Ad Hudler's Blog, page 6
April 7, 2013
Matthew Perry and The Third Eye
I judge TV shows and movies by two things: as an author, I'm always acutely aware of dialogue and how true it may or may not ring. I also judge the actors' ability to control their "third eye."
We all have one. It's invisible and in the middle of our foreheads. When we know someone is talking about or watching us from across a room, for example, and we want to look cool and pretend we don't know it, we continue to look forward, at the person we're talking to, our eyes locked on theirs. But the third eye, meanwhile, turns toward that person across the room to look. It screams: Hey! I see you! Basically, you can always tell when someone knows you're looking at them; their third eye is looking right back at you. I'm not talking about a sideways glance with your normal two eyes -- that's an altogether different thing.
The best actors know how to control their third eyes. They can shut them. Paul Newman comes to mind. Nicole Kidman, Natalie Portman. They are very good at acting in a vacuum, shunning the camera from their mind.
Then there are the lesser-talented actors. Some of them have long careers, like Matthew Perry. He's got the most active third eye of any experienced actor out there. The entire time that he is engrossed in dialogue with another character, his third eye is looking DIRECTLY at the camera, screaming, "Hey! Look at me! LOOK AT ME! I'M SO CUTE AND CLEVER."
Good actors know how to close their third eyes. It's hard to do. Pretend to be in an acting scene yourself. You will feel the pull of the third eye, which is always looking for a mirror, a camera, or affirmation of some kind.
We all have one. It's invisible and in the middle of our foreheads. When we know someone is talking about or watching us from across a room, for example, and we want to look cool and pretend we don't know it, we continue to look forward, at the person we're talking to, our eyes locked on theirs. But the third eye, meanwhile, turns toward that person across the room to look. It screams: Hey! I see you! Basically, you can always tell when someone knows you're looking at them; their third eye is looking right back at you. I'm not talking about a sideways glance with your normal two eyes -- that's an altogether different thing.
The best actors know how to control their third eyes. They can shut them. Paul Newman comes to mind. Nicole Kidman, Natalie Portman. They are very good at acting in a vacuum, shunning the camera from their mind.
Then there are the lesser-talented actors. Some of them have long careers, like Matthew Perry. He's got the most active third eye of any experienced actor out there. The entire time that he is engrossed in dialogue with another character, his third eye is looking DIRECTLY at the camera, screaming, "Hey! Look at me! LOOK AT ME! I'M SO CUTE AND CLEVER."
Good actors know how to close their third eyes. It's hard to do. Pretend to be in an acting scene yourself. You will feel the pull of the third eye, which is always looking for a mirror, a camera, or affirmation of some kind.
March 30, 2013
New Game to play: Which Modern Family character do you most identify with?
Our family loves the sitcom Modern Family. And each time we watch it we find ourselves giggling at the characters because they say things and do things that hit universal chords. In other words, we identify with them. Their actions and sentiments feel genuine: real.
My corporate-president wife, for example, says she identifies with Phil and Jay. Our daughter identifies partly with Alex and Hailey.
And me? I've tried to keep this secret for quite some time .... until this morning when both my wife and daughter informed me: "You're such a Cam."
For those who don't know the show, Cam is the beefy, stay-at-home gay guy who is an over-the-top Queen.
Like Cam, I am expressive. Like Cam, I am high-maintenance, demanding much attention and affirmation that I am excellent. I even favor Cam-style shirts. Still, I do identify with traits of some of the other characters: I share Phil's junior-high sense of humor and Claire's psychotic-mom gene.
Evidently, much to my horror, everyone has been calling me a Cam behind my back: my daughter's boyfriend, her roommate and friends ... and the list goes on.
So I pushed my daughter and wife against the wall, demanding clarification.
"I'm not queeny, though -- right?" I demanded.
They looked at each other cautiously. "No," my wife said, tentatively. "You're kind of Cam with some Jay mixed in. (Jay is the crochety, ultra-macho patriarch of the family.) ... You're Cam's personality with Jay's mannerisms."
Uhm....okay....thanks....I guess.
Evidently, my boots and power-lifting and pickup truck are doing me absolutely no good.
My corporate-president wife, for example, says she identifies with Phil and Jay. Our daughter identifies partly with Alex and Hailey.
And me? I've tried to keep this secret for quite some time .... until this morning when both my wife and daughter informed me: "You're such a Cam."
For those who don't know the show, Cam is the beefy, stay-at-home gay guy who is an over-the-top Queen.
Like Cam, I am expressive. Like Cam, I am high-maintenance, demanding much attention and affirmation that I am excellent. I even favor Cam-style shirts. Still, I do identify with traits of some of the other characters: I share Phil's junior-high sense of humor and Claire's psychotic-mom gene.
Evidently, much to my horror, everyone has been calling me a Cam behind my back: my daughter's boyfriend, her roommate and friends ... and the list goes on.
So I pushed my daughter and wife against the wall, demanding clarification.
"I'm not queeny, though -- right?" I demanded.
They looked at each other cautiously. "No," my wife said, tentatively. "You're kind of Cam with some Jay mixed in. (Jay is the crochety, ultra-macho patriarch of the family.) ... You're Cam's personality with Jay's mannerisms."
Uhm....okay....thanks....I guess.
Evidently, my boots and power-lifting and pickup truck are doing me absolutely no good.
March 22, 2013
Dear TV producers and writers: We regret to inform you that your show has been canceled because we can't remember who you are or what you do.
Back in the day, weekly TV shows debuted for the season around Labor Day and ran straight through until Memorial Day, taking off a week or two during the holidays. You could count on your show appearing every single week, as predictable as a moon phase.
So ... what the hell happened?
Here's my partial Walk of Shame list of shows that appear with the regularity of Halley's Comet: Nashville, The Office, Parks and Recreation ... And Downton Abbey? WTF, guys? You run for seven weeks in January and February then take the rest of the year off?
Are the producers and writers observing holidays the rest of us ignore? Presidents' Day? And Canada Day? And Armadillo Day?
As authors we are expected to produce a book at least every eighteen months (Okay, so I'm very behind schedule, I know this). This is done to promote brand loyalty.....and to keep people from forgetting who we are. That's also one reason I blog ... to hack away at potential obscurity in between release of my books.
Only one show that I know of follows the old, disciplined model, delivering something every single week -- and I thank you, Matt Parker and Trey Stone; I can count on a South Park episode just about every week.
So, all you other slackers: Get off your ass and start writing and producing. And I know you'll consider this complaint ... after you return from your extended observance of National Secretary Appreciation Week.
So ... what the hell happened?
Here's my partial Walk of Shame list of shows that appear with the regularity of Halley's Comet: Nashville, The Office, Parks and Recreation ... And Downton Abbey? WTF, guys? You run for seven weeks in January and February then take the rest of the year off?
Are the producers and writers observing holidays the rest of us ignore? Presidents' Day? And Canada Day? And Armadillo Day?
As authors we are expected to produce a book at least every eighteen months (Okay, so I'm very behind schedule, I know this). This is done to promote brand loyalty.....and to keep people from forgetting who we are. That's also one reason I blog ... to hack away at potential obscurity in between release of my books.
Only one show that I know of follows the old, disciplined model, delivering something every single week -- and I thank you, Matt Parker and Trey Stone; I can count on a South Park episode just about every week.
So, all you other slackers: Get off your ass and start writing and producing. And I know you'll consider this complaint ... after you return from your extended observance of National Secretary Appreciation Week.
March 19, 2013
Dear Mr. Hudler: Tell us about yourself. Tell us EVERYTHING.
'Got a pink flyer in my newspaper the other day from the Church of Scientology And Celebrity Centre Nashville. Intrigued by the name, I read on:
Are you curious about yourself? Free Personality Test enclosed. Just fill out the questionnaire and send it in. You will receive in person an in-depth, accurate analysis of the results of your test from an expert evaluator, obligation-free.
There are 200 questions on the thing. Some of my favorites:
Do you speak slowly?
Do you browse through railway timetables, directories, or dictionaries just for fun?
Are you a slow eater?
Do you bite your fingernails or chew the end of your pencil?
I'd like to add a few of my own telling questions ... things I tend to ask people when I want to learn the essence of their soul:
1. Do you love or hate the movie Legally Blonde?
2. Do you save your favorite part of the meal for last -- or do you eat it first?
3. Dogs or cats?
4. A cruise or a bicycle tour?
5. Gun owner?
6. Last three books read?
What do y'all consider a revealing question?
Are you curious about yourself? Free Personality Test enclosed. Just fill out the questionnaire and send it in. You will receive in person an in-depth, accurate analysis of the results of your test from an expert evaluator, obligation-free.
There are 200 questions on the thing. Some of my favorites:
Do you speak slowly?
Do you browse through railway timetables, directories, or dictionaries just for fun?
Are you a slow eater?
Do you bite your fingernails or chew the end of your pencil?
I'd like to add a few of my own telling questions ... things I tend to ask people when I want to learn the essence of their soul:
1. Do you love or hate the movie Legally Blonde?
2. Do you save your favorite part of the meal for last -- or do you eat it first?
3. Dogs or cats?
4. A cruise or a bicycle tour?
5. Gun owner?
6. Last three books read?
What do y'all consider a revealing question?
March 11, 2013
Our secret for optimal hydration ...
The amount of water intake in our house has risen dramatically, and it's all because of the vessels we are drinking from.
It's called a Camelbak, and what makes it different is the odd nipple-like nozzle on the end. I really can't even call it "nipple-LIKE" -- it's a nipple, plain and simple. 'Took us awhile to figure out how to get water out of the thing, too. We tried pouring, squeezing, even sucking and were unsuccessful on all three tries. Then someone (my niece, I believe) told us that we had to bite on it and suck at the same time.
All I can say is that it's an odd, satisfying sensation. And the fact that we're drinking more water is probably due to the fact that it renders us babies again, suckling at our moms. Graphic and odd, I realize, but when my wife left hers in a hotel room and was without it for a few weeks her water intake dropped dramatically.
It is taking every ounce of self discipline I have not to fill it with gin.
It's called a Camelbak, and what makes it different is the odd nipple-like nozzle on the end. I really can't even call it "nipple-LIKE" -- it's a nipple, plain and simple. 'Took us awhile to figure out how to get water out of the thing, too. We tried pouring, squeezing, even sucking and were unsuccessful on all three tries. Then someone (my niece, I believe) told us that we had to bite on it and suck at the same time.
All I can say is that it's an odd, satisfying sensation. And the fact that we're drinking more water is probably due to the fact that it renders us babies again, suckling at our moms. Graphic and odd, I realize, but when my wife left hers in a hotel room and was without it for a few weeks her water intake dropped dramatically.
It is taking every ounce of self discipline I have not to fill it with gin.
March 4, 2013
Mysteries of the Universe: #5744E3W
As a writer of novels that often have gender-bender characters I am always on the lookout for new observations about male and female behavior. I've noticed, for example, this scenario time and again:
My personal research reveals the drivers who back into a parking spot are generally men -- and frequently these vehicles are trucks.
Is it because men are more often philanderers, and parking this way allows a quick escape when caught in the act?
Does it have something to do with every young boy's dream (at some point in his life) to be a fireman?
Is it a way to show off one's prowess at parking?
Anyone?
My personal research reveals the drivers who back into a parking spot are generally men -- and frequently these vehicles are trucks.
Is it because men are more often philanderers, and parking this way allows a quick escape when caught in the act?
Does it have something to do with every young boy's dream (at some point in his life) to be a fireman?
Is it a way to show off one's prowess at parking?
Anyone?
February 28, 2013
They grow 'em big out West ...
Was shopping in the Safeway grocery store in my hometown of Burlington, Colorado the other day when I came across this:
\
That's one big jalapeno pepper, folks. And it's no Anaheim, no poblano -- it's an honest-to-goodness jalapeno, and it's the biggest I've ever seen. (Okay, so we did pose it on my mom's much-smaller hand to make it appear smaller, but still ...)
When I was a kid, working at my parents' newspaper, it was not unusual for some old guy or gal to walk in, holding their freak of nature they'd grown: some dirt-encrusted pumpkin or squash or zucchini -- and they were always HUGE. We'd take their picture and put it in the paper, and it would be the talk of the town for awhile.
Now that I'm older, and a certified Master Gardener, I wish I knew what they'd done to grow such monstrosities. What did they use as fertilizer?
Or do we really want to know?
\
That's one big jalapeno pepper, folks. And it's no Anaheim, no poblano -- it's an honest-to-goodness jalapeno, and it's the biggest I've ever seen. (Okay, so we did pose it on my mom's much-smaller hand to make it appear smaller, but still ...)
When I was a kid, working at my parents' newspaper, it was not unusual for some old guy or gal to walk in, holding their freak of nature they'd grown: some dirt-encrusted pumpkin or squash or zucchini -- and they were always HUGE. We'd take their picture and put it in the paper, and it would be the talk of the town for awhile.
Now that I'm older, and a certified Master Gardener, I wish I knew what they'd done to grow such monstrosities. What did they use as fertilizer?
Or do we really want to know?
February 25, 2013
Sometimes my editor makes me climb the walls.
<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} </style><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Good morning, y'all. Here's my latest AdVentures column for Nashville Lifestyles magazine. Warning: Do not try this at home. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We're dressed in harnesses reminiscent of a sumo wrestler's uniform. Attached to the front of my harness, just below my belly button, is an aluminum oval called a <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>carabiner, which I am staring at with both skepticism and respect.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"There is no way this thing can hold me up," I say to Taylor, our instructor at Climb Nashville.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Tied to my carabiner is a rope that rises to the ceiling, 40-feet up, looped through a pulley at the top, then falls back down to earth … where my daughter Haley holds the other end. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just minutes before, she had scaled the wall herself, and as her belayer it was my job to make certain there was no slack in the rope during her ascent, so that if she slipped and fell the rope would catch her at that spot, and then I could lower her, via the pulley, to terra firma.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now, it's my turn to climb – and I balk. "I weigh 230 pounds," I say. "My daughter here weighs 130 at most. How can she hold me if I fall?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I remember a childhood cartoon: the piano over the sidewalk, being hoisted to an upper-level apartment when someone lets go the rope, letting it plummet to the ground. It is shattered beyond repair. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"The equipment re-distributes the weight," Taylor reassures me. "You saw how easy it was to hold your daughter's weight. It'll be just as easy for her. Really."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I look over at a thin, bald man who is traversing a climbing wall with the agility of Spiderman. He lets go one hand and dips it into a bag of powdered chalk attached to his belt. He can't weigh more than 170. Every man climbing here today is lean and lanky, unlike myself. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I then recall the warning sign on the bathroom wall: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Climbing is Dangerous!</i>. I look over at the middle-aged woman who is midway through her own seemingly successful inaugural climb. I take a deep breath, then begin the safety banter we'd been taught.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"On buh-lay?" I ask Haley.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Buh-lay on!" she answers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Climbing," I say.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Climb on!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A climbing wall – and the ones at Climb Nashville are inside – is speckled with a series of different-colored and different-shaped bumps and knobs that you step and grab onto. Each one has a number beneath it such as 5.6 or 5.9, which is the difficulty level based on something called the Yosemite Decimal System. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taylor has assured us that the white trail is the easiest, so I reach for the first white knob and pull myself up. "Please, God," I whisper. "Don't let me be the piano."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Instantly, I'm surprised at the ease of ascent. It feels similar to climbing a ladder, although the forearms work harder because they must grip foreign objects.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In just under three minutes, I surprise myself by reaching the summit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I freeze in place.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Let go!" Haley yells. "I've got you! You can rappel down."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Let go?!" I yell to the ceiling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Let go!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Let go?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Let <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">go</i>!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It takes every bit of courage I have, but I let go the knobs. An exhilarating chill races through my nervous system as I defy the law of gravity. My heart beating hard, I lean back in my harness and place my life in the very-capable hands of my daughter.</span></div><div class="feedflare">
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February 19, 2013
Breath easier ...
Seen at my local car wash ...
Has anyone tried one of these? It reminds me of a home pregnancy test (But are they as accurate?)
And: Is there an adjustment/feature that can tell you when you have bad breath?
Another invention I need: A voice-sensing device, discretely hidden on my person at parties, that lets me know when I've crossed the line into AssholeLand. Because my wife can't be with me at all times.
February 12, 2013
The Perfect Writing Space ... for a special-needs author
I recently was invited to participate in a literary event at Norris Furniture in Fort Myers, Florida, my old stomping grounds. It was called Writer's Domain -- and they asked me ahead of time to fill out a questionnaire detailing my vision of the perfect, most inspiring writing spot, which a team of talented decorators then tried to create.
Two items at the top of my list: Gin. And birds. And I was very pleased at how well my appointed decorators -- Joyce Froney, Jean Allen and Cyndy Hintze -- exceeded my expectations.
Yes, that is a flute of champagne on the desk, which was kept full most of the evening by Tyler, the young man who'd been assigned as my go-fer. (Good luck after graduation this spring, Tyler. I'm sure you'll do well in Dallas or wherever you land.)
And, yep, there's the full bottle of gin. They even said I could take it as a party favor, although I had to decline because it exceeded the TSA size requirement. "I can make you a martini," Tyler offered more than once. "I can open it right here and now for you." I declined, however, knowing my visitors were expecting knife-sharp wit.
Yep ... a real parakeet! He was chatty as can be. He was released into the wilds of southwest Florida after the event, last seen landing on the snout of a 'gator out by the airport.
They knew I wore boots and hat and used these to decorate my spot, although they were ladies boots that looked more Michael Jackson than Ad Hudler. And note the apron and kitchen utensils, a nod to protagonist Linc Menner, from Househusband.
I would like to offer a sincere thank-you to my hosts, Paula Robertson and her folks, and to Rene Norris and her folks. Writer's Domain was a clever, fresh idea for a literacy fundraiser. Plus, free food and free champagne, and I managed to sell some books with help from the girls from the local Barnes & Noble.
And Rene: One of your sales guys had his eye on that bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Can you please put it in your desk until I return in a few months?
Two items at the top of my list: Gin. And birds. And I was very pleased at how well my appointed decorators -- Joyce Froney, Jean Allen and Cyndy Hintze -- exceeded my expectations.
Yes, that is a flute of champagne on the desk, which was kept full most of the evening by Tyler, the young man who'd been assigned as my go-fer. (Good luck after graduation this spring, Tyler. I'm sure you'll do well in Dallas or wherever you land.)
And, yep, there's the full bottle of gin. They even said I could take it as a party favor, although I had to decline because it exceeded the TSA size requirement. "I can make you a martini," Tyler offered more than once. "I can open it right here and now for you." I declined, however, knowing my visitors were expecting knife-sharp wit.
Yep ... a real parakeet! He was chatty as can be. He was released into the wilds of southwest Florida after the event, last seen landing on the snout of a 'gator out by the airport.
They knew I wore boots and hat and used these to decorate my spot, although they were ladies boots that looked more Michael Jackson than Ad Hudler. And note the apron and kitchen utensils, a nod to protagonist Linc Menner, from Househusband.
I would like to offer a sincere thank-you to my hosts, Paula Robertson and her folks, and to Rene Norris and her folks. Writer's Domain was a clever, fresh idea for a literacy fundraiser. Plus, free food and free champagne, and I managed to sell some books with help from the girls from the local Barnes & Noble.
And Rene: One of your sales guys had his eye on that bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Can you please put it in your desk until I return in a few months?
