby. She did, so we were worried we'd have to stay and watch the damn thing in case they won. But, lo and behold, we learned that if you leave you can mail your winning slip to collect the prize money. Upon learning this, my shivering sister and I cheered and we took a vote: "Who wants to leave?"

It was pretty much unanimous.

So we left. As we sloshed our way out we walked by a drunken gentleman who had laid down a tarp on a small hill and was yelling "SLIP N SLIDE! SLIP N SLIDE! SLIP N SLIDE!". I was too tired to yell "We're ALL wet, asshole! The point of a slip n slide is to cool down in the sun! You may as well be yelling FALL DOWN! FALL DOWN! FALL DOWN! because that's what we'd be doing, ya jagoff."

It was a long walk back to the truck. And we kept passing people going in as we were going out. The drunk college kids I hated when I was in college were still around, just as annoying and stupid as ever. Large masses of people just aren't my thing.

We retreated to our hotel in Lexington. I took a bath, my cousins went to the hotel hot tub. Afterwards we went out to eat at Billy's BBQ. It was delicious: meat that came right off the bone, and it came with a huge slice of cornbread and I tried cheese grits and liked them (so there!).

My meal. Not pictured: the green beans.

I should say that although this sounds like a terrible time, we still kept our spirits about us. My cousin who'd bought the tickets would often break our soaked silences with a hearty "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" and I would laugh every time. Next year she said she was going to chain us to a sturdy tree during a hurricane.

So that was my trip. I got to experience the Kentucky Derby, which involved getting drenched for four hours and watching the actual Derby on TV at the hotel. Congratulations to Orb, the horse that won, although he probably didn't know he was racing. Because he's a horse.

 I'm not terribly upset, I got a decently funny story out of the whole thing. Had it not been raining, I'm sure we would've had a blast but that's the way it goes sometimes.

I should mention it kept raining as we left Kentucky THE NEXT DAY. I don't think I'll ever return to Kentucky, since apparently it likes to rain as long as I'm there. But oh well, there are 49 other states where the weather may be more welcoming. I'll stick to trying those.

Take a Chance on Missed Connections

At the risk of sounding incredibly shallow, let me just say this: I would love to see myself appear on the “missed connections” page of Craigslist.

Hear me out.

Nothing would make me happier than clicking through those links and seeing a description of me. I just want to know that there’s someone out there willing to put the effort in going online, writing an anonymous description of me, and then sending it for all the world to see in the hopes that I’ll stumble across it. I mean, seriously, it seems like a huge compliment.

I know 98% of those ads are just people cruising for sex, and well done for them for being so bold. I can’t say I’m someone who would ever write the words, “You were a really good waiter, Doug from Olive Garden. Would love to get together sometime and see what else you serve up.” What can I say? I play hard to get.

But some of those people have got to be looking for love. Someone saw me taking a nap on the bus or spilling pizza sauce on my shirt and thought “Wow. That’s the one.” I don’t know why you’d need anything else to go on. You can pretty much guess how a person’s going to be just by watching them. “Oh, he seems cool, he has stains on his clothes and doesn’t give a damn!”

And what a great story to tell your friends when they ask, “how did you guys meet?” You can say “well, I was using the port-a-potty at the street fair and he saw me from across the street. He didn’t say anything, but that night he went on Craigslist and wrote about me in the “missed connections.” Luckily I was on the verge of suicide so I was on Craigslist looking for some fast action. I saw his post and thought “what the hell?” and we agreed to meet in a very public location.”

Then there are the ones that have loved already, and they go to Craigslist as a final plea for their loved one’s heart. “Oh Kyle, (name changed for this story) I miss our long text talks together. The few weeks we’ve known each other have been the best of my life. I wish you’d return my calls, I can’t imagine life without you. We have so much to learn about each other: Our dreams, our biggest fears, our last names. Please call. –XOXO You know who”

Damn it, Kyle, just do it!! DO IT!

Granted, some missed connections seem a bit lazy on behalf of the posters. Like “I sucked you off in the park, you seem like a cool guy, would love to get together some time.” Really? Couldn’t have asked that in person? You’re sucking him in the park, THE ICE HAS BEEN BROKEN. Take a chance on love!

Buy anyway; perhaps I’m just desperate for the attention. But once, just ONCE, I would like to go on Craigslist any random day and discover that I’m reading about myself. I’m not saying I’ll respond; in fact I may change the locks to my house. But it would give a great spring in my step to know that someone cared enough to make a useless gesture on the Internet.

In fact, I may make a posting of my own. Something like this:

“You were reading my blog the other day. You probably found it by accident, or perhaps you’re just a virus going around. Anyway, I seem like a cool guy and you’d like to get to know me better, but you’re too shy. Or maybe you read the rest of my postings and thought, “he’s a lunatic”. Either way I encourage you to take the first step. Send me a reply with your name, age, and stats (height, weight, level of attractiveness).”

What? I’m not that desperate.

Future Cult Classic: Hamlet 2

I'm bringing back an idea I had a while ago: talking about films I love that I think may gain some recognition years after they were released. I started with RV, a film constantly shown on TBS. And while I like RV well enough, let's move on to a film I adore: Hamlet 2.

Hamlet 2 is the product of Andrew Fleming, who brought us The Craft and Threesome and Pam Brady, a writer for South Park.  The story is about a high school theater director, Dana Marschz (played by the severely underrated Steve Coogan), who desperately needs to make money for the theater program or the school board will cut it. Sound like a tired and familiar storyline? Well it turns out that in the less-than-happening town of Tuscon, Arizona, no one really cares if theater gets cut.

With a class suddenly full (lots of other arts classes were cut, so many students were forced to take theater for an arts credit), Dana decides to write and mount his own production: a sequel to Shakespeare's Hamlet.

Sounds stupid right? Well that's kind of the point. Hamlet 2 is an absurd concept and an absurd movie. Take it too seriously and you won't find it funny at all. We never learn what's actually going on in Dana's play because we only see snippets of it. It involves Hamlet going back in time to undo Ophelia and everyone else's death. This time machine is given to him by (wait for it) Jesus, who apparently feels bad about what Hamlet had to go through.

Sounds like a movie built around shock value, right?  Well that's only half-true. While Dana's play involves a lot of risque material, we don't see much of it, so the film itself doesn't rely on cheap gags. Here are some of the reasons why Hamlet 2 deserves more recognition.

1. This has got to be Steve Coogan's greatest role

I'll be honest; Dana Marschz would probably be painful to watch if anyone else were playing him. If he's done too seriously, he'd be boring. If he was too over-the-top (like Jim Carrey or Will Ferrell) he'd be annoying. But Steve Coogan is simply amazing as Dana. He's a very passionate and eccentric man, but you never get annoyed with him. Mostly because his life sucks: his wife is a bitch, his job is a joke, and he's a recovering alcoholic. Even though you may not agree with his methods, you just want Dana to succeed because he has nothing else going for him. He's a loveable loser, through and through.


2. The supporting adult cast is solid

While Coogan and his students dominate most of the screentime, the rest of the characters in Dana's life are just as entertaining. First of is Catherine Keener as Dana's wife Brie. Brie isn't kind to Dana and for the most part he doesn't notice or care. Her delivery is so cute and bitchy you can't help but laugh. A highlight is when Dana, Brie, and roommate Gary (a quiet David Arquette) are at a Mexican restaurant and Bree proposes a toast: "To Dana, my loving husband...what the fuck was I thinking?" It's a simple line, but Keener's drunken delivery makes me laugh every time.

Then there's Amy Poehler, a comedy goddess who was just on the edge of huge populairty when this film was made. Poehler plays Dana's determined and dirty-talking attorney Cricket Feldstein (if you're wondering about the "Feldstein", she married a Jeew). She only appears in a few scenes, but has some really great lines and, really, Amy Poehler just automatically makes a film better.

And finally we have Elisabeth Shue playing herself. In the film, Shue has retired from acting and is working as a nurse. Like the high school students in the film, I never heard of Elisabeth Shue before but I LOVED that this actress was in a movie that made tons of pot shots at herself. Dana angrily lists off her movies to his class "Karate Kid?!? Adventures in Babysiting?!? Dreamer with that fucking horse?!??" but still no one knows her. I officially love this actress for this movie and jump at the chance to see her in things.

3. The kids in the play are great as well
What's great about these kids in the film are that most of them don't really care if the arts get cut. This isn't Fame: these kids are just trying to get their arts credit, damnit. From "bad boy" Octavio (Joseph Julian Soria) to jokester Chuy (Michael Esparza) to "cool girl" Ivonne (indie queen Melonie Diaz), these kids offer a great foil to the overeager Dana. Mix in the unlucky Yolanda (Natalie Amenula) who constantly gets hit in the head and the stoner Vitamin J (Arnie Pantoja) and Dana has quite the team to work with.

Standing out from this crowd are Dana's "star" pupils, Epiphany and Rand (played by Spring Awakening stars Phoebe Stole and Skylar Astin). Both are the acting kids no one wants to meet: they're kiss-asses, over-dramatic, and think way too much of themselves. And they're also a little bit racist (Epiphany states "I keep praying in my circle group for more tolerance, but I'm still uncomfortable around ethnics.") These two are easily the funniest of the group of kids, and their vocal skills are wonderfully shown off when Hamlet 2 finally is shown onscreen.

4. The film is basically a giant "fuck you" to other high school theater movies

When I saw this movie in theaters, I was a theater major in college. While my best friend and I loved it (I never laughed so hard) I found a lot of other people, mostly acting majors, did not. And I think the reason is, it's the exact opposite of what they want people to see. Both Dana and his theater pupils are seens as losers by the rest of the world. While Dana claims he wants to make art, he unfortunately relies on cliches such as his personal feelings towards his father and the ever present shock value. The portrayal in this film can make theater people come across as losers, douchebags, and people you may not want to be around.

But that is why I love it so. Because after four years of theater school, let me just say that not everyone is as cool as Jennifer Lawrence. There are plenty of douchebags in the field who need to be taken down a peg or two, and Hamlet 2 does that successfully with it's portrayal. Side note to my acting friends: I don't think you guys suck. I just want you to acknowledge the people who do. Love ya.

5. The last half hour is just perfect
So after a big buildup we finally get to see various scenes of Hamlet 2 and holy crap is it great.  Don't try to follow a plot, because it makes little to no sense. We start with a humorous number, "Raped in the Face" which features the main cast singing lines such as "I know the topic of rape isn't nice/don't bring it up when you're breaking the ice". From then we go on to the show-stopping "Rock Me Sexy Jesus", a number based on the fact that if Jesus were to come back in modern times he would have to sell himself as a celebrity. The song is catchy, offensive, and hilarious all at once. Plus the great vocals by Strole and Astin (who would eventually do Pitch Perfect and 21 and Over) are the cherry on top.

The play ends with Hamlet going back in time, preventing the death of his mother and lover, and then battling his enemy in a harness that flies over the stage. All this is set to the musical's background accompanists, the gay men's chorus of Tuscon, as they sing "Someone Saved My Life Tonight." It's beautiful.

So there we have it: one of my all-time favorite movies that most people don't know/care about. Hopefully my raving reviews mixed with these clips have interested you in giving it a chance.

I'd also like to do other movies people consider "future cult classics". I have my own list, but I'd like to hear input from you readers. If I haven't seen something I'll happily view it and give it the treatment I just did. So leave me a comment, y'all.

She Was Never There: A Short Story

 Last night I was struck with a pretty bad case of insomnia, so I wrote a little story. It's inspired by the recent "controversy" regarding Notre Dame football player Manti Te'o. If you haven't heard, basically Te'o claimed his girlfriend died, either in a car accident or from leukemia. But it turns out that girlfriend was never real, and Te'o is claiming to have been the victim of an internet hoax.

I have no idea what's really going on there, although a new internet fad is to take a picture with your arm around your invisible girlfriend (it's called Te'oing and I love the interent). But I wrote a tale similar to this, giving my own explanation for how something like this could have happened. It's purely fiction, meant to entertain. Enjoy it.

"She Was Never There"

by Isaac Crow

They met in the summer at a party. Eve was a friend of a friend of Manuel’s cousin Skylar. It was a fun party, but Manuel had promised Skylar he’d drive home. Hating being around drunk people unless he too was obliterated, Manuel had reserved himself to standing along the back wall, watching people dance. That was when Eve had approached him.

She was quite the vision. She had long blonde hair, a beautiful face, and was the only girl at the party who didn’t have a fake tan. Manuel was instantly smitten as the two struck up a conversation. He learned she went to school far away; she was just in town visiting a friend. He told her about football and, unlike most girls who obviously weren’t listening, her face lit up a bit as they talked about it. She said she was sure he was going to have a good year in the fall, despite how nervous he felt.

They talked for hours, until one of Skylar’s friends vomited on a girl’s shoes. At that point Manuel decided it was time to call it a night. Before he left the party Manuel made sure they were Facebook friends. She shot him a sly, sad smile as he left the party, rounding up Skylar and his baboon friends into his car.

Eve had gone home shortly after that. A few days after the party Manuel struck up a Facebook chat with her. Eventually it became a nightly ritual, them chatting online or texting each other. Manuel was really falling for this girl, which felt crazy because he’d only met her once. But it also felt right; he was never able to open up to anybody like he could with her.

Before school started back up in the fall, he called Eve and asked her to be his girlfriend. She said “yes” but requested they not make it Facebook official. “It’s just so tacky,” she said dismissively over the phone. Manuel smiled even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he agreed, “it’s so dumb.”

And that was that: Manuel had a great girlfriend, albeit a long-distance one. His grades were good and the team was doing great, no small thanks to him. Girls at school would hit on him all the time. He enjoyed the attention he was getting, but he’d brush them aside gently. And every night, either after classes or practice, he’d text Eve. Sometimes they’d just make small talk, but it always made Manuel feel better and was his favorite way to end the night.

Manuel made plans to travel up to Eve’s college the weekend before Thanksgiving break. She happily agreed and sent him directions to her apartment. “My roommate will be outta here ;-)” she texted him. His interest peaked, Manuel started the upcoming countdown to his weekend away.

The day before he was going to leave to see her his cousin questioned him. “I don’t understand…who is this girl?” Skylar asked.

“I told you she was at that party. The one you were too shitfaced to see straight at?”

“Yeah, I remember that. But I don’t remember seeing any girl there talking to you.”

“Well yeah, but you were drunk. Remember in the car you told us all how badly you were gonna miss Whitney Houston?”

Skylar flushed a little. “I meant that.” He admitted. “But like I don’t know how you can have a girlfriend after this one party. I mean I haven’t even seen a picture of her on Facebook.”

“She’s a very private person. I like that about her.” It was true, Manuel liked that Eve wasn’t one of those girls who posted their lives on the internet for the world to see.

“Well whatever, just be careful okay? I mean what do you know about her?”

Manuel felt his face get hot with anger. “I know a lot about her, asshole. We talk all the time. She’s really great. Get over it.”

He stormed away from his cousin, no longer wanting to talk about it.

The drive up to Eve’s college took a while, but eventually Manuel made it there. It was a beautiful campus, very large with big buildings and trees everywhere. Eve’s apartment complex looked a lot nicer than his own shabby residence back home. He took it as another good sign that this weekend would be great.

He got to Eve’s apartment following the directions she’d texted him. He knocked on the door and she opened it. She was just as gorgeous as he’d remembered. It was if time had frozen for her after that party; her hair was even the same length.

“You look great,” he said. He leaned in to kiss her. It was awkward; not because it was their first kiss, but her lips were so cold it made him gasp. But he kept kissing her, making a silent vow to warm her lips up. She smiled appreciatively as he pulled his face away.

“It’s so good to see you again” she said in a quiet voice. “I’ve missed you.”

Manuel laughed. “We talk all the time.”

“I know that,” she said, pulling her blonde hair back. “It’s just so good to see you again.”

This time she pulled him into a kiss; her lips were much warmer now, Manuel noted. His whole body ached as they stood their kissing. After months of talking, she was finally right here in his arms. Life was good.

The rest of the weekend went by way too fast. They went out dancing at the clubs full of college kids who hadn’t left for break yet. They’d dance til late in the morning, then go back to Eve’s apartment. The first night there, the two of them had sex. Manuel was sure it was the best he’d ever had and, judging from the noises, Eve seemed to enjoy it too.

For the rest of his visit the two of them mostly stayed in. They ordered food (Eve didn’t want to buy new groceries right before the break), watched movies on the couch, went out dancing again, then returned home for another round of lovemaking. The last thing Manuel wanted to do was leave that Sunday morning.

She kissed him goodbye in the doorway of her apartment.

“Bye,” she whispered lovingly.

“I love you.” Manuel said it without really thinking. But he found he meant it.

Eve’s face looked sadder. Oh shit, Manuel thought, I scared her. What kind of douchebag drops the love bomb this early?

            A smile eventually formed on her sad face. “I love you too.” She said. They kissed goodbye again, and he left. He felt corny just thinking it, but Manuel was confident he’d never been this happy before.

           Manuel’s life was wrecked two weeks before Christmas. He received an email from someone at Eve’s college. Apparently Eve had been hit by a car one night and was killed on impact. Manuel couldn’t believe it; how could this have happened? How could the one thing that brought him so much joy now be taken from him?

         Manuel called his family and told them what had happened. He said they had to get a hold of someone, get information about the viewing and the funeral. He wanted to talk to Eve’s parents, tell them who he was and how much he’d loved her. His parents had nodded along, agreeing to do anything they could to help their heartbroken son.

        However, when he went home to see them he was greeted with a surprise. His parents brought him in and they all sat down on the couch. With them in the living room were his cousin Skylar and a woman dressed in nice black dress clothes with a police badge on her shirt.

       “Manuel,” the woman said, “I’m Detective Collins. I’d like to talk to you about Eve.”

       “Are you in charge of finding the bastard that ran her over?” Manuel asked angrily.

         His parents share a nervous glance with each other as Detective Collins continued. 

        “Eve wasn’t hit by a car” the woman said.

        A small light of hope swelled in Manuel’s chest. “She’s alive.”

        Collins shook her head. “Well, no.”

       “So…how did she die?”

       Collins bit her lip before answering. “She didn’t die, Manuel. She was never alive in the first place.”

        That really threw Manuel. “What? I-I don’t understand.”

        His mother reached over and patted his leg affectionately.

        “We ran a check on this Eve when your parents called. There are no records of her in any morgues or hospitals, nor is she even enlisted at the college.”

       “What? They sent me an email-“

       “Could I see it?”

       Manuel got out his phone and looked through his emails. He searched for that horrible email that wrecked his world, but couldn’t find it. He looked over all his files; it was nowhere to be found.

       “I must have deleted it.” He said unsurely.

       “No traces of her were found on Facebook or anything like that.” Detective Collins informed him. “Nobody with her last name lived in that town. Your cousin here got a hold of the people that went to that party; nobody said they knew an Eve.”

      “But-“

      “There’s more,” the policewoman kept going. “The police were called out to the Nichols Apartment at “Eve’s” college the week after you went up there to visit. Did you stay in room 231?”   

      Manuel nodded.

     “The girl who lives in that room said she came home after break and found her bed had been messed up, like it had been slept in and-excuse me-fucked in. The pictures she kept out on her desk and nightstand had been stuffed into a box in her closet.”

     “Wait, what are you saying?” Manuel was about to lose it.

      His mother was crying now, rubbing her son’s leg sadly.

      His father spoke up. “Son, we think you made Eve up.”

     “What!? That’s crazy!”

     “No kidding,” Skylar muttered.

     “Eve was real! I saw her there, I kissed her, we went out!”

      Collins spoke up again. “Security cameras on campus captured you walking around by yourself that weekend. You were looking at someone who wasn’t there and you kept talking to it.”

      Manuel was breathing hard now, tears welling up in his eyes. “But she was real, she-“

     “Did Eve cook anything for you?” Collins inquired.

     “No, we ordered out.”

    “Did she pay the deliverymen?”

    “No, I did, what difference-“

    “Son,” his dad said calmly. “Eve wasn’t real. You didn’t visit anybody. You broke into a stranger’s apartment and messed up her room. Then you went all over the campus talking to yourself. Manuel, we think you might have schizophrenia.”

    His mother burst into a fresh round of tears after that was said.

    “I’m not crazy!” Manuel yelled, getting up from the couch angrily. “How can you think that about me?!?”

    “Manuel, these things can happen to anybody-” Detective Collins started.

    “Fuck you guys! I’m not crazy! I’ll find her!” Marius screamed as he stormed out of his house, his family and the policewoman yelling after him.

    Manuel’s search for Eve came up empty. He looked all over her college campus, closely monitored by the police. He tried to find her texts, her Facebook profile, any proof of her existence. There was nothing.

    But how could that be? Manuel had kissed her, had sex with her, had loved her. How could she just not have ever existed? She was gone without a trace.

    He had become a laughingstock at his school. His friends, his teammates, they all said he’d gone crazy looking for a girl none of them had met and who had never been real. Eventually it was too much for Manuel: he dropped out of college. A week afterwards, at the urging of his parents, Manuel agreed to go somewhere to receive psychiatric care.

 

     Eve watched from the trees as Manuel’s parents helped him load up their car. She cried softly as observed, feeling guilt for the pain she’d caused him. As she watched she became aware of the cloaked figure that had appeared next to her.

    “Hello Eve,” the Judge said.

    “Hello,” she said glumly.

     The Judge held a black clipboard in its hands and read off of it.

     “Got a bit careless this time, didn’t we Eve?” the Judge asked in its creepy ambiguous voice.

     Eve nodded a response.

    “Let’s see…the terms were you could make yourself visible and corporeal to one mortal at the party, with the intent of having a quick hookup.” The Judge read lazily from the sheet. “You would also be allowed to posses a phone to continue a “long-distance” relationship that would not last more than a month.”

    Eve nodded again.

    “But it went on, didn’t it? You possessed his phone and kept talking to him. He eventually wanted to visit you, so you found an empty apartment, stole a key from one of its residents, hid any sign that resident lived there, and invited him into it. Continuing to take corporeal form, you had sex with said mortal- that’s a huge offense, by the way- and got him to fall in love with you.”

    “That’s all true.” Eve said softly.

    The Judge looked up from its clipboard and held it against its body.

    “So did you love him?” it asked her curiously.

     “I did.” Eve said.

      The Judge clucked a little. “Well I hope it was worth it. Once your sentence passes in the Courts I can guarantee you’ll be in purgatory for a long time.”

      Eve nodded solemnly. It was worth it, she decided. She had loved him but had also wrecked him. She could now only hope he’d recover from the mental scarring she’d given him. And hope that purgatory wasn’t as bad as she’d heard it was.

       “Come,” the Judge said. It held out a cloaked arm. Eve grabbed it lightly, and the two faded away from this world.