If you're not the murderer...

On the 12th day of Christmas...

2010-12-25T12:26:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

Reconnection.

With someone I had an instant connection with in school. My friend James. In retrospect, we've spent more time apart than we did together but that three year bond from high school still turns out to exist. When we're together we revert back to an essence of who we were while still being the adults we've become. But there's an unspoken trust, an unspoken language that moves between us. It's such a relief to just be able to 'be' with someone.

Merry Christmas to all...and to all a good night.

On the 11th day of Christmas...

2010-12-24T08:30:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

Katy Perry's FIREWORK.

Baby you're a Firework!

On the 10th day of Christmas...

2010-12-23T06:51:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

Continued opportunities to develop Faith.

What can I say? Faith is my greatest challenge. I'm sure it's a widespread weakness. The one thing organized religion may be good for is the constant dogma of faith. Regardless of how flawed their presentation, they still drum it into the flock. I wasn't raised in faith. In fact, the decoupaged plaque that hung over my mother's kitchen door read "Blessed are those who expect nothing for they shall not be disappointed." Such a bitter bon mot and yet, in it's own twisted way, still a message of faith. Because IF you expect NOTHING you will NOT be disappointed. I unfortunately still live on the razor's edge of dual expectation based on past history. That's the construct we're all dealing with. We have some fluttering expectations that THIS time we won't be disappointed while at the same time preparing for that disappointment because it's what's familiar.

As you can see, my faith muscle is still puny. Atrophied even. I'm struggling to build up the kernel of faith I've coaxed into being...where's a faith Bowflex when you need one?

On the 9th day of Christmas...

2010-12-22T06:35:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

Universal Pictures Marketing.

Last year at this time I was in the bosom of this extraordinary group of people. I got to know many a little and some quite well. They are a dedicated group of people who really love their jobs and care about their filmmakers. Marketing gets a bad rap (for the obvious reason that all green lighting seems to be decided by marketing these days) but from my POV of the films that opened while I was there...some films will die in spite of the most imaginative and heroic efforts and excellent campaigns that are created.

What was even more amazing...to me anyway...was the kindness that I saw demonstrated every day. It turned out to be where I needed to be for as long as I needed to be. I was able to heal and gain strength there and I will always think back on that time with affection. Especially on Lil Owl and she knows who she is...We'll always have Budino!

On the 8th day of Christmas...

2010-12-21T08:34:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

BLACK SWAN.

On the 7th day of Christmas...

2010-12-20T10:32:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

Clarity.

When I first started doing my one woman show again, it was as a birthday gift to myself. I hadn't performed in years but really wanted to give it another go. And it was everything I could have hoped for. Then, as is usually bound to happen...it started to become less fun and more stressful. Suffice it to say that 2010 was a year of clarity. I experienced a roller coaster of creative 'come to Jesus' moments. Snapshots of dying desires and seemingly wasted efforts. After my Santa Barbara debacle and the under attended follow up, I was bloodied...no lie. But what began emerging...almost immediately...was the voice that championed focus and clarity. If I've learned one thing this year it's that you absolutely must focus on one thing at a time if you want to make them happen and be laser certain about what you want. If not, your creative babies may still be born but they will almost certainly be damaged in some way. There seem to be people who can be concieving multiple endeavors simultaneously and with success but those people have teams...in some cases armies (yes Oprah, I'm looking at you) to help them execute. And even then (again, Oprah) not everything flies.

So, little ol' me is going to continue to watch this clarity develop...it's still murky and soft focused...and 2011 will be about continuing to watch and listen inside and outside for those signals and the picture that emerges from them.

On the 6th day of Christmas...

2010-12-19T12:04:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

My crazy friend Suzanne.
The one I can slip into wacky accents with and spin hysterical, offbeat stories with. Who initiates or follows some of the greatest ideas that lead to the most fun a human being can have without ever leaving their living room. She is creative and fearless and learning new ways to challenge herself creatively even as I write this. She's the one I share my latest editing triumphs and problems with. She's the one who makes me think "why not?" rather than "why? or "how?"

She often says that being with me makes her feel 12 years old. Because we instinctively give each other license to play. To be the impish, spontaneous, joyous souls we came here to be.

On the 5th day of Christmas...

2010-12-18T10:38:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

RAIN.

My love for rain is legendary and some may say excessive and unnatural. But anytime the air is 100% moisture filled we are all going to look our best. My skin is plumped up naturally and takes on a dewy glow. The very atmosphere is changed and air smells clean and full of promise. How can you not love that?

On the 4th day of Christmas...

2010-12-17T08:11:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

Some pretty fabulous Genetics.

Flipping through some new photos of a woman who was once my closest friend, this morning. Together we experienced one of the most harrowing experiences a mother ever could and it bonded us for a time...but in time our basic differences set us in opposite directions. That's neither pertinent or responsible in any way for what I'm about to say. We're the exact same age but you'd never know it to stand us side by side.

If you've read my blog even peripherally...you know that I'm often distressed about the ravages of time taking their toll on me and my inability to take expensive action (cosmetic procedures). Have I taken the best care of myself I possibly can? NO. To be perfectly honest I often skate by on the least effort possible. And yet, I still look better than 90 % of other women my age. Whether or not they've had anything done. So I'm thankful for that...but still looking forward to that day I can walk into one of the best surgeon's offices and tweak what I've got.

Thanks Universe for keeping the 'glammer' up til then!

On the 3rd day of Christmas...

2010-12-16T08:47:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

The ability to Let Things Go.

Not that I've become a total Ghandi. I still have to work hard at it in certain instances. Even when it's relatively easy to let something go, there are still some dissenting echos of Gollum in my head that mutter at my foolishness. Because truly...the only difference my letting things go makes is inside of me. Nobody else cares if I've let something go or not. It's that inner Gollum that kept such rigorous tabs on the wrongs...perceived or true and bedeviled only me with them.

On the 2nd day of Christmas...

2010-12-15T09:04:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

A reminder of what movie stars look like.

Growing up in the 60's and 70's I remember the glamorous icons that weren't seen every single day. The constant stream of media diarrhea didn't exist. You'd either see them in their movies or on Merv Griffin, Mike Douglas or Johnny Carson. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were the most celestial of them all to little Marion. She of the most extraordinary beauty and he of the impossibly virile maleness - together they burned brightly and passionately and often too hot to survive. But we didn't really know the ins and outs - the details of their lives...only the facts of divorces and remarriages that were public record.

That's what Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt remind me of. Somehow despite the unstoppable, never ending prying of the media and the nasty Schadenfreude of the blithering public they are managing to keep their private lives pretty private and their mouths shut. Thus, when they do speak...their voices don't sound as familiar as my neighbors and I find myself wanting to hear what they have to say. They're a reminder to me of what made me want to be a part of the business in the first place. I'm rooting for them.

On the 1st day of Christmas...

2010-12-14T09:25:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

Elf Yourself!

Brought to us by Office Max and the fun Jib Jab site.

It's really fun and helps kick up your xmas spirit. Unfortunately, the embed code they provided for my Elf Charleston video doesn't work OR they don't allow embedding unless you upgrade to their paid service. So here's the URL for it. It's worth it to click through.

A Gift of Belonging

2010-12-13T09:41:00.000-08:00

Last night I attended a performance of "The Blue Room" at the Moth Theater on Melrose. My brave and fearless friend Pamela Guest is appearing as "The Married Woman" in the piece. If you're not familiar, the story is a daisy chain on sexual relationships that link all 10 characters. The play itself is too long in my opinion. Especially if all the performances aren't on par. What hurt it for me was (as I found out after the fact) that this director, John Markland, doesn't like to block. He wants the performances to be "fresh" each night. Honey, don't ever leave blocking up to the actors. I know it's modern and supposedly "freeing" and meant to bring honesty to the performances. But this is a play that's visual cornerstones are the sexual tableaus. What's really cool about it is the use of filmed intimacies played against venetian blinds while the actual couples writhe in passion on a darkened stage. If these tableaus were choreographed to their best effect it would make a huge difference. Most of the actors chose to - for lack of better words - hide in the bed. Complete loss of impact that can't be made up for by taking off your pants. The other thing that bothered me was that I couldn't see their faces for much of the performance. Intense, intimate things are being shared and we're missing the expressions on their faces. It's a moody piece, I get it. But if your actors are free form blocking AND can't find their light...it's just voices in the dark. The stand out is Katherine Towne, daughter of Robert. I didn't know who she was until afterward but when she was on stage I couldn't look away.

I knew I was going to support my friend and witness her triumph. And that alone would have been enough but there was an unexpected dividend. A moment of of pure Hollywood magic. Not the Machine of Hollywood. But the true essence. What is that...to me anyway? In this little black box theater without any fanfare, sitting shoulder to shoulder with us were the Towne family and a few of Katherine's childhood friends you may have heard of; Jason Ritter and Simon Helberg. There to support. In the trenches of Hollywood we lose the camaraderie, the sense of joy for one another's efforts and triumphs. At least in my experience. At The Moth, we were all just show folk having an intimate, communal experience. We all clustered in the courtyard afterward laughing and congratulating and just joyfully communicating.

I rarely feel as if I 'belong' these days and last night was one of those times. So, thank you to my friend...not only for demonstrating her leap of faith so grandly but for making it possible for me to experience belonging.

P.S. John Ritter must be so proud of his son. What a lovely spirit he has. It shows on screen, through his eyes and more importantly, it shows in person. I'm glad I got to experience that too.

My Personal Conspiracy Theory

2010-12-08T10:39:00.000-08:00

I hope I'm completely off base, crackpot crazy for this...but just in case, I wanted the 9 to know.

Remember 2008? The Presidential race? Remember how it seemed it was going to be Hillary's race to lose? Obama was charismatic and young and everybody was talking about how he was a comer...but not just yet? Bush had all but burned us to the ground so there was no way in hell a republican was going to win...cut to, John McCain being forced to accept this powder puff "hockey mom" Palin as his running mate. Literally, out of the blue and overnight. And the "people" loved her! Those people. The same people who thought there was nothing shady about the fact they were being approved for mortgages they couldn't afford. Who have 20 credit cards. All maxed out. The wrestling fans, the Nascar fans, the HeeHaw nation who love their guns and their Pontiac Chargers and still harbor fond memories of when "whitey" ruled supreme. That guaranteed the powers that be - the "owners" of America, as George Carlin called them, that McCain was dead in the water and forced voters who's brains aren't made of Cheese Whiz to swing to the democratic choices. Now, I know we all wanted to believe that Obama turned the tide with his grassroots campaigning, his considerable charm and gravitas and offerings of Hope. But I believe the PTB (Powers That Be) set in motion a plan that would ultimately kill two birds with one stone and clear the path for another protracted republican reign once the smoke cleared...still with me?

During the '08 election the long dreamt of, theorized about possibilities of having a woman President or a black President became sharply real. So, why did the PTB throw all of their machinating efforts behind Obama and not Hillary? Because Hillary is a seasoned player. She spent 8 years in the White House and knows everything Bill knows. Whatever it is that they reveal to presidents after they're sworn in (that makes them age overnight), she already knows. She's smart, ruthless, knows the players, where the bodies are buried and would have given the PTB a run for their money. We all know how Obama has fared since the election. It's agonizing to watch how incredibly difficult things have been made for him. There's an email going around that touts his achievements in office thus far. And he HAS achieved things but you'd never know about it from the avalanche of media out there. Even Bill Maher's starting to turn. The PTB have done a number of epic proportions on this president and it'll be a miracle if he's reelected. And I'm sad to say, I don't think there'll be another black President any time soon. One bird down, one to go.

The PTB have been and continue to tee Palin up for the slam dunk in 2012. I know it seems as though that should be insanely preposterous but it's becoming less and less so. She's been running since 2008 and the media (owned by...say it with me...the PTB) is spoon feeding her to the Velveeta masses and they are eating her up like nachos. The Palin's are the very definition of white trash with credit. Bristol (no doubt named after the Bristol Creme Sarah was swilling when she got knocked up) IS the only DWTS contestant that didn't lose weight - you are so right, Kathy Griffin - and still almost WON. If that didn't send shivers up your spine...if the fact that the troops booed Griffin for making fun of the girl didn't make the hairs on your arm stand up, keep sleeping. But why, you ask, would the PTB support a nincompoop like Palin? Really?? Is it because they plan to stick their collective fist up her ass and work her like a puppet? I thought that until I watched the finale of Boardwalk Empire and remembered that this country is owned and operated by wealthy, white, conservative men. I think, once she's elected they will leave her dumb ass to flounder and fail and as her beloved grizzly supporters turn on her, the stone will have taken the 2nd bird down. One term and out and the consensus will be "Well, we gave the women and the blacks a shot and they're obviously not capable of running anything. And come 2016, the status quo will be restored as a white male republican president takes office. All accomplished in 8 short years.

Time will tell if I'm wrong and/or nuts...somebody that I shared this with privately pointed out that they didn't think the republicans were smart enough or had the resources to plot something like this. But the PTB are. And if I can think of it..surely some stupid old men can.

Please also read Aaron Sorkin's great piece on Huffington Post today. Brilliant.

It's the Bitch of Living...

2010-11-29T16:09:00.000-08:00

Hello 9!

It's already almost December. WTF?? I'm ready to come in for a landing and rest for awhile...but not quite yet. I have one more show to get out of the way. So terrible to be looking at it that way but it's been a rocky 2 years. Oh, I haven't slipped and fallen down a deep crevice and had to cut off my own arm with a plastic spork or anything but it's been rough out here for a bitch...the jury's still out on prospects for 2011 because as we've learned things never seem to be what they seem. Meanwhile, just to keep things interesting I've decided to sing live on stage this Friday night and have stretched further creatively than I had planned to this year. Sometimes it's like learning how to walk...I want to RUN already! and I stumble and scrape my knee. But I find it's those things that make me want to run before I learn to walk that make me look forward to the next day and the next...

All I can tell you is, it's a LOT of work to constantly be pimping yourself and I'm not a natural self pimper. I hear if you really want to go "viral" on the internet, you have to buy hits because apparently nobody wants something that nobody 'appears' to want. What a bunch of morons humans are. Animals don't have this problem. Do you think if a lioness is out on the plain and spots a gazelle hanging out...no other lions or competitive carnivores in sight...she thinks to herself "Hmmm. There's a delicious looking gazelle but why isn't anyone else trying to eat it's ass? There must be a reason...." She's not going to keep searching until she finds a gazelle that's being swarmed...No, that lioness will tear that gazelle up!

On the flip side...you'd also never see a gazelle out there jumping up and down bleating "Pick me! Eat me! Over here! Seriously, I'm delicious!"

Maybe I'm watching too much "The Walking Dead."

Coming soon...the 12 Days of Christmas

Digging a Comedy Hole

2010-11-14T11:10:00.000-08:00

I recently did my first show outside of LA. With no friendlies in the audience. I also chose to stretch myself as an artist and talk about something gross and painful from my past in a comedic way. I call it the Huckleberry Hound incident. And I got dinged for it. Comedy's First blood was drawn...People complained...Old people...and let me clarify "old people" while we're at it. I've noticed lately that whenever I say "old people" in front of certain people (old people) they get huffy and defensive. When I'm talking about old people, I mean their demeanor not their age. I know "old people" in their 30's and "young people" in their 80s. So fuck off old people!

I had been to the Smodcastle earlier in the week to check out Tom Green's live podcast show. Awesome, btw! His guest was Bobcat Goldthwait. They talked about "digging a hole" with their audiences during shows. Going too far, pushing the limits, maybe pushing their fans away. I'm thinking they subliminally influenced me to dig me a hole that Friday night in Santa Barbara.

By the time my set began, I had already been traumatized by the fact I was disregarded as an artist and human with basic needs before my performance. No water, no dressing room, no microphone...."Just project!" Ahhhhhhh...those artist's riders that always bedevil we in production. There's a reason for them. The final coupe de grace was - no A/C - in a sweltering auditorium and me in Spanx. That's my defense for digging the hole. And now I'm proud of it. I dug a comedy hole for the old people to fall into. Buh - bye!

I kid you not...when I typed in "comedy hole" on
Google images, this is what came up.

Wind Whipped Whackiness

2010-10-26T08:20:00.000-07:00

Once you realize that energy is what we all are and that everything in the universe is energy, it's a little easier to be on the lookout for whacky stuff to happen. Wind is my least favorite element. Especially here in Southern California where we have Santa Ana winds. I don't know what else comes from Santa Ana, but their wind sucks. And it brings the crazy with it. Like yesterday.

Driving on Sherman Way...as if dodging falling palm fronds and swirling trash wasn't enough...I briefly got sucked into a vortex of whackiness...at the intersection of Sherman Way and Canoga Ave. an ambulance, sirens blaring rolled haltingly into the intersection. Everyone was stopped and I slowed way down figuring the ambulance would pass and I could continue across. But the driver saw me and hesitated! What a pussy. No New York ambulance would hesitate. So I had to stop.

Next block up is the DMV. The ambulance is now screaming in the far left lane but right there in front of it...turn signal on...crawling along is a Honda SUV...and, sorry PC police...the driver was an Asian chick...who stops right there in front of the ambulance! I'm driving past...not believing the wacky tableau I'm seeing...Ambulance stopped...siren still screaming...driver gesturing wildly at the SUV driver...who is frozen like a statue, staring straight ahead...in front of the DMV.

I had a little giggle about it...right before I had to slam on my brakes to stop from ramming into the traffic jam in front of the Vallarta Market...caused by a noisy, arm waving stand off between a Mexican Fruity Freeze trolley and a Falafel cart in the driveway. "This is my corner!" "No this is MY corner!" Thankfully right after that the vortex spit me back out...but I was reminded to always be present in the moment. Good job Universe!

P.S. The Donald hates wind too.

My 100th Post!!! For Michael C on Project Runway

2010-10-23T10:28:00.000-07:00

If you're reading this, imagine balloons and streamers falling all around you. Woohoo!

I still love Project Runway and I think it's back on sure footing after it's move from Bravo and to LA. They're back in NYC where they belong and have the best judging panel on TV if you ask me. Michael Kors is a walking sound bite but also one our greatest designers. Heidi, Nina Garcia, Michael Kors and Tim Gunn all now their stuff and their critiques are always insightful and help the design contestants improve their work. The show is a super-sized 90 minutes now, which allows for more drama (something reality watchers crave) but I really enjoyed the expanded version this week because we got to see how the judges were prepping the final 4 for Fashion Week. They gave each of them suggestions for improving their chances on the runway. Loved Heidi's comment to Gretchen about putting her models in high heels to avoid the "Schlumping along" and adding to the already "Holly Hobby-ish" looking collection. More than anything, these judges make me wish I could sew!

But, I'm really writing about this because the elimination of Michael C. was so wrenchingly sad. I feel like these four finalists - Mondo, Andy, Gretchen and Michael C. have more riding on the outcome than any other contestants in the history of the show, in my opinion. Each of them has sacrificed pretty much everything for their dream and gone balls to the wall to make them come true. Each of them feels like if they don't make it to Fashion Week, it's over for them and they have nothing to go back to. Michael more so than the others in a way because he still struggles with believing in himself and allowed the slings and arrows of the less talented haters really get under his skin...Ivy, I'm looking at you bitch. He made it to the final 4 but when he was eliminated, I felt his despair like a knife. He was thinking about how his family was now going to insist on him finally "giving up and moving back home." Like the show was his last chance at his dream and now that he only made it to 4th, it's time to get a job at Home Depot and stop the fantasizing!

I've been there. More than once. The last time was a year ago. Everything came crashing down with a deafening crescendo. You can only rise from the ashes so many times and I had done so much work, put in so much passion to rebuild after the previous crash - all the while telling myself it was all or nothing. Big stakes. And at my age, to have it burn to the ground again...I did give up. I was done. I wanted out. I shut down completely. I was, frankly, planning to kill myself...Obviously, I didn't. One person stopped me. But I wasn't really living either. I denied myself everything. Stopped taking care of myself. Punished myself for "failing." Living without my dream wasn't living. It felt like I had been pushed out of heaven.

Slowly, verrry slowly, I started to recover. I've washed off the sack cloth and ashes I had forced myself to wear and try hard to not be so hard on myself. The flame that I ground out so viciously is flickering and growing bigger and warmer again. My body and mind are still pretty fatigued at the thought of pushing the boulder up that hill again but what choice do they have? Because there's no way I can walk this earth and not be going after what I came here for. So, all you fragile creative spirits that have been crushed...as desolate as it seems, you'll have no choice but to reemerge and flower once again. We are the flowers of this earth. Like nature herself, we are supplying the earth with her beauty. I see your beauty and I'm happy that you're here.

I love you.

Bullying Part Trois: Smiling Eyes

2010-10-10T09:48:00.000-07:00

Bullying is certainly not limited to kid on kid. Where do you think kids learn it from?

When I was in 3rd grade, I had a teacher named Miss Davis. She was a big brassy, bawdy broad with an Ethel Merman voice and I loved her. I also thought I was one of her favorite students. I did excellent work in her class because I wanted more than anything to please her.

Funny, I can't remember what started it. There was a group of us kids goofing off in some way that irked Miss Davis enough to punish us. So, during recess she marched the six of us over to the Four Square court and made us stand around the painted circle with our legs and arms spread. All around us life continued. Other kids were playing. Some were coming over to see what we were doing. She let them laugh and point at us before she chased them off. It was chilly. Granted, it was fall in Manhattan Beach, not Ohio - but it was foggy and cold and damp. The bell blessedly rang and we thought the punishment was over.

As the playground emptied and it got quiet, we continued to stand there. Our little arms and legs shaking from cold and the strain of our stance. Before she released us she asked us all to smile at her and apologize. One by one we did it. Me too. But she wouldn't let me go. "You're not smiling with your eyes, Marion." By this time I was shaking so badly, my teeth were chattering. But some of that shaking was from anger. I had apologized and smiled - with my mouth...met the criteria. But my eyes must have made her uneasy because in them she saw a soul that refused to be broken. So she made me stand out there, in the growing gloom, shivering and shaking. My lips were sticking to my teeth. I could see my house and the kitchen window and the silhouette of my mother...watching. Yes! My heart leapt. Any second I expected the front door to fly open and my mother to come to my rescue. But she didn't. She stood and watched. Like Betty Draper but without the cigarette. I wanted to give up but knew I'd die before I gave this bitch my smiling eyes.

Miss Davis finally gave in and let me go. My arms and legs felt heavy and wooden as I walked back into the classroom. I hated her after that.

When I came home my mother slapped me.

Bullying Part Deux: The Heart of the Matter

2010-10-08T09:19:00.001-07:00

Have I ever bullied anyone? Eh. Let's just say I've fought fire with fire...and, I didn't always have control over my own fire power.

Quick story. My daughter was in Jr. High. Her best friend Taryn (yes, that's your real name bitch) turned on her in order to be popular with another clique. They began crank calling my daughter and saying horrible things to her and hanging up. How did I find this out?? I came into her bedroom one evening to find her curled up in the corner crying. She didn't want to tell me what was wrong but I persisted.

Important plot point: Star 69 had just been invented. I was heartbroken and furious at the same time. So...I hit *69 and lo and behold, Taryn's 17 year old sister (who's name I unfortunately can't remember) answered. I could hear muffled giggling in the room as the sister tried to lie and deny. They were too stupid to realize that this new technology existed. A voice came, from deep inside my gut "If you ever call here again, for any reason, even by accident, I will drive to your house, climb through your bedroom window, sit on your chest, rip your heart out and eat it in front of you." It came out with such cold, quiet, visceral viciousness that I almost threw up but I meant it. Those bitches never called again and for the remainder of the 17 year old's school career, if she saw me - she'd cross the street. Was it wrong? Could I have handled it differently? Hey, I've got my own shit and I own it. And it worked. I did my job. I stepped in and protected my kid. The best way I knew how. Whatever else in this uncertain world, she knew she had a mom that had her back. And so did everyone else.

Gordon Ramsey is a Bully

2010-10-08T08:34:00.000-07:00

...and he's not the only one. The Media fosters bullying behavior with reality TV competitions that encourage singling out and humiliating the weak and behind the scenes in Hollywood it's a hotbed of bullying behavior. The military calls their demeaning, humiliating, berating and extremely dangerous bullying "character building." Bullying is the topic du jour right now in America. But it will fade away again...until the next child suicide or Columbine type shooting.

How many of us will do something about it besides share a link or two. Unless it's happening in our direct path, most of us will go on with our lives because we all have our own stuff to deal with. And to everyone who has witnessed bullying and done nothing, I say "Do it differently next time." I know it's not easy to step in and confront someone. Few of us enjoy confrontation, especially with the possibility of violence. But come on! Teachers, parents...OPEN YOUR EYES AND EARS. Parents, don't assume because your kid says everything is fine that it is and you can go back to watching TV or working out or whatever. If you pay even the slightest attention to your kid, you'll know something's up and it's your job to get to the bottom of it. YOU are your child's keeper and protector. Teachers, you are PAID to TEACH. That includes teaching them how to treat each other...and, I'm sorry...it's also your job to pay attention and nip any kind of abusive behavior in the bud. I just read the blog post from "Single Dad Laughing" which is linked here. It's a singularly sad and depressing tale of his childhood nightmare of being bullied mercilessly for years and his parents NEVER KNOWING. His mother asked but he always said he was "fine." And sorry lady, you fucked up on the job. He was not fine and I bet it was obvious. But it's such a relief to hear them say they are fine because then we can make our nail appointments on time, right? To be fair, I don't know what his mother was doing but seriously. What I took away from his post was the stunning lack of care from anyone at his school(s) to step in. If you worked on the line at the Ford plant and fucked up that many cars, you'd be fired. These are not robots you're spending your days with people. They are HUMAN BEINGS that will be forever shaped and marked in part by their school-hood experiences. To quote a greatly celebrated bully of our time "You've burned the fucking RISOTTO!!!"

To all the Gays I've loved before

2010-10-04T08:43:00.000-07:00

I've been a Hag since 1971. What's a hag? A woman who keeps company with gay men. Usually the Fag/Hag relationship is very similar to the Girlfriend/Boyfriend relationship (see Will & Grace). In the years since I became Original Hag, it seems as though our modern fags (offended? stop reading) have become even more narcissistic and self involved. It became all about having the most ripped upper torso - why oh why do they always neglect their calves? - having the tightest whitest shorts for Palm Springs. From what I can tell, at least here in L.A...the younger generation of gay men (and I'm talking about 30's & younger) have no integrity - especially when it comes to cherishing their Hags. Hags today seem to have become like fag "coordinators" who's job it is to "assist" their pod of gays by telling them how fine they are, not minding being ditched at a club without a ride and taking millions of pictures at the seemingly inexhaustible "pride" events and then posting them on whatever the most popular social network of the moment is. I lost my taste for hagdom when I realized they were getting more out of the relationship than I was and wanted it that way.

Having recently reconnected with my Orignial Fag, I was reminded of how it used to be. As a strong, independent woman in the entertainment business believe me, I've had to learn to fend for myself. So, it was with surprise and a strange deja vu that my Saturday night unfolded. My Original Fag - who I'll call Bear Daddy - cuz that's what he is now - picked me up, drove us to the club, took my hand and kept me with him through the dense dancing crowd, made sure I had a drink, fed me, stood guard while I peed...what more can I say. He is a gentleman. I think that's the core of it. Gay, straight, whatever - there's a courtly-ness missing from today's men. At first, I resisted allowing him to lead me and guide me and protect me - it was so foreign! But since I'm all about staying open to and absorbing new opportunities and experiences these days - I made myself get past it and realized, I like it. No LOVE it!

So to all the Gays I've loved before. None of whom will read this, I'm sure...because if it's not about them they don't care...take a hint. You're not always going to be young and beautiful. So unless you've become verrry successful and can make the transition to "Daddy" status, soon you'll be homo-non-grata AND you won't have a good Hag to turn to.

3 Simple Things...and Cake...or Death

2010-09-08T08:13:00.000-07:00

Good Morning Faithful 9!

In case you haven't noticed, there's a new age dawning. It occurred to me this morning that there are 3 simple things to see us through.

Sea Salt. The biggest proof to me that we evolved from the sea. Dip anything into salt water and it will heal. Cuts, rashes, bug bites, chicken pox, measles. I had a fair amount of dental work done earlier this year and the number one most helpful item to me was...sea salt. Swishing it around with warm water in your mouth eases pain, sensitivity and heals the tissue miraculously fast. I've used regular salt in a pinch but get Sea Salt.

Apple Cider Vinegar. My most amazing experience with it has always been what my family calls "vinegar socks." If you are running a fever related to flu or cold, dip cotton socks into a mixture of equal parts water and vinegar, squeeze out the excess and put them on with a dry pair over them and get under the covers. It feels gross and smells like salad but it will draw the fever right out of you. ACP also stops itching from rashes, bug bits, etc. Women have douched with it for centuries...although I'm not cosigning that one. But it's also used internally for a host of well being. Google and and see. It's touted for everything from weight loss to acne! I use it now to cut cravings. Mix a little into water or juice...many drink it straight. I tried that but it burned my throat. It will cut your craving or hunger pangs immediately. Get the unprocessed kind.

Virgin Coconut Oil. My daughter turned me on to this. You'll also find loads of info on Google about this. Scientifically proven info! It's used for everything from cooking to deep hair conditioner. Pacific Islanders use it as an all purpose health and beauty aid and they have been found to age less and have excellent dental health! Scientifically, the properties are proven to kill bad bacteria in the body. When I first started using it (cooking with it) I would mix a tablespoon into my oatmeal. A few hours later I noticed I was having palpitations. It was revving up my metabolism. But not in that weird, buzzy amphetamine way. If you're skin feels dry and dehydrated, massage coconut oil in and then take your shower. You'll feel like 'Bikinis on the Beach' as my friend Matthew would say.

If you have these 3 things in your home, you'll be ok...Oh and one more thing. LAUGH. A lot. Every day. Here's a little "Cake or Death" to get you started.

Don't leave your Wiener Dog with me...just sayin'

2010-09-01T08:54:00.000-07:00

I'm told that if I make my blog posts shorter more people will read them...so I'm going to test that theory although I have no idea whether my 9 follower fan base will stand for it.

We are all parts good and evil. What the percentage is depends on the individual, I suppose. I have a lot of darkness in my heart and the only thing that's kept me from the tipping point is my daughter. It's as plain as my big ass that without her on the planet, you'd all be in for it.

Case in point. My OG ex brought home the world's meanest, most annoying wiener dog when I was pregnant. He made it clear the dog was there to stay despite my protestations. One day, while he (the ex) was out of town, the wiener dog got out of the house and was hit by a bus as I watched from my upstairs window. It didn't kill him. I could see him moving. But I didn't run to his aid. As he struggled to pull himself onto the curb we made eye contact...right before the next bus finished the job. Passive aggressive evil.

Now you know my secret.

Louie Louie!

2010-08-25T07:43:00.000-07:00

I already loved Louis CK. Have been hip to his genius writing for years and a fan of his comedy. His new eponymously named show on FX is a twisted delight to watch. It's raw, it's poignant, it's sly and it's sharply funny. The latest episode "Bully" has him being bullied by a high school jock in front of his date. Louie is humiliated by being forced to beg not to have his ass kicked in front of her. Afterwards, his date admits that this was a turn off for her even though, logically she knows Louie did the right thing.

Louie follows the bully home, all the way to Staten Island with the intent to talk to the bully's parents. We, of course get to see how and why the bully became a bully when his dad starts berating and hitting him. Meanwhile, Louie is chased out of the house by the equally violent mother, who takes offense to Louie's suggestion that they curb hitting their kids. The bully's dad comes out after Louie and you tense up in anticipation of what comes next...and here's the beauty of Louie...what comes next is totally unexpected. The two men share a smoke and a conversation about their respective fatherhoods and we learn that the bully dad became a dad at 20. At 20 we are still kids ourselves and the parenting we do is copied from what we know...Get it?

When my daughter was four, she used to hate having her hair washed. Baths were no fun - for either one of us. One evening, during the bath time war, I slapped her. And it reverberated like fireworks in my brain. It wasn't the first time I had hit her. Up until that point it had been smacks on the butt or hand but I also used the threat of spanking often. I was aping what I myself had experienced. But that evening...sitting on the floor of the bathroom, soaked from all the splashing, with my daughters cries echoing off the tiles...I just stopped. My spirit overrode my ego and my mind and said "no more." In that instant I realized that physical punishment was not something I wanted to perpetrate on my little girl. It doesn't work and the "punishments" always have to escalate to meet the ever increasing resistance.

My mother was the punisher in our house. I only ever remember my dad laying hands on me once. Not that he didn't react out of anger in other ways, like throwing a plate of spaghetti at the wall...but my battles with my mother were epic. She would come after me with whatever she could get her hands on and could inflict the most damage with. Her weapon of choice? Wooden cooking ladles, although she whipped a mean extension cord too. That went on until I was sixteen and one day just grabbed her wrists hard and said NO MORE. Those childhood experiences of violence at the hand of a parent - someone who loves us - are the foundation of how we love and parent as adults. You might think this sounds kind of psycho-babbly but it's true. Evidenced by the plethora of spanking/paddling porn.

That evening in the bathroom, I broke the cycle of violent parenting. I know there are a lot of kids out there who need tough parenting but that doesn't need to include corporal punishment.

Enough about me, back to Louie. A fantastic episode with a great message delivered in a clever way. Sometimes a spoonful of funny makes the medicine go down.

Rock on Louis C.K.!

Homeless, jobless, clueless Santa looking for Pamela Anderson circa 1987

2010-08-13T17:15:00.001-07:00

If I need to be up and out early, I listen to Mark & Brian on KLOS while I'm getting ready and driving. They often act as a defacto clearing house for listeners who want to find dates, so it wasn't out of the ordinary when this gentleman called in today. He described himself as a disabled vet, 60, tall, white hair and long white beard. So far, not bad right? If you're looking for that...although I was really curious as to what his disability was. Then he said he'd lost his house three years ago and has been "bouncing around from place to place" ever since. They asked him what happened with the last place he was at. "Let's not get into that here" was his red flagging answer. OK, so basically an old homeless dude with Santa hair...do go on! They asked him if he has a job and he replied that he has an ebay store. OK, good....but wait...they asked if that was doing well for him (um, hellooo...homeless) and he said "it was pretty good while I had an internet connection.

Now for the good part. They asked this homeless, jobless, nebulously disabled vet what he was looking for in a woman...here's his check list:

Between 5'5" and 5'8" tall

"A nice rack" and good looking

Preferably blonde and blue eyed

Trim and fit - "No fatties"

Knows how to take care of her man

Has her own home and makes a good living

Likes to party with elves (kidding)

I prayed that no women would actually call in. I prayed hard. Please God, don't let some stupid woman call in and offer to take this deluded kook in. Thankfully, my prayer was answered...at least for today. They usually do follow ups on these date situations so I hope my head doesn't have to explode on Monday when they play the dating game with Santa and the clueless potential Mrs. Clauses. Reindeer not included.

Happy Friday!

Just Say NO to Naugahyde: Save the Sportsman's Lodge

2010-08-03T08:35:00.000-07:00

A quote from Wikpedia - "In 2007, the Sportsmen's Lodge was sold to developer Richard Weintraub for approximately $50 million. Weintraub reportedly plans to renovate the existing hotel and add retail space. The project would retain the Sportsmen's Lodge name, and would be renovated "to evoke the mid-century cool" of the San Fernando Valley in the 1950s."

Dear Mr. Weintraub, you have failed miserably. Did you run out of money? WTF? I paid my first visit since the "renovation" and found few changes except for some notably annoying ones. Sportsman's Lodge always had this kitschy cool. It was super low key. You could slide in and out of the place on the DL. There were always old time Hollywood guys hanging out in the bar or coffee shop that could regale you with stories about working with Tom Mix, John Wayne and Bette Davis. Pretty much every big touring music act bunks there. And tourists flock there in droves because while it still had authentic Hollywood cache it was affordable for families to stay. And you haven't lived if you haven't been there during a "Super Soap Weekend."

The Pool Bar is my favorite. There's nothing better than pulling up a stool in the summer and whiling away the afternoon. The bartenders are Tarantino worthy and the drinks strong and affordable. When I sit down at that bar...all is right with the world.

I was excited when I first heard of Weintraub's plans. I think the place is a goldmine and with the right touches could become even more so. But all that's been done since 2007 is a moderate renovation in the lobby. Some white Naugahyde sofas and retro light fixtures. Carpet? Still the same. Bathrooms? Still the same. The website shows photos of an updated guest room but the majority of them are still exactly the same. My guess is the redecorated ones are sporting west side price tags too. The Cafe got a minor 50's-esque makeover but the menu is still exactly the same. I get that you spent $50 million to acquire the place, Mr. Weintraub, but do you think that warrants the "security changes" you've instituted? I pulled up to the back gate - my entrance of choice - only to find you now need a key card to enter. Pulled around to the side - figuring I'd come in through the cafe. Also locked. "Non Hotel guests must enter through lobby." At this point I'm vexed but curious to see all of the changes that this type of "security" trumpets. I enter through the lobby and am confronted by the hyper self conscious whiteness. I notice the carpet being the same as well as the reception desk but I'm still feeling receptive. As I walk toward the pool, I notice that two walls have been patched but not painted. Why on earth would you spend $50 million on something and then not have the resources or perhaps the will (??) to follow through? I just don't get this kind of mediocre bullshit. I see it in the movie business too. Johnny-Come-Lately "producers" with some cash who think they're buying into the pussy train and then lose their appetite when it comes to the nuts and bolts of actually finishing a project.

Out at the pool, everything looks exactly the same, which is at once comforting and perplexing. I notice all the gates to the pool are locked too. The bartender chick lets me in. As soon as I sit on my favorite stool and get my first Bay Breeze, I exhale. Perfect summer jams on the sound system? Check. Old hairy guy in the pool? Check. Kids eating chicken fingers on the other side of the bar? Check. Over tanned pot-bellied roadies on deck chairs? Check. Ahhhhhhh. Home. The bartender tells me that they expect non hotel guests to pay for entry to the pool bar now but she's not outing me. She is disgruntled about the "changes" as well. The little side gate nearest the bar is locked with a padlock which means she now has to walk all the way around to the main gate whenever she's picking up food orders or restocking the bar. Inefficient...and wait a minute...What?? The new management expects me to pay to come to a place that used to be free to get into...and that, by the way, still looks EXACTLY THE SAME. She glumly tells me that her tips are down 50% from last summer because the locals are staying away. That's Bad JuJu.

God, I wish I had the money to buy the place. Do you know that in Clark Gable's day you could fish for your supper in their trout ponds right from your table while swilling an excellent martini? Where in L.A. can you do that? That's the way to go! Bring back the true "mid century cool" not the fake Naugahyde one. Are you listening Mr. Weibtraub? Give me a call, I can make it happen...until then, I'll be sneaking in to the pool bar like any self respecting local.

Bitchcraft Radio Emmy Picks!

2010-07-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

I'm having so much fun doing my podcasts over at Bitchcraft Radio! Probably the #1 thing I love about it is that it's RADIO and no one can see me. Hahahahaha. So when you get a chance go on over to the website (roll over the logo on your left) to hear our picks or you can also listen at itunes.

I'm listing our off air picks here so that when we do our post Emmy podcast there will be a official record of what my guest Chris Many and I picked.

Outstanding Writing, Comedy Series

We both picked: Modern Family - The Pilot (abc)

Outstanding Writing, Drama Series

We both picked: Lost - "The End" (abc)
(kind of shocking since Chris is so anti Lost!

Outstanding Directing, Comedy

Marion's pick: Modern Family - the Pilot (abc)
Chris' pick: Glee - the Pilot (fox)

Outstanding Directing, Drama Series

Marion's pick: Lost - "The End" (abc)
Chris' pick: Dexter - "The Getaway" (showtime)

Outstanding Non Fiction Series

Marion's pick: Deadliest Catch (discovery)
Chris' pick: Life (discovery)
Variety, Music or Comedy Special

Marion's pick: Bill Maher ...But I'm Not Wrong (hbo)
Chris' pick: The 25th Anniversary Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame Concert (hbo)

Outstanding Commercial

We both picked: Old Spice: The Man Your Man Could Smell Like

That is all.

Get offa my TV!

2010-07-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

NEWSFLASH! Not everyone belongs on TV.

But try telling the Insta Celeb Nation once known as America. Who here still believes that going to school, learning, experiencing, working your way up is the way to make something of yourself these days? Why go to school? Or why learn a trade when you can clearly get your own show just by being a stereotype douche bag? Seriously, it's worse than when kids from poor, urban neighborhoods thought the only way out was to sell drugs. At least they were still supplying us with a much desired commodity. And, ugly as that business is...it's still a business and they are still learning, experiencing, working their way up. What the fuck is Snooki doing for us? Or any of those fame whoring housewives?
Jesus, even Kelsey Grammer's wife wasn't satisfied with being the wife of a mega wealthy television icon...she too wants her 15 minutes.

People, we're in trouble. First we all became convinced that everyone must go to college. Not everyone belongs in college. Especially if you're not going to come out of there with a sustainable skill. Not everyone gets to be a chief. We need Indians too...lots of Indians. But they don't want to be Indians. College (and clearly their parents) imbues them with a sense of entitlement the size of Rhode Island. The 'Chief Syndrome'. If you're kid is good with cars and enjoys it, why not encourage him...or her in that direction? Most race car drivers are mechanics and build their own racing engines. They are knowledgeable professionals who have parlayed, first their innate natural ability, then their learned trade into a job that most men would envy. They get to drive hot cars, very fast and be paid for it. Not to mention the chicks! There are so many roads to success but we, as a nation have come to believe that if our road doesn't end on Bravo or MTV, then it's not a successful journey.

And guess what? When you bitch about how those illegals took your jobs...which jobs would that be? The ones you thought were beneath you? The ones you fantasized delegating to the servants you fantasized having? Meanwhile immigrants are now the solid work force that keeps this country running. You want to sit on your fat fake tanned ass and complain how these hard working people have stolen anything from you? You gave it to them sucka! All they did was observe and act on the golden rule of business "Find a Need and Fill it" And we left the field wide open for them. While we're all running around trying to get on camera, they're doing the jobs we've deemed beneath us.

I'm not saying it's bad to dream big but America's collective big dream has become to be famous. An entire generation now believe that the route to success is by behaving badly enough, to get noticed by some reality show producer and getting a tv show. Finally, I leave you with this. I don't want to see you on TV unless you've been trained to be there. And by trained I don't mean that you've had a Brazilian wax and know how to do a keg stand.

iFuck.There's an App for that!

2010-07-01T10:38:00.000-07:00

By now, if you haven't heard that the new G4 iPhone is out...well you must be a survivalist who's already moved into your concrete bunker in the desert.

I have some techno geek friends - of the sort who stood in line for the new iPhone - who've been extolling the virtues of this latest version. The main feature everyone seems to be all 'atwitter' about is FaceTime. This app allows you to make video calls from your iPhone. Now, a lot of women, myself included aren't crazy about this because it becomes just one more event we need to apply make up for. I mean seriously, think about every time you have a phone conversation while not completely pulled together. The party on the other end doesn't know this...because they can't see you.

But there's that commercial, currently in heavy rotation that pulls on our heartstrings. It features the deaf couple signing tenderly to each other via FaceTime. "Awwwww!" we all coo in unison. I mean if there's one thing to validate this app, it's the cool realization that FaceTime will allow the deaf to talk on the phone for the first time (Skype on your computer notwithstanding).

The other side of this warm and fuzzy coin is this...phone sex. Are you with me? FaceTime will surely revolutionize America's other favorite pastime! But with that also comes the They can SEE you factor. Now indulge me again please and think about every time you've had phone sex...how would knowing that the party on the other end could see you effect that? Come on! It's gonna curtail the activity, right? The question "what are you wearing?"... out the window.

And what will that do to the phone sex industry?? It's going to put thousands of fat, slovenly phone sex operators out of business, that's what! Because even if we all know the stories about what's really on the other end of that phone transaction, our brain is fooled by the voice. The voice creates the picture and carries us away. So, what's a unsightly troll to do? Well, if there's not already an app being developed for this, there should be...I'm not well versed in the how but the end result will translate this...

into this...

iFuck. There's an app for that!

Welcome to the House of DangerKitty

2010-06-24T17:25:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm tripping a little bit right now but with good reason!

In the past 4 days I have cranked out ONE brand new website from scratch. Check.
Retooled TWO websites basically from the ground floor. Check. Granted, with modern technology and a MAC it's ridiculously easy...I mean come on, I did it! But on the other hand. I DID IT!

Allow me to introduce:

Bitchcraft Radio. The new home of BITCHCRAFT! It's a podcast which will feature the funniest people I know as Guest Bitches...They're not ALL famous.

This site will also house news about the latest dates and goings on for my One Woman Show. It's evolving as we speak and those who have already been will be able to say "I remember when." I'm uber excited about my show in Santa Barbara. I'll be revealing more as details firm up.

DangerKitty Films is me. If you saw me on the street and shouted "Danger Kitty!" at me, I'd respond! And everyone else who is using that moniker should DIE!

This site is all about my film life: past, present and future. I am soooo proud of how this site turned out. It gives me joy just to click on it.

And if you're reading this of course you've seen the gorgeous new look of my blog.

How amazing is it? Am I? Come ON! I am WIZARD.

Size DOES matter!

2010-06-22T16:42:00.000-07:00

I just finished retooling my blog site and added a gadget that assembles all of your tags. I did it in the "cloud" formation - self explanatory if you look to your right. Then I noticed that the more frequently a word is used the bigger it appears in the cloud. Let's peruse my tags shall we?

create
depression
friend
fun
funny
happiness
joy
laughter
love
peaceful
Plenty of Fish
Romantic Comedy
sex
unemployment
While You Were Sleeping
writing
yoga

I'm suspicious of the formula now because I'm pretty sure I've only ever mentioned "While You were Sleeping" once...and while it's a pretty fantastic post, does it warrant standing out in my cloud of words? What strikes me the most, in scrolling down the list...it looks like shorthand for a life lived, don't you think?

PS - This post was mostly an excuse to get you to check out my groovy new look. I hope you like it as much as I do!

Holding out for a Hero

2010-06-18T12:41:00.000-07:00

I just started reading "Wicked Lovely" by Melissa Marr. A story about "Faery intrigue, mortal love and the clash of ancient rules and modern expectations". And of course the girl has a friend who is a rogue, a man who lives on the outside of society but who is fiercely loyal and protective of her. A man, who although a player, is sweet and sensitive and so perceptively tuned in to her that he and only he can penetrate her inscrutability and help her with her tortured secret. This is the why we women adore these stories. It's why the Twilight series (in all it's maudlin longing) and probobly every romance novel ever written are so popular with women. Because we all want that man. We all want that sense of having rare and cherished access to a creature considered either dangerous or unattainable by all others. And the feeling that we get when such a creature shelters us in his arms. We want Heathcliff, we want Edward (well I don't), we want Rhett, Sawyer...we want to hear "Stay alive whatever the cost, I will find you!" or "I have crossed oceans of time to find you".

I was compelled to write this in the middle of my reading the first chapter because a deep sadness overcame me and I needed to explore why. I have been fortunate or unfortunate enough (depends who you ask) to have experienced this sort of grand romance. It's what's spoiled me for all others. It's why I know that Plenty of Fish or any other dating site isn't going to work for me. Because even now, with the wisdom of past experience, I'd still rather take all the bad that comes with this kind of good than settle for hum drum. And make no mistake about it, most men are hum drum to me. And I tried hum drum, even married hum drum once. His hum drum-ness didn't grow on me, it grew into contempt. I didn't just want to divorce him...I wanted to kill him.

Bonnie Tyler said it best

I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero 'till the end of the night
He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero 'till the morning light
He's gotta be sure and it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

Sigh.

A Pearl Revealed

2010-06-07T19:46:00.000-07:00

Ok, I had to share this with you. As I'm driving home I go into one of my good meditative states and I'm feeling happy because something I created made someone laugh. Then that caused me to have a "This is your life!" moment about what experience had brought me to this point creatively.

Here's the Reader's Digest version. At the end of 2007, I was approached by a former colleague and friend. He had somehow latched on to some money guy in Utah and wanted to make a documentary that followed the Hillary Clinton campaign around before and up to her presumed election. He offered me the opportunity to direct it. And of course I said yes. I had just finished working my a** off on another challenging indie picture with shaky money and drama galore, so I was ready to jump into this. As we discussed it I began shaping it and making it mine. I wanted to explore how women, across the country, felt about power at this zenith period in time when we were fully expecting to have the first woman president. That's heady stuff. And as secretly afraid as I was to take this challenge on, I knew I could do it and that it could be really cool.

There was much talk about buying a winnebago filled with gadgets and having a driver. But even as the production package kept getting downgraded, I became more determined to do it no matter what. When we purchased the camera package and the Macbook Pro it was surreal... I know my way around a film set. I have an eye for setting up shots and good editing instincts but I had never done any of those things first hand. I had overseen. But when you are first confronted with equipment like that...the shit gets real, as they say. Like the first time I held a gun. So off we went on our grand adventure for what was supposed to be eight months. We got some amazing stuff on our first leg.

But in February the unexpected happened. Obama. Suddenly our investor didn't think it was such a slam dunk anymore. He and eventually my "friend" both wanted to pull the plug if Hillary didn't get the candidacy. It didn't end well. They owed me money but I had the equipment and the computer and all of the footage. At the time I was very discouraged and thinking "there goes my Sisyphean boulder again". But I realized this evening that they gave me a fantastic gift. Aside from the obvious monetary value. By ending up with that equipment and this computer, I was given the tools to spread my creative wings. Like I said, I had never been hands on with my creativity. I still had the studio mentality because that's where I started. So I never acknowledged the artist in me. But that forces you to be dependent on others to realize your vision...

I had to sell the bigger cameras and the equipment but ended up with a sweet little HD camera and my awesome MAC. Gradually I started really getting into working with imovie and Final Cut Pro and creating and shooting little videos for my one woman show and a bunch of other projects. And each time I'd be pushing myself to stretch further, learn more about these powerful tools at my fingertips! I'm eager to learn more and be able to express my vision in a visual medium as opposed to only on the pages of a script. I can spend endless hours editing or creating podcasts and websites. I never thought I'd be that person and now it seems as though that's who I was all along.

So, I recognize the gift. The pearl in the oyster, if you will. Thanks!

Sanctuary!

2010-06-05T13:55:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you but it's very noisy and busy in my head most of the time. And I will have these lightening rounds of profundity when least expected! Here's what I'm talking about...

Thursday started out as a difficult day for me. FYI, I take care of my parents now...well, mostly my mother. My dad is still going strong but my mother is a problem child. We never had a good relationship and not that I think taking care of a parent you love is easier...but back in the day my mother was a bitch on wheels and she's still capable of going full throttle. That is balanced out by her treacly neediness when she's not doing so well. Bottom line, I never know which mother I'm going to get on any given day, hell any given hour. On Thursday it was Robobitch.

I decided it was a good day to do all my running around. Dry cleaners, CVS, Car Wash...I haven't actually gotten my car washed since March...waiting for the rain to stop...what?? Finances being what they are at the moment, I decided to go the gas station car wash. Not that there's anything wrong with that! Except the whole vacuuming and wiping it yourself part...again, what?? Did I mention that it was HOT? Somehow my thumbnail got torn and it's about this time that my demons kicked in and I was fleeing them like Courtney Cox in Scream!

The loop of my circumstances, the shaky state of the economy, the ridiculous state of our country, the thought that my mother will never die and that if things don't get better, I'm doomed to a pas de deux of death with her...like I said, demons.

I raced over to my friend's Chris and Nancy's house. If you know me, then you know what I'm talking about (They were the 11th Days of Christmas post). I had planned on going over there anyway. I do a lot of my best creative work over there. But I arrive hot, sweaty and desperate! But when I entered it was literally...aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh. Their cleaning lady had just left and the house was quiet, clean and cool. Talk about an Exhale. I wandered out to the studio and found Chris working away. We chatted about my upcoming show for a bit and our banter sparked a couple of good ideas for me.

I fired up my MAC and wrote the opening of my new show! It was one of those experiences where you know something is working through you. I've often said I wanted one of those writing experiences where it all just pours out of me...and that's exactly what I got. I couldn't type fast enough! Then it left again. But it left me impressed and in awe. I continued to feel energized and was very productive creatively for the rest of the week...demons banished for now.

That's what I call a lightening round of profundity.

No Photos Please!

2010-06-01T09:53:00.000-07:00

We think we're aware of what we look like. After all we see our reflections a myriad of times throughout every day. Right? Then why are photos always such a shock? For me at least. Oh, I get that the camera adds 10 pounds but does it add turkey waddle to your neck?? I ask you?

No wonder many indigenous tribes believe that the camera steals your soul. Because when your soul sees those pictures of you from that party, it packs it's bag and leaves! Don't you always (or often) feel beautiful when you know you've pulled it all together? We're all aware of our flaws and have learned to work with them. So we do our make up meticulously. We dress consciously. We LOOK in the mirror and are happy or at least satisfied with the outcome.

I attended a reunion dinner this past weekend. Old friends from high school. We were all in theater (or as we call it, Drama) together and have stayed in touch to some degree or other through the years. These people are perhaps the most important people in my life...children aside. I felt beautiful that night. And when everyone tells you that you look beautiful and you also feel beautiful, it really affects how you feel. I thought we all looked beautiful and that time has been generous to all of us. We had a fabulous evening. It was like no time at all had passed. Our spirits reveled in each other's company and we played and laughed all night...I went home at 4:30AM feeling like Cinderella. But you know how that ends.

The coach turns back into a pumpkin. Or in my case...the pictures get posted on Facebook. The horror!!!!! How much better would it be if one never had to be confronted with the "reality" of our human condition. Instead of now still basking in the glory of how beautiful everyone said I looked, I'm stuck in that well worn groove of hating that the photos don't match the story. I know we're supposed to evolve past that. But I'm just not zen enough...nor apparently is most of society given how many cosmetic procedures are done in this country alone. Sigh. All I can do is un-tag myself from the worst pictures posted and do damage control via Photoshop to the ones I have control over. And work on my plan to afford that extreme makeover.

(l to r) Chuck, Teru, Brad, Me, James, Betsy and Mr. Boyd (our drama teacher) in front

PS - Baby Steps Yoga is going well. Didn't practice it every day over the long weekend though. As for Baby Steps Dating. Ugh. Plenty of Fish? Not so much? To paraphrase Groucho Marx, I don't really want to date the people who want to date me.

Jesus died so we could date online

2010-05-24T14:39:00.000-07:00

Ugh...more baby steps. Dating. It's times like these when you realize what all that diet and exercise was supposed to be for. So that when you're filling out your profile on that internet dating site you don't have to agonize over whether to put "average" or "A few extra pounds."

Due to urging from friends and my own daughter (who, I suspect is beginning to panic at the thought of me tottering into old age with no one to fetch my martinis but her), I decided to sign up on Plenty of Fish.com this past weekend. The name itself is a bit off putting what with all of it's connotations...but a few women I know are raving about it, so I went for it.

Right off the bat, I hooked a rather small Frenchman and a dozen bald guys...almost all of them with motorcycles. I'm thinking I may have accidentally checked the "bald" box OR bald guys dig the redheads with "a few extra pounds." Not that there's anything wrong with a nice bald/shaved head. Not at all. But some hair couldn't hurt! My daughter says I should edit my body type to read "average because "based on the rest of the fat ass country, you are." I can't figure out how to go back in and see which hair box I checked. Their help section is sorely lacking in help. I was advised to delete my profile and start all over. If I have to do that, it's not gonna happen.

Or I could just cut to the chase and hang out at the local biker bar...seems I'm quite in demand with the bald biker types. Too bad the little French guy is trying to live his life like JESUS (yes, he capitalized it)...I advised him that this will most likely end in crucifixion.

Baby Steps. Yoga...Day 3 & 4

2010-05-20T08:33:00.000-07:00

Hi Kids! For those following the progress of my yoga adventure, I'll be tweeting the daily updates from now on so I can keep the blog for my other musings...Love that word.

Look for my progress at #bitchcraftradio. But fyi, I did do Day 3 = Hip openers. Today was Forward bends. I'm totally getting yoga from a completely different perspective now too. Ah the wisdom of consciousness!

What are your baby steps?

Baby Steps. Yoga...Day 2

2010-05-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

Argh!

It was so nice and drizzly and cool this morning, I stayed in bed on my computer far longer than I should have. There's a reason this dvd I have is called "A.M. Yoga for your Week." Because once your brain is stimulated with the flotsam and jetsam of your life, it's hard to keep your mind clear and focused on the poses. I did the 'twists' today...amazing stretches...although I mourn my formerly more flexible body. Favorite pose still? You guessed it...Relaxation. Ahhhhhhhhhh. Baby Steps!

I found this picture captioned "Russian Yoga"...See? Relaxation Pose.

Baby Steps. Yoga...Day 1

2010-05-17T10:14:00.000-07:00

If I think of myself as a large computer that crashed catastrophically in 2009, then the past 11 months have been about slowly rebuilding my hard drive. Today marks the day I begin uploading the software back on...Actually, I started in January with changing my hair color. It's all about making the maintenance simpler. Next was taking a step toward adjusting what I eat. Yes, it's still about losing weight...in many ways, the black coffee and cigarette diet was so much easier! Hahaha. But I'm really trying to listen to my body and let it tell me what it needs and wants. Dangerous you say? What if your body only wants Budino puddings from Mozza? Well, it doesn't...not all the time anyway. ;)

Today marks a red letter day in the rebooting of me! I began doing yoga again. I bought a Rodney Yee dvd with 5 different workouts. Each workout is 20 minutes. My goal is to learn the poses well enough again to be able to take my mat and do the entire routine of 5 workouts outside. Today I completed Standing Poses. My favorite? Relaxation pose...which if you're familiar, is done laying down. Baby steps. Baby Steps.

When a Man loves a Woman

2010-04-29T11:10:00.000-07:00

I was driving home last night and "When a Man loves a Woman" came on the radio. My knee jerk reaction was to change it. Why? Because that song is strongly connected to a past relationship that did me more harm then good and who wants to be reminded of that? The irony of this is that the song is also connected to one of the most romantic moments of my life...within that same relationship. So, I've been denying myself the sweet memory of that moment for years in order to avoid the bitter. No more. I allowed myself to listen and feel the moment again.

While at Fox I got involved with a married executive in my department. My first and last married man. Our attraction was immediate...in fact the first time we saw each other, it really was the thunderbolt. We carried on in secret, for three years...break ups and make ups on a grand scale. Of course our entire department knew...you can't hide relationships from people that you spend up to 80 hours a week with...and like a family, everyone protected that secret. And as with every illicit affair, I suffered emotionally from being in love with someone that would never fully be mine. Cut to the studio Christmas party. These were lavish, evening affairs (no pun intended) held on a sound stage with sets from one of the studio's big movie's out that year. In 1990, it was Edward Scissorhands. A bacchanalia of gourmet food and excellent liquor, a 20 piece band to dance the night away to and...no spouses or outside guests. Do you think there was A LOT of cheating going on?

While the band was taking a break, a DJ started spinning records. Now, even though our affair was unacknowledged common knowledge, we were still always very discreet in public...so when the song began to play, I had no idea what was about to happen. He took my hand and led me onto the dance floor and held me close and we danced...in front of the entire studio...in front of our bosses and our colleagues...and he sang the words softly into my ear. It was a fairytale moment, a movie moment, a romance novel moment...but also an honest moment. I closed my eyes and as Percy Sledge sang, there was no one else on earth...we were floating on air.

So last night, in my car, on the 101 fwy...I had a breakthrough. I was able to listen to the song and enjoy that memory and honor it for what it was...one perfect, magical moment of true love. I was able to put aside whatever else I might think or feel about that person or the relationship as a whole. And the great thing about having memories like that to draw upon...is that it rekindles our belief in love.

My What a big Purse you have!

2010-04-16T15:40:00.000-07:00

I was idly thumbing through December's Elle Magazine when a little tidbit about accessories jumped out at me because it contained the words Freud, Purse and Vagina in the same sentence. Apparently Freud believed that a purse symbolized the vagina...hmmm. I immediately recoiled at the thought of my current purse...a big Felix the Cat's magic bag of tricks...actually an antiqued bronze Trina Turk that I've had for several years...symbolizing my HooHa. Not the image I want to project! The pink (!) lining is a little soiled, it smells like pot and gum and is holding too much stuff. You're thinking of my HooHa right now aren't you! and you wouldn't want to get anywhere near a HooHo with that description right? I think if we women were to consciously make that Freudian connection, we'd all have tight little pristine purses.

Now, read the following statements and, in your mind, substitute the word pussy for purse:

Watch my purse. Hold my purse. Put it in my purse. I love your purse.
He stole my purse! That purse is a fake. She's got your balls in her purse...

And finally, a gallery of Celebrities who have very big purses.

Happy Friday!

Happy Birthday Mr. Beatty, Pt. 2

2010-03-31T15:49:00.000-07:00

Soooooo.....

Where were we. Flash forward to the making of "Bulworth," which Mr. Beatty wrote and was directing and starring in. I got called to do some background work for five nights in South Central.

For anyone who doesn't know, background actors aren't treated very well in my business. They are more often than not thought of as living, breathing props that can simply be shoved into place and not afforded any consideration. Frankly, many (and I mean MANY) of the people doing background work are crazy and a lot of them make the life of a 2nd A.D. (Assistant Director) miserable. SO as a result, I suppose they get treated badly. But there are also those that act professionally and aren't crazy and unfortunately get lumped in with the rest. I was one of those (of course!)

So, I reported to set for the first night's work, camera ready and wardrobe in hand. At the time my hair was short and dark and the look was getting me quite a bit of work. It was still light outside but we were told not to go anywhere without a security escort due to the, uh, nature of the neighborhood. I went through wardrobe, where they chose an upscale suit. When the A.D. came around, I was picked as one of the cabal of reporters in the scene. Then we settled in for a looooong wait. Finally, as the sun was setting, we were all called together outside. Usually, as background, you are told little if nothing about the context of the work you are asked to do (props, remember?) But this time was different. The 1st A.D. called us all together "Our director is going run down the scene for you."

And Warren Beatty strolled over and introduced himself to the crowd. There were over 100 background that would be working for the next five nights, in the climactic scenes leading up to the end of the film. If you've seen the movie, these scenes take place in front of Halle Berry's character's family home after the press has discovered that's where Bulworth has been hiding out and with whom. Warren ran down the movie's premise and the work we'd be doing for the next week. He wanted us to be a part of the process. He gave us direction and he asked for our best. And you know, everyone (with the exception of a few too crazy to keep it together) really rose to the challenge. For five nights, we were all working together to help Mr. Beatty get what he needed. Amazing. I'm not going to lie, I was impressed. I've seen low rent directors with no track record and no pedigree treat everyone like shit.

But, it gets better...Next, the reporters were being placed in the scene. There were probably 20-30 of us. Mr. Beatty went around to each one of us. "Hi, I'm Warren, what's your name?" and he'd shake our hands and look us in the eye. Now, here's the kicker. Once you told him your name...he remembered it. And called you by it for the duration...That's how Mr. Beatty has been seducing America for years, people. By being a human being who treats every contact as one of value. For the first time, I regretted not sleeping with him. Imagine what that experience must be like!

I got my SAG (Screen Actor's Guild) card courtesy of Mr. Beatty. On the 2nd night, while blocking another piece of the scene, he threw me a line. They had hired a couple of actual reporters to speak all of the 'reporter' dialogue but he thought it seemed weird to have the rest of the reporters not speak. So we said "Marion, throw out your best question." Sadly, I can't remember what it was and it never made it into the movie but I got elevated to day player rate and got my card.

So it happened, on night four, on about hour twelve of an eighteen hour night, I found myself relating the Beverly Wilshire Hotel incident. He had no recollection of it, of course but when I told him that I had politely declined, he looked me up and down with narrowed eyes and pursed smirk. Then, as his DP called him away, he smiled and said "Good for you. Good for you."

We've crossed paths again in the last several years. And I'm happy to say, he's still that same gallant, charming, roguish, present man. And he still remembers my name...

Ah, regrets, I've had a few.

Happy Birthday Mr. Beatty, Pt. 1

2010-03-30T15:08:00.000-07:00

In the 70's, Warren Beatty was not only a big giant movie star but the reigning Cock of the Walk. His sexual exploits were legendary as he made his way not only through the pantheon of his A list co stars but models, maids, socialites, wives, waitresses, daughters of friends...In 1976 he was still living in his long time digs atop the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. If you were a young girl with dreams of f**cking the great Warren Beatty, you went and hung out in their lobby. And that's how, on a summer evening, I ended up accompanying my best friend Eve* from our provincial little hamlet of Manhattan Beach, to stake out the Beverly Wilshire Bar. (*not her real name)

Having Warren Beatty as their well known tenant upped the hotel's profile and also drew a clientele of older, well heeled men who were hoping to snag his cast offs. In turn, this also lured more hookers...or "escorts" as they liked to be called. So the bar was a potent mix of horny young girls, hornier old men with money and money hungry working girls.

Before we go any further, let me point out that the 70's was when sexuality really opened up for women due to the availability of The Pill and we were all a little sluttier for it. But I was only there as Eve's wing man. I had no desire to f**ck Warren Beatty. He was too pretty. And he was f**cking everything that moved! But Eve really, really wanted to f**ck Warren Beatty and she didn't want to stalk him alone. So there I was in my Halston knock-off gamely trying to drink a dry martini without pulling a face. After being hit on by a couple of the deeply tanned, horny old boys, Eve and I were approached by one of 'the girls'...who I guess must have been having a bad week...she came over and in low tones tried to threaten us out of there. I offered to introduce her to the old horn dogs since they all seemed to be there for the same purpose. Except of course, I was too naive at the time to realize that old horny guys with cash are still going to try for the 'bargain' - being nubile young girls you can "buy" for a couple drinks and some appetizers - rather than a hooker who, no matter how attractive is still...well, a hooker.

Just as the hooker was starting to get a little loud with us...enter Warren Beatty. The minute he entered the lobby, a jolt of electricity went through the place. That energy entered the room ahead of him. As was apparently his M.O., he popped into the bar to 'peruse' before retiring to his suite. The hooker stopped, mid diatribe, her mouth in a perfect blow job "O"...I'm not sure if Eve was speaking. If she was, the pitch was one only dogs could hear. She was pinching the underside of my upper arm which brought tears to my eyes...I looked from her to the hooker, wondering what the hell was going on. Then from behind me I heard "Hi girls" and I turned around to find myself face to face with HIM.

His face was composed in that famous arrogant smirk and the hair was "Shampoo" era. I thought Eve might pass out because her grip on my arm was loosening. He smiled politely but dismissively at the hooker. If she worked there regularly, they probably recognized each other. But again, I was too naive to realize and kind of tossed my hair at her as if to say "haha, he doesn't want to talk to you, hooker!"

Mr. Beatty didn't sit...he stood between us at the bar...our knees pressing into his hips. There would be no lobby bar courtship, no drinks and small talk. There was a rhythm and routine to this transaction. "Would you like to come upstairs?" I immediately said "no thanks" and started to explain that I was only keeping Eve company. Somehow, Eve finally found her voice and said she'd love nothing more than to go upstairs. But for him, this was supposed to be a package deal. Both of us or none. I wasn't having it. It was actually starting to freak me out a little inside. Here I was, arguing with hookers in the Beverly Wilshire bar and being propositioned for a menage a trois by the hottest, handsomest movie star of the day! Eve actually started crying because I was ruining her Warren Beatty moment. Warren offered to have a private word with me while she went to repair her make up. "We can just send her home if you want." That wasn't what I was expecting to hear. Suddenly, there was a metallic taste in my mouth...fear, no doubt - which I think I managed to hide under my "moxie." I've always been big on moxie whether to my advantage or my detriment.

I still didn't want to f*ck him but part of me was secretly thrilled that it was me he wanted. Me and Faye Dunaway, Catherine Deneuve. Diane Keaton, Julie Christie, Natalie Wood, etc, etc, etc.
As Eve made her way back to her seat, I told him "no thanks" once more. With a little nod and that smirk, he left...just like that. Poor Eve was beside herself. I never told her what he said to me privately. That would have made her hate me even more. And she stopped being my friend that night.

Needless to say, I wasn't a Beatty convert after that. But many years later, while working on "Bulworth", I became one...

Stay tuned for Pt 2, tomorrow.

TRUST

2010-03-19T14:00:00.000-07:00

Today's entry is going to be somewhat disjointed but as a fun little exercise, I'm going to try and tie it all together somehow. Here we go...

Less than eight days after winning an Oscar, Sandra Bullock's world has been rocked again but in a vile and nasty way.

I have a kind of sixth degree of separation with Sandy (as tout le Hollywood calls her). First, we share German ethnicity. Unlike me (who kept it under wraps) she was always open and proud of her German mother and heritage. Second, I was a production executive at 20th Century Fox TV when she was cast as television's version of Tess McGill in Working Girl. She was a last minute replacement for then BIG star Nancy "Facts of Life" McKeon and this was gonna be her "big break". In what's become known as her signature ethic of hard work, humility and kindness, she charmed and wowed all of us. And btw, she never believed the hype. The show was predictably awful but it did put her on Fox's radar and on the path to movie stardom. That was 1990. After a little movie called "Speed" shot her into the stratosphere, she became one of America's sweethearts and has remained such. When she met Matthew McConaughey on "A Time to Kill", sparks flew but their friendship lasted long after. I later worked with Matthew on "The Wedding Planner" and remained in contact with him and his partner Gus for quite a while. When Sandra began dating Jesse James, her friends (including Matt and Gus) were all very concerned for her. From the outside looking in, concern seemed like a good idea.

Six years later, on Oscar night, it seemed like the sweet, satisfying culmination of both her career and her personal life as she accepted her award with Jesse sitting proudly in the front row. I felt such joy for her then, because it looked like she had beaten the odds. And Jesse had become the poster boy for bad boy turned good man.

When Sandra told Barbara Walters that before Jesse, no one had ever had her back before, I for one knew how valuable that is and it gave me hope. My own little heart was just starting to poke it's head out - like a turtle out of it's shell - finally feeling like it might be ready to trust someone, if that someone came along...then...WHAMMO. The fucking around is bad enough. The fucking around without a condom is heinous. But the broken trust. That's the one that's gonna leave a mark. A collective mark on everyone who looked at the lady and her biker and thought "If they can do it, I can do it."

Fess Parker has died. Honestly, I haven't thought about him in a loooooooooong time. And all the obituaries keep talking about "Davy Crockett" which was a little confusing to me at first. Because I knew him as "Daniel Boone". It was the only show I was allowed to watch as a 10 year old (besides "The Wonderful World of Disney") and even then, it was always a nail biter as to whether my parents would capriciously take that privilege away from me at the last minute.

Once, in an incident that was probably the beginning of my trust issues (aha!), my dad put me out of the house in my underwear. It was summer and we were eating dinner. I can only assume I was in my underwear because it was hot...or - come to think of it, my mother may have made me eat in my underwear so I wouldn't splash spaghetti sauce on my clothes...I swear to you, that just popped into my head. Being fastidiously German, she'd think of something like that. Frankly the summer heat/underwear at the dinner table scenario never made sense to me before...but I remember him grabbing me by the upper arm and forcing me out onto the front porch - slamming the door behind me. As I sat on the stoop, the feelings of fear and humiliation washed over me. I remember praying none of my friends would see me out there. It's hard to play off white underwear and undershirt as anything but what they are...suddenly, this thought popped into my head "Daniel Boone is on!"That spurred me into action. There was no time to waste. I marched myself over to the next door neighbor's house...Now these neighbors and my parents had an uneasy relationship. They were German as well but considered "lower class" by my parents. The man liked his drink and used to cut holes in our hedges. They had two daughters. One who routinely butchered the violin every afternoon and the other, who we called Ilona Balona, famously caught the crotch of her baton twirling outfit on fire trying to straddle a flaming baton (the original fire crotch!)...so, I can only imagine the secret satisfaction the woman felt when she came to the door and saw me standing there in my underwear, lower lip a quiver. She didn't let her feelings - whatever they were - show on her face as she let me in.

I asked if I could watch Daniel Boone with them and to their credit, they were very kind to me. The man pulled up an ottoman for me. The woman offered me a t-shirt. Both daughters came out of their room to join us and for awhile we all sat and silently watched Fess Parker. During a commercial break, the woman asked me what had happened and I told them. Near the end of the episode, the woman must have gone into the other room and called my mother because before long, she showed up to collect me...and she was angry. Angry that I had dared leave the porch, angry that I had embarrassed them by airing our dirty laundry to the neighbors and angry that I had sat there and calmly watched Daniel Boone. But, I wasn't calm inside. I was scared and embarrassed and MAD. And my trust had been broken...I'm just glad that I had Daniel Boone to propel me into action that day. Thanks for that Fess Parker.

A friend recently pointed out that it's no wonder I love TV so much now...because I was never allowed to watch it. Which is probably true. And that love led me to work in the business...which has led me to my current predicament...one that many of us are sharing. Shrinking business, runaway production, blah, blah blah...which brings me to this non sequitur...there's a potential job, a movie in the offing...it's not real yet, they may not get the budget where it needs to be, they may not get all of their financing...but it has potential because it involves someone who knows me and what I can do. We've worked together successfully in the past but had a falling out over a year ago...mostly due to my feelings of betrayal. We've very recently started speaking again and now this potential job is out there and I am wrestling with just being able to trust (tadaa!)...So I'm on my way home last evening - driving against the sun and zoned out -

suddenly the sun flashed brilliantly off the roof of the car in front on me - dragging me back into the present moment. As I blink and refocus my eyes I notice the license plate on that car.

It's from the state where the movie is supposed to shoot...and at that very moment, Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" begins to play on my radio.

TRUST.

Swinging from the Chandeliers

2010-02-19T17:01:00.001-08:00

In honor of the Winter Olympics, I want to share my own little Olympic encounter.

In 2007, I was in Las Vegas for the NATPE convention (National Association of Television Program Executives) in January. Most of my colleagues were staying at the Mandalay Bay Hotel where the convention was being held. But I chose to stay at the Hard Rock Hotel instead. It's more intimate and fun, the rooms are cooler (and for the money - bigger) and I wouldn't have to worry about running into drunken old station affiliates trying to chat me up in the casino. When I checked in, there were a lot of beautiful long haired boys milling about...not abnormal for the Hard Rock but enough for me to take notice. I dropped off my stuff and headed to the Mandalay Bay for a meeting.

At the convention hall, I put two and two together. The bounty of beautiful boys were in town for the SnoSports Trade Show which was sharing space with NATPE. When I got back to the Hard Rock to change for dinner, a faux mountain with real snow had been erected in the parking lot. I had a ring side seat from one of my windows. With an hour to kill before heading over to the Wynn, I cracked a bottle of Jack (You go Hard Rock, you gotta go Jack!) and enjoyed the show. It was a spectacularly incongruous sight. At times the boarders flew so high, I could almost touch them! I could have easily blown off my dinner and just watched them all night.

But my due diligence paid off...

While wandering the the newly opened Wynn, I happened upon this great quiet little moment. Steve Wynn and his wife walking the hotel as well...seemingly just enjoying the fruits of their labor. There was no one else in the hallway at that moment and they were stopping here and there, to look at the fixtures, the art on the walls, the carpet. Mr. Wynn noticed something amiss...his wife spoke quietly into a walkie-talkie and out of nowhere, an employee appeared to right the wrong. Priceless.

Business dinners are always exhausting because you have to be "on" the entire time. So, at 10PM, I was dragging my weary self back to the Hard Rock. There was nothing outside the entrance that prepared me for the scene inside. As far as the eye could see - which at the Hard Rock is the entire casino floor - was a sea of bodies. You literally couldn't see anything but the writhing mass of humanity. And some of them were, literally, swinging from the chandeliers! Seriously. The hotel staff, had ceded control of the hotel and were kind of huddled behind the reception desk. It was one of the most amazing sights I've ever seen. The kids (and they were mostly kids) weren't being destructive. The energy was pure and good. My immediate reaction was to hang out and experience this for a while. So I did. I just kind of moved with the tide. And while I definitely didn't "fit in," no body made me feel that way. There was no psuedo 'too cool for you' poseur action here. These kids were just having too much fun and if you were there, you were O.K. I ran into Shaun White at the bar and he helped me get the bartender's attention. When I congratulated him on his Olympic win, he blushed! The bartender shouted that I should put my money away because the drink was taken care of. Shaun had already disappeared back into the sea of bodies.

After downing my drink, I was ready to go upstairs. After tiptoeing my way through the people sitting on the floor in the hallway that lead to them, I found out that none of the elevatorswere working. The hotel had completely broken down in the few hours I had been gone! Hilarious. I guess even the Hard Rock wasn't prepared for this kind of hard core partying! Some people were starting to climb the stairs but I, in my stilettos, was not going to do that. I noticed a very young boy (eh, say 12) looking tired and forlorn as he leaned on his board. I asked him if he was ok and we connected on some mother/child plane. I was so touched by this baby boarder that I took him under my wing. The kid already had a contract but - in that moment - no one looking out for him. It turns out we were on the same floor, so I took off my shoes and told him we'd walk the 10 floors together. Just then, maintenance got one of the elevators working and their was a surge toward it. But a couple of older boarders blocked people from getting on "Hey, she's gonna take the little dude upstairs, let them on first." It was like getting on the last helicopter out of Saigon!

Now, normally, when you're in Vegas, no matter how crazy it is downstairs, when you reach your floor it's usually nice and quiet...When the elevator door opened on our floor, the hallway was choked with bodies...dancing, clowning, partying hard. Little Dude found his manager (who should probably have been fired for leaving his client alone downstairs) and I made my way to my own room. Here's where the Hard Rock has succeeded in a huge way. Once I got inside and closed the door, I could barely hear the noise out in the hallway. But just to be safe. I grabbed the bottle of Jack, still full but for a two shots, and opened my door. I offered the bottle to the guys hanging just outside of my room "You can have this if you promise to keep it from getting too noisy outside of this door." They were so happy to get an almost full bottle of Jack it was adorable. Was I irresponsible for giving it to them? Not my job. They were already drinking and partying. And it worked. They kept it quiet in front of my door...as far as I know, because I had one of the best nights of sleep I've ever had!

The next morning, there was no sign of the night before. The faux mountain was gone, the hotel staff was back in charge and everything was clean and orderly again. I was a little sad when I returned from the convention that evening and there was no bacchanal in the casino. The magical, mystical snowboarder tour had moved on but I was left with one great rock n roll night to remember.

One Man's Car is Another Woman's Temple

2010-02-17T14:28:00.000-08:00

The shiny new-ness of a new year usually wears off by the first quarter. I feel like a really jaded bitch because I'm already bored and weary of 2010. The malaise has extended itself to writing...anything. I was drafting off of my end of 2009 push to write the 12 Days of Christmas here, in the hopes that it would propel me into blogging more frequently. And ideas flit across my brain like fireflies...Ideas that seem brilliant in their brief burst of inspiration but then sift through my fingers like sand or water or sandy water. Because there is SO much out there. Now that literally everyone has a pulpit from which to vomit their usually pedestrian, misspelled, mediocre missives all over the internet...well, it hardly seems worth it.

In my continuing quest to shake things up in my universe...to try and figure out WTF I'm going to do next, I've taken to the old fashioned remedy of going for a drive. Driving is very conducive to calming and thinking. Notice how babies always fall asleep in the car? It's the closest I've come to true meditation. I admit, I haven't driven for pleasure in ages. I forgot how thrilling it is to navigate winding roads with sheer drops. To have the windows down and feel the breeze in my hair and the sun kissing my face. And to be able to allow my imagination to run wild, for my brain to explore thoughts and ideas without immediately rejecting them out of hand. On Monday, I ended up at the Hindu Temple in Malibu Canyon.

It's an amazing sight when it comes into view among the bucolic rolling hills. The Eastern architecture in strong contrast to Western landscape. But, I realized that they didn't just plop it down on any old plot of land. This temple was built for Sri Venkateswara, the presiding deity of the Tirumala Hills in Andhra Pradesh, India and a manifestation of Vishnu. Tirumala Hills means Seven Hills and Venkateswara is also known as the Lord of the Seven Hills. The Malibu temple sits among seven hills as well. You're not supposed to take pictures of him but are you kidding me? I'm alone in the temple with my tiny digital camera...what would you do? I had turned off the flash before getting out of the car. Is that malice of forethought?

The smell of incense and flowers lingers in the air and it's very quiet and peaceful. But my spirit was too restless to sit. In the courtyard are several smaller temples - very much like private mausoleums - that house other deities. I didn't get all of their names but I believe this one is Kanyika Parameswani. She is said to have fulfilled the wish of an ardent devotee by being born into his family. Once she became of age and the family wanted to marry her off, she let it be known that this wasn't part of the deal and immolated herself in holy fire to return to her spiritual form. Ouch. Why must there always be fire?

These two lovely ladies are across the courtyard from Kamyika. They all seem to look alike...is that wrong?

The temple is covered in intricate carvings. I especially liked the great elephant carvings on the outer wall.

The photo at the very top of this post is a close up of one of the life sized sentries that guard the entrance to the temple. We were eye to eye.

Finally, I put my shoes back on and got into my car. Out on Malibu Canyon Road again, I became in tune with the energy flowing through my open windows. I felt at peace and close to happiness...which is pretty close to a miracle.

Just goes to show you...One man's car is another woman's temple.

Thank you Mr. Jackson...that's Jonathan if you're Nasty!

2010-01-26T11:51:00.000-08:00

After the hoopla that was James Franco's stunt casted appearance on General Hospital...and make no mistake, I was on board that train and rode it all the way into the station!...the smoke has cleared and the show has settled back into it's planned storylines.

The central one involves Lucky/Elizabeth/Nicholas. If you don't watch the show, this has become a love triangle between Lucky, his childhood sweetheart and his brother. Jonathan Jackson was signed to reprise the role of Lucky, which he originated as a boy. Jackson won many Daytime Emmys for this role and went on to have a primetime and movie career. He was succeeded by two other actors. Greg Vaughan played Lucky for 7 years and did a fine job...and no disrespect to him, but IMHO he couldn't have played the layers that Jonathan Jackson is unpeeling at the moment. His portrayal is mezmerizing. It's informed with the history of all that has gone on before between these three characters. Watching Lucky's decent into the dark rabbit hole of heartbreak, disbelief, rage and reckless behavior, his raw vulnerability with his dad - the iconic Luke (Anthony Geary), has me spellbound and weeping...yes I am not afraid to say, unabashedly, I have been watching these episodes with tears streaming down my face.

Make no mistake about it, GH has a (for the most part) superb troupe of actors...and they have risen to the challenge of Jackson's performance. We saw the kick they got out of acting with Franco, but frankly his performance was a showy little turn of middling substance...which I enjoyed the hell out of!...but it can't hold a candle to what Jackson is doing. For all of you who are quick to poo poo "soap opera acting" - I'd put Jackson's work up against anything anybody on prime time TV is doing right now. AND, he's doing it with little if any rehearsal...pages and pages of dialogue that they get the night before. No movie or primetime actor could handle that workload with the skill and presence he's demonstrating.

So, while the movie star, Franco arrived with great fanfare, Jackson slid quietly back into a character he had not inhabited in 10 years and is bringing it!

So, thank you Mr. Jackson. Just, thank you!

It DOESN'T have to become a Movie!

2010-01-11T10:54:00.000-08:00

Ever experienced a bad bad boyfriend? Been in a relationship where you always came second? Been disappointed, lied to to, cheated on or worst of all battered and abused? Well, that's been my relationship with Hollywood. Hollywood is the man that you just know is bad for you but is so charming and suave that, time and time again, you forgive them and believe that this time will be different.

Our microcosm of society (in this town) is so out of whack that we, as artists, have come to believe that our art has no validity unless someone wants to make a movie out of it. I've been guilty of that myself for a couple of decades. Every anecdote related to me starts the wheels in my brain turning..."That could be a (adjective here) movie!

We don't create anything just for the sake of it's creation. We create it in hopes of a movie deal.

What is wrong with this picture? Imagine for a moment, if Matisse, Picasso, Van Gogh were creating their masterpieces with a three picture deal in mind? The Hollywood prism has invalidated artistry for the sake of art. In this desolate, treacherous, now all but dead world, your art doesn't mean shit if it doesn't get made.

I, for one, am no longer agreeing to this poisonous, one sided, upside down, sick relationship . I am breaking up with Hollywood. It has taken the joy out of my creating for the last time. I will no longer write anything that I think might be "commercial" enough or that 'so-and-so' might respond to. In the plainest parlance I have...FUCK THAT.

I'll be writing stories that I want to read...Exploring the worlds that play on endless loops in my imagination...painting pictures with words that satisfy my soul and make my heart skip. Now...will I be disappointed if no one else cares about these stories? I can't lie. I'm an artist who has always been motivated to sell. It's a step by step process. I can't give everything up at once. But I've taken the first step in walking away from a relationship I've been addicted to for waaaaay too long.

On the 12th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-25T06:00:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

Sundays with Bianca

Here we are...the final day of Christmas...I've saved my best, most important gift for last. My daughter Bianca. Some of you may have heard our story before but it's Christmas and it bears repeating.

When I was young and running around like an Untouchable, I got pregnant. Back then, my life was so crazy that missed periods were pretty standard. This was before in home pregnancy tests (Jeez) and I'd go to the doctor's office quite often for the "Rabbit Test." I can't recall what the Rabbit Test was exactly...something about peeing on a rabbit and if it turned blue you were pregnant?...the tests were always negative. So, I let my guard down a bit and ignored a few missed periods. And then discovered, this time, I really was pregnant...22 weeks pregnant. Because the baby had been conceived during a time that my husband and I weren't together, I knew there would be drama... and there was.

He wanted me to get an abortion...Thankfully, there were no clinics willing to do it so far into the pregnancy...Imagine if we had still been in L.A....the land of late trimester abortions...but the Universe was on full alert and protected this baby. He gave me a choice... Keep the baby and lose my husband...something I couldn't face. So, reluctantly I turned to thinking about giving the baby up and had started making calls. Then a miracle happened. He came home one night and took me in his arms and said that the baby was a part of me and he would love it as he loved me....so, she was born...but not before there had been several near disastrous accidents. These are stories for another time but, briefly...I took a spill on a motorcycle and also fell down a full flight of stairs in my eighth month. Neither incident fazed Bianca.

I've once in while wondered, had he known that having her would ultimately cause me to leave him, would he have had that change of heart? But no matter, Bianca was meant to be born and everything lined up to make sure that happened. Having her saved my life to be sure. The kind of life I was living doesn't end in a rocking chair on a nice porch somewhere.

So, we were bound together in a cosmic contract. Something wants us both here. And it is this bond, this unspoken contract that has brought us this far. And she continues to save my life...just by existing. It's been frustrating for me during dark times...I who am no stranger to suicidal thoughts. Frankly, I'm not a fan of hanging around "just in case" things turn out alright...the powers that be obviously knew this about me and exercised the Bianca Clause on me.

Now, during this darkest of years, 2009...my Sundays with Bianca have been my lifeline. Oh, we text and email and Facebook and talk on the phone pretty much daily...but she's a gorgeous, bright, lively young woman who should be making her own way and living her own busy life and I work hard to respect that...in exchange for which, I am blessed with Sundays, when she and I hang out...go to the movies...to a little pub...whatever it is, it's like my church...I just realized that...I go to the church of Bianca on Sundays and my spirit is renewed enough to face another week...come what may. I don't know if there will be a great reveal one day...that will show us why our journey is so intertwined and to what purpose. It seems odd to tie two people together and have an airtight fail safe in place to make sure we...meaning I, stay...all I know for sure is that I love her...so I stay.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.

On the 11th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-24T06:20:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

A Port in a Storm

I don't know how it works for you but it's very important for me to create an atmosphere that is familiar, consistent, safe and comfortable. I've never been one of those people that can write in a cubicle, a coffee shop or a park. I can blog, I can email, I can IM, etc. anywhere. But to go where I need to go within myself to give birth to my characters and the stories they inhabit...I need peace and reasonably assured privacy.

My friends, the Many's have afforded me such a place. Their very own home. They have been astoundingly loving and giving to me and understanding of me. They offered me a port in my storm. I am allowed to come and go without announcement. No questions asked. If I'm having a dark day they leave me be til I'm ready to be human again.

The room I write in was once their oldest son's...now a dvd library of sorts. It sits at the very front of the house and also has a door to their laundry room. I don't either shut the door when I'm there because somehow the room is removed enough from the hustle bustle of the rest of the house while still allowing me to hear the comforting sounds of life around me. Except when it sounds like there are tennis shoes in the dryer. There's a big overstuffed chair and ottoman by the window where I set up shop. Their two dogs - Huskies named Lexi and Tasha, are my muses. They greet me with wild joy every single time they see me and eventually settle in on the floor at my feet, to keep me company. It's a truly beautiful thing. When I'm there, I can feel all the promise of what's possible, tangibly once more.

It's no small gesture to open one's home to someone...no matter how much you care for them...I don't think I could do it. But the Many's are extraordinary people. And I am very lucky to benefit from their kindness. I hope to be able to thank them properly some day but I know they're not keeping tabs.

On the 10th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-23T06:30:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

HULU!!!

I know so many people who feel the same way! As we've all reviewed our budgets and nixed everything but the bare essentials, many of us tried to save cable until the bitter end. Because, at least to me, TV is a bare essential...and there was Hulu to step into the breach.

Hulu, I thank you from the bottom of my heart...I've heard that you want to start charging...and I get that...you are providing an invaluable service by making it possible to survive without cable...I may never go back except for those HBO/Showtime shows that aren't available...but please, please don't start charging until we can all afford it! I had to suspend my beloved Netflix account this year and I miss it.

And BTW, what the hell is up with TNT, Lifetime and CBS? Seriously, you couldn't just allow your content to be viewed on Hulu? Your servers are too weak to sustain the stream and makes viewing very un-user friendly. Therefore, I am not watching your shows. Boo.

But Hulu? I love ya! You've been a lifesaver.

On the 9th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-22T06:30:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

James Franco on General Hospital!

Again, in dark times, it's often just the seemingly silliest things that get me through.

I enjoyed getting caught up in the hype of James Franco...one of my favorite actors...seeking out a role on a show that I have watched since Luke & Laura days. I was insanely excited...not only for myself but for the actors on the show. What a great energy boost for them. These actors put out some great performances under the gun and on the fly...there is little to no rehearsal and rarely more than one take...I can tell you from first hand experience that there are no six figure movie stars who can deliver under those circumstances...

It was such fun to watch Kirsten Storms' Maxie get seduced by "Franco." And the twinkle in Anthony Geary's eyes when he and the movie star spray painted on the 'art'...priceless.

And by the way...Not enough has been said about the return of Jonathan Jackson, to the role he originated. I watched his Lucky Spencer grow up. He is a mezmerizing actor who has brought back a lot of the layering and shading of that character. Greg Vaughns Lucky was solid and had a strong "hero" vibe...you never know with Jackson's version...

So, the orignial giddiness of James Franco's presence has worn off because I enjoy watching this cast no matter who guests with them...but like I said, sometimes it's the silliest things that get me through to the next better moment...so Bravo to Franco and to GH for contributing to my bridge over troubled waters this year.

Still can't wait to see how the storyline plays out!

On the 8th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-21T06:30:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

The Generosity of Friends

2009 has been a Witch's tit of a year..To many...Some of those many are my friends. Friends who have been having a tough go of it this year as well...but these friends have been incredibly good to me...

One friend was keeping me supplied with weed for months....MONTHS, for free...Others treated me to things that are usually on the casualty list when you've been unemployed for a looooong time...a nice meal out, a few drinks at the local pub, a movie complete with popcorn and soda. There is something so humanizing about these social mores...they make one feel infinitely better about ones self. The generosity of these friends has overwhelmed me at times...also overwhelming has been the deafening silence or the breakneck backpedaling of other 'friends'. But, I've been working on letting that be about them and not me. Who knows what fears our circumstances trigger in others. Who knows - indeed - what burdens and hardships others are facing and trying to keep under wraps.

But, I am so touched by the generosity I have been shown this year and I look forward to being able to supply the same for someone when I can.

I love you all. You know who you are.

On the 7th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-20T10:34:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

My MacBook Pro

Originally purchased in 2008, this baby is my lifeline. It allows me...nay commands me to continue to be creative, no matter my circumstances.

It's a complete studio in a sleek brushed silver package. It's been along on all of my travels. Has ituned in Cannes, digitized in San Francisco, wifi'd for free in the middle of Central Park at midnite. It goes to bed with me, it's been to the head with me...It's my single most valuable and meaningful possession. I love my Mac!

On the 6th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-19T06:30:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

Katt Williams!

I couldn't possibly say enough about how much I love and appreciate this man. I'm not even going to bother posting any youtube clips because there are too many to choose from. He is brilliant. He is genius. He is funnier than shit while observing the way of the world and bringing those observations back home to roost with his audience...

He is a potent antidote for whatever ails me...and I need a BIG dose of him today. When you see this level of brilliance it's difficult to not believe that there's something bigger than us as individuals out there...

I LOVE YOU KATT!!!! I GOT YOUR BACK!!

On the 5th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-18T06:30:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

FACEBOOK

Never really got into Friendster. I have a MySpace page but can't remember how to access it and haven't been on it in years. I joined Facebook at the urging of a hipster friend who said it was a "must." Especially if I was doing comedy. And my hipster friend, who's name rhymes with Schmoo was correct!

What's been awesome about it is being able to stay connected with people who are no longer in my immediate orbit but who used to delight me in one way or another. Even the worst days could be made a tiny bit better by seeing their always witty, interesting, funny posts. It's also very gratifying when other people "get" me and respond in kind. When I was in my deepest, darkest depression, this summer - literally going nowhere, seeing no one - I could and often would go to Facebook. It's always there, no matter the time of day or night. During that time, I even got really sucked into Mafia Wars - it kind of became my "job" over the summer. I got great satisfaction watching my fake bank account grow to over a billion. At least I had money stashed in the virtual world!

What's been fascinating from an anthropological viewpoint is that, even though keeping in touch with someone on Facebook is literally a click away...some people are apparently "too busy" to even maintain that level of civility. I love posters who take the time to declare "I'm so busy I don't know what to do!" but obviously have time to post that. Howeve,r do not have time to respond to me. That was bothering me a lot for a while. But a few months ago, I just decided "Fuck it!" and defriended a bunch of people. Not in a retribury way. My goal was to reduce stress in my life wherever possible and easy to do so. Stressing about a long time friend who's just too cool for school to interact with me? No more. Deleted. Funny thing is, once that happened some of these people contacted me "I haven't seen your Facebook status in a while. Are you ok?" And I'm not mad at them. I get that everyone has their own stuff going on. But, don't get your stuff on my stuff. Everybody's happy. No one gets hurt.

Aother really cool by-product of putting myself out there on a social networking site has been that it really has exposed me to people who didn't know me before but "friended" me because they enjoy what I put up. Three of those people came to my show in September. That was really cool. Thanks Facebook!

On the 4th Day of Christmas...

2009-12-17T06:35:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

AMBIEN!

Sleep has been and continues to be key in keeping me healthy and sane - ish.

You know how it feels when you haven't had a good night's sleep...or worse have suffered a string of sleepless nights. Lack of sleep even attacks the very young.

It's no secret that as we age, our sleep patterns change or are more easily disrupted. We wake up in the middle of the night more easily. Whether it's because of increased trips to the bathroom, an unruly animal (man or beast), temperature, etc - it's tough to find that nadir of the perfect sleep. The sleep of babies...Damn babies...it's wasted on babies!

I am thankfully one of those perfect candidates for Ambien. I haven't suffered any of the widely publicized side effects - with the exception of one very vivid Bugs Bunny hallucination at the very beginning of my usage. I've never eaten, driven...or had "crazy Ambien sex" while under the influence. Granted, I only take 1/2 pill every night. On weekends, I'll take a whole one or 1/2 and then another 1/2 when I wake up, so that I can sleep in.

I had a friend who was up to 6 - 10 per night and he did do some wacky Ambien driving. Crashed his car into the neighbors car and fled the scene...into his house, where the police found him..asleep. He once went to an NA meeting while "asleep" and knew nothing about it until he ran into one of the other attendees who commented on how much "sharing" he had done at the meeting.

But were it not for Ambien, I'd look and feel like Beowolf's mother...and I don't mean the Angelina version.

On the 3rd Day of Christmas...

2009-12-16T06:30:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

District 9

A movie, put out with very little expectation that delivered on every level you'd want a movie to deliver on. While it does carry the Peter Jackson name (as producer), there are no stars in it and most of us had never heard of the director. For me, it was a happy accident that I saw it at all. We had planned to see Julie & Julia but it was sold out. District 9 was starting, so we went in.

I was so moved by the story itself and then by how well the movie was made.

How it made us care for the 'Prawns' - so alien and ugly looking. How Sharlto Copley played the character of Wikes Van De Merwe like a Stradivarius. Just remembering it now illicits another WOW.

After the movie, I paid attention to what everyone around us was talking about. More often than not these days, people have already forgotten about the movie even before they hit the lobby. But everyone was still discussing the story and what they thought would happen next. We were all invested in the future of Wikes and the Prawns! This experience fed my soul (seriously) and gave me the strength to want to hope for my own future as a filmmaker again.

On the 2nd Day of Christmas...

2009-12-15T06:30:00.000-08:00

My Universe gave to me...

ELIZABETH WARREN

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Elizabeth Warren Pt. 1

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Health Care Crisis

Knowing she's out there watching out for "us" makes me feel better, as it did Jon Stewart when she guested on his show. She explains things in such a way that makes it easier for someone like me to wrap my head around them. There's something calming and assertive without being aggressive like Susie Ormon can be. I know she's smart and gives good advice but she scares me! Elizabeth Warren's is the voice I turn to to calm the angst when it starts to spin out of control. Ahhhhhh. Elizabeth Warren is watching over us.

On the 1st Day of Christmas...

2009-12-14T06:30:00.000-08:00

The Universe gave to me...

SURPRISED KITTY!

Posted on October 13th with over 11 millions hits, this adorable kitten has obviously had quite an impact on the universe. It's been forwarded the world over. And nobody complains!

If you're trying to just piece moments of goodness together, this is 17 seconds of goodness.

Get Ready for the 12 Days of Christmas

2009-12-13T06:32:00.000-08:00

I'm doing this mostly for my benefit and I hope my eight followers get some joy out of it as well. Beginning tomorrow, December 14th, I'm going to do a countdown for the 12 Days of Christmas!

The idea came to me while I was feeling sorry for myself and I tried to do a little mental laundry list of "what I have to be grateful for." I started out to make a semi snarky, "humorous" type of list but then I realized that if I really was doing this for me, why not earnestly look back and try to pin point the 12 things that really helped me get through this absolutely shitty year. If you've read this blog at all, you'll know I've had an existential crisis of epic proportions.

So, enjoy the next 12 Days of Christmas...my gift from me to...me. And you.

Meow.

No Wings 4 U!

2009-12-07T10:31:00.001-08:00

The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show hit it's tipping point a few years ago and became HUGE. Remember when it was only available to view on the internet and the overload of viewers caused the site and much of the internet to crash? The last few years it's been a "must see" TV event...Fun for the whole family! 2009's show aired last week and will air an encore viewing this Thursday. If you didn't catch it, don't bother. I gathered with friends on Saturday to watch. We had drinks, we had food, we had anticipation. Here's what we didn't have...

ADRIANNA LIMA, who is or was pregnant with her first child. Nobody sexes up the catwalk like Adrianna. Most of the other star supermodels made an appearance but they were interspersed with a bunch of Sunday insert quality models, who I've never seen in the Victoria's Secret catalog before. It was kind of like standing in line to see the "Glee" kids and finding only the extras appearing. Heidi did a "surprise" walk which was fun even though they had her covered up in a bit too much tulle. Still 20 lbs above her fighting weight - after just giving birth 5 weeks ago, she looked great despite the vomit-plosion of tulle.

Also lacking was the wow factor of fantasy angel costumes. Because, this is not really a "fashion" show. It's a SHOW. In the past, their winged flights of fancy was my favorite part. There were maybe 2 or 3 outfits at the most that made me go "oooooh" this year.

Don't even get me started about the lame "New Angel" competition! Don't we get enough of that on reality TV already? The Angels are supposed to be fully formed deities who fall from heaven to model underwear! Not corn fed wanna bes from Kansas or wherever the hell they bus them in from. It was beyond distracting to watch those segments because none of us cared about these aspiring models. If I wanted to care, I'd start watching America's Next Top Model again. I want supermodels who's purview is the catwalk. Who stomp like Valkyries. Who look like they could fly off on those wings! Come on!

The musical performances also fell flat... Fergie in a teal corset gown looked out of her element. Her true style is edgy! Keep it real...and, is it just me or does it seem weird to have a woman singing as the models walk? Last year, with Usher, worked and his interaction with the models was organic and seemed fun. The Peas and the models didn't really connect. They were kind of dancing "at each other" rather than with each other.

And there was no "show stopping" moment like this...

The thrill of watching Seal sing "Amazing" as his wife walked out in this eyepopping snowflake get up, caused collective "oooh-ing" and "ahhhhh-ing" from audience as well as from us at home. It was a perfectly produced show and they haven't topped it since.

I actually might not watch in 2010. Which means an angel won't get her wings.

Damned if you Suck, Damned if you Don't

2009-12-02T10:51:00.000-08:00

It's funny what motivates me to pontificate.

I personally didn't have an opinion of Tiger Woods - one way or the other before his Thanksgiving drama - I still don't, really. But, I do have some feelings about the 'alleged' situation. Cheating in a relationship is destructive to all concerned. I've been the cheatee as well as the cheater. I've been 'The Wife' and I've been 'The Skank.

At 20, I was married to my gangster. He was 14 years older than me and famously once told me that he was "too much man for one woman." Only a 20 year old would take that as a challenge. I was young. I was hot. I turned myself into a pretzel (literally and figuratively) to be a Penthouse fantasy come to life. All of his friends and associates were jealous and he still cheated on me. I can't speak for every other woman who's been cheated on but it fucked with my head in an insidious way. My brain couldn't process it. Because, I was giving him everything he could possibly want or need. I never turned him down for sex. Ever. And what's worse, the women he cheated with were not attractive (ie: fugly). Nobody tells women that the cheating isn't a reflection on us. How many jokes have you heard about this? Remember Chris Rock's hilarious riff on the Lewinsky affair?

"See, this whole Monica Lewinsky scandal is Hillary's fault...'Cause, ladies, you know your man...You know what kind of man you got...You know if you got the crazy, 'need-a-blowjob-all-the-time man'... So Hillary Clinton put us all in danger...She put the security of the free world in jeopardy...That's right, she's the First Lady...She's supposed to be the first one on her knees to suck his dick!...Monica Lewinsky shouldn't have even stood a chance...Hillary's supposed to already be down there, like 'Hey, I've got it! I got the dick. Tickle his ass or something. Yeah, grab a ball, make yourself useful'."

Intern Skank/Presidential Cheater

I have no idea how much presidential dick Hillary was sucking. None of us do. I can only speak from experience when I say that I did my dick sucking best because I did know what kind of man I had. Seriously, there wasn't a drop left when he left the house. It didn't stop him though. Men cheat. It's the rule not the exception. Finishing my Chris Rock theme, he also said "A man is basically as faithful as his options." Unfortunately, I still spent years chasing the Holy Grail called "a faithful man." I grew up with parents who, while lacking in other areas, seemed utterly devoted to each other. My dad never went out with the guys. They went everywhere and did everything together. They are still together now. So this was the template on which I based the belief that there must be other faithful men out there. Now, I sometimes wonder if my dad did ever cheat. Although I don't know when it could have happened. ..maybe that's the secret. Don't give him any options. Don't let him out of your sight...hardly practical.

Now, Tiger's wife, Elin obviously didn't know what kind of man she had. I know we don't know for sure how that accident happened but I think most of us have a pretty good idea. Beautiful, genteel blond Swedish women aren't known for busting on people with golf clubs for the hell of it . At least Tiger had the class to cover for her. Can you imagine if this was Jon & Kate? That fat fuck would be crying to TMZ about the injuries she inflicted on him right now. I'm sure Tiger 's beyond mortified that this has become public fodder. Too bad he didn't have the class to not fuck around...or at the very least not fuck around with the typical fame whores dujour. And surely he had better options! He's Tiger Woods, y'all! You'd think he'd have access to better Hos...OR professionals. Although, apparently America is so fame obsessed now that the price of a high priced hooker doesn't include discretion anymore. You have to be specific. "I want a hooker with a side of Shut the Fuck up!"

I've heard speculation that Elin knew he was fucking around. That it's an unwritten understanding with these wives. In some cases that may be true. Which brings me to my experience as 'The Skank.' And let me say up front, I don't defend my actions at all. He was married. Had 2 kids. He was one of my bosses. Jimminy Cricket, how much more wrong can you go? But I fell in love with him. Now, his wife did know he was fucking around. He was a notorious cheater. I was supposedly the first affair that worried her because he wouldn't break it off after she figured out it was me. Not long after she put the pieces together (not rocket science), she came to visit the studio and we found each other alone in a ladies room together. I was taking my earrings off in the stall figuring I was in for a fight. But, not only did she not try to kill me...she engaged me in chit-chat...I felt like beating my own ass, a la Jim Carrey in "Liar Liar"!

Hilariously mispelled Payback

Whether you're famous or not, the fall out from something like this is gonna leave a mark. If Tiger Woods was just some guy, only his family and neighbors would be privvy to the drama. When I shot my gangster (calm down - flesh wound!) he lied to the emergency room doctors and said he'd been showing me how to clean the gun when it accidentally went off. They didn't call the cops and the only consequence was our marriage. Tiger's damage is still being tallied but it's going to take more than a pricey bauble to repair Elin's psyche.

And the skanks suffer too. Even if they're gold diggers, dick riders or fame whores. At the core of it, it still involves how they value themselves. And let's face it. While riding a famous dick might have some initial cash rewards - have you heard the new 50 Cent/Ne-Yo track 'Have a Baby by Me, Be a Millionaire"? and get you some tabloid face time - in the end you're still going to be The Skank.

Skank du jour

I know it's so much fun to read the dirt, repeat the jokes, make assumptions about Elin and what she was or wasn't doing to "deserve" this. But I keep thinking about how painful it is over there right now. How, for her, the holidays will be tainted for years to come.

I also keep thinking about what an incredible dolt Tiger Woods turns out to be. One of the skanks he took a beat down for wasted no time turning over his texts and voicemails to TMZ. The other is "negotiating a payout" Did Tiger really think they'd have his back?

Again, I can only draw from personal experience. Maybe I'm not fit to be among the ranks of skanks. Because when my affair ended - after 3 years - in the dawn of the Sexual Harrassment Age - I wrote and signed a letter stating that while I was involved in a workplace affair, there was no sexual harrassment involved. There were several other women (who I knew) at the studio who cashed in on their affairs with executives for 5 and 6 figure settlements but I knew it would be a lie...In retrospect, I could have used the cash...

priceless

The Secret is Out

2009-11-16T12:15:00.000-08:00

By now, "The Secret" has sold millions of copies of books, dvds, journals, calendars, etc. I've seen the movie. When I was first turned on to it by a friend, I watched several times. I turned a lot of people on to it as well. My two favorite speakers on the dvd were Esther Hicks and James Arthur Ray. I'll go ahead and admit it...I even had a crush on James Arthur Ray. Which is what prompted me to invite my favorite person, my daughter Bianca, to join me at one of his "free" seminars being held at the Beverly Hills Hotel in 2008. We liked what he had to say on "The Secret" enough to go. Which is saying a lot. I managed to avoid ever getting sucked into EST or Tony Robbins or The Forum but I was invested enough in James Arthur Ray's persona to go see him in person. So off we went.

The minute we arrived in the reception area of the ballroom and I got a look at most of the other people there, I felt like a sucker. Call me mean if you must but the room was 90% people I'd never willingly talk to. Which immediately made me think "Wait, am I one of 'those' people too?" You know what I mean...or, if you don't you might be one of those people too. Nonetheless, we stayed. The sales pressure started immediately. His staff handed out packets and instructed us to fill out order forms for Ray product before the seminar started in order to get "the best price." Nowhere in the packet did it give any kind of cost info. We sat on ours.

Then it was time for the man himself to take the stage. Now, we knew what he looked like from the dvd but we weren't prepared for the newly glammed version of Ray. He reminded me of Tony Robbins or a used car salesman. He was uber tan, svelte, buffed and polished to within an inch of his life. His suit was Armani (how do I know? He told us so) Now, granted, he WAS wearing a thumb ring in the dvd which maybe should have been a tip off but honestly, I liked what he had to say on the dvd. And much of that was reiterated there in the Beverly Hills Hotel.

What raised a red flag for me...aside from the slick get up was the huckstering. Right from the beginning he kept asking us if we'd "committed to having a better life" and if so, had we filled in our credit card info on the sales order form in the packet. Those who didn't raise our hands in acknowledgement, were treated to his disappointment in our lack of willingness to do whatever it took to improve our lives. You know that most of the people in the room were looking to financially improve our lives and being asked to blindly fork over an untold sum didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense. Gradually, over the next hour or so, as the pressure to "commit" increased - "In life, you get what you give," while still being met with resistance from most of us. Ray then offered up "the next best thing" - his various dvd/CD sets. He announced that he was going to give a set away. Here's how it went down:

He opened the package. Took out the first CD. Held it up. "Who wants this? Who wants it? Show me you want it!" A sprinkling of people jumped up from their seats, waving their hands. He was holding it high over head. A couple of people made their way to the foot of the stage and jumped up and down as if Springsteen tickets were in the balance. Ray slowly lowered the CD until it was right over their heads. Finally, one of the eager beavers was able to snatch it out of his hand. This was repeated several times until the front of the stage looked like chummed water along side The Orca. People were jockeying for position, stepping on each other's toes, elbowing the competition. For what? One CD out of 12 CD set???? Seriously, what are you gonna do with one CD?
Needless to say, we were disappointed in the flesh and blood James Arthur Ray. Turns out he's just another salesman wrapped in the cloth of spirituality. If spirituality was made by Armani. I left feeling vaguely sad. Like a kid who's already heard that Santa doesn't exist but is still holding out hope.

And now, this ultra ugly sweatlodge tragedy. I had heard about the deaths in passing and didn't really pay attention to the story. Then, this morning, while idley flipping through a few weeks old People Magazine, I finally saw that it wasn't just any old sweatlodge.Iit was a James Arthur Ray sweatlodge! Called the "Spiritual Warrior"retreat, people paid $10 grand to live in the desert, starve, skip sleep and sweat with 50 others in a plastic tarp covered tent. Throughout the "ceremony," Ray and his team were putting that familiar pressure on attendees to "Push past the pain" and making it uncomfortable to walk out. And three people died. You can read more detail here.

Well I hope Ray has saved and invested well because something tells me he's not going to be making much money in the future. What began (or seems so) as a genuine desire to make a difference spiraled pretty quickly into the requisite greed and arrogance that would lead a man to push people dangerously beyond their levels of "committment."

And btw, that doesn't absolve the people themselves. We have to take responsibility for our own acts as well. Using the sweatlodge as an example, if it feels too hot to you, get the fuck out! Don't let anyone tell you you're not a true "warrior" of any kind if you act on your instincts.

As with every other shitty situation we find ourselves in these days. It's not like it was a secret.

I See A Red Door...

2009-10-12T15:04:00.000-07:00

I have been suffering a crisis of faith in 2009 like you wouldn't believe. I've become the 'Show Me' Bitch. It's easy to believe when things are going well. You can be zen, you can meditate, you can appreciate the simple beauty of nature and see the good in every situation...but go six months or more without income, exhaust your unemployment benefits and you too will want to see everything painted black.

I have a particularly 'faithful' friend. She's been to prison, she's been homeless, she's had cancer, but goddammit, she's STILL optimistic and grateful! A zombie could literally be snacking on her brain while she's still alive and she'd say "I'm just so grateful it didn't rape me!" She implores me to "stay positive and know that the universe has something better in store for me."

Paint it, paint it, paint it black!

With this crisis of faith come the warm, insidious whispers of the dark side. I don't know what they sound like in your head but in mine they slither "Preciousssssss..." As a writer, I suppose I should be grateful (aha!) for the insights these times have given me. I'm no stranger to darkness, mind you...but I can now completely identify with crazy white boys who go on shooting sprees. Could a little demonstration of Goodness have changed things for them?

So, to Goodness, I say 'Show Me'. If you really do triumph over Evil, a little demonstration...in good faith, of course...shouldn't be asking too much. The clock is ticking and Evil is tapping it's impatient toe...

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I see a line of cars and they're all painted black
With flowers and my love, both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens every day

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes

I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black

The Definition of CRACKER...just so you know

2009-09-11T10:20:00.000-07:00

You know the old saying "Me thinks thou dost protest too much? Well, yesterday there was a lot of hubbub about Congressman Joe Wilson's rude and disrespectful disruption of President Obama's speech regarding the health care reform initiative. A long time friend of mine had posted something about him on her Facebook page about it and I commented "Yeah, he's a cracker douche." Later in the day, I started getting FB notifications of comments related to my comment. Apparently this commenter is a relative of hers. My condolences, honey. She has since taken the exchange down, but my email still had copies. =D

These are his comments, verbatim.

"How ignorant..CRACKER DOUCHE? This country will never move forward because of PEOPLE LIKE YOU!! Have some decency, that Congressman was wrong for speaking out in that manner I will give you that, however by using that type of racial slur, it makes you no better. The man is passionate just like you are. Educate yourself on the real issues here, and think before you use racial slurs to hide behind your own ignorance. I'm actually ashamed that (friends name here) would even associate with someone like you."

"Casual comments do not include the term "cracker". Why does it always have to be about race anyway? Can't you just speak your mind without bringing race into it? Or do you not have the intelligence?"

"And Marion again, why does it have to be about race? You actually believe Joe Wilson spoke out just because the president is black? As long as people like you make these types of accusations and make excuses, we will never move forward together. Finally, I do associate the "N" word with cracker. They are both racial slurs and should never be used to describe ethnicity."

Oh no motherfucker, not today!

(Rep. Joe Wilson, R, SC)

Unfortunately, my brilliant, erudite response (=D) is erased from FB and since I don't get email copies of things I post via Blackberry, I'll try to reiterate. My point was, that having spent quite a bit of time in South Carolina and knowing much of it's history and the entitlement of such white men as Joe Wilson - who's families have lived there for generations and who still display the Confederate flag (albeit, no longer atop the capitol building where it fluttered for years despite public outrage and attempts to have it taken down) - it's clear to me, as it was to millions of Americans that evening, that Wilson thought nothing of calling President Obama a liar in Congress with the nation watching. It's a deeply ingrained disrespect born of generations of racism. And that needs to be called out. I also know a whole lot of really good people from the south. People who would never think to act in such a disrespectful was toward a sitting President. But that's not who Joe Wilson is.

Now, back to my Facebook attacker. He truly believes that calling someone a cracker is the equivelant to calling someone a N****r. I looked up the definition of cracker, so let's see...

CRACKER n

1. general. One who or that which cracks (in any of the senses of the vb.).

1842 DICKENS Amer. Notes (1850) 14/1 A teller of anecdotes and cracker of jokes. (OED)

2. esp. A boaster, braggart; a liar. A Celtic word meaning a loudmouth. (Tonyan)

1766 G. COCHRANE Let. 27 June (D.A.), I should explain to your Lordship what is meant by crackers; a name they have got from being great boasters; they are a lawless set of rascalls on the frontiers of Virginia, Maryland, the Carolinas and Georgia.

3. [ l7C – early 20C] familiar or colloq. An enormous lie. ( Farmer, 201) A very tall story. (Partridge, 264)

1871 Daily News 24 July, Learning to tell lies, and call them ‘crackers’. (OED)

4. [late l7C-l8C] the backside. (Green, p.283) the anus or buttocks (Spears, 88; 1811)

5. Cracker U.S. A poor white Southern person ( also "rustic", "countrified", "backwoods"

(Cassidy, 825) "uneducated"(Major,119), "low-down’(Rowan,99) and "white trash." ) The area of Southeast Georgia, and North Central Florida are most closely associated with word. (Hill 223)

Also attrib.

Corn-cracker also refers to one who cracks corn to make grits or cornmeal, corn being a principal ingredient of the diet of backwoodmen (Presley) and poor whites linked to certain regions of Georgia and Florida. After the Civil War, many were too poor to buy corn meal and had no choice but to make their own. (Hendrickson, 76). Corn-cracker is first atttested to only in 1835. (Wordorigins).

***********************

This definition involves the whip, its pieces, its sound and those who used the whip. One theory is that cracker was coined by black people in reference to the whip-cracking during enslavement; by extension any white person. (Smitherman,100)

6. An attachment to the end of a whip-lash such as a piece of buckskin by which a cracking sound can be produced. Wentworth, 85).

***********************

7.. [ l7C – 19C] Crust, sea biscuit, or ammunition loaf. A thin hard biscuit. (Now chiefly in U.S.) Interestingly, the word cracker in reference to white people by Blacks is possibly derived from association with the whiteness of soda crackers. (Talkin 252) as opposed to ginger cookies. (Juba 119)

*************************

This definition of cracker is the racially charged one and is best understood after carefully considering all previous definitions as to how it evolved.

8. Cracker is also a Black name for whites, especially those thought to be racists. (Allen 50)

Stribling Store 473 AL, "We would do very well with white folks if it weren’t for these miserable crackers", declared the tan girl passionately. (Cassidy 826)

*************************
So, Mr. Facebook Attacker Man, anyone who would protest, so vehemently, my usage of the word in relation to Congressman Wilson or any of his ilk, protesteth too much in my book.

On the bright side for me...if I'm pissing these kinds of people off, I must be doing something right!!! And that's what's crackalackin'!

The Show Glow - Tales of Bitchcraft!

2009-09-10T08:53:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd share some photos from the actual show, both behind the scenes and on stage. Behind the scenes there are always obstacles to overcome. The timeline and countdown to curtain inevitably gets screwed up. Or maybe that's just waht happens when you have no rehearsal time in the actual space. One of our big snafus that night was learning that the theater's address was wrong on the invitations! How did we find this out? By the deluge of calls to my mobile 30 minutes before showtime! Argh! Luckily, everyone did end up finding the place but it shook up my pre show calm to say the least. Do you think Celine Dion has these problems?

It was at this point that we broke out the booze. Not that we wouldn't have in any case. I would never have had a drink or a "smoke" before a theater performance, but this is a retro kind of variety show a la Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr. We don't just drink, we "drank"!

So, we're down to the wire and the ladies are doing their "last looks"

I know I'm going to have to arm wrestle Monique to get this wig back. It looks great on her and she wants to wear it everywhere!

Heidi has fortified herself with enough wine to go out and do something she's never done before. Stand up!

There was a little drama when my daughter Bianca arrived. She had agreed to run the sound and light board for the show without learning that this meant being in the booth the entire night. She got a little upset about that because she really wanted to sit in the audience and watch me. As the producer and star of the show, this made me both frustrated and a little mad, because if she had just been willing to hear the whole spiel, we could have avoided this pre show kerfuffle. As her mother, it made my heart tighten up and made me want to cry. No body puts baby in a corner! Sigh. Ultimately, I broke the fourth wall with the audience and started my performance by going over and opening the booth window, introducing her to the audience and telling everyone that she'd be watching the show from there. She was kind of embarrassed but it played really well and baby got to not only watch the show but interact with it. I love her. She is my Tim Gunn. I always know if I'm on the right track if she likes what I'm doing and therefore, I will always want to make her happy, even when it's a pain in my ass.

Here's the screen in the darkened theater right before the video began to play at 8PM sharp. Several people came late. To a live show. After the video had played. They're pictures were taken and I called them out...all in good fun, but seriously people. Live theater. Is not a movie you can walk in on 10 minutes late. And a movie won't call your ass out. I will. It's part of the show. What about the title "Bitchcraft! did you not understand?

Once everyone got settled in, things went very smoothly from there. I had fun with it. I took a few picture sof the audience. Well, only two and you can't really tell what they are. After that I forgot how the camera worked and that was that.

Heidi Popp came on next and read from her journals, basically about all of her failed romances in L.A. Hey, if you live in L.A. then you know all about them. Guys come and go, but the material lasts forever. Go Heidi!

Next up was Monique Edwards, who is a film and television actress but had never appeared as a singer before this night. She has an amazing voice and a great big persona that belongs in this kind of arena. She should be preparing a dinner theater show as we speak and getting booked all over the world. And she should buy a wig just like this one. Seriously. The all over effect was perfection. Sell it sistah!

Then it was time for my last set. During this part of the show, I take topics that the audience has written down before the show and give my opinion on them. Unrehearsed. This is my favorite part of the show. Some of the topics that night were: Orgies, Religion, Global Warming, Spanx Underwear, Girls Who Squirt, President Obama and The Law of Attraction. I chose not to address Spanx but whoever wrote that suggestion gets the last laugh, because I chose not to wear my Spanx that night. It was too hot and I wanted to be comfortable. Seeing the tape and the photos, I see that instead of being uncomfortable I was assy. Live and learn. You can bet I'll be Spanxed up when I play the Apollo!

FInally, I want to share the faux tabloid cover I created for the end of the "She's A Bitch, Now" video. I'm so jazzed at how good it looks, I just wanted it to live here where more people might see it and read it. I love it!

The Aggro of Creative Birth, Part 2: Congratultions, it's a Show!

2009-09-07T19:59:00.000-07:00

Or should I say the Aggro and the Ecstasy? Because there is ecstasy involved when things you've imagined in your head draw together from small particles of energy and solidify before your eyes. Bitchcraft!, my first live comedy show since October of 2007 has come and gone. And it has evolved. Not yet perfectly formed but definitely took some big steps forward toward becoming my imagining.

(l to r: M. Edwards, M. Bolstad, M. Douglas, H. Popp)

I always envisioned a show that mixed mediums and media. Comedy, music, dancing, art, film. On Saturday night I opened the show with the video you can watch below if you're inclined in any way. The concept began with a spoof song title. The Commodores "Brick House" became "She's a Bitch, Now!" The song was recorded and then I came up with a concept for the video. The video was shot over a weekend and then it took me four weeks to edit four minutes worth of video! We are talking a steep, steep learning curve. Now I had my video to open my show with. I'm working with a zero budget at the moment and through the kindness of friends was able to secure a theater with a projection system. Unfortunately, I didn't find out until we finally had access to the stage that the projection screen would not lower and raise electronically but rather with a hand crank...so my vision of striding unto the stage, riding the wave of applause after the video were somewhat crushed during the much too long interval of completely blacked out hand cranking, interspersed with audience tittering and coughing...sigh.

(taking a look at Maureen's camera work)

But nonetheless, I grew the show exponentially. I added guest performers, who also appear in the video with me. I also wrote material for myself for the first time. Normally I do what I like to call Improv Stand Up. Meaning, I quip my way through audience suggested topics on the spot. This is still a big part of the show and was ultimately born out of my never having had time to write myself comedy material. It seems hair raising to most but for me that is fun! Delivering written material is what's scares the crap out of me! So, as a result of spending much too much time editing the video that would amount to four minutes of the show, I short changed myself on the honing of my material. And I was beating myself but good over it.

Between producing every element to hand holding my guest performers to stressing over the hand crank, I had beaten every last bit of fun out of it for me. I was sitting in the dressing room 30 minutes before show time and was just pissed off. Then, my inner voice just said "fuck it!" and I made the decision to go out there and just be real about it. For $5 our audience was getting free liquor, donut holes and a pretty damn entertaining show. And the experience of being a part of something that is still forming, still growing, still evolving. They got to be a part of the birthing process. And I give big, huge, donkey dick gratitude to each and every person who came and paid and enjoyed (many for the 2nd or 3rd time). Because they are encouraging me to keep the baby alive! It may not be fully formed yet. It may have a harelip but it's still a living part of me and someday, in the non too distant future, we'll raise enough money to get that baby's harelip fixed and I hope that everyone who has helped nurture and raise it, will be there to see it's perfect smile!

Click here to watch "She's A Bitch, Now!"

The Aggro of Creative Birth!

2009-09-02T09:41:00.000-07:00

The reason I haven't posted anything new since MJ died is because I've been prepping a live comedy show while still looking for employment. As I approach the 10 month mark (!) I wonder if I'll ever work again. But when the going gets tough, what do the tough do? COMEDY!

I recently read this joke: In Italy, a very depressed man goes to see his doctor. "I am so very depressed doctor, I'm afraid I may kill myself. What should I do?" The doctor replies thoughtfully and without hesitation "There is a great clown, a famous entertainer named Pagliacci. He makes all of the people laugh and forget their troubles. Go and see him without hesitation." The depressed man smiles sadly "But Doctor, I AM Pagliacci."

While writing can be lonely and isolating, it is a sublime form of creative birth. One where you have all of the control and where the only limits to your creation are in your own imagination. Physical creation is always fraught with aggravation, I find. Limitations challenge you at every turn. Finances, technical ability, time, depending on others...all become a melange of brain splitting stress. Or maybe it's just me. Everyone says "Just enjoy the process. Stop focusing on the problems. You're thwarting your own good!" And to them I say "Go fucking create something and get back to me." In my experience, whether it's a little 3 minute video, a live show, a $4 million or $34 million movie, there will be blood. And we should have the right to be frustrated and vent about it, right? I questioned myself the other day. Maybe this means I don't love it? They say if you do something you love, success will come? Um, this is Hollywood. That's not the rule. You have to REALLY want it and be willing to do and put up with whatever comes to get it. And then...you still might not. There are more people actively hating on you and secretly wishing that you fail than there are those supporting you. Katt Williams says we should welcome the haters but I don't need their bad juju added into the soup of my own negativity. I'm becoming so superstitious in my advancing age that the thought of someone sitting in the theater who doesn't wish me well is tantamount to giving me the "evil eye!"

But I DO love it. I've been putting on shows and creating worlds and stories and people since I can remember. We love our children but they still can frustrate us, break our hearts and make us curse them at times. I guess I have to make my peace with that and keep creating.

I leave you with this thought: Who can Pagliacci turn to?

Michael? Is that you????

2009-07-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

Alright! I was so close to a clean get away. I was going to get through the entire "Michael Jackson (This is It!) Death Tour 2009" without getting involved. But hearing Mary Hart (those legs aren't still worth $1 million!) speculating last week on whether "Usher touched an empty casket during the memorial performance" made me have diarrhea of the blog. So here goes.

His death was shocking but not surprising.

He was a handsome young black man before he started turning into; first Diana Ross and then a creepy looking old white lady.

It's quite likely that the widely spread "insider" rumor that he was given drugs to prevent him from going through full blown puberty - and losing the timbre of his multi platinum voice - was true. And would explain so much of his ensuing behavior. It's also quite likely that his dad authorized it.

He was surrounded by people who were in it for the money and enabled him ruthlessly and shamelessly.

My daughter once said "Look! There's that girl Michael Jackson!" She was five.

I saw him fondle a child actor in a production van on the Fox lot.

He wouldn't have fucked Debbie Rowe with your dick. She carried his embryos for cash and because it enabled her to pretend that someone wanted to fuck her.

His kids looked a lot whiter when they were younger. Children of the Corn white. Prince had white blond hair. So either they've been getting spray tanned or they actually are bi-racial and it's just now starting to show.

He had an obsession with Prince (the one and only) and named not one but both of his sons Prince. The two were often compared and Michael felt threatened by the Purple one. He once famously got down on his knees in the aisle of a jet and made fun of his rival's stature.

Paris Jackson already looks like she could kick Paris Hilton's ass.

He had terrible taste in art and furniture...and fashion. Terrible. I'm not sure but I think I'd feel better about being $400 million in debt if the stuff I bought didn't suck.

Here's a better, "faked death" theory than the boring "Michael faked his death to get out of his debts" version on the Internets. I'll call this theory the "Siegfried & Roy theory" and here's why; Long before Montecore dragged Roy's ass off stage at the Mirage, there was a rumor that the original Roy had had AIDS and that he and Siegfried found a young man who resembled Roy physically and employed him to become Roy's doppelganger in anticipation of his death. He had multiple plastic surgeries and lived at their compound, becoming familiar with and to the animals. This way the show could go on and after all, that's what it's all about, right? Anyway Vegas "insiders" believe that Montecore picked his moment to "out" the fake Roy - fittingly on stage. And this relates to Michael how??? Well, when I first got texted the news of his death, I went on Google immediately, just like you. At that time the news agencies were still reporting it as a heart attack. But a archive story from 2005 about a corpse being found buried on Neverland property popped up - published by The Onion - it's a hilarious spoof but wouldn't it be comforting in some way if this were true? That would mean that this Michael Jackson impostor was responsible for all of the bad behavior. And it also makes sense that the money grubbing coterie surrounding him, needed to keep him alive to ensure the gravy train didn't come to a screeching halt. That's why the music was sucking, that's why someone - who's name rhymes with Moe - also knew the jig would be up if this concert tour had gone forward. Because fake Michael couldn't bring it. It would have been like Milli Vanilli on crack. Unfortunately Bubbles had already been retired and couldn't pull a Montecore and attack MJ as only a freakishly strong chimp could. Maybe have grabbed Michael's rumored prosthetic nose and swallowed it or broken off one of his brittle arms and beat him with it. Bubbles knows the truth!

Finally, here are a couple of absolutely true tidbits from back stage at the memorial last week;

While all of the other celebs who performed came camera ready, Mariah Carey showed up with her entourage and demanded all attention be paid to her - causing the glam squad on duty to have to stop spackling LaToya...you know that's a thankless gig...and work their magic on Mariah in time for her cue.

Janet was to have been the last to eulogize Michael at the memorial but Michael's daughter, Paris, spoke up and insisted she wanted to do it instead. It was poignant and brave but I gotta say, a part of me...the jaded, black hearted, Hollywood part of me can't help but wonder if she's already playing us.

I have learned things about friends these past few weeks. That some of them were/are Jackson super fans. People I never would have suspected. That's because Michael's earlier music is woven into the "fabric of our lives." We have strong, in some cases, visceral emotional connections to it. And that's why some of you took his death so hard. It wasn't just him dying, but your own Peter Pan memories too. But we'll always have the music and the memories...and we'll always have Paris. Miss Jackson if you're nasty!

I found this link today. Eternalmoonwalk.com It's the first truly pure tribute to the man and I want to share it with friends and fans alike. I think the real Michael would have loved it.

OK, I'll go first...

2009-06-15T11:27:00.001-07:00

She couldn't take her eyes off the gown. It had been in the window all spring, yet the shop was never open and the little sign in the window always read "Will return at 11." Whether AM or PM, they never returned. Gold lettering on the doors stated "By Appointment Only" and a phone number. She had left many messages, none were returned. And yet, the shop looked pristine and cared for inside. Lavish gowns and accessories, fit for a princess bride were artfully displayed. Her obsession with the gown had grown to the point where she thought of little else and her trips by the shop had become even more frequent. 11AM, 11PM...11AM, 11PM. Now, as she stood here, waiting for the time on her cell phone to strike 11PM, her heart began to pound. Her mouth became dry. This was it. In 36 seconds, her life would change forever. She'd finally get her hands on the gown...feel the fabric and the weight of it.

She reached deep into her purse and pulled out a baseball glove sized chunk of concrete. Hefted it in her hand, gripping it securely. A quick glance at her phone...as it turned 11PM for the millionth time. With a deep breath, she struck the display window with the concrete chunk. For a second, nothing happened...and then spidery cracks spread with a skittering sound and the window fell at her feet. As she stepped boldly forward to touch the gown, sirens could already be heard heading her way...

Where in the world is Marion Douglas??

2009-06-11T11:24:00.000-07:00

For summer I've decided to bring back the cell phone picture journals. The rule is, the pictures have to be taken with my cell phone (which is now a Blackberry Curve rather than Pearl). The twist I'm adding is, you'll have to guess where I am based on the pictures posted. Hopefully this will force me to get out more cuz it'll be pretty boring if all the pictures are of my bedroom! The extra added bonus will be that one of the designated pictures will be a jumping off point to write a short story for anyone who wants to play....

Here we go...Where in the world is Marion Douglas? Post your guesses in the comment section.

Here's a hint: It's in Southern California.

And finally, below is your short story" jump start" photo. The idea is to go with the first thought the image evokes. GO!

I'd love to post your stories too. So send them to me at marion@dangerkittyfilms.com!

When did Bank Robbing become so low rent?

2009-06-03T08:56:00.000-07:00

After seeing the trailer for "Public Enemies" with Johnny Depp...a moment of silence...sigh...I really started to think about this. Bonnie & Clyde, Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid, The Dalton Gang, John Dillinger, Pretty Boy Floyd, Jesse James, Baby Face Nelson...even the SLA, guest starring Patty Hearst, to name the most famous. Then there were the European counterparts who often pulled off the most dazzling of heists.

And finally, the grand daddy of them all, the great folk hero Robin Hood.

Isn't it funny...peculiar, not haha...that as the "greed is good" Wall St. gang rose, the folk hero robbers disappeared? All those folk hero robbers had something in common, they operated during troubled times in our country. And they had the support of the people. Did they all follow Robin Hood's edict of robbing the rich to give to the poor? I'm not sure and I'm not going to research it. But why were Americans celebrating these criminals? Because they were doing something that every one of us has primally wished we could do at one time or another...stick it the man!

So, while Milken and long line of other "white collar" crooks were ass raping us all, bank robbery kind of fell by the way side...at least in the glamour department. Remember that North Hollywood bank of America shootout in 1997? What a debacle. And zero glamour.

Now, back to my original thought. When did bank robbery become so low rent?

In Paris there's a gang calling themselves The Pink Panther Gang. You can read the full story, written by a pretty hot looking guy named Eric Pape, but here's one of my favorite passages: "Their signature is the audacious, tightly choreographed lightning-strike robbery. In 2005, Panthers in St. Tropez on the Côte d'Azur dressed in loud tourist T-shirts, hit a store near the waterfront, then strolled through the tourist-thronged streets—impassable to cars—to a waiting speedboat. In other well-planned getaways, they’ve used bicycles and even skis." How fun is that?

Currently, it seems Americans have become content to view celebrities and "reality stars" as their folk heroes. But what are they doing for US? Do you care if they have cellulite while frolicking on some exotic beach, or if Jon cheated on Kate? Or if they have body odor or whatever the fuck? I DON'T. How much more uplifting and joyous to read that a modern age Robin Hood and his/her Merry band have arisen. To follow their tales of robbing the very banks that have been fucking us out of house and home, right under our very noses....said noses having been buried in the sand watching "I'm a Celebrity, get me out of here" or "Wipe Out" where obese people bounce cruelly off of gigantic mud covered rubber balls (OK, that IS funny!), but I digress...Can you imagine the satisfaction of learning that a group of robbers have emerged, who have returned to the fine tradition of robbing the rich and giving to the poor? And the earth shaking message that would send to Wall St., the AIGs, the Enrons, the Maddoffs, the Chases, our corrupt government? To borrow from "Network" and that famous Peter Finch line "We are MAD as HELL and we're NOT going to take it anymore!" We don't HAVE to take it...but we CAN actually take 'it", meaning riches from the rich.

I don't condone or advise injuring or killing innocents. But, real good old fashioned, well planned out, elegantly executed robbery. Of huge sums to be distributed to those in need. That's the problem with those Somali pirates. They stupidly withhold the much needed aid for their own people on those pirated ships. That is where they lost sympathy and support. Perhaps, if they read, or watched "Robin Hood" a few more times, they'd get the concept. If they were helping their people (as they originally set out to do), they'd be the folk heroes they should be.

When the Mafia first came to New York, they were adored and protected by the people, because they HELPED those in need. You know what corrupts every single entity mentioned here? GREED.

As Bill Maher so eloquently stated the other night, "Greed is NOT good." It is the Achilles heel of every living soul, excepting those special few who should be studied for what it is that they either have of don't have, that exempts them from greed. You can watch the full video clip but one of the highlight for me was "Americans will do anything to each other for money...who acts like this? This wouldn't happen in Sweden...I can't imagine Abba putting out a record called "Get Rich or die tryin'." So, here is my call - to all similar minded peoples. I am looking for smart, sharp, talented, clever, fearless, resourceful people. Multicultural, multi language, open minded, well read, technically adept, organized, detail oriented, good driving, nerves of steel, cool headed under pressure are adjectives I am looking for. The time has come. Restore the days of real folk heroes. Help us help ourselves. The bankers are still sitting in their rosewood paneled offices, laughing at their government bailouts while still grinding the rest of us under their thumbs like loan sharks. They are bullies and it's time to stand up to the bullies.

Who's with me?