ASICS Oral Fix

Tooth brushes and running shoes are starting to look the same.

They Shoot Horses Don't They?

You go, Madonna and your Super Bowl Half Time Jamboree. "Check" for making folks remember your new tune (even if they don't want to) and upping the careers of fellow artists (not that they were lacking). I saw the M.I.A. finger 'slip' and I thought to myself, "perfect". (I suspect it was no accident. We're still talking about Janet Jackson's boob.)

Your opinion on the matter is really no matter because THE POINT is that there is a conversation. This IS advertising strategy. Get us all arguing and analyzing and hypothesizing and... inspired? To do what? Write a blog? (Buy something.)

Got milk?

I got in a heated discussion with my husband the other day after a heated discussion with a family member. Politics. My husband was frustrated with me for not helping him 'defend the Democrats'. I was frustrated with him for assuming I would do that. I have my opinions (strong opinions) about politics, religion and money - three subjects I consider off-limits for casual conversation. I have no problem with a verbal wrestle or lesson learned from critical debate but I don't consider it a 'pastime' - something to PASS TIME. After a nice, intellectual twister game, we walk away slapping ourselves on the back or tossing our fist at our opponent - goody for us - but why? What have we accomplished other than an ego stroke? I think it is as useful as trying to teach my dog to juggle.

Where's the beef?

What if the next time we threw our word-weight around (in person and online) we promised to accomplish something by the end of it? Something small but tangible and something that supports our beliefs. Notice the next time your opinion makes your blood pump faster. Listen to the hint your heart is giving you. And DO. Don't ask why. Just answer the knock at the door - let something happen. Make something happen. Give money, send a card, volunteer some time, paint, write, make your point useful - like good advertising. Inspire. Words don't have the actual power - you do. Make them count.

Just do it.

Natural Sleep Aids for New Yorkers

Why I hate iPhone Calls

I am not a phone person. I have no real excuse except that I don't like talking on the phone. My iPhone is my only source of telecommunication and frankly it makes my arm hurt after two minutes of trying to cram the thing down my ear canal or hang out the window to get better service after the call was dropped three times while a fire truck goes by. 


I think email is better anyway. On the phone, you can't ignore the, "what are you doing this weekend" question. Phone-friend is about to ask you to do something which will probably sound fun but really you planned to sleep in and have no plans. Maybe indulge your X-files-Netflix-stream addiction. In your underwear. And you can't admit that to Ms./Mr. Afraid-Of-Nothing-Completely-Accomplished-Life. Maybe that is my real problem. All of my friends are better than me. I need to hang out with high school students more.


There are many 'kids today' issues with technology and I resent being on either side of my feelings. I don't think there is a 'general decorum' rule for communication anymore. I think there is a 'how distant can I keep my true feelings' rule. We constantly offend each other with tactics, perhaps we should just stop being offended? The technology is there and it doesn't help to judge if one is better than the other. I'm sure when the telephone was installed in every establishment, some stubborn human refused to use it and tried to write a letter to the police that an armed robber was in the house. 


Efficiency. 


I've had friendships unravel over badly chosen and poorly timed mediums. I once texted I was unable to attend a concert. I was sick as a dog and couldn't lift my head. I thought the other end would understand. The other end was furious I didn't call. I don't blame her. For me, I've received much desired acknowledgment and validation through thank you texts. I certainly would have preferred a letter, visit, a call, diamonds but who knows if they were possible and the reason for the impossibility could be left up to each person's judgement. 


I've found that even though I irritate the heck out of many folks, I stick to hiding in my writing. Plus, I tend to be reactionary by trait. I do not enjoy the ulcers that causes me. I'm sensitive beyond normalcy so I have to protect humankind against my fears. If I write, I can carefully attempt to avoid tasting my toenails in conversation and I have the added bonus of style. It would be weird if I tried on different accents every time I returned a call. 


Because I never answer the phone. That is what a strategically happy and cool recording of my greeting does for me. 


"I am always this balanced and you will never see my bad side."


"Except when I blog about it later."


I think I secretly want to out my bad side.

Three Reasons Why I Love iPhone Pics

Collective Conscience

Many years ago, in Los Angeles, I was telling a group of people about a sketch company I had been involved with, in Los Angeles, many years ago. Most of my stories are from life-times past. I say, 'many years ago' a lot. Since Los Angeles, I've seen a few of the folks I 'sketched' with on TV and one of them is down right famous. Kinda cool. 


Way back in the sketch days, I was a newbie to the world of comedy and even though the entire company was new, I felt a tad small. Lots of big personalities. One of them, a college friend of mine, seemed to feel the same way so we would meet for coffee after the group meetings and discuss ideas. We did this until the day he brought all of my ideas to the group. My ideas typed out in sketch form. Right in front of me. I didn't know what to do, so I told on him after the meeting. The company leader laughed at me. Lesson learned.


Back to the group I'm sharing tales with in Los Angeles, I tell a story of a successful sketch I had written for the company all by myself. I had help with the punch-line... but still... I typed it alone. This had been the only sketch I wrote for the group on my own, so I recall it well and share it often. 


A few days later, I get a voice mail from one of the friends I told my tale to.


"I swear to God, Christopher Walken did your sketch on Saturday Night Live last night."


I call back. He describes Mr. Walken's opening monologue which, yeah, sounds EXACTLY like my sketch. 'Many years' after I had performed it live in a coffee shop.


Cut to: last night, 2011. The way-back LA sketch stories are before personal computers and the internet. We had crap PC's and chat rooms but no one Googled or utilized streaming information in place of human memory or dusty volumes of encyclopedias. I go searching through Netflix on our new PS3. I happen to see a 'SNL : Christopher Walken' special.  I hit play.


Sure enough. My sketch. Christopher Walken and Jimmy Fallon. I wrote that! New punch-line though... but still...


Squeaky early bird wheel gets the worm oil.  


Kinda cool. Lesson learned.

Death of Theatre

Everybody is frowning about the danger of Spider-Man on Broadway. I am not a hater about any theatre. Maybe if they molested people or murdered them against their wills... I wouldn't promote that... but I am usually the person that defends the production, "yeah, the show kinda sucked and Ethan Hawke could have been better but you know...THEY DID IT and THAT is everything."  I believe that.  Collaboration is what makes this world go round and if enough folks - no matter who or what they are - believe passionately in a vision just for the sake of making the vision happen... I'm impressed.


But...


I think Broadway has gone too far. Actors are not circus performers. Hire circus performers. Wait. Hire ACTORS and DO PLAYS on Broadway.


Yes. Theatre should always evolve and find new ways to reach an audience but how do we reach an audience with the attention span of a pop-up on their iPhones? We THROW actors AT them? While they are singing?


Peter Pan did it. I even heard that Sandy Duncan hit a few walls face on. Which is kind of hilarious. And of course there are accidents and difficulties when a medium is expanding. I can even talk myself out of this rant because I believe change is a part of life and evolution is inevitable.


BUT...


The next time I sit with a Broadway audience and have to ask people to stop talking more than six times or turn off their phones or please stop texting during blackouts or fantasize about putting gum in someone's hair when I hear in full voice in the middle of a monologue, "isn't she from TV".... I'm going to stand up and say: 


"IT'S YOU PEOPLE. YOU PEOPLE ARE KILLING BROADWAY. YOU PEOPLE AREN'T LISTENING OR WATCHING THIS SHOW. DIDN'T YOU PAY OVER TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR THESE TICKETS? OR DO YOU PEOPLE GO TO THE THEATRE JUST TO TELL PEOPLE YOU GO TO THE THEATRE? MOST OF YOU ARE OLDER THAN ME. OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW HOW TO BE QUIET WHEN SOMEONE ON A STAGE IS TALKING. MOST OF YOU ARE ACTING LIKE YOU'VE NEVER BEEN A PART OF AN AUDIENCE EVER IN YOUR LIFE. DO YOU JUST COME IN TO GO SHOPPING AND CATCH A SHOW STARRING A NAME YOU'VE HEARD OF SO YOU CAN BUY A T-SHIRT AND PROVE TO YOUR FRIENDS THAT YOU THINK YOU ARE CULTURED? YOU PEOPLE ARE THE REASON ACTORS IN SPIDER-MAN ARE RISKING THEIR LIVES. WE NOW HAVE TO REDUCE THIS CRAFT TO SLINGING A PERSON IN YOUR FACE SO YOU WILL PAY ATTENTION. YOU PEOPLE NEED A TIME OUT. I'M PULLING THIS CAR OVER AND I'M GOING TO COUNT TO THREE. YOU PEOPLE. LEARN TO BE WHERE YOU ARE. EXPERIENCE LIFE. I'm very sorry Mrs. Lansbury, please continue."

Eye of the Beheld

A few months ago I had the opportunity to travel with Greg on a business trip to San Francisco. Neither of us had been. We fantasized about making out on a trolley car.


Day One, Greg had to work. I walked half the city. There is a reason you don't see folks walking alongside trolley cars in photos of San Fran.  You see them attached to the thing as if a giant picked it up, rolled it in caramel and dipped it in a bowl of people. Then it goes horizontal to vertical and the caramel people are holding on for dear life. Like Rose on the top of the Titanic. Standing next to this, I was climbing the sidewalk at such an angle I swear I could have puckered my lips and kissed the sidewalk without moving my neck.


I found my way across the city to a giant, phallic Rook called the Coit Tower.  Inside its walls are colorful murals once painted by local artists of the day. Each pictorial told a story. You could focus on different faces and wonder about the 'scene'.  


I'm still trying to figure out why Frida Kahlo is so disgusted with Mr. Bean's Dad's lunch order.

It's the little things...

As I left the office today a friend asked how I was because I looked a little tired. I told her I had a little headache. She asked if I had a little time before I got on the elevator and handed me a little packet of aspirin. I went into the kitchen and got a little cup of water. When I got in the way of the office matron, I said in a little voice that I was sorry. She said not to worry, relax and take a little time. I gulped, then sipped the little bit of water and left. My friend asked if I was a little better and I thanked her for taking such good care of little 'ol me. I got home in little time and had little to no pain. I sat with my husband and little dog. We enjoyed a little meal, a little TV and a little reading and writing. 

Penny for Your Thoughts

In the middle of the work week, I wandered into a local thrift shop. A pretty handsome, Manhattan store-front that looked like it had once been a large restaurant. I got the impression the owners lived in the building as well. Ah, the life. If someone paid me to visit thrift stores, I'd be one of those folks who says they love their job. Having my own? Now that is just fancy talk.  Especially since it would have to have a pub, a coffee bar and room for my band to play.  The Duran Duran cover band where I play tambourine and shoot portraits of famous people on the side.  


As I chatted with the woman behind the counter, I decided, "yep, this is gonna be a good one." Every thrift store visit is an archaeological dig. I've been known to leave a store with everything from silk, couture evening gowns for a dollar to like-new living room furniture at a 95% discount. I don't consider myself a shopper. I'm an adventurer.  


I didn't spend a cent this visit but left with something more valuable than anything I'd ever come across. 


I found a life. In a box. 


There was a section of old photos. Not the turn-of-the-twenty-first-century photos you giggle over at a flea market, but lots of regular photos circa 1980.  None of them were particularly interesting except as I dug, I started to notice the same face in each photo.  I sifted forward and backward. Hundreds of photos all cast with the same woman in each scene. I realized they were in order and started at the back.  


It looked like the late fifties or sixties. She was a little girl.  She was an athlete. A dancer. She was in a religious ceremony. She had a new dress? A birthday girl. A cheerleader. Then she was a young actress. Arms around cast members. Posters outside of theaters. She's holding a brush.  She's a painter. Still life. Landscapes. Then the pictures of landscapes and still lives. A photographer. Pictures of the inside of an apartment. Another. Her plants. Her cat. She's at a party. She's visiting her parents? More paintings and photography. She's looking thinner. She looks sadder. She's in a bed. She's in another one. She's in a hospital. She's got family sitting around her on pillows. She's got bandages on her head. More landscapes. They stop.


I enjoy visiting cemeteries.  I like to think about the brief, scarce clues I read on a headstone and imagine the life of the decayed body under the ground just below my feet. I like stories. The stories of the objects in every thrift store I venture into. History is full of stories of the dead. I didn't know I would find such a complete, simple and beautiful one in a box at a store. Life is in everything isn't it? 


I left the shop loving my every breath.

Thanksgiving 2010 in more than 3000 words...

Money Makes The World Go Round

When you are a temp you've been called in for one of two reasons:

1. The Executive needs to maintain a certain appearance within the culture - "I cannot function without assistance.  I'm too busy for little things, I have a spa appointment at 2p."  On these assignments I usually answer the phone a few times and spend most of my day writing blogs as there is literally nothing for me to tangibly do.  I am set dressing.  I wonder how many novels have been written at certain Executive Admins' desks... or should be. 

OR

2. The Executive is a highly skilled, highly experienced, highly respected individual with savant dedication and talent.  Without help, he/she would drown - "I have an overseas conference call at 8am, a power-point presentation to dispense at 8:30a and somewhere in between I have to get a memo out to The Board about next year's predictions.  I don't have time to eat much-less figure out how to plug in my laptop."  As a temp, I love these experiences.  I feel valued and love the challenge of walking into the chaos with a cool hand.  On these assignments, I'm the bomb squad.

Last Monday, when I walked into the cubicle of where I was assigned I thought, "This looks like triage."  Excellent!  Executive Number 2!  No one had time to explain protocol.  My help, any help was welcome.  Every single person I came in contact with was vibrating with a mission.  It was obvious they not only had a lot to do, but they enjoyed doing it - the way you enjoy painting a room... before the in-laws show up, tomorrow.  

I am 37.  Three years ago I decided to leave the acting business.  I still don't know what to tell people at parties when they ask me what I do.  "Freelance... Human?"  Most of my NYC 'day jobs' have been in offices and since I quit seeking a real acting career, most of my resume shows me sitting behind a desk... many times.  A Career Placement Councilor once told me I was a "Job Hopper".  I explained I was an actor.  She didn't even blink, "Same thing." 

Earlier this year, I happily, ecstatically got married to the yin to my yang.  We plan to start a family in two years after he figures out what he wants to tell people he does for money.  He's an artist.  We are attempting to define our own realities including the future of our family.  We're trying not to feel latent.  We need more Vitamin B.

I think everyone wants to love their job.  But earning money is often... unhappy work.  I'm lucky to have experienced so many kinds of jobs while searching for a meaningful existence.  Whenever my 'day job' spilled into my 'life', my close friends, who observed my tendencies towards total collaborative emersion, would remind me that for artists, earning money is just a 'means to an end.'  

This notion has always intensely bothered me.  I can meditate.  I can find hobbies.  I can find reasons to sacrifice.  I can try to be awake and aware and enjoy my daily tasks regardless of what I'm doing.  I'm alive aren't I?  But honestly, if I have the choice, why would I spend 8 to 12 to 16 hours of every day doing something I don't enjoy?  Why do we take this Revolutionary Road?  Is our system for organizing life prioritized so deadly we've forgotten the mystery?  We don't know why we are here, why be here in dread?  Are we just collecting paychecks for the future?  What if we don't make it to the future?

Temping is a good way for me to make decent cash and not have to label myself.  I change my mind too much and I like costumes.  I'm lucky that one of my best friends works for a staffing company.

My step mother told me to tell people I'm an artist.  I told her I didn't feel like one yet.  She said to tell people I was a photographer.  I told her that was a big, fat, giant lie.  And besides I don't want anyone to pay me for my hobby.  Then I have to act like I know what I'm doing.  She said to say I'm a "1099er".  I'll use it.

Until I have the guts to say I'm a writer.

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know that you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
all right, all right 
-The Beatles

Freaky Friday

6:33PM


"Julian got a job!"


"That's great mom!  I was offered a job too!"


"Do you want it?"


"It's not everyday a great company just asks you to work for them.  I can't make up my mind.  I want to work part-time but we could use the money.  I just don't want to get stuck in the cycle again.  I want to have time to write."


"What are you going to do?"


"Wait."

Thursday Thoughts

4:58PM


"Hey."


"Hey. How are you?"


"Tired. Doing another errand."


"Did you have lunch?"


"No, it's crazy. I ate at my desk."


"Sweetheart, you have to take lunch."


"But I lose money anyway. I don't mind. They really like me. Someone asked to see my resume. I do like it here."


"I'm sure they did and I'm sure you do. Are you going to work late?"


"No, I told them I had to get home."


"You did? I'm impressed."


"Gotta walk the dog."


"He's been in there all day poor little guy."


"Poor Bootle. How'd it go today?"


"Well you know, I'm tired but it went well. Tomorrow is the big presentation and we HAVE to get to bed early tonight. I have to be up at five."


"I know sweetheart. We will. We'll get on schedule. It's hard when we go to bed late. It's tough with full time work. I'm sorry about the house."


"Yeah. We've gotta take care of that this weekend."


"I'll do it."


"I'll help."


"I better get back to things. I't nuts here. We'll talk tonight. I love you."


"I miss you. I love you."

Wednesday Wonderwoman

12:35 PM


"May I speak with Mrs. Skura please?"


"Hey!"


"Hey! They want to know if you're available next week."


"YEE-aws!"


"Well, I wasn't sure. It's not part time."


"I know. I like it here. They like me."


"'Cause you are good!"


"So Happy-Day-After-Your-Birthday, did you have a nice night?"


"Yes it was great. I told Gates I wasn't looking forward to this one and she said: You have to because you are older! I said: Exactly sweety. It's OK, she thinks I'm 26."


"Well you look it. Are you having fun with your mom being in town? How long is she here?"


"Monday. Yes it's great! You should come see her."


"Maybe this weekend? I'll call you. I should go. It's kind of nuts here. I don't think I'm having lunch. But they like me so that's good."


"We'll talk later. Have fun!"


"You too. Thank you!"

Tuesday Temptress

1:35PM

"Hey!"

"How's it going?"

"It's going well! I like it here. They have this big event next week and they are totally slammed. I've been sent out to buy stuff for the tables. Everyone is really nice."

"That's good."

"Yeah.  What are you up to?"

"Ahhh, you know, still researching schools. Making sales calls but I'm way behind. There's so much to do. A lot of these places have deadlines in November and December. Plus, there's the GRE..."

"You can do it!  I'll help you!"

"Sweetheart, this is a BIG deal.  I don't even know what I'd want to study yet."

"It doesn't matter!  Just pick something!  I'll help you gather the paperwork and letters and you study and take the GRE and we'll get everything together next week!"

"Sweetheart.  It doesn't work like that."

"We'll talk tonight.  I have to get back.  They're really..."

[Together.] "...slammed."

"Yeah. I like it though. It's tempting. Nice office. Nice people. It's make up!"

"You've been there a day. I thought you wanted to write."

"I do. I'm just thinking about money. I don't know. Corporate is so tempting. Benefits. Nice money. Maybe I should do it for a while if they ask? I think they may ask? I really like it here. But... I don't know. I haven't written anything yet this week."

"We'll talk tonight."

"I love you."

"You too."

Monday Morning Monetary Miracle

11:58 AM


"Yes!"


[Laughing.] "Good! How quickly can you be downtown?"


"An hour?  Hour fifteen."


"That's good."


"I didn't even finish listening to your message.  I just hung up and called you."


"As soon as Karen told me about the assignment I didn't even let her finish!  I said: JEN!"


"I'll call you back with details."


"Excellent!  Sweet!  Thanks!"

Man's Best Friend

The dog is going to kill me for posting this.

Three

That sharp small stab
A trigger, a wish, a reminder
I have to wait
I am not ready
We can't


I curl up to twist the bulge
I bring another pillow to my chest
The dog's breath is warm
And I think about when he will die


A gurgle and burp
I squeeze my legs
I bet it hurts just like this
And I think about when I will die


I look forward to looking back
Seeing my love and knowing we have made 
This...


I hold my breath.

Reality Sound Bites

I went to a friend's afternoon cocktail party the other day. My friend who I often call 'Carrie' as in 'Carrie Bradshaw'. She is a successful wedding planner who recently went through a divorce. The cocktail party was a backdrop for the pilot of her new reality TV show.


About fifteen years ago in Los Angeles, I used to do extra work for extra cash. The Screen Actor's Guild paid us very well to mime conversations and stand behind people who were paid even better to speak out loud. Many actors have a hard time doing this aimless background work, therefore, there are not a lot of actors doing it. Background Artists are a breed of their own. Odd skills are required. There is a lot of waiting around between takes and back when I was enduring it, there were no hand-held computers. You made friends or you read books. If you chose to make friends, you had to tolerate a lot of strange folks making small talk about strange things. Strange like being a stranger at a cocktail party for a reality television show.


At this cocktail party, I watched the camera follow 'Carrie' around the room and I noticed everyone become perfectly animated whenever the lights hit them. Especially 'Carrie'. She looked amazing. She'd been in a makeup chair earlier and of course her perfect dress hid the mic the perfect distance from her lips. When she hugged me I felt the battery pack on her back. 


She mentioned she wanted to do this party to thank her clients, vendors and friends who'd been there to support her business. I was honored to be invited and at the same time felt flashbacks about the extra work. I also thought I'd recognized the room she booked from the ONE episode I'd seen of The Real Housewives of NYC. 'Samantha' would have been proud of her lemons-to-lemonade multitasking. She was getting good PR, giving good revenge and turning her irony into opportunity. 


There was no director telling us what to do and I still wasn't clear on my role in her reality show. I'm a trained actor. I am NEVER NOT aware when a camera is on me and if I don't have lines, I'm either a miming, over-articulating idiot or an awkward mute. Back in school, reality acting was not a part of the curriculum. When 'Carrie' came over to me, lights and camera in tow, I flip-flopped between big-eyed, overacting and a lot of silent nodding. 


I was the only guest with a degree in Theatre Arts. 


The cameras never came back to me. 


At least there were free drinks. Back in L.A., there were no martinis for us out in the freezing Pacific at 6am shooting David Hasselhoff's Malibu Shores.