Ricky Carmichael would like to be able to explain what made him The GOAT. The work – figuratively and often literally backbreaking – is a given. But how do you explain split-second instinct, something that you just do? You can’t. So motocross fans and riders everywhere just sat back and watched in awe as he won race after race. It was, after all, what he was expected to do – and did do – from the age of six. He might’ve made it look easy, but it wasn’t. Nor was it always happy. Carmichael talks about his motivation, the strategies he used to beat the best riders in the business, and his decision to retire from racing at 27 (not that there was much left for him to accomplish besides possibly paralyzing himself). Now, he’s seeking his challenges on the other side of the handlebars and finding new joy in the sport that made him a legend.
If you’d happened to be skulking the seamier alleyways of Albuquerque around 2008, looking to bum a 3:00 a.m. cigarette – or perhaps a more powerful stimulant – you might’ve encountered a guy who looked a lot like Aaron Paul. He was looking to score an understanding of the role that changed his life. It was one he’d fought ten Ramen-fueled years for, and he was going to give it everything he had. Extreme research, maybe, but the connection he forges to each character he embodies is so deep, we not only believe them, but feel their every blow, doubt and happiness as our own. In acting parlance, it’s called commitment. In Paul’s case, love seems the better word. He cherishes and cares for his characters as friends, and embraces his job with the joy of someone who gets to prove time and again that he’s really good at the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. We talk about his road from small-town Idaho to sin-filled L.A., his fateful audition for Breaking Bad, and The Path almost not taken. And, why you probably don’t want to mess with his mom.
If you’d happened to be skulking the seamier alleyways of Albuquerque around 2008, looking to bum a 3:00 a.m. cigarette – or perhaps a more powerful stimulant – you might’ve encountered a guy who looked a lot like Aaron Paul. He was looking to score an understanding of the role that changed his life. It was one he’d fought ten Ramen-fueled years for, and he was going to give it everything he had. Extreme research, maybe, but the connection he forges to each character he embodies is so deep, we not only believe them, but feel their every blow, doubt and happiness as our own. In acting parlance, it’s called commitment. In Paul’s case, love seems the better word. He cherishes and cares for his characters as friends, and embraces his job with the joy of someone who gets to prove time and again that he’s really good at the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. We talk about his road from small-town Idaho to sin-filled L.A., his fateful audition for Breaking Bad, and The Path almost not taken. And, why you probably don’t want to mess with his mom.
If you’d happened to be skulking the seamier alleyways of Albuquerque around 2008, looking to bum a 3:00 a.m. cigarette – or perhaps a more powerful stimulant – you might’ve encountered a guy who looked a lot like Aaron Paul. He was looking to score an understanding of the role that changed his life. It was one he’d fought ten Ramen-fueled years for, and he was going to give it everything he had. Extreme research, maybe, but the connection he forges to each character he embodies is so deep, we not only believe them, but feel their every blow, doubt and happiness as our own. In acting parlance, it’s called commitment. In Paul’s case, love seems the better word. He cherishes and cares for his characters as friends, and embraces his job with the joy of someone who gets to prove time and again that he’s really good at the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. We talk about his road from small-town Idaho to sin-filled L.A., his fateful audition for Breaking Bad, and The Path almost not taken. And, why you probably don’t want to mess with his mom.
Rachel Bloom remembers it all. The childhood neuroses, her first taste of humiliation at the hands of a stranger, the awkward locker room glances and every middle-school taunt. She also remembers how her talent and love of theater could erase so much of it. As they say, it’s all material. Material, as it turned out, for Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, one of the most original, subversive and strangely uplifting shows on network TV. Her rollercoaster journey there can be traced from a copy of The Martian Chronicles through stints as a singing/floating waitress and one hostile writers’ room. Bloom fills us in on her life-changing shift from musical theater to comedy, how structure informs creativity, and the show that for all its darkness, offers viewers an empowering, entertaining invitation to discuss our common, but not commonly discussed issues and insecurities. “What motivates us to write the show is the pursuit of true inner happiness, which often defies not only stereotype, but what you think should make you happy.” We might just break into song.
Rachel Bloom remembers it all. The childhood neuroses, her first taste of humiliation at the hands of a stranger, the awkward locker room glances and every middle-school taunt. She also remembers how her talent and love of theater could erase so much of it. As they say, it’s all material. Material, as it turned out, for Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, one of the most original, subversive and strangely uplifting shows on network TV. Her rollercoaster journey there can be traced from a copy of The Martian Chronicles through stints as a singing/floating waitress and one hostile writers’ room. Bloom fills us in on her life-changing shift from musical theater to comedy, how structure informs creativity, and the show that for all its darkness, offers viewers an empowering, entertaining invitation to discuss our common, but not commonly discussed issues and insecurities. “What motivates us to write the show is the pursuit of true inner happiness, which often defies not only stereotype, but what you think should make you happy.” We might just break into song.
Rachel Bloom remembers it all. The childhood neuroses, her first taste of humiliation at the hands of a stranger, the awkward locker room glances and every middle-school taunt. She also remembers how her talent and love of theater could erase so much of it. As they say, it’s all material. Material, as it turned out, for Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, one of the most original, subversive and strangely uplifting shows on network TV. Her rollercoaster journey there can be traced from a copy of The Martian Chronicles through stints as a singing/floating waitress and one hostile writers’ room. Bloom fills us in on her life-changing shift from musical theater to comedy, how structure informs creativity, and the show that for all its darkness, offers viewers an empowering, entertaining invitation to discuss our common, but not commonly discussed issues and insecurities. “What motivates us to write the show is the pursuit of true inner happiness, which often defies not only stereotype, but what you think should make you happy.” We might just break into song.
