Brilliant idea! In our pajamas, coffee breath, teeth and hair “unbrushed,” we headed towards the fire. It never dawned on us that the fire trucks, police and media right up our street may be a sign that if we leave, we won’t easily get back…Clueless, we are off into the smokey sunset. And after a drive down the fire-threatening road, our interest dissipates and we turn around and head back. Hitting a blocked off road now, I have to pee. Bad! And when I mentioned we were in pajamas, what I mean (for me) is…a long t-shirt and knee high pokadot red and bright orange socks. The end result: An embarrassing run into a nearby restaurant where I didn’t dare make eye-contact as people stared at the mental case (me) running into the bathroom.

OK, so there you have it. Our first dramatic morning gone bad.

Luckily, the police road block only lasted a half hour. But, with our plot to park the car, take back roads into the deep woods and sneak past all the commotion (knowing very well we might potentially get arrested), luckily…the bright orange cones preventing us from going home were gone when we returned from the restaurant (we’ll never go to again).

It was over!

And back home we went without police chases, plots executed, nothing

The remainder of the day was spent watching bad re-run 90’s flicks on regular television, and feeling restless, bored, and a little discontent.

So, here I am. In my house…With my new boyfriend….(there’s a little scandal to this story but I’ll save it for another time), and no clue how to live the country life. Nor, do I know why the trash man skips my little house and leaves my trash piling up at the end of my driveway for a third week in a row now. I think that’s where I’ll take my daily blog about my life out of my comfort zone (Los Angeles) and in Big Bear today.

Let’s talk trash.

Did you know that you have to be on a list to get trash pick up at your rental?

I didn’t. Not a clue. I mean, I know to get into Hollywood’s hotspots “the list” is a necessary given. Everyone knows that. But, for some trash guy? Come on. Who knew that the Big Bear disposal co. had the elite privilege to choose who had the luxury of pick-up and who didn’t….Not me.

Needless to say, I learned the hard way after double bagging, triple bagging, leaving sweet notes, and one week I even left out a small gift bag of gummy bears and lollipops. Nothing. My trash went ignored. Until…I called and had some lady ask; “Did you put your name on the list, Stupid?”

“You mean Justin Timberlake’s VIP, gold card, trash pick-up list?” I replied, laughing. “Nah, I’ll just use the regular guy.”

Crickets.

“The list is for Jose!” She said.

Jose is the trash guy. And I realized he has clout in Big Bear?!*!&%!

And I finally got put on the list.

And yesterday, my trash got picked up. That is, after Jose (I presume) pounded on my door and lectured me about “trash weight” and having too much trash….He said something about breaking his back? I just smiled and promised it would never happen again. Whatever.

This is my new life…Good God!

Lacking an identity.

In between chapters, so to speak.

Yep, that’s me.

My name is Megan and my life has been flipped upside down. It’s my choice. After twelve years of living and working in Hollywood, I moved to Big Bear, California. I used to escape to Big Bear on weekends and go hiking, swimming in the lake and spend endless hours doing nothing except sunbathing. I used to fantasize about living up here… away from the fast-paced city of angels (and demons, I might add). For almost a decade I imagined it, especially after a bad day. But, on the good days, when my heart would pound from the rush of my next big interview (and uncertainty as to whether I could pull off another day of pretending I actually belong with these Hollywood people)… those are the days I….well, obviously forgot….that is, until now. Now that I’m actually here….living in Big Bear.

I’m in a house in the middle of nowhere. I hear coyotes at night. I think. Could be the neighbor’s dog? Not sure. But I have heard many coyote horror stories from locals so…

I have no friends. And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here? It was a fantasy…not my reality! So, what am I doing?!!!!

Oh yeah. I’m making changes in my life. Big drastic changes!

Who the hell am I? No idea anymore.

Not a clue.

Run for Your Wife

Run For Your Wife, by Ray Cooney, is Los Angeles Theater at it’s best. It’s a tale of a man with one problem: two wives. A taxi cab driver who  couldn’t seem to keep his hand out of the cookie jar, John Smith (Michael C. Silva) has his complicated world revealed, when he is admitted to a hospital for an injury. When both of his wives come calling, it sends suspicion through the police force, and utter confusion amongst the neighbors.

Smith must find a way to calm Police Detective Troughton (Morgan Krantz) and Detective Porterhouse (Paul Guay) while negotiating the romance of his two wives. With his  first wife Barbara (Laura Buckles) looking for romance, and his straight-as-an-arrow second wife, Mary (Rebekah Voss) rummaging for answers, John searches desperately for the correct answer to his odd situation. In so doing, he brings in his upstairs neighbor, Stanley Gardner (Tristan Wright) to help craft a story that will calm the confusion. The only thing more queer than the story they cook up, is Bobby (Justin Wade) the other neighbor living above Barbara.

What begins as an unbelievable alibi turns into a narrative that unfolds before our very eyes.

Solving a Crime?

Every one of John’s crooked attempts to explain the situation sends him  into a spiral, dragging Stanley further into the mess. The trap with every farce is the inability to remain real in the events–actors begin overemphasizing their jokes or stumbling over exaggerated physicality. Run For Your Wife is a zany comedy, but it remains remarkably grounded. The characters carry objectives that are easy to identify and their physical actions, although theatrical at times, are justified and believable. The story flows very well, providing a crisp two hours that reminds us that farce can still take on a life of its own, if put in the correct hands. Director Tina Polzin puts her mark on a well executed play, providing fun performances and an even funnier story. Run For Your Wife is the perfect answer to anyone asking where to find great theater in Los Angeles.

But don’t take my word for it, listen to the cast as they tell their secret to finding the right answer, every time.

Run For Your Wife opens January 16, 2010 at the Morgan-Wixson Theatre in Santa Monica and runs Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 2 p.m. through February 13. More information is available at JohnSmithCheats.com

tales of pubescence. Youth in Revolt manages to bring some unique humor to the table, but it also gets disconnected and becomes a little too zany for its own good. It makes us laugh, but really doesn’t show us anything new.

Michael Cera stars as Nick Twisp, the aforementioned “coming of age youth.” He is stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place; the rock being his deadbeat Mom and the hard place being his deadbeat Dad (if you’re a deadbeat parent you’ll absolutely love this film). If you want to throw in a third rock, it would be the lack of anything remotely resembling a love life (if

you’re lacking a love life you’ll absolutely hate this film).

He finds his first target in Sheeni Saunders (Portia Doubleday). She’s the good girl gone bad, raised in a religious family, but with a flair for the dangerous. She can’t help but egg on Nick to break out of his shell and “Be bad, Nickie. Be very, very bad.”

Ah, there we go, now we have an excuse for a plot. Nick has to prove how much he loves her, by doing something outrageous! That’s all

well and good, but the plot becomes scattered when the characters seem to come and go. He

starts off having a best friend, the proverbial “awkward, seventeen-year-old virgin” who is worried of dying without getting any. Thirty minutes later he’s replaced by another seventeen year-old-virgin-best-friend, this guy just happens to be Indian (which sets up a later joke…not by me, by the film). There isn’t much of a unique back-story  that allows the characters to be unique or engaging, which sets the film further back.

The film is at it’s strongest when the story focuses on the series of conflicts burying Nick. He’s the hard luck kid that we can’t help but feel sorry for. The relationship that he develops with Sheeni is enjoyable to watch, as both characters find discoveries in one another. Cera does a wonderful job displaying his comedic timing and an edginess that is even more entertaining to watch.

The decision to stylize the story in some wacky montages, and even crazier animated-sex scenes, is a little odd and distracting. The portrayal of Nick and his alter ego in the same scene is entertaining at times, but also hard to follow in others, although Cera pulls off the juxtaposition extremely well.

Youth in Revolt presents itself as a film that doesn’t have much of a story, so it figured it would jazz things up with a strong cast of featured characters. Even the best in the business can’t pull off the proper choices when they’re not strongly linked to the journey and the revolt of the main character. It provides some good laughs, but it tries a little too hard to show us something new, and comes away feeling a lot like the others in the end.

One curiosity is Marshall’s casting choices.  Daniel Day-Lewis, who has been flawlessly cast throughout his unparalleled 25-year career, is oddly miscast here as an egocentric Italian movie director in 1965 whose best projects are seemingly behind him.  Day-Lewis is unlikeable as Guido Contini, a 50-ish maestro making his badly unorganized opus called Italia amid the chaos of numerous love interests, mistresses, fetching producers, and a hounding media.  Unlikeability has never previously been a detriment in Day-Lewis’ career – just see GANGS OF NEW YORK and THERE WILL BE BLOOD for examples.  But Contini is also inaccessible as a lead character, and Day-Lewis never opens him up.

Ditto for other key choices in the film.  Backfiring is the idea of casting non-musical performers in what should have been a rollicking musical.  Kate Hudson, Judi Dench, and Nicole Kidman are wonderful performers, especially when well-placed, but in their musical production numbers, they fall somewhat flat.  Hudson is wholly out-of-place as an American journalist.  She tries hard in her bombastic fantasy production number, but her lack of natural musical talent becomes evident despite her earnestness to deliver.  Dench is a world-class actress, but her “reality” moments as a costume designer on Contini’s film go down much easier than her attempt at a diva in a song about her past days in the Folies Bergere.  Kidman is doing her MOULIN ROUGE bit with her song and holds her own but is also exposed as a trained rather than natural songstress.  This is especially evident when these women go against Fergie (from the nascent band Black Eyed Peas) who explosively belts out her tune despite being strangely shot with what seemed like long lenses from a distance (with what also appeared like an inferior makeup approach to her look).  Of course, all of these women pale in comparison to the screen presence and surprising musical flair of Marion Cotillard.  Her work stands out head and shoulders above her female co-stars.  Even a very sexy over-the-top number by a magnetic Penelope Cruz cannot outdo Cotillard’s unforgettable scenes in both the interweaving fantasy and reality segments.

When she sings a melancholy tune about her husband Contini and his life as a director, it represents the likely most powerful moment in the film.  Sophia Loren makes an enjoyable extended cameo as Contini’s mother.  At 75, she is still one of the natural beauties of the past century of any race, ethnicity or nationality.

In addition to some casting misjudgments, Marshall’s decisions go astray in other areas.  His blocking and shooting of Day-Lewis are regularly frustrating as we are routinely looking down into the actor’s forehead with his chin tucked in.  Also, the “rules” of when the fantasy aspects interject themselves into the story are not nearly as clear as in CHICAGO.  Here, we are often unsure if the fantasy is purely Contini’s as an adult or boy, as is usually the case, or that of other characters who come and go through the proceedings.  Some production design choices, as when we are on the Cinecitta sets where Contini’s movie is to be filmed, or in a purely imagined world, are often unclear.

All of this is not for lack of trying; Marshall is often aiming towards the same impacting storytelling and musical set pieces that he achieved so well in CHICAGO.  However, only a handful from the totality are well worth remembering in NINE.

Based on Federico Fellini’s classic 1963 autobiographical 8 1/2, NINE was a notable Broadway musical in 1982.  Yet, NINE the 2009 movie fails to resonate beyond a modestly enjoyable moviegoing experience.  Which is all of a crime as it could have been so much more, especially in the hands of a choreographer-director who won big in similar territory his last time out with such material.

I’m chronicling the decade’s most dramatic stories, from boy bands to bands of idiots. Today, I take a look back at one of the hottest stories to ever hit reality television.

Remember Jason Mesnick? Of course you do. Anybody that happened to glance at the tabloids or got e-mails from co-workers they don’t like, heard the story–whether they wanted to or not. He’s infamously known as “Jason the Bachelor” to fans. To members of the IRS, he’s knows as “Unemployed.” Nevertheless, he got his fifteen minutes of fame when he dumped the girl he said he was going to marry. If that wasn’t enough, as an encore, he turned around and married the girl he originally passed on. Confused? So was he…

It went down in a glorious ball of flames over a two-night episode. It was the Super Bowl of reality television. It’s “After the Final Rose” show was viewed by 18 million viewers–of which only 80 percent were women.

How did he feel about being on the show?

” Of all the girls – was just – wow. I mean, it was just like, wow, are you kidding me? Everybody’s here to meet me? I mean, it was just – I mean, who does this happen to? Really. Come on.”

That’s what she said…

There was a trail of 20 prom Queens lining up to meet a guy who was divorced and had a three-year-old son. He also cooks, ladies.

He also does diapers, knows all the good children stories, has a quiet place in the park where you can sit and really find yourself.

Jason Mesnick was a guy that clearly bit off more than he could chew. Or maybe, he just bit off something he didn’t want to eat, and he had the unfortunate circumstance of having America observe him spitting it out (regurgitation makes for great reality television). Nevertheless, he’ll forever be remembered for his last minute switch-aroo. He’ll aptly and ever-so-appropriately be named: The Bachelor.

Your Decade of Drama for Wednesday, December 23rd 2009.

Her golden hair shines like a peacock, as she walks down Hollywood Boulevard. The dashing rays of light from the autumn sun bouncing off her 800 dollar sunglasses, as if the glasses were saying ‘I’m too good for your light, shine that on someone else.’ But there is no one else on this street. Save 40 guys with dreads and cameras snapping photos at this gazelle of a women. Yelling her name like a little kid yells at his ballplayer for an autograph. The photographers try to get her attention but to no avail. She’s busy right now. What is she doing, you may ask? She’s doing the job that she was called to do. Shop.

It’s tough sledding this week. Not just because fashion week has concluded. Soon, Paris Hilton will be going to jail. For what–being too good looking? If her glasses were on the jury, they would give a resounding, ‘yes.’ But in reality, at least the one that exists outside of Paris’ head, the clothes don’t do the talking–actions do.

Hilton pleaded no contest in January to reckless driving resulting from a Sept. 7 arrest. Police said she appeared intoxicated and couldn’t say the alphabet while standing on one foot. They told her to try it with both feet firmly entrenched on the Earth’s surface. She made it as far as Q, but was unable to proceed.

She was sentenced to 36 months probation, alcohol education and fifteen minutes a day in remedial english in addition to $1,500 in fines (which she asked could be paid in samples of her perfume).

Two other traffic stops and failure to enroll in a mandated alcohol education program, are what landed Hilton back in court. It didn’t help that the Judge was also running low on perfume.

On Jan. 15, Hilton was pulled over by California Highway Patrol, where she was informed that she was driving under probation for a suspended license. Hilton was unaware her license was suspended. She was pretty much just unaware in general, as she was driving with her headlights off, as well.

She was sentenced to 45 days jail, the approximate length for winter break of most college students.

Please enjoy the interrogation Hilton faced when she appeared on the Letterman show. It goes to show, sometimes all you need are three meals a day. Unless your Paris Hilton, of course.

That’s hot

I’m a patriot for the cause, and I would never step away from the Legion of Gossip Writers. But the news is slow, I’m not going to lie to you (at least about the number of stories that is).

So here’s what I’m going to do over the next week or so. I’m covering the Drama of the past Decade. Chances are, given the nature of celebrity news, you probably won’t notice a difference–the names will be  different but the stories will remain the same. (Insert name) got busted for weed possession last night. (Insert name) got caught tweeting naked in a dodger stadium bathroom. You know the drill.

Still, it offers a nice re-cap of the past ten years. Call it putting a coat of turtle wax on an old Dodge Neon. So be it. I have a job to do.

Your Daily Decade of Drama for Tuesday December 22.

They wanted it all, or nothing at all–America gave them the latter, and they were pretty decisive about it. O-Town was the result of “Making the Band.” A show hell-bent on putting thousands of scat-singing, bee-boppin’, sashay-prancing lads head to head against each other for five slots in an all boy band. Kind of like trying out for a football team.

The journey was arduous. The tribulations tremendous. The Drama…plentiful.

The band came out firing like a firecracker on Fourth of July, their hit single being “All or Nothing.” It skyrocketed to 3rd on the Billboard Hot 100, and was nominated for song of the year for The Radio Music Awards (I’ve never heard of that, either).

But like every girl that arrives to the ball early feeling pretty, the hotter girls always show up late and steal the show. O-Town lost out on the award to “Lady Marmalade” which had girls singing in lingerie. Whoever votes for the Radio Music Awards clearly voted for (wearing) nothing at all.

But what brought the guys down? It’s a tough road for any band in Hollywood, especially in the era of N’sync, Backstreet Boys, 98 degrees, and the Irish Tenors. Was it Darwinism that took these squeaky clean kids out of the game, or was it something else, something much more dramatic?

No. It was Darwinism. They just weren’t very good. They were dropped by the label that originally signed them, even though fans petitioned for another record to pick them up. But even the petitioners were engulfed by the clipboard holders of the N’ysnc and Backstreet Boy campaigns. Ask lead singer and former Junior Prom King “Angel” about what he thinks happened to the band…

“It was very contrived and manufactured…We came in and tried to make it as organic as we could but everyone had an idea of what we were supposed to sound or look like, which wasn’t necessarily what we wanted. I think there was this feeling that at a certain point it was going to end, we just didn’t know when. I think it actually ended sooner than we all thought.”

How do you like that for the straight talk express? I’m not sure to file this one in the open and blunt category, or the tell-me-something-I-don’t-know department. I find it interesting that it ended sooner than he thought. One day you’re on a tour bus with girls all over you like a hot fudge sundae, doing autograph signings at The Icing and Limited Too. The next day you’re filling out applications at the same mall you used to go to spread your seed. That’s Hollywood for you…

A tip of the cap to these amazing ‘gents who went big, and were expected to take down the two headed monster that was so N’sync and so vividly Backstreet. They came and went, but they will never be forgotten.

Here’s one final curtain call for the song that started it all. Note the Edgerrin James retro Colts jersey, the violent, dance gyrations, and the creative spins on armbands. Enjoy.

“Then there’s times you look at me as though I’m all that you can see..”

Remember the days of “Tickle Me Elmo?” Anybody who wasn’t anybody was running around town like it was Y2K trying to get their hands on an over-sized stuffed animal that giggled every time you touched it. The only thing giggling louder than Elmo were the toy executives who signed off on the deal. But there are no problems finding “Tickle Me Elmo” this year. There’s not a problem finding anything, really. The rich kids are even taking a hit, since daddy sold his yacht and mom sure as hell isn’t taking a pay cut. There’s a smorgasbord of gift ideas this year. There’s also a terrible economy preventing any of those ideas from coming to fruition. Let’s take a look at what’s hot this Christmas, even though no one has any money to buy them:

5) iTunes 50 dollar Gift Card- $50

When was the last time you had fifty dollars? Probably around the same time as the last Winter Olympics. Fifty bucks is hard to come by. It’s even harder to justify a fifty dollar purchase when there’s gift cards in the 25 and 15 dollar variety sitting right next to it. Why go that extra mile? You’re buying a gift card, which in itself is already a lame gift. It defeats the purpose to go big with the 50 dollar model, when you’re already going small. That’s like taking a girl to a fancy dinner even though you didn’t want to date her in the first place. These are tough economic times…

4) Monopoly Premier’s Collective Edition- $129

When was the last time you had enough time to play Monopoly? If you’re one of the 10% of unemployed Americans, that answer is probably yesterday. Still, no matter how much time you may have, the game is something of a paradox. It has the loneliness that you would associate with a game like solitaire, but still requires you to know at least one other human being. It does make a great gift though. No one has any money so we’re all staying inside. You can either invest in pay-per-view movies or a game that features buying fake properties and passing go. Perfect if you get a high off getting out of jail for free and stealing other people’s assets (or if you’re an executive trading stocks).  The economy is this year’s buzz kill, so you might have to wait until next year to toke up on this holiday favorite.

3) Flip mini HD camcorder- $199

With the world spiraling further and further into a cryptic landscape of palm-held electronic devices, Flip is the latest device to catch everyone’s eye…and voice…and, well, you get the picture. It’s the size of a pack of cigarettes and just as addicting. The Flip can be be just as harmful as cancer sticks depending on who/what is being recorded.

If you had 200 bucks you could film all the night’s activities in stunning HD, with a device that fit in the back of your pocket. See a star in Hollywood–get out your Flip and record them flipping off some other guy recording them on their Flip. Upload to Facebook, Myspace, or Digg, and share with every social networker from Georgia to Georgia. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

2) Wii Fit- $99

It’s the newest rage in video games, and it’s perfect for people that want to exercise but still don’t want to move their extremities. Can’t afford a gym membership? You probably can’t afford a Wii, either. It’s a pretty crappy alternative to exercise equipment, but it has the word “fit” in it so it might be worth a shot. Enjoy playing on it while wearing a cut-off and drowning your ears in the latest tunes from Smashmouth and you won’t be able to tell the difference between actually working out. It’s the same device Mario and Luigi trained on for years, until Mario fell out of the game and Luigi got busted for HGH.

1) Amazon Kindle- $259

Look at you carrying your library of books like a complete imbecile. If you were smart you’d find a way to combine all those into a digital reader that fits in the palm of your hand (when you’re not shooting HD video, of course). If you had money, you could find that way. You can’t carry on a conversation without hearing about the newest device in electronic reading. What the floppy disk did to manilla folders is what The Amazon Kindle is doing to books. Kindle can fit over 1500 books, allows you to take notes, and is the perfect device to block the outside world from ever talking to you, be it on a train, plane, or just in your own home. Still not sold? That’s because no one has any money to buy it. Its screen features the feel of actual paper, but since you charge everything on a credit card, you probably don’t remember what paper feels like. It’s pretty cool. So I’ve heard…

I still say there is nothing shameful about carrying your books in a backpack; it looks stylish and shows that you have an adventurous, youthful side that women find attractive.

Unless they want a guy that has money.