Nothing compares to you

I love So You Think You Can Dance for the dancing (obviously). But an unexpected side effect has been the number of songs I fall in love with too. Before I started paying attention, I would (unsuccessfully) attempt to remember lyrics after the show was over. Then I realized the website listed all the show’s pairings, dances and songs. Brilliant! And if I actually pay attention to the TV screen, I can see that they tell you the song at the beginning of the dance. Who knew?!

My song obsession from last night (the Top 14) is “Whatcha Say” by Jason Derulo (you may, as I did, find something quite familiar about it…her name is Imogen Heap).

Who doesn’t love a good Britney Spears throwback to dancing in school hallways. I found Mr. Derulo’s Michael Jackson moonwalking in empty stairwells and razor-sharp facial hair shape to be the high points of the video.

Sometimes I forget Matt Nathanson exists until I hear him playing in a Gap store, which is strange because he was a big part of the background noise of my freshman year of college. That and John Mayer’s “Comfortable,” which my roommate Dori and I agreed could only be listened to when the other one was around because the song made us sad. What can I say. We liked to torture ourselves.

And, just because I want to make you feel a little uncomfortable, or at least confused, here is some Sinead O’Connor.

Serenading nature, or how I spent my 50-minute walk to Wal-Mart

After missing my flight on Wednesday, I debated a few options of how to spend my day. I didn’t have anything to read, so it seemed my only option was to walk 50 minutes to Wal-Mart to pick up a book (the nearest legit bookstore was more than a two-hour walk away. Say it with me now: Ahhh, hell no.) Because I didn’t have anything else to do, a 50-minute walk didn’t seem too bad. Not to mention, my body could stand to move a little more after a month of two-desserts-a-day, wine, cheese and eating out.

And so I set off with a map —  scrawled on the back an old itinerary — of my path to Wal-Mart. It seemed easy enough, and I’d actually been there on Tuesday night to pick up last-minute toiletries when my former roommate Aimee drove in to Orlando so we could have dinner. But that visit was in a car, and it didn’t seem so far away.

Oh boy. Does perspective change once you’ve been sweltering in 100-degree heat, trying to figure out why sidewalks abruptly end and cross walk signals are defective or non-existent. A few times I had to walk in the bike lane, which was sometimes between the normal lanes and the right turn lane. Which obviously made me feel incredibly safe. The cross walks were useless to me…there was no official walk when I wanted to cross, and when there was one, I’d have to wait five minutes for the official signal. So I decided to bob and weave when I felt like it. Which brought back memories of Santo Domingo and its national past-time of playing frogger in highway traffic.

I listened to my iPod to pass the time, which marginally helped. Half-way there I had the urge to start signing out loud. I was the only person on the sidewalks for as far as I could see, and maybe all the people driving by would just think I was using a hands-free phone. Or something. I debated whether I had the courage to just sing out loud, pausing my train of thought to watch a lizard dart across the sidewalk or wonder if it was normal for all these planes to be flying so close to my head.

After I decided I really didn’t care what anyone driving down Lee Vista Boulevard thought of me, I began my accompaniment to this jewel of a song.

And because I had all the time in the world, I replayed it a few times, trying to sing the three-part round ALL BY MYSELF. Crazy, right? If anyone were listening, they would’ve thought I was schizophrenic, because I was making no sense at all. “Glide away come around gain promise not chain off door i’ll take and if come around again soapy heels.” In all honesty, if I actually had my own round that I was supposed to sing, it’d probably still come off schizophrenic sounding because I’d get distracted by everyone else. But I don’t think the lizards, butterflies and ponds minded much.

I arrived at Wal-Mart, drenched in sweat. The book selection was pathetic. Cheesy inspirational religious books and romance novels consumed the shelves. They didn’t even have a nonfiction section. It’s Wal-Mart for heaven’s sake! I settled for cherry tomatoes, granola bars, grapes, Vitamin Water (only $1 per bottle! A true bargain! But they tasted kinda weird), and pineapple, which, thank you karma, was from Costa Rica.

On my 50-minute walk back to my hotel (during which I drank two of my four Vitamin Waters), I stopped at Wendy’s for lunch (other option: Cracker Barrel) and acquired plastic silverware to use to eat my fruit. The rest of the walk back to my hotel, all I could think of was taking a shower or going swimming. So when I got back, I got ready for the pool (noticing the newest spots that got too much sun: my lips and my feet, which now have a Birkenstock tan line). The pool was empty, so I swam and tried some stuff I learned in water running class, which was only partially successful because I didn’t have a flotation device to keep me afloat.

After my arms started feeling the burn (from exercise, not the sun), I took a nap. When I looked up, I saw a squirrel and a lizard looking right at me, a few feet away on the perimeter of the pool. Lovely. I looked to my left and saw a lizard climbing up one of the lounge chairs. Seriously, what’s with the lizards.

My plan to go to bed early failed once I decided to wash clothes in the sink. Then I worried that they wouldn’t dry overnight, so I hand dried two shirts, shorts and underwear during commercial breaks of “So You Think You Can Dance” and “Glee.”

I was up by 4:45 a.m. today, on the airport shuttle at 7 and waiting in my gate by 7:45. My flight departs at 10:10 a.m., but I’m not messing it up this time. Costa Rica, here I come!

This was not part of the plan

My flight to Costa Rica left at 10:10 this morning. At 9:50 a.m., I was sitting in a hotel lobby in Orlando, hitting my head against the seafoam green table. I missed my flight, and it is all my fault.

This video best expresses my feelings:

(more of the freak out, less the chic)

Yesterday when I signed up for the hotel shuttle to the airport, I looked at the time on my return flight from Costa Rica. Today as I sat in the lobby, checking e-mail while waiting for the airport shuttle, I pulled out my boarding pass (apparently my eyes glazed over during the entire online process and I neglected to look at the time) and realized my flight was taking off in 20 minutes. I stared in disbelief at my computer. My heart pounded hard and fast. I think I was shaking. I dug through my carry on bag for my phone. I scrolled down to Jet Blue (yep, saved them! Thank God.) and couldn’t hold back my freak out from the kind phone operator. My voice quivered as I explained my situation, and as she did computer things, I mumbled things like “I can’t believe I did this. Uhhh, what am I going to do?” And after she set me up on stand-by for Thursday, so said she hoped my day got better. Me too. What’s really ironic is that I purposely scheduled my flight to Costa Rica the day before Jet Blue All-You-Can-Jet Pass expired, in case something would happen. I really hope this wasn’t some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.

As far as bad things happening, this isn’t terrible. I have a place to stay already (unlike Eugene, when my hostel didn’t exist). There’s just nothing around here though (except Denny’s and TGIFriday’s, which I think gave me food poisoning yesterday). I also forgot my books at home when I switched from rolly luggage to a backpack. And don’t even get me started on the communication blitz I sent to my friend Matt across e-mail, Facebook and Skype, hoping he wouldn’t be picking me up at the airport as I continue to camp out in the hotel lobby, because it’s the only place with wireless internet, and right now, wireless internet is the only thing making me happy.

So now that my day is wide open, I’m left contemplating some truly exciting options. Pool (is this really sensible, Jacky, considering you are STILL peeling from a burn you got two weeks ago?). TV. Internet in the hotel lobby. Walking 50 minutes to Wal-Mart. I may be in the place where dreams come true, but right now it’s kind of a nightmare.

On the bright side, now I’ll be around to watch “So You Think You Can Dance” and “Glee” on TV.

Inside the actors studio

One summer in college, my life revolved around the Bravo channel — two “West Wing” episodes in the morning, one in the evening and another at night (though I generally would only catch 75 percent of them. Hello. Summer job). When I wasn’t watching Rob Lowe be beautiful and funny, and admiring Martin Sheen’s perfectly coiffed hair, I discovered other shows on Bravo, like “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” and James Lipton’s “Inside the Actors Studio.” Before that I had only seen Will Ferrell mock James Lipton on “Saturday Night Live.” I had no idea how dead-on the impersonation was — the massive stack of index cards detailing everything in the guest’s life; the rhythm and inflection that Lipton uses in asking questions and making statements; the slightly ridiculous wording and analogies. It was brilliant.

I’d camp out in the basement during an “Actors Studio” marathon with pen and paper to jot down good quotes. I became so engulfed in the show that I started talking about “the craft” of acting.* People didn’t really care though. I was entranced by Angelina Jolie’s honesty, transparency and beauty. Robin Williams made me laugh so hard I cried from his spontaneity (”Baby Jesus loves you!“) And, at least for the episode, Lipton was able to keep Tom Cruise’s crazy away. Thankfully I had one friend who watched the show so I didn’t feel like such a weirdo, because most everyone else in my life had never even heard of it.

*I think my appreciation of “the craft” explains why I became so caught up in the Writers Guild strikes in fall 2007/winter 2008. I checked the website multiple times a day to find out the time and location of the next picket. Then I’d calculate whether I had time to go watch during my lunch break. Coworkers joined me a couple times and I always had my camera on hand, ready to document the celebrities. It was a famous person dream for me. I saw Seth Meyers from “SNL,” soap opera stars, actors I recognized but whose names escaped me and Ron Howard. (I was speechless.) Unfortunately, I never made it on the same days that Tina Fey, Robin Williams or Juliane Moore were picketing. While the Guild posted locations ahead of time, they never include the star lineup, much to my disappointment.

At the end of each episode, Lipton asks his guests the same 10 questions. I always looked forward to the responses and couldn’t help but constantly revise my answers too, delusionallly hoping that one day I’d be sitting across from him, answering them in person (I have no aspirations of acting or directing, so I’m not sure how I thought this would happen). Most of my answers have changed since the first few times I thought about them, but here’s where I’m at now:

What is your favorite word? For its meaning: grace. For the sound: Mesopotamia (sixth grade social studies anyone?). It’s just really fun to say.
What is your least favorite word? Retarded
What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Coffee, sunshine, running, a good night’s sleep, laughter, conversations when you lose track of time
What turns you off? Inefficiency, lack of authenticity, being inconsiderate
What is your favorite curse word? WTF
What sound or noise do you love? A breeze rustling through trees
What sound or noise do you hate? Cars honking
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Dancer, largely in part to my summer obsession with the TV show “So You Think You Can Dance” and in no part because I actually have any talent
What profession would you not like to do? Sales
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? “It’s OK.”

Music of my heart

I’ve always operated under the unspoken rule of friendship that when you come across a book, movie, blog or song that you love, you share it. If something brings you a lot of joy, why not let other people in on it. Especially people you like. Because that’s nice.

But my friends don’t really follow this unspoken rule. Only after I’ve discovered something and rave about it to them will they say, “Oh yeah, that band is really good.” or “I know. I thought that movie was great when I saw it two months ago.” After which I’m all “WTF. Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t have cable! I don’t have a radio! How else am I supposed to find these things in a timely manner if you don’t have my back?”

In the spirit of sharing and following unspoken rules of friendship, here’s some music I’ve been enjoying lately:

“Heartbeats” by Jose Gonzalez
Youtube actually recommended it to me. This particular video with the song is actually a commercial, which would normally make me like it 43 percent less, but I’m actually quite fond of them together. Particularly entranced by the guitar, and the perfect background for reading and writing.

“Will You Be There” by Michael Jackson (perhaps more widely known as the “Free Willy song”)
Seems everyone is blaring “Billie Jean,” “Thriller” and “Pretty Young Thing” in memory of Michael. But I gotta give this song some props. I’m a sucker for large choirs (especially when they include children). Also. It makes me want to twirl around and swim with whales. And perform the dance circa the 4:30-5 minute mark. Don’t judge.

“Windowdipper” by Jib Kidder
First heard this Thursday night on “So You Think You Can Dance” when Ade performed a solo. Holy Mother. It was awesome. The music. The moves. I had a moment. I impatiently waited until the show’s website was updated so I could find out the real name of the song (I had it in my head as “Windowwasher” and wasn’t having much luck finding it). I love the energy the song has and how the sounds are so layered (though I’m not entirely sure what’s going on in the video, especially the last few seconds).

If you have any stellar songs, I think you know who you should send them to. Because that’d be nice.