I Don't Give a F#@k About "The Interview"

If you've been following the news at all lately, no doubt you are aware of this thing called the Sony Hack and the pulling of the film "The Interview" from theaters. If you haven't, read about it here. And leave a note in the comments about how you are able to avoid something that everyone is talking about, short of never going online again.

Seems most in Hollywood are crowing about how shameful it is for theater chains to cancel showings of the movie, forcing Sony to cancel the release of the film. Aaron Sorkin's pretty pissed about it. As are Judd Apatow, Ben Stiller and a host of others. There's lots of talk about "free speech" and "censorship" and how un-American it is to capitulate to cyber-terrorists in this way.

Frankly - I think the reaction is about as American as it can get.

If you are under the impression that Hollywood exists as an exercise of our civil rights, you, my friend, live in a very idealistic world. One I'd like to visit someday, but I think might require loads of Xanax and endless pep talks from Oprah.

Hollywood's main interest is the bottom line. Entertainment exists, by and large, to make money. Making money is the American Way. If you put some sort of obstacle in the way of making money, it is quintessentially American to remove that obstacle. If "The Interview" were to play in theaters over Christmas, at a time when many American families will be taking in a flick or two, it might convince some folks it's safer to stay home. It's not like theaters haven't been subject to violence and terrorism in the recent past. If people avoid movie theaters over the holidays because of a perceived threat, remove the threat. "The Interview" is a threat to the bottom line.

Censorship is a part of the entertainment business. Why do you think you never hear the word "fuck" on primetime broadcast television? Because no writer ever wanted to add it to a script? Fuck no! It's because "fuck" will alienate some audience members, which will mean less eyeballs, which will mean advertisers won't be as interested in paying to have their ads run during your show. Most TV shows don't exist to entertain us - they exist as an advertising platform. It's the American Way.

Honestly, I really don't care one way or another about the film being cancelled. It's just as much an exercise of rights to pull the film as it is to show the film. Sony execs decided to make the dictator in the movie a real person because they thought it would be more provocative. They got exactly what they asked for.

What I DO care about are the work-a-day folks over at Sony whose personal information was leaked. Those in charge seem to be playing fast and loose with the private information of the girl in the office who gets the coffee or the guy who sits in the editing bay for 16 hours a day. I hope this whole debacle will serve as a cautionary tale to companies to take cyber security seriously. It's all fun and games until you piss off one of the most volatile dictators in the modern world.

Showing My Work

I've been anxiously waiting for a book that I've had on hold at the library, and finally got it into my hot little hands yesterday afternoon, after a wait of about three months.

I'm already finished reading it.

In fairness, it's a short book, easily digested, but it is FULL of GREAT and USEFUL IDEAS. That book is "Show Your Work" by Austin Kleon.

Do you know him? If not, you should check him out. Particularly if you are a creative type person. His first book, "Steal Like an Artist" is also right on the money. You can find out all about his books and his blackout poetry at www.austinkleon.com.

I've been thinking about this concept - showing my work - for a few months now. Ever since I started on the journey of The Artist's Way, back in August. A journey which is coming to an end this week. I'm a changed person because of it.

I've got lots of ideas brewing in this brain of mine. I'm smack-dab in the middle of working on a Young Adult novel - called "New Summerland" - as part of NaNoWriMo. This very blog you're reading right now is scheduled for a New Years overhaul, and I'm pretty excited about it. I've got a better idea of what direction I'm heading in, and I'm excited to share it with you.

I've been enjoying this new process of showing my work on a regular basis. I thank you for going on this ride with me, and sharing your work with me. We're all in this together. We are all students and teachers, simultaneously.

Go forth and create! And show me what you're working on!

Welcome Back, Monica: An Open Letter to Monica Lewinsky

Dear Monica-

I hadn't realized you had disappeared somewhat from the public eye until yesterday (I guess that's how "disappearing from the public eye" works). I was scrolling through my newsfeed on Facebook and came upon a video a friend had shared from Upworthy - "Monica Lewinsky Gives Her First Public Speech in 16 Years And Says Exactly What Needs To Be Said". Based on my friend's comment, which amounted to, "Hey, we've all made crappy decisions, let's have some compassion", I decided to have a look.

Compassion has been a theme in my life lately. The past couple of years have thrown some pretty awful things my way, including being publicly maligned on social media - though on a much smaller scale than what you've had to deal with - and I've discovered that the only way to really cope is to actively practice compassion. It is perhaps one of the most difficult challenges to embrace, but one that also reaps the highest rewards.

In watching the video of your speech at the Forbes Under 30 Summit, I noticed that I could not stop smiling. It seems like a strange reaction, but I was delighted by your honesty, your willingness to accept responsibility for the poor choices of your youth, and your commitment to giving purpose to your past.

Hell, I've made poor choices. I made ALOT of poor choices in my early twenties. Thankfully, through life experience, I'm making far fewer poor choices now that I'm heading into my forties. I've suffered the consequences from those bad choices, learned something, and have been able to grow and put them behind me. Due to the global publicity of your choices, you have not been so lucky. It's hard to imagine what it would be like to have to revisit choices I made 16 years ago every day.

I remember in the late 90s and early 2000s joining in on the "let's bash Monica Lewinsky" bandwagon. I didn't think of you as a real person then, you were simply a character in a political theater piece that seemed to have very little to do with my reality. Frankly, I'm embarrassed by that now. You are a person - a smart, strong, capable, ambitious, generous and warm-heated person at that. I'm sorry that I ever let you become something other than that in my mind. You are a person that deserves to have a happy and productive life. Compassion is teaching me that we all do, and that I need to take more care in how I perceive people in the media. No story is black and white, and it is important to remember that there is always a real person, with real feelings, behind every story - a person whose truth may be drastically different from the story that is being spun by the media.

There are always going to be trolls and cyber-bullies. I read some nasty things in reaction to your recent Vanity Fair article as well as your Forbes speech. None of us will ever be free of those who lack compassion, who refuse to give anyone a second chance, who refuse to take the high road, who are incapable of having empathy for someone's imperfect humanity. But I hope that you will weather the naysayers so that you may find your purpose.

Our world needs more women who can rise out of shame, more women who are educated, well-spoken, and compassionate, who can provide a voice for those who do not have the strength to speak for themselves, who lack the courage to face humiliation with their heads held high.

I'd like to live in a world where Monica Lewinsky and Hillary Clinton can co-exist. I don't think having respect and compassion for one should negate that for the other. I believe I can hold each in high esteem without being contradictory. I hope more and more people come to that conclusion as well. It would be a damn shame for the world to lose out on the gifts you have to give. The time is right for your new beginning, and I am excited to think about the ways in which you will have a positive impact on our world.

Welcome back, Monica. I, for one, am really glad you are here.

Sincerely,
Amy Clites

Why Getting Older Has Made Me More Indecisive and Less Opinionated, and What That Has to Do with Renee Zellweger's Face

Unless you are completely disconnected from the Internet, chances are you read something about Renee Zellweger's face over the past couple of days. It seems just about every media outlet, celebrity journalist, blogger, and anyone with a Twitter account has piped in with their two cents. Scroll through your newsfeed and you'll no doubt see before and after pictures of her face, expressions of shock and dismay, and opinions about women over 40 getting plastic surgery. Some people find her new look appalling. Some think we should just ignore it. Others have defended her.

My original reaction was one of mildly shocked confusion. How could someone's face change so much that they no longer look like themselves? I clicked back and forth between pictures, trying to figure out what was different, but the changes are subtle. Yet, there's no denying she no longer looks like Bridget Jones. I felt the familiar mild annoyance I generally do that women over 40 continue to perpetuate this notion that we all have to live up to impossible beauty standards, and continue to look like young versions of ourselves, even when we're older. I, myself, have considered plastic surgery on this nose of mine, thinking that would solve some of my problems and people in Hollywood would like me better. So far, I've succeeded in talking myself out of that. I have worked very hard to like who I am, and I don't really want to undergo elective surgery that may drastically alter my appearance. I want to look like me when I look in the mirror.

But then I read her response in People magazine and I thought, "Hey, she's right, who am I to shame someone whose appearance has changed?" My confusion and annoyance about the differences in her face morphed into annoyance about all the attention people were paying to it. I liked that she had made many of the same changes that I've been working on as I get older, namely slowing down, spending more time with a few important people, getting more rest, nurturing my creativity, and learning more about my authentic self.

But then, goddammit, I read this article in LA Weekly, and my opinion changed again. Amy Nicholson makes a great argument that it's okay - nay, that it's actually very important - that we're upset about Renee's Zellweger's face. The actress's refusal to acknowledge that she has had any cosmetic procedures to alter her look, that they are instead the result of being well-rested and happy, is a terrible affront to all us average Sallys out there. No matter how much sleep I get, or how many home-grown vegetables I eat, I'm never going to look like a "movie star". Nicholson argues that her changed appearance just proves that talent and personality are much less important than beauty.

I already know that beauty is king, I don't need any additional reinforcement of that idea.

So, here's where it gets tricky for me. I appreciate Zellweger's response that people should focus more on the positive changes she's made in her life to make it happier and more fulfilling, and spend less time obsessing about her looks. But I also agree with Nicholson, that ignoring it does nothing to mitigate the idea that women need to always look as beautiful and as young as possible, even if it means going under the knife.

This makes me want to tear my hair out! I don't know what to think anymore!

I was very opinionated as a teenager, and in my early 20s. But since I hit 30, if you present me with two opposing ideas and make a good argument for each, I cannot decide how to feel about it. I no longer see issues in black and white. I've had too many life experiences, things I thought would never happen to me and family, that have forever altered my ability to see issues as inherently good or inherently bad. I tend to shy away from hot button issues because my thoughts aren't generally solid one way or another. I'm terrible at arguing a point, especially with someone who is very persuasive, because I then see it from another point of view and my own arguments seem hollow.

I thought this development as I get older, this inability to be fervently opinionated, was the result of having a more tender heart, of feeling a little weaker. A friend (someone who is, coincidentally, a great persuader), challenged me that it is not weakness, but wisdom.

I'd like to believe my indecisive nature is a result of wisdom gained over the years, but I'm not so sure (ha! There's that indecisiveness again). Now with Renee Zellweger staring me in the face with her new face, this issue is more confusing than ever.

Does anyone else have this problem?

NAKED PICTURES OF ME - Do I Have Your Attention Now?

I've been thinking a lot about attention lately, and how it relates to art. Or, more importantly, how it relates to making a living in the arts. To distill it down to its essence, it seems you cannot have success ($$) without attention. So basically, whether or not you are going to succeed, whether or not you are going to make money and not have to pack it all in and move back in with mom and dad back in Indiana, is all based on whether or not you can attract attention. Yet I feel the word "attention" is much maligned in the media (thus bringing even more attention to it). "Attention" is often paired with "whore", so anyone seeking attention is cast in an unflattering light. I guess my question is, what does it take to attract attention to yourself, to your work? In a cluttered market, what makes you stand out? I'd like to think talent is important, but I've learned the hard way that talent is not an essential part of the success equation. It's not really even necessary. I've been deemed "talented" by just about everyone I've worked with, but after 20 years I'm still just barely scraping by. I've been told by some of the most esteemed teachers in the business that I have "it", that I have what it takes to "make it" if I just hang in there long enough. That I am special. That's nice to hear, but the harsh truth is that I am not special in the marketplace. I am either uncastable, not fitting into any perceived, marketable category (how many times have I heard "I love you, but I don't know what to do with you", or conversely, "I already have half a dozen women just like you on my roster"?) Too many soccer moms, too many funny aunts, too many nosy neighbors, too many average-looking, middle-aged women. I don't stand out. While I relate this conundrum to acting, I do think it applies to just about any artistic medium. What does it take to attract attention to the work you do? And how do you avoid being called an "attention whore" for trying to get people to look in your direction for more than half a second? I know - you build a website, you send email newsletters, you post constantly on Facebook and Twitter, you send out mailers, you take class after class, you pay for casting director workshops, you "build your brand." Hell, you make sex tapes or have naked pictures of you leaked. You spend 95% of your time promoting yourself and 5% of your time actually making art. I think the way we educate artists is fucked up. I spent 7 years and $85,000 on my education. I spent 95% of my time working on my art and 5% of my time learning how to promote myself. I now can't get a job. Why aren't institutions of higher learning focusing more on how actors treat themselves like businesses? Why aren't we learning how to make a business plan, how to set up an LLC, how to file taxes with deductions, how to create a marketing plan, how to have CONFIDENCE in your brand so that you can tout to the world how awesome it is? Artists should be required to minor in business or marketing. Instead, it seems the only way I'll every pay off my student loans is by getting a job outside my field of expertise, outside of the business that I trained for and paid big money to learn how to do expertly. Seriously, though, and I know I've gone on a little rant here, but it is important - how do you attract attention without alienating everyone? You must be just as sick of getting invited to 75 improv shows a week as I am. Now that there are so many ways to scream out to the masses, how does that even get heard? Success is no longer based on what you have to offer, but on how loudly you can scream. I told you there would be naked pictures of me.

Happy International Stage Managers Day!

Did you know October 10th is a holiday? (Stand by Sound Cue 1 hand-clapping)

Well, you do now! It's International Stage Managers Day! Woo hoo! (Sound Cue 1 hand-clapping GO).

Those of you in the theater world know just how invaluable a good stage manager is, and how the success of a show is largely in their hands.  For those of you not in the theater world, here's just a small sampling of the kinds of things that stage managers do:

1. Setting up rehearsal schedules and making sure everything runs on time, which means constantly reminding actors when and where they need to be.
2. Scheduling costume fittings and making sure actors remember to show up.
3. Overseeing all the physical attributes of a production such as lighting, sets and costumes, and making sure actors don't mess those things up by doing stupid things like eating in costume or touching props that don't belong to them.
4. Writing down all the blocking for the director during the rehearsal process, so when an actor forgets where they are supposed to be someone can remind them.
5. Being "on book" during rehearsal in case an actor forgets his next line, so he can be fed the line after calling "line".
6. Taking line notes during rehearsal so that when an actor says a line incorrectly they can be reminded to say it correctly.
7. Preparing a prompt book for all the lighting and sound cues during the show.
8. Calling a show during performance (i.e. being in charge of all the cues and telling board ops and backstage crew exactly when to execute each cue so things run smoothly).
9. Being in charge of all the backstage and on stage areas during the show.
10. Ensuring the welfare of the entire cast and crew by knowing safety regulations, laws, health codes, etc.
11. Keeping track of actors' valuables during the show.
12. Basically being a superhero that the production could not possibly live without.

Everyone involved in a production has a relationship with the stage manager, they are the hub of all activity. It's a tough and often thankless job, especially when they have to deal with egomaniacal actors or directors (not that I would know anything about THAT of course).

If you haven't already done so, please take a moment today to thank and maybe even hug a stage manager. You should also buy them a cup of coffee and even bake them some cookies, because they are the first ones to come in and the last ones to leave each night. They deserve some damn cookies.

Thank you to all the wonderful stage managers whom I have worked with over my 20 years in the theater. You guys are all rock stars!!

Free the Artist, Not the Art

Show of hands - how many of you out there are willing to pay for art? How many of you believe that an artist should be paid for her output, whether it be a musical performance, an essay, a graphic design, or a painting of your dog?

Alright, another show of hands - how many of you have gotten these things for free? Have you attended a free concert in the park, or gotten free tickets to a show, or shared a music download with someone for free, or asked a friend for a favor to create a little logo for your blog?

I've certainly been on the receiving end of free art. But I've also been a giver of free art. For far, far too long. I daresay our culture has given us a sense that art should be given for free.

As I struggle to embrace the idea that I deserve to be paid for what I create, I'm surrounded by messages that it has little value. That art is a hobby, not a vocation.

If art is a hobby, why did I spend over $100,000 for my education? Why did I earn an advanced degree? Why do I continue honing my craft in endless classes? So that I could get a job as an administrative assistant and pursue art on the side? Fuck that.

I'm so tired of working for free. I'm tired of being expected to work for free, even from my own peers. I'm sick that our culture allows us to perpetuate this myth that it costs nothing to produce art, and that it is easy - anybody could do it at an expert level. How many plays have I been in where I haven't gotten a dime? Or if I did get the union stipend of $15 per performance, I was expected to give it back to the theater, just so they would survive? How is my time of no value?

As artists, we're encouraged to work for free, in the beginning. It's a way to establish contacts and gain some experience. But I'm almost 40 - when does that stop? When will I actually be able to start paying on my student loans? Is it only when I give up what it is I trained to do? What I'm good at, and what makes my heart happy? The thing I feel I was put on this earth to do?

I've been told, time and again, that I undervalue myself. But how do I find value in myself if other people don't think there is value in what I offer?

I'm making a promise to myself today. If you are an artist that is struggling as I am, I hope you will join me in this. I refuse to keep working for less than what I am worth. I refuse to "give up" because society thinks that is the responsible thing to do. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is the work I am meant for, and I will no longer undervalue myself. If someone doesn't want to pay for what I have to offer, then I will move on and look for someone who does. They are out there, somewhere. I won't find them if I continue to settle for less.

I am taking back my life today.

Don't Feed the Trolls: Some Thoughts on Social Media Arguments

Yesterday morning I was greeted with a Facebook notification, alerting me that I had been tagged in a post. I sauntered over to said post, and read the article that my friend had shared. It was a highly incendiary article, written by a white male for the National Review, that calls into question the "war on women." He posits that the battle ended long ago, and that the women won. He cited some statistics that backed up his claims that women are more educated than men, that there are more women in the workforce than men, and that single women out-earn single men. In a nutshell, he thinks women should stop bellyaching. If you'd like to read it, you can find it here.

I have this particular Facebook friend, and I suspect you all have at least one of them, that enjoys posting about highly controversial topics, presumably just to see what kind of shit storm ensues. I've gone back and forth about eliminating this friend from my list, but ultimately have chosen not to. While this friend's views are often wildly different than my own, I find value in knowing how someone so different than me thinks about the world. Arguments are generally solid, and I find that sometimes it does give me pause to consider another point of view.

But yesterday I knew I was being baited.

I'm a feminist, and I do support several charities that work to end violence against women and girls throughout the world. For the past four years I've been involved with a charity production of "The Vagina Monologues" in downtown LA and during the show season post endlessly about it. Hell, I even make anatomically correct vagina cupcakes to sell as a fundraiser. I knew I was tagged in this particular post, in the hopes that I would willingly jump into the fray.

I opted not to participate.

While I have opinions about the article, I am of the firm belief that you cannot ever win an argument on social media. Nick Bilton wrote a great article for the New York Times where he ruminates on how engaging in discussions about highly controversial topics on Facebook or Twitter or other social media outlets is a fool's errand. I tend to agree. 

Here it is, about 24 hours after the argument began, and I see that the post has garnered over 250 comments. And while there are some cogent thoughts presented on both sides of the table, the discussion has devolved into name-calling, hate-speaking, and rape jokes most would consider to be in poor taste, especially if taken out of context. 

In my opinion, arguments on social media cannot be won, and becoming involved in them is a waste of time and energy. There will always be trolls out there, ready to engage in a war of words. It's just not a war that I think is worth fighting. While I think that information about controversial topics has a place on social media, I tend to let the information speak for itself. People can choose to read or not read the articles I share, and I do the same with articles that others share. I digest them and let them inform my worldview. But I don't want to engage with the digital mob. At least I try very hard not to.

What are your thoughts about social media arguments? Do you think they have a place in our virtual world? Do you actively engage in them, or shy away from them as I do?

I Want To Be a 90-Year-Old Fashion Icon

Do you know Iris Apfel? I didn't until literally just now. Well, I've known her through photos, but I never knew her name. This woman is marvelous. She is exactly who I want to be when I am 90.

Found at http://www.theenglishroom.biz/2013/06/15/film-news-iris-apfel-documentary/

 Isn't she marvelous? Those glasses! That make-up! Those bracelets! All that poof and pattern and panache! I love it!

Learn more about her in her own words at Into the Gloss. Or here at the New York Times.

Look at her house, featured in Architectural Digest!

THIS OUTFIT!

THESE PANTS! WHERE CAN I GET THESE PANTS? I WANT THEM NOW!

EXACTLY.

To Cable Or Not To Cable?

That is the question, folks. We've been contemplating ditching our DirectTV in favor of no cable TV whatsoever for the last couple of months. That bill is getting unreasonably big, and we find we spend too much time sitting in front of the TV watching the same shows over and over and over ("Big Bang Theory" repeats, I'm looking at you). I think about all that wasted time and money and it seems like a no brainer. In fact, I posed the question to my Facebook friends and the overwhelming response was "get rid of cable, you'll never look back." And these are mostly entertainment industry folks.

But I'm still nervous about it. I do look forward to sitting down and kind of checking out in front of the TV after working all day. I look forward to our "appointment TV" with Survivor on Wednesday evenings, and watching the Green Bay Packers during football season has become a cherished family tradition. Sorry to all you Bears fans back home.

Okay, you guys, I have to come up with some reasons why getting rid of TV is a good thing for me and for my family or I'm never going to pull the trigger.  Here goes:

1. With our Apple TV and Netflix subscription, I can still watch alot of shows. I can add Amazon Prime and Hulu Plus if it gets to be limiting. Not to mention all the shows that stream for free online somewhere.
2. We can still watch Survivor and football through an antenna (though not all Green Bay games since we're not in that region) .
3. No more mindless entertainment. Every time I sit down to watch TV it will be with a purpose, with a show that has been chosen for just that moment, not whatever just happens to be on.
4. I can do more reading. I'm an avid reader, and between the mindless TV and the mindless Internet surfing I do on my iPhone, I haven't finished a book in quite awhile.
5. My 14 year old stepdaughter will have to find something else to do with her time instead of sitting in front of the TV.
6. We'll save over $1000 a year, which can be put towards a vacation instead.
7. I looked on our DVR, and there isn't one show listed that I recorded, except for shows on which I've appeared. It's mostly endless episodes of "House Hunters International" and a variety of cooking shows. I don't need to see any more episodes of people looking for homes abroad (especially now that I know it's all fake) and I have Pinterest and cookbooks for recipes.
8. We don't bundle our internet service with cable, so that isn't going to be affected.
9. I think TV may be robbing me of my creativity. If I pull the plug on cable, I will effectively restore at least a couple of hours a day to pursuing creative interests that I have put off for too long.

Am I missing anything? I'd love to hear your reasons for kicking the cable habit! Please share your thoughts in the comments section below.

My Remembrance of 9/11 - Have We Forgotten?

Photo by Chris Schiffner

In writing that date, my heart is heavy. I always find this day very hard to take in. I was a graduate student at Rutgers in New Jersey the day the towers fell. I had gotten up early that day and gone to the gym for the first time that semester. It was our last year of acting school, and my classmates and I had become obsessed about getting in shape for showcase at the end of the year. A friend, Jessica, had met me there to show me some good exercises. She was fit, I was not. 

It was the first week of school, and we had our first on-camera class that morning so I spent extra time getting ready. I even ironed my clothes. As I got close to school, I had this nagging feeling that I had left the iron on, and I was worried that my cat would knock it over and start a fire. I was pretty well consumed with this thought as soon as it occurred to me.

I parked my car in the faculty lot behind the student center. I was a TA so I technically could park there, a relief since there was usually an empty spot, unlike the student lot, and I didn't want to be late. I hurriedly walked through campus to get to class on time. On my way, a random student I had never met stopped me and said, “A plane has just crashed into the Pentagon.” I was flabbergasted. What? What was going on? I didn't linger - I didn't want to be late for class. That was a cardinal sin in our program.

            

As I approached our building, several of my classmates were standing outside. Everyone looked especially nice that day as we were meeting a new teacher on going on camera. One of my classmates, Tammy Jo, was crying hysterically. The information from the events that morning started to come to me in disjointed bits and jabs.

            “Tammy Jo saw it! She was driving to school and saw it from the Turnpike!”

            “Should we go give blood?”

            “There were two planes, the World Trade Center is on fire!”

            “Are we having class? What should we do?”

What happened at the Pentagon? That seemed inconsequential now, considering how close we were to the World Trade Center. It was quickly determined that we were not having class that day.  In a truly selfish moment, I was so grateful. I could drive back home and see if I had left my iron on. I had.

            

Several classmates met back at the house down the street from school. It was the local theatre house, everyone who lived there was a student in the department, about eight or so. The number was never really definite, as boyfriends and girlfriends often stayed, too, myself included. I was dating one of my classmates who lived on the second floor.

            

We sat there that morning and watched the TV in stunned silence. Phone calls were made to check on loved ones in the city. More calls were made to folks back home to assure them we were okay. We saw the towers fall over and over again, the footage looped in case anyone in America hadn’t heard the news yet. How could anyone not have heard the news? The images of the jumpers were shown over and over and will remain seared in my memory of that day. It’s stomach-turning to think about what September 11th was like for them, the horror they faced that made jumping to their deaths below the best option. And the two who were holding hands - I still get choked up thinking about that. Did we ever find out who they were? I've since learned there were over 200 people who jumped to their deaths that day.

            

After a couple of hours of not knowing what to do, and not getting any new information, it was decided that the best thing we could do to help was to give blood. A small army of us coalesced and we headed down to Robert Wood Johnson Memorial Hospital in New Brunswick.

            

The hospital was mobbed and we were turned away. So many people had showed up to give blood that they were overwhelmed. I wouldn't find out until years later that I can’t give blood, anyway. I spent a semester in England in 1995. The Red Cross won’t allow anyone to give blood who spent more than three months in some countries, including England, between 1980 and 1996 because of Mad Cow Disease.

            

Not knowing what else to do, we all descended upon the Edison Diner, a favorite place to score a greasy dinner after rehearsal or a party. I was preoccupied, wondering if I was supposed to have my therapy appointment that afternoon. I had finally signed up for the free therapy they offered at school, to help me through my recent divorce. All my calls to the office went unanswered. I could only assume there would be no therapy that day. We didn’t have any classes for at least a week, as I recall. Most of our instructors commuted to Rutgers from Manhattan, and were trapped in the city.

            

A month later I went to Manhattan with my friends Kristofer and Paul, to interview headshot photographers. We made our way downtown to see for ourselves what had happened. The air still smelled of acrid smoke and – what else, it's hard to say. I’ve never smelled anything like that before, and I hope I don’t again. The site was not yet cleared, sections of charred walls remained, set askew and barely visible over the fences that cordoned off the area. It was a ghost town. Businesses were closed and there were few people walking around. Paul tried to shimmy up one of the temporary fences to get a better look. I didn’t need to see anymore. Our hair still smelled of that acrid smoke on our return to New Brunswick, like when you've been sitting in front of a campfire for too long. 

Those are my memories of 9/11 - faces, pictures, feelings and smells. What a fucked up day. It’s so big and hard to comprehend, the amount of suffering that happened. Suffering that rippled out through the country from Ground Zero that day. Have those waves finally settled? 

I'm watching CNN right now. It's 13 years later. I've so far seen no coverage of that day. Stories of Ferguson, Missouri, the Oscar Pistorius trial, and Obama's speech about ISIS are the top news.

Have we forgotten?

Even Billboard Queens Like Arts & Crafts

I had my weirdest "celebrity" sighting in LA today.  Okay, I didn't even know this person was famous until I came home and told Adam the story, but she certainly caught my attention, so it's not too surprising that people know who she is.  As soon as I began to describe her, Adam shouted, "Oh my god, that was Angelyne!"

My response, of course, was "who the fuck is Angelyne?"  Well, this is Angelyne:

I guess I'm too new to Los Angeles to have seen her billboards, but Angelyne became famous in the 1980s for a series of billboards throughout LA funded by "investors" (when talking about Angelyne, alot of things need to be in quotes, like she's "blonde" or "pretty" or has "good taste").

All I know is that I went to the Michaels in Encino this afternoon to buy Martha Stewart labels for my fig jam, and happened to notice two firemen in uniform in line talking to this bleach blond hottie with neon pink fabric in her hair wearing a tight pink mini-skirt, pink pattern jacket and pink wedges (remember, this is a Michaels craft store).  As I approached this funky trio in line, I could only see the woman from behind, and I took her to be about oh, twenty three.  She was a piece of work, I'll grant you, but she had nice legs - no cellulite, no varicose veins.  But then she turned around.  She may have had Tina Turner - like gams and a set of the biggest tits I've ever seen, but her face was  like post-plastic surgery Barry Manilow with a bad blonde wig.  She looked at least 70 from the front.  I nearly gasped out loud and dropped my jam labels.  It was one of those things where I didn't want to stare but I couldn't not look at her, she was a walking contradiction.  And a total freak show.

As we made our way up the line I tried to keep my eyes averted by watching the Paula Deen look-alike on the TV at the check out giving instructions in how to paint on a t-shirt with a stencil.  Riveting stuff, let me tell you.  It was finally my turn, and I made my way up to the cashier right next to the Pink Nightmare.  I could hear Pink and the cashier having a "disagreement" of some sort, and as I casually tried to "not listen" I came to understand that Pink thought the cashier didn't understand store policies and that the cashier thought that after working there for five years that she, in fact, did.

"I hope I never see you again" Pink replied as she took her leave.

"Feeling's mutual" retorted the cashier.

As the doors swooshed shut behind the Nightmare, my cashier, who was casually "not listening" like me, could barely contain her amusement. 

"What was that about?" she asked he co-worker.

"She tried to tell me that she didn't use this" she said as she showed us a half-used bottle of Mod Podge.  "Gimme a break.  You think I'm gonna trust a porn star?"

With that I took my change and exited Michaels just in time to see Pink pulling out of the parking lot in her pink Corvette.  Of course she has a pink corvette, I thought.  Then I put it all out of my mind until later this evening when I thought to tell Adam the story and learned that Pink was the notorious Angelyne and that I was probably the only person in the store who didn't know who she was.



"I thought I'd make a decoupaged picture frame of my pink pooch, Buddha,
to give to my manager for Christmas this year"

Which just goes to show you, even billboard queens like arts & crafts.  And firemen too, apparently.  And that everyone is pinching pennies these days, even going so far as to return used glue.  And that you can't go anywhere in this town without the threat of running into people like this.

Go Happy!
Amy

That's Amore!

I'm a bit of a girl when it comes to my favorite movie.  When I was a kid, I desperately wanted to be both Italian and a New Yorker, so it's no wonder that I had seen Moonstruck over 30 times by the time I finished high school.  Oh, how I wanted to be Cher, and have big, jet black hair, and wear a pretty dress and go to the opera with a hot, passionate guy.  Even if he did have a wooden hand, I wouldn't care.  He would touch me with that wooden hand and I would go crazy, I tell you.   "Hollow me out so there’s nothing left but the skin over my bones!" I would cry.  Then I would have a good, stiff drink and cook him a steak.  And two days later we would be engaged.  It would be awesome.  This is what I had come to expect from love.

Oh, how wrong I was.

I have learned over the last few months a different meaning of love.  See, I have this cat, his name is Mars.  Some of you may have met him.  He is a curmudgeon.  His typical mode of communication is the persistent, loud meow or the more menacing hiss.  He'll stand at your feet, meowing insistently for attention, and the moment you bend down to pet him he'll bite your hand.  He acts like he doesn't want you around, but if you go out of town for a few days he'll pee on your bed.  Just ask any of my former roommates.  I'm surprised some of them still speak to me.

Well, Mars is almost 14 now (he'll be 14 on tax day, how fitting).  And now, not only is he a curmudgeon - he's a stinky, pooping, peeing, barfing curmudgeon.  If it is foul-smelling, it has come out of him.  In copious amounts.  In my living room. 

Until lately.  You see, Mars has been constipated for the last few days.  And boy, is he not happy about it.  And he has let me know it.  He meowed nonstop for an entire day, and walked around the living room straining, just trying to get that poop out.  So I did some research online.  And I discovered that, just like people, you can give a cat an enema.

Oh yes, you read that right.

So I went to Walgreens at 2am to get the proper supplies (and some Ben and Jerry's for me, because fuck it, if I was giving the cat an enema, I deserved some fucking ice cream afterwards).  I did all the research, prepared the feline enema solution, watched the online how-to videos, and steeled myself for what was about to happen.  I scooped Mars up, plopped him in the tub, and proceeded to, well, try to get him to show me his ass.  Ha!  He knew what was up, he had my number.  And as much as I tried, he was just too squirmy.  I needed reinforcements.

This is where Adam comes in.  The next day, we repeated the same scenario, this time with Adam holding Mars and me in the tub with him.  In went the enema, and in a few moments....out came some truly vile-smelling things that I won't horrify you with the details.  Needless to say, Mars was sequestered in the bathroom for a few hours while he....worked it all out.  By the time it was over, my entire apartment smelled like the inside of a cat, and he desperately  needed a bath.

What's the moral of this story?  Well, to me, it's that love isn't about sex with hot guys and going to the opera.  Love is figuring out how to work out all the shit - figuratively and literally.  Love is giving someone an enema and cuddling with them on the couch later.

This afternoon, Mars and I watched Moonstruck, and I felt the love.

Go Happy!
Amy

Domestic Goddess

I started the morning with a good cry.

Don't worry, it wasn't over anything serious.  It was because I was watching Roseanne.  Well, maybe that is a reason for worry.

Being the domestic goddess that I am, I spent the early morning hours cleaning up the apartment and doing a few loads of laundry, and when I was done I sat down to eat the lovely egg white omelette with grilled peppers,sauted spinach, queso and habanero salsa I had made.  Normally I don't watch TV during the day, but today I decided to click it on and plant myself on the couch while eating my breakfast.  While flipping through the guide, I noticed my all-time favorite show about The Domestic Goddess was on, so I figured how apropos, perhaps I'll catch a few minutes and have a laugh or two.

Well, the particular episode that was airing was from the last season (the one where they won the lottery - not my favorite), but the scene that was playing was in the NICU at the hospital where Darlene's premature and seriously ill baby was being kept.  All the women of the Connor family were passing this tiny baby around and telling her how much they loved her and how much they wanted her to hang on and fight.  Jackie (Laurie Metcalfe, a terrifically talented actress) was telling the little baby about how she had almost fallen out of the car when she was 5, but how her mother had grabbed her by the hair at the last moment and saved her, and that if she (the little baby) felt like she was about the fall away that they would be there to grab her and let me tell you I LOST IT.  The baby gets passed around to everyone, more stories, everyone's crying, they keep cutting back to a shot of real, tiny baby, and I am on the couch, fork in hand, BLUBBERING.  I had to put my omelette down and go to the other room to grab a few tissues to wipe off the snot running down my face.

Now, there are lots of people out there, I'm sure, who don't understand how I can watch TV, let alone Roseanne, for three minutes and turn into a puddle of goo.  But that show - that show has always been able to reach out, grab right around my heart and give it a good squeeze.  It's the kind of show that makes me proud to be in show business.  I know there are lots of stories about how working with Roseanne and being on that show was difficult, but you never see that on the screen.  They all look and act like they really care about each other and the stories they are telling.  All I see is a real human story, with regular kinds of working-class people who have strong and complicated relationships with one another.  I feel like I'm watching my own life when I watch that show.  Whether it's funny or sad or ridiculous, I come away feeling, well, a little more connected to the world.  Like we're all having different variations of the same life experience.  Plus John Goodman really reminds me of my dad, so that certainly doesn't hurt.

I know, I know, it's just a TV show.  But it's a damn good TV show.

Okay, time to the do the dishes.

Go Happy!

Amy

Reality? Check.

A few observations since beginning my "funemployment":

1.  There are alot of people at the gym at 10:30am.  Who are these people?  What do they do?  Are they unemployed like me?  Do they have night jobs?  Are they trust fund babies? (Probably no on that last one - I go to Bally's, a distinctly low-budget gym).  Having been holed up in a windowless cubicle from 9am - 7pm for the last three years, I'm amazed that there are people out and about during the day.  Riding bikes.  Shopping.  Having coffee.  Hell, there is more traffic on Santa Moncia Blvd. at noon than at 9am.  How is this possible?  And why has it taken me so long to join this terrifically sunshiney world? 

2.  In the 13 years that I have had my cat, I often find hairballs at least once or twice a week.  I have never actually witnessed him doing it, however.  No longer.  Now that I'm home during the day, I got to see it first hand.  It's pretty impressive.  One second - nothing there.  Next second - giant sticky, smelly mess on the floor.  Like magic.  Like it came through a wormhole.  Wow. 

3.  I have the ability to waste an enormous amount of time on Facebook.  Thank you, ny friends, for being  endlessly fascinating.

4.  Daytime TV is depressing.  I'm sorry Rachel Ray, but I find you kind of grating.  And don't even get me started on Oprah or Dr. Phil.  I'd rather gouge out my eye with a rusty spike.

5.  When I don't know what to do, or I am avoiding doing what I should be doing, I clean.  My apartment is going to be fucking spotless within the week.

6.  If I don't get out of my apartment regularly, I'm going to gain 20 pounds in a matter of days.  Food is my elixir for boredom and stress.  And the yogurt place across the street is constantly calling my name.

Still trying to sort this new reality out, but I'm definitely in it.

Go Happy,
Amy