As you may know, despite the fact that horrible news of the world abounds on a daily basis, I generally don't blog about that kind of stuff. I figure there are many outlets you can go to for news that makes you sad or makes your blood boil or makes you uncomfortably contemplative, and I try to keep Bamboo Nation light and bouncy—with occasional exceptions. Today, I am compelled to make an exception.

First, here's text directly from the San Francisco Chronicle. After this, I'll get into how it personally affects me.

Quentin Easter, co-founder and executive director of the Lorraine Hansberry Theatre, died Wednesday of cancer in San Francisco. He was 53.

"I am heartbroken to learn of Quentin's death," said Carey Perloff, artistic director of the American Conservatory Theater. "He was a real force of nature in the Bay Area theater scene for over two decades. His generosity of spirit and artistry will be sorely missed."

Born in Baltimore, the youngest of five children, and a graduate of Princeton University, Mr. Easter co-founded the Hansberry in 1981 with his longtime companion, Artistic Director Stanley E. Williams. Their small San Francisco storefront operation soon grew to become the premier African American theater company in the Bay Area and eventually in the state.

Mr. Easter oversaw the relocation of the Hansberry to its first home in the downtown theater district and the creation of its 300-seat theater on Sutter Street in 1988. After it lost that space in 2007, when the building was acquired by the Academy of Art University, he finally was able to negotiate a new lease for the company at the larger, 729-seat former Post Street Theatre.

The company had just opened its new season there in February when both Mr. Easter and Williams became ill, resulting in their withdrawal from the lease and the cancellation of the rest of the season. Williams, who could not be reached for comment, is reportedly working on the details of a new season, to open in the fall.

A tireless and gently persuasive advocate for his theater and for black cultural groups, Mr. Easter forged ties with many of the region's other companies, including ACT and Berkeley Repertory Theatre. "He was a kind and generous colleague, always a joy to work with," said the Rep's managing director, Susie Medak.

"Quentin Easter was the conscience of the theater community," said Kary Schulman, director of Grants for the Arts, "constantly reminding us of our responsibilities to support the broad range of African American artistry. He accomplished this with endless good cheer, tolerance and patience, but also with incredible tenacity."

Besides Williams, Mr. Easter is survived by his father, Herman James Easter Sr., brothers Cedric and Wayne and sister Karlita Easter Johnson, all of Baltimore. Funeral arrangements are pending. In lieu of flowers, contributions may be sent to Lorraine Hansberry Theatre at 777 Jones St., San Francisco, CA 94109.

A year after I earned my MFA in Playwriting from San Francisco State University and with just one production under my belt (Big Hunk o' Burnin' Love at East West Players), Stanley and Quentin put their faith in me, a young artist still developing my voice and still trying to find my place in the theater industry. Back in 1998, I really wasn't aware of how tough it was for playwrights because theaters like EWP, LHT, and the New Conservatory Theatre Center nurtured me so early in my career that I didn't really get a chance to struggle as much as others were struggling.

At a Theatre Bay Area party (I worked for TBA's magazine at the time), I mentioned a play idea to Stanley and Quentin. Bee, I told them, was the story of an Asian-American man, who is invisible, and an African-American woman, who is the only person who can see him. It was an idea that came to me while sitting across from a black woman on a BART train. I was thinking about this thing we hear all the time, about how we're all connected, and I was wondering how two people like us—with surely disparate life experiences—shared common ground, aside from trite observations like "we're all human" or "we all love" and stuff like that.

Intrigued by the idea and impressed by my other writing, Stanley and Quentin rallied around the project. I barely had anything written down, but they were already thinking of ways to offer me a commission and get this play produced, sight unseen.

The following year, the Gerbode Foundation offered us a $25,000 grant—half went to me as a commission fee and half went to the theater towards the world premiere production. It was the largest amount of money I had ever received for my writing up until that point. And it was the biggest leap of faith any institutions had ever taken in regard to me and my artistic abilities.

For those of you not in the theater world, I must emphasize what an incredibly big deal this was. Not only was it highly unusual for artistic leaders to put so much trust in a young playwright's talent—especially committing to a production (which I know from experience makes artistic directors nervous to the point in which they simply won't do something like that)—but I was also the first non-black playwright to ever be produced on the Lorraine Hansberry stage.

Directed by Arturo Catricala and featuring Jaxy Boyd, Ginger Eckert, Randall Miller, and Robert Wu, the world premiere production of Bee is one of my fondest memories. And I really dug how the Consulate General of the Korean Embassy came opening night (!), and he was so impressed that he sent his children to see the play the following day. (Aside from the gimmick of the premise, Bee explores the very real issue of race relations between African Americans and Korean Americans in the wake of the 1992 L.A. riots.)



Quentin and Stanley (pictured at the top) could always make me laugh, and I could always make them laugh—a good feeling. And even after Bee closed, I would pop into the LHT office just to be around them, and I would attend their shows because it was (and is) one of the only theaters I've been to where I felt the audience was truly part of the culture and family of LHT, beyond being passive patrons. (By the way, I saw my favorite August Wilson play, Jitney, there—an excellent production.)

I have to second the above description of Quentin having "endless good cheer." He was the sunny yang to many people's yin, and his numerous contributions to the Lorraine Hansberry Theatre, the Bay Area, and the national theater scene was remarkable—and its effects will be felt for years, perhaps decades, to come.

Today, when I think about Quentin, I immediately think of his big smile and delightful giggle. And I think about how, in the comfort of a shared laugh, we all make the world a better place without even knowing it.

Here's the full press release on Quentin's passing.

Here's the Lorraine Hansberry Theatre website.

[Update 07.06.10: Stanley Williams has now also passed. Read more here.]

Caught the midnight showing. The theater was packed. The movie is uncomfortably mediocre, save one genuinely scary/freaky sequence near the beginning.

The biggest travesty of justice? No phone tongue! Did you hear that, fans of the original? There is no phone tongue!

You have been warned. My work is done here. Goodbye.

...Oh, you don't remember phone tongue...? Well, here:

Inochi is an innocent Japanese kids' drink, manufactured by a company that thought it would be a good idea to hire crazy artist Takashi Murakami to create a series of commercials for the product. The following TV ads sure are memorable—but only because their WTF?! factor is at, like, 11 and because no simple words like "creepy" and "disturbing" can quite capture the feeling you get from watching these. Watch:



Um, seriously, what the fuck is that thing? And did I actually witness it popping a boner?!

[Thanks to Superbadfriend.]

I've been extremely busy lately (working hard on obtaining autographed 8-by-10's of male underwear models), so blogging has been rather light this week—and may continue to be so through next week. I know it absolutely hurts you that I don't seem to be blogging all the time, but isn't my happiness more important that yours? (Don't answer that.)

In the meantime, visit these websites since you need about two seconds to kill:

Is It Christmas?

and

This Is a Required Field

Loren makes fun of me for the way I parallel park. (It takes time!) And I make fun of my mother for the way she parallel parks. (You could do a load of laundry in the time it takes her!) But let's set aside all notions of bad Asian drivers for five seconds as we witness a little Asian girl who does the most amazing parallel parking job I have ever seen. Do not F with her! Watch:



[Thanks to Angry Asian Man.]

I knew that my big play news was going to be announced at last week's East West Players Anniversary Visionary Awards Dinner so I was super excited, but I think I was more thrilled about getting a photo with with Jordan Nagai, the kid who was the voice of Russell in Up, who won the Breakout Performance Award. Look at the photo! OMG, that's him! That's him! "Hi, my name is Russell. And I am a wilderness explorer."

The Visionary Awards, usually at the Universal Hilton, is always a fun and inspiring time. (I won an award in 2006.) I get to catch up with friends and colleagues, and I feel like I'm a part of something bigger than myself. (People who know me or read me realize what a huge leap away from my enormous ego that is!)

I would go into more detail about the evening, but I've got The Celebrity Apprentice crying out for me from my DVR.

So read the recap article from the Rafu Shimpo for the rundown.

There, you'll hear about Mike Shinoda (super hot!), Wenda Fong, Tamlyn Tomita, Lea Salonga, Carrie Ann Inaba, George Takei, and singing Filipinos!

Other than that, you'll have to be content with looking at this photo of me and Jeff, who is the literary manager of East West Players and who is one half of the infamous Prince and Jeff Show—a funny and intellectually stimulating traveling talk show that happens whenever Jeff and I are in the same place at the same time. Those of you who have experienced it—consider yourselves lucky. Those of you who have not—your life is incomplete.

Lin Yu Chun, that pudgy Asian dude with a bad haircut who sang the living crap out of "I Will Always Love You" on Taiwan's Super Star Avenue, takes his viral fame to its most absurd extreme by appearing on Lopez Tonight and singing a duet with William Shatner. You know, if I were having a bad day, this clip would totally make me want bang my head against a bottle of Zima until I fell unconscious. But since things are good, I find it kind of charming. Don't you? Watch:

The following chart is a fascinating breakdown of how music artists earn money from their songs and albums. The numbers and percentages might surprise you (click pic to enlarge):



[Thanks to Isaac Butler at Parabasis.]

Not since Jamie Pressly taught you how to clean your dirty balls has there been a fake infomercial as filled with dumb yet hilarious double entendres as the one for Denise Richards and her funbags. I don't think I've ever seen Denise Richards in anything, but, damn, she's funny here and delightfully game. Watch:

You don't know how much it's been killing me inside not to be able to tell you what I've known for weeks and weeks now—which goes to show you that I can keep a secret regardless of the physical pain that it causes me. (So, if there are any closeted homosexual males out there who would like to come over to my house so that I can "teach them a few things," then please do so with the knowledge that I won't tell anyone!)

East West Players, the nation's leading Asian-American theater company, will be kicking off its 45th anniversary 2010-2011 season with the Los Angeles premiere of my play, Mysterious Skin, based on the novel by my dear friend Scott Heim. (Click the pictures to enlarge the season brochure.)

Yup, the way that some theaters have re-imagined classic plays by casting ethnic actors (with a "why the hell can't a black dude play Romeo?" kind of attitude), Mysterious Skin will be produced on EWP's lovely stage with an Asian-American twist.

This will be my first full play production in Los Angeles in ten years (following Big Hunk o' Burnin' Love in 1998 and The Theory of Everything in 2000, which both premiered at East West Players)! Yup, I am so excited that I crapped my pants!

But wait! That's not all! There's more good news!

The third play of the season is Wrinkles by Paul Kikuchi. Paul is a longtime student of mine in the David Henry Hwang Writers Institute. His first piece, Ixnay, which was developed during the course of a couple of my classes, premiered at EWP in 2009, and this new comedy is being developed in my new class, currently in progress.

I told Paul last night, "We have to start taking your play seriously now! No more fucking around!"

Hey, I get results, don't I?

A few weeks ago, I was invited to a press screening of The Good, the Bad, the Weird, an absurdly entertaining Korean film from writer/director Kim Jee-woon (with assistance from co-writer Kim Min-suk) that blends the western genre (obviously referenced in the title—duh) with Hong Kong action to create the sort of hybrid cinema that is at once refreshing and—because of the relentlessness of the deliriously choreographed action sequences—completely exhausting.

(By the way, why is it that I tend to get press invitations to ASIAN films and GAY films, but not much else?! Hmm.... Invite me to the next Tyler Perry premiere, Hollywood!)

I've really got to hand it to a film that can hold my interest for two-and-a-half hours with virtually no plot, no character development, no political allegory, no historical significance, and no thematic complexity to speak of. The movie zips by from one crazy action scene to another, propelled by one of the most entertaining soundtracks I've heard all year.

Everything you really need to know about The Good, the Bad, the Weird—which starts rolling out in American theaters this weekend—is summed up in the poster's tagline: "Three Outlaws, One Map, No Prisoners." Yup. That's pretty much it.

By the way, I hate westerns, but this movie rocked my world—even though I left it feeling like I had just been jumped by family of wild boars.

(For those of you outside Hollywood, you might be interested to know—I don't think I've mentioned this before—that press screenings usually take place in small screening rooms where critics and the like scribble notes quietly and do their best to try not to show any emotion. I usually sit there, notebook free, clenching my fists because I can't have popcorn and a Diet Coke. [No food allowed!] But I'll laugh when it's funny, and I'll cheer when it's warranted. Remove those ass sticks, critics!)



I should mention a couple other things.

According to the production notes, all of the action sequences were shot without the assistance of any computer graphics, and all of the actors, including the three stars and all the extras, did their own stunts.

And, finally, I have to say that two of the lead actors are super super hot! (Do you notice a recurring theme here with these movie posts?)

Jung Woo-sung plays "The Good":



And Lee Byung-hun plays "The Bad":



Sticky rice! Sticky rice!

Three kids in a backseat start grooving and singing along to Beyonce's "Single Ladies," when their father points out to the three-year-old boy that he, in fact, is not a single lady. The boy proceeds to have an emotional breakdown, while both parents attempt to do some damage control. Traditional gender notions be damned! Watch:



[Thanks to Cheryl Klein.]

For the past few weeks, my mother has been telling me that she wants to see Kick-Ass and that she wants me to take her. The commercials and trailers for the movie, you see, have been aiming for mass appeal—the kind of marketing that overlooks the fact that this film actually has a very dirty mouth (the 11-year-old girl in it drops the C-bomb [c*nt] early on), an extremely violent streak (a bad guy is microwaved until he explodes into a shower of blood and flesh), and raging hormones (a shot of a trashcan full of post-masturbation tissues says it all). If I had actually gone to see this with my mom, she would've been mortally offended and I would've sunken so far down in my theater seat that I would've all but disappeared.

Yup, it's the sort of misleading advertising that makes people like my mother think that Kick-Ass, which features a trio of teen superhero wannabes, is a family-friendly affair, with acceptable comic-book violence in the vein of, say, Iron Man or Spider-Man. No, this movie is not what she thinks it is. And up until this weekend, I didn't have a clue either. I just knew that the trailers looked a little bit lame.



What I've realized after seeing Kick-Ass—with a group of friends who had a rollicking great time—is that the trailers make the film look like what would've happened if a Hollywood studio tinkered with the filmmakers' (writer/director Matthew Vaughn and co-writer Jane Goldman) vision, which is based on the very adult comic book by Mark Millar and John Romita Jr.

What Kick-Ass actually is, is a funny, crass, no-holds-barred ride, packed with fight scenes that you'll be talking about for days—the aforementioned girl (played by a dynamic Chloe Moretz) not only kicks ass, but she also shoots, stabs, and kills with abandon and glee. It's a movie with an irreverent, uncompromised voice, which, incidentally, Roger Ebert finds "morally reprehensible." Yes, this might be one of those love-it-or-hate-it films, one that boldly eschews comic-book violence in favor of graphic violence that tries to make each shot, stab, and kill really hurt. In Kick-Ass, ass-kicking has consequences.

By the way, the nerdy lead actor, Aaron Johnson...



...is actually jaw-droppingly hot (click to engorge, er, I mean, enlarge):

You've seen the "OMG Cat," right...? No...? Well, here you go: a kitty who dons a look of utter surprise that would put Macaulay Culkin to shame. Watch:

It's been three months since my last fashion emergency, so, all in all, I'm doing pretty well this year when it comes to sartorial peace of mind. I have a new fashion dilemma, though—it's not so much of an emergency, so I have time to consult you, dear readers, for your advice.

Anyway, if you look at the accompanying picture, you will see that I am wearing a very nice Ted Baker blazer, one that fits me so perfectly that I must find a way to salvage the mess I have made of it.

Some months ago, I noticed tiny black smudges on the sleeve. Water didn't help, so I bought one of those emergency stain removers, those little sticks of magic meant to make all the visual pain go away. After testing it out successfully on a hidden piece of fabric on the inside of the blazer, I then rubbed the stain remover on the smudges. Oh, the horror! I wanted to gouge my eyes out at what I saw!

The sleeve now displayed an unsightly orange stain around the original smudges, an orange stain that remains there today. I'm not sure you can really see what I'm talking about from this picture, but look anyway and take my word for it—it's horrible in real life:



The dry cleaning guy told me that the stain would be impossible to remove. He said that one solution was to have the whole blazer dyed, but, because of the blazer's particular fabric, dyeing wouldn't work either. I asked him if I simply had to throw it away. He offered me one final solution.

DRY CLEANING GUY: Put a patch over it.

PRINCE: A patch?

DRY CLEANING GUY: Yes.

PRINCE: You mean, make it like some retro hipster jacket?

DRY CLEANING GUY: Yes.

PRINCE: Hmm. Okay. I like your bow tie.

DRY CLEANING GUY: Thank you.

All right, folks, there you have it. The only way to save my Ted Baker blazer is to put a patch over the stain (on the upper sleeve, in the bicep area, where, say, a black armband would go). What patch should it be? What patch will be cool, but won't make me look ridiculous or stupidly ironic or like a douchebag?

To make myself feel like a real author, I will be signing copies of my play, The Theory of Everything, at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books at UCLA this coming weekend. On Sunday, April 25, 2010, from 12 p.m. to 2 p.m., I'll be sheltered in USC's Master of Professional Writing Program booth, with Sharpie in hand. In fact, I'll sign anything. ANYTHING. But my book is only $7.50, so that's a good starting point.

Anyway, aside from getting five seconds of face time with me, there are a number of panels, readings, and networking opportunities, and the festival actually runs the whole weekend, April 24-25, not just during my two-hour slot (as much as I like to think that is so). So come!

Visit the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books website for more information.

As you may know, this blog has been the #1 online destination for people who desire to explore the complex, philosophical question of "Is Romania a shithole?" (For the seemingly endless discussion, go here.) Add the following news report to the body of evidence, would you? According to the Telegraph:

Officials in Pecica, a village town about 13 miles from the Hungarian border in the [Romania's] west, ordered the bright red signs, complete with the phrase "Attention—Drunks."

The 10 road signs, which also show a person crawling on their knees while clutching a glass in one hand, were erected in popular nightspot areas close to the city's bars and restaurants.

Peter Antal, the Pecica Mayor, said the idea came after he visited an unnamed town in Germany, which had installed similar signs.

He said officials took action after a "despairing" number of accidents in the town, which has a population of about 13,000, caused by drunken revellers, with some even resulting in fatalities.

He said it was not motorists' fault but blamed the town's pedestrians, many of whom were not able to look out for themselves as they walked around the town, which is more than 300 miles west of the Romanian capital, Bucharest....

He denied the signs would send out the wrong message to the town's residents, claiming they were a "positive contribution."

Residents said they found the signs amusing.

Well, guess what? The mayor is having the signs removed! From Sify:

Traffic signs warning Romanian drivers of 'drunken' pedestrians have been scrapped by road safety officials following 'excessive' media coverage....

Council chiefs decided to change them, with motorists now seeing signs warning of "other dangers" in the village....

"We had consultations with representatives of Arad County Traffic Police and we decided together that this indicator be changed to those with the meaning 'other dangers,' which are...in the road."

Wait, wait, wait. There are more dangers?! What are they? And are these new signs any better that the old ones?

By now you've tired of the "David After Dentist" viral video that did the rounds last year (and that the father has been trying to milk for every penny), but you know what? Adults who are administered drugs at the dentist are funny too! Watch:

In a stroke of some kind of bizarre musical genius, David Byrne and Fatboy Slim joined forces to create an epic, 22-song disco opera album about the life and times of Imelda Marcos—that controversial, shoe-loving widow of Philippines dictator Ferdinand Marcos. Yup, for me, it's one of the biggest WTF?!'s of the year, but, damn, it's good. Some of it is great, even.

Each song on Here Lies Love features vocals from a different powerhouse singer, mostly women, representing the voice of Imelda and the people in her world. The jaw-dropping line-up includes Tori Amos, Nicole Atkins, Sharon Jones, Cyndi Lauper, Natalie Merchant, Santigold, and The B-52s' Kate Pierson.

After the album's prologue track, the whole affair kicks off with the wonderfully catchy "Every Drop of Rain," featuring Candie Payne & St. Vincent. The song is meant to be a duet between a Estrella, the housekeeper, and a young Imelda. The album notes explain:

During Imelda's childhood, Estrella, the housekeeper, raised her. They were fairly close in age, but Estrella became a mother to Imelda—she took care of her and the rest of her family in every way. Estrella, Imelda, her mother, and her brother lived in a leaking garage alongside a broken-down car. They slept on boards, while their wealthier relatives lived in the big house next door. At night Imelda's mother often cried, so the children usually slept with Estrella.

I think you might love this. Listen:



More information about Here Lies Love can be found on David Byrne's website.

And there's a great behind-the-scenes Time interview with David Byrne here.

Want to apply for arts jobs that don't really exist? I'm not sure how the idea for Not Real Arts Jobs came about, but there's something very funny and sad about this whole enterprise.

Visit Not Real Arts Jobs.

[Thanks to Parabasis.]

Speaking of Birdemics, a local news station solicited a pelican expert to help explain a pelican invasion. But then a pelican bites the pelican expert in the crotch. Oh, sweet irony. Watch:

Several weeks ago, I was alerted to an article in the March 2010 issue of American Theatre magazine that serves as an exhaustive survey of Asian Americans in theater. Of course, I immediately skipped ahead to the part where I'm mentioned (oh, oh, you're surprised at my narcissism?!—don't you know me by now?!), and then I set the piece aside for later reading. (I'm too busy macrameing friendship bracelets for Zac Efron!)

Well, I finally read the article, and author Lily Tung Crystal has done a really commendable job of uncovering little-known theatrical history and putting it in context. Her look at the San Francisco Bay Area theater scene and the place of Asian Americans in it shows you how the microcosm of the Bay Area has far-reaching implications throughout the United States.

Aside from my paragraph (ha!), here's the most intriguing and provocative passage:

Ironically, when Asian-American theatre in the Bay Area should have been at the height of its development, the market suddenly took a step backward. As the Wallace grant ended, [Sharon] Ott left Berkeley Rep to helm Seattle Repertory Theatre, taking her Asian sensibility with her. In the decade-plus since her departure, Berkeley Rep has produced only two plays by Asians or Asian Americans.

Still, managing director Susan Medak insists, "Berkeley Rep has not in any way stopped producing or lost interest in Asian or Asian-American artists. In fact, this March, we're premiering a new play by Naomi Iizuka [Concerning Strange Devices from the Distant West] that we commissioned." But, she admits, "We stopped aggressively looking for Asian-themed work, mostly because Sharon was leaving. [Current artistic director] Tony Taccone does not have the same long-standing collaborations with Asian-American artists that drove our programming in the past. We stopped investing as heavily in Asian audience development because we found we were attracting more Asian audiences by simply concentrating on younger audiences. I don't feel we've abandoned Asian audiences, though. They are coming more, but that's not because we're doing Asian work."

The idea that Asian-American audiences will support non—ethnically Asian work as much if not more than their own is not a new one, as filmmaker Justin Lin (Better Luck Tomorrow) discovered at a Hollywood studio marketing meeting. "They had pie charts, and I saw slices labeled African-American, Caucasian and Latino. When I asked, 'Where are the Asian Americans?' one executive said, 'Look, Asian-American spending patterns are white, so we consider them Caucasian.'"

Really?! Am I really just like any random white guy?!

Read "Opening the Golden Gate."

I wrote a new post for The Bilerico Project.



Read "Colin Farrell Speaks Out for His Gay Brother."

I have no idea what a StarCraft II beta key is, but even I realize how fucked up this is. Watch:



[Thanks to Howard Ho.]

I'm not entirely sure why the previous post about my hair is ranking so high (PostRank scores all my blog entries using some complicated algorithm that measures traffic, user engagement, and other mysterious factors), but I'm savvy enough to know that I should do a follow-up.

I believe the consensus from you, dear readers, was for me to keep letting my hair grow out, despite the fact that it makes me emotionally uncomfortable. So...a compromise.

I went to my stylist and asked him to trim only the sides, allowing the top to grow out until I have a nervous breakdown. I simply can't let the sides grow out because it gets all poofy, and I don't want it to look like I'm wearing a black football helmet or like I'm that kid. You know, that kid.

My hair now currently looks like this (click pics to enlarge):



The ultimate goal, I suppose, is to conquer the 'do that is currently modeled by hot celebrity chef Curtis Stone, who I've been rooting for on The Celebrity Apprentice. His hair is FABULOUS in a way that I can only hope to achieve some day—if I do enough good deeds and am cosmically rewarded, I suppose. I mean, seriously, how does he get it to look like this?!:



I want that hair! I WANT THAT HAIR! Does anyone know how to get that hair?!

[Update: Read "How High Can I Get?, Part 3."]

If you have a few minutes, then I encourage you curl up with this perfect bedtime story that brilliantly marries a sci-fi horror franchise with a beloved children's book series. You may never look at Alien or Pooh quite the same way again.

Hats off to the creator(s) for capturing the whimsical tone of the Winnie-the-Pooh books and inserting creatures that just don't belong.

Read Alien vs. Pooh.

[Thanks to Patty Hose.]

When I heard the voice of the guy in the following video, I wondered, "Do people actually find this dude's voice hysterically funny? Is that why this clip has gone viral? 'Cuz nothing happens in it. His dog won't fetch. So what?" But then I got to approximately the 1:00 mark and almost fell out of my chair laughing. So...wait for it...wait for it.... Watch:



[Thanks to Superbadfriend.]

My mom likes going to the movies early in the morning on weekends, so yesterday we caught the 10:30 a.m. showing of Date Night. Who the hell goes to a movie at 10:30?!

At least I was able to sneak in a Starbucks croissant (thanks, Starbucks gift card!) to stave off my morning grumpiness. (Seriously, like I try not to talk to anyone on any given day until like 2 p.m.)

Anyway, in terms of movies about running around New York City on a madcap caper of mistaken identity, nothing beats After Hours (1985), the twisty and delirious comedy written by Joseph Minion, directed by Martin Scorsese, shot (with breathless glee) by Michael Ballhaus, and starring (a frantic) Griffin Dunne. You can "Mean Streets" and "Goodfellas" me all you want, but After Hours remains to this day my favorite Scorsese film.



The new running-around-New-York-City-on-a-madcap-caper-of-mistaken-identity comedy that just opened this past weekend, Date Night, doesn't come close to reaching the sublime and sometimes inexplicable pleasures of After Hours (Date Night's plot chugs along on a path with few surprises), but it does boast the inspired (but I can't believe it took this long to happen) pairing of Steve Carell and Tina Fey, comic geniuses, both of them. They make the movie a consistently funny joyride. I swear, put either of these two in anything, and I will laugh, guaranteed (Evan Almighty notwithstanding).

Some added bonuses: great supporting work by James Franco, Mila Kunis, and Mark Wahlberg, who manages to keep his shirt off throughout the entire picture (a point that is the source of much comic mileage).

Mom and I had fun. And if you don't, you're grumpier in the morning than I am.

Oh. My. God. Remember the trailer for Julie and Jack, the movie that looks so awful that it makes you want to smash your head against a brick wall? Well, the makers of that film (which I have managed to avoid seeing for fear of inducing self-inflicted pain, even though the trailer promises a mind-boggling special appearance by Tippi Hedren) also made Birdemic: Shock and Terror, another serious effort (yup, it's not a joke!) whose trailer will make your jaw drop. Watch:



You want true behind-the-scenes story of Birdemic: Shock and Terror? This is straight from the YouTube description:

BIRDEMIC, described by [James] Nguyen as a romantic thriller, is a horror/action/special-effects-driven love story about a young couple trapped in a small Northern California town under siege by homicidal birds. BIRDEMIC also tackles topical issues of global warming, avian flu, world peace, organic living, sexual promiscuity and lavatory access.

Nguyen, a 42-year-old Vietnamese refugee, wrote, cast and shot the film over the course of four years using salary from his day job as a mid-level software salesman in Silicon Valley. The film pays homage to Hitchcock's THE BIRDS via location shooting in Mission Bay, California, as well as an appearance by star of THE BIRDS Tippi Hedren. When rejected for an official screening slot at Sundance, Nguyen spent eight days driving up and down the festivals nearby streets in a van covered with fake birds, frozen blood and BIRDEMIC posters, while loudspeakers blared the sounds of eagle attacks and human screams. The tactic caught the attention of festival organizers, filmgoers and local police, as well as executives from Severin Films. Severins executives walked into a screening, took one look at Nguyens masterwork, and immediately locked up BIRDEMIC's worldwide rights for the next twenty years. Discussions are currently underway for Severin to add an additional thirty years to the initial agreement.

I'm not entirely sure who's fooling who here. And if you look on the movie's IMDb page, Tippi Hedren's credit is actually marked "archive footage." Seriously.

What the fuck is going on here?!

Some of you may have seen video footage of the incredible standing cat (yup, it's a cat that stands!; it stands, I tell you!), but said footage is now accompanied by bouncy music that now makes the video just beg for multiple viewings. Watch:



[Thanks to Superbadfriend.]

I went to House of Pies.

I bought a slice of cherry.

I transported it home.

It looks so damn good that I don't know whether to fuck it or eat it.

I think I will just eat it.

Wait a minute.

Maybe I'll fuck it, and then I'll eat it.

Hmm.

Check in with me tomorrow morning.

If I have a hard time looking you in the eye, you'll be able to draw your own conclusions.

Don't judge me.

I know your dirty secret.

Calling amateur singer Lin Yu Chun a "pudgy Asian dude with a bad haircut" is not an insult. I happen to think pudgy Asian dudes with bad haircuts are cool. Especially if they can take a song like Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You" (made doubly famous by Whitney Houston) and sing the living shit out of it. Straight from Taiwan's Super Star Avenue and straight from the Susan Boyle viral video playbook, here, then, is Mr. Chun. Watch:



Yup, he won the TV show's $1 million prize and a recording contract.

[Thanks to The Bilerico Project.]

The idea of an all-male a cappella group Rickrolling a subway train may not be the most brilliant thing in the world—but the University of Oregon's On the Rocks has a couple things going for it: the guys are kind of hot and they can really sing! Despite these positives, the surrounding passengers look like they couldn't give a shit. (If a live Rickroll occurs on an A-train and no one acknowledges it, did it really happen?) Watch:

When I was on my way to see Sapphire (author of the book, Push, which was adapted into the film, Precious) at the Los Angeles Public Library, where she was going to be in conversation with playwright Brighde Mullins tonight, I was trying to decide whether I should get a picture with Sapphire after the event or get her to sign my copy of Push with "Prince, you're more precious than Precious." (Parks and Recreation fans, holla!)

Well, since a picture is worth a so goddamn much, I went for the photo opportunity.

This evening featured one of the best author conversations I have ever heard. Interesting, honest, provocative, inspiring. Sapphire talked about the genesis of Push, its journey to Precious, the power of language, and her rift with Ishmael Reed. (Reed published an angry op-ed against Precious in The New York Times, and Sapphire offered a response.) She also did a remarkable job reading excerpts from the book, as well as the unedited response to Ishmael Reed, which drew enthusiastic applause. The event will be available as a podcast shortly, and I'll let you know when that happens.

You know what? I left the library thinking, "There is nothing about Sapphire I don't like." That's a good feeling.

This is fudging bizarre and hilarious. A shaky rogue camera captures scenes from a live theater adaptation of the violent and profane Al Pacino film, Scarface, performed by elementary school kids. Watch:



Yup, parents from all over were upset that this was allowed to go on at a school somewhere in the United States.

But, yup, this was staged. Motherfudging suckers!

At the end of Act One of Julia Cho's funny, layered, and ultimately heartbreaking new play, The Language Archive, two characters come together in a pivotal embrace. At Sunday's matinee performance at South Coast Repertory, during that embrace, the entire theater started shaking. I knew SCR had some money (that theater is freaking nice!), but that special effect—a blend of sounds (rumbling!), sights (swinging light fixtures!), and physical assault (our bodies rocking side to side!)—seemed like it would cost an astronomical amount of money.

Well, it turns out that the shaking was actually an earthquake—a whopping 7.2 tremor centered in Baja California, Mexico. Seconds before the end of the first act, the actors stopped the performance and a stagehand ushered them away. An announcement on the PA system instructed the audience to leave the building.

After the forced intermission, we were allowed to return for Act Two, in which we discover how metaphorically perfect an earthquake is to that pivotal embrace—in ways that are obvious, but also in ways that are unexpected and pleasurable. It made me tear up. And it reminded me once again the tightrope that is live theater.

On the surface, The Language Archive is about a brilliant linguist who wrestles with love and, well, language. But the play goes much, much deeper than that. The "romantic comedy" marketing (smart move, I suppose) avoids talking about how the piece is primarily about loss—it explores the tragedy (and unexpected freedom) that overwhelms us when marriages crumble, when world cultures disappear, when people die.

Julia Cho remains one of my favorite playwrights (I've taught Durango and 99 Histories in my various playwriting classes at both EWP and USC), and The Language Archive is another great entry into her impressive body of work.

The Language Archive by Julia Cho runs through April 25, 2010, at South Coast Repertory in Costa Mesa, California.

A live news broadcast. A winning gambler. And an enthusiastic declaration of triumph. Watch:



[Thanks to Superbadfriend.]

I don't know if P.K. is revealing his true identity on the Internet, so I shall restrict him to mere initials here. Yup, he is known unto me, and, yup, I know he is funny. But I didn't know until recently that he's put out a series of hilarious video blogs titled "Keep or Jot," which offers invaluable advice on a number of topics...from a slant-eyed perspective! I should make him my mascot! Watch:



Visit Keeporjot's YouTube channel.

It took me a while to get into Dreamworks' new animated extravaganza, How to Train Your Dragon—I didn't care for the noisy opening battle sequence or the logic-defying dragon "school" subplot—but once I did I found it to be a fun, emotional, and intellectually stimulating piece of work. (Also, I was initially distracted by how buttery my fingers were getting from my popcorn. I over-pumped! I OVER-PUMPED!)

At the risk of being mocked about reading too much into things (as in the recent, hilarious Catcher in the Rye episode of South Park), I think How to Train Your Dragon doubles as a primer for nonviolent conflict resolution.

I am reminded by Phil Ochs's famous line from his signature song, "I Ain't Marching Anymore": "It's always the old to lead us to the war/It's always the young to fall." It's a sentiment that's somewhat echoed in Dragon, as it's an every-child who challenges his elders' traditional notions on how best to settle disputes. The old want dragon blood; the young just want to pet them.

Speaking of the 2010 MPW Writing for Stage and Screen Festival (April 2 and 3, 2010, yo!), I am reminded that I must give mad props to a printing house called Prints Made Easy.

Since I like riding deadlines so seriously close to the edge that it's chafing my ass, I seriously doubted that I could find a printer who could manufacture all the festival postcards I needed by the time I needed them.

Not only did Prints Made Easy (first recommended to me by Gabriel Fleming) deliver high-quality postcards on time, they did it two days earlier than promised. It was so quick that I yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK?!," when I found out.

Visit Prints Made Easy.

The cat in the following video really really really really really wants that fish in the aquarium. Watch: