Contraposto

My right hip is *killing* me!

It's from all this dag-blamed contraposto I'm doing for this 10-5 sculpture workshop.

And things were only more aggrivated at rehearsal for our Dostoevsky play last night. At one point the actors become a dancing chorus in an elaborately choreographed Fosse-style dance number.

So while my isolations, finger snaps, and smouldering demeanor were hot-hot-hot, my right hip was not-not-not.

So I started thinking I could probably benefit from hip replacement surgery.

If I get one, I'm going to request a bionic hip. You know. The kind with, like, a retractable hip-cannon. And a hip-mounted net-launcher so I can catch criminals. And if people start chasing me, I'd also have hip-squirt oil-slick action to make them slip and fall so I could make a clean getaway.

That would be so awesome.

I guess the question quickly becomes should I use my new bionic hip for good...or for evil?

I'm sure glad Jesus loves everybody. Because I don't love *anybody* right now.

Which is funny, because, for the first three hours, my body was saying, "You're over the hump, you're gonna be okay."

Now that we're back from lunch, my body is saying, "If you cry you'll feel better."

The instructor won't stop talking about how great"Ell Ay" is which just reminds me of his "incredible" models who (I swear he said this) swallow swords and eat fire while modeling. And that makes me feel worse about myself as a figure model.

And Frenchinella is really serious about the time. Today, we came back from lunch and I was ready to go, but everybody was busy talking or finishing up their lunch so I figured I'd wait until it looked like people were ready to go.

Frenchinella walks up to me and says, "Um. Hasn't it been an hour?"

"Oh, yeah. Just--everyone's talking and stuff so I was gonna wait till people were more ready to get back to work."

"Well, if you don't get up there they'll just keep talking indefinitely," she said as she turned away toward her sculpture.

"Oh, I know!" I called feebly. "I just thought...! Y'know! I mean, I was *just thinking* how much I'd like to torture myself for a few extra minutes while you guys snack on your sandwiches!"

Nobody talks to me on the breaks so I never get a mental reprieve from the pose.

It's not that the pose is *painful*, it's that it's *exhausting*. Your body is saying, "Move. I'm very very tired and I don't want to stand like this anymore" and you have to say, "No."

"Please? I'm serious. I can't do this."

"Shut up, wimp."

It starts to make you go a little bit crazy. Like Chinese water torture. Which, for the record, I'm about to try just so I can see if I could endure it--see if modeling prepares you to deal with actual torture.

Am I going crazy?

Cold Shoulder

I'm in a Gitmo world of pain right now.

I feel like such a wimp.

With Frenchinella leering at me, classical piano music playing, and my right hip screaming, what else could go wrong?

How about a sudden shoulder spasm?

Yeah. Remember how at Easter they break down what happens during crucifixion and how eventually the muscles tire themselves out from holding up the body and they start to spaz, causing the rest of the body to thrash about on the cross?

Something similar just happened to me.

I feel like such an ameteur.

Maybe I should crucify myself as a warm up for these classes.

*sigh*

Excusez-moi?

There's a Frenchwoman in this class who is cracking the whip on me.

On the last set on the first day, my battery popped out of the timer. The Frenchie checked her watch when she suspected 25 minutes had passed and then inspected my timer.

"Your timer doesn't work," she said flatly.

I don't know. Maybe it was just that my body was in the throes of pain, but all I wanted to do at that moment was bite her and say, "Yes, you French tart, it DOES work, it just WASN'T working AT THAT MOMENT."

Well, today I'm trying to pace myself so on the long break I set the timer for 17 minutes instead of 15.

And guess who was secretly keeping time from across the room.

"Haven't 15 minutes passed?" asked Frenchinella, who may as well have been tapping her foot rudely.

I told her not to worry. That everything was fine, and that YES, my timer DOES work.

* * *

News Flash--Frenchinella is actually Greek. Coulda fooled me.

Agony

I am in agony.

And things will probably stay this way for at least the next two weeks.

So it turns out this is beginning sculpting 101. Sort of. I mean, some of the people in the workshop have sculpted before, but most of them...that is, 3/5 of them, haven't really.

So why, oh, why am I hanging from a ramshackle makeshift pull-up bar like an albino monkey?

Yes, it's dynamic. Yes, it's complicated. Yes, it's probably well beyond the abilities of these poor students. Look at that sweep of the spine. Look at how the shoulders are askew. Look at how the hips are not aligned and one juts out further than the other. And, dear Cod, look at that contraposto!

Also look at how the C clamps holding this damn thing together are 50 years old. Also look at how every time I try to give a little bit of my weight to the overhead bar, the whole thing begins to fall. So now look at how I'm having to pull on the bar to keep from falling backwards, AND use my abs like CRAZY to keep from leaning back TOO far and going down, monkey, banana, and all.

My right hip took the brunt of everything today. I cannot walk without limping. And since I was basically doing a light pull-up all day, my arms are crying.

I know my family is worried that I don't appreciate the value of a dollar and the work that goes into earning one.

I got news for 'em. T'ain't no one in this family worked for their money the way I work for mine.

And I don't just mean in the naked sense.

You know, this instructor is about to get his eyes scratched out. We're setting the pose and I mentioned it would be nice if there were some ropes or pullys or other thing to play on to make some really interesting poses.

Quoth he, "well, in LA, I have models who do all KINDS of amazing things. I have a fire eater model who eats fire as he models. And a sword swallower. They're just amazing. They're not afraid to get REALLY physical."

And I almost snarked, "Oh. Do you work at the circus?"

* * *

El Sloppo has been foiled. They're using oil-based clay. And the instructor just pooh-poohed sculptors who make huge messes as they work.

Heh heh heh.

What am I Saying?

What am I talking about "no posts for a week"?? I have this Blackberry!

So everybody's about to head out to lunch. I'm going to hang out here at the sculpture studio and try and figure out how I want to stand for the next two weeks.

Wish me luck.

* * *

Oh no. One of the students in the workshop is young artist, El Sloppo, the messiest sculpture student *ever*. The fligs chunks of clay everywhere. And you know what happens when clay dries... It turns into clay cookies which are then stepped on and turn into Lung Disease Dust.

And El Sloppo is the cause of it all.

Pray for me. Pray for my lungs.

* * *

Oh Lord. As the gang left for their lunch break (I stayed behind to figure out possible poses) the instructor turns to me and asks if I could please experiment with poses that have both my arms over my head.

10-5.

For two weeks.

...

First el Sloppo, now this.

This Week

Well folks, this is me signing off. I'm closing the doors of the 42nd Floor forever. We had some laughs, didn't we!

Okay, see you guys!





















Naw, I'm just kidding. But I'm not kidding when I say I'ma be so busy this week that you should NOT check back here expecting delicious posts. After my successful "Taste o' Tap" class on Sunday (you just show up with tap shoes and start dancing--it's nuts. O, New York!), I'm about to embark on a two-week sculpture workshop. 10-5 every day. And afterwards I have either rehearsal or more modeling.

So yeah. Don't expect to hear anything from me. And don't let that worry your pretty little heads. I'm here. I'm just not HERE here.

Okaybye.

Messiah

I haven't seen this movie, but from what I've heard...

This man's performance is a miracle.

If you have hungry children, bring them into the multiplex. The will emerge two and a half hours later with bags of groceries that can never be emptied.

If you have a loved one with cancer, take them to see this movie. They will emerge completely cured.

If you have wrinkles, you can't afford not to see it. You will leave the theater looking ten years younger.

If you're lost, depressed, or feel you have no direction in life, take heart. Saint Heath-Joker has overcome the world.

Gone With the Wind, Casablanca,Citizen Kane...forget them! For the Dark Knight surpasses them all.

At least, that's what everybody in New York is saying.

I, for one, am excited to see this miracle performance that reportedly feeds the hungry and heals the sick. I've got a pulled groin that has been killing me! Heal me, Saint Wall-E! I mean Saint Obama! I mean Saint Heath-Joker, fad of the week! Heal me!

* * *

Quoth one of my buddies on the over-excited adults who insist this movie is the greatest of them all, "They still want all their kiddie stuff and comic book movies but it has to be presented hyper-realistic, serious, and violent just so they can see their kiddie movie without being made fun of."

Hmm. Interesting. You can BET you'll see my opinion up here the second I get back from the flick! And don't worry, I'll be wearing my objectivity goggles, although, I must admit, they'll probably be smudged a bit from this non-stop effusion of bat-praise being poured out upon the streets by every person I pass.

Imaginary

Can someone help me with this?

Why is it no matter WHERE I go in this (af)fair City, there's always someone talking to himself?

Coffee shop? Check.

Subway car? Yep.

Grocery stores? You betcha.

It's really weird. Why don't they have people like these in, oh, I don't know. South Cackalackee?

Beautiful.

The Korean Princesses hard at work on their

*cough* *cough*

Magazine mosaics.

Now there's some money well-spent.

At least she got my nose.

Delicacy

I'm sure the class of Korean artist princesses would drool at the sight of this.

So tender you can cut it with a plate

I've Got Seoul

I'm about to disrobe in a class full of *nothing* but Korean girls.

Oh Cod. I can hear the giggles now.

Hey. It's a living.


* * *

Oh, no it's not.

I'm recovering at a Morebucks across the street. Man. Maybe I'm just getting old, y'all, but standing in a pose like that for three hours just took. Its. Toll. But, to my credit, I already did a three hour standing pose this morning. Maybe that's why I'm so tired.

I'm sitting here hoping a flying caravan of swans will swoop into this coffee shop and carry me aloft on their downy backs to my humble little apartment on the west side. Do you ever wish that sort of thing would happen? When your body says "go!" and your feet say "no!"?

I mean, hell. It doesn't e'en have to be swans. It can be a car. Just as long as walking and standng (I'm looking at YOU, N train!) is kept to a bare minimum. And yes. That pun most certainly WAS intended.

I've been back in the modeling game for a few months now and that was the first time I felt like I was enduring torture. Seriously, y'all. That class was hot, quiet, and Korean.

Not a good combination.

I could fairly feel the bamboo shoots tickling the undersides of my fingernails.

The heat is on in Saigon. Oh yes it is.

Massage Get!

I just got myself an 87 minute massage.

Not too shabby for three hours of work.

Is Your Fear Greater Than Your Love?

When you wake up in the morning you don't think, "Hey. By the end of the day I bet I'm going to suddenly find myself the subject of a life-size painting inspired by some motivational words from your former acting teacher."

I'm 5'9" without any shoes on. That's freakin HUGE.

But there you go. That's New York for you.

Today was officially the last day for the four week summer intensive, but some of them wanted to work a little bit more. This is considered outside of the art school since the class is over--at this point, they're just letting us use the space.

So we're meeting for three hours tomorrow.

Quoth I,

"I know money is a problem for some of you so I've decided that, instead of charging my usual rate, I'm going to make this a pay-what-you can."

Smiles. Yayness.

Then I quickly added,

"I've been seeing a world-class massage therapist who charges a dollar a minute. And I'd really love to have him for an hour and a half."



Was that wrong?

So Naked. So VERY VERY Naked

So money is really tight right now.

You know what that means.

Time to take more clothes off.

It's really amazing what a little persistence can get you in New York City. For example, this morning I went from doing pretty much nothing next week...

...to being naked almost the ENTIRE TIME. And getting paid for every minute of it.



I just re-read the above lines. And if you didn't know me, they would sound SO strange.

Nevermind that--it sounds strange even if you DO know me.

SNSGAWP

I'm at the School for Not So Great Artists with Wealthy Parents tonight.

When they don't wanna be here it's hard for me to want to be here.

I mean, I guess I know what strippers feel like when nobody's excited to see them. It hurts your feelings.

hEadache

I don't know where these headaches are coming from lately. But there they are. And to keep them at bay, whenever I suspect they might become much, MUCH worse, I get a highly caffinated beverage.

That's why I'm at Morebucks right now. Not at the gym. Because the last time I got a tall latté, I was quivering for hours afterward.

Seems like it might do my brains some good.

Except for the fact that this morning we're doing a four hour pose instead of a three. And my coffee crash will hit sometime around when I plan on going to the gym at 1. Which means a groggy Fork will probably skip tricep day.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

Free Entertainment is my Middle Name

SRSLY.

I mean, check it out.

I always wondered how certain events were always so full. Now I know. Because there are free tickets to be gotten, if only you know where to look.

And I do.

But I can't do it without you.

That's right. They don't do single tickets. They just do pairs. And if you don't go, they, like, charge you a whole lot of money and revoke your membership. So please take this seriously. I mean--srsly.

I'm going to see this on Sunday. FOR FREE! I'm so cool! (Oh, and thanks for coming, Meta-Orthodoxy)

No Money Monday

It's so sad when Monday rolls around and you don't have any money.

I just finished the first draft of a new play. But it needs some serious rewrites. And the job seems so daunting I think it might be easier simply to reformat my hard drive and pretend I never wrote the blasted thing.

In other news, this is the last week of modeling for teh n00bz. I'm kinda glad of that. It hasn't been the greatest four weeks of all time. When you pride yourself on being good at your job (standing still for long periods of time) and all the n00bz seem to be able to talk about is that they can see you moving, it's enough to make you stop doing crunches. Just to SPITE them.

Saturday Rant: Misers

So I have these friends who make TONS of money. Like, GOBS.

Thanks to some screw up with the postal system, the landlord lost the rent checks for all the tenants last month. But don't worry. He found them. That means that THIS month I'm seeing two months of New York City rent being amputated from both checking accounts.

So one of these friends gChats me a second ago.

"Hey, we're going out to eat and to a movie. Wanna do dinner? Or both?"

I say, "Sorry. I'm totally broke until I get paid from the art studio on Wednesday."

And instead of saying "Oh, don't worry about it. I'll take care of you and you can pay me back later. After all, I have a really cushy job, make lots of money, and really just want to spend some time with you as I have not seen you in several days"

he says

"Oh. Okay. Just thought I'd ask."

You know, if I had a ton of money, I'd take my poor friends out to eat all the damn time.

I'm just saying.

Forkulele Friday: Two By Cohan

Made this in a hurry so it'd still be relevant. As a result, my inhibitions didn't have time to kick in. I wish I could be at a backyard barbecue today getting ready to light up some sparklers.

But I'm not. So my only alternative is to use my ukulele powers for the good of mankind. Here's a little musical entertainment with which to further brighten up everyone's super-happy fun times time!

Happy Fourth!

I want YOU to click here to go there!

Doodle

Happy Independence Day to all you red-blooded Americans out there! New York is hopping with tourists today so I'm grabbing a protein bar and heading to the gym. I rather thing our founding fathers are smiling from heaven to know some of their children carry on the March of Vanity, even on holidays. After all, nothing says "America Kicks Ass!" like a pair of smoldering triceps.

Have fun! Eat hot dogs! And watch fireworks! Flaming Chinese imports are the most important part of this holiday!

I Did Not Care For This Movie (I Did Not Care For This Movie)

Do I need to say it again?

If I was one of the screenwriters on this film, I'd probably say it at least two more times. And you, the reader, would get the distinct feeling that I wanted to come up with something else, but I simply couldn't. So I just did the same thing again.

Not one to let the hype wagon get in the way of judging a piece of work based on its own merits, I pushed all the "best animated film of all freakin' time" falderal out of my mind and, as I did with this crap before it, I peacefully sat down prepared to enjoy the film with no ridiculously high expectations that it would change the way I look at the world.

It started out promising enough. And by promising, I mean, "Oh my gosh, I think I'm going to really, really love this movie." Like how I felt about this brilliant little movie which I totally didn't expect to end up anywhere near my top ten favorites list.

The planet Earth that Wall-E inhabits is trashed, in the literal sense. But, unlike his other powered-off counterparts, somehow his circuits have been fried and the little guy takes great interest in certain pieces of junk he finds in his daily wanderings, not unlike other Disney characters who marvel at garbage.




Early on, we find that Wall-E is positively enamored of an old VHS copy of "Hello, Dolly!" Yes. The very same. Here in this bleak post-apocalyptic landscape, Wall-E darts around on his daily routine playing "Put on Your Sunday Clothes" over and over again. Initially I was absolutely charmed by this. Of course. What better way to contrast the dismal state of the world than with a catchy tune from this most delightful (and underrated) of movie musicals? The technicolor! The life! The music! The song and dance!

That was when I decided Wall-E was destined for a place on my DVD shelf.

Then the humans show up and ruin everything.

Well, you know what they say. Art reflects life.

As soon as Wall-E leaves Earth, it's as if the movie looked at the high-wire of artsy storytelling it had been walking for the past thirty minutes and said, "Screw this. I'm getting some cotton candy."

Nothing ever happens once in this movie. It happens at least twice. I knew we were in trouble when our hero buried himself in a pile of sizzling rocks twice in three minutes. I swear, y'all. It's like the Teletubbies made this film. You can almost hear them in the screening room shouting, "Again! Again!"

By the eighth time we saw the same clip of "Put on Your Sunday Clothes" I thought, okay. That's quite enough. Hell, I almost cried when Wall-E picked up the garbage can lid and tried to emulate Michael Crawford with his straw hat.

But now that we've seen this SAME CLIP so many times that I've memorized the dance steps, it looks like what's REALLY going on here is they couldn't get Barbra to agree use the clips with her in them (sharp eyes will notice she's been digitally removed from her spot beside Tommy Tune).

Then there are all the dazzlingly confounding leaps of logic and numerous "whaa?" moments.

Why, for example, would EVA (I know her name is EVE, but as long as Wall-E calls her EVA, so shall I), whose "directive" is to find organic life and expresses not a shred of interest in the junk littering the planet, suddenly coo and ooh at Wall-E's collection of garbage? Is it because it's shiny? Fair enough. But if Wall-E loves shiny things, why, in one of the opening gags that garnered several gasps of horror from eager young females in our 42nd Street theater, does he throw away the diamond ring and keep the box?

What possible purpose is there for Fred Willard to record a second "secret" message that only the robots know about? If Earth is uninhabitable, as he believes, why not just have one message that says, "Sorry Captain, there's no hope for return. Just stay the course"?

If the robots can zip about through space with no negative effects, why do we need to be frightened for them when it looks like they're going to be dumped out of the airlock with the rest of the garbage? One moment Wall-E is near "death", the next moment he suddenly has the energy zip about nervously and lift a crushingly heavy object.

Okay, and maybe the idiot humans MIGHT SOMEHOW decide to leave their life of comfort and convenience and return to a barren, polluted, deserted planet Earth that needs a LOT of work. But in the opening scenes we established that there are lethal dust storms and torrents of acid rain that plague the land. What's going to protect the fat, boneless humans? Is it just because babies are present at their plant planting party that they are suddenly shielded by Good Intentions and Hope for the Future? Speaking of--if the humans never unplug from their floaty TV chairs, where did those aforementioned babies come from anyway?

I know, right? And it's not even as if I was sitting there with a pad of paper, sniggering to myself about how I was going to find all the blips in the storyline and write a blog entry about them. I'm willing to make allowances.

But the problems in Wall-E...they all just kept leaping into my lap, doing a little jig and giving me raspberries after smacking their butts and saying, "I got yer suspension of disbelief right HERE!"

You have to be careful when doing these dystopia movies because we, the audience, are continually comparing and contrasting their world against ours so we can see what's changed in 700 years.

The story becomes so sloppy there are times when it feels like full scenes have been deleted. I swear, how did they lose the plant that second time? Wall-E had it INSIDE him, then, in the next scene, it's travelling up the junk tube--whaaa? Even the Wall-E fanboys can't argue with me on that one.

And before you say, "It's just a cartoon, Fork. It doesn't have to be good/make sense," let me just say that I don't buy that cop-out response and I never shall. As long as there are animated movies out there that ARE exceptional and DO make sense and manage to achieve SOME degree of artistic merit, I don't see any reason why we should accept a B-minus piece of entertainment as "a masterpiece of the highest order".

Pixar does this, I've noticed. They'll get SO CLOSE to really nailing their storytelling. Sometimes they're terrifically successful (see "Toy Story 2" for a perfect example). And for good reason. They study the work these guys do, and, with a few exceptions, those guys are pretty great friggin' storytellers. Pixar borrows from them. They work on an intelligent level and sneak complex messages into their films, which surprise American filmgoers who are amazed when they're entertained and tricked into using their brains at the same time.

But it's like Pixar gets scared that the Shrek crowds won't like them. So they pander. They dump the subtlety. And they miss out on magnificent opportunities.

How much more effective would it have been if they cut the two rounds of robo-smooching and made the ultimate goal of Wall-E's merely to hold EVA's hand? How interesting it would have been to have a simple act of affectionately interdigitating--making a connection with another person--the final, powerful note we end on? After all, Cornelius never kisses Irene in "Hello, Dolly!" They just hold hands and walk dreamily off into the night.

And I know that's what happens in "Hello, Dolly!" because they show that clip about five times over the course of the movie. They even play the song over the final scene. It's nice and all, but how does "It Only Takes a Moment" fit there? Sure, it's pretty. Gorgous, even. But considering where we are in the story it doesn't make sense. Sort of like the seemingly random inclusion of Louis Armstrong's La Vie En Rose. Where did THAT come from?

What's especially interesting is the 180 we've travelled in movieland. Critic after critic has been utterly dazzled by this film's lack of dialogue in the opening thirty minutes. "How did they DO it? How did they PULL IT OFF? How can you make a movie WITHOUT TALKING??" I've got news for them. It's already been done. And in animation as well.

My buddy who saw the movie with me said, "Why did they make that into a full length? It would have been so much better as a short. The movie felt so padded."

I totally agree.

I totally agree.

I totally agree.