Montana Red

Full Moon

2009-06-07T00:43:00.000-07:00

Right, so if you have no interest in reading a post about female issues stop reading now (or man up and deal).
[photo credit: Andreia]

I've had horrible cramps from day one; I missed a day of school a month through my senior year of high school. One of my sisters also has them to an even worse degree (one has inexplicably escaped with a far more manageable version...apparently she wasn't a horrible, horrible person in a past life, forced to karmically repay unforgivable deeds once a month over a lifetime). My poor mother was violently ill every period of her life, even after four kids, only menopause has brought her relief from the insanity.

I've spent hours of my life in the fetal position crying, praying, yelling, etc. Depending on the month, if I catch them in time with the right drugs (prescription growing up, OTC now), I'm okay. If not, it's ugly.

I've tried everything from a heating pad to an ice pack and everything in between. People who have never experienced these have no idea what it's like and may go so far as to suggest things as plausible as "Feel pleasure. Have an orgasm in whatever way works for you." or "Eat chocolate. Although its effects on cramps have not been proven, it is sure to help towards your relaxation and pleasure." I respectfully suggest that the writer of the article "How To Cure Cramps Without Medication"...who may, indeed be equally as qualified to write her helpful "How To Make Money Cleaning Dryer Vents"... suck it. (Which brings to mind this brilliant letter to Always written some time ago.)

Now I'm Natural Girl. I will wait until I have a fever of 103 or I've cut myself to the bone to go on pain meds - except in this arena. Bring it. My liver is such a crazy mess after years of drinking too much, contracting Hepatitis A from an undercooked turkey burger years ago, and decades of repressed anger (which I finally figured out how to channel, lucky you!) that it sometimes needs some help. By that I mean I, the woman who has changed all of her cleaning supplies to tree hugging, non-toxic, valentines to Mother Earth, will take pills and have to chase them with booze so they'll take effect.

I have seriously considered moving to the UK simply so I can have regular access to Feminax. This amazing drug has codeine in it and works like a charm. Not that I didn't have to down a whiskey with it at one point for it to take effect (after my sister fairly sat on me to do so; I was practically crawling down the sidewalk before we saw a West End show).

In addition to the cramps, I started to have ridiculous PMS years ago. I have since managed it with amazing supplements but I still have roughly 2 months out of the year when I experience emotional craziness. When? The day my cycle coincides directly with the full moon. Today.

My sis has had the same thing for years. Her significant other has helpfully pointed out that it's called 'lunacy' for a reason. Actually, quite true, and, I'm pretty sure, suggested delicately at an appropriate moment with true compassion. It actually was an ah-ha moment for us both.

However, this week when I was spiralling over a myriad of things (finances, career, my life purpose), it didn't occur to me it might be a full moon soon. Last night when I sobbed uncontrollably after happening upon the middle part of The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2 (yes, 2) it still didn't occur to me. (I recall posting about crying hysterically watching the first movie, too, but I can't find the post.) Only at 4 am after taking drugs (minus booze, I've stopped drinking for the most part and have nothing in the apartment) and being unable to sleep did I happen upon a FB status update that commented on the full moon.

Duh.

So, what's my point? In all the self-examination I've done over the years, this is one of my major blind spots. Not dissimilar to my blood sugar issues of the past. Maybe someday I'll get a better handle on it.

But maybe there is no point, this is my personal blog...it doesn't get more personal than this! Or, hopefully it won't, for your sake.

Here's to a fantastic month.

New Website

2009-04-28T19:00:00.000-07:00

I have launched my healing website at www.touchstonetherapy.com. Check back here for my musings on life in general. For health and wellness focused writings, head to my website, go to the massage/reiki pages and click the blog link.

I'll also be blogging about my forays into your closets to help you streamline your stuff and feel better about your life.

See you there!

Packing avoidance

2008-12-17T19:30:00.000-08:00

Right, so I'm in the process of packing for subzero weather and need a quick break. Trying to remember that I'm really going to be wearing the same jeans and fleece the entire time and not overpack. Wish me luck on that!

So, I stopped by Ann Taylor and got 2 items at a ridiculous 60% off. Thanks, recession! One is a cute sweater dress and I really need a slip for it. I went to the Kohl's website to see what they had and this was it:

Does this mannequin need to stop doing so many chest presses, or is it just me? It's not like she's bowed in because of the weight of her tremendous bosom, or anything. Is she malnourished? Is that the problem? Maybe she's overwhelmed by the plainness of this slip...would it have broken the bank to add some lace? I have a feeling it feels like being wrapped in a cheap, waterproof slicker. (heh, I said 'slicker')

I'll keep looking.

Back to packing.

Watch this

2008-12-04T18:51:00.000-08:00

My awesome sister has written, produced, and posted an hysterical short on Funny or Die. If you have kids and can't remember what it's like to have a moment alone, you'll love this. OR if you're like me and all your friends have kids, ditto.

Watch this!

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

2nd Horseman

2008-09-24T05:28:00.000-07:00

There are often really creepy applications or ads that pop up on Facebook, but this one takes the cake.

We're in so much trouble.

Has anyone else seen this application? http://www.new.facebook.com/apps/application.php?id=38703062348

"Create your Mr. Right: Why look for Mr. Right when you can make him yourself? Design your Mr. Right now and start your virtual relationship." If you click on the application, it takes you to this page:

And He's STARING at me...staring! Like the creepy droid that He is, with His big feet and...baguette? You can buy yourself gifts that 'he's' giving you? Listen, the only reason He's buying you chocolates is so He can hide sleeping pills in them so you won't hear Him slip out to meet His male lover(s) in the middle of the night. Every night. For always.

Shudder.

Wow. If you aren't single, I don't imagine this is popping up in your feed, but it sure is in mine. I feel like this represents all that is wrong in the social world. Why bother going out to meet men when you can just create a two-dimensional, anime-esque 'boy' to...look at? To write copy for? Could 'he' be more disturbingly androgynous or child-like? Probably. He could be Goofus or Gallant, the charming duo from Highlights magazine...no, they'd be better. Actually, Goofus is pretty butch, maybe I need to 'date' him...

Towels! That's right, towels.

2008-08-30T18:57:00.000-07:00

I think I've found The Perfect Towel.

Do you have those things you're super finicky about? There are some things I could care less about, clothes, for example. If it's $0.99, sort of fits, and serves a purpose, I'll wear it until it it falls off my body. I'm not a fashionista. Don't get me wrong, I have some great pieces, too, but if something doesn't fit perfectly, I'll still wear it.

Towels can make me crazy. If it's too soft and doesn't absorb anything, leaves huge amounts of lint that pills up when I apply lotions, is too small to wrap around my, ahem, non-petite frame, or snags on a hangnail and unravels...irritating.

Recently, after realizing I really needed to upgrade some things to make my apartment more fit for massage clients, I decided to get new towels for the bathroom. Now, standing in the towel department of Bed, Bath and Beyond, is my version of hell. Talk about sensory overload! Add the fact that, in Manhattan, you are literally hundreds of feet underground, no outside world ascertainable, looking up at a wall of towels. Blegh.

Also, I'm a Libra, I can't make this kind of decision. Give me two choices, even three, I might be able to choose something in under an hour. Maybe. Faced with an infinite number of price points, types of cotton, colors, sizes, looks...come on.

After a lovely customer gal noticed my glazed look and helped me, I bought a few of these Wamsutta Hotel Towels. After using them for a day, I went back and got a full set. Thick but absorbent, very little lint (and I haven't washed them yet), great weave that looks and feels high quality.

Go get 'em.

I'm ba-ack

2008-07-31T19:26:00.000-07:00

So, I had all these plans to blog my ass off while in Colorado on my summer gig. I was partially so disappointed by the town (not in the mountains, air pervaded with eau de derriere du vache, terrible paycheck shenanigans, all sorts of professional merde) that I couldn't bring myself to write about it. Then, after a time, my computer got stolen out of my locked room in housing.

I will describe my experience in a nutshell: I have been hit over the head, about the neck, and smacked on various extremities with the ruler of wake-up-and-smell-the-last-time-you-work-at-this-level-dodohead. I have several girlfriends who are instructed to punch me full in the face if I start to hem and haw about taking more work like this.

I did get the chance to play an amazing role I will play roughly 40 more times in my life for the first time, made some wonderful new friends who will be on Broadway in a matter of years, and be close enough to my family to make a much needed trip home. Yay that...and scene.

Soooo, I'm back in The City. Today, I jumped back into things by being a reader for a Broadway workshop. I'm the person people act with when they come in to audition. In this case it was a musical, so people come in and sing one or two songs, then do sides (portions of the script) for the character they're auditioning for. I read the other character(s) in those scenes, usually while sitting in a chair. Often I'm playing up to 3 different people in the scene, male and female. My job is to give the actor something to work with, be as present as possible, and make them look really good.

There are many wonderful things about this gig. First of all, it's like an audition workshop. Even when it's not everyone on Broadway coming in, like in this audition today, I witness some fascinating behavior, see some great pieces (which I totally write down and use), and remember that no matter how talented you are, you still have to bring it when you're in the room. This is a musical, fairly broad although it still has some good meat to it. They were asking people auditioning for ensemble to bring in a short, comic monologue in addition to the two songs they ask everyone for. One guy came in with two dark songs (even the up-tempo! I wish I could remember what it was, but it's hard to find an angry up-tempo) and his monologue was even more so. After he left, the book writer deadpanned, "I can't imagine a better monologue choice for a musical comedy."

Another woman sang a really cute up-tempo and the director asked what it was from. She told him and he asked who had written it. "I'm so bad," she said, "I just can't remember!" She had probably gotten the song from the actual score of the show, so the composer and lyricist weren't listed at the top.

"I wrote it." The book writer said from behind the table.

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Now, luckily, it was low-key room, fairly good spirits, all egos stealthily cloaked. He wasn't pissed or making a point, just stating a fact. The poor actress handled it well and even sang another song but, seriously, I died a little.

Second, it's a great reminder that even if you're fantastic, sometimes you're just not right for the show or role. The lead role in this show is a nebbishy, Woody Allen type, except translate that to musical theatre. One man came in, I'll call him the Jewish Clark Kent, gorgeous black hair with, seriously, a curl on his forehead, great horn-rimmed glasses, khakis and a button-down. The kind of guy you knew was ripped underneath his Arrow shirt. He had a great voice, was a great actor, but was too serious and understated. A legendary film actor, who was in the original movie the show is based on, came in and was brilliant, but may not end up being as broad as they want. Totally honest and amazing, but not it.

[I just remembered something else. The director regularly asked people about their special skills. One guy had "Yanni-esque" piano playing listed, for example. Well, Jewish CK had "Old English pronunciation" down. Damned if he didn't give the first 4 lines of Canterbury Tales in a perfect, Old-e English-e accent. Of course, his rendition was somehow romantic and hot, unlike the priggish hilarity of my junior English teacher - the same teacher I talk about here. I did get a little hysterical but managed not to embarass myself or anyone else. JCK also listed Greek pronunciation, explaining that he had to choose between acting or linguistics. He sure chose the more lucrative career... Mind you, the director's sister is the head of the Medieval Literature Department at the University of Edinburgh. Do. Not. Lie. On. Your. Resume.]

Third, you experience some amazing stuff you would never see anywhere else. A huge Broadway star rocked an R.E.M. song that no-one else would have done. Another Broadway regular did an amazing up-tempo where he did cartwheels made other choices no one else could have pulled off. One guy sang a song called "Marry Me" directly to me. One man sang a Maury Yeston song and, at the end, the door to the hallway opened and Maury Yeston poked his head in. "I just heard my song being sung so beautifully and I had to see who it was!" He was down the hall having a meeting and happened to pass by. "I'd have to say that's a first." The auditioner said after the composer left.

Fourth, I have a 6-hour audition for something I would never, ever get seen for right now. I just don't have the credits. I get to play 4 characters, and do some fabulous back acting, since I'm sitting front of the team. At the end of the day they asked me to sing. I rocked it. Correction, the pianist rocked it because I didn't have my book because I'm a complete spaz. I never, ever go to one of these without my book of audition songs, I just spaced it. I did have a headshot but a lot of good that does me. So the pianist asked what I wanted to sing and just played it with me. Now, my second one was a standard, but the first was not. I marked through it and she just followed when I sang it (a good 7th below where I normally do, but whatevs). Un-freakin-believable.

So, I'm back.

On the road

2008-05-28T21:49:00.000-07:00

So, I'm in Greeley, Colorado.

Um.

Before anything, I really need to get up to the drive across the Midwest. For someone who is terrible at planning ahead (ahem, 'in the past I have been bad about planning ahead') I was pretty effing ready to leave town, and not just emotionally. I don't know if it was that I have a friend's parents coming to stay in my place around her due date that made me get my act together or not, but I was on it.

I. Mopped. My. Kitchen. 'nuff said.

There is a weird melancholy that accompanies a gig on the road. It's been a while since I've done a show where I'm not going to work with 5 of my closest friends (I've been so lucky, that takes some time). On this gig, I know the director from regional and that's it. I'm the only Equity Guest Artist working with college students. It's really weird to leave town so you can do the one thing that makes you the happiest in the world and know that it affects absolutely no one's life back at home. Sure, I have friends that will miss me, but we can talk on the phone (when our schedules mesh) or email and maybe not see each other any less than we do when I'm in town. No one is directly affected by my being gone. I'm not complaining, just an observation.

Years ago, when I was doing a production of The Miracle Worker, one of the girls playing Helen asked me if I was married. When she found out I wasn't married or dating, she asked me if I got lonely. Whoof. No! No. No. Who needs real men when you can meet, fall in love with, and marry fake, gorgeous men on stage all the time. Puh-lease.

Plus the digressing.

So, I set out last Sunday from Omaha in the car my parents have graciously lent me since they're not in Nebraska at present. I was worried the Memorial Day traffic would be heavy, thinking, apparently, that I was in a highly populated area. It was fine.

I stopped a couple of hours later to get some food. I had been craving eggs and biscuits so stopped at a Petro truckstop that had a diner attached, an Iron Skillet. I passed on the terrifying buffet and ordered some standard breakfast fare. This is what I got:

Please click on this to zoom in. I really should have taken the photo before I removed the 4 TABLESPOONS of butter from the egg skillet. Note that the eggs are already swimming in butter. Holy Mary. I gained 4 pounds and 20 cholesterol points just being this close to this meal.

In case you're not getting the magnitude:

Four. And at least that much in each biscuit already. I ate the eggs and both biscuits and instantly felt hurl-a-riffic. Wow. There was also a smoking section in the restaurant. I didn't take a picture for fear of getting my ass kicked. I was way too cosmo in my tank top, cargo pants, and non-permed hair already. I ain't stupid.

The drive was largely non-eventful until I neared Greeley. A) no mountains to be seen from 50 minutes away; B) stockyards, and by that I mean a good 5-10 miles of stockyards like I've never seen or smelled before (and my air was on recirc). If I wasn't already mostly veg, that would have sent me that way in a hurry. I have never been so much about animal rights, but this is highly disturbing. An unfathomable amount of animals in shocking conditions. I can't even go into it.

So, it turns out Greeley is about 40 minutes from the actual mountains. Sigh. Ok. Apparently I'll be spending more gas money than anticipated. Housing is great. All is well.

Thus ends installment one. Tune in soon for stories of cast, rehearsals, and the supermarket.

Ruby et Violette

2008-05-22T21:45:00.000-07:00

Renew your gym membership, call your jogging buddy, or dust off that Buns of Steel VHS...you're gonna need it.

A client of mine, an amazing baker/pastry chef, has opened a cafe/coffee shop in the heart of Midtown - Ruby et Violette.

Now, I have a sweet tooth, I won't deny it. But I never really find what hits the spot. I don't really do chocolate but will in a pinch...I'm more of a baked goods person. Holy Mary! I am in LOVE. With a cookie menu that is devoid of Chocolate Chip but ranges from "Root Beer Float" to "Perfect", I'm in.

Of the ones I sampled, Lemon White and Cassis were my favorite. These are truly amazing and like nothing I have ever tasted before. Really. The layers of flavor are astounding, light but full at the same time. I also had Strawberry Champagne, Praline, Peach Cobbler, and Espresso (I had a small bite, y'all know I don't do caffeine, I'd be up until next Wednesday). All were stupendous.

I was a little worried that the flavors would be odd, you know, for the sake of being intense? Like Bertie Botts. Nope. Beautiful. This woman is gifted. NYSC thanks her for my lifetime membership.

The shop is a beautiful little retreat at 457 W. 50th between 9th & 10th. Decorated in white with black and red accents, it has a delightful French feel (except the part where the barristas smile and make eye contact while gladly serving you). There are about 8 small tables that seat two.

Get there.

Ohmigosh, Hi!

2008-05-02T00:53:00.000-07:00

Internets, I have become that person that is terrible about staying in touch. You know, the one you see on the street every once in a blue moon who you did a show with who never, ever follows through on plans or calls when they say they will? They spend the first and last 2 minutes of the conversation saying "I'm the worst friend ever!" and "No, seriously, let's do a monthly lunch. I'll call you at 2:54 pm on Tuesday. I'm so bad, really!" instead of just owning and reveling their own flake-i-tude.

I will not embarrass myself by apologizing any more - I think we know how lame I am.

A series of things have happened that have been utterly terrifying this week on a variety of levels.

I'm not sure which was more traumatizing, the stirrup pants I saw at Express (which at least they have the decency not to have on their website) or the wall of Beef Jerky* that greeted me as I turned the corner at the local Duane Reade (a drug store...cause who knows when you'll be trapped underground for an indeterminate amount of time without food. Better have that jerky in your bag!).
My therapist apparently didn't have me on the books Wednesday because we crossed wires about our new schedule. This is the first time this has happened in the mumble years I've been seeing her. I full on thought she was dead. If you ever think you don't have abandonment issues, try that scenario on for size. A ridiculous combination of I-hope-she's-okay and what-am-I-gonna-effing-do-if-she's-NOT-okay! went on. Awesome.
I realized I have 3 weeks before I leave for summer stock to get off book on 2 plays and get my entire apartment/life together.
I've misspelled about 6 words in this post that I never knew I spelled wrong: misspelled was actually one, reveling, and embarrass. Oh, the irony.

*[First off, let it be known I love beef jerky. In doing a search for a beef jerky link, I found BeefJerky.com, the best page is the Customer Testimonials page. It's what happens at 4:15 am. Below is one of the scintillating stories contained on said page.

From: Dave
Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2004

Me and my friend Michelle at work have been talking alot about jerky. Then we tried your jerky. And we love it. She wanted to find something low carb to snack on. I said, 'Have you tried Jerky?" She said, "Yeah, I love jerky." Well then try beefjerky.com jerky.

Now we both love your jerky. Thanks so much for the jerky.

Dave and Michelle
New York, NY

I can't imagine what other fascinate conversations these two have over the cubicle wall. I dare you to used the word 'jerky' today as much as possible.]

Seriously, I'm the worst ever. I'll post soon!

Love, me

Blogs and Kisses!

2008-04-06T19:28:00.000-07:00

Brits continue to kick our asses.

Tracey Ullman is one of my personal heroes. If you didn't catch her new slot on Showtime, State of the Union...tivo that mofo right now.

Like most of her work, it's her doing different characters, not sketches with other people. She's an amazing actor, mimic, and social commentator who is remarkably unafraid to look atrocious.

Highlights from this pilot include a white house correspondent who delivers the news in such a terrifying way that her anchor and entire crew start yelling out of fear, an African-American airport security worker who uses her x-ray machine to diagnose people who don't have medical insurance, Lindsay Lohan's mom, Renee Zellweger, a soldier mom on a 3-hour furlough from Iraq to see her son, and David Beckham (although she looks remarkably like Harvey Keitel in it, awesome).

The hands down best, however, are the Arianna Huffington scenes where she is first trying to decide what to wear to the Blog Awards, and then her acceptance speech at said event. She uses the word 'blog' indiscriminately. "Oh! They're telling me to blog it up." "Blogs and kisses!" Effing brilliant.

Don't miss it!

Pay attention much?

2008-03-19T14:32:00.000-07:00

I pride myself on being observant. Or, at least, I did until now.

really?

2008-03-18T16:39:00.000-07:00

So I overheard a yoga teacher talking to a student:

"Yeah, so I'm doing the dating thing," the teacher said.
"How's that going?"
"Well, they all seem to be philistines. That or I stop being interested as soon as they take their shirt off..."

Just in case you thought your guru wasn't a shallow mofo...wow.

Habitat for Humanity

2008-03-18T15:26:00.000-07:00

Okay, we've already discussed my love for Jimmy Carter (and his love for my mother...well, both my parents).

Here's the scoop - until April 3rd, every donation made to Habitat for Humanity will be matched up to 3 million dollars (so if you give more than 3 million, they aren't ponying up, cheap bastards!). Go here and give. Please, even $5 will make a tremendous difference.

I know The Recession is freaking everyone out and our instinct is to hold onto money (unless you're of my tribe and feel compelled to make a ton of inane purchases to prove you have a disposable income). The first thing that seems to go by the wayside is donating to charity. If you think you're being affected by the economics of this country, think of the way it's trickling down.

The wearing of the green

2008-03-16T19:34:00.000-07:00

I don't think I have an ounce of Irish in me...well, maybe my liver...but I loves me some St. Paddy's Day! One for one water for beer, people. One for one.

There's apparently an Irish pub here in Manhattan that has banned this song for the entire month. It's just too damn sad.

Here's a lighter version:

LJ

2008-03-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

Right, so, first of all...Lipstick Jungle. I'm watching this show partially because it's shot in NYC and I auditioned for a part I didn't book...but it's actually kind of fun. A couple of things, though: 1)since when do we have previews for the next segment of the show during a commercial break ("Next, on Lipstick Jungle..."). WTF? Is the show that boring that I can't wait 2 minutes to stay hooked. Yeesh. 2)Have you seen the Candace Bushnell (writer of Sex And The City and this show) spots talking about the different characters and their motivations/style choices? Does she not sound coked out?! Maybe this is just an -ism of hers but she is almost unintelligible and looks like H-E-double-hockey-sticks. Bleh.

Second...I don't have a second. Sorry.

Cowabunga!

2008-02-24T20:36:00.000-08:00

I just spent an amazing weekend with the tremendous Jonathan Fields. 6 years ago, I stumbled into his newly formed Sonic Yoga, 4 blocks from my place, to facilitate the continued recovery from a knee issue that had caused me to gain 30 pounds and lose my momentum in most areas of my life. I tried Bikram for a while but the heat and emphasis on the lower body wore on my bod and psyche (the pretension and yogatude that permeated the studio was rather tiresome, as well). The vibe of Sonic was much more down to earth, the practitioners more varied, and the vinyasa, or flow, style threatened to develop my arms past the spaghetti-like tone they'd sported since childhood.

I practiced there for some time, taking the 7am classes before I raced to my temp job, but I couldn't afford it for long and kept leaving town for gigs. I left for LA and my friend Gabra started practicing there, then doing work study. I returned and have gotten on the karmi wagon, working a shift a week to qualify for free classes. The fact that the studio has lasted 6 months much less years, has an amazing number of repeat clientèle, a huge teacher training program that turns out several hundred certified yoga teachers a year, and has maintained the chill yet focused energy I so loved at the beginning is impressive, to say the least. Separately, all these things would be good fortune. Together, it shows damn good business practices combined with amazing people skills.

What I didn't know until recently, was that zen, groovy, yogi Jonathan had not always lived this lifestyle. Years ago(read his full story here) , Jonathan left his high powered position and six figure income at a law firm a year after an especially grueling deadline landed him in the hospital needing emergency surgery.

Now, over a decade and many business ventures later (some successful, some...not so much), he is sharing his passion for living a fulfilling life. I just partook in the first Career Renegade Bootcamp. 16 hours spent talking about "how to do what you love and earn a great living without blowing apart your life." Sign me UP!

It was fantastic. Jonathan has an amazing range of skill sets, from yoga to web-savvy and, most importantly, has a gift for teaching people those same things in an accessible, non-pretentious way. He's a very well rounded healer.

I will be making some changes based on this workshop, watch out. If you feel like you need an assist in a life change, or figure out if it's really what you want to do...get yourself to the next workshop. At the very least, go take the Career Intervention Test and see what it tells you about where you are.

Ah, 1982

2008-02-17T20:47:00.000-08:00

When I got home tonight and saw Knight Rider on my list of saved shows, I squealed like the 6th grade girl I pretend I am not. I double checked and made sure I hadn't left the flux capacitor on when I went to work and settled down to watch what promised to be a train wreck of a pilot. Actually, it's a "movie event" which means if it tanks, they can yank it.

Actually, not bad, NBC. Aside from the terrible, night-time-soap-opera-ness of the casting...not a terrible story. I'm sure Sidney Poitier is thrilled that his daughter, and namesake, upheld the family history of pioneering civil and human rights with the bikini, boob shot at the intro of her character. This was, of course, counteracted by the fact that she leaves her lesbian one night stand in bed as she slaps her badge on and races to work. Oh, wait! She's a dyke? Bring on the objectification! That makes it totally okay.

The lead gal, Deanna Russo, was on a soap for some time, natch, and Justin Bruening was on TWO soaps. [I want it noted that I actually had no knowledge of that until I imdb'd them both this instant, my psychic skills are rapidly sharpening.] Another fact I just learned, this instant, is that VAL KILMER is the voice of KITT. Holy shit. My favorite VK moment (other than seeing him in the catastrophe of The Ten Commandments, the musical!, in LA) is when I saw Deja Vu with my parents. About 25 minutes into the movie, my mom turned to me and whispered, "Who is that?" The resounding gasp of horror from my southern belle mother that the bloated, detective on camera was the one, the only, Ice Man said it all. WTF? Now he's making some much needed moolah providing the emotionless, even voice of the car in Knight Rider.

The brief appearance by The Hoff at the end of the show was painful. He seemed cagey, unable to stand still. I've decided that he's just doing '80's television...he hasn't gotten the memo that the current style of TV acting is akin to being as expressionless and unmoved by anything as possible.

The two best parts of the show were the rockin' remix of the theme song (which I can't find on line for the life of me, sorry) and Bruce Davison as the designer of the car, he is an amazing actor, I'm thrilled to see him working.

I'm still not entirely sure it wasn't a wrinkle in the space-time continuum, Porky's II: The Next Day was on a couple of channels away. Dear. Lord. Deliver us.

For reals...

2008-02-11T21:21:00.000-08:00

For the love of all that's holy, watch this video. Originally posted by Byrneunit, there are at least 400 reasons to watch it.

The top three are

If you need to polish your Midwestern accent.
If you are obsessed with weiner dogs (the kind that bark, not the kind you eat).
If you've never heard a news caster say the words “Clean up all the wiener poopie if you want to see Jesus unharmed.”

Do it. Now.

Dunder Mifflin

2008-02-11T20:31:00.000-08:00

Good gravy, it's been 3 weeks since my last post! I've been overwhelmed with a visit home and approximately 1 bagillion hours of training for my spa job. That's right, they're making us become employees at the hotel spa where I work (which will not be named for obvious reasons) because...well, because there's no way on God's green earth they would ever win a lawsuit claiming worker's comp even though we're classified as independent contractors because of what we do. We are not, of course, allowed to be full time (although who would ever want to do that) because they're sure as hell not going to give us benefits, but I have been forced to add a shift.

The training on the body treatments was actually fun but we had one day of corporate training that was mind boggling. I honestly felt at one point that might have been duped into shooting an episode of The Office for free. Our manager must seriously rock the numbers because she could not be more lacking in people skills. This is a woman whose smile rarely, if ever, reaches her eyes, you know what I mean - I wouldn't trust Fakey McFakerson with a nickel. At one point, while trying to explain the deep philosophy behind customer service (this is a Five Star joint, btw, the policy is: The customer is right. Whatever that customer wants, get it and if you don't personally deliver it on a silver tray within 2.8 seconds, you're fired.) she singled out a massage therapist to make a point. "Ivan, are you happy?" she asked.

Ivan is Russian; a stocky, dark, hunk of poker-faced gravitas who will pound the shit out of your muscles. Ivan does not have emotions, he has hands of steel that were made to earn the $200 you're about to toss down for your massage. I don't think he blinks or breathes more than once or twice an hour. You don't address Ivan in front of a group of people, you don't make him participate in ridiculous group activities, you quietly fantasize about him throwing you up against the supply cabinet and having his way with you and let it go at that...but I digress.

"Ivan, are you happy?" she asked. 25 people stopped breathing and stared at her. "Yes," Ivan rumbled. "Why don't you tell your face?" She didn't just say...she couldn't possibly have... You could've heard a pin drop. "That's right...smile!" I fully expected Steve Carrell to come bursting through the door. Nevermind that the smile (customer service) was just part of the equation to the real reason we're in the spa business, MONEY! Her entire motivational speech was how this behavior would lead to making more money. She would break into the chorus from the Abba song "Money, Money, Money" often, singing into the handheld microphone she insisted on using in the 14x30 conference room. Now, I won't turn my nose up at a large paycheck, but I am in this business for a slightly larger reason...touching naked men...seriously now!, I'm a healer. I'm helping people feel better. Ew.

I decided to rise above and continue making my ridiculous paycheck there until I'm truly set up for a private practice. Until then, don't forget to tell your face you're happy!

This video, posted by my friend Kate, will help. This is from a class she took to learn how to be a Muppeteer. Muppets make it all better.

In the cross hairs...

2008-01-17T21:53:00.000-08:00

There's a Military Channel.

The lineup tonight was Weaponology (season 1, not 2), followed by Top Sniper, then Sniper School. Rinse and repeat for the next 3 hours.

I have a fascination with special ops as much as the next, red-blooded, American, hottie but...really?

I need to get out more.

Olan Mills Awesomeness

2008-01-17T15:09:00.000-08:00

I have searched and searched for who originated this brilliant, effing blogpost/email but to no avail. A girlfriend sent this to me today and I think I actually pulled something laughing at it. It is very rare that I laugh out loud at anything...I will usually smile and say, "That's funny!"

Uh-unh. This is the real, effing deal. For those of you who don't know, Olan Mills is the in-house photographer for K-Mart.

If you have any pictures to add -bring it. Don't cheat yourself by ignoring the captions below. My regards to the mastermind who originated this.

Those glasses came free with a purchase of Brut cologne .

Thoughtful Lance. Mirthful Lance. Two sides of a delightful coin.

Drake won Bitchin'est Senior Mullet by a landslide.

That dude wore a tie for nothing.

The Purvis family made several stops along the Oregon Trail to document their six-month journey. This photo was taken just two weeks before the dysentery took Momma to Jesus.

I wanted a shot like this for my wedding. The Mrs. said no.

It's called a leisure suit, ladies and germs, and if you didn't have one in the early 70s, you were a big fat loser. Mine was teal. I wore it with a silk floral shirt and a long necklace with a football player pendant that we all got at that year's team banquet. I was THE MAN.

Once they had two or three, how did they ever find enough time alone to make more?

No Comment

Olan Mills backdrop #4: Bucolic Meadow with Split Rail Fence. Is that an animal carcass behind her?

A pose like this will get you kicked right out of the Convention.

Oh, this is super. What better way to capture the charm and innocence of a child than to plunk him down amid the coarse trappings of a life lived in pursuit of wealth -- oversized bills, an adding machine and the Wall Street Journal -- and make him sit inside a briefcase? (They probably just fold up the little demon right in there to carry him home.) The finishing touch is the globe, which completes the portrait of the young Antichrist in Chess King vest and Red Goose loafers, plotting his takeover of the world (insert maniacal laugh). That is, as soon as someone changes his poopy diaper.

Bobbi isn't the first waitress to fall for her manager, but she and Dale both got fired from Shoney's.

Rejected Toby Keith album cover.

Just a typical afternoon down on the plantation. In a business suit. Y'know, for a budget meeting with the slaves.

Dawn and her recently exhumed sister, Gorgotha, pose with Scraps.

This photo isn't discolored. The 70s really were that Orange.

And don't miss the First Presbyterian Players as they perform 'Godspell' next Wednesday night in the Fellowship Hall. Childcare will be provided. Please bring a covered dish.

At the Southern Baptist Convention?

Olan Mills Backdrop #11: The Library, one of their most popular themes, as seen in this photo of the young Unabomber and his wife.

The Library might be more believable if the shelves weren't sloping downhill

Olan Mills is all about versatility. The simple addition of a column turns this generic plantation into Tara, where, apparently, someone opened a Hair Cuttery. (This Dorothy Hamill cut was very popular in 70s after Doro won Olympic gold. Both my sisters had the cut at different times. I did not -- although I did have a huge crush on Dorothy).

Patrick broke ranks and chose drag over the bow tie

You'd think Pearle Vision would throw in another two pairs for free.

Grapefruit smuggling isn't a crime, but posing it in profile should be.

Kenneth and his prom date

I got a 20 that says he drives a Camaro.

Hiroshima, 1945. The last known photo of Kelli and Senor Loco .

e this was Dad's idea.

Someone spent money on this.

It's so cute when couples have matching hairdos

Talk about a third wheel...

Nothing says 1973 quite like denim and helmet hair

I'd hide my face, too, little girl

B-52's, the early years.

She's looking for the speaker that's piping in 'Muskrat Love' so she can blast it with her laser eyes.

I can now die happy (please play Muskrat Love at my 3 day Wake).

Effing BOYS!

2008-01-08T18:28:00.000-08:00

There have been so many things to blog about these last few weeks, I've been overwhelmed. I'll try a systematic approach over the next few days.

The other day, as I headed into a french bakery to buy some sinful, overpriced spread, a man walking by (who was not going into the store) opened the door for me. I was so pleasantly shocked that I made eye contact with this doughy, Midwestern, 30-something and thanked him, expressing my surprise. After asking me to repeat what I'd said, he nodded his head vigorously, smiling a little maniacally as he followed me into the vestibule. "You don't meet many guys like me in New York!" I managed to shake him by making a beeline for the hazelnut spread. You mean crazies? I beg to differ. That's what I get for engaging.

Last week I ran into a man I have a mad crush on. He's a wildly successful actor who is on tour with something and was back in town for a few days to, ya know, sit in on rehearsals for the play he wrote that's currently in rehearsal. After giving me an update, he asked about me. I explained I wasn't really acting much, mostly doing a lot of massage. "Well," he responded, "it could be worse. At least you're not homeless!" What? So, since I'm not homeless...I'm not allowed to mention that I'm not acting? I am not a whiner about my lack of career activity (at least, not lately, and definitely not with people I barely know and am trying to hypnotize into asking me out); I actually wasn't even freaking out about it at the time, I was very matter of fact. Does my lack of career make you uncomfortable? Are you serious? Dammit!

Today I met Julie for lunch. We went to the Cosi by Union Square, hotbed of NYU students and random officeworkers. Snagging a table by a handsome grad student working on his laptop, I noticed an interested picture on the hardback book sitting, next to him...a papaya cut in half. Hmm. Later, after he went to get his drink, I noted the title - She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman. Oy. Wow, he was so cute a moment before. That book (conspicuously placed, cover up) was not touched once the entire hour I was there, and he was checking his email the whole time. This was one smooth operator...it was all a calculated setup to attract the babes. I am sorry, I'm really not comfortable using cunnilingus as an opener for chit-chat. It would be like saying, "Cute shirt! (giggle)" to a guy wearing a tee touting Free Mustache Rides.

The man of my dreams continues to elude me.

In other news: Sky Still Blue.

Bleh

2007-12-30T20:07:00.000-08:00

Ah, New Year's...

The actual event I find a huge relief; it signifies one more year survived, another chance at...whatever I'm pretending to pursue.

The festivities surrounding the event, however, are as abhorrent as Halloween to me but in a totally different way. At Halloween, people dress in trashy costumes, drink too much, and act crazy and stupid on the streets of Manhattan. On New Year's...wait a minute. Well, the major differences are that everyone congregates in. my. neighborhood. AND every single one of those people is part of a couple. I considered having people over but remembered that 1) I hate not being able to leave a party, and 2) I have no single friends. Not happening.

I just watched the movie Once, a modern day musical you must see. Very touching, well written and acted, good cinema, and great music. And by all that I mean, I sobbed all the way through, but that could have something to do with my PMS.

In the spirit of feeling like I had any right to write about yoga, I took a class today. And by 'take a class' I mean: 'I unwittingly waltzed into a yoga studio thinking I knew anything about the practice and/or my body, and calmly had my ass handed to me as I slid out the door on my (considerable) belly after 90 minutes of abuse.' My friend Rafi pointed out that what I had read as Flow 1/2 clearly stood for 1+2 to the 30th power. Noted. I literally laughed at one point, I was so lost. The teacher kicks ass but was leading using only sanskrit for stretches at a time. HA!

If I can move tomorrow, bring on the new year. If I can't, I'm gonna push it back a few weeks. Wish me luck.

come ON

2007-12-26T18:50:00.000-08:00

I think we all know I'm a card-carrying union member who has supported both, devastating strikes this year (Local One, the stagehand's union here on Broadway whose strike was resolved weeks ago, and the WGA, Writer's Guild of America represented from coast to coast and still picketing today). I am the first one to say The Man is trying to screw artists out of royalties and is making bazillions of dollars in internet and DVD viewings that the writers never see. These strikes have also caused tremendous losses of: revenue for anyone involved in the TV industry, morale in those same factions, and, most importantly this evening...a tremendous drop in watchable programs on television. Mercy!

I have 250 channels and am literally drinking one glass of wine after the other hoping that something will appeal. I was just forced to watch John Tucker Must Die, a teen flick about a basketball player that dates many girls at once. Not only does this movie have girl on girl action, there's red lingerie, a ton of cleavage, and Jenny McCarthy playing a mom (and not a silly one, an earnest, single one).

The real issue, however, was when they busted out these two gems of emo rock, "Dirty Little Secret" and "I'm Not a Perfect Person" - both of which could be subtitled "I've Got A Y-Chromosome, Deal With It". Both bands have hired directors for their videos that, perhaps to someone with an IQ of 65, camouflage the real meaning of the song to appear somewhat deep or mysterious. Make no mistake, the actual thrust of the songs are, quite clearly, "I'm an asshole but I'm not responsible for my actions because...just cause." Ah, boys.

There are not one but two tv's in the cafeteria at the hotel I'm working in. One is the size of Texas, the other slightly smaller. When I'm not being subjected to horrible news or Jerry Springer, I'm forced to bury my face in my rice and beans while something like American Wedding takes the stage. There's nothing like a pubic hair joke flying around (pun intended) while you are in a room of co-workers! No issues there. I'm writing a letter ASAP. WTF.

On that note, I'm going to pass out. If there is a God, the strike will end soon and my people will not only be back on the small screen, they'll have their cotton pickin' mitts off of our theatre gigs. Yeesh.

Woof!

2007-12-24T15:24:00.000-08:00

Well, now I apparently get enough of blogging.

So, crisis averted, I had a friend who lives close by pick up the keys to the studio for me. I, of course, haven't had a second to actually take class recently but I am, as we speak, facilitating the mental and physical health of some hard core yogis desperate to practice on Christmas Eve.

In truly top form, the Universe heard my whingeing this morning and has sent me a sign that there is Truth and Beauty in the world. One of the participants of class tonight has introduced me to an amazing website. I'm not sure how I lived without it before now.

My Third Eye Itches is a site dedicated to the true practice of yoga...making sure you never become such an obnoxious practicioner that your pretention creates a kill zone with a radius of 10 feet (if only there were a similar site for the Jovan Musk wearers of the world).

From Yoga Dawg's Yogatude:
"As you walk into the practice area, do not acknowledge or say anything to any student if one happens to be there. Additionally, don’t talk or look around while setting your mat up. Keep a centered look as if you possess great Yogic knowledge. With your “Yogatude” and a top of the line Yoga mat from the GreatTranscendentalYoga Superstore, you might even have some of the students fooled into thinking that you indeed, possess great Yogic knowledge. "

Not since hearing Bryan Kest say, "notice how your matching yoga outfit doesn't help you with this pose" and "as you slowly lower down into chaturangha, engage your pectorals...those are the muscles underneath the implants" has the gong of truth rung so clearly in my head.

Please, please, please take the Yoga Quiz. Any multiple choice quiz that has "F'in-A!!" as an option on almost every question is close to my heart.

And, had I not been gifted this URL, I never would have seen the ad or clicked on the link to Yahweh Yoga! Now, listen, y'all know I'm a Christian...a super liberal one...and if you think I'm not buying one of these DVDs yer crazy. It may be just to see how on EARTH they do yoga with that amount of hair, mascara, and nail polish (scroll down for pix)...but check out the guns, yo, sign me UP. I told you JC was a great skiier, did you think it stopped there? Come. On.

Thanks to The Dawg himself, who fought his way through the drifts of snow and hordes of shoppers (okay, it's 40 degrees out and a ghost town here in Hell's Kitchen but...ya know), to take class.

Oy

2007-12-24T06:42:00.000-08:00

Have you ever made a conscious, well thought out decision and then spent the entirety of the execution of said decision resenting the hell out of everything and everyone involved in it, not least of all yourself? (not unlike how you started to read that last sentence thinking it might be a cogent thought and lost 2 minutes of your life deciphering what it was actually saying...)

I am not travelling this Christmas. I have a fairly hard and fast rule that I don't travel more than 30-45 minutes away on Thanksgiving, the most hellish travel holiday on earth, but this is newish. There have been gigs that have prevented it, etc., but this was a choice.

I love my family madly, and I prefer a slightly less stressful, emotionally packed setting for my bonding. I just can't take all of us in the same house for 4 days straight. I become a raging bitch. I'm single, I have a lot of alone time and am used to making the majority of my decisions based on what is best for moi. I miss seeing the kiddos, and I know everyone has time off...but I can't do it. I think it might be a lot different if I had a boyfriend with me who could help diffuse my bs...getting laid is like Valium...from what I remember. I have a friend whose hairdresser gave her some Clonopin to take home with her...'nuff said.

So, I'm working at the spa and picking up shifts at the yoga studio. I have SIX massages back to back tomorrow starting at 8 am. I'm sorry? I'm 100% irritated at the universe for answering my prayer for financial abundance, how dare You?! I'm also working with people I never work with and who drive me crazy. I'm currently tapped in the office with the manager who talks non-stop about how hard his life is. Seriously, just a low-volume monologue, always. Awesome.

I also realized last night at about midnight that I hadn't picked up my keys for the yoga studio and was screwed. I got about 2 hours of sleep in between trying to chill and freaking out before I had to get up to be at work at 8.

Sorry this isn't one of my more light and airy posts. I'll get over myself soon. Sending you lots of love and joy (and patience, and vodka) this time with your loved ones.

Yo

2007-12-18T20:58:00.000-08:00

I got a friendly nudge today to return to the cyber world (thanks J!). After about 10 full days of being disgustingly sick, I'm just now returning to the land of the living.

Today I helped a friend paint her apartment. We had such a good time! What is it about helping someone else around their house that's so liberating? I am never happier than when I can help someone else get stuff like this done (put in dimmer switches, do the dishes) but cannot even force myself to sweep my floor. It's a little ridiculous.

I'm super tired but just wanted to check in - I'm alive!

Ladeez and Gentlemen...

2007-12-05T19:51:00.000-08:00

(and I use those terms loosely)

Having a hard time motivating yourself to clean? Or just anxious to support the objectification of some fine, fine beefcake?

Git yerself to the model home of Xtra-Pine to visit Brian, Jason and the Original Cleaning Hunk.

Don't say I didn't get you anything for Christmas, yo.

Perspective 101

2007-12-04T16:56:00.000-08:00

If you are feeling at all cynical about life, go to my friend Erik's blog and watch this video of his daughter on a carousel.

It will remind you how we can choose to approach life.

Bodily function update

2007-12-04T04:05:00.000-08:00

Just what you've been waiting for!

I get sick maybe once a year. Happy Anniversary, sinuses!

This has been a banner week on the physical front. This may be a bit of TMI, but I get terrible cramps about 7 times a year. I have medication for them but if I don't catch it right in time, it's ugly for a bit. Friday, I missed my window and endured 2 of the worst hours I've experienced in a long time.

I like to consider myself a strong person. Redheads are even supposed to have a higher pain threshold than the average joe. Not me. I have the utmost respect for anyone who has ever given birth. A few hours of crying, writhing in pain, throwing up and praying to The Big Guy to make it all better (or just let it end) is humbling...and there's no payoff. Is this my body's way of punishing me for not having had kids?

This insanity must have lowered my immune system. I got home from rehearsal on Saturday night, walked in the door and had instant sore throat. By the end of Sunday, toast. I was in bed all day yesterday until I had to go to work and massage four people in a row. Good times.

I'm doing this holiday concert thing and there's just no way I'm going to sing tonight. I sound like a baritone and I'm just in the chorus (of 75)...I'm not gonna be missed.

The only thing saving me is that I have no sense of taste because my sinuses are so blocked. I don't know how I would tolerate the cabbage-garlic-parsley-carrot-celery juice I've been drinking otherwise.

If you don't, btw, have a neti pot and suffer from allergies or sinus issues, get on it. It's an amazing way to irrigate your sinuses. If you don't take advantage of this, you're just creating more pain in the world, not only for you, but the people who have to hear you complain. Here is a pretty good instructional video (and by 'good' I mean very clear but totally creepy and a little bit hysterical).

Uncle Jimmy

2007-11-30T19:03:00.000-08:00

Those of you reading this who know me are quite aware of my allergic reaction to the news and political debate. My empathetic gifts make it very hard for me to watch or read the news without taking to bed (or drink) for days in depression and sadness. The limited capacity I have for wading through jargon to get to a political candidate’s actual platform causes me to rely on a few select, patient friends to help me make a voting decision.

One thing I do know, however, is that I love Jimmy Carter. Until today he was simply President Jimmy Carter, who:

was the 39^th President in the years preceding my descent into the hell of middle school (’77-’81).
being a peanut farmer from Georgia, put the state we had moved from on the map for my Montana classmates.
was a champion for ecological issues, racial equality, and civil rights in addition to being a strong Baptist who witnessed to several world leaders while in office (oh, those traits aren’t mutually exclusive, hmmm?).
started The Carter Center in 1982.
joined forces with Habitat For Humanity in 1986.
Removed himself from the Southern Baptist Convention in 2002 when they changed their doctrine to something he thought was too rigid and disturbing. Can I get an ‘Amen’?
along with his wife, Rosalynn, continues to raise gazillions of dollars a year for civil rights all over the world.

Today he became Uncle Jimmy. My parents (two of the most intelligent, compassionate, generous people I know) give as much money and time to charities as possible. For the past umpteen years, I want to say 15, they have been donating an annual sum to The Carter Center. Today, my mother got a phone call.

“Is this Maybelle Stone?” [*not real name, ahem]

“Yes it is.”

“Please hold for Jimmy Carter.”

Um…

“Maybelle? This is Jimmy Carter.”

(Without skipping a beat) “Why, President Carter, how nice to hear from you.”

“Maybelle, I just wanted to call and thank you and Homer* for your continuous contribution to The Carter Center. It’s made such a difference.”

“Well President Carter, you’re so welcome. We truly believe you are doing wonderful work and are so happy we can help in some way. Now we just have to get someone like you back in the White House!”

“We’re working on that…”

3-4 minutes of polite chat ensued, which culminated in him asking her to tell Dad he called and to have a wonderful Christmas. The personally autographed copy of Beyond The Whitehouse that had been in the mail the day before now made a lot more sense.

First of all, please understand that my mother is also from Georgia. So, if you had overheard this conversation, it would have sounded like two old friends catching up or someone from the church calling to thank for the donation of clothes for the bazaar that weekend.

Second, o.m.g. !!!!!!! My mother is the only person I know (besides my father) who would be able to have this conversation and say exactly what she wished to in a completely intelligent, gracious fashion without peeing herself.

What a brilliant thing. This is an amazing example of the combination of global and personal thinking this man has. No wonder he’s so successful getting things done. He was totally genuine, took time out of his day to personally connect with a consistent giver, and made her day. They sure ain’t gonna stop giving to that foundation any time soon.

I am, personally, thrilled that he got Mom on the phone. My parents receive a lot of recognition from their various communities (and should). By default, however, since my dad is a professor and consultant and still full time in his field and Mom has retired from her education career, Dad is sort of the figurehead by default. They are totally a team but it’s just the way it works out. I’m really glad that she had that experience.

I’m so proud of them both. I’m trying hard to live up to their example.

OMG

2007-11-28T20:48:00.000-08:00

The two brain cells I have left after this last weekend neglected to remind me of my blogging duties, sorry!

My family has finally decided to do away with gift giving for the adults. We will be buying for the kids, hello, but not for each other. We've done a gift exchange for years and we all have exquisite taste (thanks mom and dad) but ENOUGH already! I've already received a great, unexpected gift from one sister, though, who donated to her local food bank. If you haven't done that, please, even $10 makes a difference.

We all know that I've been doing my best over the last 3 years to eliminate all the stuff from my life. This has had some interesting side effects, like: ending up with fabulous super dressy, super trampy, and super random clothes, none of which combine to make an actual outfit but each of which is fabulous in it's own right; losing a ton of inches; and making me realize I still have clothes from the '80s. I will now wax on some actual purchases of clothing which were vital and life changing.

First of all, Sarah Jessica Parker has come out with a clothing line, Bitten, in which every piece of clothing is priced under $20. I'm sorry? It's beautifully designed and made in high quality fabrics. It's carried exclusive at Steve and Barry's (at the Manhattan Mall here in NYC and The Beverly Connection in LA). When I went, I couldn't try on a lot of stuff because there were too many large sizes. She has designed from two to TWENTY TWO. I love her! Yeah! I was wearing a medium in most things and a 10 in others.

Second, I finally had to buy some new jeans because mine were falling off (!!!). I ended up getting 2 pair of Long and Leans at The Gap, at all places. I have not bought jeans there since 1992. Rock on. I also bought a 3-pack of socks which have changed my life. They are actually long enough and have enough elastic to wear with boots without droopy-sock-syndrome. They also come in sassy colors/patterns and are totally affordable at $15/3 pair.

I'm sure they were knitted by blind children in Guatemala but I'm really happy with them. Now that I'm spending a lot less time holding up my pants with one hand (since all my belts are from when we wore pants to our boobs...which were also considerably higher at the time), I can use that time to making money to donate to said children.

Ouch

2007-11-25T18:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Lord. I have a friend in town who turned 22 yesterday. I woke up with a humongous hangover. Who do I think I am? A 22-year-old? Having a binge personality is a bitch.

After years of slowly culling the energy vampiras from my life (a serious feat when you're working with people in the performing arts, a field which attracts more than its share of megalomaniacs and depressives and you have self-worth issues of your own), I have a tremendous number of fabulous women friends. I have managed to surround myself with smart, successful, grounded, self-possessed, nurturing, fun, kick-ass women. Thank you, Jesus.

One of my goals in returning to NYC has been to get this league of Superfriends to know each other. In the past, I was covetous of these women, these agents of sanity in my otherwise crazy circle of acquaintances. Now, I am compelled to share the wealth; it's the only way I know to repay these saviors of mine. That and feed them when they'll let me, babysit when they need it, and remind them why they don't wanna be single.

I'm a lucky woman.

BBsee

2007-11-23T20:11:00.000-08:00

What is it about British sitcom? Seriously, they are so much smarter and funnier than we are. There's also something beautiful about the horrible, cheap sets being the stage for such brilliant work. The charming lack of production values means the acting is effing great.

My favorite thing is seeing amazingly versatile actors like Ben Miles, who played the heartbreakingly dysfunctional Montague in The Forsyte Saga, bust out some amazing comic timing. (btw, this was also where I first met my boyfriend, Damian Lewis, who I blogged about previously).

If you haven't seen The Vicar of Dibley or Coupling, Netflix them pronto. If you haven't seen Extras or The Office (the British version, which I think is much better than the US version), get on that, as well.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-22T17:11:00.000-08:00

After you enjoy your turkey and give thanks for all the abundance in your life, please take a moment to donate some cashola to your local food bank. The New York City Food Bank, usually at $7 million at this time of year, is at $2 million. I'm sure we're not alone.

Here are some links:

New York City Food Bank
San Francisco Food Bank
Los Angeles Food Bank
Boston Food Bank
Arkansas Food Bank
Nebraska Food Bank

Yay!

2007-11-20T12:05:00.000-08:00

My friend Julie and I talk continuously about how hard it is to run an errand in New York City (or any of the Burroughs). You can leave the house at 9 am (ok, 10:30, let's be honest here) in need of 60-watt bulbs and Glide dental floss and come back 4 hours later, having gone to 5 drugstores and 4 hardware stores with absolutely nothing but a low blood sugar headache to show for it.

I went to Home Depot in Chelsea to get my (2nd) tree yesterday. It took 10 minutes for the inventory guy to discern they had none left and another 10 for him to find out I couldn't by the floor model. This is Chelsea, yo, they're not messing with the display. Riots would ensue.

They called the other Manhattan location and they didn't have them in stock either. I called the Queens store and they had, lo and behold, 16 in stock. Dreamy. Easy, right? I would just pick one of the plethora up and coast into the season.

Nowhere to be found. The helpful gentleman who wandered around the store with me looking for the particular, 4.5' tree I wanted was matter of fact about it. "What the computer says and what's what is not always the same story." He asked if I would take the display and I said yes! Of course, no box. He emptied out a big box of sparkly ornaments in tubes and we stuffed the dang thing in there.

Mission accomplished.

Ew

2007-11-19T11:34:00.000-08:00

If you have gmail, you know that there's a sponsored link listed above your inbox. What's a little creepy is that it's based on the content of your emails. So, if you're emailing a lot about, say, Twinkies, chances are the link will be something about desserts, snack cakes, or colon cancer (not really, that would be if I were the person choosing the links). Aside from the terrifying, Big Brother aspect of the whole thing, there's a whole other kind of upsetting going on here.

Today, I got this listing:

"Picture Of A Hangnail - RevolutionHealth.com - What Does A Hangnail Look Like? See An Illustration Here & Learn More."

Um...

How did The Great Google discern my fascination with cuticle issues? I honestly have no earthly idea why this would be zeroed in on for me. I don't even have any nails. It's not like I'm emailing my girlfriends for polish recommendations. I haven't done any google searches on anything related to this.

You know I clicked on that damn link. I was a little concerned about being besieged by a huge, nasty photo of a hangnail. It wasn't. In fact, there's not even a picture. It's basically an introduction to "nail problems and injuries" for...say...aliens visiting earth who don't have digits, much less nails.

La, la, laaaaaa

2007-11-18T07:39:00.000-08:00

I sing regularly with the NYU Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program (GMTWP). It was one of the things I missed the most being in LA. This is a 2 year program with about 30 people per class who study with Bill Finn (Falsettos, A New Brain), Mel Marvin (Elmer Gantry, How the Grinch Stole Christmas), Fred Carl, and my friend, Rob Hartmann, among others. For their first year and thesis projects, the school hires professionals, often people who are on Broadway regularly, to come in and perform their pieces as a reading. It allows the students to get used to writing for the real deal and see if their work is actually functional. Many amazing people and projects come out of this program. The most recent is The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, on which grad Rachel Sheinkin and Bill Finn collaborated.

Rob and I met, um, mumble years ago doing summer stock in Montana at Bigfork Summer Playhouse. This is a fabulous, non-union company which hires really strong triple threats and does 4 shows in rep. Not everyone was the best dancer (hello!) or actor, but everyone had a fantastic voice. I think about 80% of us were vocal majors at our respective schools, the rest were theatre majors. I was a totally different person then (super self-involved and a bit of a diva...I am SO different now!) but I do have 2 or 3 lasting friendships from the two summers I was there.

Rob went to the NYU program and is now adjunct faculty in addition to consistently working on his own fabulous works. Last week, I helped do a recording of a song from a new musical he's working on, Stand Clear, set on a subway car. It's an ensemble piece with tight harmonies (and I'm singing the middle part) but it's a good idea of the stuff I work on regularly. Check it out, Commuter's Prayer, Steph Lynge is also on this, she is a fellow Bigfork alum. The rest of the songs are great too (check out the previous link).

Ah, high school

2007-11-17T20:05:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine is an acting teacher at a local high school and I went to see his show last night. The show is a difficult farce and he did a brilliant job directing the students, who were very talented.

Every student in the school is required to see the show. Imagine an auditorium of 7-12 grade kids waiting to see their classmates perform while seeing each other out of the confined context of school. Or, you know, think back to every pep rally or basketball game you ever went to. This is a performing arts high school, so these are the equivalents of star athletes. (Man, I went to the wrong school!)

I (mistakenly) assumed that, given the performing arts aspect of the school, the students would be well behaved in an audience. Holy cow. The four girls behind me in the third row talked throughout.

"That was a good one." One of them said every once in a while. In the second act, one of her friends said, "Can you please stop saying that?" I wasn't the only one irritated by her illuminating commentary. "He's not good." the same girl shared with those of us within earshot when a young man came on stage for his first entrance. Yeesh.

I was in the odd position of not being a student, parent, or teacher and totally out of place age-wise. At intermission, getting up to stretch my legs and squelch the urge to strangle the in-house critics behind me, I ran into my friend.

Shannon is one of my dearest friends, a fantastic actor, teacher, and person. And hot. He's really hot. As we talked about the show, a young woman approached, maybe 22. She introduced her boyfriend to us and proceeded to do all but throw herself bodily at Shannon. She completely ignored me and her man, doing an amazing dance of hair shaking, midriff baring, and lip pursing while soliciting kudos for her help on the building of the set and coyly accusing Shannon of not appreciating her enough. Woah.

Holy shit. Was I ever like this? Did I actually think I was being subtle in any way? It made me feel really old. And exhausted. At the end of the play I met one of his current squeezes who was a lovely person from what I could tell and beautiful. I imagine she was told by him that I was a close friend because she went into be-best-friends-with-the-best-girl-friend mode a bit. That's exhausting, too. Dude, I've got no pull here, it's all you.

I left feeling old, single, and unemployed. Good times.

Capitalists R Us

2007-11-16T19:21:00.000-08:00

The tree I got at the Manhattan Mall on a whim turned out to be not quite what I wanted. Although the built in lights had eight settings (from seasick to epileptic frenzy), they only stayed on in this weird bluish pink. There was no option to have them just green or blue or red. It was a dream to set up and equally easy to take down, but a no go.

When I first bought this thang, it took the woman 10 minutes to check me out. This is a holiday storefront at the only mall on the island, she'd been working there for 2 weeks and not made a sale. Who buys a Christmas tree on Halloween, I ask you? She was a sweet, sweet girl, and couldn't key the right dollar amount into the machine. When I returned it, she couldn't figure out how to refund me.

Now, I've waited tables, so I know a credit card machine like the back of my hand but I was very patient both times. She'll never learn unless she figures it out on her own. She charged me again by mistake and she and her manager were convinced it was a refund, but the glaring lack of the minus sign before the amount kept me convinced...I was right.

Since I'm looking for a tree with just white lights, I got on Home Depot's website; there are two in Manhattan and another close by in Queens. They have plenty to choose from, but one of the first few choices is this:
That's right, folks, the whimsical upside down Christmas tree that you've been looking for. Um, quoi? Or, more accurately, pourquoi? I'm glad there aren't children starving in, oh, our own towns, or people without houses, this makes everything all right! Which forces me to look at my own consumerist issues in relationship to looking for a tree in general. Gah.

I will buy a tree and, in addition to the normal amount I give to charity monthly, I'm going to write an effing check to the NY Food Bank in the exact amount the tree ends up being.

A girl's gotta sleep at night...in the sweet light of her prelit, fake Christmas tree.

2007-11-15T19:57:00.000-08:00

I am posting. Here I am posting. I'm exhausted and about 1 minute away from my new, self-imposed curfew of 11pm. I spent the evening screeching out high A's with a bunch of other sopranos. Yeesh.

Big week coming up, a friend visiting (I think, no shows are running, so I'm not sure what she's going to do), Thanksgiving, picking up a million shifts at work. Sigh.

Boring...but I posted.

Wheeeeeeee!

2007-11-14T20:40:00.000-08:00

It’s Christmas time! I am so in love with Christmas. I grew up in the mountains, with feet and feet of snow (when global warming was just a gleam in the Industrial Revolution’s eye), with a big family who tromped into the forest (clad in our down coats made by my mother. Actually, these weren't those coats but I'll get a hold of that photo at some point) [oops, one of my sisters just told me she and her counterpart are wearing The Coats. So the bookends are the real deal.] and selected a tree for my dad to chop down. Seriously, how cute were we?

We spent many hours cross country and downhill skiing, sledding, building snow forts and snowmen, and getting serious cabin fever and driving our parents crazy.

I remember staring for hours outside the big picture window in our living room into a winter wonderland. Street lamps shined triangles of soft light amid a steady flow of big fat snowflakes floating down to join already fluffy mounds of untouched, glittering powder. On a clear night, the night sky gradually darkened from a royal blue to total blackness.

One thing I miss greatly and long for in the city is true darkness - the deep blackness that comes from being far from the steady, ambient yellowish-grey of city lights. There’s also nothing like the silence of a snowy landscape. It can feel strangely comforting in its pillowy, insulating hush. Even as your insignificant mortality is reinforced by the vast beauty, that same magnificence can’t help but reassure you that there is a grander plan and force at work. To clarify, I refer to the one NOT fueling your search for the perfect pair of snowpants to showcase your hard earned, size 8 ass. I’ve never felt less alone than cross country skiing by myself for hours without another soul in sight; just me and the big JC. He’s a great skier, btw.

So, for the first time, I’m allowing myself to enjoy the season. I bought a 4-foot tall fake tree for my apartment (which I’m exchanging tomorrow because the built in lights are the wrong color). My friend Julie came over and gave me some lovely holiday cheer in the form of ornaments that are currently gracing my entryway and living room. I’m all over it.

My next post may address how the holidays seem to be synonymous with getting engaged or celebrating anniversaries. Thanks Zales. Thank God for Tivo.

2007-11-13T19:10:00.000-08:00

Since I am still deep in a grumbly, contrary snit of the grandest proportions, I am going to point you to some other places to have a good laugh.

I thought this might be a long lost classmate from the aforementioned 8th grade graduation but, alas, it is a red carpet (well, more like mottled, pebble walkway) mention in Go Fug Yourself. If you don't read this blog regularly, you're way too deep for me, our friendship is over.

And, in other news:

Overfunded Public School Forced To Add Jazz Band

Midtown Manhattan is a freakin' ghost town right now, due to the stagehand strike that's going on. It's really wild. Um, that's not a big knee slapper, just an actual fact.

And, from the inimitable Charles Phoenix, "Nun With Cotton Candy".

high colonic for the psyche, anyone?

2007-11-12T19:24:00.000-08:00

I woke up seriously grumpy today. It could be the barometric pressure, the fact that I had to work tonight, that I haven’t had a green vegetable in 5 days, or that I’ve been eating too much wheat. My instinct is, however, that the overwhelming factor is that I’ve been meditating regularly for 5 weeks now.

I haven’t had a regular meditation practice for a full 4 years, at least. Many years ago, I woke up and realized I was a serious mess (as was manifesting in an astonishing plethora of ways) and I needed to change my life. I also realized there was no way on earth I could do it alone. I was too proud to pursue a class or guru but had deigned to buy several books on eastern religions and metaphysics. I decided to start meditating.

At that time, the thought of sitting still for more than the length of a subway ride was inconceivable. A hard core runner and gym rat at the time, doing the elliptical was too low key for me. I had a hard time being motionless long enough to fall asleep, even after a full day in New York City, the idea of having a silent mind was ludicrous.

Acknowledging that couldn’t do it alone I decided to try cds. Centerpointe makes amazing meditation tools that helped me get started. The extensive material included with them made it clear that I would experience major shifting mentally and emotionally. To reach positive results, negative patterns would first need to be released. Holy irritability. Talk about mental detox. It’s a good thing I was working a lot, and didn’t have many close friends…okay, any friends (see paragraph 2). I was a mess.

It was instrumental in changing my life. I changed a lot of behaviors, including no longer spending time with people who were a drain on my emotional resources and general sanity. After recently extricating myself from a friendship that went south quite some time ago, I decided to get back to the basics. Emotional detox, here we come. Susan Piver puts it well in her book, how not to be afraid of your own life. When she decided to make a commitment to meditating, her teacher asked, “Are you ready for your life to change completely?” (Note the lack of the words, “into the fairy tale existence you’ve always dreamed of and with little to now effort on your part!”)

So, caution, woman working. If I don’t pick up or return your call, you’ll not only understand why, you’ll thank me.

ok

2007-11-11T18:16:00.000-08:00

I'm totally letting myself off the hook. I'm doing a ton of writing right now, I'm getting insanely busy. I'm really happy with everything that's going on and thrilled that I'm blogging as much as I am...so get off my back already! Stop trying to make me feel like an asshole!

Right, then. I was at a book release party last night for kissing snowflakes. Have you read it yet? Hello?! Your tween is not getting any younger. Git on it. I am so lucky to be surrounded by such talented writers. I am part of this great writing group with these fabulous woman and they are kicking my ass.

I picked up a shift Saturday night and will be at the spa 3 nights in a row tomorrow night. It's amazing how fast my zen approach to work changes when I start to feel like it's a full time job. I start to dread my next shift, worried that my priorities aren't in line, that I shouldn't be spending so much time away from acting or singing. Breathe. When I'm in the room with a client, I'm in healer mode, present and available. It's the getting there.

I'm performing in a holiday concert with 100 other singers. It's an oratorio with all kinds of styles and stories. It should be an absolute gas, I'll report back when I see the music!

winter!

2007-11-09T15:18:00.000-08:00

We have gone from Indian Summer straight into winter. It's rainy and cold today. I must say, it's amazing how nice it is to be wearing a sweater. I missed the seasons in LA but forgot what it really felt like to be chilly.

I haven't worked out in two days. I've set up my schedule in a stupid way and had to decide between sleep and the gym. I am, subsequently, a cranky, bloated beatch. Of course, it's amazing how easy it is to forget that working out makes you less tired.

I don't have anything else to write about today so I'm going to link you to this amazing blog: Crazy, Sexy Cancer. This woman has got it going on.

1st Horseman

2007-11-08T20:23:00.000-08:00

I spent an excruciating 2 hours this evening at the Wamu Theatre at Madison Square Garden watching Cirque du Soleil’s newest theatre lead balloon, Wintuk. Run, don’t walk as far as you can from the redheaded step child of a parent whose other progeny literally redefined ‘theatrical experience’. If you have ever seen any of the OTHER Cirque shows (or clips on Bravo or the net), you can see the way they have combined acting, dance, clowning, and song to make surreal, dreamlike, phenomenal worlds that sweep the audience away. I have literally been moved to tears in all but one of the shows I’ve seen in the past (Dralion was nothing but a big Chinese parade of very talented acrobats but absolutely nothing theatrical to offer) by the sheer artistry.

Having been warned by a friend that it was beyond sub-par for Cirque I felt I was sufficiently prepared. No. This was bad for, say, a Barney On Ice Holiday Special. There’s effing dialogue to begin. This is an immediate sign that there might be some confusion about what’s going on that needs to be clarified by speech. There has never been a word spoken in any Cirque show. That’s the point. The stories are told through everything but speech, and beautifully. No only this, the entire first act has kids on roller skates and bikes, singing street lamps (you didn’t read that wrong, and they’re freaky, with eyelashes, and they’re singing terrible, atonal songs), and huge dog puppets. The second act has some aspects that hinted at the beauty I have come to expect.

I seriously can’t even get more into it. I have to post in the next 60 seconds to make my own deadline. Suffice it to say, it’s a crime this is happening.

Push on

2007-11-07T16:45:00.000-08:00

The number one hardest thing about The Industry, Show Biz, The Boards...the field I have been wrenched into in spite of my best efforts to be content pursuing many, any other career(s)...after getting the training and experience required to be eligible in the vocation, is the mental game. This is a business where you are your product and not getting cast feels like personal rejection. There is also no way of knowing why you haven't booked a gig. It's entirely possible your audition was brilliant but you're too tall, short, young, old, or not a big enough name for the production.

The key is to keep from sabotaging yourself before you even get in the room by deciding you're not talented enough or right for the role. Of course, if you've really blown it by not preparing enough or deciding you don't have what it takes, you know it - that's a whole different type of hell. The most frustrating thing is when you've nailed it and you don't book it. And when you don't know the casting director and you don't have an agent to call for you and find out why you weren't hired, it can be crazy making.

After a series of near misses or bad experiences, it's pretty hard to keep stepping up. It's like going on a series of excruciating 1st dates (I imagine). How do you keep the faith that there's someone out there for you? Why would you continue to put yourself into such a thankless situation with no evident payoff?

Because you have to. Because you have to go on first dates to get to second dates. Because you have to open yourself up to hurt and disappointment to fall in love. Because although you are miserable not getting hired, the idea of not working again makes you suicidal, and you're even more of a shell if you're not pursuing it.

My dear friend, Solange, was on hold for a huge theatrical gig (dream role in a prominent regional house) and just found out she didn't book it. Now, it's normal to be put on hold for TV gigs because they book on a super fast time-line and they need to make sure you don't accept something while waiting for them to make a decision...but not for theatre. When you audition for plays, it's usually weeks or months before the rehearsal process starts unless it's for an immediate replacement or understudy position on Broadway. In a way, it's huge compliment for her to have been requested to keep those dates open until they finalized casting. If you don't book something, you are not notified; you only get a call if you're being offered a role. It's also, however, like waving a syringe of insulin in front of a seizing diabetic and then yanking it away.

She now needs to process the disappointment, enjoy the other parts of her very successful, full life (boyfriend, audio book recording gig, brilliant network of friends, yoga practice) and continue to throw herself out there. As she will after many future auditions. Onward and upward.

ugh

2007-11-06T09:46:00.000-08:00

Seriously? The effing Bachelor?! Really? This man makes out with numerous women on camera and soulfully and talks about how “special” each one is between shots of him mackin’ on these chicks. He also tells each of them how amazing they are and tenderly kisses each one while holding their face in his manly hands. How is this even happening? Granted, each of the girls (that’s a choice) is waxing on how much they’re falling in love with them, blah, blah. Ew! THEN he sleeps with each one of them and each of them knows he has. GROSS.

How can I not be thinking, well, we know who gave the worst bj, after he keeps 2 of the 3 after sleeping with them all? Gahblegh!

Sound byte from the last night’s episode: “I don’t know that you should have to work that hard to find true love.” Really, Brad? Really? Is it supposed to be easy? What on earth must I be doing wrong?

Bret Michaels, the blue eyeliner wearing, hot, lead singer of Poison (the ‘80s band) did a reality show where he was looking for a woman. When it was down to 2 women, Skanky McSkankerson said to cute, hip tat chick “just remember where his mouth was all last night.” Ha! No conceits there, beATCH! Um, guess which is which…

Of course, the fact that I’m getting teary about being single while watching this stuff and drinking a glass of chardonnay is nothing to be alarmed about. Single, white cliché? Your table’s ready.

My bionic eye

2007-11-05T18:58:00.000-08:00

I've reached a very interesting place with my writing where I compose things in my head all the time. I see something happen on the street and I write the sentences mentally, I can see them. I've always been very visual, when I memorize music and lines I see them as I perform them. If I go up (forget where I am) I can see exactly where I've lost my place. It's pretty wild, though to see the words appear like a ticker in my line of sight. You know how Jaime Sommers has the stats scroll in her bionic eye? Or the Terminator? Same thing. I'll start to worry when the voices tell me to do bad things to people.

Rrrrright

2007-11-04T13:02:00.000-08:00

It's amazing how self-fulfilling prophesies play out. I have, in the past, had an, um, issue with follow through. I think it all stems from the idea I wrote about in my first post, how if you don't do something right immediately, it's clearly not the thing to be doing. Crippling, that. So after making a promise to blog daily, I didn't write yesterday.

So I have a choice, here. I can succumb to my bad habits, beat myself up for continuing to disappoint myself or acknowledge I'm human and life is about showing up. I talk with one of my sisters regularly about how irritating it is that we have to continue showing up. I went to the gym yesterday, why do I have to go again? I already made the decision to eat well at lunch, why do I have to do that again at dinner. Sigh.

I'm not sure why my expectation of life arriving in the form of an engraved invitation on a silver platter carried by my trusty butler, Yardley, is not only not being fulfilled but deemed unreasonable. I was clearly born to learn romance languages and flower arranging while having a brilliant yet frivolous round of starring roles on the stage simply because my public is demanding it and I can't bear to break their hearts. Can't you see I'm a princess, Universe? Hello.

On another note, after watching marathon coverage and blazing through my Tivo'd treasures, I have a good, old-fashioned Sunday movie on as I write this entry. TCM is airing the much requested The Bedroom Window. You know, the 1987 classic thriller with Steve Guttenberg and Elizabeth McGovern? Nothing says suspense and tension like Mr. and Ms. 1980's Romantic Comedy. Wow. I'm shocked I've never. heard. of. it. There's a particularly fantastic scene in a bar (where E. McGovern is a cocktail waitress) that is positively resplendent with '80's decor. Neon and perms abound in addition to some amazingly bad dancing by the extras in the background. And there's simply nothing like watching Steve "Tough Guy" G. getting forceful with the housekeeper in his nubby, black & white, shoulder padded suit coat (bending at the waist and taking a hold of her shoulders). Be still my heart.

My rock star friend has completed the marathon and I'm waiting for his girlfriend to pour him onto my massage table. The coverage was incredibly moving, such stories! One older gentlemen who had a heart transplant years ago ran with the donors brother today. On the Verrazzano Bridge, he stopped, put the brother's hand on his heart and said, "That's your brother running this marathon." (or something of the like, that's not a direct quote) I can't believe that I ever complain about anything or have a hard time getting to the gym. Seriously.

It's also unbelievable how the marathon brings the city together. It's a mob scene by my apartment (I live about 1/4 mile from the park and 1/2 a mile from the finish line). So inspiring.

Angels R Us

2007-11-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

My mother is a saint. She taught me how to sew…’nuff said. If you do not sew, you can not fathom the patience, focus, and combination of geometry, second sight, and straight up luck it requires. It is truly an art from an era where people had endless hours of time void of distractions like television, cell phones, and email as well as a lack of unlimited, affordable, store-bought clothing made overseas.

There is not one step of sewing anything that can be done on auto-pilot. The moment you get cocky and think you know what you’re doing, you’ve forgotten to add some crucial seam allowance to your measurements and you’ve turned an elegant frock into the Queen Mother’s sensible day dress. (A costume designer I once worked with told me how he not once, not twice, but three times sewed a leather sleeve onto a jerkin upside down so when he put it on the form, it was sticking straight up!) A delicate science.

My mother is a woman who, after spending several hours (probably about 10 or so, total) on the pattern I’d selected for my 8^th grade graduation dress (a tea-length dress with a full skirt and strapless with fan-like, wide pleating in the bodice in a peach cotton) almost throttled me when I said I’d rather have store-bought. I’m not sure what possessed me, I think I was just wanting to fit in more. What a fucking princess! I would have been so much more proud to wear her handiwork. Instead, I felt like someone I was trying to be (that was new, not) instead of myself. I’m sure there’s a picture somewhere (unless I’ve burned it). I wore a strapless dress from Maurice’s, jealous much?!, with a short-sleeve shirt over it…I’d decided the strapless was a bit too risqué. Honestly.

Mom had put in several hours on The Dress in between teaching, raising 4 kids (my oldest sister was in college at that point), driving 2 of us to every sporting and musical event we were involved in, and studying for her master’s degree. Good lord. What an asshole. I remember the look of rage she shot me as she bundled the almost completed dress into a paper bag and muttered, “I’ve been sewing for Goodwill for 10 years!” I was a thankless wretch.

A dear friend of mine, who grew up in a very small town in the Bitterroot Valley, points out that 8^th grade graduation was huge deal in her parts because a lot of the girls never had a prom. It was a largely Mormon population, and the many of them never made it through high school because they were married and mothers by 16. I do think that is why it was such a huge affair, most of the gals had floor-length gowns with hoop skirts. Of course, it was Montana, so we were approximately 7 years behind the times, fashion-wise. So in 1984…you understand. If you'd like a real idea of what was happening in Montana in the early '80's, check out 15 Minute Lunch: Strap in, shut up and hold on. We're going back. It wasn't really this bad, but this is so funny, you don't want to miss it. We were, sadly, ensconced in leggings, long, shaker knit sweaters, and neon...just go to the local mall today, that's what we were wearing. Why, oh, why would someone bring the '80's back?!

I think I ended up wearing a green, sequined, two-piece, green, granny number to my actual prom (attended to by the first and only guy who asked me, a friend of mine from math class). That’s another entry. Dear Lord. The ‘80s were really unkind, the ‘70’s, actually, if you go by the fashion time-line. Or I just had no effing taste. Or personality. Or…we’ll stop while I’m ahead.

I could not be more indebted to my mother for teaching me how to sew. There is nothing like having tangible proof that you can create something and that patience and diligence pay off. I made many of my own clothes over the years (usually pieces I couldn’t find anywhere) and am going to get back to it soon. Thanks, mom.

NaBloPoMo

2007-11-01T11:41:00.000-07:00

That's right, kids, it's National Blog Post Month. I'm going to be blogging every day this month - lucky you! I can't promise equally amazing pearls of wisdom or insight with each entry, but I can promise words...that I've written. Every. Single. Day.

I have two friends running the New York Marathon this weekend. One of them, who's staying with me, ran the AIDS run in Florence last year. I have gotten back to running myself (jogging, really. Okay, loping painfully for four minutes and walking for one, then starting the whole thing over again) and could not be less made for long distance. I have profound respect and fear for someone who is able to put their body through that kind of prolonged agony. Send them some good thoughts Sunday.

And now, the TV Rant for the day:

My favorite ad on TV, hands down, is for Levis. You’ve seen it, this guy is pulling his jeans on in his living room and a phone booth (cause people still use those) crashes up into his apartment through the floor (with the rest of the street below). He finishes buttoning up his jeans, he walks out of the phone booth and they walk down the street together. I don’t know if this means they just made it (in homage to the most recent era in which phone booths were regularly used) in said booth de phone or he just happened to be changing his pants in the middle of the street. ‘Cause it’s Levis, yo, and that’s how they roll. [In watching this again, it’s pretty clear they haven’t been together but I thought this was too funny to cut.]

If you haven’t seen it, you’ve seen the exact same commercial with a hot MAN in the phone booth instead of a woman…and you’re clearly a night owl because this version isn’t shown during primetime, yo. Maybe on Logo.

This reminds me of a time when I had an audition at a random studio in Chelsea that caters to fashion and advertising. A Levis go-see was happening next to the room my theatre audition was happening in. As I concentrated on not having a panic attack in a sea of Size zero’s and resisting my sudden urge to eat myself through a bushel of Ho-Ho’s, the monitor for my audition stepped out, panned the room, zeroed in on me and said, “Actor’s Theatre?” Ouch. Um…what are you saying? I couldn’t be here for the go-see? Ha HA. Sigh.

Okay, clearly I’m living in the Dark Ages for even knowing what the ads ARE on TV right now, but the ads for the new Diesel fragrance are ridonculous! Yeah, these guys are relying on fragrance to get laid.

Thank you for visiting Single Gal-land. The next time you visit, remember that a $6.99 bottle of Merlot from Associated Supermarket doesn’t help take the edge off. Be smart, either go with the Manischewitz and stop pretending it’ll actually be wine, or spend 3 more bucks for the real deal, tightwad.

kissing snowflakes - READ THIS BOOK!

2007-10-30T18:55:00.000-07:00

I regularly read young adult fiction. The category draws me because I: love fantasy writing that isn’t bone-dry with super complicated worlds or languages, am an avid romantic who loves a traditional battle between good and evil, and was very lonely and lost at that age (I’m sure everyone was, but you know how you are an island at that age). Mostly, I think I am in a constant search for the teenager I wish I’d been. Teenager and hot mess are pretty much synonymous, I think, in most people’s experience of themselves a that age…at least the people I’m close with, but I have spent a good portion of my life wishing I had made drastically different choices.

Every once in a while I find a movie or book that hits me where I live; that reminds me of something I went through and longings thought successfully buried.

I just finished reading an amazing young adult book kissing snowflakes. Written by a dear friend of mine (her first book, the irritatingly talented woman!), Abby Sher, this book is phenomenal. Written in first person narrative, it is the story of 15-year-old Samantha’s winter break with her brother, father, and brand new step mom. Through fantastic inner monologue, we join Sam in dealing with resentment of her new family situation, social awkwardness, first real kiss, and decisions about drinking and sex.

I don’t have any children, but if I did, I would want my daughter to read this and then talk with her about it to open the door to future conversations about life decisions. I would want my son to read it to understand how girls think - *how everything boys say and do to them is replayed on a loop from the occurrence until God-knows-when in an effort to make sense of it and, therefore, ourselves. I would want my boyfriend or husband to read it (if I had one, shut up) to understand me better as a person (* insert here, replace ‘boys’ with ‘men’).

Abby captures the magic of winter beautifully. Set in Vermont, this book made me miss Montana (where I grew up) terribly. I also reconnected the adolescent that pounds at my ribcage daily as I look for Mr. Right. I cried unabashedly at the end of the book, aching for the memory of a similar encounter and still hoping for a future one.

The tone of the book is straightforward, not at all cutesy, patronizing, or shallow. kissing snowflakes is not oversimplified or heavy-handed; it is complex and raw with a healthy balance of lightheartedness and vibrance, like every young woman I know…especially the one I carry with me every day.

Buy it. Read it. Pass it along or, better yet, buy another copy for someone close to you, or who you want to be closer to.

It's on...

2007-10-30T11:11:00.000-07:00

I started this blog almost 2 years ago at have ignored it since for several reasons:

I was brought up to be very conscious of what I wrote down...mostly NOT to put anything in writing I didn't want shared at some time or another if it fell into the wrong hands. If people don't know how you feel, not only can you avoid hurting people's feelings, you can avoid being hurt yourself. A very well useful bit of advice that prevented a lot of missteps and is now being let go. WASPs rule...

When I was a junior in high school, I had a English sub who worked with us for a week on thesis paragraphs. I had never actually worked on something like that before, I thought that smart people only had to do something once and it was good, if it wasn't, you didn't have what it took. I didn't spend any time on the remainder of the paper and the teacher, on his return, didn't believe I'd written the first paragraph and accused me of plagiarizing.

Well, anyone who knows me knows that I have puh-lenty of opinions about, well, everything. I have, actually, had a private blog that about 10 friends read regularly, who would never know what was up otherwise since I'm in a different time zone or too busy. I am ready to own those opinions and share them a bit more publicly with the hope that they might help you, dear reader, make a decision, feel less alone, laugh out loud, or find something that helps you, among other things.

The term 'soul exchange' was first introduced to me by a friend years ago during a conversation, probably about a boy. She was making the point, I believe, that it took time to wade through the chaff in order to find "the kind of soul exchange we demand in a relationship." Since I am not likely to start a rock band (although in my head, I front a mean power ballad), I'm adopting it for this blog.

All my efforts to explain what this phrase means to me sound horribly woo-woo or unbearably insipid. The introduction of the term 'soul exchange' helped me to realized what I was looking for in my relationships. I've spent the last several years doing serious housecleaning on my psyche and, as a result, my personal rolodex. After the recent letting go of a friendship that has caused me tremendous stress and anger over many years, I feel like I've finally exorcised the major, external contributors of emotional drama/crazy in my life...note I said external. My newfound groundedness and freedom is something I plan to work hard to keep with me. Hopefully this forum will help me.

Here we go!