Ohmigosh, Hi!

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

Olan Mills Awesomeness

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).

come ON

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.

Ah, high school

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.

kissing snowflakes - READ THIS BOOK!

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.