Potpourri for $200, Alex

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything remotely intelligent on this blog. Why change that now?

Hail of bullets:

BP Oil Spill. Nothing’s sadder than seeing helpless animals covered in goo, except perhaps seeing helpless animals covered in goo while Sarah McLachlan sings “Angel” in the background. I’m convinced that this is it. This is how we’re going to destroy our planet. Where’s green mulleted Captain Planet when you need him? (In any case, if you’re not following @BPGlobalPR on Twitter, you should.)

Twits. John McCain apparently tweeted Snookie from Jersey Shore that he wouldn’t tax her tanning. Good to know.

So You Think You Can Dance. I’ve recently been kindling a heretofore untapped (ha ha) fascination with dance. This is one of the main reasons I took hip-hop dance classes last year. This is also my justification for enjoying crappy dance movies like Step Up 2: The Streets. So I started watching SYTYCD this season. Needless to say, I’m hooked. As a plus, TJ’s good friend Alex Wong (whom he met at Miami City Ballet) made it to the Final 11. Because we Asians have to stick together, the Cubarrubia household will be faithfully watching (and voting) this season.

Glee. I was a fan of the show from the beginning and continue to be a fan after the rousing and emotionally resonant season finale earlier this week. Occasionally there are random WTF moments related to inconsistent character development and story lines (i.e., moments when I wonder if creator Ryan Murphy’s a manic schizophrenic), but the show’s heart still manages to somehow sucker punch a cynical TV viewer like me. To me, the show’s most powerful moments are the poignant ones—the cast’s rendition of “Smile” while their yearbook photo gets defaced; Lea Michele’s longing “I Dreamed a Dream” duet with Idina Menzel; and yes, even Kristin Chenoweth’s loooooooong “One Less Bell to Answer” duet with Matthew Morrison—that underscore the role that music plays in our daily lives. Musicians know that while opportunities for spontaneously bursting into song are few and far between, our own internal soundtracks are a powerful extension of our emotional and spiritual selves. That’s the power of music.

I turned 31 on Monday. Yeah. At what point does one stop counting?

Oh, and I’m now an official WIT player. In 2007, when I was but a lowly improv student, I auditioned for Caveat, one of Washington Improv Theater’s ensemble troupes. Getting into Caveat was my aspiration; the troupe was just about the funniest thing I’d ever seen, and the cast was astoundingly intelligent. I instantly became a Caveat groupie, dazzled each week by then cast members Dan Hodapp, Dan MacAvoy, Justin Purvis, and Mark Pagan. I loved them so much I wanted to take them behind the middle school and get them pregnant. I loved them so much I wanted to Single White Female/Talented Mr. Ripley them. I loved them so much I wanted… you get the picture. Cut to three years and seven auditions later, and it finally happened. I was offered a spot in Caveat as a cast member. Of course, Caveat is now completely different (the four hotties have moved on to bigger and better things), but I’m having so much fun with the new cast that I’m almost not disappointed that the four aren’t still around. Almost.

That’s it for now. More updates soon!

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