I just met Dick Cavett, a former talk show host, on a September episode of Reliable Sources (my Zune has been refusing to play its podcast and so I've got quite behind).
I love old people - generally - in the same way that I generally find men gross: there are some awesome guys, and numerous exceptionally gross women, as there are numerous old people I don't like. Old people aren't in a hurry. They're not desperate to impress. They're not uncomfortably self-conscious. They don't steamroll you with stories, or deafen you with their amusement. They're calmer, more self-assured. Again, I mean all this generally.
Dick Cavett turns 74 this Friday. In the interview I watched, his humour is refreshingly subtle (his jokes require less an LOL and more a smiley), his speech remarkably cool, both in tone and pace, that he makes Howard Kurtz (who is 57) seem like a rash youth. He has sad eyes. When I accessed his Wikipedia profile, I first thought this explained by the loss of his wife of 42 years in 2006, but then read that he has had a long history of depression. He keeps a blog for the New York Times. Between the anecdote with which he concludes his latest post and the joke Wikipedia mentions as Johnny Carson's favourite from Cavett, I'd say humour is a lot louder and dumber today.
Another fascinating find online is the web show @katiecouric, which has been running for over a year now. It's easy to see why Katie Couric is so popular. She is very real and very personable in the interviewer's chair. She poses questions that she personally finds valuable and interesting, she speaks clearly and fluently, makes sure her guests have time to think, styles herself their equal, as opposed to an alienated interrogator or a superior hostess. She divulges at the same time that she elicits. In an interview with Ellen DeGeneres, Couric recalls the month Ellen came out as the time that her husband was diagnosed with colon cancer. She mentions this in passing, involuntarily chokes up, stuns Ellen, but ably carries on with her line of questioning. She didn't mention that she and her daughters would lose him nine months later.
15.11.10
11.11.10
Overflow
I was going to title this post something about dance, but a quick check reveals that most of my posts, most of my life is already about dance, little else. Recently there was:
- the competition at dbl O (8 and 22 Oct), where I found out that I love it dark and loud, and that costuming must be about the bigger picture, where tiny details are lost. We didn't get a placing at the finals, but I wonder what the judges thought. Try try again, I suppose!
- the flash mob at Ion (23 and 30 Oct), where I experienced human behaviour in the face of freebies. They snatch bags of gummies away from you like Augustus Gloops, without giving you so much as a glance, yet avoid the last two tarts on the tray like poison.
- the show at Fairmont (3 Nov), where I was reminded that I am horribly unethnic. I was half-deservedly thrashed at rehearsal, and catching glimpses of myself on video after the show, I instinctively yelled in my head, OMG You're fired! On the fluffier side of things, Lynette and Vanessa came up with a children's book series, The Adventures of Snow Bear and Nonsense, where the image of Snow Bear has both paws gripping a cup of Koi (feeding time: 3 pm), and Nonsense is a chin, an eyebrow and lots of crazy hair. Each story is highly educational (e.g. Snow Bear and Nonsense Take The Escalator), where the duo demonstrate the Do's and Don'ts in life (respectively).
This past weekend, Terence Pek shared a great choreography to Hedley's 'ftnicr'. Eusoff Hall studio is awful for filming though, especially for flying and leaping across space (he is Mighty Mouse). But Saturday ended very low. I tweeted for selfish dramatic effect, knowing nobody would know what exactly was godawful. I was godawful, at the Blast alumni item rehearsal. People were godawful too, but for reasons unrelated to dance. But the worst was the discussion after rehearsal. Bad taste upsets me. My first instinct is to File for Divorce, but I have got to figure out how to reconcile differences. Whatever it is, I've come up with some dance advice to myself for the coming months: Humble yourself you little piece of shit.
Sunday was stage run at the Warehouse. Every vetting has been a joy to watch, but now at a proper distance, it was a different show. On the whole, this year's is the best show yet, with its fair share of revelations. Arjuna is ridiculous in Xuehui's item, Terence Tan is awesome in Eve's, Jasmine Foong is gorgeous in Zaihar's, and Daniel's house item is sheer artistry. I especially love the girls in it. When I compared them to dancers who make me angsty, I thought about three levels of performance. There are those who are stuck on the level of the stage, taking up space, showing face, soaking up a little lime light. There are those who are stuck on the level of show: decent dancers, who care about expression, energy, basic technicalities. Then there are those that make you go whoa: dancers who showcase their precious and beautiful art. The ideal for me is the combination of all three: be a bit of a stage whore, give a good show, but perfect and continually improve your art. Hm I score half upon three. Fred fail. :)
At the end of the full run, we got to see O Crew use the stage. As a result, Sunday ended very high, and all my premature grumpiness accumulated over the weekend was chased away (OMG I'm only going to get grumpier and more insufferable as I grow older). We got to see them not just perform once through, but block, mark, try, re-try, then run; what a treat. I feel like such a pervert. But I always consider being able to watch O Crew our wages as performers. They sent me away with a smile on my face. Dancing is truly depressing, feeling like a half- or less-than-half-filled glass all the time, but watching overflowing glasses is healing. And in a quiet mood, when the overflowing glasses are people you know and love, who've grown, or are just plain awesome, then emotions swell and tears well.
I had a revelation about choreography at rehearsal for the opening item. There are broadly speaking two types, although categorization depends subjectively on the abilities of the dancer: choreography can feel generic and freer, more adaptable, or it can feel intensely specific, like you have to decipher the technique of the choreographer, inch-by-inch, and break your body to emulate it. When the situation is in fact the latter, based on choreography-dancer compatibility, but is treated as the former, the result is choreographer headache and heartache. Let us bow our heads in prayer for the health of our choreographers' heads and hearts.
- the competition at dbl O (8 and 22 Oct), where I found out that I love it dark and loud, and that costuming must be about the bigger picture, where tiny details are lost. We didn't get a placing at the finals, but I wonder what the judges thought. Try try again, I suppose!
- the flash mob at Ion (23 and 30 Oct), where I experienced human behaviour in the face of freebies. They snatch bags of gummies away from you like Augustus Gloops, without giving you so much as a glance, yet avoid the last two tarts on the tray like poison.
- the show at Fairmont (3 Nov), where I was reminded that I am horribly unethnic. I was half-deservedly thrashed at rehearsal, and catching glimpses of myself on video after the show, I instinctively yelled in my head, OMG You're fired! On the fluffier side of things, Lynette and Vanessa came up with a children's book series, The Adventures of Snow Bear and Nonsense, where the image of Snow Bear has both paws gripping a cup of Koi (feeding time: 3 pm), and Nonsense is a chin, an eyebrow and lots of crazy hair. Each story is highly educational (e.g. Snow Bear and Nonsense Take The Escalator), where the duo demonstrate the Do's and Don'ts in life (respectively).
This past weekend, Terence Pek shared a great choreography to Hedley's 'ftnicr'. Eusoff Hall studio is awful for filming though, especially for flying and leaping across space (he is Mighty Mouse). But Saturday ended very low. I tweeted for selfish dramatic effect, knowing nobody would know what exactly was godawful. I was godawful, at the Blast alumni item rehearsal. People were godawful too, but for reasons unrelated to dance. But the worst was the discussion after rehearsal. Bad taste upsets me. My first instinct is to File for Divorce, but I have got to figure out how to reconcile differences. Whatever it is, I've come up with some dance advice to myself for the coming months: Humble yourself you little piece of shit.
Sunday was stage run at the Warehouse. Every vetting has been a joy to watch, but now at a proper distance, it was a different show. On the whole, this year's is the best show yet, with its fair share of revelations. Arjuna is ridiculous in Xuehui's item, Terence Tan is awesome in Eve's, Jasmine Foong is gorgeous in Zaihar's, and Daniel's house item is sheer artistry. I especially love the girls in it. When I compared them to dancers who make me angsty, I thought about three levels of performance. There are those who are stuck on the level of the stage, taking up space, showing face, soaking up a little lime light. There are those who are stuck on the level of show: decent dancers, who care about expression, energy, basic technicalities. Then there are those that make you go whoa: dancers who showcase their precious and beautiful art. The ideal for me is the combination of all three: be a bit of a stage whore, give a good show, but perfect and continually improve your art. Hm I score half upon three. Fred fail. :)
At the end of the full run, we got to see O Crew use the stage. As a result, Sunday ended very high, and all my premature grumpiness accumulated over the weekend was chased away (OMG I'm only going to get grumpier and more insufferable as I grow older). We got to see them not just perform once through, but block, mark, try, re-try, then run; what a treat. I feel like such a pervert. But I always consider being able to watch O Crew our wages as performers. They sent me away with a smile on my face. Dancing is truly depressing, feeling like a half- or less-than-half-filled glass all the time, but watching overflowing glasses is healing. And in a quiet mood, when the overflowing glasses are people you know and love, who've grown, or are just plain awesome, then emotions swell and tears well.
I had a revelation about choreography at rehearsal for the opening item. There are broadly speaking two types, although categorization depends subjectively on the abilities of the dancer: choreography can feel generic and freer, more adaptable, or it can feel intensely specific, like you have to decipher the technique of the choreographer, inch-by-inch, and break your body to emulate it. When the situation is in fact the latter, based on choreography-dancer compatibility, but is treated as the former, the result is choreographer headache and heartache. Let us bow our heads in prayer for the health of our choreographers' heads and hearts.
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