Feature
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It was on the road, sleeping in his car or in his parents’ basement—where his Emmy collected dust atop a crate—where Marrazza’s mind developed an imagination that now lends itself so well to 280 characters on Twitter.
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“Hold back, daddy,” says Channing Tatum. He’s offered those tender words of advice to Ryan Carlson, one of 13 professional male dancers in Magic Mike Live Las Vegas, a semi-scripted dance revue billed with the promise of “women’s empowerment.”
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As any suntanned, bug-bitten kid will tell you, there are two types of summer camps. The second is the kind kids beg to attend—the type of warm-weather heaven where you make s’mores with the Beastie Boys’ Mix Master Mike.
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“You have to believe every piece of copy was custom-written for you,” Moats tells her class of 12. Most of them are dipping into voice acting on a part-time basis. There are at least two would-be James Earl Joneses in the room and one woman in her 20s who sounds like a toddler.
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“If you’re thinking this is awkward, you’re probably on the right path.”
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Like Tom Brady or pretty much any “celebrity” on Dancing With the Stars, Lake Mead is facing an image problem.
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The crowd-funding campaign was at once ridiculous and genius. Because experiencing the latest “Fight of the Century” in Las Vegas isn’t going to come cheap. To paraphrase the lyrics of Wu-Tang Clan: Cash rules everything around May 2.
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That’s kind of like your friends who are parents telling you not to have kids because diapers are a bad investment. Kind of.
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