On the 12th day of Christmas...

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...

The Universe gave to me...

Katy Perry's FIREWORK.



Baby you're a Firework!

On the 10th day of Christmas...

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...

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...

The Universe gave to me...

BLACK SWAN.

On the 7th day of Christmas...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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.