An Update/An Explanation

You may have noticed my dedication to TV Christmas movie reviewing has waned somewhat this year.

Well, let's just say I had a very busy weekend. And because of that very busy weekend, I foresee many similarly busy weekends in the near future.

I apologize for any inconvenience. But not much. Because that busy weekend involved a boy and several kisses and a permanent butterfly in my stomach ever since. Which is pretty much the stuff that TV Christmas movies are made of, so I don't feel like I'm missing much.

I'll catch up when I can, but in the meantime, I'll let Harry Connick Jr. explain how my heart feels about it all.

Break A Leg

I'm graduating from college in less than six months. It's kind of a big deal. Despite this short timeline, I recently added a second minor to my undergraduate education, Theatre Arts Studies. Basically, this means I go to a lot of plays. But even I'll admit that seeing my university's production of White Christmas two nights in a row is a bit excessive. But it sure makes for a great story.

Because of my minor, I'm taking several theatre classes right now, one of which is taught by the director of this production and another of which gives students insight into the production concept so we can evaluate if the performance lives up to designer and director desires.

For this show, the director wanted the audience to go on a nostalgic journey back into the world of the time period and the original film. Which means dozens of gorgeous vintage costumes and a set reminiscent of an old Hollywood soundstage, complete with moving staircases and pianos to be danced on.

The first night met all of my expectations and even exceeded many. I was ecstatic to go again the following night. But apparently I had White Christmas on the brain. On the night between the two performances, I had a dream about the show. Almost a nightmare, really.

I dreamed that during the second night of the show, one of the lead male characters--the Danny Kaye role--fell off the piano while doing his tap dancing routine and broke his leg. The show had to be cancelled after everyone's hard work because, as I vividly dreamed, a guy cannot tap dance or lift his dance partner or do toe touches with a severely broken leg. Believe me. In my dream, he tried.

The memory of this dream lingered with me into the next morning, feeling like an omen over the day. On a smaller scale, it was like imagining your dog dying. Even though you rationally know it's not real, you still feel the hurt of it.

I'm the kind of girl who dreams and tells, and as I recounted this night vision to a coworker the next morning the brilliance of the dream came into view and thankfully calmed my nerves (mostly) about the coming performances.

As I told her about this actor breaking his leg, I recognized that I had dreamed a pun. You know, that old superstition that you shouldn't say "good luck" in theatre: instead you say, "Break a leg." That's what happened in my dream. Freud would say that subconsciously I felt that the performance was so good that the performers had figuratively broken their legs.

All day I couldn't stop telling people about my clever dream. Even during my REM cycle I'm witty.

Rest assured, the actor did not break his leg (at least not literally) during my second time at the show either, although my friend can tell you I did screech a few times when I thought he was going to trip on the stairs or fall off the piano.

Also, I'll have you know I actually passed him walking home from class the day after the dream. I assume he was on his way to get ready for the show. He looked at me; I looked at him. And as we passed, I thought, "Break a leg."

Mixed Signals

I broke down and contacted him. It had been a month. I figured he would at least want to be friends. He did.

He also wanted to rush home from his weekend away and ask me on a last-minute date on Saturday night. I said yes. I didn't realize I was so quick to forgive.

His car was playing Michael Buble when he picked me up. What are the chances that he was just listening to that? Slim. I was tickled. (Not literally. That would be weird.)

It took ten minutes into the date with a group of people we barely knew (he barely knew; I knew not at all) for the romantic tension to be shattered with a "How'd you guys meet?"

And I knew he wasn't going to hold my hand. Because he was seeing me as Sister What's-Her-Name again, even if only for a moment.

I guess it didn't matter that I changed out of that shirt I wore as a sister missionary.

New Directions

I'm slowly becoming a Gleek, even if I didn't realize until last night that Kurt and Finn were brothers. Which made me feel stupid because they actually look like they could be. And while we're on the subject, my favorite is Blaine because who doesn't look good in a preppy jacket and an even preppier name?

But the real reason for making this confession is because this week's episode, "Blame It On the Alcohol," reminded me of two very strange assemblies I had in high school, memories I had repressed until the musical stylings of Ke-dollar sign-ha brought them to the surface.

Strange assembly number one: I am from Idaho. Idaho is the birthplace of Napoleon Dynamite. Idaho is the home to 98 percent of the cast of Napoleon Dynamite. Including the bully from the movie, who imdb.com assures me is named Bracken Johnson. He spoke to my school about how not to be a bully, which I think implies that he actually is one because this sounds like some sort of state-mandated community service. And, in case you are jealous that you, too, didn't get the opportunity to learn to be a "V. N. P." (a very nice person, not a very Napoleon person), here's a photo of him giving one of these assemblies. No, tots were not provided.


Strange assembly number two: For some reason, the administration decided not to take the route taken on Glee and instead of having the choir sing about the dangers of alcohol, they hired a hypnotist for this part of our social education. He did all the basic hypnotist stuff, convincing students they'd won the lottery, that they were chickens, that hypnosis is actually real. But then came...THE DRAMATIC PART. He hypnotized these same students into thinking they'd just been in a drunk driving accident. Thus, the star of the rival football game and the school drama queen lost their "son" and went into hypnotic hysteria. Well, I haven't been drunk, or driven while drunk, and I think this angle worked just as well as having a cheerleader barf on a musical theater diva. Plus, no barf. Win-win.


And thanks to the wonders of the internet, Google images, and flickr, this is a picture of the actual hypnotist and my vice-principal in my actual high school gym. Yes, I love technology, but not as much as Blaine, you see. But I still love technology. Always and forever.

Houston, We Have a List!

The top five reasons I expect to love Houston for the next 18 months are:

5. Whitney Houston. Great name. Although I'm not really sure she has any actual association with Houston.

4. Reba, the sitcom. My favorite. I love the ensemble cast. Again, I don't think they actually filmed in Houston, but they make references to sports teams, like the Rockets, the Astros, and the Texans.

3. Apollo 13. Home of the famous quote, "Houston, we have a problem." A much more uplifting (not to mention true) disaster drama based in that great city than, say, Independence Day.

2. Dean Martin's song, "Houston." A classic where in Dino longs for the city where everything was good for him. Also, featured in the background, the clinks are the sound of a Coca-Cola bottle.

1. The word y'all.

Y'all come back in a year and a half to discover how my predictions came true.

When the moon hits your eye...

I love Dean Martin. Love. Which is why its so perfect that he has a new album coming out (despite being dead) entitled "Amore." No joke. I just found this out through his fan page on Facebook. I was thinking it would have all the songs I already own from him, and it does have a few, but many I've never heard of. I know I'm going to check it out. I'll let you know. I can already recommend "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face," Dean's version of the song from My Fair Lady. Let's just say Rex Harrison has nothing on Dino. When Dean sings it, it's actually romantic. I sigh when I think of him giving up his arrogance, all because a woman is simple yet unforgettable. Which is what the song is. Especially if you find the version with Chris Botti accompanying him on the trumpet. Pure magic. You can find the video on YouTube if you don't want to shell out $15 for the CD, or spend 99 cents buying the song on iTunes. See the album, "Forever Cool." Because that's what Dean is. As Grace describes him in Return to Me, "Best Male Singer--Dead."