Over at My Life, My Body, we’re already catching wind of Oscar buzz. After premiering at the Venice Film Festival, Natalie Portman in “Black Swan” has inspired enough admiration and award-winning forecasts to set the entertainment blogs aflutter.
Directed by Darren Aronofski, the man who brought us the unflinching films “Requiem for a Dream” and “The Wrestler”, “Black Swan” is apparently already living up to its predecessors. Portman stars as an older ballerina consumed with her art and practice, as Mila Kunis enters the arena as a younger ballerina. The tension between the two dancers is alternately sexual and brutal (as gathered a viewing of the official trailer).
Portman’s training for this role is astonishing in itself, even before we are able to see her performance as a depraved ballerina named Nina. Reportedly, she studied ballet for a year before entering the intensive training period six months before filming began. The six months before shooting included four to five hours of ballet rehearsal a day, paired with swimming and cross-training as well.
Kunis has also gained praise for playing Portman’s young rival, threatening Portman’s Nina’s career and sanity in the film.
This dancing film will be a welcome change from the “Step Up” series and last decade’s schmaltzy “Center Stage”. Though seen as more of a psychological thriller than a performance-driven dance movie, reports also describe the film as “gorgeous”. Audiences are sure to experience masterful choreography in addition to the visceral performances of Portman and Kunis.
“Black Swan” isn’t set to be released in the United States until December 1st, so we’ll have to wait until the holiday season to see if Portman’s performance is worth the buzz. Even reviews demoting the film say Portman is exceptional in the role – and we at My Life, My Body can’t wait to see for ourselves.
I’ll be honest. Working out isn’t always fun. Sometimes you don’t “feel like” going to the gym. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re in a “blah” mood. You could be stressed out. Busy. Short on time. Whatever the reason, getting to the gym can be hard. Unfortunately though, it’s only half the battle. Once you get there, contending with whatever workout you’re supposed to put yourself through can be a whole ‘nother ball game. But don’t fall prey to the shameless late-night infomercials that claim you no longer need to go to the gym. Buying a “shake weight” or any other equally sexually suggestive fitness gadget really won’t get you as fit as you think. The unfortunate truth is that it just comes down to hard work. If you want something you’ve gotta put in a little effort. Busting your ass is, literally, one of the best (and only) ways to slim it.
There is one way that you can instantly make your workouts seem easier though. Not only that, but you’ll make the time fly with this approach and you’ll probably work harder than if you didn’t bother with it. And if you would have felt better just by working out, well, combining this method with your sweat equity will probably perk you up that much more.
So, what is this novel approach that I’m referring to?
I’ll give you a hint.
It involves three things:
1. Headphones
2. An ipod or other music player
3. MUSIC
You got it – music. As if you didn’t need another excuse to listen to your favorite tunes while pumping iron, new research suggests that you can work out harder when you’ve got beats blasting in your ears.
The truth is that most music will probably help when it comes to workin’ up a sweat, but if you really want to push yourself, then you need to make sure there’s some energy behind the songs you select. So, for all the guys and girls out there that wanted another excuse to listen to classic rock, heavy metal, and even gangster rap here it is.
It will make you work out harder and longer – with less awareness of pain – and it will make your workout go by faster.
It’s true. So, like we said, before you hit the gym don’t forget your ipod. And if what you’ve got on it now is putting you to sleep, here are a few songs that will help you get your body movin’:
The Best Workout Songs: Part 1 (1-50)
1. Try Again – Aaliyah
2. Highway to Hell – AC/DC
3. Shoot To Thrill – AC/DC
4. Thunder Struck – AC/DC
5. All That She Wants – Ace of Base
6. It’s a Beautiful Life – Ace of Base
7. I Saw the Sign – Ace of Base
8. Thrash Unreal – Against Me!
9. Intervention – Arcade Fire
10. (Antichrist Television Blues) – Arcade Fire
11. Month of May – Arcade Fire
12. Brainstorm – Arctic Monkeys
13. Flourescent Adolescent – Arctic Monkeys
14. I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor – Arctic Monkeys
15. You – Atmosphere
16. Bat Country – Avenged Sevenfold
17. Beast and the Harlot – Avenged Sevenfold
18. Airplanes – B.o.B
19. Magic – B.o.B ft Rivers Cuomo
20. The Funeral – Band of Horses
21. Sabotage – The Beastie Boys
22. Boom Boom Pow – Black Eyed Peas
23. Gotta Feeling – Black Eyed Peas
24. Imma Be – Black Eyed Peas
25. Iron Man – Black Sabbath
26. Down By The River – Bliss n Eso
27. I Hope You Die – The Bloodhound Gang
28. Song 2 – Blur
29. Love Generation – Bob Sinclair and Gary Pine
30. Love Drunk – Boys Like Girls
31. Honest Mistake – The Bravery
32. Believe – The Bravery
33. Time Won’t Let Me Go – The Bravery
34. Four Winds – Bright Eyes
35. Gimme More (with T.I. – Remix) Britney Spears
36. Toxic – Britney Spears
37. The High Road – Broken Bells
38. Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked – Cage The Elephant
39. Back Against The Wall – Cage The Elephant
40. Jerk It Out – The Caesars
41. Tubthumping – Chumbawamba
42. The Skin Of My Yellow Country Teeth – Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
43. Good Girls Go Bad – Cobra Starship
44. The Church of Hot Addiction – Cobra Starship
45. The Kids Are All Fucked Up – Cobra Starship
46. Something Is Not Right With Me – Cold War Kids
47. Hang Me Up To Dry – Cold War Kids
48. Viva La Vida – Coldplay
49. Fortunate Son – Creedance Clearwater Revival
50. Travelin’ Band – Creedance Clearwater Revival
Stay tuned for the songs 50-100 in part 2…
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On the cover of Patti Smith’s memoir Just Kids is a photo of artists Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe on Coney Island. Mapplethorpe with his arm around Smith, his hat at a rakish angle while she squints into the camera. A smile close to a smirk plays over Mapplethorpe’s mouth as Smith’s hair sticks to her lips, pressed close. Here, we are introduced to the lovers’ dynamic. Mapplethorpe urging Smith on, offering an arm, present if her confidence wavers. Smith sturdy, swathed in white, save for a black headband, as Mapplethorpe’s pillar. The chaos of Coney Island as their background, passing bodies blurred, a snippet of a sandwich sign visible behind the pair that reads Hero.
Smith’s story of her rise to fame as a poet and a rock star is inexplicably intertwined with Mapplethorpe’s development as a photographer. The book opens with the last day of Mapplethorpe’s life from Smith’s point of view, the final phone call between the two and the morning after that call. We learn here that Smith is married with children, and not to Mapplethorpe. This lays the groundwork for an unconventional love story that lasted throughout the pair’s lifetimes – though not in the way most experience.
Patti details her upbringing with nostalgia, peppering the narrative with stories of her siblings. She moves swiftly from her childhood to briefly traverse through her teenage years, then to her journey to New York City from her childhood home in suburban Pennsylvania. This is where she meets Robert Mapplethorpe, running into him twice on the streets of New York before the two come together as a couple.
Smith’s book details their couple’s separate and collective struggles as artists in a time when the Chelsea Hotel offered rooms in exchange for trade and sexuality was fluid while condoms didn’t exist. Mapplethorpe’s sexuality and Smith’s acceptance of his choices illuminate her devoted love to a man who lived a lifestyle completely outside her own. Smith’s dreamy cadence throughout the book works well when she reflects on the kismet of meeting certain artists, musicians and writers. However, it struck this reader as almost disconnected as she described the gonorrhea infections Mapplethorpe and Smith endured as a result of his chosen lifestyle. I experienced this same feeling when Smith depicted Mapplethorpe’s losing battle to the AIDS virus. She creates a myth around their shared life – which works successfully in some walks, but fails in others. It doesn’t do the reality of what Smith experienced in her relationship with Mapplethorpe justice.
Just Kids is a memoir worthy of being a memoir. Patti Smith’s imagination, devotion and talent are apparent on almost every page of this book – be it in her reflections of her experience, or the snippets of her art she includes in the book. The photographs, intermittently included, are chosen wisely – most taken by Mapplethorpe, they create a haunted feel in the pages.
Patti Smith’s New York Times Best Seller offers an aching view of a time past that fills this reader with regret for having missed such a time. At least we are fortunate enough for Smith’s efforts to capture her experiences in Just Kids.
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I’m shorter at the end of the day. Now, so is everyone else’s writing.
The short form of information is appealing. CNN does it with synopses scrolled at the bottom of its news shows, while someone long-winded, and most likely sexually frustrated, is boring us at the top. Anyone with a Twitter account can showcase their moods, their meals and their sex lives in less than thirty words. This is bad news for those of us getting paid by the word. It’s good news for a population where one in three people are diagnosed with ADHD.
X words or less has infiltrated everywhere.
There’s a genre of fiction called micro fiction, where authors tell a story in 200 words or less. W. W. Norton, a huge literary publisher, even created an anthology, and the genre grows in popularity every day.
Sally Law of the New Yorker cites a Tweeter named Sean Hill who is writing short stories on his Twitter account, using nouns supplied by fellow Twitters for his characters. The short form is satisfying for its instant gratification, its meaning cut into bite-sized pieces.
As a writer, my bank account suffers. As a person, the short form appeals to me. Political correctness calls for a person to dance around every subject with countless unnecessary words to pad actual meaning. The following is what would happen if I could integrate the short form into all the factions of my life:
During a painful, drawn-out break-up: The End.
Ordering dinner at a fancy restaurant: Feed me.
Having to suffer through yet another Eminem album release: Please stop.
Cleaning up after a dinner party while guests are still milling around in the dining room, finishing off the last dregs of cheap red wine: Do it yourself.
During an awkward meeting with an old colleague/schoolmate: I never liked you.
At a job interview: Did I get it or what?
I used to work at an upscale hair salon as a receptionist. A freshly coiffed client asks me how I like her new ‘do. Short form would call for: Should have shaved it.
Finding out yet another one of your friends is pregnant: I’m sorry.
Cheers to Twitter and Hill for saying what you mean when you say it. It’s refreshing.
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