Film Review: Julie & Julia

Main Ingredients: Meryl Streep, Amy Adams, Stanley Tucci, Nora Ephron

 Method:

First separate Streep and Adams into two separate storylines. Use Ephron to stir both carefully and evenly, taking care to alternate between the two to prevent either mixture from becoming too sticky. Add a pinch of Tucci to the Streep mixture at regular intervals to ensure it retains dryness. Midway through, whisk Adams more vigorously until she reaches soft peaks. Season liberally with humour to ensure it doesn’t become over-sweet. Finally, combine both mixtures in a flashback-structure and bake for 123 minutes. Serve immediately to a warm audience.

Yep, it’s the cooking movie that everyone is talking about. You probably know the back-story already – Julie Powell, stuck in a dead-end administrative job in New York, decides to spend a year cooking every one of the 524 recipes in Julia Child’s legendary cookbook, Mastering the art of French Cooking. A frustrated writer, she documents the experience on a blog which becomes phenomenally popular. The real-life Powell went on to publish her story and it became an enormous bestseller.

Rather than a straightforward adaptation of this book, Nora Ephron’s clever screenplay combines the Powell story with Julia Child’s own account of her life in France during the 1940s and 50s, starting with her initial forays into cookery and following the difficult process of putting together her infamous cookbook, for many years the equivalent of a culinary bible.

The film cuts backwards and forwards between France fifty years ago and Powell in present day New York but this doesn’t unbalance the movie. Instead, the viewer is frequently struck by the similarities between these two women. Both are hugely likable, both embark on a seemingly crazy project and both are backed up by an adoring husband. It’s refreshing to see a story of triumph over adversity where so much attention is given to the supportive partners in the background. Look beyond the food and the women and this is significantly a film about two marriages which remain rock-solid under considerable pressure.

It skirts perilously close to cliché at several points, but Ephron skilfully keeps things smart and fast-paced. She’s a screenwriter whose reputation suffers from association with her softer rom-coms – You’ve Got Mail and Sleepless in Seattle. But remember – this is the woman who also wrote Silkwood and When Harry Met Sally. Whether you like all her output or not, she’s clearly a sharp lady when she wants to be and she’s absolutely in her element here.

The cast is as good as you know they are going to be. Amy Adams has been undeniably cute and perky for the last couple of years, swiftly adopting the role of supporting actress du jour, but she really holds her own here. La Streep is clearly going to pull in the crowds, but her young co-star has slightly more screentime than the 15-time Oscar nominee, and to this reviewer, it is Adams who carries the real heart of the film.

Meryl is, of course, great value. Hilarious, slightly grotesque, unapologetically outspoken and ever so slightly drag-queen in her characterisation – this is a really big performance. But it doesn’t hinder the film – in fact, it probably lifts it to another level. Just like with Prada, this is a seemingly conventional mainstream movie that is elevated to something a bit special by Streep’s presence. The rest of the cast are also terrific. The husbands are both really appealing and warranting special mention is a delicious appearance by the ubiquitous Jane Lynch as Child’s sister. It’s the sort of role Joan Cusack used to play in her heyday – laugh-out-loud funny and just a bit crazy.

Production design is very strong, especially in the portions of the film set in France and the costume designers employ some very clever tricks to enhance Streep’s height, the real Julia Child having been famously very tall. We’re not quite in Hagrid territory, but her size is cleverly portrayed in several ‘how did they do that?’ scenes.

And it’s impossible to talk about this film without mentioning the food on display. Even if you’re someone who can’t boil an egg, it will have you itching to have a bash at some of the recipes or at the very least, it’ll make your mouth water – see this on an empty stomach and you’ll be ravenous by the end.

Overall, this is a tasty dish indeed. It’s fun, it’s funny, it’s hugely engaging throughout and there are some welcome moments of real poignancy. The term ‘feel-good’ is often used pejoratively to denote a film that lacks substance and isn’t dripping with cool cynicism. But this will make you grin, it really does make you feel good and as such, it will be a deserved crowd-pleaser. 

Bon appetit!

 Reviewed by: The All Knowing I

It looks like a cock…

Why not to buy this book…. 

The title alone means that this book will be thumbed through by plenty of curious punters. Published by Bloomsbury and presumably aimed at the upcoming Christmas market, this is a pocket-sized hardback stocking-filler. You know the sort of thing – usually piled up near the checkout in bookshops, often surrounded by other titles for people who don’t actually read books. The Little Book of Calm, anyone?

For those of you who are still curious, what you get this time is a bunch of photographs of different things that supposedly look like cocks. Clouds, Fungus, icebergs, fruit, a beluga whale, etc, etc, each with a little bit of text and a percentage rating of how much it resembles an actual penis.

There’s a disclaimer stating that none of the pics have been touched up or ‘fiddled with’ (that’s what passes for a ‘joke’ here), but frankly, you’d be hard pressed to care. Admittedly, a couple of the pictures really do look like dicks, but some don’t bear any resemblance to anything you will have ever seen attached to any man.

To put it bluntly, this silly little tome is utter rubbish. You’ll grin as you reach for it, but the smile will fade pretty rapidly. Some might think the idea is cute and, yes, many of us love looking at rude pictures, but these aren’t rude – just really, really stupid. 25 bucks for 42 vaguely phallic images that even sniggering schoolkids wouldn’t look at twice?

It’s a waste of paper, a waste of every resource that went into its production, a waste of money and a waste of your time. If you have the dollars to throw away, I urge you to give them to your local Big Issue salesperson, or buy a proper book, or even a book of pictures of real cocks. But not this. It’s cheap crap that is designed to titillate and which will no doubt be hoping to swallow up our pink dollars, but which will ultimately end up perched on bookcases everywhere, not opened since the day it was received.

I’ll admit I smiled once. And that was when I turned it over to read the blurb on the back from Simon Pegg – “please don’t attach my name to this shit.” Avoid, avoid, avoid.

Reviewed by: The All Knowing I

Great cartoon by Tom Fishburne

It will be alright on the night….

So after 10 weeks, which seemed to have flow by, the drama classes were to draw to an end with each of us performing our monologues in front of a live audience. I thought I would be really nervous but on the day felt remarkably calm. The week before when we did our last class I was thinking “how the hell am I supposed to do this in front of an audience” but as I said on the day I was feeling ok about it. I had lots to do in the office that day so maybe this helped as I did not really have time to think about it. I had put some time aside in my diary to make sure I reviewed my lines one last time, but unfortunately got caught up in a meeting so never had the chance.

I left work a couple of hours early so I had time to go home shower and “get into character”, unlike some of the mothers on my course I had not really given all that much thought to a costume so had to raid my wardrobe for suitable clothing. My character was a mid-thirties misfit that is a bit of a geek, naturally I was worried about not having enough “boring and geeky clothing”  to suitably dress my character, but as it turns out I didn’t struggle… clearly time for my wardrobe to have a makeover.

I got dressed and went round to a friends apartment where a few of us were meeting for a glass of wine (for the nerves), and on arrival was told how “old I looked in costume” , at this stage should I have told them I was actually wearing my own clothes and the glasses I had on were also mine!? One of the other actors was walking around the apartment in character, and the other actor was putting in far more effort than I did in getting ready, I sat on the couch with a glass of wine thinking maybe I should be doing more, and was still strangely calm.

We took a nice pleasant stroll to the theatre (ok community centre) and when we got to the venue our drama teacher was running around like a headless chicken and lots of our fellow actors were stood about practicing their lines in various sates of stress, at this point the atmosphere in the room was palpable, and I got my first flutter of nerves. We had just enough time to do one final run through, no stopping between monologues to talk about how we did. I had been word perfect for the past few weeks so was not unduly worried about having to get my lines right, it was more doing it in front of strangers that worried me.

So off we go, with our collective nerves having gone from death-con 1 to death-con 3, my performance was in the middle of the running order, I listened to each performance with adulation at how well everyone was doing, everyone seemed to have risen the bar a notch. Then it was my turn, I listened for my prompt and took centre stage, and began “Diana, look at me Diana…….”, Oh fuck what’s next? I completely forgot my lines… I fumbled through by simple making it up, the gist of it was there with the odd line being correct but I rewrote the script as I spoke!!!! How the hell did that happen? I had known the words for weeks, where did they go? Now I was nervous as hell, my little heart was pounding as I tried desperately to avoid the pitiful looks from my fellow performers.

I was still stood there in shock when were we were all herded off so that the audience could be let in and we could get ready to come on and give the performance of a lifetime. I went into a dream like state and just kept thinking “what are my lines?” I was drawing a complete blank, could not think how they went, was still trying to conger up my lines when suddenly there I was, centre stage again, light on me audience waiting expectantly…. And out they came, I could hear someone speaking my lines, oh it was me, I was doing it, I was performing, and before I knew it was over… I’d done it and I was as high as a kite on the adrenalin. It worked, it all came together at the last minute and I felt great. The last ten weeks had all been worthwhile for that one moment.

I set out doing this course because I wanted to do something that would challenge me, put me out of my comfort zone, and it did just that and more. I actually enjoyed it. I’m no Laurence Olivier, but I think I did ok, and am now signed up to do the next course….

Film Review: Moon

Filmed in 33 days on a budget of $5 million, this debut film has been described by its director, Duncan Jones, as ‘indie science-fiction’. Thumbing his nose at current sci-fi genre trappings (action, space ships, aliens), he has purposefully returned to the tone of the ‘70s and early ‘80s, seeking to tell a ‘human story in a future environment’ – think Silent Runnings or Blade Runner, not Star Wars.

It is the near future and astronaut Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) is living on the far side of the moon, approaching the end of a three year contract mining Earth’s primary energy source, Helium-3. Alone on the planet with satellite communication with his family disrupted, his sole source of company is the lunar base’s computer, Gerty, dryly voiced by Kevin Spacey.

Sam’s health starts to deteriorate and he begins to hallucinate, leading to an almost fatal accident in a lunar rover. As he recovers back at the base, his reality is challenged by an enigmatic visitor who looks somewhat familiar.

This curious little film is one that requires patience, but if you are in the right mood for an intriguing conundrum with existential overtones, then step right up. Director Jones poses a big question – if you met in person, would you like yourself? – and is overall successful at engaging his audience throughout a series of mind-bending scenes that are played completely straight instead of for laughs.

Rockwell is onscreen for pretty much the entire running time and impresses in a role that could have been too clever for its own good. Is it just me, or is there something a bit sexy about this strangely likeable actor? He’s alternately grimy and healthy here and doesn’t overdo it with the crazy tics. It’s a brave, potentially exposing performance with no other actors to interact with, and frankly, it’s what makes the film work. Without the goodwill Rockwell engenders, much of the audience would probably be alienated by the detached air that prevails during early scenes – we need a hook to drag us into this film, and he is it.

The screenplay is smart and economical. You’ll need to watch and listen carefully if you don’t want to lose your way, but if you run with this, the latter parts of the film manage to conjure up quite a bit of emotion from what initially seems to be a chilly little brain-teaser. One scene in particular will have you clutching at your pearls as a painful truth is revealed to our protagonist.

The production design is pleasingly old-school. The interior of the space station has the same white chunky décor as the original Alien and the exterior scenes and model-work feel pleasingly retro compared to the CGI vistas we’ve grown accustomed to in recent years. Special effects are used throughout the film, but they are often the invisible kind, as opposed to a look-at-me spectacle. The sound design is effective and the music is just right. There’s a strange tension here, ratcheted up as the film progresses. This is not quite sustained in the final stretch, but it’s still an unnerving experience, leaving the audience feeling distinctly uneasy at times.

To say more would be to reveal too much – part of the fun is found in unravelling the mystery here. And I’m not quite sure that everyone will buy into the central twist. We’re not in Shyamalan territory, but suspension of disbelief is definitely required at times.

So this is by no means the best film you’ll see this year, or even this month, but it is refreshingly different and it does manage to intrigue for most of its 97 minutes.

Reviewed by: The All Knowing I

TITIVATE

I love the word titivate a transitive and intransitive verb:

1. To make decorative additions to; spruce.

intransitive verb:
1. To make oneself smart or spruce.

Film Review: Blessed

In recent months, Aussie film pundits have been talking up 2009 as a vintage year for local product. Samson and Delilah, My Year Without Sex, Beautiful Kate – not just high quality, these were home-grown films that punters were actually going to see. The latest addition to the field, Blessed, is a surefire contender for the strongest Australian film of the year, but – here’s the catch – one which may struggle to find its audience.

 

Directed by Ana Kokkinos, helmer of the highly acclaimed 1998 feature Head On, this film started life as a play in Melbourne – Who’s Afraid of The Working Class? Don’t let the theatrical origins put you off. The screenwriter has done a great job of transferring this story from a dialogue-based medium into a celluloid world where powerful imagery and moments of silence are as impressive and emotional as the gritty script.

 

It’s deceptively simple. The first half of the film, titled ‘The Children’, follows the different exploits of seven children over the course of 24 hours. We wander with them through various situations, gradually beginning to understand the motives for their behaviour as backgrounds and family ties are revealed.

 

Midway through, the film switches perspective and we are presented with ‘The Mothers’, seeing the same situations through the eyes of the five mothers of these kids, each with their own story that provides vital context for the viewer.

 

Each half of the movie stands alone as a portrait of disenfranchised working class families struggling to keep their heads above water – in emotional terms as well as financially. But seen together, the cumulative impact is enormous, creating a hugely moving whole that will resonate strongly with anyone who has experienced complex familial entanglements (that’s all of us, right?).

 

Performances are terrific. The kids are naturalistic and convincing – equal parts obnoxious and endearing with not a sniff of a stage-school brat among them. Of the mothers, my money is on Frances O’Connor receiving most of the plaudits in her against-type role as a welfare-reliant single mother who neglects her kids, smokes while pregnant and seeks solace in a series of failed relationships with unsuitable men. Deborra-Lee Furness and Miranda Otto also shine, injecting some real warmth into two potentially unsympathetic characters.

 

Handheld camerawork forces the viewer onto intimate terms with these people and the unglamorous Melbourne locations further contribute to a strong sense of realism.

 

The score is quite beautiful, reminiscent of Decoder Ring’s Somersault soundtrack and used brilliantly to underpin some of the quietly emotional moments.

 

Since Head On played at gay film festivals around the globe, SameSame readers won’t be surprised to hear that there is a queer strand to this web of interconnected lives. We aren’t given, and we don’t need, the full background to share the confused isolation of gay teen Arthur, known by his family as Roo.

 

The scene where he takes part in an amateur porn film might be confronting for some audiences, but it’s an astonishing sequence – depressingly real and ultimately heartbreaking. You’ll just wanted to reach into the screen and rescue this kid.

 

Okay, so this is not straightforward easy entertainment, but it is soulful and rewarding and easily worth 17 bucks and 112 minutes of your time.

 

Blessed has a lot to say about ordinary people leading ordinary lives and despite the overwhelming tragedy of the closing section, this is not a misery-fest – there are real moments of warmth and poignancy here, if you look for them.

 

See it with someone you love – you’ll appreciate a big reassuring hug afterwards.

Reviewed by : The All Knowing I

Slip It On…..

I love this new safe sex campaign created by Sydney-based agency Frost*Design for ACON.

The campaign’s core aim is to make gay men “go bananas for condoms”.  

It’s really eye-catching and engaging which is great as the whole “use a condom’ messaging has been done for so long now that it was getting harder and harder (no pun intended) to get this message out there and get it noticed. This is exactly what this campaign does. I think so many people are getting bored of condom usage ads – this one is so bright, fresh and fun that it’s almost impossible to see it “as just another boring safe sex ad”. It also works because of the innovative approach the campaign takes and the pop art-inspired imagery which has appeal across all ages. And the tagline, “Slip It On”, says it all

Check out this website to see more: http://www.acondom.org/

Film Review: The Taking of Pelham 123

I won’t beat around the bush – this is pretty bad. If you’ve been anywhere near a mainstream cinema lately, you’ll probably have seen the trailer. Sad to report, you don’t need to see any more than that…

It’s the third filmed version of this story, following a well regarded 1974 version and a little-seen TV-movie from 1998 and it’s easy to see why director Tony Scott decided to revisit the material. On paper it sounds like a lean, mean action machine: bad guy hijacks subway train; passengers will die if his ransom demands are not met within one hour; heroic New York City transit employee comes to the rescue. Cast John Travolta and Denzel Washington as the bad guy and the hero respectively and you can’t go wrong, right?

Wrong. In my opinion, the film was woeful on almost every level…

Tony Scott employs his usual flashy style, with a sudden zoom or a jump-cut every ten seconds or so. Yes, it’s kinetic and colourful and some clever sound-design is employed to amp up the sense of urgency. Scott tries really hard to inject as much action as he can above-ground, with car crashes and swooping helicopters and lots of men in uniform running around. But you can’t hide the fact that for much of its running time, this is basically a filmed conversation between a man having a bad day at work and an angry person on an underground train.

The performances are very ordinary. Travolta does bring some weight to his role – about 50 kilos worth by my estimation. He’s been veering towards chunky in recent years, but this really shows that there was less padding under the Edna Turnblad costume than we thought. The crazy schtick he employs here is strictly off-the-shelf – a mixture of softly-spoken menace and sudden shouting, plus a neck tattoo for extra edginess.

And honestly, is there a duller actor working today than Denzel Washington? I know we like it when he plays bad guys, but presumably this is because we’re shocked he isn’t playing the same old world-weary everyman whose lips quiver to indicate each ‘dramatic moment’. He’s ordinary here to the point of being invisible and frankly, it’s tough to care whether he succeeds or not in his endeavours to save the day.

And whose idea was it to cast James Gandolfini as an obsequious Mayor coming to the end of his tenure? We all know he’s more than just Tony Soprano, but I really don’t think anyone buys this guy as weak and nervy.

I love movies and I’ll always find something positive to say about a film whenever I can. In this case, I’ll allow that the credits are interesting and the gunplay is pleasingly brutal.

I’m not being snobbish and I enjoy a popcorn no-brainer as much as the next person, but if you’re in the mood for that kind of entertainment, approach with caution. You’d be wiser staying in and watching an episode of CSI – it’s half as long and twice as well-made.

Review by: The All Knowing I

Guerrilla Marketing

I am a real fan of guerrilla marketing and the recent trend in the ‘flash mob’ approach has generated some fantastic examples of how well this seemingly ‘improvised’ event when coupled with a viral marketing effect can get universal coverage in a short amount of time.

A flash mob (for those of you with your head in the sand) is an assembly of a large number of people generally in a public place for a brief moment of time.  The idea being that the gathering follows a pre-planned script, such as all 14,000 people suddenly descending on Trafalgar Square in London and signing along to the same song (see link for this T-Mobile stunt below).

The purpose of this is for the event to grab the attention of passers by in a way that entertains them so much they whip out their i-pods and, hey presto, within hours millions all over the world have seen the event (or as it should be called the ‘free advertising’) on-line.

Of course any company conducting such an event needs to ensure they have processes in place to effect a viral marketing campaign that will get them maximum exposure, some of these are clearly filmed on high-end recording cameras and not just hand-held shaky mobile phones. There was something much nicer about those early ones that had a more amateur feel to them; some are so polished now that they kind of lose that spontaneous reaction look and feel and they are in danger of alienating the intended audience.

See these links for some examples:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3d3KigPQM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orukqxeWmM0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwMj3PJDxuo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4GMXavfKPY

To be or not to be….. Part 2

Well, as mentioned previously in this blog, I have been doing some acting classes and last night we were all given out respective set pieces that we need to perform as the finale of the course. Each of us has to perform a monologue to an audience of about 150 people, which is 150 too many if you ask me.  I am yet to tell anyone when this performance takes place and am still thinking that I will wait till the moment has passed before letting anyone know I actually did it. This is of course assuming I go through with it on the night; still if none of my friends or family are there does it really matter if I fumble through my lines? Actually it’s not really learning my lines that worries me, it is that I am convinced I will trip up as I “enter stage left” and literally break a leg rather than metaphorically.

I have been given a section form a play called Division Street by Steve Tesich, not a play I am familiar with. I am playing the part of a character called Sal and in the section I have I am talking to a woman that I have not seen for years but she is the person I have always been in love with. It is a 300-odd word monologue which is supposed to be “heartfelt and touching yet humourous”. So far I have only done one read through to my class, and although I received an ok reception in my head I was convinced that I came across sounding like Mr Humphries from ‘Are You Being Served’, declaring his undying love for Mrs Slocombe, and even though I have not seen Division Street I am fairly certain this is not the visualisation Steve Tesich had in mind when writing his script.

To be continued….

Eat more tuna

I eat a lot of canned tuna and the brand I eat 90% of the time is Sirena, more specifically their original tuna in oil Italian style. I really like the authentic looking style of the can and the yellow and red really talks to the Italian heritage of the product.

It was back in 1949, that the Valmorbida family immigrated to Australia from Italy and in 1956, the patriarch of the family, Carlo Valmorbida, started to serve the Italian community in Australia with products they missed from home, and now we all benefit from this move.

One of the lines most in demand was tuna, back then most of the tuna available was canned in brine, dark and poor quality.  Carlo offered a canned tuna for the Italian palate and the product was aptly named Sirena which means mermaid in Italian.  The Sirena mermaid appears on the top of every can and I love the image. Whilst Carlo Valmorbida has since retired from the family business, the brand’s board still consists solely of the Valmorbida family. 

Like other brands of tuna they have a plethora of variants, but as mentioned the one I like best is in Italian style oil, it tastes great. And a little tip for you, it goes great mixed with some fresh dates and served on a slice of toast, makes a tasty and healthy lunch.  

Now the science:

• Tuna is full of Omega-3 fatty acids
• Tuna is low GI.  Products with a low Glycaemia Index keep your blood sugar steady
• Tuna is an excellent source of quality protein
• Tuna is packed with nutrients and minerals including magnesium, selenium and potassium
• Tuna is rich in B vitamins such as niacin (B3), B1 and B6.
• Tuna can keep you slim – research has shown that Omega-3 fats found in cold water fish such as tuna improve the body’s ability to respond to insulin and therefore prevent obesity.  The Omega-3 fatty acid EPA stimulates the secretion of leptin, a hormone that helps regulate food intake, body weight and metabolism.

How do you know if a child is a witch?

How do you know if a child is a witch? Beat him or her with a broom and if they cry, well then they are surely possessed by daemons, everyone knows that witches are terrified of brooms.

 

Crazy logic I know, but what is scary is that in Nigeria this is fast becoming common folk law and the abuse of children as witches is on the rise. They are blamed for causing all manner of things from illness, poor crops, a family member loosing their job and even death. Once a child is identified as a witch they are more often than not tortured (put through a cleansing ritual as it is know) in horrific ways in order to cast out the demons and if this fails they are then ostracized by their community, in some cases they have died as a result of their “cleansing’ rituals.  

Ironically much of this horrific treatment is done under the guise of ‘doing gods work” and children accused of witchcraft can be incarcerated in churches for weeks on end where they are beaten, starved and tortured in order to extract a confession. 

The states of Akwa Ibom and Cross River have about 15,000 children branded as witches, the vast majority of them end up abandoned and abused on the streets.  There is some light in this dark story. Stepping Stones Nigeria is a charity which is doing a great job in very trying circumstances. The charity was set-up in 2003 when Gary Foxcroft, spent 3 months in Akwa Ibom State carrying out research in community perceptions of the oil industry. During his time there he came across groups of young children, some as young as four or five, sleeping rough on the streets. It started off by setting up a school and from there has branched out into caring for the many kids that are tortured and abandoned for being witches. They work with other community organisations in the region to protect, save and transform the lives of these vulnerable children.

To find out more about them and to support the good work they are doing please visit their website for more information: http://www.steppingstonesnigeria.org/

To be or not to be…..

I recently signed up to do some acting classes, not really sure why! It is not as if I have hankered after a life on the boards, although I did act at school, and no I don’t mean act-up but there was some of that I guess.  Anyway, I almost changed my mind at the last minute, I was convinced it was going to be all…. “pretend you are a seed, now pretend that seed grows into a tree, and now pretend it is a windy day”.  But it turns out it is rather good fun, and as of yet I have not had to pretend I am a tree, but I might make a better one now than I would have a few weeks ago.  It is a ten week course which culminates is each member having to do a monologue in front of a live audience, a dead one would be more preferable if you ask me.  

The nice thing about it is the fact that we are such a diverse group of people, and there are some clear ‘natural actors’ among us who I am sure will do very well. The hardest part of the whole course for me is trying to remember everyone else’s name, this is something I am notoriously bad at.  Each lesson starts off with a game or two in which you actually need to know other peoples names in order not to be eliminated.  I tend not to last very long in these games, I know what you are thinking, “how the hell is he ever going to learn his lines”?. That is a question I have been asking myself, maybe I won’t ask anyone to come along and see me perform……

….to be continued

The hazards of karaoke

My team at work recently had an off site day where we spent the day bonding and planning for the year ahead. It was all very civilised and productive and as a treat for a day’s work well done we all toddled off to do a spot of ten-pin bowling followed by some karaoke.

Now I never intended to stay for the karaoke having already moaned to anyone that was willing to listen that I would rather stick pins in my eyes or jump out of an aeroplane without a parachute  than sing at karaoke. I don’t even sing in the shower at home when I have the place to myself, and why is that? Because I know how BAD I am at singing. However, once the bowling was over I thought, why not pop along and laugh at others’ attempts to be the latest pop sensation. I should point out that I had partaken in a few beers at this point, but was still adamant that I would not be holding the microphone, I may sing along with the others but no way was I going to stand there in front of people and sing.

After a few delightful performances by my team mates (no honest my ears were not bleeding), and an especially moving rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings by a colleague who clearly has a hankering to escape the world of research and become the next Bette Midler, I was thrust into the limelight and made to perform like a dancing monkey (those of you that have seen me dance will know exactly how I looked at this stage).

Now what I don’t understand is, why is it when I was sat there watching others sing I seemed to have no trouble singing along as the words changed colour, but the minute a microphone was put in my hand I suddenly had a severe bout of dyslexia and mumbled along sounding as if I had just had all four wisdom teeth taken out and the anaesthetic had was still not worn off…..

I sat down with my head hung in shame and thought that was me done for the night, heart rate slowly returning to normal

But oh no, another couple of beers and I was suddenly up there again, having pushed women and small children out of my way as I clamoured to the floor for my chance to shine in the spotlight of stardom once more. I know, I know, it was just some poky room in a bowling alley, but I was drunk and convinced I was on a stage before my thousands of adoring fans and they were screaming for me to sing my musical masterpiece…. I’m Too Sexy For My Shirt – oh the shame of it all….