Fruit of the Loon

An Afternoon with Superman - a story by my brother, Sam Marinis

2011-10-21T16:48:00.000-07:00

Kryptonite shmiptonite... I caught Superman with a bench vice.

And I guess I thought he would be bigger in person. Kind of a let down.

Like... how did his foes not kick his ass? He's like 3 fucking inches tall... COME ON! You can't be a henchman if ya can't beat a 3 inch guy. I'm sorry!!!!

Where's your wheelchair now Superman!!!

Superman is no longer fire proof.

As you can see, his foot is on fire. He obviously didn't read "How Not to Be on Fire" in the training book which is chapter 2.

And his ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound seems to be an over sold idea.

Jack Sparrow's Compass

2011-07-25T16:33:00.000-07:00

You never think things are going to change. It's not that you're inept or unaware of the way the world works. When you're caught up in the moment you're not thinking of when it's all going to go south.

We never thought the band would change or that the music would change. If anything in the back of our minds we thought we'd all drift apart before our foundation fell out from underneath us. That the music would always be there. I think that's why we're sadden and embittered by the decline - the heart fell out of the music. And we feel betrayed by the uncouth treatment of the organization we came to love. We were unceremoniously laid off without severance. We stand in the parking lot in disbelief holding cardboard boxes filled with our remnants and mementos. No gold watch, no speech, no thank yous for years of loyal service and dedication, just a swift kick in the ass to make room for the younger recruits who will do more for less.

We were a family. What's more, we are a family still. The dissemination of the inspiration for our meeting doesn't negate our experiences. And what an amazing ride it's been. For 11 years this family has been my world. The experience of following a band around the country, meeting people from the internet and forging the strong bonds we have is not something most people understand. We've all had to defend our choices and endure strange looks. It's not something that can be rightly explained. We all eventually came to not care what others thought. This was our way, these were our friends, and we'll see you on the beach in Mexico. And now the ride is over. Our season passes expired. We're still milling around the parking lot with our boxes and wondering what the next step is. What is the next adventure? Where are we all headed? Are we going there together or will we meet up at the reunion?

I put my box in the car and headed into the sunset, destination known. Yet as I sit here in the city I have longed to call home, I find that I am without an identity. Lost. I've been this late night, dive bar, local band, built in camaraderie, Arizona resident for so long and now the page is clear.What will the next chapter be? There's an outline but what will I fill it in with? What will be the meat of my experience? What will the rhythm and atmosphere be? Who am I now? It's like I'm the teenager I never was trying on different guises of my personality to see which one stands out the strongest, spinning into different directions, starting off and stopping...what new niche do I belong to? Beach bunny? Bohemian artist? Hollywood socialite? Trend setting combination of all of the above and more? I thought I'd know by now. Really, I never thought I'd have this quandary to begin with, but I don't know. For the first time in my life, I don't know. It's frustrating, exciting, maddening, exhausting, trying, infuriating, inspiring, irritating, exasperating, bewildering, daunting, frightening, challenging, adventurous and anxiety inducing.

The reality is I'm trying to watch the pot boil. Right now I feel like a man without a country and before long I'll turn around and find my passport stamped. I stand here with Jack Sparrow's compass concentrating on what I want most and trusting it will show me the way. I just hope there's enough rum.

Real or Fake?

2010-12-15T13:47:00.000-08:00

Every year growing up, the day after Thanksgiving we would go down to the Hartman Christmas Tree Farm, pick out and cut down our own tree. We’d drag it over to the netting machine, pull it through, and get a candy cane. It was the BEST. A few years ago my parents bought a fake tree. They came to the conclusion that a live tree made us all ill every year. I'm sure it was just the change in weather.

Yes!

With faux trees you always get a perfect tree. My mom is very into color coordination of decorations these days. I think that’s very attractive, but it lacks a certain personality. I miss the mismatched ornaments, the old wooden ones, our birth year balls, the tinselly garland, the funky shaped ornaments, the bubblers and, of course, the old badass, multicolored huge lights.

That's the fire hazardous stuff!

My mom made the tree skirt the year my parents got married: 1975. It's a huge green skirt with red fringe trim and the words Merry Christmas 1975 in red letters outlines in white, hand sewn across the lower half of the skirt. Above that my mom embroidered the full name and birthdates of my sister, brother and me. Her intention was to eventually add our spouses and children both of which, as of right now, pertain to everyone but me. No pressure, Niki. My sister’s been married for 20 years and Mom still hasn’t added my brother in law. I’ve got time!

Me & Dad checkin' out the lights

Mom wants to retire out stockings. They’re three feet long, wide fuzzy red stockings trimmed with white fuzz with our names stitched on in green felt. Mine says Nikie. I'm not sure when the spelling changed. My name was never my call, contrary to popular belief. I love these stockings. Mom is very, very into stockings. When she was growing up it wasn't about the presents under the tree, it was all about the stockings. We always get an orange and an apple: red for Sammy and green for me (we're particular) and the apples are always impossibly huge. I don't know where she finds these bad boys. Also nuts of all kind and ribbon candy. The ribbon candy always stuck to the inside of the stocking and became covered in red fuzz. She learned one year to wrap them in plastic. Now get Christmas cellophane bags of M&M's, peanut butter cups, a storybook box of Life Savers and a paddle ball. She individually wraps each little present. Each pack of batteries, new toothbrush, Yo-Yo's, mini travel games, mini remote control cars, bubbles, poppers, jewelry, make-up, nail polish, hair ornaments, flu medicine....all kinds of little toys and trinkets and odds and ends.

The Mom

We open our stockings first while mom and dad wake up, and mom has usually made blueberry muffins, OJ and eggs. We open the far too many, yet very appreciated, gifts it is solely my mom's responsibility to procure. Our cat would rummage through the crumples or wrapping paper to sneak around to the back of the tree so he could eat it. He would invariably barf it up in the hallway in the middle of the night and I'd get up to go to the bathroom and step in it. "Ewww!!!! DAD!!!!" Dad was always on cat barf duty.

And Tinker Toy duty.

A big breakfast, a big dinner and we kept the tree up until at least New Years day. I could buy some pine air fresheners and hang them inside our fake tree and it'll be just like when we were kids! There is a certain magic of Christmas that stays with childhood...the anticipation, the wonderment...but keeping the traditions alive lets that magic echo up and ring through the last strains of the year, swollen with reflections, nostalgia and the hope for my very own Christmas tree that Jameson can eat next year.

This tree will do nicely.

The Reality Behind the Interview #12

2010-08-13T12:57:00.000-07:00

“This position pats $8.50 an hour. Is that ok?”

No. No, it’s not. I made $8.50 an hour working at a bookstore 8 years ago. What is that take home? $250 a week? I get that in unemployment that doesn’t require me to bore myself to tears 40 hours and 6 days a week in your impossibly tiny, dirty, ricketty, undecorated, unfurnished office.

“Sure!”

The Reality Behind the Interview #83

2010-08-13T12:56:00.000-07:00

“What attracted you to this position?”

That fact it was available. What company is this again? You are aware I send out hundreds of resumes a day, aren’t you?

“I just really enjoy administration and organizing and being there to help others!”

Inception - The Greek Labyrinth

2010-07-21T19:14:00.000-07:00

Ellen Page's character's name is Ariadne, a Greek goddess. Ariadne was " 'Mistress of the Labyrinth', both a winding dance-ground and in the Greek view a prison with the dreaded Minotaur at its centre."

The main character Cobb hires Ariadne to be the architect of the labyrinth of the dreams they traverse.

A young man named Theseus, future king of Trozen, volunteered to kill the Minotaur. Ariadne fell in love with Theseus and gave him a sword and a ball of red fleece thread to help him find his way back out of the labyrnth.

Some modern mythologists regard the Minotaur as a solar personification and a Minoan adaptation of the Baal-Moloch. Baal is an Arabic word meaning lord or master. Moloch can refer to any person or thing which demands or requires costly sacrifices. Moloch = Mal, Cobb's deceased wife who haunts his dreams and is the proverbial Minotaur at the center of the dream labyrnth that he must slay in order to return home and back to reality.

The Nature of Existence

2010-06-02T13:54:00.000-07:00

Why are we here, and what are we supposed to do about it? What started the Universe, and was it a mistake? Does God exist, and why does he seem so interested in our sex lives? After exploring the phenomenon of Trekkies, filmmaker Roger Nygard took on The Nature of Existence. Nygard wrote down the toughest 85 questions he could think of, roamed the globe to the source of each of the world’s philosophies, religions, and belief systems, and interviewed people who have influenced, inspired, or freaked out humanity. Combining an investigative approach with a spiritual quest, the film is a humorous yet uplifting search for enlightenment, presenting some of the most challenging ideas and extraordinary people living today.

Trailer

Is there such a thing as an ex-atheist?

2010-06-02T13:51:00.000-07:00

"There are many very sincere questioners. Some folks are quite torn up about it, so unsure are they that it becomes a source of extreme anxiety for them. Many were terrified of atheism thinking that if they admitted they didn’t believe, even admitted they doubted, they’d suddenly turn into serial killers. They hadn’t figured out that ethics and morality are already here” and if there was no god, then clearly you didn’t need one to tell you how to behave. When one stops believing, one realizes that instead of an emptiness, a feeling of something missing, they discover a fantastic sense of calm, like stepping out of a stuffy bar into a beautiful spring day. It feels like the cage is gone, the blinders are gone. Instead, though, we find that people don’t like atheism. It scares them, because it challenges what they have been told is their core reason for being. So, they heap all sorts of negative traits onto atheism.

It’s important to challenge this perspective, to change the way atheists are viewed. Most atheists, just like most theists, are good people. We need to make sure the world knows that."

Link

Too Good For Facebook Bullshit

2010-05-31T17:03:00.001-07:00

Seriously? Quit Facebook? Will people ever stop being so dumb? If you don’t want anyone to know your personal information like your phone number or address then DON’T PUT THEM ON YOUR FACEBOOK. Don’t want people to know your relationship status or your sexual or political or religious orientation….wait for it….DON’T PUT THEM ON FACEBOOK.

And yes, anyone could call you and invite you to whatever event they’re planning because you’re too much of an elitest snob to be on FB. Really? You’re not that important and neither is your information. Instead you’re going to be That Guy who is too good for it? Nice. I can’t wait to be friends with YOU.

Facebook isn’t just about keeping in touch with old friends but about making new ones. Are you not into that either? Learning about new groups and businesses and PEOPLE. If you don’t want to be friends with the assholes from high school DON’T FRIEND THEM. See how simple that is? Hate your family? DON’T FRIEND THEM. Don’t like what someone is posting? Put them on IGNORE or DEFRIEND THEM. This ain’t rocket science, people.

I’m an actor and artistic type who is also a movie buff and a scifi nerd. Facebook helps me meet other actors and directors, other theatre and film companies, stay on top of great shows and be able to tell all of my friends about them all in one fell swoop. What the hell is so horrible about that? I’ve discovered great boutiques and artists, funny t-shirt companies, great geeky websites…what a horrible place Facebook must be! Damn you for all this wonderful information and the opportunity to meet people who like the same stuff as me! DAMN YOU!!!!

Not wanting a FB page says to me that you also obviously have nothing interesting to contribute to the world, either. No opinions on, well anything. No interest in sharing anything with anyone, not interested in knowing anything about anyone else’s lives. Exclaiming to the world that you’re too good for Facebook doesn’t make you look cool or hip or with it. It proves that you’re just an elitest snob who thinks far too much of yourself. You’re dangerously disproportionately self involved - pull your head out your ass.

Hopper: My Complicated Relationship with James Dean

2010-05-30T18:48:00.000-07:00

Hopper: My Complicated Relationship with James Dean

Hopper told me he thought he was “the best young actor around” until he saw Dean on the set of “Rebel. He told Dean: “I don’t have a clue what you are doing, but I know how great you are. What should I do? Should I stop my contract [at Warner Bros.] and go study with Lee Strasberg in New York?”

Dean took him aside and gave him advice: “He said you have got to start doing things and not showing them. He said don’t have any preconceived ideas about how the scene is going to play. Just go on a moment-to-moment reality level, and don’t presuppose anything.”

Traffic Survival School: Surviving The People

2010-05-19T00:28:00.000-07:00

There's always at least one person in these classes who can't shut up about how much they don't want to be there. More so than that it's their insistence that they are far more inconvenienced and important than you and therefore their time is far more valuable than yours. "I hate wasting my time." Because the rest of us don't? Because everyone else here is just SO excited and enthralled with the prospect? Your time is no more important or special than anyone else’s, sweetie. Hate to break it to you. If you don't take this class then your license is suspended so maybe it IS worth your time. And maybe if you hadn't gotten a bazillion speeding tickets, a DUI, and then totaled your car, you wouldn't be in this class to begin with. So don't act like you're so superior to everyone else in here that made some stupid driving mistake.

It's also supremely enjoyable to have you sit a few chairs away from me and decide you need to call your coworkers to check on work stuff and forget how to use a reasonable phone voice. Then proceed to tell them you're "stuck sitting in the front row" and please call a few people and tell them all the same thing. Loudly. Please don't step outside or in the other room to make these calls, please, please, PLEASE make them loudly in front of all of us because we're all so very interested in your incredibly mentally stimulating job in sales with Express Flooring.

Then, please rush through the GROUP survey and then proceed to finish all four of the quizzes while commenting, "If we get all this done we can LEAVE. I hate wasting my time." Hate to break it to you honey, but we're here until 10. It also says in huge bold letters across every paper they give us to NOT ASK ABOUT LEAVING EARLY. If they said 6-10 they don't mean we can leave at 8. And please keep your Blackberry on and sneak looks at it while we're in class despite the fact that it's completely obvious and obnoxious. Oh wait, I forgot. You're so much more important than the rest of us. When we get a break please say loudly that now you can send some emails. Because no one else in class in inconvenienced by having to be here, just you. No one else had other things they'd rather be doing, just you. Silly me. Really, all you're doing is irritating the shit out of everyone else by concentrating, out loud, on how much you don't want to be here. You just sound like a pretentious, stuck up snot.

And please ask asinine questions. For instance when someone mentions the ticket you can get for flicking a cigarette butt out your window while driving, ask,” What are you supposed to do with them? Put them out in your car?" That IS what they make ashtrays in cars for. And if you don't want your car to smell like smoke maybe you shouldn't smoke in it. And if you don't like the smell of smoke on you then maybe you shouldn't smoke. Just throwing that out there.

Please just shut up and we'll all get through this and be back out on the roads to cut each other off like normal people.

Scarving For Attention!

2010-04-07T17:39:00.000-07:00

I set up my Etsy shop for all my fantabulous scarves!

Scarving For Attention

Tons of fabulous colors. My current selection is made from Lions Brand Homespun yarn and they each measure almost 9 feet long. That's a lot of scarf! Super warm, they're perfect for helping you thaw out from the late spring snow and wind. Here's a sampling:

Meadow

Painted Desert

Wild Fire

Drop on in, look around, snatch some up and spread the word! If you like what you see let people know. We thank you for your support!

*Niki
Scarving Artist

Closing Weekend

2010-03-26T13:10:00.000-07:00

Phaedre at Nearly Naked Theatre closes this weekend. Only two more shows. It has been such a great experience. To work with a director/writer on the world permiere debute of his script, something he is so passionate about and has worked so hard on has been a priveledge. It's been exciting to watch the story grow and flesh out on stage.

The cast and crew has been wonderful. So much fun, so many laughs backstage and on the town. I'm really going to miss seeing them every week. Theatre is a strange thing. It's like a microcosim of life. We create this world, develope it, live in it, then put it to rest, all in a matter of months. We experience and entire life cycle and then line up to do it all over again. I think the Hindus were right about reincarnation except it's all happening right now in this lifetime. And I like it.

Tech Week!

2010-02-28T14:24:00.001-08:00

Dig it.

It's tech week and we're workin' this show every night this week for our opening night this Friday. Here's a link to the Facebook event with all the info. You can also rock over to the Nearly Naked website for ticket info. It's going to be one hell of an unfamily friendly show and worth every damn penny. Sweet nudity from both sexes. AND my melodious voice and visage. It's like a gold mine.

Ben as Eros and Missy as Aphrodite

Andrew Koenig Missing! Last Seen in Vancouver BC. Help!

2010-02-22T16:58:00.000-08:00

From my friend EJ Scott:

I just found out that my friend Andrew Koenig has been missing for a week, last seen on 2/14 in Vancouver. Didn't make his flight back to the US on 2/16. The Vancouver Police are involved, and lots of people are looking. If you're in the Northwest, please keep your eyes out. If you've seen Andrew since February 14th, contact Detective Raymond Payette of the Vancouver PD at 604-717-2534.

From Dave Holmes:

HAS ANYONE SEEN HIM?

Andrew Koenig (AK-47, the video guy on “Never Not Funny,” and “Boner” from “Growing Pains”) has been missing for a week, last seen 2/14 in Vancouver. Didn’t make his flight back to the US on 2/16. The Vancouver Police are involved, and lots of people are looking. Could you reblog this and help get the word out? And say some prayers or think some positive thoughts?

UPDATE: It’s not that I don’t appreciate the “like”s, but PLEASE DO REBLOG THIS. You might have followers in Vancouver, and though the presence of the word “Boner” may make this look like a joke, I assure you it isn’t. Thanks!

PHAEDRE now on SALE with EVIL DEAD!

2010-02-22T14:13:00.000-08:00

THE SEASON ENDS WITH TRAGEDY & GORE!

TICKETS TO THE WORLD PREMIERE OF PHÆDRE ON SALE NOW!!

And purchasing PHAEDRE gives you access to PRE-SALE of EVIL DEAD: THE MUSICAL

BEAT THE SELL-OUT BY ORDERING BOTH SHOWS NOW!!!

PHÆDRE

Based on the play by Jean Baptiste Racine

Adapted & directed by Damon Dering

Cursed by the goddess Aphrodite, Phædre, the dying queen of Athens, falls in love with her stepson, Hippolytus. Her love grows into a dangerously passionate obsession that will destroy fathers, sons and kingdoms with its fury. One of the most enduring and powerful stories of classical mythology, this production of PHÆDRE will switch between classical and modern language, and between ancient and modern eras. An obsessive love story recalling the poetry of Euripides and the violent energy of Fatal Attraction. PHÆDRE is intended for mature audiences,containing adult themes & language, sexuality and nudity.

PHAEDRE preveiws on FRIDAY, MARCH 5TH,

opens on SATURDAY, MARCH 6TH and runs THU-FRI-SAT at 8:00pm until SATURDAY, MAR 27TH
SUN 03/07 & 03/21 at 6PM and SUN 03/14at 2PM

ALL SEATING IS GENERAL ADMISSION
FIRST COME (cough) FIRST SERVED

General Admission tickets
$25.00 and up

To purchase tickets call Phoenix Theatre's Box Office at (602) 254-2151 or visit us online at
www.nearlynakedtheatre.org

Performances are at:
THE LITTLE THEATRE at PHOENIX THEATRE
100 E. McDowell Rd. - Phx Theatre/Phx Art Museum complex on Central & McDowell

formspring.me

2010-02-08T10:11:00.001-08:00

Doistoevski?

Dostoevsky wrote the difinitive paper on exestentialism, Notes From Underground. It blew my mind. Been a fan ever since.

Ask me anything

CAST, Bitches!!

2010-01-22T20:38:00.000-08:00

That is CORRECT!

I have been cast in Phaedre with Nearly Naked Theatre! MotherFUCK YEAH! I worked long and hard on this mo and I have fuckin' jazzed to be in it!

Nike, Greek Goddess of Victory, and my namesake.

The initial audition went well and the director called me the night before callbacks to direct me over the phone on how to read the monologue I had done at auditions. Callbacks lasted three hours and I read at least five times. I knew it was down to me for either the part of Ismene/Aphrodite, the princess's best friend, and the goddess of love (who appears nude), and the part of Panope, the narrator. I was bestowed the gift of Panope and I am thrilled.

I love being a story teller and I really feel like I convey the imagery of Greece and how magnificent the characters are. I also feel like I'm in comand of the show as I get to open it, show up here and there throughout it, and probably close it, as narrators are want to do. I'll see the script on Sunday when rehearsals start.

And, in a first for me, I already have an audition date set up for 12th Night of The Living Dead with Stray Cat. It's going to be a lot of work to be actively working on a current production while working on a Shakespearean monologue for another. I'm glad I am unemployed at the moment so I can have the time to devote to this: the things that are actually important to me. There are only three chicks in that play and I hope I kick enough ass to get one of the parts.

Always working. That's where I would like to be.

Exclamation Point

2010-01-06T14:59:00.000-08:00

The poor little dot was now without a family. His top heavy vertical line brother was killed as they left the ice cream shop. A big rig jumped the curb and was on a colision course with the little dot. So at the last second top heavy vertical line punted the litte dot like a pro soccer player to safety. The little dot owes his life to top heavy vertical line. Too bad little dot grew up to be a rapist. Just goes to show you can never trust punctuation. And now exclamation point has a back story. ~ Sammy

Happy New Year?

2010-01-05T22:31:00.000-08:00

And things were going so well.

I was laid off yesterday. Rad. I actually liked this job and the people and the company. So, of course, they had to decide it wasn't financially fesiable to keep me on. And now all those plans I had go on hold. Like buying new jeans, paying off debt, saving money, traveling... I can only hope that this doesn't go on for another seven months again.

This time I'm going to use my time differently. I don't want to go back down the depression road: sleeping all day, not sleeping at night, not being able to find the motivation to even get out of bed let alone do anything else.

I'm going to keep my gym membership and go every day. I'm going to clean my room and get rid of all the shit I've been holding on to for too long. Take books and CDs to Bookmans. Spend more time at the bookstores and visit more museums. In the past when I've been unemployed I would leave the house daily, usually to go to the bookstore. This is what kept me feeling normal and gave me a reason to get up and get dressed every day. I've got to keep myself to some kind of productive routine.

Also during this time I hope to find some kind of job I can do from home or that is art or theatre related. I know there are people out there who have these kinds of jobs I just need to find out what they are and how to get one for myself. I wish there was a huge need for scarves all of a sudden.

formspring.me

2009-12-30T10:18:00.001-08:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/Nikitabanana

Phaedre and Being Topless on Stage

2009-12-29T14:05:00.000-08:00

That is correct. N2T announced auditions for Phaedre, director Damon Dearing's adaptation of the Greek play, and I will be going out for the part of Ismene who also doubles as Aphrodite. I auditioned for this play last year and would have gotten the part had I not been going to Vegas. Needless to say the lesson has been learned and I will have zero conflicts ever again.

Getting this part means being topless on stage. I am down with this because in this case it's art. It's not some gratuitous love scene or something sketchy: it's the Goddess of Love. I really like this part, as being the side kick is always more fun than the lead, and I would love the chance to be topless in a tasteful way on stage. I can also safely say that if I get cast the show will immediately sell out. I have a huge chest. You know you saw it coming.

I've got my sides and my audition date on the 10th all lined up. I am going to kill this part. I love the language and I am chomping at the bit to finally work with N2T. And to get to the gym to work out like a mofo.

The Play About The Naked Guy

2009-12-15T14:54:00.000-08:00

Got a callback for this badboy TONIGHT. Dig it. It's a really fun play with a bunch of fags and a gay porn star. My character is pregnant which is fun in and of itself. It's a Stray Cat production with the director from Nearly Naked at the helm. I'm going over my sides now.

I read my post there about being bummed after that last show I didn't get cast in. Man, I need to lighten up. It's not like I'm ever going to STOP auditioning. Plays and movies end and then it's on to the next one. It's not like interviewing for a job you hope to have for five years, unless it's a sitcom and even then shows get canceled. Yeah, it gets frustrating to get so close and then not get the part but man, that's how it goes. You're not going to get every part you go out for. I have done a far better job regulating my emotional investment in auditions and I have realized I need to scale it back even more. Good. I like this. This is where I need to be. I have friends in LA who go on a couple of auditions a DAY, you think they have time to get all up in arms about ONE gig? No! Suck it up, man!

Tough love on myself. That sound perverted. Nice.

Loco Locals Climb 2010 - Kicking Cancer's Ass VI

2009-12-07T11:44:00.000-08:00

It's time again for us to band together and bank up some good karma for 2010 - For the sixth year running, the Loco Locals will be climbing South Mountain to KICK CANCER'S ASS!

Climb To Conquer Cancer
Saturday, February 27, 2010

Walk with us if you can, or please donate if you cannot walk. So many of us have been personally affected by cancer, and we'll keep walking until we have a cure.

The all important t-shirt deadline is January 28, 2010, so expect me to be hounding you until at least 10 of you sign up.

Join, Donate, or Get Out of the Way!

And so it goes.

2009-11-27T16:20:00.000-08:00

And another rejection email. No part for me in the farce. I did the best job I could do and I can't do no more. It's just getting to the point where I wonder if my best will ever be good enough. I have yet to be cast in a play since moving back here 2 years ago. Another $10 wasted on yet another play to add to my bookshelf that I'll likely never read again. Meanwhile all anyone in this valley seems to want to do is musicals and I don't sing. It's getting tiring to not have any payoff here. At least I'm getting called back? Someday I'll get cast again? I really needed a win, man. I just keep getting handed strikes. The tide's gotta change, right? Right?

Who's looking for new music?

2009-11-25T11:52:00.000-08:00

I rock Creamy Radio online while I'm at work. I keep a running list of songs I like on my Yahoo Notes. I'd like to share my list with you and suggest you dig on some of these tunes. Go to www.creamyradio.com and request them to check 'em out.

In convenient Excel spread sheet, alphabetized form. Artist, Song Title, Album.

Alien Ant Farm - Glow -truANT
Amelia - Better Than Sleeping Alone - After All
Anjulie - Boom - Boom
Beck - Jack-Ass - Odelay
Berkly Hart - Across the Rubicon - Twelve
Better Than Ezra - Extra Ordinary - Closer
Better Than Ezra - Get You In - Closer
Better Than Ezra - Misunderstood - Closer
Better Than Ezra - Recognize - Closer
Blind Mellon - Tones of Home - Blind Mellon
Butch Walker - My Way - Left of Self-Centered
Butterfly Boucher - Life is Short - Flutterby
Charlie Mars - One Horse Town - One Horse Town
Chris Robinson & the New Earth Mud - If You See California - This Magnificent Distance
Damien Rice - The Blower's Daughter - O
Danielle Howle and the Tantrums - Sneaky AM - Skorborealis
Del Amitri - It's Never Too Late to Be Alone - Twisted
Dispatch - General - Bang Bang
Don DiLego - California - The Lonesome Hitchhiker Volume 1
Fruit Bats - Born in the 70s - Spelled in Bones
Hello Dave - West - Golden
Homie - American Girls - Meet the Deedles Soundtrack
Hootie and the Blowfish - Time - Cracked Rear View
Jackie Green - So Hard To Find My Way - American Myth
Jed's a Millionaire - Gotta Believe - Kachina Theater
Jeff Finlin - Sugar Blue - Elizabethtown Soundtrack
Jurassic 5 - Concrete and Clay - Improvise
Kacey Chambers - Freight Train - The Captain
Kings of Leon - Day Old Blues - Aha Shake Heartbreak
Laura Sawasko - Last Brave One - Piecing it together
Limbeck - Silver Things - Hey, Everything's Fine
Locksley - Why Not Me - Don't Make Me Wait
Los Lonley Boys - Hollywood - Live at the Fillmore
Love Me Nots - Love What I Got -Upsidedown Insideout
Love Seed Mama Jump - Peace Frog - Drunk at the Stone Balloon
Matt Nathanson - Angel - Beneath These fireworks
Matt Nathanson - Suspended - Beneath These Fireworks
MiGGs - Perfect - Insomnia
Mike Doughty - (I Keep On)Rising Up - Sad Man Happy Man
Mike Dougty - Ways and Means - Rockity Roll
Nick Dastardly and the Escape Artists - The Sleeping Giant Walks Tonight - Let Go of My Bruised Wing
Nini Camps - I Saw Love - Driving You Out
Norah Jones - Be Here To Love Me - Feels Like Home
Oasis - Wonderwall
Pearl Jam - Come Back - Pearl Jam
Pearl Jam - Just Breathe - Backspacer
Pearl Jam - Yellow Ledbetter - Lost Dogs
Rachael Yamagata - Over and Over - Elephants...Teeth Sinking Into Heart
Ray LaMontagne - You Are the Best Thing - Gossip in the Grain
Red Wanting Blue - Your Alibi - Pride-The Cold Lover
Remedy Motel - Giving Ground - Remedy Motel
Remy Zero - Over the Rails & Hollywood High - The Golden Hum
Sam Champion - Texas Song - Slow Rewind
Sam Champion - You Can't See the Stars in This Town - Slow Rewind
Shawn Mullins - Blue As You - 9th Ward Pickin' Parlor
Sister Hazel - Walls and Cannonballs - Release
Teddy Thompson - Altered State - Separate Ways
The Allman Brothers - Jessica - Brothers and Sisters
The Autumn Defense - This Will Fall Away - The Autumn Defense
The Bradbury Press - The Bouncing Ball - Hanscom
The Clarks - Better Off Without You - Still Live
The Dissipated 8 - Diamonds on the soles of her shoes - Eighps
The Fratellis - Costello Music - Creepin' up the Backstairs
The Freddy Jones Band - Mystic Buzz - Lucis
The New Pornographers - My Rights Vs. Yours - Challenges
The Pierces - Boring - Thirteen Tales of Love and Revenge
The Rugburns - Mama - Taking The World By Donkey
The Wallflowers - The Difference - Bringing Down the Horse
Train - All Anerican Girl - My Private Nation
Treble Charger - Brand New Low - Wide Awake Bored
Tristan Prettyman - Smoke - Twentythree
Zee Avi - Darling - Zee Avi
Zubia Brothers - Hotel Defeated - Voices on the Street

Much love to the boys at Creamy for whom without I would not be fans of some of my favorite bands.

Auditions galore!

2009-11-24T14:57:00.000-08:00

So I went on two auditions simultaneously a few weeks ago, both for iTheater Collaborative in Phoenix. I was called back for Indivisible but not The Play About the Baby and ultimately not cast. Boo. But that's OK because the show goes up the same time that Nearly Naked Theater's Phaedra goes up and I'm gunning for a part in that.

I went on an audition for Unnecessary Farce with Desert Foothills Theater last night. That was a trek to get there. Way the hell up north, about an hour away. It's a great comedy and that's what I'm good at. I rocked the reading for both parts and the director called me this afternoon to tell me she thought I was wonderful and ask me to callbacks tomorrow night. Sweet. I have a feeling I'll get cast because I nailed it and because it's so damn far away. It's how I roll.

Then everyone can come and see me and laugh and I can hopefully get cast in some more shows in this damn town. More comedies, please!

Sylvia

2009-10-06T00:08:00.000-07:00

Tempe Little Theatre is holding auditions tomorrow night for Sylvia by A.R. Gurney. It goes like this:

"Middle age Greg finds precious Sylvia (a dog, played by a human) in the park and immediately takes a liking to her. He brings her back to the empty nest he shares with Kate.

When Kate gets home, she reacts very negatively to Sylvia and wants her gone. They eventually decide that Sylvia will stay for a few days before they decide whether she can stay longer.

Over the next few days, Greg spends more and more time with Sylvia, and less time at his job. Already dissatisfied with his job, he now has another reason to avoid work.

Tension increases between Greg and Kate, who still does not like Sylvia at all. Eventually, Greg becomes completely obsessed with Sylvia, and Kate fears their marriage is falling apart. Greg finally realizes what is happening, and decides to give Sylvia to another family.

At the last minute, Kate has a change of heart and decides that Sylvia can stay with them permanently. Greg and Kate resolve their differences, Greg finds a job he likes better, and they live happily ever after."

I can dig this. This is my kind of play: comedy. I need to make a trip to the Scottsdale Library and check out their copy, but I feel I could make a mighty fine bitch. =)

In Stray Cat Theater’s Blackbird, David Vining Inspires Sympathy

2009-10-01T17:53:00.000-07:00

Phoenix New Times review.

"David Vining is many things: theater director, dialect coach, university professor. In Stray Cat Theater's new production of Blackbird, Vining reminds us that he's also a fine actor. His rather estimable job in this one-act...is to create sympathy for a 60-ish man who, some years earlier, had an affair with a minor. Harrower has fashioned a long, curvy conversation that begins as an indictment and wends its way through every human emotion, winding up finally as a peculiar (and rather stunning) reminiscence between two injured people. In his presentation of a sad sack Everyman, Vining does the unthinkable: He allows us to sympathize with — but never feel sorry for — a fellow who made a single terrible mistake. It's a difficult distinction to bring to the stage, yet Vining...does so with subtle turns of phrase and body language as he swings between cowering passivity and towering rage."
- Robrt L Pela, Phoenix New Times

Review: 'Blackbird' doesn't flinch

2009-09-30T11:47:00.001-07:00

Review: 'Blackbird' doesn't flinch

Shared via AddThis

Thanks to all who came out last weekend and helped make BLACKBIRD our highest attended opening weekend EVER. The first reviews are in and critics are purring...

Only two weekends left so make sure you catch the "bird" before it flies away for good. Don't let this be the one that got away!

Remember, Thursday is $10 student night.

The First Review Is In!

2009-09-29T15:26:00.000-07:00

5 stars out of 5 from Chris Curcio, KBAQ radio!

SUPERLATIVE “BLACKBIRD” PRODUCTION OPENS STRAY CAT SEASON

”BLACKBIRD”

Stray Cat Theatre, Tempe Performing Arts Center

Tempe, AZ

Leave it to our smaller theaters to bring interesting plays to town when the major companies ignore these works. Stray Cat Theatre opens its season with the local premiere of an acclaimed English play, “Blackbird,” by David Harrower. The production is a winner although it won’t appeal to all theatergoers due to the play’s controversial theme.

“Blackbird” is based on a real situation. Ray seduced Una, a 12-year-old girl, and was imprisoned. After his jail time, Ray begins to right his life. Many years later, Una, now a troubled adult, shows up unannounced at Ray’s work to confront him about their past.

At first, your hate is directed at Ray but as the 80-minute, one-act play evolves, the fast moving and revelatory script shifts and changes as your disgust moves back and forth between the pair. At the end, the playwright never answers for you who are at fault; that’s your decision. Was it Ray, the then middle-aged guy enraptured with Una, or was it the flirty and sexually mature girl who longed for a trusting relationship? Una hoped the intimacy would provide the love and trust she never got from her parents.

It’s a fascinating dialogue and Harrower is adept at shifting the audience hatred as mistrust between Ray and Una provides insightful details about the relationship. Harrower doesn’t answer who suffered most although there is no excuse for a man sexually seducing a girl. Una’s attack on Ray is traumatic, though, and opens the question of her stability both before and after the liaison.

Ron May’s superlative production provides a better interpretation than a previous production I saw. With his designer, he’s crafted a cramped, confining, and inhospitable break room that is ideal for the confrontation. His cast is wonderful in the two roles.

His cast both approaches their roles with a natural hesitancy since the pair would be tentative in such an awkward confrontation. There’s much realistic chatter but also genuine emotional outbursts at key moments during the strained meeting. David Vining’s Ray is just right. Initially he’s ashamed and remorseful but as Una attacks, he grows more confrontational and physical in his reaction to her. Nina Miller’s Una is no less flawless. At first, she’s hesitant, slow to place the burden on Ray, but ultimately she releases a stream of hatred and fears caused by Ray’s action. As the issues haunt her, her life is influenced. Miller evolves from a shy flower to a dominant champion of placing the blame as she sees it.

“Blackbird” is an uncomfortable experience but the story is fascinating and timely. “Blackbird” continues through October 10. For tickets, call the Stray Cat Theatre box office at 480-820-8022 or order online at www.straycattheatre.org.

Grade: A

The Face of Foothills Model Search

2009-09-23T23:33:00.000-07:00

My delicious, brilliant and hysterical friend Daynalyn Wain is one of the top 50 finalists for the Face of Foothills Model Search for Arizona Foothills magazine! The winning model, who encompasses the style, substance and sophistication of the luxury publication, will serve as the Face of Foothills through December 31, 2010. Please help me help her get to and stay in the top 10. Voting is unlimited and goes to 10/22, so vote often!

VOTE HERE

She loves Eddie Izzard. Need I say more?

Stray Cat Theatre presents: Blackbird

2009-09-17T20:54:00.000-07:00

I have a wee part in a fantastic play opening on 9/25!

BLACKBIRD by David Harrower
Directed by Ron May
Presented by Stray Cat Theatre

He went to jail. She went home.

One of the more talked-about and controversial plays of the past decade, David Harrower's Blackbird has been featured on many American and London critics' top 10 lists and received the 2007 Olivier Award for Best New Play. Based on a true story, this powerful, volatile piece begins when Una shows up unexpectedly at the office of Ray, forcing Ray to come to terms with the effects of their past relationship. Una pulls him into a brutal encounter that is gripping, surprising and utterly unforgettable. How better to kick off a season Stray Cat style than with a pull-no-punches evening of theatre you aren't soon to forget? **Please Note -- This production contains strong adult content.
Performances:
September 25 - October 10
Thu-Fri-Sat @ 8PM Sun @ 2PM

Regular Price:
$20/Adults
$15/Students
$15/Seniors
$15/Military

Thursdays:
Always $10 Student Night
(valid ID Required)

Sundays:
$12 for Everyone

132 E. 6th Avenue
Tempe, AZ 85281

BONUS!
Catch Blackbird at a discount: 2-4-1 tickets to any performance Opening Weekend ONLY.
Use online Coupon Code BBOP241.

Come for a night of intense theatre, stay for my melodious voice and traffic-stopping silhouette. :D

The Little Dog Laughed

2009-09-10T21:09:00.001-07:00

I auditioned for this play Tuesday night, for Nearly Naked Theatre. It's written by Douglas Carter Beane, the cat who wrote To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar and is quite the wicked comedy. It's about a Hollywood actor named Mitchell who is gay and his agent who is trying to keep him in the closet. Mitchell is nailing this gay prostitute who is also sleeping with a woman. Hilarity ensues!

This was one of the rare occasions where I didn't get a chance to read the play beforehand. The director handed me a monologue and scene for the girlfriend part and I scurried off to a corner to look them over. I preformed the monologue first and got some great laughs. The director then asked me to pair up with one of the guys for the two person scene. Not everyone made it this far after their first performance.

We read over the scene a few times and then we were up. Now, this audition was set up where we were all in the room together at the same time. I hate these kinds of auditions. Normally I don't want to watch anyone else do the scene I'm about to do. This time, though, it worked to my advantage. I watched two couples do this scene and they were both different. So I took some cues from both of them and then added my own spin. I garnered some major rager laughs and felt so at ease and natural up there. It was also helpful to have all those other actors in the room as an audience to play off of.

I felt on top of the world when I left that audition. I felt I really nailed it, I made them laugh, I felt good about the choices I made, and that I made my audition quite memorable. It also helped that I didn't have much emotion invested in it. I found out about the audition two days before and could only get a hold of a synopsis and the first two pages. If I don't get cast of course I'll be bummed but I am really proud of the performance I gave at the audition and that makes it all worth it.

The director is waiting until next week to cast this show as their current show, RENT, closes this weekend and he's concentrating on that. There may or may not be callbacks, he hasn't decided. I'm ready for anything!

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

2009-09-07T19:22:00.000-07:00

an offer you can totally refuse
hey lovely.
so here's the thing...
i know you've read 'blackbird'.
so i know you know there are a few bit parts in there (office people who walk past the clouded window and at the end, the woman's voice - ray's new squeeze).
i have a guy.
i need a lovely lady.
the commitment would only be a few rehearsals, tech week and obviously the run of the show.
i know it's far from the most glamorous option ever, but for something like this - since it's so vital to the show - i need someone i know i can trust.
lemme know whatcha think.
i'll keep my fingers crossed :)
hope all is well.
- r

And so, I will be joining the cast of Blackbird with the one and only Stray Cat Theatre. Being on stage is always better than not being on stage. I will once again get to spend time under the direction of one of my favorite directors, meet some new people, and bust back into the scene here in the desert. Perhaps I will learn a thing or two about dramatic acting. Show runs end of September through begining of October. More details to come!

Who Wrote Holden Caulfield?

2009-09-06T18:00:00.001-07:00

A thought burst in my head
And I need to tell you
It's news that I forethought
Was it just a dream
That happened long ago?
I think I just forgot

Well it hasn't been the first time
And it sure does drive me mad

That's when I say there's a boy who fogs his world and now he's getting lazy
There's no motivation and frustration makes him crazy
He makes a plan to take a stand but always ends up sitting
Someone help him up or he is gonna end up quitting

I shuffle through my mind
To see if I can find
The words I left behind
Was it just a dream
That happened long ago?
Oh well...
Never mind

Well it hasn't been the first time
And it sure does drive me mad

That's when I say there's a boy who fogs his world and now he's getting lazy
There's no motivation and frustration makes him crazy
He makes a plan to take a stand but always ends up sitting.
Someone help him up or he is gonna end up quitting...

Who Wrote Holden Caulfield? - Green Day

On the Fringe

2009-08-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

I whipped together this sweet scarf last night and finished it this morning.

Dig it.

I'm going to make a few more in different colors. They're gonna be rad!

I also finally made my Tooth Fairy Pillow.

Modeled after my very own Tooth Fairy Pillow as a child, I jazzed it up with some sparklies.

I have a lot more pillow and scarf ideas bouncing around in my head, eager to be made. I'll be setting up my Etsy site where all my creations will be available for sale so stay tuned. Cold weather is on the horizon, people. Get ready!

Green Day Rocks My World Again

2009-08-26T19:11:00.000-07:00

Maggie and I saw Green Day at the Mandalay Bay event center. We had VIP tickets which put us closest to the floor, with seats, behind the railing, for an unobstructed view.

It was an unbelievably incredible show. If you've never seen them live you are missing out. The wall behind them was a video screen that was perfectly coordinated with every song, everything they did. Billie Joe is a madman energizer bunny running back and forth across the stage. He came out into the stands with his guitar and put it on a kid and played it. Got an 8 year old boy up there who knew all the words to Longview, and a girl who played guitar for St. Jimmy. That lucky bitch. They were forehead to forehead singing into the same mic, and then he sat in front of her with his head on her knee while he sang. She had to sit on the amp down front because his guitar strap wouldn't shorten up enough for her to play standing. I was so jealous. Made me want to learn to play the guitar.

They played Shout and all laid down on the stage and put in snippets of other songs like Iron Man, Free Fallin', Satisfaction, and that was a lot of fun. They played almost every song off the new album, not in order. They also played:

When I Come Around
She
Longview
Basketcase
King For a Day
Hitching a Ride
Welcome to Paradise
Minority
Blvd of Broken Dreams
Brainstew
Holiday
Then he asked who in the audience was an old school Green Day fan and they played Going to Pasalacqua, one of my favorite songs off their first album. I almost lost my mind. The encore was American Idiot, Jesus of Suburbia and then the rest of the band left the stage, and Billie and his acoustic made their way to the end of the platform. He played the love song off the new album called Last Night on Earth. It gave me chills. It was so sweet and wonderful and heartfelt and to watch him in the spotlight with just the acoustic was so touching. His wife is a lucky, lucky woman. He ended with Time of Your Life, held up his guitar and then left the stage. It was so wonderful.

My other favorite events of the evening were when he mooned the audience and later lifted his shirt up and just stood there. I could still see most of his ass hanging out the back of his pants. The only thing keeping them on was...Christ, I almost exploded. I also loved when he told everyone to put their cell phones and cameras away, that these were our memories and to live in the moment. God, I loved that. I'm always stressed about whether or not to bring a camera because I'm so anxious about documenting and remembering big events like this. Fuck it. I have everything I need in my head and pictures would never do my experience justice. I didn't want to worry about taking pictures so I didn't bring my camera in.

I've seen Green Day in concert 5 times now and they just keep getting better. The theatrics, the pyrotechnics, and the showmanship are simply outstanding. A 3 hour show with just about every song I could want to hear and an unobstructed view. I am so in love with this band and with that man. I'm sitting here with a glazed over dreamy look on my face just remembering the night. The cute guy who asked me if he could hold my hand on the way to the show started the show off with a bang, too. I'm spent.

Blackbird

2009-08-16T19:08:00.000-07:00

Went on an audition this morning for one of my favorite theatre groups, Stray Cat Theatre.

A great dramatic play called Blackbird. I bought the play a few weeks ago so I'd have time to get to the bottom of it. It's a heavy number with only two characters and it's written in a very specific and dynamic meter.

Drama isn't my strong suit. I'm a comedienne. Doesn't mean I can't do drama it's just not my preference and not what I do best. Not yet, anyway. I would actually really like to get this part as it would force me to branch out into unknown territory and grow. It also scares the crap out of me and makes me uncomfortable. Acting is one of the only mediums where you can be wholly uncomfortable in a safe and comfortable setting.

It never ceases to amaze me how we put in all this time and effort studying a play, a part, a character, all for three minutes in front of the director. Sometimes that's all there is. You know this play, this story, these relationships inside and out and you don't get the part. It's such a mad crazy thing. Only for love do we do these things.

Callback? We'll see. Another audition down, another one on the horizon.

Are you really ready for some football?

2009-08-09T23:53:00.000-07:00

I mean, really? No foolies?

I'm thinking about supporting the Buccaneers because I love pirates. Until LA gets a team again I ain't got nothin'. I feel no aligiance to any Arizona team in any sport so I'm not picking the Cardinals. I asked my dad which team he was a fan of. "They all suck." He's a man of few words. Even when it comes to college ball I don't think my dad cares who's playing, he just likes to watch. He's a Nordhoff Ranger fan: our high school alma mater. If UCSB had a football team he might go with them since I'm an alumni but even that's doubtful.

So far the Bucs are my front runners, and rum runners, simply because pirates rule.

Make You Feel My Love

2009-08-08T19:53:00.000-07:00

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawling down the avenue
No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love

The storms are raging on the rolling sea
And on the highway of regret
Though winds of change are throwing wild and free
You ain't seen nothing like me yet

I could make you happy make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the Earth for you
To make you feel my love

Make You Feel My Love - Adele
(written by Bob Dylan)

And so it goes

2009-08-08T02:38:00.000-07:00

It's 2:40 am but I don't want to go to bed.

So much going through my mind. When I think back about what I have to thank for my state of mind it all comes back to the drugs. Thank God for drugs. Sometimes you just need a little help. There's nothing wrong with that and fuck anyone who says otherwise. Fuck them and their poor, normal lives.

I've spent a lot of this week drunk. I didn't plan for it to be that way. It's just one of those weeks. Karaoke on Monday night turned into an unexpected drunkfest. I met a hot young thing at Last Exit and then a severly hot former lover walked in and flirted with me for an hour and then a hot possibly soon-to-be-lover walked in. When it rains it pours, and I've been living in a drought. My heart is aching for something just out of reach.

Tuesday was a "date" with the hot-young-thang. Little boys are still really into bar hopping. Why leave the bar we're already at? It's a brewry for chrissake. Jesus. He just knows nothing about anything and by anything I mean life and I don't feel like spending my time playing teacher.

Wednesday I spent with a former lover of mine drinking cerveza, enoying the pool, and watching some fantastic Showtime shows. Alas, this evening left me wanting. I think Thursday was a dry day and, funny enough, a day when I most needed a drink. Today found me at happy hour at Four Peaks with some good friends and some wicked strong beer on an empty stomach. Also cameos by both my ex boyfriends. Exactly. I spent the rest of the evening drinking my cousin Ryan's wine with Jodi and Jason and then capped off my night at Last Exit with a SoCo and Cran. I didn't want to leave the bar either but I had no right spending any money there at all. I just thought I would pop in and see what a Friday night is like there now that the ownership has changed. Yeah, not that good. Sometimes you just don't want the night to end. In my case it was not wanting to go back to my empty apartment I've been holed up in because it's too fucking hot to go outside.

I don't want to sleep until one but I have nothing to get up for. My room is a stye, my heart is bruised, and my wallet is empty. Ain't life grand.

Broke, Not Broken

2009-08-07T00:04:00.000-07:00

Stumblin' round this sweet little town
Town that's killin' me
Landlord's been by, I'm tellin' him lies
He don't wanna let us be
Let us be

Winter's comin'
Everything costs a lot more than we're makin'
Live on lovin'
Nothin' is sure for a life so back breakin'
Chimney smokin'
Sleep by the fire if you're with me then we'll be
Broke, not broken

Money it seems
Don't worry me
Til it all is gone
People are mean
When you're living lean
But we manage to get along

Winter's comin'
Everything costs a lot more than we're makin'
Live on lovin'
Nothin' is sure for a life so back breakin'
Chimney smokin'
We'll join a cult just to save up some money
Broke, not broken

Winter's comin'
Everything costs a lot more than we're makin'
Live on lovin'
Nothin' is sure for a life so back breakin'
Chimney smokin'
Out of the fire the voices'll tell me
Broke, not broken

Broke, Not Broken - The Mother Truckers

So I was arrested yesterday.

2009-07-26T18:32:00.000-07:00

Yeah. Good times.

Nick and I are on our way to Paul & Janene's when I get pulled over for speeding. I do 75 at all times so this doesn't surprise me. What does surprise me is when the cop asks me to exit my vehicle and begins handcuffing me.

Awesome.

Won't even tell me what the fuck is going on until he's done cuffing me. Apparently I had a warrent out for my arrest regarding a missed court date for a traffic ticket. My court date must have coinsided with getting laid off and that's why I spaced it. Stellar.

So I'm cuffed and frisked by the side of the fucking freeway. Not embarassing at all. I'm put in the back of the squad car. This is when I realize how claustrophobic it is back there, especially with my hands behind my back, and try hard not to freak out. The cop brings me my cell phone so I can call someone to come pick up my car, which is almost out of gas, and, oh yeah, my passenger is legally blind. He cuffs my hands in front of me and while doing so says something about me not trying to escape while he does so. I'm like yeah, right. I'm in heels, on gravel, by the side of the fucking freeway, probably gonna run off somewhere. So I call Jodi, praying to God she and Jason are home, and thankfully they are. Nothing like your friends seeing you in cuffs.

Then I have to wait in the car for some Tempe cop to come get me to take me to the Tempe jail. Sweet. It's not hot or anything. And with my hands cuffed behind my back I am incabable of wiping my forehead off so sweat is dripping into my eyes, stinging and blinding me. Awesome. The cop finally shows up and apparently needs to frisk me as well, all by the side of the fucking freeway. "Is there anything in your bra?" "Just me." Outstanding. We get to the jail and they feel the need to frisk me yet again. It's a feel-Niki-up free-for-all.

They take my ring, my earrings and my hair tie. Fantastic. They put me in a holding cell. Eventually they bring me out to fingerprint me. Awesome. They don't use ink anymore. I didn't know that. There's a glass pane that scans your prints. This whole time I'm honestly finding this whole experience fancinating. I'm thinking, so this is what it's like to be arrested. Sweet. This is what it's like to be handcuffed. (In a non-sexual way). There go my fucking plans to rob a bank. Fuck! Now that they have my prints that solution to my debt problem is out the window. Great. After the fingerprinting they hand me a blanket and are ready to take me back to the holding cell, intending to keep me overnight. I don't think so. I explain to them that the cop said my fine was $350 and that I could pay that and leave. They say to me, well you didn't tell us that. Oh, excuse me! I don't do this every fucking day. I'm kinda new here. I foolishly assumed that you cops fucking talked to each other and told each other this pertinent fucking shit. So yeah, FYI, I was told I could pay the fucking bail and be on my merry way. So they put me back in the holding cell while they sort themselves out. Meanwhile I'm in there with some poor girl who needed two grand to get out otherwise she's there till Tuesday (not the band) and gets fired from her job. I had heard her on the phone with her family earlier and thanked God I wasn't her.

They ran my credit card, put me in yet another holding cell, and eventually gave me back my shit, and I was free to leave. All in all, the whole ordeal took about three hours. I called Jodi to come pick my ass up, broke the news to my adoring parents, since their credit card saved the day, got a chuckle from Chuck, my good friend the cop in Santa Barbara, and a call back from my BFF Mitch: "Jailbird!".

Jodi and I proceeded to Macayos where I drank the largest forzen margarita they could make, and then continued my inebriation with Vigo at Gordon Biersch (two Mojitos), Fat Tuesdays (Pirates Pleasure), and Bison Witches (three Skyy Citrus and tonics). I settled the evening with a Lumberjack Slam at Denny's and now I have a sleepy Jameson at my feet on my coffee table.

It's good to be on the outside again. I almost forgot what freedom was like. Does the air still smell as clean? Is the Pacific still as blue? Things have changed since I've been in the clink. I hope I can readjust to the outside world.

*Auntie "Jailbird" Niki

Crafty Bitch

2009-07-21T23:55:00.000-07:00

I almost lost my mind with creativity today.

OH the ideas!!

I already make fantastic scarves and Bracelet Purses and have them up at Scarving For Attention while I set up my Etsy site. Be sure to check 'em all out.

I'm knitting all summer and stockpiling so I can have a huge batch of awesome ready for sale come Fall. Lemme know if there's a color you're interested in and I will whip it up. More styles of Bracelet Purses on the horizon as well. It's madness!! The scarf below is Corinthian.

Tonight I picked up the bits and pieces to make my Tooth Fairy pillows! I had the greatest Tooh Fairy pillow growing up. It was dark green velvet and had a little pocket on the front, trimmed in lace, and it hung from a ribbon around my bedroom doorknob. I'm making new ones and they are going to rule! All the moms are going to want one for their kids.

So many more things I want to make...jewewlry, magnets, drinkware, aprons, coasters, drink koozies, wine glass charms. And that's just the tip of the creative iceberg. If I were a rich woman, or even an employed woman, I would rush out to Michaels or JoAnn's and snap up a bunch of supplies, but alas. I must wait. I did have my eye on the sewing machines at Walmart. I know, I know...Walmart. But when you're broke and unemployed you have to shop where you can save the most money and that, my friends, is Walmart. I could bust a sewing maching for under $100 there.

I would also love a dress form. I want to start modifying shirts and dresses and just go crazy with them. I have ideas in my head, I just need the tools to create them with.

I got so many ideas wandering around Stein Mart and Hallmark. If you're looking for inspiration I highly suggest a window shopping trip. Bring your notepad and a pen to jot down your ideas.

Enough chit chat. Time to get craftin'!

Thanks for the ride, Lady!

2009-07-21T00:38:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna sound like an asshole but I'm gonna say it anyway.

Get a car.

There is simply no excuse for an able bodied person in their late 20s-early 30s to not have a friggen car. None.

And I'm not talking about people that live in NY or San Fran or some place with other viable means of transportation. I mean out here on the west coast where everything is spread out.

How the hell do you get by without having a car? Oh, that's right. You call ME for a ride. I feel like I'm 18 again and got my first car. I had friends asking me if I wanted to go to Ventura and I thought hey, yeah! Cool! They want to hang out with me! And then they said, "Cool! I'll even give you gas money." And my face sank. They didn't want to hang out with me, they wanted a ride into town. At least they offered gas money. I have friends who never offer anything for carting them to and from a venue and act put out when you say, "Hey! Buy me a drink!" It's a sad day when you realize you aren't this persons friend, you're just their ride. They never call to chat or ask you to go to lunch or anything of a friend-like nature. It's only for a ride to a party or a show. Does it make sense to ask someone who lives less than a mile from a venue to drive 20 miles to your house to pick you up to go to said venue? I'm going to go with no. What kind of balls does it take for someone to do that? The guise of friendship.

Even giving a ride to help someone out in a tight spot can turn into me suddenly becoming the designated ride giver. Get your car fixed! Fix your priorities! Especially if you live out in BFE. How did me, the unemployed, broke girl become the chauffer? I don't have the money or the gas to drive out to BFE and pick you up. I just don't. One ride turns into a request for three more. Do I have sucker written across my head? Is there honestly no other person you could ask? Because I said yes once, not knowing where I had to drive to, I am now the go-to girl? No. I wouldn't do that to my friends. I wouldn't ask any of my friends more than once. I was being polite and helping you out, don't take advantage of me.

Either get a job close to home or get a fucking car. Seriously. Do you like depending on other people or, heaven forbid, public transportation to get around? I couldn't live without my own car, or being in a city where I didn't need one like DC. I don't like depending on other people and time schedules. I want to go when I want to go. This is the reason that I don't like carpooling unless it's really neccessary. You either get stuck somewhere or have to leave too early. Screw all of that.

I do have some friends who survived heartily without their cars. They took the bus and they sucked it up but they did it while they were saving the money to fix and/or get a car. This was even accomplished in LA by an actor friend of mine. No joke! It's the people who, for no justifiable reason, don't have cars that piss me off. If your car is constantly breaking down, save the money and fucking fix it already. If you're an adult and you'd rather just mooch off your "friends" for rides instead of getting your own car, prepare to lose all of said friends. I am not your transportation service. Suck up some goddamn responsibility and get yourself a fucking car. Be responsible, be independant, be an adult.

It boggles my mind. What the hell is wrong with people?

Tiny Pond

2009-06-29T17:23:00.001-07:00

Of the seven agencies I submitted to only three of them are known to be reputable and legitimate. I've heard of them, have friends signed with them, and they were the top agencies when I moved to Tempe six years ago.

Well I have received "Sorry, I already have enough actresses in your category" emails from two of them. The third is the one who wants a hard copy submission. Damn it all. How long do you wait before you submit yourself again? Six months? A year? With only three real agencies to deal with that is one hell of some slim pickins. Do I submit myself to agents in LA knowing I don't have the money to be there right now? And what category is it that they are putting me into anyway? How am I supposed to get anywhere and go on SAG auditions without an agent?

Blarg.

Well Damn

2009-06-24T00:23:00.000-07:00

I just checked the Renovation film's website and they had the cast listed with their headshots. Guess I didn't get a part. That blows. Damn. I was looking forward to being a part of that project. No email, no phone call, no nothing. Just never hear back from them again. That's how it goes.

I am bummed. Not devestated by any means, thanks to my attitutde about auditioning. Now I don't have to drive to Yuma, so that's a plus. The girls they cast all kind of look the same so maybe that's what they wanted. Who knows? That's another thing about not getting a part is there is typically never any reasoning or explanation. You're either what they're looking for or you're not. Simple as that. It's just a tad more frustrating when they heaped so much praise on me and then I'm not offered a part.

Damn it all!

And on to the next one.

You're On Your Way

2009-06-23T21:48:00.000-07:00

I just applied to six talent/casting agencies in town via email. Look at me go.

One might ask, Niki why did it take you so long to do this? I don't rightly know. Sometimes the stars just have to align. For whatever reason, the time is now. It's not so much that I wonder if I should have done this years ago, but two months ago when I initially got laid off. But as much as I love Back to the Future I can't go back in time. I can only move forward. So there I am.

One more agency needs a hardcopy sumbission so I will have to hit a Walgreens tomorrow and print out a copy of my headshot and then I'll shuttle that off to them.

Feeling good. Feeling productive. I took another step. Let's get this show on the road!

Renovation

2009-06-23T16:54:00.000-07:00

A few weekends ago I drove to Yuma, AZ. to audition for a film.

That film is entitled Renovation. It's about a group of house flippers who take on the project of flipping an old hotel that is rumored to have 15 million dollars stashed away in it from an old bank heist. Needless to say, people die.

This was a great day. A fantastic day. A day that solidified my desire to be an actor.

I killed that audition. There were so many factors as to why. A large contributing factor was that I stopped caring. What I mean by that is I didn't treat this audition, and the possibility of being cast, as the be-ll, end-all of my world. That's where you get yourself in trouble. See my earlier post about auditioning for a play I studied for 6 months. I went to this audition to have fun acting. If it's not fun why bother doing it? But I didn't go into thinking this was my only chance in the world to make it as an actor. Hardly. You see people on American Idol do that all the time: "This is my only chance and if I don't get it I'll just die!" No, you won't. And no, it's not your only chance. It's one singing competition. There will always be more. Always. Going into this audition with the attitude of having fun and knowing this is just one more audition and that there are plenty of other movie and plays coming up to go for takes all the pressure off.

After my three hour drive to Yuma I waited about two hours before I read my first scene. I read it naturally and made the director, writer and entourage laugh. The writer said he didn't realize he'd written a comedy. I told him that's what I bring to the show. The director said he was now looking at the whole script in a new light and that he loves that one character in a horror movie who takes the tension out of a scene and makes you laugh. He went on to say I had great instincts and great delivery and that my scene partner and I had read the scene differently than anyone else had. The writer also said that when I came in and sat down and stated my name and where I was from and such to the camera he instantly envisioned The Boss character who runs the local newspaper. He said my voice was very authoritative and I sounded like I could really put someone in their place. I made a mental note of that.

I read for that part as well and I killed that one, too. I walked out of there feeling like a Golden God. I over heard other people reading the same scenes I had read and I felt their readings were so over the top and not believable. I over heard other people waiting to audition talk about things they've done and people they knew and it all re solidified the fact that I really don't like most other actors. I'm not there to impress other would be actors with who I know or where I've been. I'm not there to be pretentious and look down my nose at other people. I'm there to act. People who have never done stage acting don't make the best film actors. They just don't. They don't work as hard because they know they can just do another take. You don't get another take on stage. I'm speaking specifically of one actor I read a scene with at this audition who, sitting five feet away from him, I couldn't hear a word he was saying. He was mumbling and speaking to the floor. Just because you're good looking doesn't mean you can act, sweetie. He went on to complain that this audition was taking too long and that for an indie film with characters it shouldn't' take this long. Well, those are the exact reasons this audition should take that long. This isn't a commercial audition, kid. Those are quick. This is a film with a cast of characters that have to be put together. And you've done what, three local commericals? Get away from me. He even said to me, "Doing film you don't actually have to be good because you can just do another take." What more can I say.

Maybe it was hearing such high praise from people who didn't know me from Adam. Maybe it was just time. Maybe it was both. But driving home from that audition I knew, once and for all, that I can do this. I am good. I am talented. Maybe I never fully believed in myself for so many reasons. Depending too much on support from family and friends that I won't get, naysayers who don't want to see people achieve what they themselves want, or don't want to see anyone happy at all. Taking every audition and every part too seriously will make the rejection echo through your soul. Wanting to be an actor for fame or fortune or to spite your family and prove your acting teachers wrong, these are the wrong reasons to go after it. I think I've had a combination of all of those things for years now. It's all been wiped away and what I'm left with is the pure enjoyment of acting and making people laugh. And I am GOOD at it.

I am perusing acting for the right reasons, the reasons I got on stage in jr. high to begin with: to be the center of attention. Haha! To entertain and make people laugh. I've come full circle to my humble beginnings on the Matilija stage. I'm also finally at a stage in my life where I am ready for this. Ready to go after acting as a profession. As much as I thought I wanted it, I had other plans in my teens and 20s. I went to college, traveled, saw bands, traveled to see bands, and my social life was the most important thing and I lived it up. That's where I wanted to spend my energy and a lot of times acting felt like a chore and a burden and an obligation more so than something that I felt fulfilled by. I had moments of fulfillment but it was clouded by so much else clamoring for my attention. My priorities have shifted and acting has finally come into full view. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I would hate to have this huge, successful acting career at 23 and regret never having all the college and band experiences that I had. I'm ready for this next stage in my life and I now truly believe I am going to succeed. I'll succeed because I love what I do and I'm good at it. My goal is to have fun, tell great stories, and make people laugh. Not get famous and makes stacks of cash, though cashmoney is always nice, those are just perks of doing what you love. Because my intentions are pure I know I will succeed and that is incredibly exciting. I have the personality, the talent, the drive, the passion to finally make this happen. There really is no stopping me!

Working it all out

2009-05-24T15:20:00.000-07:00

Inertia.

It can suck you down. It can keep you going. You may have heard it put thusly: an object at rest tends to stay at rest. An object in motion tends to stay in motion.

In case you don't believe in science, it's true.

You get into the habit of getting up and going to work every day. When you lose your job you get into the habit of getting up whenever the hell you feel like it. I apparently find it hard to motivate myself to do many things. It's far easier to stay at rest. There are so many things I can do at rest that I enjoy like reading and writing, watching movies, pondering life. But my ass isn't getting any smaller with the all the answers I may be gleaning from the universe.

Since I no longer find myself employed, and have yet to be blessed with any kind of steady income, it's time to look at the expenses I can cut back on. One of those things is my gym membership. Yes, it's no new story. People sign up for gym memberships and then never use them. I've been using the fact that I pay $30 a month for it to actually go but even that has ceased being a big motivating factor, sadly. The apartment complex I just moved into boasts a sparkling pool and a gym. I have already taken advantage of the sweet, sweet pool action and have already worked on my delicious Greek tan. That's right: I don't get sunburned. I wear an SPF 4 suntan lotion. I am a Greek Goddess. Now I have been burned. One day I spent four hours on the beach. Got a burn. Two summers ago I spent hours at the waterpark with my cousins and no sunscreen at all. Burned. And I believe I came away from cheerleading camp one year with a sunburn on my face. But really, that's it. Envy away.

People think that living in Arizona automatically means you're tan because of the amount of sun we get here. What people forget is that for 6-7 months out of the year it's over 100 degrees outside and ain't nobody gonna lay out in that. We spent a lot of time in the sweet AC of the indoors. So I have to slowly reacclimate myself to the sun. At the moment that's about 20 minutes on each side, or Let's All Go To Bed by The Mother Truckers from top to bottom. I will work my way up to 21st Century Breakdown by Green Day.

This afternoon I threw on my sweet new gym clothes, grabbed my apple green Nano & matching earphones and wandered over to check out the gym. It's a small room with one recumbent bike, two treadmills, two elliptical machines, and one all in one gym. You know what? Works for me. I've only been using the treadmill at the gym as, once again, it's too friggen hot to be roaming around outside. Those months have passed. The east and west walls of the gym are mirrored and the machines face a wall of windows. I didn't realize how much of a difference it makes to walk on the treadmill while looking outside. The time flew by. With the help of American Idiot by Green Day, of course. Far more interesting and entertaining than watching the back of other fat asses heads or sporting events I'm not interested in, or CNN. Christ. Can't we throw a movie on or something?

Another bonus of this small gym is the TV in the corner hooked up to a cable box. I didn't see a remote anywhere but even with my short legs I could probably reach the controls. Slap on the Deadliest Catch marathon and I am good to go, man. And yet another bonus of the space is that I had it all to myself. I could stand there and read the info on the wall about how to use the all in one machine without feeling like a tard or getting stared at or anything of that nature.

I walked over to the gym in less than one minute. It's right there. And it's free. I'm not paying an extra $30 a month for this badboy. The only downside is no access to trainers but really, I don't have the money for that anyway. Given the location and the price I have even less excuse for not getting off my ass and getting over there. I grew up an athlete. I have an athletes body. Muscle memory is on my side. Now I need to get out of my head, stop thinking everything to death and Just Do It.

Bo Jackson knew what the hell he was talking about.

Reflections

2009-05-19T02:03:00.000-07:00

I think the cake caught up with me today.

I had cake for breakfast, cake and salad for lunch, and cake and rum for dinner. Two cocktails at the bar tonight while kicking some karaoke in the face. My tum is unhappy. I can't say I'm too surprised.

I had a great conversation with a dear friend of mine this evening. He called to tell me he got on a mainstage Harold team at IO in Hollywood, something he's been working toward for years now. We haven't talked in months so he asked me what was new and was hoping for good news. I realized that I had nothing good to say beyond the fact that I'm not dead. That's a good thing. I'm out of work, broke, painfully single, no longer have the social life I once did, bills are stacking up, no job prospects...really, all I have at the moment is my health, my cat, and a place to live.

We talked about relationships. He had just ended one and we talked about people and expectations and attitudes. He reminded me that people are very perceptive creatures and if you're walking around burdened by the wonky things in your life people are going to pick up on that. That does not exude confidence. And it's something most people don't usually realize they're doing.

I care too much what people think. I take things far too personally. I put all my eggs in one basket. I put too much stress on myself in potential relationships and most auditions; the things that are important to me. He told me you can't care. It doesn't matter what any one person thinks of you. If you lay your heart on the line to someone and they leave you hanging without an answer then to hell with them. So what? No one person is the be all, end all. You can't let that persons actions effect you. You can't let it hang over your head as I am want to do. I can't carry it with me.

He said people are just people. You ex isn't your ex, they're just a person. People can only take from you what you give away. Don't give them your power. It's something I knew I was doing I just didn't realize how. I treat past situations with far more gravity than they warrant. Some may call it being overdramatic, he calls it being passionate. He said I am a passionate lover who just wants to fall in love with someone and love them with everything I have. He's right. I let that stress me out. I become anxious and paranoid and lose my confidence. I let it mean all too much. And I usually don't make men earn it. I'm so eager to have that love and that relationship I have always wanted that I rush through things and don't make them earn it.

Alas, the older I get the more anxious I feel about being single. I don't think I would be as anxious if I was actually going on dates and had interest from interesting men. But I don't. Most of my friends are in relationships, and married and kids and blah blah blah. And I would much rather be single than be in the wrong relationship. It was very comforting for another single person to tell me that it's OK to not be concerned with being single and to just live life and work on yourself and fuck it. It will happen when it happens. It makes all the difference to hear that from someone who is in the same boat as you. From the relationship sect is just comes across as patronizing.

I'm not at my best at the moment. I'm depressed because I'm not doing what I want to with my life and I don't know how to get it. I don't know where I belong or what I should be doing. I don't know where to live. And I don't know how to figure it out. This is probably not a good time to get involved in a relationship.

I have a lot to think about now. How I think about my exes, about the decisions I've made, about my outlook on life, how I approach things, the company I keep, the things I want. I think there's an overhaul in my future. I feel like holing up in my new place and not leaving. Not unlike a caterpillar going into its cocoon. Cliches are cliches for a reason. I knew before I moved that something needed to change. That everything needed to change. It's time to become the person I've always wanted to be. The person I have projected to the world but never really lived up to on the inside. It's time to figure some shit out.

Worth it?

2009-05-18T14:46:00.000-07:00

There are auditions tonight and tomorrow for a play this summer called The Curious Savage that will only run for three shows. Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Two months of rehearsal for three shows. I don't know if I like the sound of that. It's frustrating to put in all that work for only three shows. It reminds me of college.

And the theatre is through a church. I have no problem with churches or people who go to them, I just don't want to be preached about converting or joining or any of that jazz. I'm not a religious person and it's not a religious play. I'm just not sure how it all sits with me. I don't know how comfortable I am in churches. I've never spent a lot of time in them and have only ever been to one church service.

I don't know how the whole thing is sitting with me. I ordered the play off Amazon and read it. I like it and there are two or three characters that could be fun to play. It's not like there is a lot of other theatre going on right now as the summer is starting to gear up, companies start gearing down. Mid summer I'll start working on the scripts for the fall theatre season.

It could be fun. I'm out of work right now and it's been a while since I've been on stage. And I may not even get cast. I'm a good actress but I'm not always right for the part. I'm a character actress and enjoy comedies. Drama is not my strong suit or what I really enjoy. These characters are funny and this play is a good one, though a bit dated. This theatre company looks like they do plays from the 50s, which this one is.

Auditioning is always a good thing. Keep yourself sharp, keep yourself on your toes, keep yourself in the game, keep yourself in front of people. It's a cold read audition which are always interesting. And, once again, the call backs are on a night I am supposed to go on a double date. Ain't that the way.

Assumptions & Inuendos

2009-05-17T23:04:00.000-07:00

I have a huge rack.

Big McLarge Huge. All real, all me, thanks Mom & Dad, thanks God & nature.

I don't know what it is about having large breasts that makes strangers think they can make certain comments to me like, "You have huge boobs!" Or really, any kind of sexual inuendo. Maybe it's breasts of any kind that make people (men) talk about them. I don't know. Mine have been at least a D since I was 18 so I've been dealing with this for a while now.

And more than the comments it's the assumption and insinuation that because I have huge boobs I must be a slut, easy, get around, hook up with guys all the time. This is the utmost in falacies. In other words, WRONG. How does the size of my chest give anyone any kind of indication of my interaction with men? Yes, I may recieve a lot of typically unwated attention from men because of them that doesn't mean I am boning every dude that talks to me because of them. It's obsurd to think otherwise.

I am highly selective. Highly. I don't hook up with guys. I don't do one-night stands. I don't make out with random guys. If I'm touching you, consider yourself lucky. If I'm making out with you, consider yourself quite special. If I'm naked in bed with you consider yourself blessed. If I'm dating you? Son, you won the jackpot. Now I don't say that to be cocky. I don't think I'm better than anyone else, I simply know I'm rad. I am awesome. Everyone should think of themselves as awesome and a catch. I am one of those people. And I don't let just anyone touch me let alone see me sans clothes, let alone date me.

I also don't understand the connection between a large chest and the assumption that the owner is void of intellect. AKA DUMB. I mean, maybe I do, when you see so many women running around with huge, fake tits and they don't seem to have a lot going on upstairs. I didn't buy these, motherfucker, and don't insult me by asking if they're real upon first meeting me. I don't appreciate being pegged by a stereotype I don't resemble in the least. I know it's human nature I just wish that people would be less jackassy. It's insulting.

I also have this problem when I tell people I'm an actress. They say, "Oh" as if they already have me pegged. You don't. When I tell people I'm an actor they correct me: "You mean actress." Do you call a female doctor a doctorette? No. You don't. Once, when I got the "Oh" response from a man I told I was an actress, I went on to say I have a Bachelors Degree in Philosophy and he honestly said to me, "Oh, so you're smart?" Wow. Yeah. Thanks, assface. It's as if people stop listening to me after they hear the word "actress". They ignore anything else I may say or do. Again, stereotypes fall into play here. People must think "flaky, dramatic, stripper, bimbo" when they hear "actress". Funny, that's not what I think when I look at actresses like Kate Winslet, Kate Blanchet, Meryl Streep...

The ultimate combo of having huge boobs and being an actress is everyone thinks I do porn. At a bar in Santa Barbara one night I told an older man who was hitting on me that I was a movie extra. He said, "X rated movies?" First of all, when was the last time you saw an extra in a porn? Second of all NO! I DON'T DO PORN! Just because I have huge boobs doesn't mean I do porn! Jesus! I have a Bachelors Degree in theatre! I've been on stage for 20 years! I've done movies and extra work! I READ BOOKS!!!

I've had people tell me maybe I shouldn't tell people I'm an actress, or I should leave that out of online profiles and the like. I say bullshit. This is who I am and if people, or men, can't handle the fact that I like to act then they can walk on by. I'm not your typical actress, either. And if, in looking at my online profile or actually talking to me, someone's going to dismiss me and everything else about me because I'm an actress then screw 'em. I don't need 'em. I'm not stupid enough to confuse what I do with who I am.

Act, think, dream, live. Hoist those tatas high and keep shunning the nonbelievers.

Ms. Banana's Broke-Ass Fund

2009-05-07T15:57:00.001-07:00

That's right people. I'm broke.

I was laid off a month ago and am trying to squeak by on unemployment while looking for work. I find there aren't a lot of job listings for "Philosophers". There are jobs for actors but they typically don't pay. Damn me for majoring in the two subjects I hold most dear.

The things I love to do don't pay a lot of cash-money unless you become spectacular at them. Art, acting, writing, things entertainment and creativity related. I'm working towards them but have not yet reached mad cash making levels. Nor does working at a bookstore pay a lot, though it was my favorite job.

I'm compiling my artly goods for sale on the interwebs, as well as starting a new kick-ass blog on being kick-ass poor, shortly. In the meantime I gots mad bills to pay every month: rent, car insurance, braces, credit cards, and I have to keep my personal health insurance going because of my sweet, sweet eye disease. That is a lot of cash-money there, friends.

I don't feed on caviar but I do have champagne dreams. And with your kind help I can make them a reality. If you have extra cash-money lying around and would like to help a fellow struggling human, feel free to donate to my worthy cause by clicking the handy button below. It never hurts to ask.

So Damn Close

2009-05-03T16:18:00.000-07:00

Hey Niki,

I just wanted to personally thank you for coming out and auditioning for
PHAEDRE. I thought you did a wonderful job and I asked around about
you and other directors had WONDERFUL things to say about you.

I just wanted to let you know that your availability was a huge factor in
my decision making, and although there were other considerations, I
was really impressed with your audition and look forward to seeing you
at future ones!
Thanks again,

Damon Dering

I feel so stupid. I am so kicking myself. Fucking stupid. I think it's fantastic that he took the time to personally email me and had such glowing things to say and I'm glad it wasn't my acting that stood in the way of me getting this part. I just never thought something like going to Vegas would be the deciding factor in whether or not I got cast. What I SHOULD have done was written "tentative plans" or "flexible". If it's not a wedding I'm IN or something like that it shouldn't stand in the way of being in a show. Where are my priorities? Do I want to do this seriously or not? This should come before anything else. If this was the kick in the ass I needed to finally really get my priorities straight then I surely have it now.

The other thing is this is a workshop production to prepare it for full production next season which starts this fall. I could audition and get in the full production, which would be bigger and better. My BFF Mitch was relieved I didn't get cast as he doesn't think me being topless on stage would be good for me. Eh. All the shows would be sold out, but it's not like it would be vulgar nudity, the part is the Greek Goddess of Love. C'mon. I think itwould have been very artistic and I would have learned a lot from the experience. Hopefully I still can. I'm just feeling really stupid right now. To lose out on a part because of something so dumb is frustrating. At least I don't suck. =)

It's all Greek to me!

2009-05-01T16:45:00.000-07:00

From February 25, 2009

I had an audition last night and I kicked the fucking shit out of it! It was great. Everything just came together.

Damon, the director of Nearly Naked Theatre, is writing an adaptation of this play called Phaedra. He has two versions he's trying to meld together: one is written in antiquated english and the other is in modern english. (But not Modern English) We auditioned with the antiquated english script which is written a lot like Shakespeare. It's about a Greek queen named Phaedra who is in love with her husband Theseus's son Hippolytus. The son is in love with a Greek princess names Aricia, who has been imprisioned by Theseus, and is the rightful heir to the throne of Athens. Theseus has been missing for 6 months and is presumed dead. That means Aricia is now free. Aricia has a best friend named Ismene who is her link to the outside world and tells her of the king's death and also that Hippolytus is in love with her. Aricia doesn't believer he because the prince seems to be violently against women but he confesses his love to her in the next scene. Thinking her husband is dead, Phaedra tells her step-son she's got the hots for him and he gets freaked out by it. And on and on. It's good stuff.

He sent out the sides in an email yesterday and I printed them out & read them over. I also was lucky enough to find the Cliff's Notes on the play online so I studied those as well. Knowing what the play is about helps alot in deciphering the sides and giving a better audition.

When I got there of course everyone else there knew each other and were hugging and talking and it really made me hate theatre people. It's fucking annoying all the insider shit. Of course I'm on the outside of it, so it's annoying, but I hope I'm not that annoying to other people. It really does alienate people.

There were 7 women and 2 men at this audition. I think there were auditions on Sunday, one of the women there had read before, and was pretty good. It was funny to watch the other auditions. He sent the 3 of us younger women outside to read over a scene together and we took turns reading the parts of Aricia and Ismene. This one girl was just NOT good. Right after she read for him he told her she could leave. Not a good sign for her. You're out. She was bad. So was this other older woman. The girl I read my scene with was a very tall, very thin, very pale, very blonde woman. It worked out very well though, as she really liked the part of Aricia and I really liked the part of Ismene, so that's what we read. I had to explain what the play and the scene was about to her but I had my shit down. It all came together for me in explaining the scene to her and what the characters were doing...I got that Ismene was excited about the news of the death of the king and Aricia's pending freedom and the news that the prince loved her, and Aricia didn't believe any of it. I also have a knack for the language it was written in and being able to get the idea across so the audience would get it.

Damon really liked what I did and asked me if I would be comfortable being topless on stage. The best friend part doubles as Aphrodite and the goddess would be topless. I said sure. It's not vulgar or lewd, it's a Aphrodite the Goddess of Love. I'm all about it.

He had the both of us women read two different scene with Aricia and Hippolytus, had us all stand back to back to each other to check our heights, and then we were done. I don't feel the part of Aricia as much as the part of Ismene but I could do it given time and rehearsal. Either way, I hope I get one of the parts.

The cool thing about this production is it's a workshop production. Damon is writing the script so the purpose of this is to prepare it for full production in their next season which will start in the fall. This production will be lightly produced which means essentially less money spent. There will only be 6 shows, and there will be a Q&A with the audience before and after each show to find out what they feel worked and what didn't, so we as a group can improve the script. It would be a really fantastic project to get involved in. It's really creating theatre. And Nearly Naked Theatre is one of THE theatres in town to work with. It would be incredible exposure for me as an actor as everyone who's anyone comes to see NNT shows.

He's got more auditions on Thursday and then he's going to make a decision so I hope I get in!

Saint Valentine's Day Noir

2009-05-01T16:24:00.000-07:00

From February 16, 2009

Valentine's Day was quite fantastic.

I took a trip to San Francisco for the book release party for San Fransico Noir 2: The Classics, a collection of noir short stories, one of which is penned by Mr. Craig Clevneger. Craig intended to spend the afternoon writing but we ended up talking for hours and then watching a really obscure and fantastic British TV show from the early 90s. Awesome. We went looking for food and ended up at this tiny cafe that serves crepes. I've never had a crepe with anything but Nutella, and only from a street vendor in Paris. I had no idea there was such a variety. I had one with smoked turkey, cheese and cranberries. Wow. So damn good.

We gussied up and walked down the couple of blocks to the Ha-Ra Club and it was packed. Tiny, but packed, with a jazz saxaphonist playing. The bartender was very W.C. Fields and a complete character. Craig had some friends there already and 3 of us ordered drinks and when the bartender brought them over he said, "I hope you all get the clap." Oh my God, we were rolling on the floor. He told another guy at the other end of the bar, "I'll get to you in a day or two." Priceless.

The evening started out a bit slow and there were times I felt like I was at a class lecture and the room was just silent. Craig seemed a bit nervous as he didn't warm up and prepare the way he usually does and he was worried that the audience was already comatose. I told him not to worry, his work was great and he has a great voice and is entertaining and egaging and he will be fabulous. The host started to introduce him and as he made his way to the mic one of the other authors, a tall bald former PI who has tea cup poodles and is a total riot, came right over and said to me, "You have excellent taste in men." Damn straight.

His reading was fantastic. The audience laughed and he made jokes and they were riveted. The story, The Numbers Game, is fucked up but in such a great way and very noir. Which is a good thing as it's a noir collection. His name is on the front cover next to Jack London and Mark Twain. Not bad company. Or Bad Company. At one point I yelled for some Free Bird. He recieved thunderous applause and yells and when the readings were over he made his rounds signing copies and shaking hands and meeting fans new and old. A little troupe of us walked back up the street to Route 101 and had cocktails and laughed and had delicious conversation. I felt like I knew these people for years the way we all just hit it off, and I recieved many demands to move to the city. Our glasses clinked on through the night.

(This reel missing)

In the morning we sat and talked and played with the kitties Ralph and George until one, and we meandered down the street to have lunch at Tommy's. So much food, so good, so cozy. Then Craig took me to City Lights Bookstore. OhmyGodOhmyGodohmyGod. Be still my Beating heart. Three floors. The kid behind the counter had been the kid behind the table selling the anthology the night before. We wandered the store and he picked up three copies of the anthology, one which was for me. We spent my last few hours next door at Vesuvio which was THE Beat bar, and had a very Tombstoney feel to me, and drank and talked and talked and talked as the rain poured down and into the window next to us on the second floor.

George - "had eyes the color of a gas flame and this unwavering, blinkless blue stare, like he could bend metal with his mind."

Ralph - "was a leaden stump of orange fur. I never saw Ralph move from his spot on Skinner's balcony, not once, but I never saw the same pile of feathers beside him either.

San Fran is one hell of a town. When I told my dad Craig lives in the Tenderloin he said, "Oh my GOD. How many guns does he own?" It's probably not the safest part of town, it's true. But it was bustling and full of creative people. It rained all day yesterday and kicking it at the airport was awesome. My flight was delayed almost 4 hours. I truly miss the pre-911 days when friends could see you all the way to the gate. We could have hung out for a few more hours. Thank God the plane showed up earlier than expected. I still got in at around 1:30 this morning. At least I'm more than half way through Steve Martin's autobiography now. Sky Mall catalouge. Bonus! I'm looking forward to another trip to the city.

Happy Valentine's Day to you, darlin'!

And this little piggy went weeeeee all the way home!

2009-04-30T15:36:00.000-07:00

From January 27, 2009

Mother puss bucket.

I broke my pinky toe. How lame is that? I dropped the corner of a 28 pound plastic bucket of cat litter on my pinky toe. That's even more lame.

And you know what? It fucking hurts. I thought I was fine and had just hurt it but not anything as severe as broke it. Well I hobble corrected. The bonus of this kind of injury is there is nothing I can do about it. I taped it to it's neighbor and put ice on it. I have vicodin lying around that I can't take at work because it might make me slip into a dreamy heaven. That's it. That's all you can do. I've got my sweet gangster lean going on as I gimp around. This is bullshit. Pure bullshit.

I hope Jameson is happy he has clean litter to poo in.

When you care enough to give the very best

2009-04-30T15:33:00.000-07:00

From December 11, 2008

and it just isn't enough.

For six months I have been studying the one female part in this play I finally got to audition for. I had that shit down. Down. I've read the play over and over and had all the little nuances down. I wanted that part so bad. So bad. I knew that was a bad sign. You can't want the part that much, you only set yourself up for failure. You have to go in to an audition wanting to have the best audition possible. I rocked the audition. Then I got a callback. Awesome. I went in there and tore the stage up. I waited all day long for a call confirming and not an email denying. No calls and no emails. I checked my email around 12:45 last night and there it was. It was a very sweet email about how difficult the decision was and how much he enjoys watching me perform but it still said I didn't get the part.

I probably could have put in 2 weeks of work and gotten the same result. Jaren was right. It has nothing to do with hard work, it's luck and who you know. Unfortunately I know & have worked with this director before so there goes that theory.

I know it's nothing personal. I know he just found someone who better portrayed his vision of what this character should be and/or had better chemistry with the other lead. There was only one female part and after six hours of auditions he only called back five women. I'm glad I got called back but damn it, I wanted this fucking part.

I haven't been on stage in so long and I fantasized about getting this lead role with one of the best theatre companies in town, having all my friends come out, even getting my parents to come out for it, finally being back on stage in a great play, getting my name and face out there and it leading to other wonderful opportunities. God, I wanted that.

Most of the audition notices since I moved back here are for musicals. First, I'm not a singer. Second, I'm not in high school anymore. Then there are the plays or films that only need men or 45 & older women. Contrary to popular belief, I am none of those things.

I did the best I could do. I don't know what more I could have given. It's really hard when your best just isn't good enough. I'm just really pissed and really hurt I didn't get this part. The play was even written by my high school english teacher's big shot playwrite brother. Acting is about rejection and what I've learned is that it never gets easier. Sometimes it makes you wonder if you should shitcan the whole idea. God, I don't want to be average.

I've got the blues. The mean, lowdown, dirty, should-have-moved-to-LA, how-can-I-ride-Laurent-from-Twlight's-coattails blues.

The Young and The Nutless

2009-04-30T15:29:00.000-07:00

From November 18, 2008I got my little Face fixed on Thursday. I still feel bad.

I know it's best for him but it was horrible to take him in and see him be so scared and shaking. And to top it off his carrier is pink. I'm a horrible mom. The doc said he was very handsome and in excellent health. Jameson played nice and never made a sound. After sticking a thermometer in his pooper the doc took him by the scruff of his neck and put him in the kennel to wait his turn under the knife.

I didn't even recognize him when I picked him up. They brought him out in his carrier and his eyes were so wide and his ears were set in a weird way and he just look drugged and terrified. I got him home and set him down on the floor and opened the door to his carrier. He hung out in there a while, his head bobbing and weaving, bumping into the sides, and eventually made his way out. He kept falling down and rolling over. He would sniff my hand but wouldn't let me pet him. He was sniffing around and trying to check things out and was making his way across the kitchen floor. I was following him and he had this terrified look in his eyes as he kept falling down and rolling over and desperately trying to get across the floor and away from me. It was heartbreaking.

He made his way into his poo box but couldn't figure out how to turn around in it. He stumbled like a lush all over the house, eventually getting the strength back in his back legs. I don't think he had any idea where he was or what was going on. Luckily though, this only lasted for about an hour and a half. Then it was as if he had never had surgery that morning. He was running around, playing on his scratchy, even picked up a toy and played with it. Ate some, and just wouldn't sit still, constantly roving and checking things out.

That night he sat in the kitchen and catterwhauled. This concerned me as he is not a meower. I had given him his pain medication in some milk earlier in the evening and he had crawled up on my chest and conked out like a lead weight. I got out of bed and picked him up out of the kitchen and put him on my bed and he ran right back in the kitchen to howl. His tiny little barbaric yawp.

He's much more mellow now and much more affectionate which is slightly frightening because he was already very lovey. The moment I sit down he runs over and jumps in my lap and rubs his head on my face. He's turned into much more of a person. He tries to have conversations with me. He dragged his leopard print string on a stick over to me, as he's want to do, and jumped up on the footstool with it and lait cross the cushion and looked at me. He then reached out his paw, touched my foot, and gave a small meow. Yes my little Face, I will play with you.

He understands No and he understands Treat. What he doesn't understand is Get Off the Counter! He curls up my my face at night and talks to me. He likes hang out in the bathroom while I take a shower, and sit on the sink to watch me put my makeup on. He is always at my heels. His nuts aren't completely gone and I'm sure they'll fill back out. I now understand what it's like for my parents to watch me go into surgery.

Jameson is doing swell now. Eating, playing, being adorable. And snoozing the day away.

Brace Face

2009-04-30T15:27:00.000-07:00

From October 15, 2008

I got braces put on my teeth on Monday afternoon. I'm basically a glutton for punishment. Can I blame the drugs? My ridiculous sense of being a Wonder Woman? My hard and fast independent streak? Or pure ignorance?

After all I've been through in the past 2 weeks I seriously sat down in that chair and had them cement brackets to my teeth. I started to panic when they put all that shit in my mouth that keeps your tongue and lips out of the way. It was almost like I felt claustrophobic, like I was in the MRI machine again. I almost said yeah, I can't do this. Laying back on the chair I forgot how to breathe. My tongue slid back against my throat and I forgot I had control over it. My tonsils were so fucking huge that there is a lot of extra room back there now. When I drink something it still feels like it wants to come out of my nose. I didn't think it would be this much adjustment, or any kind of adjustment, really. Live and learn.

So I fought through my paranoia and survived. It only took about an hour. I opted for the "clear" bracket braces. I saw a girl at a play recently and standing 5 feet from her I could hardly tell she had them, so I figure from stage it would be practically impossible. I was surprised when I went in for my consultation to learn that the Invisilign, which I originally wanted, was $1300 more than regular braces, would take longer and would less effective. So I opted for your old school braces and for the past two days I have been regretting it.

I broke down yesterday afternoon. I have just had way too much drama in my mouth-hole for the past two weeks and I hadn't cried since the first vommiting experience. It was all just too much. I probably should have waited a few weeks until I was more back to normal than to rush and get them on now, but I was thinking long term and the sooner I get them on the sooner I can get them off. I had been warned of the pain involved but I guess I didn't believe it. Last night my teeth were simply throbbing and, oddly enough, itching. I could feel the roots simply itching in my face. I've worn sores on my cheeks and I can't bite down all the way. When I did, my front teeth were hitting the brackets on my bottom teeth so they put this cement on the bottom of two of my molars, one on each side, to prevent that from happening. How I'm ever supposed to chew again is beyond me. I broke down and bought Anbesol last night and thank the fucking lord I did. Sweet, sweet numbness.

I'm on the liquid diet. Naked Juice protien drinks, Carnation Instant Breakfast, soups, baby food, humus, and the shit-ton if ice cream I have left over. I have only had water, Gatorade, and ice tea for the past 2 weeks. No soda and no alcohol. I'm hoping the lack of binge drinking will show up on the scale. The vicodin still running through my system has put a damper on my hunger, as well as the pain in my teeth. It seems to have subsided today, thank God. I was freaking out on Monday night thinking this was a horrible mistake and I never should have done it. I'm just tired of feeling jacked-up and in pain and uncomfortable and angry. I need a vacation from my illnesses.

I always wanted braces but they were something we couldn't afford. I was also afraid that boys wouldn't like me. So good idea Niki, wait until you're 30. I didn't have a boyfriend in high school, I should have just gotten it over with then. I've also never had that big of a problem with my teeth. It's not like I'm a snagglepuss... "Exit stage left even!" But I thought having straight teeth would be nice and I found a great deal and I should only have these for a little less than a year and a half. I just wonder if, when I'm done, I'll start looking skeptically at my nose. Eh, I doubt it.

And speaking of being single, feel free to set me up with awesome guys you may know. I'm a catch, damn it! I just don't get asked out. I don't know if I intimidate the shit out of guys or what the deal is but I'm rad and I would like an equally rad gentleman friend. Help a sista out, wouldya?!

We thank you for your support.

So, scratch ALL of that

2009-04-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

From October 9, 2008

Yesterday morning at 5 am I start vomiting blood again. And it won't stop. Again. I called the office & they paged the doctor on call. She called me and told me that no, this was NOT normal and to meet her at the ER. Fantastic.

I jump in the car and get down there. She checks around in my throat and determines that part of the wound in my right tonsil hasn't been fully cauterized and as the patches are coming off it's bleeding and leaking into my stomach. So she fills a needle with lidocaine, shoots up my tonsil, and cauterizes. I am sent home. On my way home, two blocks from my house, I spit blood again. I turn around and drive back to the ER. The surgeon I saw that morning was in surgery but wanted me to gargle with ice water to knock off the clot on my tonsil and stop any bleeding, and she would be over when she was done. I do this and am sitting in the waiting room spitting clear into a cup for about an hour. Then it's blood again. Alot of blood. So I'm vomiting blood again and I'm trying to gargle ice water at the same time to stop the bleeding and they put me in a room and decide to give me an IV.

The nurse says she's going to take some blood and she gives me an IV at the same time. In the bend of my arm. That is the worst place. I hate it there, do not want it there. Then she refuses to put a piece of tape over it so I can't see wheere it's going into my skin because it really makes me uncomfortable. She said they need to be able to see the injection site incase something goes wrong with it. I say awesome, thanks. I stand up at the sink to try and gargle more ice water and I have a panic attack. I can feel the IV fluid in my ear and my face, I'm suddenly light headed, my heart is racing, I can't breathe, I'm yelling and gasping for breath and looking around the room for a call button. The door is wide open but no one is hearing me and I am just losing it. I crumple over on the gurney panting Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, and things seems to be calming down, as a nurse comes by and asks if she heard me calling out. Um, yeah. Ya might have.

The surgeon shows up, I lay down normal on the gurney, I'm hooked up to all kinds of machines, she pokes around in there some more looking for the bleed spot. But I'm not bleeding anymore. I get up and jump up & down some, dance around, sit down with my head between my legs, massage my throat, suck really hard on a straw trying to make it bleed again so she can see exactly where it's coming from. No luck. So she fills another needle up with lidocaine, numbs up a larger swath of my tonsil, and cauterizes deeper and wider than before. This time there's the smell. The stench of burning flesh and it makes me want to vomit. If you've never encountered this smell count yourself lucky. I got the bonus of it being in my mouth which comes with it's own unique taste. Fucking nauseatingly disgusting. We determine that our work here is done. They unhook me and send me home telling me if this happens again to of course call the surgeon and come back.

So I drive home. And I sit down. And my hands are still covered in blood and that stench is in my nose, and my throat is sore and I'm scared to cough or talk and I keep spitting into the sink to make sure there's no blood. But that's no gaurentee of anything. I was spitting clear at the ER and then started vomiting again. I just pray to God that this is it, this is over. There was no stench the first time she cauterized that morning so I'm hoping the job is really done now. I have a popcicle that kind of comes back up, and come vicodin. I'm assuming it's alright to take since no one told me otherwise. On & off the phone with my parents. Lay down on the couch and fall asleep.

So far, no more blood. No more nausea, still a lot of pain. I'm more confident that things are alright now, but I'm still scared. Vomiting blood is horrible and I've never had a panic attack before and I am just done with all of this. Don't ever have your tonsils removed. No more surgeries, no more needles, no more blood. Please God, let this all be over now.

Blood Simple

2009-04-30T15:20:00.000-07:00

From October 08, 2008

I spent yesterday afternoon violently spitting up blood. You ever done that? It's motherfucking terrifying.

So I had my tonsillectomy a week ago. Everything went swell, mom and dad were there to take care of me, lots of liquid Vicodin, lots of popcicles and pudding, Gatorade and movies. The first day was rough but then things smoothed out. It was relaxing, calming, entertaining and full of wonderful drugs. This weekend I went to Urgent Care because I couldn't breathe and they diagnosed with my pneumonia. Beautiful.

Yesterday afternoon I'm sitting on my bed, watching the Sex and the City movie, eating some pudding, when I started coughing. No big deal: cough a little, you figure you're coughing up some phlegm and you swallow it. I did this like three times and then my brain flashed with the remembrance of reading info about possibly coughing up blood after this surgery. When I coughed again I spit into my hand and sure enough, bright red blood.

I jump up and race into the bathroom and spit up some more and then it becomes more and more and more. It's coming out of my nose, it's pouring out of my mouth and now it's coming in waves. I run back to my room and grab my phone. I call Melody. She's my roommate and a doctor. I get her voicemail. I call the hospital as they were a recent call in my phone. I tell them I had a tonsillectomy a week ago and I am spitting up blood. They asked me if I called me ENT. I'm like I AM SPITTING UP BLOOD! It's gurgling out of my mouth while I'm trying to talk. She said to be sure to call my ENT, and either call 911 or go to the ER. I say cool, will do.

Stuff starts coming up with the blood. All this bloody gunk, and it's sticking to my tongue and it still won't stop and it's still coming out my nose. What if I lose too much blood and I faint? I have pneumonia, am I coughing up lung? Did I fuck over my liver with too much Vicodin? Did something go horribly wrong in the back of my throat? Am I dying? Is this going to stop? What the FUCK is going on?! I had tried to maintain my composure and a level head about this for as long as I could but I was done. I'm in terrified panic mode. Who do I call? I have to call someone. I can't call my mom, she's 500 miles away. Do I call 911? Is this 911 worthy? I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be in charge any more, I need help. Choking and gurgling on blood I called Jeremy. He was always so very good of taking care of me with all of my health scares, and there were many of them, and I knew he would be there for me in an emergency. When he answered I lost it. Through gagging and tears I told him I was coughing up blood, I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. Alarmed and level-headed he asked me my address, said he was calling 911 and then come over. I said ok and hung up.

All this bloody mucus has now clogged the sink and it's filling up. There's blood all over the sink and my toothbrush holder and my soap, and I'm desperately trying to pull the stopper out of the drain and mash all this crap down the sink and I'm doubled over crying and spitting up, trying to clean all this blood away. And I'm wishing Jeremy was just here already. I need him to materialize at the door because I can't be alone anymore and things are out of control now.

Then I thought ok, I need shoes, if I go to the hospital they're going to want to know what drugs I'm on and I don't know so grab all the bottles and put them in my purse, wallet with medical ID in purse, Mark still has the key to the back door so I need my garage door opener out of my car if I'm going to get back in the house, and why isn't anyone here yet?! There's a knock at the back door and the fire department is all standing out there and I have to tell them the door is locked and to go around to the garage. I open the garage and the 5 or so EMTs come in, Jeremy on their heels. They pull a cooler over and have me sit down and start taking my vitals and asking me questions, and Jeremy gave them all my information. They asked me if I was on any drugs and I said yeah, a shit-ton and I couldn't name them all, so Jeremy went into the house to get them and came back with an arm load. They looked in the back of my throat and said it looked pretty raw back there. I said yes, I'm sure this is all related to my tonsillectomy and is probably somewhat normal, I was just concerned that something had gone horribly wrong. They said my vitals were fine and I didn't have any pain anywhere and that if I felt well enough to be on my own I could sign off on the ambulance, that had just showed up, and everything would be cool. Agreed.

Jeremy stayed with me while I called my doctors and calmed down. I thanked him for being there when I needed someone. He's always been wonderful at that and I will forever love him for it. I was so scared. So incredibly terrified. Even thinking about it now still makes me cry, I was so scared. To feel that out of control and unsure and alone, and there was just so much blood. It looked like I vomited an abortion. It was horrifying.

My surgeon is out of town for the week, of course, but her assistant returned my call and assured me that this was all normal. My information sheet said to expect blood streaks in my saliva, but didn't mention violently spitting up blood. The patches over my wounds are supposed to come off and apparently you end up swallowing them and then they come back up, and all this happens about a week after surgery. Right on time. So at least I know this was supposed to happen, it's not unusual, nothing is wrong, and I can rest easy in that knowledge. But the events of yesterday are replaying in my mind and now it seems so distant and yet I'm still right there in the moment, doubled over the sink, terrified.

I'm no longer spitting up blood, and I'm healing well. But right now, I'm done. I need a break from this. Check, please!

Tonsil Hockey

2008-09-23T15:22:00.000-07:00

Oh, tonsils. Those dirty little bastards in the back of my throat. They've been evicted and their move out date in 9/29.

I hear it's going to be pretty damn awesome. And by awesome I mean wicked painful. I'll be off work for two weeks, without pay which makes it double awesome, and living off liquidy type things. I hear tell I'll lose 10-15 pounds that I'll put right back on when I start eating again. So I'm just not going to eat anymore. I mean, screw food. What has it ever done for ME?

Both of my parents, count 'em - both, are driving out to take me to the hospital and bring me home. I knew it would take a medical malfunction to get my parents to come visit me. They don't get out so much.

I get tonsillitis at least twice a year, usually in the summer and then around Christmas. I have to see a doctor 3 times for each infection they're so bad. Sometimes they swell up and touch each other in the back of my throat leaving me a pea size opening to breathe through. Those are the best times. Then I go to the ER and get shot full of morphine and vicodin and go home and halucinate strange creatures jumping out of the shadows trying to kill me. I know you're jealous.

So I've had about enough of that shit right there. Time to scrape 'em out. I've read some down right horror stories about how painful it is and I'm trying not to think about it. I'm just tired of being sick and hopefully this will cure me of that. I'ma see if they'll let me keep them. In a jar. I can shelack them and make an amulet. Who wants first dibs?

Man without a country

2008-08-14T21:16:00.000-07:00

As the NFL season starts cranking through its hell week I am again reminded that I am football team-less. LA doesn't have a team and I refuse to be a Raiders fan as they simply suck ass as a fan nation. My college, despite ruling in men's & women's basketball, and kicking some rugby & lacrosse ass, doesn't have a football team, either. This doesn't stop me from walking down Mill Ave on New Years Day and screaming at all the Tostito Bowl fans that "The Gauchos are gonna take it all!!!!!" How did Jim Rome cope with this? San Diego and San Fran are too far away to feel like they are MY team.

Do you have to root for a team from your home state/town? Most east coasters, I find, are going to tell you it's sacrilege to do anything less. Others would say who the hell cares, pick a team! How does one go about picking a team to be a fan of? What elements does one consult? Or is it a flat out crapshoot? I suppose I could just suck it up and be a Chargers fan. Or possibly a 49er fan. But I'm just not feelin' it. I don't know that my dad is a fan of any particular team. And he's from West Virginia so no luck their, either. He's a fan of our high school football team and follows them religiously. You think YOU know a fanatic? Get in line.

And for college ball, do I pick the school closest to me? It's either UCLA or USC. Does that make me a traitor? Or simply a sports fan?

Basketball? Done. Laker fan. Always have been. 5 years of rec ball and a fanatic Laker fan Grandma long behind me. I am also a Celtic fan, never having known of the rivalry growing up. I knew I liked Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. Simple.

Baseball? Dodgers. I'm from north of them so I was more exposed to them growing up. The Los Angeles Angles of Anaheim piss me off. Those are two different cities, people. Knock this shit off! But they are in two different leagues so I can rock them both. I am also a Giants fan simply because I went to high school with their pitcher Noah Lowry. I'd be a fan of whatever team he happens to be playing for. If he would get off the DL, that is.

Hockey? Never cared. Been to one game and it was a good time. But I don't care enough to follow it. Though I never get enough of Miracle. I could watch that movie all day long. Hell, I have.

Living in Phoenix one might ask me, why not be a Cardinals fan? Next. No thanks. Suckville. The only thing good about them is their new stadium way out in West Bumble Fuck. Suns? Eh. Dbacks? Eh. Coyotes? Eh. If I had to root for a team it would the Kings or the Ducks.

Does any of it matter? I dunno. I was a cheerleader and I loved rooting on my team, whether it was football, basketball, swim team, water polo, whatever. I am truly a cheerleader at heart, rooting people on in anything they do. I want to see people succeed at what they love. This is why I rule at promoting bands and the like. So in that regard I am totes a Professional Cheerleader. Now I need to audition for the Phoenix Suns squad…

The Continuing Desert Adventures of a Daughter of Poseidon

2008-05-26T00:54:00.000-07:00

Two Saturdays ago Krystl accompanied me on my triumphant return to Nick*Star Karaoke at Deemo's in Phoenix. It was a Humpty Dancin' good time. Great food and booze, classic drunken songs, and tons of great new people.

Tuesday brought the comedic slayings of one Mike Birbiglia at the Tempe Improv with Jodi, Ryan and Debbie. Dave & Stacey, Bethany, and Andy & Mandy…awww…happened to snag a front row table. Mike's set was a great combo of what I consider some of his classic stuff plus a bunch of new material. And it was game on when he discovered the Clan Gould up front were also from Boston. The two drink min was a pain in the ass, as I wasn't expecting LA prices, but damn I wanted a Strawberry Daquiri. I hung around after the show to shake Mike's hand and tell him I knew his roommate Daniel from his college days at Georgetown. He said he liked my starfish necklace. We had a moment.

Wednesday night Jodi mixed up some fanfuckingtastic burgers that Jason grilled up while Mel, Andy Jenson and I supervised. It was an undertaking but I think we did the job justice.

Thursday brought us Krystl's first art reception at Scottsdale Community College. She had one of her awesome collages picked to be shown and was awarded an Honorable Mention and a sweetass $50 gift certificate. So rad. She better get some pictures of these badboys up right quick. This was followed by a viewing of Iron Man at the Cine Capri with Mel, Krystl, Joel, Fax, and Maggie. It was a great movie and we were hysterically obnoxious during the previews. At least I was. Ha.

Friday Miss Toni and I took in a showing of As You Like It at the Desert Rose Theatre in Mesa. Shakespeare is simply boring. There, I said it. Christ. There were some stellar performances by select cast members and the second half was far more lively than the first. I have a special place in my heart for tiny theatre companies with little to no money who pull spaces and costumes and sets out of thin air. And this current home was a far cry from the stripmall box they once inhabited. Here's to good luck in finding a new space! Same goes to Stray Cat Theatre who are, once again, stray cats. Let's go back to the old theater. Who needs electrical?! Toni and I then set up shop at Starbucks on Mill and discussed men, life, religion, art, theatre, health…you know, the light stuff, and lamented the queerness of the cute emo boy behind the counter. Toni then may or may not have had her car towed and may or may not have had to dip into her NYC savings to get it out. But I ain't one to gossip so you ain't heard that from me.

Saturday I met Fax at Kate and Blake's son's 2nd birthday party in North Scottsdale. I haven't seen them in almost two years. I was surprised to see Ivan there, but then learned that the night before there had been a full blown Elliots reunion at a corporate event. What I wouldn't have given to be there for that. I miss the hell out of that band. It was so good to talk with them all and to meet little Blake 2, and Ivan's daughter Willa Rose. Now there's a darling little couple in the making. It's amazing the paths our lives take us on. Kate, Blake and Ivan were in a band called The Elliots. They were an incredible band and we followed them all over Arizona. The band broke up and Ivan went solo while Kate and Blake remained a duo. Ivan got married and became a dad and before we knew it Kate and Blake were knocked up and married. To each other. They moved off to Nashville and rock the east coast and Ivan still plays locally. Friday night they all reunited after at least 4 years. Old wounds healed with the magic salve of music and love. I miss all those bastards. Thank you for the music. Keep rockin' it.

I then moved on down to Dave & Buster's to help Ryan ring in his birthday. Shot and Bloody Mary's and fun not seen since Vegas. It's like a Chuck E. Cheese for adults and Debbie is a whiz at these games. I'll let Ryan describe the evening for you in the form of one of his famous drunken rambles from his message board:

wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo im fivckin drunn,k!!! thank you to nikik and devbbie for making theis it ghe grastaest birtshday! ever!!

seriolusyy! thsi was awesome . ti t waws just the three f su aat dave nu busters and we had a swell time! we woj over 10,000 poiunts on our carsds. We got a xsweetr adss poker set and a vcoin sorter!. I tw as awesome. Devbiibr and i acould fcujkin looose! we kept hitting javckopot after javckopot! I love this pbirthaday! Michele still holds the red[code]ord for the vbestr brithday hparty but this was the grweatseast birthday overall better!

we started wit h libnch at Red Robin, which is the clostest thing to bob's big boy we can get without being in california. the n we wetn to swee iron man which was totallyh badf asstical. the we came home and chiolled for a little whil and went to dave n busters. fgood times. I hafd liotrs of rum n cokes and a few shot of jac k and played lots fo games. I won the diup truck thing dfopr sa shitload of tivkets and then played different games and then debbie plaeyhd the diumptruck game with niki and they won an assload more tiuckets while I played some other dhiit i don ;t even know. OPh yeah. Debbie played some hautned house gaem and she won 15oo tickets off that. anyway we won a lot of stuff! It was radical. you mother fisklckers should have hcome out and played with us we didnt'g et get picturess. whate we dd get was sweet ass poker chips and a coin sorter. jealous? fcccu k yead yhou are. I drank olalot. opps. I dfcu cked that up abbut then ai ficxed tit. . I don't even known. good tiome.s . I love ou all. i love you debbie gfof r majkking theis a radaSS bithday and taking me to dave n busteres and the movie and liunch and stuff and I love you niki for being rad too. ther rest of you bmuther fukers sons of bitches tath didn t show up can kiss m balls. jdub vcan be first in line cuz I nkow he likes the cock.

anyhwhiooa.y. thanks everybodyh for the wells wweisheds and the happyh vbirthdays. You're all rad. but not as rad as me. im radder athan all of yhouul.

i totalyh copy and pasrtted this fromn the other board. I don';t know if you knew rthat or not. but i did. love you fickers. thak you all for coming here and supporteinng this board. for all i know, you all hcould think im just some big assjholle and not gave a fuck. but instead yhou come fhere day after day and that rellaly meqans a lot to me. thank you all. I m a better man for knowing you and I'm a better man for having you all as myh friends. there's nothing I wouldn't do for youl. and the fact that you come here aeveryday means the world to me. thank you brothers and sister. when i finally rule the world you r;'e all on m cool list. II;d' toatoolay bury some priock in the fuclking desert for you.

I love yhou , degbbie. thank you baby for making this tha besst birthday ever.

Slim rocksl. he drew me titties.

Can you handle that?

Sunday brought the great move of Jodi into her own place. Jason, Jodi, Krystl, Jeremy and I managed to pack everything into the U-haul in about an hour and then unloaded it, upstairs, in less. We are a lean and highly toned moving machine. Hugeass pizza, comraderie and our usual wacky banter was our just reward. It was all one hell of a workout. This brings us to my official move in as I took over Jodi's lease here with Mel. Despite everything I own being back home in California, I have clothes hanging in the closet and goodies in the shower. I spent one last night with the fuzzy kitty faces of Danzel and Sydney and still, when I walk in the door, expect to see them both. Taunting each other. Or being unbearably cute. I miss my fish. I'm comin' for you, FeeshMoch!

The job hunt continues and may wrap up nicely by the end of this week. Big weebles out there for me, my friends. Let's get this girl a job! And I believe it was about a year ago today that I had my strabismus surgery. (Eyeball muscle cutting & retying surgery) Wow. An entire year. I saw Doc Graham before I left town and he said my vision was beyond perfect and was incredibly impressed with the precision of the adjustment Doc Deemer did at UCLA. There's not enough info on my rad disease for anyone to know how or when I'll ever need to have either of my surgeries again so I'll do my best to not worry about any little imperfection I come across. Like waking up this morning with my eyelid red and purple, swollen and hurting. I took some Aleve and rocked the frozen pea eye patch, but it's still swollen and tight. It makes me worry about the sling in my eyelid, and it's been a bit hard to not freak out and feel squeamish. Allergies? Did a kitty give me the smack down last night? Was it all the exercise from moving? I cried yesterday but I've cried since my surgery and not had this problem. Get Scoob and the gang in on this one.

Stay tuned for more adventures from Hotter Than the Hinges of Hades central!

Two Weeks Notice

2008-05-26T00:52:00.000-07:00

I've done more in the two weeks I've been back in the mystical desert that is Tempe than I'd have done in two months back home. I think it's a sign that this was the right move to make.

I rolled into town to dinner and drinks with Jodi in downtown Phoenix, some acoustical stylings of Jeordie and Jason at The Paisley Violin, a shot from a pissed off bartendress who thought we were underage, and some Kilt Lifters and rock karaoke at The Yucca Tap. Nick and Ali came out to welcome me back to town for this short stint and we knocked 'em back and laughed 'em up, 'Twas a grand beginning.

Friday night brought the whole gang out to The Chuckbox, a great flamed-grilled-in-your-face place we were under the impression was going out of business, for some sweet-ass burgers and shocked and elated looks at my presence. I re-re-reintroduced Mike to Ryan, Morgan, Debbie, Mark, Emge, Nick, Joel, Chole, Terri, Maggie, Lorie, Joe, Taylor, Melissa, Fender, the Fenderlings…it was so wonderful to have the family back together. Most of them, anyway. Many were AWOL that evening. There was laughter and stories and love and bacon laced food and brews…what more could you want? It's what I've been missing for so long, and only had in bites followed by long dry spells. It was a balm, a tonic, a thick gel filled with various cut fruit for the soul. I heart you people.

Mike and I searched for and procured a DVD player in order to introduce each other to the sweetness that is Fletch and Memento, respectively, on his ungodly huge 64 in screen TV. It's like Chevy was right there in the room with us. And there are few things more thoroughly entertaining than YouTubing people being hit in the head with shit. Hours of gut busting laughs. Why did we stop? Hmmmm….Oh yeah. Ha.

We hit snooze a half dozen times before finally getting up to crock pot a pretty bitchen pot roast. The mouthwatering scent would torture us the rest of the day. It's amazing how quickly one sharp knife between two people can cut up a boatload of veggies. We day drank ourselves into a margarita bliss and then met Dave and Shana poolside for cervesas and silliness. A group of kids showed up with beer and a volleyball and it wasn't long before Team Guacamole took on Team Edward James Almos. Unfortunately, the sand in the sand volleyball court was more like shards of glass than sand, so those with more delicate feet…Mike…came away far more than unscathed. Pretty damn scathed, actually. Poor bastard. I have feet of kryptonite and therefore walked instead of hobbled away. They were a great group of kids…Kelso, 1983, Red Shirt, Guy and Chick, Jail Bait…hot tubs, pools, at least 80 beers, upstairs for amazing pot roast, wrestling matches, and balcony heckling Kelso and Guy's one on one v-ball match, and eventually passing out in front of a gloriously life-sized Guy Pierce in Memento. Sunday was a long, lazy day of recovering, the Lakers, and baseball. My fantasy team, Hot Drunk Hate, is kicking some fantasy ass.
Tuesday night Pat and I trekked to North Scottsdale for three hours of sweating our asses off with some East Coast swing dancing followed by pancakes and a Heart Attack burger at Denny's. It's breakfast on a burger. Hash browns, eggs, cheese…one of these days I'll pony up to that bad boy. I think Pat's going to marry it. Another pair of soul mates reunited.

I rocked Third Thursdays at Tempe Marketplace with Fax and Joel. They've got a great outdoor stage and a screen, sold alcohol and the event was free. The world needs more of these. I wish anywhere near my hometown would put something like this together. I wish I could see that actually happening. The first band, Dimonet, was ok. Not horrible, slightly rockin'. The headliner, MGMT, was a bastardized version of emo that I kept waiting to kick in, and they never quite did. I ended up sharing cocktails with a girl named Maria and her Maltese, Ronin. And, of course, lusting after Chuck Powell, DJ from The Morning Ritual on The Edge, who was hosting the event. OK, maybe I did a little more than lust…

I picked Mike up from the airport Friday night and we lounged through Saturday afternoon before tackling the delightfully overwhelming maze that is Ikea. TV: 1, coffee table: 1, couch: 0. Up a wok, down a kitchen rug. Oh, but Ikea has many more wonders in store. Ron, one of my favorite directors ever, scored me a ticket to his sold out final performance of Pulp at the Stray Cat Theatre in downtown Phoenix. It was amazing. So funny, such great costumes and sets, and truly fantastic acting. And so good to see live theatre again. Ahhhh, home. I met my former castmate Mr. Joe Kremer and the cast and crew of Pulp at Icepics where we pulled a pint of the gay, caught-up, drank-up, and laughed-up the rest of the night. Mike set the alarm for 6am to throw the delectable whole chicken and veggies he'd prepared the night before onto the crockpot so it would be ready in time for the gang's Movie Late Afternoon. I was so proud of him for getting up because lord knows I was blissfully in sleepy-land. Craigslist produced a rad couch/love-seat combo for cheap and Mike snagged it. Sweet seats for the afternoon Lakers game with Phil and Brian. We packed up that scrumptious chicken and headed back to Jodi's for a Friday/Harold and Kumar double feature with The Cool Kids.

More swing with Pat, dinner with Toni, Fat Elvises with Jodi, Kelly and Danalynn, my new kindred spirit, acoustic rounds at Yucca with Jodi, Jason, Shelby and Jim, job interviews, thrift store excavating, bookstore pilfering, reacquainting myself with my old stomping grounds, kicking ass at the gym I no longer have to drive half an hour to, fall theatre audition season to gear up for, live music to rock, and planting the seeds for more adventures.Two months in Ojai? I might have had the pleasure of a Shades of Day show, lunch with Chuck and his boys, and a movie alone. Oh, and a hopeless, neverending job search, good friends either an hour and a half south or 45 minutes north, spendy gas and spendy cocktails. What does all of that add up to? A big fat boo, that's what.

No official move yet, but it's safe to say this was the right decision to make. One I have labored over for far, far too long. "Sometimes the wrong direction is better than no direction at all". IS this the right decision? I'd like to think so. For so many reasons I have gone over time and again. Affordability, friends, social life, job opportunities, acting opportunities, and the sense that I made this place my home when I moved here years ago. It's hot as death in the summer, but there's opportunity and possibility here. The Phoenix molts once again, the Russian stacking doll reveals her new layer. Stay tuned, people. The party has only just begun.

Rock, Roll, Climb, Drink, Repeat

2008-05-26T00:49:00.002-07:00

The first trip of the year under my belt. In my pocket. Out in the trunk. Under foot. Up in a tree. It's a bird! It's a plane! It was a 6.5 hour drive across the desert. I is fast.

Kirsten, Patrick and I got shitty while wine tasting, had some swank Mexican food, and took obscene pictures at the bar across the street from her house in San Clemente. We were up at my crack and on the road, blazing through sleet and rain, wind and sand, uphill both ways to finally land safely in the arms of Tempe, AZ.

We descended upon Last Exit like homing pigeons. The gang was all there and the Kilt Lifter was quickly poured and consumed with fervor. Hugs and kisses, catching up and car bombs, laughing until we were on the floor. Happy hour was the musical stylings of half of Pants, which we usually call Shorts but that night dubbed Culottes. I even had the pleasure of hearing one of my favorite originals of theirs. "I'm so vain I probably think this song is about me..." Oh, wait. It is one of the songs about me. *sigh* It's a rough life I lead.

The next band up was some emo brothers who probably weren't bad. I mean, I didn't leave the bar, so they must have been OK, but I really wasn't paying much attention to them. And who was that hooded creature rocking the tambourine and feigning back-up vocals? Oh, that crafty Robin Wilson. Up to his old tricks again! I got to lay on the flirt with Devon, my favorite bartender and bar owner ever, and he gifted me some of his Love Nectar. Devon indulged me a few times that night and stole a big juicy kiss at the end of the evening.

Like the uber responsible person I am, we drank until 2am. There were some shenanigans on the car ride home and I believe I made out with Melody. She was the only person in the car I hadn't made out with, or so I thought. But Jodi was driving. She would get hers later...

Cancer walk? CANCER WALK?! Wake up, fuckers! It's 6 in the AM and time to get the FUCK up and walk up a GOTdamn mountain to kick cancer in the nads. I was wicked smaht and slept in my jog bra and shorts. Go Team. Up, awake, driving, AT the meeting place at 10 til 7. Dig on THAT. Alas, our team leader was not. And so, with heavy heart, and awesome team shirt design-less, we jumped on the bus to get to the mountain. It was a delirious and laughter riot filled trek as three of our clan decided to take a shortcut. Yep, a shortcut. They left the road and took off through the desert brush. We kept looking off into the foliage, searching for signs of life, or death, or carnage. I was hoping for carnage. We postulated their various fates, who might have beaten up whom, who would have turned back and headed for the hot dogs at base camp, who would appear with a gnawed off femur in his mouth. And three miles in, low and behold, there stood Faxman, voted least likely to survive the shortcut! And he was entertaining phone calls, no less. Rysham and Hobbit were half a mile ahead of us. Those dirty bastards. I still owe them all a punch to the testicals.

It felt like eons, but we made it to the top of the mountain! There was no cure for cancer waiting there for us, but there WAS a lot of Propel Fitness Water and pastries. Score. On the banners available to sign in dedication to whomever you might have walked for, Ryan wrote: "I cheated cancer". He so did.

We walked the half-mile back down the mountain to join the line to take the bus back down. Some crazy assholes actually walk BACK down. The bus is right here, man! Don't be a sucker! We gorged on sweet, sweet hot dogs back at base camp and then headed home for naptime. Yay, naptime!

The girls and I feasted on Ethiopian food for dinner. Now, I know that you're thinking. They have food? Oh, but they do. And it was some of the best food I have ever had. Ever. The lamb, spicy chicken, salad…I'm drooling. Crimminy, it was tasty deliciousness. We got our beer margarita pre-party on and then sauntered over to Last Exit for the big rock show. Shades of Day had rolled into town at 4 that morning. They made their obligatory trip to Guitar Center and spent the day lounging…I hear my couches are as comfortable as they ever were… before dining on sushi at Ra and tying some on, Irish style, at Rula Bula before hitting the venue.

I was greeted on the patio by half of my boys, Micah and Matt, and the delicious surprise of Robin, Matt's girlfriend. Brendan, Richard and Bruce were putting the finishing touches on the tuning and the drinking inside. We set up the swank merch table, refilled our cocktails, and set in to rock our ever lovin' faces off. And rock we did. I took a bazillion pictures, conveniently located in my pictures. It was a big crowd for an out of town band and the applause and cheering were thunderous. I absolutely loved seeing the crowd being won so completely over. We put a lot of hard work and love into that show and it paid off big time. Tramps & Thieves took the stage and killed like they always do. The Kilt Lifter kept flowing, shots were downed, cameras flashed, and madness not fit to print unfolded.

We stumbled back to Jodi and Mel's, grabbed guitars and had ourselves a good old fashioned sing along. Chapstick, a rolling pin, and plates substituted for drumsticks. Mr. Andy Jensen serenaded us with his acoustic "Kiss Me Deadly" Lita Ford cover. It rocked superhard balls. We drank the house out of booze around 5am and drifted off into drunken slumber. We all managed to be awake around lunchtime and pulled ourselves together for the mouthwatering grub of Four Peaks. The boys were wonderfully hung over and exhausted from an incredible night. And we weren't too shabby ourselves.

Jodi and I had appointments with an incredibly accurate psychic. I have always dabbled in the world of the new age and fancy myself an astrologer and tarot card reader, amongst other things. I had Mrs. Rita, of Gin Blossoms song fame, read my cards years ago, and a palm reader on Venice Beach read my palm one spring break in college, but a psychic I had never seen. She knew uncanny things about me she had no way of knowing…and her predictions are coming true. Dig on that. Oh, there are grand things in store, people. Grand things.

We watched some red carpet highlights of the Oscars and I was glad not to be in Hollywood trying to fight that traffic. Kirsten and I headed for the sunset and rolled back on into San Clemente late that night. I got the first hours of actual sleep from the weekend that night and the longest of the long showers in the morning. I moseyed on back up the coast and stopped in The Valley for some sushi and sights. It was one hell of a weekend. It felt so good to be back in my hood with my homies. You people are the light of my life. I was on fire being with you again. You make me laugh like no others. You're my heart and my home. And I'll see all you Betches sooner than you think.

Fuck Alcohol

2008-05-26T00:49:00.001-07:00

Seriously. Fuck it. I can't do this shit anymore. I am so far out of practice that I am half past embarrassed by the amount I can put away anymore. Put away and not be on my knees, swimming in my own insides on my college roomies bathroom floor.

I can't do this shit anymore. The two-day hangover is not worth it. The no longer being able to remember all the events of the evening is not cool. Being hosed the entire next day and forced to eat at McDonalds to cure the gut rot is not acceptable. I drink like I still go out six nights a week. It must be the end of an era. I suppose it had to come sometime and it's never when you expect it. If I could get shitfaced without hurling to the point of wanting to die and begging my babysitter to take me to the hospital because I'm convinced I have alcohol poisoning, and without being laid out all day feeling like an utter pile then I would be all for it. Hell, if I could manage to simply have A cocktail. One. Singular. Solemente. But it's a slippery slope and I slide fast.

It's no longer fun. No longer a good time. Someone sign me up for a class on moderation because I apparently have lost my capacity for it. And I've got trips planned, people. Send help. Quick.

Rushing

2008-05-26T00:48:00.001-07:00

Cold. It has been cold. So this is the perfect time to go to the river bottom. I like building dams in the rushing river. Watching the water dry up and move elsewhere. Tossing rocks into the big swirly by the boulder in the middle of the river. Ice friggen cold. So cold is the water that you can't even feel cold you just hurt. And yet my feet stay in. Nothing but wilderness as far as you can see, snow capped Topa Topas to my right, the ocean over the hills to my left. Reverting back to childhood. Splashing in the water, determined.

Damn the NAMM!!

2008-01-22T15:59:00.001-08:00

The NAMM show is this weekend in Anaheim. I have always wanted to go. It's a musical buffet and I fancy music. And musicians. I have word into my peeps who I know go every year to see if they can get me in. Damn it all. It seems like tight security, otherwise I would just waltz in. I'm good at waltzes.

Be my savior, John Stack!

10 Little Knowns

2008-01-22T15:57:00.000-08:00

10 RANDOM THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT ME!

1. Growing up I wanted to be a paleontologist and dreamed of going to the Bad Lands in Wyoming. I wrote a book about dinosaurs when I was 8 that got an honorable mention at the county fair.

2. I'm far too much of an open book.

3. I love emeralds. I'd take an emerald over a diamond in a heart beat.

4. I've spent 12 hours reading in a bookstore. It's my retreat from the world. I'll my own library when I get my own place.

5. I love cleaning bathrooms. You get everything wet and wipe it all down. How much easier does it get?

6. I loathe candy corn and coconut.

7. I could live anywhere in the world for a year. And I'd like to.

8. Choreography is something I am extreemly good at.

9. Kitsch, thrift store, leopard print, Hollywood antique: feelings and designs I want to decorate my own place in.

10. If I could cover myself in tattoos, I would.

We Close Our Eyes

2008-01-22T15:55:00.000-08:00

I've been living my life from the rear facing seat of a Volvo station wagon. Dear God, someone help me turn the fuck around.

I think I'm gonna be sick.

We close our eyes and dream and the world has turned around again

When everybody is running in the big raceAnd having a good timeWho am I to cast a shadowWho am I?
I looked death in the face last night
I saw him in a mirror
And he simply smiled
He told me not to worry
He told me just to take my time
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...

And if you come to me
And if you touch my hand
I might just slip away
I might just disappear
Who am I?
And if you think I'm worth it
And if you think it's not too late
We might start falling
If we don't try too hard
We might start falling in love

We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...

We're on the healing path
We're on a roller coaster ride
That could never turn back
And if you love me
And if you really try
To make the seconds count
Then we can close our eyes

We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...

We close our eyes and the world has turned around again

Dirty Blonde

2008-01-22T15:52:00.000-08:00

I have found a frightening new role model. I feel dirty and wrong even considering it but here goes: Courtney Love.

I know.

I picked up Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love and opened it to the middle. Honestly, I was looking for what she might have written about Kurt's suicide and any pictures that might accompany those entries. I'm morbid and like that kind of stuff. Deal. I was surprised to see only two pages, one photo of a fan vigil, a few words and not much else. Interesting. I sat down and started flipping through the entire book and walked away astonished.

One thing to be said for Courtney Love – she never censors herself. She says what she feels and without fear of reprimand. Or so she comes across, at least. And I know these are her diaries and a place where one would feel free to do so, but many people aren't even honest with themselves let alone the world. She comes across on paper the way she does in life: without apology.

I want to be as tenacious, bold, aggressive, confident, brazen, outlandish, determined, inspired as Courtney Love. She never doubted herself. She went after what she wanted and she got it all. Most of the diary is filled with song lyrics and I read them for the first time. Hole was never a band I was into. I couldn't get past the off-key screaming to listen to the lyrics. I saw the passion in her words. It's just plain honest. It's that stark vulnerability shining through. Choice words and no apologies. She never let anything stop her. Not having a child or her husband's suicide. She had a two-page list of all the things she wanted to teach her children about being good and creative people. I was astonished. I had no idea how much thought and love and desire she had put into having a family. Not something she projects in her outward celebrity life. She had lists of her goals while pursuing acting, her goals for her band, plans, ideas and strategies, photographs, fliers, drawings and letters. She bulldozed over roadblocks and took side streets, never sat on her laurels and always bounded forward to the next project or adventure.

Courtney is an intelligent woman who reads and researches. She had lists of important women throughout history and their accomplishments, spiritual ideas and books to look into and read, and her reaction to all of it. She's eloquent and well versed. She can't type for shit, that's true. And her handwriting is damn near illegible. But she's not spewing forth empty, regurgitated popisms. She's not talking about the latest TV show or inane, vapid bullshit. She wrote with depth about art, spiritualism, politics, literature and she had real heroes. She has never tried to make herself a brand to sell. She's truly an artist unlike all those little lost and empty musical outfits clogging the airways with inane claptrap.

Courtney is certainly no saint, but her diaries showed me a side of her I didn't know was possible. I had written her off as a drug addicted lunatic attention whore who fucked her way to the top. And while all of that may still be true there is that raw, honest, loving side of her, an intelligence and depth that her media focused shennanagins belie. She's a devout Buddhist. Who knew? She is honest with herself and, what's more, she's honest with the world. She's not tripped up by things that would derail so many others' plans. She's not always pretty and clean or agreeable but she is undeniable. And I admire the hell out of her.

Climb to Conquer

2008-01-14T17:02:00.000-08:00

Cancer, that is. I and my fellow Peacemaker fans and friends are going to kick some serious cancer ass this February 24th in our 4th annual Climb to Conquer Cancer. We haul our hungover asses out of our warm and comfy beds long before the crack of dawn to gather at South Mountain in Phoenix and walk 5 increasingly steep miles to the top and to victory.

This year's walk hits home for me and the crew as our good friend Phil Rowe is taking on his third battle with cancer. Phil is a wonderful, passionate, endlessly entertaining man, and the talented guitarist for Suspect Audio. I am walking for Phil, his delicious wife Mandy, and their adorable daughter Kira.

If you'd like to donate to our awesome cause feel free to swing by My personal page an drop some cash on me. :)

Or, for the slightly more daring, those who would like to join our team, Loco Locals, can do so here. I don't even live in Tempe anymore and I joined. Today is the last day to join our team and qualify for our badass team shirt!

Fly in, drive out, hitchhike, teleport. I'm-a be there. What more reason do you need to join?

Thank you all and remember: when you see cancer, kick it in the nads.

This used to be my playground

2008-01-03T16:12:00.000-08:00

I fucking hate this town but it's mine to hate. I hate feeling like an outsider in my own town. I come downtown on the weekend, namely Sunday, and I feel like I am intruding on everyone's experience. Faces aren't familiar and they're giving me weird looks. This town is too fucking small for all the shit they try to put on every weekend. There is one road through town. One. Everything else is a residential and even those streets are packed in with cars, people walking their dogs, baby strollers, their hats and sunglasses, fanny packs and arm loads of Ojai Visitors Guides. And they are all 50 and older. All of them. They take their sweetass strolling time crossing the streets and think it is perfectly acceptable to drive 10 miles an hour…10 miles an hour…down our one road. I know you're sight seeing and all but some of us actually live here and have shit we need to get done. There is not enough parking for anything, ever. The farmers market sends them out in droves and then there's the peddler's fair down the street. All the pretentious environmentalists with their organic this and save that, hemp this and purified that. And the artists. The artists! I consider myself an artist but I must not be as I'm just not an asshole. I guess I should work on that. The snotass theatre in town, Theatre 150, just moved into the funeral home. The funeral home. I'm all for using all kinds of spaces for anything but seriously, I'll never be able to see a show there and not think of the friends funerals I have been to right there in that very room. They're such fucking snobs and I shouldn't be surprised. They aren't community theatre but they're not equity either. I sent my headshot, resume and letter to them when I came home from college and no one ever contacted me or returned my calls. Like this town needs more elitism. If you ever thought Malibu was bad then you truly haven't been looked down on. And that's what I don't get. I'm not supposed to feel this way in my town. MY town. I was born here. I was raised here. That's my jr high and my high school and, what's more, that's my parent's jr high and high school. This is where I hung out as a kid, this is where I hung out as a teenager, this is where I did my first play, this is the park my family gets together at every Easter, this used to be the Christmas tree farm where we went every year the day after Thanksgiving to cut down our tree. I went to high school with the families that own Rains, Boccali's, Serendipity, The Hut, Rubens, Bonnie Lu's, Corrales, and zillions of other companies and eateries in town. And yet because I am not pretentious, loaded with cash, a famous actor or writer, or a tourist, I am made to feel like vermin. Is this Les Miz? I wanna go home. And I thought I was. It makes me want to wear a bright pink shirt that says, "I was born here! Ojai Native, make way!" I fantasize about getting into an argument with someone about a landmark or an event and them trying to impress me with, "I've been in the valley for 15 years!" and I say, "I've been here for almost 30 so suck it." I over heard a man once who was so impressed by this woman who said she had been here since 99. I wanted to scream, "I've been here since 78!" I've had tourists totally shocked to hear I was born here when they roll through town for the tennis tournament, creatively called The Ojai, the countries oldest amateur tournament. Yes, this really is more than a vacation destination to some people. Yes, we have a hospital and schools and even banks! And more art galleries and hoity toity shit than you could ever want to see. The actual living here part is lost on people. It really is a community with families and gatherings and our own histories. It's one thing to walk into Tombstone and be surprised it's a functioning town with a post office and natives all it's own. That town has a huge history and is a national landmark. We're no Tombstone. We have our own major events for the much less informed and even less interested as they're of a spiritual and new age nature. Yes, all the movie stars live here and yes, The Bionic Woman took place here and that show Brothers and Sisters, and we were the final shot from East of Eden that represented Shangri-La. Guess what our city nickname is? But we're not what you'd think of as a tourist mecca. I never felt like I lived in a tourist trap and goddamn if I don't. This town used to feel warm and worn and broken in and comfortable. Now everything feels shiny and plastic and straight backed and rigid. And it's just too fucking small. Why do I feel like a stranger walking into a coffee shop? And the two chairs at the bar at the Starbucks we now have, outside the city limits of course, were taken this morning. Along with all of the other chairs. And in one fell swoop I have nowhere to go to write. Done. One shot. So I drove out to the other end of town to Soule Park and am squinting vigorously at the screen that wasn't made for outdoor use. Maybe this is the cosmos telling me my time here in this valley is done as it slowly squeezes me out. I would agree with it. But this used to feel like home. And more and more often I feel like a ghost walking the streets of a once familiar land. The clock is ticking down.

Dig, if you will, a picture

2008-01-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

Upon discussing his exclusive male modeling prospects with my burgeoning scarf empire Local H beguiled me with his vision for our future...

"Simple modeling ain't gonna make us Fortune 500. You know what will? That's right, a super sweet commercial on cable access television. Let me lay this on ya...

We fade in on me in an upscale European looking bar, except that we're low budget so it's probably not gonna look like the good Europe, but we'll settle for nothing less than Bulgarian looking, this much I promise you.

All right, so I'm working my craft on these uppity Bulgarian broads, but I'm gettin' no play whatsoever, when suddenly I see in the corner of the bar a super foxy snake charmer. She lures me in with her piccolo (recorder?) and lo and behold what pops out of her wicker basket? Not a snake, but a fabulous KitaBan scarf!

So I wrap myself in awesomeness and suddenly the Bulgarians think I'm the second coming of Swayze, but I pay them no mind as I kick open the bar door and hit the streets.

And as the wind catches the scarf and it dances playfully off my shoulder I become the center of attention. I mean, I'm like a black hole covered in super glue, no one can resist my animal magnetism.

But I show my sweet side by stopping next to a downtrodden minority child jumping rope and use my scarf to get the most extreme session of Double Dutch going. But pretty soon my shoulder gets tired and I leave.

And as I round the corner I see the requisite love interest you've been patiently waiting for me to introduce about to board a city bus. I must have her, but she's out of earshot. Well, for your average joe she's gone forever. But for the savvy scarf-dressed man, she's just a lasso throw away. I hook her around the waist and pull her firmly to me. Freeze there as we stare longingly into each other's eyes.

And we finish by having the low budget equivalent of Antonio Banderas whisper, "KitaBan Scarves... Are You Exceptional Yet?"

Oh, and did I mention that everything but the scarf is in black and white? Cause it totally is.

Tell me that shit won't make Scorsese punch an orphan."

Wisdom thrown down from the mountain. Mt. Local H.

Are you exceptional yet?

2007-12-08T21:53:00.000-08:00

We get by. Drug the pain and pass the time. We got needs. We've got better things to see. We believe. In promises we'd never keep. We get by. Drug the pain and pass the time.

2007-12-04T16:43:00.000-08:00

What a friggen beautiful day. The surf is strong and the smell of the saltwater is sweet. The only thing belying the winter season is the hint of a chill in the air. I have a pretty fantastic view out of my wall of windows. I can almost see the ocean. I only have to walk out to the street and look right.

There's something about the fall and winter here. Something that really strikes a chord with me. Life feels meatier. Maybe it's the shades of the sky or the time of reflection that hangs on us at the end of a year. I wonder if I would feel different were I in Australia where winter is during our summer months. One of these days I'm going to find out. The cozing up feeling, good friends huddled in tiny bars, thick coats and frozen cheeks. It's quite possibly my favorite time of year.

2007-12-03T10:05:00.000-08:00

It's the season of the singles. Spring cleaning has arrived a season early. A handful of friends are getting divorced. A handful have ended their relationships, some for the second time. Welcome to the club, boys. Pull up a pint and let's talk. Misguided hope. Hope can be a dirt, dirty bastard. I love Shawshank but sometimes I really want to do away with the whole notion. I've never been good at hiding my feelings. Heart, sleeve, together 4 Eva. Not good. Over some ice cold Hefs my two most recent breakee's and I talked of love and life and music and madness. One a singer/songwriter, the other his drummer. Half the band is on the prowl, ladies. Watch yo step.

2007-11-30T11:44:00.000-08:00

So bored and full of apathy today. I just don't care. And what's more, I don't want to care. I just want to go somewhere and read and think and figure things out. I feel it almost impossible to care about this shit today. I don't care about depositing checks or cameras today. And I sure as hell don't want to answer the phone. I just want to be left alone and do my own thing. God damn it all. At least I have wall size plate glass windows and a door to look out of. A beacon of hope. Damn, these days drag on forever...

The music just keeps on rolling along

2007-11-11T02:58:00.000-08:00

Pain. The pain in my head. I don't want to take more vicodin because it's making me sick. But it's the only thing that's helping the pain.

I find it funny that old Scooby Doo episodes have a laugh track. And it's after almost every line the characters say. It's just not that funny, man. And I dig me some Scoob.

Burnt popcorn is depressing.

The Dennonites are invading D-land tomorrow. I was supposed to go but my surgery was rescheduled. Boo. I know they'll have a great time. It may even rain which equals even more fun because all the kids go home. I went once in the rain. We were kings. I was really looking forward to going. I haven't seen all the updates they've made to Pirates. And I really wanted to check out the pirate shops and have a mint julep in the French Quarter. The Haunted House still scares me. And it was going to be fun to be there with a big group of friends. Possibly drunk. Goddamn the timing. Sometimes it feels like the world is against me.

Shades played Wildcat tonight. I haven't been to the shitty kitty in ages. Same surgery/world against me situation. Not that I've never seen them play but they hardly play at all and there is no live music in this town or Santa Barbara so when a show comes up it's a rare treat and one I like to participate in. And they're my boys. I like to be social. A lot. And it's a tough thing to do in this bullshit of a town/area. So I mourn the loss of a good night of live music. Woe is me. "Whoa". Joey? Keanu? Hmmmm.

Where's my damn remote control? I liked that game show. They should bring that back. You know Ken Ober needs a job. Was Collin Quinn ever funny?

Bravo is obsessed with Blow. Dude. I like the movie too, but could you lay off playing it back to back to back to back? Is it national Blow month or something? Blow appreciation day? Did I miss something because I was too whacked out on drugs? Damn.

I need another pill. Now.

I stood and swayed in my bedroom for minutes. Lazily scratching at my satin PJ pants. You know what I am? Decidedly unhungry. I think I ate twice today. Food is so unappetizing. I wish I had a king-sized bed in my backyard I could lay on during the day. It's so nice out and I don't want to be in my room anymore. I can't breathe in any other part of the house. I love my parents.

I want to go back to Vegas. I want to live in Vegas. I want to roam from casino to casino, drinking and eating and seeing shows and just never stop. I think that would be a hell of a time. I could live like that. For a long time I figure.

My Nano is dangerously close to full.

I should be sleeping. The sport of champeens.

I'm over dramatic. And overly sensitive. That's a molotov cocktail. Not nearly as tasty as an Irish Car Bomb, but just as entertaining.

There's only one man I call Baby. And he'll never know I call him that.

I want to find a Pollock at a thrift store. A first edition "Slaughterhouse Five" at a yard sale. Not my favorite artist or my favorite book. A Waterhouse and "Cats Cradle" would be my holy grails. Among them, anyway.

I need to go to a museum. When was the last time I was at one? I think it was my 27th birthday. In Phoenix. There was a Frida Kahlo exhibit. I hear there is a Dhali exhibit at the LACMA. I have still not been to The Getty. I went to the J. Paul Getty Museum when it was still at his mansion on the cliffs in Malibu. It was fantastic. I've been to The Met, Musee d'Orsay, Rodin, The Tate, I stood outside of The Louvre... I've stood in one room with a Van Gough, Rodin, Monet, Picaso, and Rembrandt and I think my head almost exploded. I love standing infront of a painting knowing that the artist stood right where I am, looking at it just as I am now. See how they held their brush, how they laid the paint on the canvas. Or to pull up some grass next to The Thinker and blush like a voyeur at The Kiss. Running through The Tate I skidded to a halt in front of one of my favorite paintings I didn't even know was there. The Lady of Shalott. It was huge and I had to sit down and soak her in. Simply magnificent. And on the other side of the museum was The Rosetta Stone. THE Rosetta Stone. Holy buddha christ. Drool. HAD to have my picture taken with THAT. I live in a town of nothing but art galleries but I have a hankering for a good museum fling. A notch down from pretension or the height of it? Or D, none of the above. Black patent leather heals, a long black coat, a feathered fan, dripping emeralds, French twist, smoldering behind dark glasses...such over dramatic hilarity would be so fantastic. The pomp. The circumstance.

I need a man who can put on a suit and look good. Work it. Own it. Enjoy it. Sophistication is sexy, boys. Class, Character, Style. Sweating like a dirty bastard and rolling through the mud is sexy, too. I enjoy that as well. But I find few men can really do a suit justice, pull it off with panache. Reckless courage is irresistible.

It's the end of the world as we know it. It's the end of the world as we know it. It's the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine.

So much more to do...

And it cuts like a knife

2007-11-11T02:57:00.000-08:00

Wednesday was one of the longest days of my life. The emotional exhaustion really gave the physical a run for its money.

They scheduled my surgery for 1:30 in the afternoon. Not cool. I was expecting 8am, get it done and over with. But no, I wouldn't be that lucky. I couldn't eat anything after midnight and could only drink 8oz of water. Awesome. Food is for poor people anyway. I started the day off in a zone. A serious, impending doom zone. I got dressed and looked in the mirror knowing I wouldn't look in the mirror again at the same face. Pushed those thoughts away. Both of my parents drove with me down to UCLA. Neither one of them know how to drive let alone how to drive in LA. I want to kill them both before we even leave. I praise the mystical powers that be for my iPod and just turn the volume up. And without being able to stifle them, tears steam down my face. I am shuddering with sobs. I am terrified of this surgery. Bad memories from the first time I had a surgery like this have scarred me. Being awake while they cut on your face is, contrary to popular belief, not fun. Hearing everything the doctors are saying and doing, feeling blood dripping down the side of your face, these are bad things. I could not get past these thoughts and the immobilizing fear of them happening again. The music washed over me with a perfect numbness that ebbed and flowed with each song. A part of me, thankfully, shut down.

We got to UCLA an hour and a half early. LA. Traffic. You never know. They check me in, I've got my wristbands, I'm in line for the ride. The nurses see I am in a funk and they reassure me that my doctor is fantastic and that everything is going to be fine. They are sweet and make me laugh and distract me for a while. But I keep coming back to ground zero. It's 1:30 and I am called into the pre-op room. Wow, this is really happening. Was this all a dream I kept expecting to wake up from? I get dressed down and the nurse sets up my IV in the bend of my arm. My least favorite place. Rad. One try, I thank her for that. And I ball uncontrollably. My left arm plastered tensely to my side, Kleenex clutched to my face, I sit there waiting in this horrible state of vulnerability for an hour and a half before I am taken into the operating room. Nothing but complicated memories of all kinds pinballing through my mind that I can't turn off. I mutter the strains of Green Day's "Macy's Day Parade", the last song I heard on my iPod. I try to think of a more upbeat song but the melancholy tone just fits, and it's all that's holding me together at this point.

They finally come to get me at 3pm and wheel me into the operating room. The anesthesiologist and I go over the drugs and how it's all going to work and he's a good man. He was my man for my last surgery and he remembers me. I explain to him that I need as much drugs as is safe. I don't want to hear anything, I don't want to feel anything, I don't want to be aware of anything that is going on. I tell him my first surgery was just awful and how terrified I am of a repeat performance and he assures me he will take good care of me. I meet the other nurses, sign one more form, and am asked a zillion different times for my full name and birthday. That's how they make sure you are you. Behind the din I heard music coming from the actual operating room and I realized it was the Counting Crows. J., I thought of you and Martin and smiled. The slightest sense of security trickled in. They wheeled me into the very cold operation room and started getting machines hooked up. There were a lot of people in this little room. "Is there any chance you're pregnant, Niki?" "Don't rub it in, doc." The Gin Blossoms filter through the radio and I just laugh. They're going to give me the drugs now and I just break down. This is it. Now I have to let go. I have never been so scared in my life.

They did a good job of keeping me under. I have scattered memories of consciousness. I think I was trying to sing at some point. I did say "Ouch" at least twice to which they said they would give me more medicine. I felt a clipping. Dull. Like wire clippers. I felt threads like fine gold wires. They pushed something dark over my eye and under my eye lid. That was unpleasant. I think I heard the heart monitor start to race. I remember them telling me it was all over and me saying "thank God".

I've been eating my 500mg vicodin like Smarties and lying in bed. Beanbag chairs also make suitable pillows. I've got three tiny incisions along my eyebrow and an incision along the crease of my eyelid. I cried heartily at my first look in the mirror. The fear has not yet left me. The left half of my head has this dull ache radiating with these sharp stabs. I can't close my eye and I have this fun goop I have to cream in there and on my incisions. Ever try to sleep with one eye open? Like Metallica suggests? It's less than easy, bordering on the difficult. I find a makeshift patch and 1000mg of vicodin do the trick for me. Send your favorite way to The Red Mail Box on Rice Rd. All submissions become our property and will not be returned. Void where prohibited. Not valid in Vermont. Or Oxnard because it's lame.

Stay tuned for drug induced observations and musings. I am sore from laying here. But I find that this much vicodin plus walking around equals barfy. So we keep moving to a minimum at this point. FeeshMoch dances in his bowl. Mr. Bun keeps me company and gets tangled in the sheets. The vice tightens on my head. Grody pictures may follow. We thank you for your support.

How to Kill a Ninja

2007-11-07T00:49:00.002-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IR68W56DCBU

This is my favorite Ask a Ninja question. If you've never been to http://www.askaninja.com/ then you just haven't lived. And you may die after going there now. Be adventurous, people.

How to be, or just look like, a Ninja

Stuck on the floor

2007-11-07T00:49:00.001-08:00

In my bean bag chair with my knee propped up because it's swollen to the point of bursting. Awww yeah. I decided to take a full force running crash into a sneaky pumpkin hiding in the last row of corn three Fridays ago working the Boccail's Haunted Hayride. The things I do to entertain the masses. Everything was fine until this last Friday night when I went out and got my groove on to Shades of Day at Wine Lovers. Then it all got worse Saturday night when the more intense grooving got on. Now this whole "walking" thing has become a drag.

Boo!
*throws popcorn*
Boo!!

I waltzed myself into the ER tonight to check things out. I found my entire leg swollen today. Totes awes. I had my knee x-rayed and thank God there is nothing torn. I couldn't begin to wrap my brain around another knee surgery, another surgery of any kind, especially to my good knee. I am out of knees. The tendon running along the outside of my leg got banged up pretty good. I didn't think I could take any good drugs because they would make me bruise worse and for longer after my eyelid surgery next week. But come to find out, Vicodin and steroids aren't on my list. Sue-pah Sweet.
And I think they just kicked in.
Float with me.

Third Eye

2007-11-07T00:47:00.000-08:00

Ahhhh, UCLA in the fall. I don't even know what that means. I don't have much of a frame of reference to make a sentimental statement like that. But I was back down there yesterday, this time to meet with a plastic surgeon about fixing my eye lid. Now, I'm not an easy, normal case where I just have droopy old man's eye lids and want a lift. I'm rocking a sweet disease that's pretty much never going to stop rocking ME. That complicates things. The doc told me he could do a procedure on my eye lid that would lift it but that he couldn't make it look just like my right eye. AKA normal. There was talk of a few small incisions and using my eyebrow muscle as it's stronger than my eye lid muscles and before I knew it I had an appointment for Nov. 2nd. I'm sitting in a daze with the woman who is schedualing my appointment and I'm absently yet frantically scratching the back of my neck and trying my damnest to hold back my tears. I don't know just why I was so upset. Why I am STILL so upset. I'm scared and I'm anxious. I feel like God DAMN, didn't I just have this dealt with?! But I didn't. And this surgery will be another one I get to be awake for. Joy. I feel like I should feel like this isn't a big deal, I've done this before and that first eye lid surgery was way more complicated than this one will be, and I'll be fine, and that I should be glad there is something they can do for me. But I don't feel that way. I just feel scared and anxious and terrified to my bones that I will wake up looking worse than I already do. I know, I know. "Niki, I don't even notice your eye!" Liars. No, I'm sure there are people who don't. I am, unfortunately, not one of them. Then again, it's my face. And I want my 15 year old face back. And I'm never going to get it back. And that makes me unbelievably, uncontrolably upset.I don't want to be laid out on the couch for another week, unable to go anywhere and in pain and black and blue and awesome looking. It's such an emotional toll and I've been tapped enough in that department over my eye this year. I'm wandering around the eye institute, crying behind my sunglasses, on the phone with my dad who feels a thousand pounds of guilt over me having this problem, trying to tell him what the doctor said and trying to understand why I'm so upset and trying to grasp the fact that I am going to have to have this surgery again in a few years and have that eyeball surgery again in a few years and that this isn't going away....helpless. Small. Scared. Alone.And the bright yellow drops they put in my eyes to take their pressure are streaming down my face and out my nose. I was a sight to behold. I'm tired. And I'm terrified. And I can't seem to get settled inside or stop the tears. Damn it all.

Hollywood Halloween Premier

2007-08-27T20:54:00.000-07:00

Mitch works at The Inn and one of his co-workers in the pub, Nick, is good friends with Malcolm McDowell. He comes in and drinks and golfs all the time. He gave Nick two tickets to the premier of Halloween at Grauman's Chinese on Thursday night. Mitch couldn't go so he told Nick that he had this great friend who was fun and loved the Halloween movies. That's me. Awww. It's nice to be loved.
Kelly McDowell told Nick we should be there at 6:15 at the latest. And so we were. There were blockades already set up on both sides of Hollywood Blvd. to hold back the watching crowds. We stood in a line briefly until we heard a security guard barking for people who needed will call. That was us. I felt a little important moving past these throngs of spectators to get our tickets. I saw the thicket of photographers clustered in front of the theater where the old box office used to be. Red velvet rope lined the sidewalks. Lots of people around us talking about their latest projects and who they were working with, and on, and it was all so pretentious. I found it a laughable attempt at attention. If you're trying to impress me people, you have failed. I don't care.
Tickets in hand, we proceeded up the sidewalk to the front of the theatre. And there was the red carpet. And there I was walking on the red carpet at Grauman's Chinese Theater. The photographers barely glanced at me and I didn't care. I was on the damn red carpet. Head held high and walking slowly to savor it all. I had on my black, red and white polka dotted dress with my wide black belt, black satin and sequin clutch, and black patent leather, four inch heels. Said heels found a niche in the signatures in the cement beneath the carpet and almost brought me to my knees. That would have been not good, to say the least. It was such a shit-eating grin experience for me. I hope there are many more to come.
Complimentary soda and popcorn awaited us inside at the concession counter. Assigned seating per our tickets, and I am so glad. I was not looking forward to fighting people for good seats. There isn't a bad seat at the Grauman's Chinese. We were on the upper left side. The movie didn't start until about 8:15 and the McDowells didn't show until about 8:05. So much for getting their early. I saw a woman directing an older couple to the side door of the theatre where they could get the best shot of their son, Rob Zombie, doing his press interviews. Such a sweet couple.
Tons of people simply wandered up and down the theater aisles trying to be seen. There was no reason for these women to be making this pointless trek back and forth. And there was no reason for the guy behind me to be standing the entire hour and a half before the movie started except he was trying to be seen. It was so laughably ridiculous. Then I saw a man in a white linen suit and white fedora walking up the aisle to the lobby. Recognition slowly dawned on me as he walked across the theater. My eyes grew wide. Holy hell. It's Mickey Dolenz. My favorite Monkee, a major influence on my sense of humor, and a target for my young affections. I started jumping up and down in my seat. This little troll doll woman, with the most bizarre hair I have seen in a long time, said, "Are you a big Halloween fan?" I said, "I'm a big Mickey Dolenz fan." She said, "Oh, he plays the gun store owner in the movie." "Oh", I said. If she was trying to impress me with her prior knowledge of the movie then she had failed. I don't care who you are or who you think you are stop trying to impress me and everyone else around you. Damn, I was in a mood about that, man. Still am. Pretension in Hollywood? The hell, you say.
The producers got on the mic at the front of the theater to say a few words and thank a few people. Rob Zombie got up there and told the story of calling John Carpenter to tell him he was remaking his movie. He said that John said, "And? What do I care?" Rob told him he just wanted to let him know and that John said, "Ok. Go for it. Have fun." That's good stuff right there. I really think Carpenter is over the whole Halloween thing, and has been for some time now. When Malcolm and his wife arrived he was in the most jovial of moods. He gave Rob a huge hug and was hugging all of his friends. I recognized his two older children Lily and Charlie. They grew up in Ojai and I've seen them around town a lot. She looks just like her mother, Mary Steenburgen, only with blonde hair, and he looks JUST like his father. Spitting image.
The movie was fantastic. And I was skeptical because I love the original. This remake combined the original and its sequel into one cohesive story line. As long as there was a lot of blood and gore and death I was going to be ok with this movie. I was not disappointed. It starts out with Michael Meyer as a ten year old with a glimpse into his very effed up family life. The child was already disturbed but the way his family treated him and each other did not help him become more normal. I really felt sorry for the kid. Then the killings began. Oh sweet, sweet, bloody killings. Cut to 15 years later and we pick up where the original Halloween started, with a 15 year old Laurie Strode. Now, I know the story so it was no shocker to me that she was the baby sister of Michael. So that psychological effect was lost on me. But a lot of the dialog was the same, and worked really well. The killings happened a lot faster than in the original but were still meaty and not just throw aways. And there were a few bonus killings in there, too. Score. Malcolm McDowell played the psychiatrist and he did a bang up job. The doc from Deadwood played the town sheriff. Rad. The movie went beyond the originals final words to an extended and official ending that was beautiful. There was a cohesive and full follow through of the storyline from beginning to end with a deeper understanding of Michael's disturbances and his love for his little sister, the only family member who never screwed him over. The only pure love he felt he knew. I don't want to give away the good details of the movie I just want to say that everyone should go see this flick because it is a good, solid story and is very entertaining.
After the movie we made our way back inside the theater so Nick could say hello to Malcolm and his wife. he introduced me to them both and we shook hands. They were delightfully wonderful. I've seen Malcolm around Ojai tons and even sold him tennis balls when I worked at The Raquet Club. It was nice to get a formal introduction. Malcolm was so jazzed to see Nick. He gave him a huge hug and a slap on the back and thanked him heartily for coming. His wife Kelly was just darling. We were just a group of people talking. It was very cool.
The tickets to the premier came with two tickets to the after party at The Geisha Room a few blocks down the Blvd. All the paparazzi were behind barricades and we just sauntered up to the entrance and flashed our tickets and were told, "Oh, right this way". The place was jam packed. Tons of stick thin women whom I wanted to feed hamburgers to. We made our way to the bar and ordered a beer, a shot of Patron, and a rum and coke. We waited for the bartender to give us a total and he said those magic words you long to hear, "It's tip only." That means free booze, people. Five dollar tip for three drinks. Dig on THAT. And then there was the sushi. Sushi buffet as far as the eye could see. It was everywhere. And there were servers walking around with platters of shrimp skewers and sushi and delicious madness. Oh, I was in heaven. We made our way up to the second level where we noticed a VIP room with a short wait to get in. So we got in. And there in the middle of the throng was Mr. Mickey Dolenz. My heart skipped a beat. I shook his hand and told him what a big fan I was and that I credited him for my sense of humor and that he was my favorite Monkee. He smiled and thanked me. I also told him his part in the movie was my favorite. We laughed. His four page scene had been cut to a mere two lines. That's how it goes in H-wood. Oh, I was sailing on a high after that. Another dream encounter come true.
I saw the little boy and girl who were being babysat in the movie, the 7 ft tall man who played Michael as an adult, Rob Zombie holding court in a corner of the VIP room, a lot of the other characters, and the brunette who played the neighbor girl on Roseanne who was one of the lucky victims in the movie, and the sheriff's daughter. I never saw the other two main actresses probably because they looked just like all the other rail thin women in the place. The after party was just as I had expected it to be. People only talked to people they already knew. No new friends were made by anyone this night. Everyone stood around looking over their shoulders for someone important. It's all such a show. And the movie itself was an interesting event. Here is this big Hollywood movie premier that felt like 5 guys from high school got together and made a film and invited their friends to come watch it. It was almost cheesy. Especially the way the audience laughed and cheered when each actor first made their appearance on screen. It made me realize these people were no more special than anyone in the world. They just happen to have the spotlight on them. That's it. I know a ton of supremely talented individuals who simply don't have the spot light on them. These famous people just happen to find favor with the right people in charge of this whole shebang called the entertainment business. Nothing more. Because there are a shit-ton of shitty actors out there who have careers because someone with the power latched on to them. This is why independent film got started. Just people taking matters and power into their own hands. And yet the bloody fight for fame and recognition and a wicked paycheck is never ending in Tinsel Town. I really don't want to play that game. Can one make it without doing so? It's about luck and who you know. You can work your ass off for years and never "make it" because you're just not what they're looking for. Or you can walk in and in a week have a starring role on a sitcom. You're what they're looking for or you're not. It's that simple. They don't care where you trained or who you know if you can give them what they're looking for. And if you DO know someone then all the better because then you don't even have to have talent to get the job. It's a fantastic business. The thoughts keep swirling in my head. Risk it all for the possible fabulous prizes or keep a bit of everything and keep on trucking and see where it takes me? I have strong pulls in both directions. And for now, the internal struggle continues.
It was a fantastic time and I hope I get to attend more of these shindigs. Free alcohol, food, rad movies, celebrities, childhood idols, red carpets and spotlights, took much for parking, and being easily the heaviest woman in the room. It was one Long Island Ice tea of a night. And all I have to say to those women is this: mine are real.

Lakeside Shindig

2007-08-27T20:53:00.000-07:00

I made a not well-worn enough trip to the land of Nascar and Coors Lite known as Paso Robles this weekend to partake in a big shindig for my Aunt Jeanne's 60th birthday. My cousin Ryan took me and our cousin Jason out on Lake Nacimiento for some sweet Seadoo action. I haven't been on one of those badboys in friggen years. It took me a while to get back into the game but when I did it was on like Donkey Kong. We rode all over that lake; Jason decked out in his Viking helment and Ryan smashing big waves into me every chance he got. Motorcycles on the water. What an invention. We had some Shiner before we left and some Sam Adams Lite when we ran into some of Ryan's acquaintances out on the lake. It had to have been the lone good beer amongst all that Coors. Saints be praised.
Lake culture is not unlike hotrod or dirt bike culture. In fact, the only difference I can think of is it's on the water, and might involve less clothing. Kids on suped-up boats, bumping rap music and drinking Coors Lite. I shuddered internally. Whatever, literally, floats your boat. More for you, man.
The birthday party was at this outdoor pavillian where we set up the tons of food and cocktails, and mardi gras beads on all the tables. The band set up, the wine was uncorked and the punch bowl was flowing. And this wasn't just any wine. Oh no. This was my very own cousin's very own winery, Nacimiento Cellars. We drank the shit out of at least 5 bottles of wine. And some champagne. Mmmmmm....champagne. We all danced like fools and ate like kings. Then we went back to the house and opened another bottle and kept going. It was wonderful to hang out with some of my cousins. I never have. I don't imagine that all 26 of us will ever be in the same place at the same time. But having Jodie, Alisha, Ryan, and Jason there was fantastic. We'll definetly being doing this more often. I can't wait to see the pictures.
Sunday morning was fried eggs, toast, and the crispest hashbrowns you ever did see before we headed back out on the lake for more shennanegins. Zooming around the lake, bouncing off the waves, once you've remembered how to ride, is too much fun. I've only ever ridden on the ocean. Let me tell you about choppy. At least on the lake you don't have to worry about sharks or the like. It really does make all the difference.
We spent the afternoon napping and sleeping off our hangovers and Ryan's raging headache. The 3 hour drive home turned into at least a 4 hour trek, having to deal with the traffic from the last day of the Paso state fair, the last day of Fiesta in Santa Barabara, and the on going Ventura fair. This helped complicate the already shitty Sunday night traffic through Santa Barbara. But it was all worth it. I am still so sore. Good christ. And I think one more good night of sleep should have me all caught up on the madness from this weekend. The age of road trips is reborn. Pack accordingly

Gettin' It On

2007-07-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

Walk This Way

2007-07-23T10:44:00.000-07:00

Walking sticks are rad. I've had one for years and years. I found it out on a walk somewhere. I wish I could remember just where. Could have been the hills behind my house at the time, could have been along the creek in Libbey Park. It's got a perfect handle crook and a nice little kick back near the bottom. My dad sanded and stained it a dark brown ages ago. It's been sitting in the corner of my room. Hell, I even took it to Arizona with me and never used it. Shocking. I took a lot of things with me I never used. Just dragging junk from place to place. Pretty silly, really.

I caught an episode of Clean House the other night where they went to the messiest house in America. It was a big 4 bedroom, two bath house with a huge basement. It took 5 huge, flatbed truck dumpsters to haul out the trash from this place. And the amount of shit they ended up keeping in storage in the basement amazed even them. Nicey had a little smack down with the family on the day of the garage sale. The family members kept dragging things they insisted on keeping over to a specific tent, and it was an obscene amount of junk. She told them if she saw them take one more thing over there that Clean House would pack everything up and leave. These people had a real sickness about their things and the hording of them. And they all blamed another family member for the state the house had gotten in.

Now, I'm a packrat with issues letting things go, but I am a far cry from the atrocities of these people, thank God. It made me feel better about my stuff and yet really motivated me to go through my crap. If it hadn't been 2 in the morning and I hadn't had to get up at 7 to go to UCLA, then I would have had at it. I keep things far after their expiration date, as it were. It's one thing to hold on to something that is meaningful for a while, and it's another to hold on to it forever. For instance I hung on to my prom corsages for far too long. It was important for me to hold on to them for a certain amount of time, but then they became relics and something I just automatically passed over when I went through my things. Sometimes it's difficult to separate the object from the memories attached to them. You can have the memories without having to have the objects. I think of what I would do or how I would feel if there was a fire and I lost everything. I would still have the memories and I could live without all of this stuff.

Backpacking through Europe really taught me how little I needed to be happy. I remember being in our hostel in Loch Ness and all I had was my journal, my CD player, my backpack and a change of clothes. And that's all I needed. I didn't miss anything that was back in my room at home. And when I look through all the things I didn't take to Arizona with me, things that sat here for three and a half years, I'm guessing I probably don't need them. Doesn't make it much easier to let go of. Not at first, at least. Out with the old, in with the new, as they say. All of these old things, their significance faded, the feelings they represented recessed…I think they can go now.

I've felt stunted, stagnant, held back. Perhaps if I clean all of this crap out I'll feel better. That was my point about the walking stick. Here is this thing I have held on to forever. If I'm going to hold on to it I should use it! So I busted it out, slapped on my Nano tuned up to the 6th Harry Potter book so I can reacquaint myself with the story before I pick up my reserved copy of the last book tonight at midnight, and headed up the sidewalk for a stroll. The click of the stick on the cement in rhythmic 4/4 timing proved quite useful to keeping my pace up. I took my usual path around the 'hood.

Use the things you have. Get rid of the crap you don't. Seems pretty simple to me. I didn't say easy.

Buddah Belly

2007-07-16T22:41:00.000-07:00

I went back to Belly Dancing tonight. And boy was it ever sweet.

This lovely young woman by the name of Haley found me on My Space and asked me if I'd like to join a Belly Dancing Troupe and mentioned that she taught classes in The Nard and Camarillo. I said Hells Yeah! I told her I used to take classes at Ventura Community College. I picked it up so quickly that the instructor pulled me up front to help teach the class. Flattering to say the least. Haley told me I should sign up for the intermediate class. Score.

I caught the very end of the beginners class which was quite full. I started stacking up my dance memories. The intermediate class was me and four wonderful older women. I tied on my bright yellow hip scarf and started to build a slight sense of unsureness. It's been almost ten years since I've Belly Danced. Will I remember everything? Maybe I should have started out in the beginners class to brush up. Lord, I hope I don't make a fool of myself.

As we warmed up and started doing some basic moves it all came flooding back to me. Thank God for muscle memory. I was also reminded of how incredibly out of shape I am and how easily I get winded and how very little time I can spend standing with one leg bent. The climb back to athleticism begins.

About 15 minutes into class Haley asked me where I had danced before and I told her at VC. We discovered that we had danced together there. As I was driving to class the thought crossed my mind that her name was familiar and that she might have been in my class back in the day. Too funny how these things work out. Now she's teaching me.

There were parts that I felt went too fast for me. I would have liked to have the dance broken down into bits and then stitched together. I'm still warming up and remembering my groove and I'm sure it will get easier to catch on. I'm also going to go to the beginners class which is right before mine so I can brush up and take things a bit slower and get my technique back in perfect working order.

Belly Dancing is incredibly fun. It's challenging where Ballet was flat out hard. I'd say Belly Dancing is either 40/60 challenging/fun or 50/50. Ballet was 80/20 hard/enjoyable. It's so fluid and beautiful, sensual and mesmerizing. Keeping your arms flowing while your hips shake, swiveling your top half while the bottom remains motionless. All the while sweating like a mongrel dog. Dude.

Haley had a trunk full of hip scarves for sale. And low and behold there was a leopard print one with fantastic gold coins and beads. I think I might have to own one. Or two so I can wear the second as a top. So, so fabulous and so, so me. They go for $45 each, a sweet deal considering the detail put into them.

If anyone would like to contribute to my Leopard Print Belly Dance Hip Scarf Fund, feel free to PayPal your hard earned dubloons to bloodybess.rackham@yahoo.com =)

There's an opportunity to perform at the 12th Annual Multicultural Festival in Oxnard in October and it would be kickass to have an actual costume to rock it with. I promise pictures!

We thank you for your support.

Winnahs!

2007-07-09T23:40:00.001-07:00

I was in Ojai's 4th of July parade with Shades of Day and we won awards!!
Chorgy bought an ice cream truck off Craigs List and we hitched a trailer to the back of it to tow Richard the drummer on. The rest of the boys donned wireless guitars and bass and all dressed as ice cream men. The ladies got dolled up in pigtails with big lollipops and danced along the parade route with the band as they played Ice Cream Man ala Van Halen. Jason and Katie were our King and Queen Pretty in their red, white and blue finery.

We won First Place for Band on Float and the Theme Award for our Zippy Dippy Rock 'n' Roll. The theme was 4th of July: Through a Childs Eyes. Yeah, we nailed that!

And I landed a sweet picture of myself on the newspapers website

It was hot, sweaty, and rad. Finally recognition for all of our hard work! =)

Venice with a Vengence

2007-07-07T10:50:00.000-07:00

I spent Presidents Day weekend in a hotel room on the boardwalk in Venice Beach. I decided late that Friday afternoon that I needed to get the hell OUT and Venice has always been my kind of people. Beach + freaks + art + introspection + ferris wheels was just what I needed. The walls of my life were closing in on me and I ran before they could collapse.
I booked a room at The Cadillac Hotel where Charlie Chaplin once lived. I didn't realize it was on the boardwalk. I thought I'd be within walking distance but didn't know that walk was 20 feet. The lobby was a dusty 80s magazine cover with mosaic tiled creatures running across the floors and a glorified dumbwaiter for an elevator. My room was nondescript with two twin beds, a TV, and an unnecessarily large bathroom. The windows were screenless and had I reached my hand out one I could have touched the apartment complex view. The mirror above the sink was one foot by one foot and luckily right at my face level. I peered into the apartment complex windows wondering what it was like to call Venice home.
Saturday evening was spent in Hollywood with Caleb, partaking of some fab Italian food and wine and a strip mall theatre presentation of Romeo and Juliet, co-starring our friend Rick. They set the play in the south and the prologue was delivered by a bartender with a southern drawl. The bar and two black boxes were the only set in this tiny black box theatre. The southern location and accents really made me feel like I was there, that these really were two feuding families and a group of friends. The mother was cut out and the nurse was played by a black woman who spoke with a creole accent. Mercrutio, as always, stole the show. The Shakespearian words just poured right off his moonshined tongue, he was so at ease up there. Sadly, the leads were completely unbelievable. I didn't buy for a second that they were in love. Words came out of mouths, bodies were embraced, but the feelings, the passion, were locked somewhere far, far away, Perhaps in the nightclub downstairs. We drained the last of our convenience store bottle of wine and congratulated the cast on their performance as we headed off to more food and debauchery
Caleb and Rick and I spent the night hopefully lamenting the business of acting and commercials, agents, rent, improv, commitment, time, money, creativity, and making the waitress laugh. We ate fried plantains and cheese steak and beer. Where is it all going, what does it mean, how long are we going to do this, what's going to happen to us, will we ever get there and where is "there"? Where does it end? Does it? We snaked back through the streets of Santa Monica to Venice with a case of misery in a can and a wet behind the ears Green Day squeaking on the iPod.
Sunday morning was breakfast burritos on the beach and bus rides. The vendors and the sun and the tourists were out in full bloom. From stem to stern the boardwalk is sectioned off into numbered lots for vendors to stake out. There had to have been 7 different tarot readers and psychics, tumbling and fire breathing performance artists, the man with the upright piano, the hippie girl happily crocheting beanies for sale, the sand sculpturist carving an alligator in ridiculous detail, the would-be artists with their mixed media plywood paintings, the homeless burnouts with huge signs asking for weed, the glittering Day of the Dead skulls, the impromptu jam session musicians, and the professional artists with their credit card machines for easy access of purchase. Runners and rollerbladers, impossibly tiny dogs in sweaters, every fifth person you see carrying a massive camera with tripod looking for that perfect location, and not one sunglassless face.
I walked for miles and miles back and forth on that boardwalk. I had a peach chai latte at Sean's Cafe in Gingerbread Court, the former apartment complex rumored to have been owned by Charlie Chaplin, that now houses tiny shops overflowing with beautiful clothes. I took a nap in front of my open window on my feather pillow in the dancing ocean breeze. Back to Sean's Cafe for a cheeseburger and fries and a Diet Coke As Large As All Mankind. It's the only way I order them. I sat at a bistro table and eavesdropped on the staff and their friendships wondering what kind of people they meet every day. So many thoughts cartwheeling through my mind...about life and destiny, commitment and ambition, desire and passion, art and creativity, fate and blank notebooks. Possibilities. Choices. Acceptance. Limitations. Paths. Hope. Relinquishing. I see now how they came to be called The Doors on this beach. The perception blazed through that crack left by the setting sun.
Another trip up the dumbwaiter to my room to change and pack my purse for a trek. Trusty flip flops in place and iPod tuned up, I set off for that glittering wheel in the distance: the Santa Monica Pier. I don't know how far it was...at least a mile, maybe more. The air was warm, the path was lit and soon the wooden planks lifted me up off the beach. I had never been on the pier, sad to say. I didn't know it was a full blown carnival with games and rides and hot dogs. Buzzers and bells and kids and stuffed animals. Ice cream and souvenir stands, California name plates and your name on a grain of rice. Roger Clyne, you're always with me. I picked up an abalone shell and silver ring, and a funnel cake swimming in strawberries. One ticket for the ferris wheel where I shared a ride with a sweet 12 year old girl from East LA. High above the ocean and into the starless sky, over the screaming roller coaster and the glow of Santa Monica. With a deeply increasing ache in my ankles I headed back, past the swing sets full of laughing teenagers, along the rarely quiet and deserted pathways, to the fire escape on my second floor for late night phone calls.
Monday morning found me nearly crippled from the pain in my ankles and feet. I had to pass on the recommendation of a fabulous omelette house and opt for the crawling distance of the Fig Tree Cafe. Eggs over medium, homefries, sausage and fantastic spiced applesauce. I hobbled over to a patch of grass between the boardwalk and the beach and scribbled the midmorning away. By noon the shops started opening up. I choked back the pain and wandered up Gingerbread Court to the shop at the top that had a skirt I decided I had to have. Alas, they were closed. On the way back down, at the shop at the bottom was a top that went with the skirt perfectly. I went up and down that court about 5 times waiting and hoping that shop would open, with the other shop owners squinting at me with suspicious eyes. Just as I was about to retire the quest the shop owner decided it was a good day to make some money and I gladly handed over mine. The gauzy, lime green and pink flower confection was mine. One matching pink tank top later I was a complete outfit richer.
My tank sufficiently full of Venice mojo, it was time to mozy on up the coast back home. Out of the cramped hotel parking lot, slinking along the one way streets, gliding down the main drag to the queen of the highways, The PCH. Rolling along the ocean past the coveted neighborhoods, dream houses and landmarks. Surfers derobing roadside - a sweeter traffic hazard there never was. I pulled into Malibu Seafood round about sunset for some mahi mahi and a view I've come to the conclusion I can't live without. Home is where your heart is and mine is full of salt water and sand. I drank in that slow burn over the horizon as the highway veered away from the shore, and slowly sipped it on the winding road back home. Things are much brighter on this side of the door.