That's right folks. Little Miss Callan Anne Stout attended her first Baseball game on Tuesday Night. In fact it was the first major league sporting event the young girl has ever watched in its entirety. She was ultimately impressed and had this to say: "All the screens are so shiny!"
Callan was in the stands to witness the LA Dodgers trounce the San Fransisco Giants, 2-nothing. At the end of the game she commented: "neener-neener poo-poo".
The press rep for the Giants released a statement to the press in response. "Dear Miss Stout, we appriciate your enthousiam for the sport and hope that we will be able to perform up to your standards next time."
Callan responded by blowing a raspberry.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
YES wins the AATE
The American Alliance for Theatre and Education (AATE) named The Youth Education Entertainment Series (YES) in Santa Monica the 2008 Outstanding New Children's Theatre Company.
THANK YOU AATE!!!
AATE's mission is to advocate for theatre and education of the highest standards, the American Alliance for Theatre and Education (AATE) recognizes that theatre is essential in people's lives.
Y.E.S. started in 2004 with the play "Brownies, Bicycles and Bigfoot" an original play for youth by Callan Stout.
YES was founded when the failing Rainbow Factory revamped its image, its approach to theater and Tara Redipenning introduced the idea of producing theatrical adaptations of books on the Santa Monica Malibu Unified School District Reading List. This last innovation has true made YES the wonderful company it is today.
Since 2004 YES has produced over 20 plays and 4 musicals for youth at the Morgan-Wixson theater, its home in Santa Monica, CA.
In 2006, they produced a second play by Callan Stout, her adaption of "The Jungle Book" by Rudyard Kipling.
“The Jungle Book” was presented in a theatrical style drawn from the traditions of India and modern youth theatre using masks, live music, puppets, dance and excitement.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Baka Beyond
Last night I saw the group Baka Beyond perform at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles. They are a Afro-Celtic fusion group. Pretty trippy. I've really gotten into World Music in the last year and a half. I find that most of it has so much depth and history you can just hear it in the very tone of the music. It is way beyond anything that modern pop music could ever attain. Its too bad it is often considered "weird" or "strange".
The best songs had a great rhythm line and AMAZING reel riffs on the fiddle. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before. The tunes with lyrics were either Irish ballads in Irish or the "bird-singing" of the Baka Forest People from the Congo.
I think my favorite part was the fiddler.
He was this old Irish (?) guy with crazy-all-over-the-place-hair, a gold earring and a bright red smoking jacket. And man could he rock that fiddle. He also played the tin whistle and the a horn of some type.
They were able to get the whole crowd dancing towards the end of the concert. It was difficult because the audience was predominately older (over 50) Jewish and white people. They were all snappily dressed in their cooridnated track suits. It was cute watching them attempt to move to the beat as instructed by the African dancer who accompanied the group.
If you're interested in hearing a few of them songs, please send me a message and I'll hook you up.
They have videos of their performance at more about their group on their website.
The best songs had a great rhythm line and AMAZING reel riffs on the fiddle. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before. The tunes with lyrics were either Irish ballads in Irish or the "bird-singing" of the Baka Forest People from the Congo.
I think my favorite part was the fiddler.
He was this old Irish (?) guy with crazy-all-over-the-place-hair, a gold earring and a bright red smoking jacket. And man could he rock that fiddle. He also played the tin whistle and the a horn of some type.They were able to get the whole crowd dancing towards the end of the concert. It was difficult because the audience was predominately older (over 50) Jewish and white people. They were all snappily dressed in their cooridnated track suits. It was cute watching them attempt to move to the beat as instructed by the African dancer who accompanied the group.
If you're interested in hearing a few of them songs, please send me a message and I'll hook you up.
They have videos of their performance at more about their group on their website.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
sad side of "Glow"
(as published in the Santa Monica Daily Press July 24th 2008)
Dear Editor,
Saturday night Santa Monica city hosted “glow,” an all night event focused on artistic vision expressed through light. “Glow” took over the Santa Monica pier, the surrounding beach and the Palisades Park. “Glow” promised to be a great celebration of all the beauty that could be California, a huge public art event exploring and glorifying light on the beach we are so lucky to have. After I received the first email describing the event I knew I could not miss this. Judging from the massive attendance, I was not alone in this feeling. It was heart warming to see the Pier crawling with all members of the Angeleno community, swarming across the beach to the luminescent art installation and otherwise enjoying the perks that living beach side affords us. I myself was almost glowing with the community spirit that was pulsing through the event.
Yet in the midst of this celebration, the ugliness of the Angelenos reached the height of its grotesque parody of itself tonight. The beach and artistic vision soured when the glow sticks of one artist sprawling across the beach in imitation of the tide shift of the ocean was destroying by Angelenos tearing the glow sticks from their arrangement in the sand and stealing them away into the night or perverting their natural geometry with lewd shapes. The visionary artist was left to beg his glow sticks – his art – back from the thieves, many who simple refused. Where was the event staff to protect the project? I small band of preteen girls ran past me yelling at each other “Quick. Some guy’s collection them. Hide them.” They were each carrying an arm full of glowing sticks. Where were the parents to teach their children simple decency? Hours later as I left, disappointed that Frank Rozasy’s “Illumination Migration” was unable to be recreated, I still saw people carrying away these glow sticks. They were designed just for this event, and were easily differentiated from the slender glow sticks for sale. And where were the police when this all fell apart to at least aid this artist in retrieving his scattered art? I did not see them.
Unfortunately I did not see the art either. Not the way the creator intended. I saw the glow sticks mimicking the movements of the crowd instead of “mimicking both the movements of the tide and more specifically the grunion’s coming ashore and returning to sea.” All I saw was the ugliness of the people of Santa Monica and Los Angeles. And it made me sick.
As an artist myself, although a very different kind, I can understand the wrenching pain that tears deep into the stomach when a creative endeavor of this magnitude or of any size, is destroyed by the very people it was meant to inspire. I know it is too much to ask every single person involved in this travesty is apologize to Frank Rozasy. But I am asking that all pilfered glow sticks be returned to him. And I ask the entire Angeleno community to think next time before they so selfishly destroy the creativity of an individual and the opportunity for others to share in the experience of artistic expression.
You can reach Frank Rozasy at frank.rozasy@verizon.com
Callan Stout
Dear Editor,
Saturday night Santa Monica city hosted “glow,” an all night event focused on artistic vision expressed through light. “Glow” took over the Santa Monica pier, the surrounding beach and the Palisades Park. “Glow” promised to be a great celebration of all the beauty that could be California, a huge public art event exploring and glorifying light on the beach we are so lucky to have. After I received the first email describing the event I knew I could not miss this. Judging from the massive attendance, I was not alone in this feeling. It was heart warming to see the Pier crawling with all members of the Angeleno community, swarming across the beach to the luminescent art installation and otherwise enjoying the perks that living beach side affords us. I myself was almost glowing with the community spirit that was pulsing through the event.
Yet in the midst of this celebration, the ugliness of the Angelenos reached the height of its grotesque parody of itself tonight. The beach and artistic vision soured when the glow sticks of one artist sprawling across the beach in imitation of the tide shift of the ocean was destroying by Angelenos tearing the glow sticks from their arrangement in the sand and stealing them away into the night or perverting their natural geometry with lewd shapes. The visionary artist was left to beg his glow sticks – his art – back from the thieves, many who simple refused. Where was the event staff to protect the project? I small band of preteen girls ran past me yelling at each other “Quick. Some guy’s collection them. Hide them.” They were each carrying an arm full of glowing sticks. Where were the parents to teach their children simple decency? Hours later as I left, disappointed that Frank Rozasy’s “Illumination Migration” was unable to be recreated, I still saw people carrying away these glow sticks. They were designed just for this event, and were easily differentiated from the slender glow sticks for sale. And where were the police when this all fell apart to at least aid this artist in retrieving his scattered art? I did not see them.
Unfortunately I did not see the art either. Not the way the creator intended. I saw the glow sticks mimicking the movements of the crowd instead of “mimicking both the movements of the tide and more specifically the grunion’s coming ashore and returning to sea.” All I saw was the ugliness of the people of Santa Monica and Los Angeles. And it made me sick.
As an artist myself, although a very different kind, I can understand the wrenching pain that tears deep into the stomach when a creative endeavor of this magnitude or of any size, is destroyed by the very people it was meant to inspire. I know it is too much to ask every single person involved in this travesty is apologize to Frank Rozasy. But I am asking that all pilfered glow sticks be returned to him. And I ask the entire Angeleno community to think next time before they so selfishly destroy the creativity of an individual and the opportunity for others to share in the experience of artistic expression.
You can reach Frank Rozasy at frank.rozasy@verizon.com
Callan Stout
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
The Cat and The Vacuum Cleaner: A Parable
It all started a long time ago, but not too very far away when a young girl was watching a TV news special on fleas. The sage on the TV said that the most deadly weapon in the battle against fleas was the common vacuum cleaner. The mightly sucking power of the vacuum is powerful enough to strip off the fleas skin causing instant death.
Now normally this young girl avoided anything with fleas or any cleaning devises and products, perfering to leave these activities to braver folk. However a change of fortune caused the young girl to embrace the vacuum cleaner like a faithful friend, spending many long minutes in its company.
Unfortunately the young girl's change of circumstances also relocated her to a home with animals and much to her dismay, these animals or pets, had fleas. Even though the young girl never had the urge to hold this pets or stroke them for long hours. As a kind soul, she felt sorry for the pets and their constant suffering under the tyrany of the fleas. She wanted to help.
Deep in her brain stem, little tiny synapses started firing and she remembered that wise Sage from years gone by. "Use the Vacuum, girl". Then she knew what must be done. The young girl hauled the monstrous vacuum outside and plugged it in. She searched high and low for the dog, eventually finding her lying in a pit of misery, attempting to soothe the painful bits in dust. But to no avail.
The young girl quietly called the dog from her self-pity and over to the mighty vacuum. The dog sat quietly as the young girl ran the vacuum cleaner over her infested mane, silently thanking the young girl for leading her down the road to recovery.
As the young girl used her mighty vacuum to free the dog of pestilence, the cat meandered over to check out all the comotion. While keeping his distance, he stretched out on the grass luxeriating in the spectacle.
Finally all the evil vermin were rid of the dog's ebony locks. The young girl seized up the cat and holding him firmly in her arms she brought him over to the vacuum. Before the young girl even had a chance to flick the mighty vacuums on switch, the cat dug in his claws and made a bloody get away.
The young girl was devastated. She just wanted to help the poor flea ridden animal. Now she had her own bleeding wounds to cure. To make matter's worse, the young girl's cat allergy causes all cat scratches to swell up and resemble large, bleeding insect bits.
The Moral of the Story:
Don't mix cats and vacuums.
Now normally this young girl avoided anything with fleas or any cleaning devises and products, perfering to leave these activities to braver folk. However a change of fortune caused the young girl to embrace the vacuum cleaner like a faithful friend, spending many long minutes in its company.
Unfortunately the young girl's change of circumstances also relocated her to a home with animals and much to her dismay, these animals or pets, had fleas. Even though the young girl never had the urge to hold this pets or stroke them for long hours. As a kind soul, she felt sorry for the pets and their constant suffering under the tyrany of the fleas. She wanted to help.
Deep in her brain stem, little tiny synapses started firing and she remembered that wise Sage from years gone by. "Use the Vacuum, girl". Then she knew what must be done. The young girl hauled the monstrous vacuum outside and plugged it in. She searched high and low for the dog, eventually finding her lying in a pit of misery, attempting to soothe the painful bits in dust. But to no avail.
The young girl quietly called the dog from her self-pity and over to the mighty vacuum. The dog sat quietly as the young girl ran the vacuum cleaner over her infested mane, silently thanking the young girl for leading her down the road to recovery.
As the young girl used her mighty vacuum to free the dog of pestilence, the cat meandered over to check out all the comotion. While keeping his distance, he stretched out on the grass luxeriating in the spectacle.
Finally all the evil vermin were rid of the dog's ebony locks. The young girl seized up the cat and holding him firmly in her arms she brought him over to the vacuum. Before the young girl even had a chance to flick the mighty vacuums on switch, the cat dug in his claws and made a bloody get away.
The young girl was devastated. She just wanted to help the poor flea ridden animal. Now she had her own bleeding wounds to cure. To make matter's worse, the young girl's cat allergy causes all cat scratches to swell up and resemble large, bleeding insect bits.
The Moral of the Story:
Don't mix cats and vacuums.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Signing Off
Well not now and not from this blog for a long time.
However, when signing off emails my fingers have gotten into this funny habit of not wanting to type "love". I can't believe its because I don't love anyone. The part that concerns me a little more is what my fingers are replacing "love" with. "Loca". Its not that far different. The letters are even pretty close together on the key board, but what it means...that's what really gets me.
I don't think I can blame my fingers for trying to call me crazy. Or even for them to get me to call myself crazy. But its a little disconcerting. Do my fingers think I'm crazy?
Maybe I just over work them. I can sympathize with that. Together we have typed millions, maybe billions of words. And they don't get that much time off. Even on my vacations they have to work; lifting straws to my lips while sipping margaritas or unbottoning shirts while I'm shopping. They really don't get any rest.
And I keep threatening to start writing a new play. They must be rebeling against all the cruel (can I say?) back breaking labor. They truely do bare the brunt of my work load. And I rarely pamper them. I make promises of manicures and promises of fancy lotion, but I don't deliever. I don't know how they take all the teasing. I would drive me up the wall.
However, I'm not horrible to them. I don't burden them with enormous rings or choke them with cigarette smoke. I have never threatened them with a large knife.
I don't know what I would do if they left. I suppose this one rebellious act isn't too harmful to allow. It hasn't damaged any of my friendships. Yet. And I don't think it will. I could always start using "best" or "sincerely" or even "your's". Those are difficult words for fingers to pervert. But maybe I'll just let them. Couldn't hurt.
loca
Callan
However, when signing off emails my fingers have gotten into this funny habit of not wanting to type "love". I can't believe its because I don't love anyone. The part that concerns me a little more is what my fingers are replacing "love" with. "Loca". Its not that far different. The letters are even pretty close together on the key board, but what it means...that's what really gets me.
I don't think I can blame my fingers for trying to call me crazy. Or even for them to get me to call myself crazy. But its a little disconcerting. Do my fingers think I'm crazy?
Maybe I just over work them. I can sympathize with that. Together we have typed millions, maybe billions of words. And they don't get that much time off. Even on my vacations they have to work; lifting straws to my lips while sipping margaritas or unbottoning shirts while I'm shopping. They really don't get any rest.
And I keep threatening to start writing a new play. They must be rebeling against all the cruel (can I say?) back breaking labor. They truely do bare the brunt of my work load. And I rarely pamper them. I make promises of manicures and promises of fancy lotion, but I don't deliever. I don't know how they take all the teasing. I would drive me up the wall.
However, I'm not horrible to them. I don't burden them with enormous rings or choke them with cigarette smoke. I have never threatened them with a large knife.
I don't know what I would do if they left. I suppose this one rebellious act isn't too harmful to allow. It hasn't damaged any of my friendships. Yet. And I don't think it will. I could always start using "best" or "sincerely" or even "your's". Those are difficult words for fingers to pervert. But maybe I'll just let them. Couldn't hurt.
loca
Callan
Saturday, July 05, 2008
LA Fashion
Although it is commonly held that New York is the height of fashion in the US, I beg to differ. While recently shopping in Trader Joe's, an establishment I visit on both coasts (so I am obviously an expert of Trader Joe's shopper's fashion choices), I was blessed with a sighting of a stunning middle aged woman sporting tight neon green velour shorts that hugged the narrowest part of her waist, stretched across her full curvaceous hips and ended just short of her knees, hugging the ampleness of her lower thighs. Paired with this rather bold choice, was a pair of low raise bikini cut panties in maroon. It was a brave decision, but when she bent over the frozen food freezer and the color of the panties really bled through the neon green velour, I knew the look was priceless and only something she could pull off.
Then there I was, sheepishly perusing the chocolate covered assortment looking out of place in my new gladiator sandals, which were all the rage in New York. And to think that I had spent weeks looking for the perfect pair, that hit my feet exactly the right way and didn't strangle my ankle. How could I have wasted so much of my time? Somehow I had missed the true eye of fashion which stood their glaring at me from across the linoleum. How could I have been so misguided as to think that dark denim was in this season, when according to this goddess of fashion, it so clearly wasn't.
Forget all these New York fashion slobs who are only brave enough to wear skin skimming black Lycra yoga pants without a even a hint of a pantie line. Then they pair is with an equally black top with on the most subtle color trim. Sometimes I think these New Yorkers just go to far in their search for that perfect "look" when they top off these yoga pants with yoga mats hanging casually from their shoulders and with an ever so slight drop of perspiration on their temples. It's just too much to compete with.
Yet, somehow this one Angeleno, while searching for the perfect bag of frozen carrots blows all of New York Fashion away. I'd take her neon green velour shorts over even the best matching yoga set.
VIVA LA FASHION DE LOS ANGELES!!!!!
Then there I was, sheepishly perusing the chocolate covered assortment looking out of place in my new gladiator sandals, which were all the rage in New York. And to think that I had spent weeks looking for the perfect pair, that hit my feet exactly the right way and didn't strangle my ankle. How could I have wasted so much of my time? Somehow I had missed the true eye of fashion which stood their glaring at me from across the linoleum. How could I have been so misguided as to think that dark denim was in this season, when according to this goddess of fashion, it so clearly wasn't.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Back in LA
So my parents asked me if I'm going through culture shock being back in LA. and I said "yeah. I can't find any culture"
I made applesauce today. I almost feel like I'm at my country home for the summer. However, I'm in the middle of West LA. Surrounded by lots and lots of very short buildings. I think I'm supposed to send the apple sauce to all my friends in New York City, or Chicago, where ever they are. That's what people in the country are supposed to do for their city bound friends, right?
Just finished clearing all the dolls off my bookshelf to make way for my books. I didn't realize I had so many. I also have a fairly impressive nonfiction section. Yes, my bookshelf has sections. Bought a book called "American Nerd: the story of my people" by Benjamin Nugent. Should be interesting. Who doesn't want to read about why people who play D&D are really into computers also? It will go in the nonfiction section.
I have also finally decided what the number one thing I'm going to miss about New York, aside from all the people still there. LAUNDRY SERVICES THAT FOLD. I hate folding my clothing. I've never understood the point. It gets just as wrinkled when folded as when wadded up. And I'm just going to unfold it soon to wear it. When I'm rich and famous, I'm never going to fold laundry again. EVER. In fact I'll just hang everything up on hangers. Except my underwear, that wouldn't work. Hangers are the real answer to zero wrinkles. In the future, in my amazing West Village flat I'm going to banish all drawers from my closet. And forbidden all shelves and cabinets from enter the sacred ground of Callan's Closet. Only the select initiated hangers can have the honor of upholding the hallowed duty of carrying my clothing. DEATH TO DUPLICITOUS DRAWERS!!! DEATH TO SUBVERSIVE SHELVES!!! DEATH TO FOLDING!!!
I made applesauce today. I almost feel like I'm at my country home for the summer. However, I'm in the middle of West LA. Surrounded by lots and lots of very short buildings. I think I'm supposed to send the apple sauce to all my friends in New York City, or Chicago, where ever they are. That's what people in the country are supposed to do for their city bound friends, right?
Just finished clearing all the dolls off my bookshelf to make way for my books. I didn't realize I had so many. I also have a fairly impressive nonfiction section. Yes, my bookshelf has sections. Bought a book called "American Nerd: the story of my people" by Benjamin Nugent. Should be interesting. Who doesn't want to read about why people who play D&D are really into computers also? It will go in the nonfiction section.
I have also finally decided what the number one thing I'm going to miss about New York, aside from all the people still there. LAUNDRY SERVICES THAT FOLD. I hate folding my clothing. I've never understood the point. It gets just as wrinkled when folded as when wadded up. And I'm just going to unfold it soon to wear it. When I'm rich and famous, I'm never going to fold laundry again. EVER. In fact I'll just hang everything up on hangers. Except my underwear, that wouldn't work. Hangers are the real answer to zero wrinkles. In the future, in my amazing West Village flat I'm going to banish all drawers from my closet. And forbidden all shelves and cabinets from enter the sacred ground of Callan's Closet. Only the select initiated hangers can have the honor of upholding the hallowed duty of carrying my clothing. DEATH TO DUPLICITOUS DRAWERS!!! DEATH TO SUBVERSIVE SHELVES!!! DEATH TO FOLDING!!!
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)