johnnyhongkong says…

Here’s to making sure that civil rights for all is realized one day. 

Link via Americablog

I got served by trying to link to a photo of You Got Served. Everything was going right with the site until then and suddenly, sidebars are loading in incorrect places and weird shadows are happing all up and down the site.  While there’s been a lot of changing of themes in the last few days, it wasn’t until trying to get a picture of Omarion’s mug did I get messed up.  I’m trying to fix it but my limited coding knowledge makes that very difficult.  Pair that with my OCD and it’s a mess. 

Ugh… 

I solved the technical difficulties by deleting the post that broke the blog.  Now I’m trying to get the post back on the blog without breaking it again.

Oh.  I need a photo of Omarion’s mug for a post about getting served.  Talk about getting served while getting served. 

***UPDATE: Problem solved.  See below***

I admit it.  I missed the boat on the You Got Served cultural movement.  What seemed like a forgettable little movie has snuck into our cultural lexicon.  Though some may argue that the phrase “you got served,” has been with us much longer, I think it’s clear that since the movie’s release in 2004, the phrase has taken on so much more, bringing to mind reckless breakdancing, bordering on public endangerment.  I was recently hit full on in the face by the cultural behemoth when three things happened:

1. I was pitched a script idea that included the phrase, “…it’s like You Got Served but with…”
2. Hearing multiple references to You Got Served in casual conversation over the course of three days
3. Ray Ray Boston serving bitches in two different dance battles in New York City with his white hot “Whoopsie” dance move

I had missed something big and I think that having missed it, Omarion and company have had it out for me ever since, trying to serve me at every possible turn. 

Tonight, for example, Mary Milan and I were served more than once.  First, it was by our Mean Ass Ballroom Dance Teacher (M.A.B.D.T. – I don’t know where she’s from and I’m scared to make any presumptions for fear that she’ll yell at me).  While she did not fly across the floor, do the worm, and a backspin – at the same time – and yell, “YOU GOT SERVED!” the message was both similar and crystal clear when, leaning cooly against a wall length mirror, she said, “I’m not laughing because I’ve taught this class for 17 years and I’ve gotten used to seeing some pretty weird stuff,” after seeing us try to do a variation on the Cha-Cha-Cha.

Reeling from getting served by M.A.B.D.T., Mary Milan and I repaired to Nook Bistro in West L.A. to enjoy a spot of wine and dinner.  Nook’s been on our list since Los Angeles Magazine named it one of the best new restaurants in the city. 

While it’s a couple dollars more expensive than what I envision when I think of ”reasonably priced American comfort food,” Nook is also undeniably worth all the praise and attention it’s been getting.  Most importantly, it passed the crab cake test; their cogent and delectable rendition of the Chesapeake Bay classic set a high bar for the rest of what we ordered – Squash and Chickpea Stew, Mac and Cheese, and Wilted Beet Greens – and nothing failed to delight us (the wilted beet greens – gently kissed with lemon and sesame oil – were the most surprising).  Our waiter was pleasant and attentive, even jumping to save the day with a bag of ice when we told him that Mary Milan had a sore knee from dance.

Dinner was so good that we had forgetten that we had just been served by M.A.B.D.T.  When the check came, I blanched when I saw that at the bottom, “YOU HAVE BEEN SERVED BY RED FANG.”  He even circled it, to call our attention to it, sort of as an exclamation point.

If you have to get served, it may as well be from a guy named Red Fang.  It’s so much better than getting it from someone named “Omarion” or “M.A.B.D.T.”  Now getting served by Cobra Fang is a different story. 

You too can get served by Red Fang.  Drop by Nook.  Ask for Red Fang.  You’ll be glad you did.

Mr. Wisconsin is leaning towards hanging up his cleats.  Apparently the arrival of new head coach and former makeout buddy Mike McCarthy has not assuaged the sting of a 12-loss season, 29-interception season.  If this comes to pass, I’m not quite sure if the state of Wisconsin will have a memorial or a parade…

 

Beginning of the show: Did Sandra Oh get a consolation prize for the Alexander Payne divorce? Was her transformation into a TV acting powerhouse part of the settlement? (by the way, I am 7 months into my public service of keeping a copy of Sideways out of Netflix distribution. For those who support my cause email me and I’ll give you my PayPal info.)

About 20 minutes in: Mary Milan sings “Secret Agent Man” after she hears Felicity Huffman read “Secret Agent” off the teleprompter in presenting the next award. Mary Milan, doing paperwork, quickly shifts the lyrics from “Secret Agent Man” to “Secret Asian Man” which, as many of you might know, is johnny hong kong’s code name. That song, with those lyrics, is my call to action, kind of like when Batman sees the Bat signal. I jump to action to find that Mary Milan is only telling Johnny Hong Kong to pay his credit card bill. In my tux and cumberbund, I write a check. Secret Asian Man needs more scrilla. Oh! Sandra said that she shares her SAG award with all Asian American actors! That means I’ll get more work, right? Yeay! I can’t wait for my Sandra Oh prize to come in the mail. Yippie!

After the first or second commercial break: I can’t watch the SAG circle jerk anymore after the segment where the commercial actors talk about their work and how funny their jobs are because of all the ridiculous things they have to do. I know plenty of commercial actors who don’t find their jobs fun or funny, rather, they find it depressing because they’re actors who survive on booking one commercial a year based on nothing more than their look. And don’t get me started on the background actors who are trying to make ends meet while acting for free in a small theatre production that only 8 people see. It makes me sick that these bitches at the awards who make six to eight figures are congratulating themselves while the millions of extras and five and unders are sitting at home happily (or unhappily) drinking Two Buck Chuck and watching this crap. I’m not drinking Two Buck Chuck…or drinking Hatorade.

9:50 PM: Ok, now that that’s out of the way, Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s speech was both grateful and graceful. Still, Mary Milan and I can’t believe that Heath Ledger didn’t win.

10:00 PM: What did Morgan Freeman whisper to Terrence Howard while Don Cheadle was giving the Crash ensemble acceptance speech?

1. “Hey young buck, you’ll never be as good as me…haha.”
2. “T.Ho, you’re so talented, why’d you select that crap ass Hustle and Flow role – yeah, that’s right sucka, I don’t even know the name of your character ‘cuz it was sooo bad…haha.”
3. “Make sure y’all bitches get to steppin’ ‘cuz I gotta close the show with props to the real best ensemble Good Night, Good Luck…haha.”

Yesterday, Boing Boing linked to this press release about how actors memorize lines. Apparently, according to Helga and Tony Noice, a wife/husband, cognitive psychologist/actor-director team who have studied actors and their psychology and techniques, it’s not by good ol’fashioned memorization, rather it’s a process called “active experiencing”.

According to the APS press release:

To get inside the character, an actor will break a script down into a series of logically connected “beats” or intentions. Good actors don’t think about their lines, but feel their character’s intention in reaction to what the other actors do, causing their lines to come spontaneously and naturally.

And how exactly is this new? I’ve been telling that to my actors for years and I don’t have an APS (or SAG) news release hearlding my groundbreaking work. All I’ve ever gotten are annoyed actors who call line after their deadline to be off-book.

Mary Milan, who is a psychologist, has this to add:

makes sense and is in line with other theories of memory.

the reason ptsd happens is that it’s so emotional that people remember all of it. it’s adaptive to remember emotional things because it helps you retain how you got there…if you want to get there again, and how to avoid it, if it was a bad emotion.

now to sound bitchy…i honestly don’t know why this is making news. the relevant links that could have been deduced into this have been around for years.

When friends come to town, the first stop is always In-N-Out.  It’s convenient as there is one by the airport and also, since I have made a deal with myself that I will only go to In-N-Out when friends are in town, I get my biannual fix of their animal styled burgers (which I am convinced includes crack as a main ingredient).

The two most amazing In-N-Out feats I have seen are the last time Conrad Connecticut, Esq. (who incidentally is the one responsible for the johnnyhongkong moniker) was out here, he ate just about every meal at In-N-Out and Mary Milan’s brother eating two double doubles (4×4 with fries) in the same sitting, even after describing the burgers as just “O.K.”

These feats, which I once thought were superhuman, have nothing on this.

The long and the long of it, a group of friends ate a 100×100 In-N-Out burger.  That’s right.  An In-N-Out with one hundred meat patties and one hundred slices of cheese.

Here’s a tease:

Throughout the weekend, Andy kept on saying: “We should go get a 100×100 at In-N-Out”. Over..and over…and over again. Until we finally broke. So on Halloween night, we went to go chowdown…

…There is a common misperception that the 100×100 has a hundred buns. No, that’s not true. It’s one set of buns and ONE HUNDRED meat patties and ONE HUNDRED pieces of sweaty-oily cheese in between the buns. Clearly, the worst part of this experience wasn’t the meat..it was the sweaty cheese. (emphasis added)

Boing Boing called them gluttons but failed to ask how ol’Harry and Esther, the devout Christian founders of In-N-Out who have scripture references printed in discrete locations of their disposable cups and burger wrappers, feel about enabling a group of kids to commit one of the seven deadly sins.  Something tells me that with the blood feud inside the Synder home, they have bigger things to worry about than a group of drunk kids cashing in their mortal souls for a mere $97 and change.