Met with the producers tonight - Charlotte and Samantha (they are their characters - quite creepy!) and had the most amazing brainstorming session! Five hours of solid Sex and The City talk! We had to submit the project's running time, floor plan, lighting set up and a whole bunch of other technical bla bla bla. It's pretty hard when yours truly is still trying to fit together the pieces of this crazy play! And writing for film and theater are two completely different animals! I would love to have a buss drive by and splash Carrie the way it does in the opening credits, but how the hell am I going to fit a buss on a stage that is 15 x 20 and seats 100 people? Not gonna work. So I have found myself, at times, having to rethink whole scenes because of my theatrical limitations. It's interesting though. Charlotte said to me:
in theater, it's a given that you have to use your imagination. You may hear traffic sounds, but there is no actual 'cars' on the stage. You have to incorporate what you would see around you in your dialogue, your movements, your interactions with these 'things' as if they were there...
AH!! Easier said than done! Well, for me at least. But I know that I am in good company and they love what I have written so far (which makes me soo happy!!). It's all good. I may look like a 60 year old woman after this is all over (wrinkles and haggard look from stress) but it's all good. How many times I wished I could write a play. Well, I was young and stupid and didn't realize that one could get ulcers from too many panic attacks. But I don't regret taking on this project one iota. It's a life lesson, and at least I can say that in my lifetime, I wrote a real play!
All I have to do is work my funny bone to the marrow and come up with something funny and inventive to make people laugh. Some famous person said that comedy is harder than drama. And boy oh boy is that the frigging truth!!
So as promised, some Sex In La Cité (A French twist on the title, but it means the same thing) - isms.
I welcome all comments, criticisms, requests, donations...
About shoes and their fake counterparts:
Charlotte: I refuse to buy cheap knock-offs, no matter how good they look! They just make me feel all yucky!
Miranda:That's how I've felt after I've been knocked around by a cheap date.
Ohhh, nasty eh?
How about another one?
Friend: He's my best friend, but he's not just a friend...
Carrie: Oh?You mean you can have friends with extras here? Les extras?
Friend: He's a friend, how can I say - a friend with benefits?
Carrie: I just hope for your sake he at least comes with a good dental plan!
Carrie about Canadian Money:
Oh I love the color of your money! It's soo pretty! I can co-ordinate it with my wardrobe and shoes!
AHHH!!
NO MORE DIALOGUE!!
I will be spewing this stuff out in my sleep!
I have to get to bed before I collapse and end up looking like some back alley of the Bronx!
Monday, January 31, 2005
Saturday, January 29, 2005
A smathering of random jibber jabber #2
Since the first one went so well, here is #2.
Last night went to two house parties (it seems like tiss the season for renovations). I never understand why most parties always end up in the kitchen. Why is that? No matter how small or how large the kitchens are, people are sucked in by some mysterious invisible gigantic shop-vac. Sure, the fridge is there - easy access to all things food, but does it go deeper than that? Could it be our instincts to gather and share in a communal space that is implicitly inviting? What do you think of when you think of a kitchen? Food? Good smelling food? Family dinners during the holidays? I dunno. Help me out here guys... At both parties, the hub of activity was in the kitchen. Party #2 (Hi chicklet!) and the hosts with the mosts had the most AMAZING kitchen on the planet this side of Emeril's (BANG) house. Two islands, state of the art everything, cooking space enough to fix a whole head of cattle in - unbelievable. And on the 'islands' were party guests, hanging in the kitchen. A mystery. I wonder if I brought my fridge and stove into my front room for my next house party, would the masses follow the metal?
I came across this seemingly random document as I was cleaning out my computer files (can you say PROCRASTINATION?? I am getting a little terrified of that play!! I now hide under my desk when I open a new document window for it...). It's pretty heavy duty and is from a while ago, but I thought I would add it here. Sometimes my life is a little like a dramatic Sienfeld episode. Sometimes it's not as easy to laugh at the absurd as it is to cry.
7/19/04 9:57 PM
Just when I thought things were bad enough…
Today, during lunch at the Graduate house (a cool hideaway from the humidity) over California salad with Balsamic vinegar, I confessed to my mother that life is getting a little harder every day. I confessed to her that what I thought was gone forever (or at least what was once manageable) is coming back again, chipping away at the last tendons of my strength, sanity, sense of self.
I am getting so tired mom. Tired like when I was just starting the breakdown. Each day, I can hear my voice amplified as if I were watching a film: Getting up in the morning, having to face the day was unbearable, so difficult. It took so much strength, strength that I had reserved for being able to breathe. I’m left with nothing but a shell of skin and bones too heavy to drag around with me all day. My head weighs too much, especially when I am swimming in my own self doubt and sinking into the depths of my own neurosis.
I never wanted to feel this weak again. I always hoped that I would not have to face the day that my body became my lead casket, and existence a chore.
Getting up in the morning, this morning, I watched that tiny thread of hope I had woven into my tapestry of hope, unravel before my eyes. One hoop chain takes with it another, and another. A tangled disjointed mess of what once a tapestry of beauty, which is now, not even decipherable by me – the mad woman. It is an ancient and cryptic genetic mutation only those who see ghosts can understand. I hang tightly on to hope. Perhaps sweet music can be heard in this visual chaos.
Everyday, I drag myself out of bed, in the hopes, in the hope that maybe today I will find a way to get better, that there will be some new drug, there will be some new discovery, some new chemical cocktail in the already fully stocked pharmaceutical bar of false hopes, that maybe, this time, today, I might be able to take a normal breath, a normal step without falling on my face in exhaustion.
I try to begin something, anything. I try to recuperate abandoned efforts of projects delayed and forgotten, but quickly realize that my despondency over the amount of work it will take to ‘get back on track’ outweighs my will to live. I must choose economic over ergonomic and abandon once again my dreams - put on hold indefinitely, and each time, I mourn the little death, one less star in the universe.
My shrink calls me and says abruptly that he can’t see me anymore – “I think you’re better off being seen at the clinic, it’s better that I make a clean break – you just have so many things wrong with you, not just the depression – what if I’m on vacation? Well, technically, right now I’m on vacation… You know, my heart won’t be in it and I’ll feel like I’ll be doing you a favor if I stick around…”
He went on and on. All I could do is listen and feel the tears stream from my disbelieving eyes.
How can you just dump me like this – after promising to help me?
You gave me hope, and now, you just yank it away like you never said it…
Are you doctors not bound by some ethical code? Fuck – bikers keep a more solid code of ethics when it comes to their ‘rules of the road’ than are expected in your profession!!!
Last night went to two house parties (it seems like tiss the season for renovations). I never understand why most parties always end up in the kitchen. Why is that? No matter how small or how large the kitchens are, people are sucked in by some mysterious invisible gigantic shop-vac. Sure, the fridge is there - easy access to all things food, but does it go deeper than that? Could it be our instincts to gather and share in a communal space that is implicitly inviting? What do you think of when you think of a kitchen? Food? Good smelling food? Family dinners during the holidays? I dunno. Help me out here guys... At both parties, the hub of activity was in the kitchen. Party #2 (Hi chicklet!) and the hosts with the mosts had the most AMAZING kitchen on the planet this side of Emeril's (BANG) house. Two islands, state of the art everything, cooking space enough to fix a whole head of cattle in - unbelievable. And on the 'islands' were party guests, hanging in the kitchen. A mystery. I wonder if I brought my fridge and stove into my front room for my next house party, would the masses follow the metal?
I came across this seemingly random document as I was cleaning out my computer files (can you say PROCRASTINATION?? I am getting a little terrified of that play!! I now hide under my desk when I open a new document window for it...). It's pretty heavy duty and is from a while ago, but I thought I would add it here. Sometimes my life is a little like a dramatic Sienfeld episode. Sometimes it's not as easy to laugh at the absurd as it is to cry.
7/19/04 9:57 PM
Just when I thought things were bad enough…
Today, during lunch at the Graduate house (a cool hideaway from the humidity) over California salad with Balsamic vinegar, I confessed to my mother that life is getting a little harder every day. I confessed to her that what I thought was gone forever (or at least what was once manageable) is coming back again, chipping away at the last tendons of my strength, sanity, sense of self.
I am getting so tired mom. Tired like when I was just starting the breakdown. Each day, I can hear my voice amplified as if I were watching a film: Getting up in the morning, having to face the day was unbearable, so difficult. It took so much strength, strength that I had reserved for being able to breathe. I’m left with nothing but a shell of skin and bones too heavy to drag around with me all day. My head weighs too much, especially when I am swimming in my own self doubt and sinking into the depths of my own neurosis.
I never wanted to feel this weak again. I always hoped that I would not have to face the day that my body became my lead casket, and existence a chore.
Getting up in the morning, this morning, I watched that tiny thread of hope I had woven into my tapestry of hope, unravel before my eyes. One hoop chain takes with it another, and another. A tangled disjointed mess of what once a tapestry of beauty, which is now, not even decipherable by me – the mad woman. It is an ancient and cryptic genetic mutation only those who see ghosts can understand. I hang tightly on to hope. Perhaps sweet music can be heard in this visual chaos.
Everyday, I drag myself out of bed, in the hopes, in the hope that maybe today I will find a way to get better, that there will be some new drug, there will be some new discovery, some new chemical cocktail in the already fully stocked pharmaceutical bar of false hopes, that maybe, this time, today, I might be able to take a normal breath, a normal step without falling on my face in exhaustion.
I try to begin something, anything. I try to recuperate abandoned efforts of projects delayed and forgotten, but quickly realize that my despondency over the amount of work it will take to ‘get back on track’ outweighs my will to live. I must choose economic over ergonomic and abandon once again my dreams - put on hold indefinitely, and each time, I mourn the little death, one less star in the universe.
My shrink calls me and says abruptly that he can’t see me anymore – “I think you’re better off being seen at the clinic, it’s better that I make a clean break – you just have so many things wrong with you, not just the depression – what if I’m on vacation? Well, technically, right now I’m on vacation… You know, my heart won’t be in it and I’ll feel like I’ll be doing you a favor if I stick around…”
He went on and on. All I could do is listen and feel the tears stream from my disbelieving eyes.
How can you just dump me like this – after promising to help me?
You gave me hope, and now, you just yank it away like you never said it…
Are you doctors not bound by some ethical code? Fuck – bikers keep a more solid code of ethics when it comes to their ‘rules of the road’ than are expected in your profession!!!
Friday, January 28, 2005
A smathering of random jibber jabber.
So the last few days?
Since the shoot?
My head has been buried in my pillows, with an ice pack on the back of my neck.
Migraine time again.
Sometimes it's because of the sudden drop/rise in the barometric pressure.
Can you see it? The local weather man gets wheeled out from his bed, looking completely disheveled, eyes squinting because of his sensitivity to light, grumbles in pain:
And there is a strong front of low pressure building just north of us.
voice off camera: Where is the map?
There is no F%#ken map! I am the weather man! My migraine tells me it's coming! Can someone please get me another Empraset? I'm about to puke here... Can you stop whispering? Why must you be so loud??
I hope all you migraine suffers are having a little laugh...
Funny thing - apparently caffeine does wonders for helping relieve migraines. Well, I am none the happier now, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, feeling a life size Mexican jumping bean rolling around in the pit of my stomach. Yippie.
Hence the incoherence in this entry.
Blame it on the migraine. It's a head thing...
More Jibber Jabber:
I can't figure out how to add links to my fave blogs in this template. I think it's because all the fancy pancy script scares me. Gama, how did you do yours? Step by step please. I am a complete bimbo when it comes to HTML.
Some people that I like to read that make me laugh - listed in no particular order - they are all my faves: (I'll start a little list here until I can make a full fledged link list by blog category) .
Blueleaf - this guy cracks me up. Not only is he a gifted writer (how can he be only 18!??!), his random thoughts of the day have left me laughing, sometimes for almost an hour.
Ken is a verb - another two thumbs up, waaaaaay up. His pictures are stunning, his wit dry and sometimes absurd. Entries that kind of make you go "hmmmm".
Good Things from Spam - who would have thought that spam could be so funny? (And I'm not talking about the stuff that comes in a can, but that can be pretty funny as well...)
Clublife - for anybody who has ever stepped foot into a club - this blog's for you. Told from the perspective of a NYC bouncer, it sheds light on why these guys should be given a medal for braving the stupidity that is rampant in the world.
Life - or something like it -Conversations with pears volume 10. Brilliant. Life or something like it? Priceless.
Go Fug Yourself - People Magazine on Acid. Entertainment Tonight on Crack. Nuff said.
Minega's world -From Sheep Stomachs, female tarantulas who earth their dates, Rats to pondering if Paris Hilton is the Antichrist, Minega has it covered.
Pole Dancing on a Toothpick - a day in the life of - very entertaining and she has such a brilliant way of making a Sharkmister and an Epilady tools of the devil.
California Groovy - this guy is absolutely insane and he rocks.
Pusillanimous Wankers - mostly political Bush and company isms. I get a kick out of it because I am Canadian. My little guilty pleasure.
Cobwebs and Sawdust - who would have thought that a poem about Gin could be so funny. Humorous poetry and insights (for deep beautiful poetry see - Gama's poetry).
The Richard Leyland Blog - The funniest gayest straightest man I know.
So that's it for now.
Next entry (if my head does not explode by then) will include some of the more 'introspective blogs' I like. And then after that, I will have the 'naughty blogs', 'literary/poetic' blogs' and continue until I have exhausted myself from blog surfing and reviewing.
If you know of any side-splitting, rolling on the floor/pee in your pants funny blogs - feel free to list em.
Over and out.
Or until later when I have either lost my mind out of boredom or desperation or ripped my head off becasue of the pain...
Since the shoot?
My head has been buried in my pillows, with an ice pack on the back of my neck.
Migraine time again.
Sometimes it's because of the sudden drop/rise in the barometric pressure.
Can you see it? The local weather man gets wheeled out from his bed, looking completely disheveled, eyes squinting because of his sensitivity to light, grumbles in pain:
And there is a strong front of low pressure building just north of us.
voice off camera: Where is the map?
There is no F%#ken map! I am the weather man! My migraine tells me it's coming! Can someone please get me another Empraset? I'm about to puke here... Can you stop whispering? Why must you be so loud??
I hope all you migraine suffers are having a little laugh...
Funny thing - apparently caffeine does wonders for helping relieve migraines. Well, I am none the happier now, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, feeling a life size Mexican jumping bean rolling around in the pit of my stomach. Yippie.
Hence the incoherence in this entry.
Blame it on the migraine. It's a head thing...
More Jibber Jabber:
I can't figure out how to add links to my fave blogs in this template. I think it's because all the fancy pancy script scares me. Gama, how did you do yours? Step by step please. I am a complete bimbo when it comes to HTML.
Some people that I like to read that make me laugh - listed in no particular order - they are all my faves: (I'll start a little list here until I can make a full fledged link list by blog category) .
Blueleaf - this guy cracks me up. Not only is he a gifted writer (how can he be only 18!??!), his random thoughts of the day have left me laughing, sometimes for almost an hour.
Ken is a verb - another two thumbs up, waaaaaay up. His pictures are stunning, his wit dry and sometimes absurd. Entries that kind of make you go "hmmmm".
Good Things from Spam - who would have thought that spam could be so funny? (And I'm not talking about the stuff that comes in a can, but that can be pretty funny as well...)
Clublife - for anybody who has ever stepped foot into a club - this blog's for you. Told from the perspective of a NYC bouncer, it sheds light on why these guys should be given a medal for braving the stupidity that is rampant in the world.
Life - or something like it -Conversations with pears volume 10. Brilliant. Life or something like it? Priceless.
Go Fug Yourself - People Magazine on Acid. Entertainment Tonight on Crack. Nuff said.
Minega's world -From Sheep Stomachs, female tarantulas who earth their dates, Rats to pondering if Paris Hilton is the Antichrist, Minega has it covered.
Pole Dancing on a Toothpick - a day in the life of - very entertaining and she has such a brilliant way of making a Sharkmister and an Epilady tools of the devil.
California Groovy - this guy is absolutely insane and he rocks.
Pusillanimous Wankers - mostly political Bush and company isms. I get a kick out of it because I am Canadian. My little guilty pleasure.
Cobwebs and Sawdust - who would have thought that a poem about Gin could be so funny. Humorous poetry and insights (for deep beautiful poetry see - Gama's poetry).
The Richard Leyland Blog - The funniest gayest straightest man I know.
So that's it for now.
Next entry (if my head does not explode by then) will include some of the more 'introspective blogs' I like. And then after that, I will have the 'naughty blogs', 'literary/poetic' blogs' and continue until I have exhausted myself from blog surfing and reviewing.
If you know of any side-splitting, rolling on the floor/pee in your pants funny blogs - feel free to list em.
Over and out.
Or until later when I have either lost my mind out of boredom or desperation or ripped my head off becasue of the pain...
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
This one's for you Gama
Gama,
I have read so many of your beautiful poems and every single on has touched and inspired me. You have also inspired me to continue to write my own stuff. I used to, a long time ago, but I guess I just had the wrong crowd. My poetry was the reflexion of my soul in words. Some people could not handle that my writings were so raw. So real.
Thank you for finding my blog and showing me yours.
Thank you for inspiring me ;-)
These are two new ones I scribbled up in the past two days, they are kind of heavy (my visitor is BACK!!) but I hope that you like them:
Cooling The Jets
Can we really be with a man,
with someone else and not
have to 'dumb ourselves down'?
how long do we have to deny ourselves
who we really are?
but we like the men
to be the men
we like being in the sights of the wolf
we are exploring a precarious balance
He saw you standing at the top of the landing.
He said as he opened the door:
you know when you ring the doorbell,
wait downstairs for the buzzer
We must let them take the space to be the man
but we are fiercely independent
but we need a man to be able to match and surpass us
because we like the man to be the man
and letting him have the space to be the man until
he is comfortable to take off his armor
and we are comfortable enough to be raw
But they thrive on the thrill of the chase
A man once said -
its all about biology
but when does biology
replace psychology or are they
uniquely intertwined,
like a genetic strand of DNA
dependent upon the other
nothing without one another
powering down we must cool our jets
not quite sitting ducks but closer to
Joan of Arcs - burning at the stake
for going against the grain
dismissing biology
and debunking psychology
because we can.
The wolf that eats her young
She is coming.
The wolf that eats her young -
those too weak to fight,
too weak to run,
too weak to survive.
I can hear her howl as the night falls
As my body languishes
and the hormnones flood through my system,
I lie in wait.
Its cold comfort to know,
suffering won't be longer than 10 days.
It never really goes on more than that.
Solace will be found in hot waterbottles and Tynenol.
My volatile mood will only exasperated by
an overindulgence
of girlie movies and chocolates,
making me vunerable,
making me woman again.
I have read so many of your beautiful poems and every single on has touched and inspired me. You have also inspired me to continue to write my own stuff. I used to, a long time ago, but I guess I just had the wrong crowd. My poetry was the reflexion of my soul in words. Some people could not handle that my writings were so raw. So real.
Thank you for finding my blog and showing me yours.
Thank you for inspiring me ;-)
These are two new ones I scribbled up in the past two days, they are kind of heavy (my visitor is BACK!!) but I hope that you like them:
Cooling The Jets
Can we really be with a man,
with someone else and not
have to 'dumb ourselves down'?
how long do we have to deny ourselves
who we really are?
but we like the men
to be the men
we like being in the sights of the wolf
we are exploring a precarious balance
He saw you standing at the top of the landing.
He said as he opened the door:
you know when you ring the doorbell,
wait downstairs for the buzzer
We must let them take the space to be the man
but we are fiercely independent
but we need a man to be able to match and surpass us
because we like the man to be the man
and letting him have the space to be the man until
he is comfortable to take off his armor
and we are comfortable enough to be raw
But they thrive on the thrill of the chase
A man once said -
its all about biology
but when does biology
replace psychology or are they
uniquely intertwined,
like a genetic strand of DNA
dependent upon the other
nothing without one another
powering down we must cool our jets
not quite sitting ducks but closer to
Joan of Arcs - burning at the stake
for going against the grain
dismissing biology
and debunking psychology
because we can.
The wolf that eats her young
She is coming.
The wolf that eats her young -
those too weak to fight,
too weak to run,
too weak to survive.
I can hear her howl as the night falls
As my body languishes
and the hormnones flood through my system,
I lie in wait.
Its cold comfort to know,
suffering won't be longer than 10 days.
It never really goes on more than that.
Solace will be found in hot waterbottles and Tynenol.
My volatile mood will only exasperated by
an overindulgence
of girlie movies and chocolates,
making me vunerable,
making me woman again.
Message to Karim.
This is a message for Karim who posted a comment on my site a few days ago:
Hi there,
even though I am a daily net user, I just found enough time to look into this "blog thing". Chose to read yours first because I am a Seinfeld freak.
I am considering writing a blog on my life in Haiti, but I am worried that it may fall into the wrong hands. Have you had that problem? do you share your blog with your friends? I lived in Montreal for 8 years from 1989 to 1996 and I may be coming for the Grand prix this summer. Do you live there or NY? I am not sure.
Thanks for entertaining me.
Regards,
Karim
Dear Karim,
Thanks for reading my blog - I hope that it's Sienfelesque enough for you - and I haven't even begun to talk about my childhood!!
As per your blog, putting stuff down on paper (or in blog format) can be a wonderful thing - it frees the demons of the mind, solidifies experiences, and becomes a written testament of things said and done. Past, present and future. As writers, we put our soul into our words in the hopes of being able to touch others through the way we see the world; our unique view of the world around us. To quote a famous journalist and novelist William Makepeace Thackeray :
"There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up a pen to write."
In our modern day society, the notion of privacy is a tricky one. Access to anything is limitless and it's almost impossible not to leave a paper trail behind you, wherever you go. The notion of privacy is a non sequitur. Somehow, somewhere, something that you said about someone will come up sometime and bite you in the ass. Now that we have technology fast enough to send emails around the world in spit seconds, that bite in the ass might be sooner than you think. Even in blogging, there is no real notion of 'privacy'. Even if you try to keep your identity a secret, you might be 'found out'; how long depends on how much someone wants to find you and how much of a 'sitting duck' you want to be. But then again, there are so many blogs out there, so much information to sift through, slipping under the radar might just be easier than you think - (I hate to bring it up, but what about those terrorists that hijacked the planes on 9/11? They were known to the government, but they still managed to sit in the cockpit and terrorize a nation.)
Have I had any problems with my blogging?
(Knock on wood) I can't say that I really have. I have met many (and I mean lots) of people who have many 'different' blogs for each of their secret identities/lives. As I said before, writing is a release, and there is something exhibitionistic about writing your stuff, knowing that there will be some stranger in cyberspace reading about your daily routines, your insights, your fears and insecurities. On the flipside, there is also something very voyeuristic about blogging as well - we can read, imagine, immerse ourselves into the lives of strangers - a mother, a CEO's, the heroin addict detoxifying, the man cheating on his wife, all within the comfort of our own home. No strings attached. Power off. Go to bed. Tomorrow, back to our normal life. I agree, if you have something to really hide to i.e: protect your marriage, that might tip off your parole officer that you have been farting around, dealing drugs, or are about to rob a bank, then spilling your beans on the world wide web might not be for you. But then again...
But then again, Blogging is also about reaching out, trying to connect with others. I have met many wonderful people through blogging: Gama, BlueLeaf, Kenneth, Minega to name only handful, and its great to know that there folks out there who actually get a kick out of reading and thinking about what you have to say. It makes me feel a little less lonely in the world. It's my therapy, my dose of laughter, my inspiration, my wake up call, my entertainment. It's a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy!
But - BUT back to the issue at hand, you said - I am considering writing a blog on my life in Haiti, but I am worried that it may fall into the wrong hands.
Being a Canadian, I can say that we are protected by the laws of free speech. And as far as I know, the U.S supports the same things as well, but there are some things that you have to be careful of, such as what you want to blog about. That my dear Karim, is a tough call.
There are links for journalists which have various resources and other links to things you might want to look into. The one place that I think you might be able to tell you if 'blogging about politically volatile places' would be The Canadian Association of Journalists. I am not sure if you have to be a member to get into the site, but it would definitely be a good place to start. From there, I am sure they could put you in touch with other 'journalists' in the field who would be able to answer your question in terms of the possible political and personal ramifications your blog (depending on how revealing you want it to be) might come up against. Another good site to start with is http://www.journalismjobs.com/. I don't want to give you any information that I would not have check out first - and your idea for a blog is a courageous one and your voice needs to be heard. Had you been writing about the behind the scenes of "American Idol' I would have said: 'Go for it - Just blog away!" but because the situation in Haiti can be so volatile, I would really check out those sources and get some opinions from people in the know. It's better to be safe than sorry. I am going to write to a friend of mine that works for a branch of the Canadian Government and see what he says.
As for the Grand Prix? Sure! If you head into town, let me know! I'll be there soaking up all the sights and sounds of those racecars!
I hope this helps ;-)
And I'm glad that you are entertained by my loopy rantings.
Thanks
Hi there,
even though I am a daily net user, I just found enough time to look into this "blog thing". Chose to read yours first because I am a Seinfeld freak.
I am considering writing a blog on my life in Haiti, but I am worried that it may fall into the wrong hands. Have you had that problem? do you share your blog with your friends? I lived in Montreal for 8 years from 1989 to 1996 and I may be coming for the Grand prix this summer. Do you live there or NY? I am not sure.
Thanks for entertaining me.
Regards,
Karim
Dear Karim,
Thanks for reading my blog - I hope that it's Sienfelesque enough for you - and I haven't even begun to talk about my childhood!!
As per your blog, putting stuff down on paper (or in blog format) can be a wonderful thing - it frees the demons of the mind, solidifies experiences, and becomes a written testament of things said and done. Past, present and future. As writers, we put our soul into our words in the hopes of being able to touch others through the way we see the world; our unique view of the world around us. To quote a famous journalist and novelist William Makepeace Thackeray :
"There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up a pen to write."
In our modern day society, the notion of privacy is a tricky one. Access to anything is limitless and it's almost impossible not to leave a paper trail behind you, wherever you go. The notion of privacy is a non sequitur. Somehow, somewhere, something that you said about someone will come up sometime and bite you in the ass. Now that we have technology fast enough to send emails around the world in spit seconds, that bite in the ass might be sooner than you think. Even in blogging, there is no real notion of 'privacy'. Even if you try to keep your identity a secret, you might be 'found out'; how long depends on how much someone wants to find you and how much of a 'sitting duck' you want to be. But then again, there are so many blogs out there, so much information to sift through, slipping under the radar might just be easier than you think - (I hate to bring it up, but what about those terrorists that hijacked the planes on 9/11? They were known to the government, but they still managed to sit in the cockpit and terrorize a nation.)
Have I had any problems with my blogging?
(Knock on wood) I can't say that I really have. I have met many (and I mean lots) of people who have many 'different' blogs for each of their secret identities/lives. As I said before, writing is a release, and there is something exhibitionistic about writing your stuff, knowing that there will be some stranger in cyberspace reading about your daily routines, your insights, your fears and insecurities. On the flipside, there is also something very voyeuristic about blogging as well - we can read, imagine, immerse ourselves into the lives of strangers - a mother, a CEO's, the heroin addict detoxifying, the man cheating on his wife, all within the comfort of our own home. No strings attached. Power off. Go to bed. Tomorrow, back to our normal life. I agree, if you have something to really hide to i.e: protect your marriage, that might tip off your parole officer that you have been farting around, dealing drugs, or are about to rob a bank, then spilling your beans on the world wide web might not be for you. But then again...
But then again, Blogging is also about reaching out, trying to connect with others. I have met many wonderful people through blogging: Gama, BlueLeaf, Kenneth, Minega to name only handful, and its great to know that there folks out there who actually get a kick out of reading and thinking about what you have to say. It makes me feel a little less lonely in the world. It's my therapy, my dose of laughter, my inspiration, my wake up call, my entertainment. It's a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy!
But - BUT back to the issue at hand, you said - I am considering writing a blog on my life in Haiti, but I am worried that it may fall into the wrong hands.
Being a Canadian, I can say that we are protected by the laws of free speech. And as far as I know, the U.S supports the same things as well, but there are some things that you have to be careful of, such as what you want to blog about. That my dear Karim, is a tough call.
There are links for journalists which have various resources and other links to things you might want to look into. The one place that I think you might be able to tell you if 'blogging about politically volatile places' would be The Canadian Association of Journalists. I am not sure if you have to be a member to get into the site, but it would definitely be a good place to start. From there, I am sure they could put you in touch with other 'journalists' in the field who would be able to answer your question in terms of the possible political and personal ramifications your blog (depending on how revealing you want it to be) might come up against. Another good site to start with is http://www.journalismjobs.com/. I don't want to give you any information that I would not have check out first - and your idea for a blog is a courageous one and your voice needs to be heard. Had you been writing about the behind the scenes of "American Idol' I would have said: 'Go for it - Just blog away!" but because the situation in Haiti can be so volatile, I would really check out those sources and get some opinions from people in the know. It's better to be safe than sorry. I am going to write to a friend of mine that works for a branch of the Canadian Government and see what he says.
As for the Grand Prix? Sure! If you head into town, let me know! I'll be there soaking up all the sights and sounds of those racecars!
I hope this helps ;-)
And I'm glad that you are entertained by my loopy rantings.
Thanks
Monday, January 24, 2005
"I keep my visions to myself..."
Now here I go again,
I see the crystal visions
I keep my visions to myself
It's only me
Who wants to wrap around your dreams and ...
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
You have to love Fleetwood Mac and Steevie Nick's pretty flowy dresses. Ahh. The 70's. Everytime I hear this song, I can remember going down to the Eastern Townchips in my father's shit brown 78 Impalla, the radio turned up high, me in the back seat, stretching my mouth wide open and sticking fingers up my nose as the other drivers whizzed by. But that folks was not a dream, but something that really happened (I actually developed a whole sketch where my hand puppets were singing and dancing to the song "Maria" from West Side Story in the backseat window of the car). But this blog is about a dream I had. It was just too outrageous not to share. So sit back as my warped mind unfolds and spews incoherent rantings your way ;-) Boy! If I could get a dime for every wacked out dream that I wrote down, I would be a millionaire (well, maybe not a millionaire, a hundreds of thousands - aire).
I went to bed last night (God!) this morning at 4am! Its horrible, but my time clock has been set and I have to go to great lengths to re-set it. Going to bed at such an ungodly hour has me waking up later in the afternoon. This is not only a problem because I waste most of my day, only to try to fit everything in before 5am (vacuuming and washing the dishes does not go over well past 3:30am so I have found out...) but I also have some really trippy 'freak me out for the rest of the day' dreams. I think it has something to do with REM sleep states and that after the final REM state of the morning (lets say, you wake up at 7am, you probably have had quite a few REM states during the night, perhaps one before you woke up, lets say 6am), if you go back to sleep after that, your body cycles again through what thinks is night, hence the dream cycle continues - waking up mid afternoon = disturbance is your state of really really far out into la la land sleep.
Here is a concise definition:
Rapid Eye Movement Sleep (REM) sleep is a sleep period during which your brain is very active, and your eyes move in a sharp, back and forth motion as opposed to a slower, more rolling fashion that occurs in other stages of sleep. In addition, during a "normal" night of sleep, people have REM periods every 60-90 minutes throughout the night. These REM periods start off very light and short, but increase in intensity and duration as the night goes on. Your first REM period might be a minute or only a few minutes, but your fourth REM period could last 30 minutes or longer.
It's part and parcel that my anti-depressants might casue some really vivid dreams (see this post) but some experts say that dreams might just be therapeutic. Whatever the case, I just find them too outrageous not to post. So here goes.
(Sorry but blogger is making me run out of space and I cant seem to skip lines!)
Some friends of mine and I were in some barracks outside in the desert (I guess watching too much CNN live coverage from Baghdad will seep into your brain somehow). The sun was pounding on the tarp of the tent that we were sitting in. Mid afternoon, high sun, dry and uncomfortable. I was waiting for someone, I can't remember who, but I had some sort of appointment. I was going to be judged. A swirly mass of stomach acid churned behind my belly button; anxious and disturbed, trying to calm my nerves I sat down in a euro-techno plastic seat next to a woman in a dome/chair hairdryer. She was reading Vogue but the inside of the magazine was filled with photos of food and little children in snow suits running around with blocks and/or wheels of different kinds of cheeze in their hands.
A man who looked like Tobias on Arrested Development (An amazing show. Perhaps the most brilliant sit-com on tv so far, but I digress...) came up to me in a business suit and a belt of bullets over his shoulder. He opened his little granny plastic shopping bag and pulled out a curly and long red haired wig.
This is for you, and you have to run this show. Without you, we are nothing. It cant go on without you.
I felt so indebted to him (was it because I wanted to buy another wig in real life and he beat me to the punch?) and knew that saying no would break his heart. Smiling and taking the wig from his hands, I walked out the tarp covered tent and into the darkness of a nightclub. This club was called Chez Mado. (sorry if I am going link happy on you...)
Now this is a wild club - its in the gay village, so you know right away that it's going to be colorful, but this place is home to all the drag queens and transvestites in the city. They all flock here to watch and participate in the crazy Karaoke nights. I went there on Halloween and the place was packed. I mean PACKED! And the clientele was as varied as the people who shop at Wal Mart. And these performers, so completly over the top, you can't help but get into the insanity and outrageousness of the atmosphere. Enough info there, back to my dream.
BACK TO THE DREAM:
The room still smelled of smoke and floors waxed in cold beer from the night before. It was not quite opening time yet, but a few patrons were lingering at the bar, laughing loudly and clanging their glasses together after every 'wheee!" which seemed to happen about every 5 seconds. Scanning the room for the owner, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The "Dressing Rooms" sign was hung precariously over a doorway that led down a flight of gold steps. I thought to myself:
Could this be OZ? Not the HBO TV show or the prison in the show, but the spot where tornadoes in Kansas pick you up and drop you off into a land of tiny fat people who wear funny shoes if you visit on a rainy stormy day?
I walked down the steps (I was wearing some beach flip flops which made wet sslapping noises as I descended) and reached a black door. I opened it and by some mode of circular logic, ended up back where I began - entering the club for the first time, but this time I was in costume.
To my horror and bewilderment, I looked down and saw myself wearing this God awful tacky and outrageous fire engine red sequined dress with beaded Calla Lilies near my ankles. I stuck out my toe.
God please don't freak me out even more!
My toenails were painted glossy Porsche-mid-life-crisis red. The plastic strap that lay across my foot was cutting off the circulation from my toes which were bone white.
Wonderful - red white and blue. How patriotic.
How psychotic.
I took a step and felt my weight shift forward. These heels were 7 inches high - stripper shoes by all accounts.
And the headlines screamed - Tammy Baker performs lap dances for a living!
I needed to find a mirror fast.
What the hell was I in for? What the hell was going on?
As I attempted to pound my head for dramatic effect, it hit the first layer of my crusty coif. Crunch, crunch.
My wig had been sprayed and teased so much it even the synthetic fibres were on strike. There was a mirror in the distance. The reflection of blurry figure gradually came into focus. A high pitched voice with a tawdry French accent shouted my way:
Darrrrling you looook so gorgeous! Mon Dieu! Hi* could ave not hasked for a more beautiful queen!
A tsunami wave of heat washed over my body. I began to feel like I was trying to digest a tire. I looked like Dame Edna after a heroine overdose. I was staring into the pit of hell, and hell looked back at me, equally stunned.
Oh!! Dey promised me you would come! You ave saved da show! Now come, it's going to be time for da show.
Without warning, I was greeted by and whisked away by the short little bald man who's "Where's Waldo' glasses almost covered his entire face. The black and white striped t-shirt fitted tightly around his tiny yet developed physique. Before I have time to blink again, I am standing backstage to the club. The sounds of people laughing and bad 80's disco began to gradually get louder. My painted and hideous 4 inch long fingernails clutched the velvet curtain tightly.
What the hell am I doing here?
Offstage, the little man waved me into the spotlight in the middle of the stage. Me and my plastic 'break your neck' stripper heels, and my 100 pound sequined dress began to sway. I was hoping and praying that I was not going to be sick.
The little man bounced from behind the curtain and began to talk to the crowd in a language so incomprehensible to me, it could have been Klingon. A hushed silence welcomed my entrance. Little Pumped up Waldo man smiled at me - looked toward the crowd and began to clap. A few claps to the right of me, then some more from the back, anxious claps. Get this show on the road claps. I cleared my throat and at that instant, it all hit me. I now remembered what I had to do, and in a similar broken english/french accent (lets call it Frenglish), I began to speak:
Can someone please tell me wat is the problem wit da national hanthem? Some are so beautiful while hothers sound like dem funeral marches! Who died? You hare celebrating your country no? Den why are you so sad? C'mon, lets get appy!
A few giggles from the peanut gallery, a few claps of acknowledgement. . They were warming up.
Hi tell you, some hanthem are so long - Hi mean come on dere! Like please don't take de hoffence to you my neighbours of da sout - my fellow Hamericans, but - ALLO?!?! Can your hanthem be hany longer hand more complex? Hi mean, hits beautiful hand hall, but eider hi will fall hasleep mid way trou, or hi will just ave to move my lips to pretend that hi know the word hafter da first 15 minutes!
A roar of laughter swept through the crowd. I looked down to see a bunch of older men with their brown beer bottles clink their glasses together. Laughing at the irony of the truth.
But you know dere my friends, hour hanthem his not hany better! Heverytime hi ear it, hit remind me of ha cartoon - you know, where da little men wit rockets har hall marching to da spaceship? Hi tink hits time dat hi change da words ha little bit no? Ere we go!
Ho Canada
hour ome and big bland land
true compatriots love
da fact da we are mad.
Wit smelly farts
we see you run
hour Labatt Blue
wont taste like pee
We stand hon guard
Ho Canada
we tink that we are free
God take that man
ooo runs dis contree
put im away
so we can sleep heasy,
Please take dat ma
so we can sleep heasy!
The room exploded with cheers and laughter. My throat felt like it had been scraped down by sandpaper. The wig's heinous synthetic cap began to cook my scalp. The layers of foundation began to fall off my face in flecks - worn paint from an old barn. A steady stream of sweat ran down my back and into my control top panty hose (which were doing a good job at baking other parts of my body...) Pumped up Waldo man ran up to me, wrapping his freakishly huge arms around my waist. The crowd cheered. People began to hand me martini glasses with fancy little umbrellas in them. I felt the soft thud of a white rose as it was flung towards my boob.
I saved the show.
I saved the show.
I radiated 1000 kilowatts of glee. And as I leaned over to take a bow, I was woken up by my cat, who while smelling my eye, purring loudly opened her mouth to yawn and expelled the most horrible morning breath this side of a McDonald's dumpster in the desert!!
So my meds? Partially to blame I guess, but I'm not really complaining. I guess what it really comes down to is that I am not alone in my Willy Wonka Land of dreams!
* Many of the people that speak little english here (who are mostly french) have some difficulty pronouncing the letter 'h' - so hair would sound like 'air'. The other phonetic problem lies in the phantom addition of the letter 'h' when words like 'eye' or 'ear' are spoken, which are then pronounced as "I like da color of your heyes" and "you ave really big hears'. Notice the addition of the letter 'h' in 'eyes'.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
And just when I thought when I had seen some really freaked out coincidences in my life...
So many things to say, so little time in a day - ahh! unintentional rhyme! - I am really sounding like Carrie Bradshaw!! Good for the play I suppose...
(I aplogise in advance for the incoherence - I am soo tired, I am typing with my eyelids closed and fingers half asleep, but I just had to get this out of my system!!)
So what can I tell you that wont keep me up all night typing ?!
My day today? It was wacky. And that is an understatement.
I got up late and had to rush and get my pix for this art gallery up north (about 1 hr from the city - it's a quaint small town in the country). I had to make my first stop at the photo lab, picked up the prints, and began to hit the highwat. To my shock and horror (I know, I should have checked in the store) I opened the envelope and saw that the technician cropped off wuite a bit of the image! At the time, little did I realize, that seeing the copies of the originals as 11x14's and not computer screen size made a huge difference (and being 11x14 - the whole effect was lost if you looked at them up close - step back 5 feet and it makes all the difference in the world) so I panicked, had a serious freak out hair pulling hyperventilating fit, and had to get E to circle back to the lab, got the explanation from the technician, hopped in the car and had to drive to 3 different stores to find the suitable frames, and all managing to get to the gallery with 20 minutes remaining before she closed. God bless E - being able to put up with me, manage traffic and stupid Saturday shoppers, he is a real angel.
Well, the gallery owner LOVED my stuff! I have never seen anyone so enthusiastic about my work in my life!! This woman obviously is well off, and is an art collector, has her own gallery just because she loves art (oh to have lots of money and be able to do something just because you like it, like sailing across the ocean, buying a villa in Rome...). Listening to her comments, I realized that this was coming from a seasoned art connoisseur, and that in itself was a compliment deluxe!!
While in her studio, she served us tea and we began to chat about erotica in art. She made a valid point in saying that erotica in art is being replaced by the savage, the vulgar and the violent. Some jeans ads that are out there are downright obscene, degrading women and turning their misery or abuse inflicted on them as sexy. Women have always been portrayed as sex objects in the fashion world, but now, there is an underlying current of hostility that disturbs many of us artsy fartsies who have seen the progression from lipstick gloss glam to heroin chic.
"There is a fine line that divides erotica and porn, and as an artist I can explore that boundary, pushing the limit, but never going over it. That is avant garde. That is hot. That is what I would like to see in art now. That is what I would like to explore in my photography."
She seemed really impressed by what I had to say and vice versa. An older woman in her early 50's, she had the spunk and energy of a 30 year old. There was an instantaneous bond - two woman artists wanting to explore and bring to the public the sensual side of art, and going out on a limb for the first time in doing so.
"I don't know what the public is going to think! All my clients are used to oil on canvas and watercolours, abstract yes, but nothing like this! They even have to pass my gallery on the way to the local church!"
I felt so great. Meeting her felt so great. I instinctively knew that I was where I was because it was meant to be. This is my time. My work is being noticed. I have chosen this path for a reason; (even though it seems hazy to me at times - like looking down a road during a snow storm) I have only my faith and duty to myself in following my dreams to guide me the rest of the way.
After looking over the promotional posters that she designed for the event, the gallery owner, spoke about a photographer who was also taking part in this exposition. His gallery was just down the street from hers. We agreed to take some of the promo posters down to him.
His photos were average, nothing spectacular, and the atmosphere of the space was pretty drab, but meeting with fellow photogs that are actually successful in the biz is always good for me (to hear about their tips, learn about the ins and outs of the biz). He was proud to show us all that he did with his digital camera (my model - I was surprised) and then showed us his back room/studio. On the way was a wall of press clippings and the various articles written on him. There was one article that struck me. Struck me down, I mean, I almost fainted...
He had been commissioned to design one of the newer subway stations here in the city. Its on a line that does not get much traffic, and if you have never ventured to that area of the burbs, you would have never even known it was there. Bur I knew it was there...
About 10 years ago when I made my second student film, I had chosen that exact same subway station because I was drawn to the graphics and colours - photos of a woman flying in mid air, mid-bounce on a trampoline, shoes and purse in motion beside her. To me, this symbolized a woman who was suspended in a state of confusion, inertia, lost and not knowing when she would 'hit the ground'. That was me, that was my character in my film . I juxtaposed the two images of my actress running in front of the upsidedown woman during the editing. It flowed seamlessly, beautifully.
Of all subway stations.
Of all murals that spoke to me.
Of all images that I had to choose from, I chose this one to be in my film, to symbolize my state of mind during my nervous breakdown 16 years ago.
16 years later, and I was now standing in front of the exact image. In front of the artist who had been commissioned to design it.
What were the chances.
Really, what were the chances.
A small town an hour out of the city center, an art gallery accepting submissions that I just happened to stumble upon through a link through a link and then another link.
A friend of the art gallery owner who happened to be in his shop who just minutes before she called, was on his way out for the night?
What were the chances.
I am still flipping but I have to think of something else because I will be up all night in amazement and awe about how little coincidences like this, little signs from the universe that appear to tell you that you are on the right path at this particular time. A sign to say: "Its all coming together, it's all connected. You are here and this is happening for a reason..."
This is defintelty one for the record books.
I will elaborate more in tommorow's blog after I get my solid 3 hours of sleep.
(I aplogise in advance for the incoherence - I am soo tired, I am typing with my eyelids closed and fingers half asleep, but I just had to get this out of my system!!)
So what can I tell you that wont keep me up all night typing ?!
My day today? It was wacky. And that is an understatement.
I got up late and had to rush and get my pix for this art gallery up north (about 1 hr from the city - it's a quaint small town in the country). I had to make my first stop at the photo lab, picked up the prints, and began to hit the highwat. To my shock and horror (I know, I should have checked in the store) I opened the envelope and saw that the technician cropped off wuite a bit of the image! At the time, little did I realize, that seeing the copies of the originals as 11x14's and not computer screen size made a huge difference (and being 11x14 - the whole effect was lost if you looked at them up close - step back 5 feet and it makes all the difference in the world) so I panicked, had a serious freak out hair pulling hyperventilating fit, and had to get E to circle back to the lab, got the explanation from the technician, hopped in the car and had to drive to 3 different stores to find the suitable frames, and all managing to get to the gallery with 20 minutes remaining before she closed. God bless E - being able to put up with me, manage traffic and stupid Saturday shoppers, he is a real angel.
Well, the gallery owner LOVED my stuff! I have never seen anyone so enthusiastic about my work in my life!! This woman obviously is well off, and is an art collector, has her own gallery just because she loves art (oh to have lots of money and be able to do something just because you like it, like sailing across the ocean, buying a villa in Rome...). Listening to her comments, I realized that this was coming from a seasoned art connoisseur, and that in itself was a compliment deluxe!!
While in her studio, she served us tea and we began to chat about erotica in art. She made a valid point in saying that erotica in art is being replaced by the savage, the vulgar and the violent. Some jeans ads that are out there are downright obscene, degrading women and turning their misery or abuse inflicted on them as sexy. Women have always been portrayed as sex objects in the fashion world, but now, there is an underlying current of hostility that disturbs many of us artsy fartsies who have seen the progression from lipstick gloss glam to heroin chic.
"There is a fine line that divides erotica and porn, and as an artist I can explore that boundary, pushing the limit, but never going over it. That is avant garde. That is hot. That is what I would like to see in art now. That is what I would like to explore in my photography."
She seemed really impressed by what I had to say and vice versa. An older woman in her early 50's, she had the spunk and energy of a 30 year old. There was an instantaneous bond - two woman artists wanting to explore and bring to the public the sensual side of art, and going out on a limb for the first time in doing so.
"I don't know what the public is going to think! All my clients are used to oil on canvas and watercolours, abstract yes, but nothing like this! They even have to pass my gallery on the way to the local church!"
I felt so great. Meeting her felt so great. I instinctively knew that I was where I was because it was meant to be. This is my time. My work is being noticed. I have chosen this path for a reason; (even though it seems hazy to me at times - like looking down a road during a snow storm) I have only my faith and duty to myself in following my dreams to guide me the rest of the way.
After looking over the promotional posters that she designed for the event, the gallery owner, spoke about a photographer who was also taking part in this exposition. His gallery was just down the street from hers. We agreed to take some of the promo posters down to him.
His photos were average, nothing spectacular, and the atmosphere of the space was pretty drab, but meeting with fellow photogs that are actually successful in the biz is always good for me (to hear about their tips, learn about the ins and outs of the biz). He was proud to show us all that he did with his digital camera (my model - I was surprised) and then showed us his back room/studio. On the way was a wall of press clippings and the various articles written on him. There was one article that struck me. Struck me down, I mean, I almost fainted...
He had been commissioned to design one of the newer subway stations here in the city. Its on a line that does not get much traffic, and if you have never ventured to that area of the burbs, you would have never even known it was there. Bur I knew it was there...
About 10 years ago when I made my second student film, I had chosen that exact same subway station because I was drawn to the graphics and colours - photos of a woman flying in mid air, mid-bounce on a trampoline, shoes and purse in motion beside her. To me, this symbolized a woman who was suspended in a state of confusion, inertia, lost and not knowing when she would 'hit the ground'. That was me, that was my character in my film . I juxtaposed the two images of my actress running in front of the upsidedown woman during the editing. It flowed seamlessly, beautifully.
Of all subway stations.
Of all murals that spoke to me.
Of all images that I had to choose from, I chose this one to be in my film, to symbolize my state of mind during my nervous breakdown 16 years ago.
16 years later, and I was now standing in front of the exact image. In front of the artist who had been commissioned to design it.
What were the chances.
Really, what were the chances.
A small town an hour out of the city center, an art gallery accepting submissions that I just happened to stumble upon through a link through a link and then another link.
A friend of the art gallery owner who happened to be in his shop who just minutes before she called, was on his way out for the night?
What were the chances.
I am still flipping but I have to think of something else because I will be up all night in amazement and awe about how little coincidences like this, little signs from the universe that appear to tell you that you are on the right path at this particular time. A sign to say: "Its all coming together, it's all connected. You are here and this is happening for a reason..."
This is defintelty one for the record books.
I will elaborate more in tommorow's blog after I get my solid 3 hours of sleep.
Friday, January 21, 2005
(I am at a loss for a title...Hmmm)
As per usual, I will try to keep this short (I always seem to say that and end up typing up some long winded 10 page blog where I rant and navel gaze for an unpteenth amount of lines, but really, I have to try to keep this short as this will be my 5th night going to bed when the sun is rising and waking up only 20 minutes later, wired and tired, using 1st aid cream to brush my teeth thinking it's toothpaste) as I am pooped and pooped out.
So, today?
Met with Charlotte and Samantha (they sooo look like their characters its scary!!!) the actress and producer of 'lust in the city' - they are such a scream! I am totally excited about writing this play! I still can't believe that this has fallen into my lap! Somebody pinch me please!! This month has just whizzed by; I blinked and it's now close to the end of January. In less than 4 months I will be turning 29 again!!! LOL! (for those who would like to send me gifts on my birthday - it's April 4th... No pressure... An e-card will do.. ) How time flies when you are busy trying to stay young!!
And I got word yesterday that I will be doing cinematography for a music video! I am totally excited about that too! The director is a great guy that I worked with on two previous projects and this would make three. He is super talented and a great dude. He wants to start shooting at the end of Feb - beginning of March. Great timing because I hope to have my 'play' finished by then (hope, pray, wish...) so that will free me up for some things, like breathing and sleeping...
I went to an 'erotic dance' class tonight. It was soo much fun! It was great to see women, old, young, big, small all shaking their booty! The woman who is heading this up is absolutely amazing!! She's 50 but is in better shape and more out there than most 20 year olds I know. Wonderful! First class was alot of stretches, hip swiveling and rolling on the floor - all done to music, all very sexy and sensual. Good thing to know for the next time I wipe out in a mall or on the street - there is actually a 'sexy' way of getting up when you are flat on your ass!! Of course, the moves have to be accompanied by the 'I meant to do that' look on your face to be really believable. Who would have thought that bending down to tie your shoe could be so erotic!! LOL!! Here is her website:
http://www.dance-eroteknique.com/
I spent the evening with a new friend - I had an absolute blast! I love meeting new people - it's the fertilizer for my soul roots. So special K if you happen to be reading this - you rock!! Thanks for a great time!! Hope you enjoy my blog! ;-) LOL!!
Well, on that note, I will wrap it up for tonight.
I will be posting some of my Miranda/Charlotte/Carrie/Samantha stories in the next few days for you all to read and comment on.
I had to share this as well. I pee my pants every time I visit this place.
I never thought stick people could be so amusing!!
Enjoy!!
http://www.cs.utexas.edu/users/tbone/warningsigns/
So, today?
Met with Charlotte and Samantha (they sooo look like their characters its scary!!!) the actress and producer of 'lust in the city' - they are such a scream! I am totally excited about writing this play! I still can't believe that this has fallen into my lap! Somebody pinch me please!! This month has just whizzed by; I blinked and it's now close to the end of January. In less than 4 months I will be turning 29 again!!! LOL! (for those who would like to send me gifts on my birthday - it's April 4th... No pressure... An e-card will do.. ) How time flies when you are busy trying to stay young!!
And I got word yesterday that I will be doing cinematography for a music video! I am totally excited about that too! The director is a great guy that I worked with on two previous projects and this would make three. He is super talented and a great dude. He wants to start shooting at the end of Feb - beginning of March. Great timing because I hope to have my 'play' finished by then (hope, pray, wish...) so that will free me up for some things, like breathing and sleeping...
I went to an 'erotic dance' class tonight. It was soo much fun! It was great to see women, old, young, big, small all shaking their booty! The woman who is heading this up is absolutely amazing!! She's 50 but is in better shape and more out there than most 20 year olds I know. Wonderful! First class was alot of stretches, hip swiveling and rolling on the floor - all done to music, all very sexy and sensual. Good thing to know for the next time I wipe out in a mall or on the street - there is actually a 'sexy' way of getting up when you are flat on your ass!! Of course, the moves have to be accompanied by the 'I meant to do that' look on your face to be really believable. Who would have thought that bending down to tie your shoe could be so erotic!! LOL!! Here is her website:
http://www.dance-eroteknique.com/
I spent the evening with a new friend - I had an absolute blast! I love meeting new people - it's the fertilizer for my soul roots. So special K if you happen to be reading this - you rock!! Thanks for a great time!! Hope you enjoy my blog! ;-) LOL!!
Well, on that note, I will wrap it up for tonight.
I will be posting some of my Miranda/Charlotte/Carrie/Samantha stories in the next few days for you all to read and comment on.
I had to share this as well. I pee my pants every time I visit this place.
I never thought stick people could be so amusing!!
Enjoy!!
http://www.cs.utexas.edu/users/tbone/warningsigns/
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
This takes the cake, the baker, and the whole bakery!!!!
This is just too outrageous.
I am in a semi state of shock.
I thought I had weird coincidences happen to me before, but the series of events that have just transpired tonight have really put the word 'coincidence' spinning in my head. I am so dizzy now I think I am gonna hurl...
In 10000 words or less (and also because I am going on 3 hours of sleep today, and it's presently 2:27 am and it will probably be about 4 am when I finish typing this ...
Holy crap.
This is just one for the books.
I am still flipping.
I think that I am actually going to have to get a beer and sit down and try to sort this all through. This is serious mind bending time warping brain stretching stuff.
Where do I begin?
From the beginning.
Okay. Let's try this in point form shall we? If it doesn't not make sense, at least it will look organized....
- went to bed at an ungodly hour last night again. This is now becoming standard practice as I now find sleep deprivation a new and exciting sport. Safer than bungee jumping, but with less of a neck strain than pole vaulting. Blogged my head off (quite literally). Verbal diarrhea - I think it might be terminal.
- ideas spilled out of my head like dead bees on a cake (that is a CD title from one of my favorite artists - David Sylvian (formerly the front man of a band called Japan). I have no clue what the hell it means, but the imagery evokes a strange mirage before my eyes which seems to fit how I envisioned what ideas spilling out of my head, high on caffeine at 4am in the morning looked like.
- I started to think about crazy ideas for my 'sex without a city' play. Charlotte gets tourettes and swears exclusively in French. A real street slang French at that. It made me laugh so hard that I began to cry, weep actually. When you are running on battery acid, emotions all become the same. (I didn't weep. I just added that in for dramatic effect. Did it work? Were you convinced??)
- I got into bed only to spring out of bed 4 hours later. I hooked up my IV caffeine bag to my belt and went back to work on my computer. I puttered around, did a good job avoiding the play and responded to all my blog replies and left my 2 cents worth on other blogs that I found entertaining.
- I took a moment to jump for joy.
- I sat back at the computer again and tried to write.
- bla bla bla bla
- bla bla bla NINJA!!! bla bla bla
- I ate some powdered Slim Fast for lunch and kept on typing, saying to myself 'I'll go outside to get some fresh air." It's almost 3am now and I am still saying the same thing. Obviously, I should abort this attempt.
- I emailed a friend who I thought forgot about me. Dejected and wounded to the core (I exaggerate - ACTING!!!). I pretty much put a cap on that email address and sent it to the cyber funeral pyre, until I check my alternate email account, and through some strange error of Microsoft, he got on my contact list and an automatic email was sent to him. I got a message dated last week: do I know you?
I almost fell off my chair (I seem to do alot of that lately - for dramatic effect - acting!!) to see that he had responded to this other email. I wondered what the hell was going on as I had not heard from him since before Xmas. I wrote back:
Oh honey - you know me - use your imagination!!
snickering to myself, I sent it off ftom this other account. I proceeded to blog that in a draft blog I keep (all about coincidences and large animals that yell out 'Hootchie Momma' in the night), and then, just as I was putting the final spell check on the document, I heard the little bell of my 'you have mail' mail sound. I opened up my yahoo account and there it was. An email from him. Quite literally seconds after I added the last period to the sentence. He had been busy with work and apologized for not emailing sooner. After already having fallen off, gotten back on and fallen off my chair several more times, I did a grand pliée followed by a pirouette and began to sing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina". Strange coincidence #1
- I was about to write some more, but seeing as I had spent most of the day freaking out over these strange coincidences and procrastinating to such an extent, I forgot I had put the washing machine on and was running the load without any clothes, basically water washing water, I realized that I needed a break. I ate some weird Cajun stuff that came in a box with a flavor packet and sat in front of the tube. I called a friend of mine (refer to the "Reunion - 20 years later' blog for reference), my 'sister' and we blabbed for more than three hours. I think part of my cordless phone receiver melted and is now embedded into my earlobe. Later on in the evening, after watching back to back Sex In The City Episodes for my homework, I hopped on the net to get some info about the show. I checked some emails that had been sitting in my in - box forever and replied to a few of them. One in particular struck me - I must email this friend - they have been on my mind. I heeded the voice which spoke in spooky italics and typed out a quick and friendly electronic hello. As I was about to press 'send', I popped onto msn. He is usually 'away' when he is really there (kind of like call answer for computers) but I took a chance anyway. Low and behold - he came on, exhausted, and half asleep. I guess it was the 'you have mail/someone is online waiting to talk to you so get up you lazy bum' sound that woke him. He typed incoherently but the sentiment was there. I was moved, but not to tears, but enough to forgive him for his horrible spelling mistakes.
Why don't you ...
And as he typed this, I typed:
I was just going to ...
And then, for one moment, the world stopped in mid spin as the words simultaneously flashed on the screen: EMAIL (ME) (YOU).
Without warning, my chair broke and my computer began to whiz about the room (sorry, just testing the dramatic visual effect thing one more time). I was stunned, and there I sat, in my broken chair, in stunned silence.
What a weird coincidence!! LOL!! was all I wrote... Strange coincidence #2
Now this is the killer...
After all the hoopla had died down, I was making my way to shut off my computer and Photoshop files that I had been fiddling with (still procrastinating with the writing) and checked my emails one last time. I got an email from a fellow blogger Ken -( http://kenisaverb.blogspot.com/) . He had left a few comments on my blog and I was going to hassle him because I just wanted to. The second to last entry was titled: "I don't believe in probability". Keep this in mind - it will make more sense at (and maybe you will fall off your chair when you come to) the end of this rant. The last entry of the day was titled: Nine Year Old On Speed . It was absolutely hysterical, and when Ken says something is funny, it's really funny. I clicked on the link and there my friends, is where I ended up in another dimension...
Strange coincidence #3
http://caloovy.blogspot.com/
I clicked on the link and read the first entry. I was quite literally folded in half, doubled over from laughing so hard, and almost made it into 3/4s fold but my arms could not bend backwards. Being the chatty hellokitty I am, I decided to leave my 2cents worth (which would be .12243556 cents American) and post a funny comment. I won't bother to be redundant. You can read the absolutely hysterical brilliant spur- of- the - moment, stream-of- consciousness comment at your leisure (and I hope that you will, it was a classic...). And on the spur of the moment, I added his msn address to my list of contacts because he definitely was someone twisted enough that I wanted to meet.
BUT HERE COMES THE CREEPY PART!!! (creepy organ music please!!)
And at the exact moment, as I was finishing up typing a little attached message/greeting which msn automatically asks you if you would like to send to your new 'cyber-pal', he logs on.
I am not shitting you.
There he was.
"Caloovy has just signed in'
Elvis had just entered the building, pigs began to fly and hell turned into an Olympic sized skating rink.
So for more than an hour after, we were both flipping on how strange and utterly bizarre this coincidence was. I laughed so hard - mostly because he was just a really funny guy, but also becasue my brain was trying to process this unbelievable amount of coincidental information which seemed to me, that I had indirectly willed to happen!! One coincidence is interesting, when it happens twice, it's cool, but three times in a span of less than 8 hours was enough to scare all the bodily fluids completely out of my system.
As I had calculated, it's 3:35am and I am flipping out and wondering if I think hard enough and stay awake long enough and tap into the secrets of the universe, I might just be able to:
a) land a sketch-comedy deal with Comedy Central (the same people that bring you MAD TV) for my crazy show ideas
b) able to will, with my mind, all the lottery balls to roll into the sequence that I have picked to win the 10 million dollar jackpot up for grabs tonight.
c) and to finally be able to seamlessly and effortlessly enter into the career of my passion without having to finance my kidneys to pay off the debts I will incur during the start up phases of my business...
Sometimes, life is more than just stranger than fiction, its just downright WEIRD.
And thank you Ken for your discourse on 'probability'.
Do you believe in it now????
;-)
I am in a semi state of shock.
I thought I had weird coincidences happen to me before, but the series of events that have just transpired tonight have really put the word 'coincidence' spinning in my head. I am so dizzy now I think I am gonna hurl...
In 10000 words or less (and also because I am going on 3 hours of sleep today, and it's presently 2:27 am and it will probably be about 4 am when I finish typing this ...
Holy crap.
This is just one for the books.
I am still flipping.
I think that I am actually going to have to get a beer and sit down and try to sort this all through. This is serious mind bending time warping brain stretching stuff.
Where do I begin?
From the beginning.
Okay. Let's try this in point form shall we? If it doesn't not make sense, at least it will look organized....
- went to bed at an ungodly hour last night again. This is now becoming standard practice as I now find sleep deprivation a new and exciting sport. Safer than bungee jumping, but with less of a neck strain than pole vaulting. Blogged my head off (quite literally). Verbal diarrhea - I think it might be terminal.
- ideas spilled out of my head like dead bees on a cake (that is a CD title from one of my favorite artists - David Sylvian (formerly the front man of a band called Japan). I have no clue what the hell it means, but the imagery evokes a strange mirage before my eyes which seems to fit how I envisioned what ideas spilling out of my head, high on caffeine at 4am in the morning looked like.
- I started to think about crazy ideas for my 'sex without a city' play. Charlotte gets tourettes and swears exclusively in French. A real street slang French at that. It made me laugh so hard that I began to cry, weep actually. When you are running on battery acid, emotions all become the same. (I didn't weep. I just added that in for dramatic effect. Did it work? Were you convinced??)
- I got into bed only to spring out of bed 4 hours later. I hooked up my IV caffeine bag to my belt and went back to work on my computer. I puttered around, did a good job avoiding the play and responded to all my blog replies and left my 2 cents worth on other blogs that I found entertaining.
- I took a moment to jump for joy.
- I sat back at the computer again and tried to write.
- bla bla bla bla
- bla bla bla NINJA!!! bla bla bla
- I ate some powdered Slim Fast for lunch and kept on typing, saying to myself 'I'll go outside to get some fresh air." It's almost 3am now and I am still saying the same thing. Obviously, I should abort this attempt.
- I emailed a friend who I thought forgot about me. Dejected and wounded to the core (I exaggerate - ACTING!!!). I pretty much put a cap on that email address and sent it to the cyber funeral pyre, until I check my alternate email account, and through some strange error of Microsoft, he got on my contact list and an automatic email was sent to him. I got a message dated last week: do I know you?
I almost fell off my chair (I seem to do alot of that lately - for dramatic effect - acting!!) to see that he had responded to this other email. I wondered what the hell was going on as I had not heard from him since before Xmas. I wrote back:
Oh honey - you know me - use your imagination!!
snickering to myself, I sent it off ftom this other account. I proceeded to blog that in a draft blog I keep (all about coincidences and large animals that yell out 'Hootchie Momma' in the night), and then, just as I was putting the final spell check on the document, I heard the little bell of my 'you have mail' mail sound. I opened up my yahoo account and there it was. An email from him. Quite literally seconds after I added the last period to the sentence. He had been busy with work and apologized for not emailing sooner. After already having fallen off, gotten back on and fallen off my chair several more times, I did a grand pliée followed by a pirouette and began to sing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina". Strange coincidence #1
- I was about to write some more, but seeing as I had spent most of the day freaking out over these strange coincidences and procrastinating to such an extent, I forgot I had put the washing machine on and was running the load without any clothes, basically water washing water, I realized that I needed a break. I ate some weird Cajun stuff that came in a box with a flavor packet and sat in front of the tube. I called a friend of mine (refer to the "Reunion - 20 years later' blog for reference), my 'sister' and we blabbed for more than three hours. I think part of my cordless phone receiver melted and is now embedded into my earlobe. Later on in the evening, after watching back to back Sex In The City Episodes for my homework, I hopped on the net to get some info about the show. I checked some emails that had been sitting in my in - box forever and replied to a few of them. One in particular struck me - I must email this friend - they have been on my mind. I heeded the voice which spoke in spooky italics and typed out a quick and friendly electronic hello. As I was about to press 'send', I popped onto msn. He is usually 'away' when he is really there (kind of like call answer for computers) but I took a chance anyway. Low and behold - he came on, exhausted, and half asleep. I guess it was the 'you have mail/someone is online waiting to talk to you so get up you lazy bum' sound that woke him. He typed incoherently but the sentiment was there. I was moved, but not to tears, but enough to forgive him for his horrible spelling mistakes.
Why don't you ...
And as he typed this, I typed:
I was just going to ...
And then, for one moment, the world stopped in mid spin as the words simultaneously flashed on the screen: EMAIL (ME) (YOU).
Without warning, my chair broke and my computer began to whiz about the room (sorry, just testing the dramatic visual effect thing one more time). I was stunned, and there I sat, in my broken chair, in stunned silence.
What a weird coincidence!! LOL!! was all I wrote... Strange coincidence #2
Now this is the killer...
After all the hoopla had died down, I was making my way to shut off my computer and Photoshop files that I had been fiddling with (still procrastinating with the writing) and checked my emails one last time. I got an email from a fellow blogger Ken -( http://kenisaverb.blogspot.com/) . He had left a few comments on my blog and I was going to hassle him because I just wanted to. The second to last entry was titled: "I don't believe in probability". Keep this in mind - it will make more sense at (and maybe you will fall off your chair when you come to) the end of this rant. The last entry of the day was titled: Nine Year Old On Speed . It was absolutely hysterical, and when Ken says something is funny, it's really funny. I clicked on the link and there my friends, is where I ended up in another dimension...
Strange coincidence #3
http://caloovy.blogspot.com/
I clicked on the link and read the first entry. I was quite literally folded in half, doubled over from laughing so hard, and almost made it into 3/4s fold but my arms could not bend backwards. Being the chatty hellokitty I am, I decided to leave my 2cents worth (which would be .12243556 cents American) and post a funny comment. I won't bother to be redundant. You can read the absolutely hysterical brilliant spur- of- the - moment, stream-of- consciousness comment at your leisure (and I hope that you will, it was a classic...). And on the spur of the moment, I added his msn address to my list of contacts because he definitely was someone twisted enough that I wanted to meet.
BUT HERE COMES THE CREEPY PART!!! (creepy organ music please!!)
And at the exact moment, as I was finishing up typing a little attached message/greeting which msn automatically asks you if you would like to send to your new 'cyber-pal', he logs on.
I am not shitting you.
There he was.
"Caloovy has just signed in'
Elvis had just entered the building, pigs began to fly and hell turned into an Olympic sized skating rink.
So for more than an hour after, we were both flipping on how strange and utterly bizarre this coincidence was. I laughed so hard - mostly because he was just a really funny guy, but also becasue my brain was trying to process this unbelievable amount of coincidental information which seemed to me, that I had indirectly willed to happen!! One coincidence is interesting, when it happens twice, it's cool, but three times in a span of less than 8 hours was enough to scare all the bodily fluids completely out of my system.
As I had calculated, it's 3:35am and I am flipping out and wondering if I think hard enough and stay awake long enough and tap into the secrets of the universe, I might just be able to:
a) land a sketch-comedy deal with Comedy Central (the same people that bring you MAD TV) for my crazy show ideas
b) able to will, with my mind, all the lottery balls to roll into the sequence that I have picked to win the 10 million dollar jackpot up for grabs tonight.
c) and to finally be able to seamlessly and effortlessly enter into the career of my passion without having to finance my kidneys to pay off the debts I will incur during the start up phases of my business...
Sometimes, life is more than just stranger than fiction, its just downright WEIRD.
And thank you Ken for your discourse on 'probability'.
Do you believe in it now????
;-)
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Part 1 of nonsenceical ramblings
I got back from the shoot about three hours ago. And only now the exhaustion has hit me like a ton of bricks!! MAN! I can hardly type!! I am soo pooped. The shoot went better than I expected it would and becasue of that I am going to upload some cool pix becasue if I continue I will just be spewing out compelet nonsenseical blather that not even a cyborg or NINJA would ne able to decipher...
I will be back tommrrow for more updates on my 'lust in the village' show...
A teaser - Charlotte develops Tourette's syndrome.
Squishing up your nose and squeaking with a high pitched voice is part of it....
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I will be back tommrrow for more updates on my 'lust in the village' show...
A teaser - Charlotte develops Tourette's syndrome.
Squishing up your nose and squeaking with a high pitched voice is part of it....
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Monday, January 17, 2005
Sally Field and I gush together about being liked and great dancers.
'I can't deny the fact that you like me! You like me! You really like me!'
Good Olde Sally Field - gushing after she received an academy award for her role in Norma Rae. Well, I felt like Sally Field last night. At 6am I stumbled into bed with a gigantic ear to ear smile on my face.
Well, its taken me most of the afternoon and evening to recover, optimistic the start of my week won’t be shot to hell becasue I have once again talen on too much to do - got the film two nights this week, one dance class and a photo shoot for the other two days, and then a meeting with the producer (and a partridge in a pear tree). Sleep? That’s a luxury option along with the bathing and power windows…
Funny how the parties that you think are going to be the worst usually end up being some of the best? Went to a friend’s new house in the more seedy side of town (the downstairs restaurant has topless waitresses of various ages serving breakfast and skin for under $3.00!) but she had renovated to the nines – it looked spectacular. Very welcoming. It set the whole mood for the night – eclectic and laid back with a dash of humor.
The toons were spun by E and others, people danced in the huge space usually called a dining room/living room. Beer flowed freely from the industrial Coleman cooler next to the (already stuffed with more beer and wine) fridge. The sweet smell of fresh microwaved popcorn and pot filled the main floor. I designated myself as the munchie police, making sure that there was enough chips and salsa on the buffet table, not to mention sampling a whole lot and hoarding the chip dip to myself most of the night. Saw a handful of friends that I had not been in touch with for a while, met some new ones and danced like a fiend.
I truly believe that some people are just born with rhythm in their blood – I don’t mean to sound like I am boasting, but my blood really rushes through my veins in a tribal tempo when music comes on. Fast, slow, in-between, you name it, I can dance it. Dancing is such an amazing form of release for me, and at the same time it is a harnessing of such wonderful energy. After months of not having gone out to shake my booty, I shook it and almost lost it, enjoying every single minute!
One evening in a 'Hip Hop' club, a stranger approached me in a club and made a comment about my dancing prowess. A tall African American/Canadian (please excuse my political incorrectness here…) came up to me, took me gently by the arm and spoke (well, actually shouted) into my ear: “Wow! I have to tell you I’ve never seen a white woman dance so much like a sistah in my life. You must have some black blood in you girl!”
I took that as a huge compliment! I thanked him and he led me back to the dance floor where we bumped and grinded for the next ½ hour. Nothing comes close to a night of real good music, great company and dancing, well, there are some things...
Last night I received simmilar compliments. Upon hearing them, I became quite bashful and body conscious. You see, I am kind of shy (on paper and in a blog - that’s a different story) and blush easily and become tongue tied when I receive compliments, which is what happened at the party. Perhaps it was because I had more than a few glasses of wine, too much popcorn and dip but I was not conscious of my body radiating some sort of magnetic energy which people seemed so drawn to. Conversations flowed easily, I was able to make people laugh and smile, it all seemed so effortless. Granted, most of the people there were either drunk, stoned or both, but I lost count how many times I heard “What an amazing dancer, I wish I could do what you do’ or ‘She is so great!” followed by “I know – she’s just soo cool!” or “I love this girl! She is amazing!” A good friend of mine once told me, while observing me in a social/party setting that:
“People are drawn to you because you radiate such a glow, an inviting energy. You create the kind of buoyant and youthful microcosm that people want to be a part of. When you are happy and in your element, you are a flower in bloom. Your loving nature and laughter becomes nothing short of contagious to those nearby.”
(I can feel my cheeks blush now as I type this)
When I got home, my face was etched with a perma-grin. I really felt special and loved by my friends. That was exactly the kind of high and affirmation I needed. The past year had been so incredibly hard in ever sense of the word, which in turn made thinking about 2005 a daunting and fearful endeavor. But now, 17 days into it, my faith is renewed and feel that I can and will do some great things in the next 12 months. Nothing means more to me than reaching out and touching the lives of other in a positive way; to know and have people tell you that you are appreciated for what you are doing, is in itself is a wonderful blessing.
Closing again with Sally casue this just seemed so appropriate:
It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else's eyes.
I'm here world, so watch out!
Good Olde Sally Field - gushing after she received an academy award for her role in Norma Rae. Well, I felt like Sally Field last night. At 6am I stumbled into bed with a gigantic ear to ear smile on my face.
Well, its taken me most of the afternoon and evening to recover, optimistic the start of my week won’t be shot to hell becasue I have once again talen on too much to do - got the film two nights this week, one dance class and a photo shoot for the other two days, and then a meeting with the producer (and a partridge in a pear tree). Sleep? That’s a luxury option along with the bathing and power windows…
Funny how the parties that you think are going to be the worst usually end up being some of the best? Went to a friend’s new house in the more seedy side of town (the downstairs restaurant has topless waitresses of various ages serving breakfast and skin for under $3.00!) but she had renovated to the nines – it looked spectacular. Very welcoming. It set the whole mood for the night – eclectic and laid back with a dash of humor.
The toons were spun by E and others, people danced in the huge space usually called a dining room/living room. Beer flowed freely from the industrial Coleman cooler next to the (already stuffed with more beer and wine) fridge. The sweet smell of fresh microwaved popcorn and pot filled the main floor. I designated myself as the munchie police, making sure that there was enough chips and salsa on the buffet table, not to mention sampling a whole lot and hoarding the chip dip to myself most of the night. Saw a handful of friends that I had not been in touch with for a while, met some new ones and danced like a fiend.
I truly believe that some people are just born with rhythm in their blood – I don’t mean to sound like I am boasting, but my blood really rushes through my veins in a tribal tempo when music comes on. Fast, slow, in-between, you name it, I can dance it. Dancing is such an amazing form of release for me, and at the same time it is a harnessing of such wonderful energy. After months of not having gone out to shake my booty, I shook it and almost lost it, enjoying every single minute!
One evening in a 'Hip Hop' club, a stranger approached me in a club and made a comment about my dancing prowess. A tall African American/Canadian (please excuse my political incorrectness here…) came up to me, took me gently by the arm and spoke (well, actually shouted) into my ear: “Wow! I have to tell you I’ve never seen a white woman dance so much like a sistah in my life. You must have some black blood in you girl!”
I took that as a huge compliment! I thanked him and he led me back to the dance floor where we bumped and grinded for the next ½ hour. Nothing comes close to a night of real good music, great company and dancing, well, there are some things...
Last night I received simmilar compliments. Upon hearing them, I became quite bashful and body conscious. You see, I am kind of shy (on paper and in a blog - that’s a different story) and blush easily and become tongue tied when I receive compliments, which is what happened at the party. Perhaps it was because I had more than a few glasses of wine, too much popcorn and dip but I was not conscious of my body radiating some sort of magnetic energy which people seemed so drawn to. Conversations flowed easily, I was able to make people laugh and smile, it all seemed so effortless. Granted, most of the people there were either drunk, stoned or both, but I lost count how many times I heard “What an amazing dancer, I wish I could do what you do’ or ‘She is so great!” followed by “I know – she’s just soo cool!” or “I love this girl! She is amazing!” A good friend of mine once told me, while observing me in a social/party setting that:
“People are drawn to you because you radiate such a glow, an inviting energy. You create the kind of buoyant and youthful microcosm that people want to be a part of. When you are happy and in your element, you are a flower in bloom. Your loving nature and laughter becomes nothing short of contagious to those nearby.”
(I can feel my cheeks blush now as I type this)
When I got home, my face was etched with a perma-grin. I really felt special and loved by my friends. That was exactly the kind of high and affirmation I needed. The past year had been so incredibly hard in ever sense of the word, which in turn made thinking about 2005 a daunting and fearful endeavor. But now, 17 days into it, my faith is renewed and feel that I can and will do some great things in the next 12 months. Nothing means more to me than reaching out and touching the lives of other in a positive way; to know and have people tell you that you are appreciated for what you are doing, is in itself is a wonderful blessing.
Closing again with Sally casue this just seemed so appropriate:
It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else's eyes.
I'm here world, so watch out!
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Simple Green Plastic Raidohead Philosophy
So I am going to take a nap before I go to a friend's party tonight. A house party - those are always fun during the winter. I was up all night doing a "Steve and Miranda" skit which I will share with you later. I am quickly realizing the limitations of writing for the stage as opposed to writing for film - you can't construct a whole bar scene, or a buss that zipps along Manhattan streets splashing Carrie's pretty pink dress on a little stage the size of a 1 1/2 apartment (excluding the bathroom). Problems. It's hard to scale down from dreaming in technicholor to black and white.
This is a quote from the Raidohead website. It sorta fits with what I wrote a few blogs ago about 'being rejected' (in relation to my not getting into the finals for the Comedy Network competition.
If you have been rejected many times in your life, then one more rejection then one more rejection isn't going to make much difference. If you're rejected, don't automatically assume it's your fault. The other person may have several reasons for not doing what you're asking her to do: none of it may have anything to do with you. Perhaps the person is busy or not feeling well or genuinely not interested in spending time with you. Rejections are part of everyday life. Don't let them bother you. Keep reaching out to others. Keep reaching out to others. When you begin to receive positive responses, then you are on the right track. It's all a matter of numbers. Count the positive responses and for get about the rejections.
This is a quote from the Raidohead website. It sorta fits with what I wrote a few blogs ago about 'being rejected' (in relation to my not getting into the finals for the Comedy Network competition.
If you have been rejected many times in your life, then one more rejection then one more rejection isn't going to make much difference. If you're rejected, don't automatically assume it's your fault. The other person may have several reasons for not doing what you're asking her to do: none of it may have anything to do with you. Perhaps the person is busy or not feeling well or genuinely not interested in spending time with you. Rejections are part of everyday life. Don't let them bother you. Keep reaching out to others. Keep reaching out to others. When you begin to receive positive responses, then you are on the right track. It's all a matter of numbers. Count the positive responses and for get about the rejections.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Canceled shmantzled
So here I am.
I'm at home.
The shoot has been canceled, but that's okay with me.
There were some minor technicalities that got in the way of the evening:
- my friend has bruised his knee and didn't want to aggravating it before his audition on Sunday
- there was some sort of pre-natal yoga class that was going on during our scheduled time slot, added last minute.
Like who needs last minute pre-natal yoga classes anyway?
'Honey, my water just broke! Quick, get me to the class so I can do the Supta Padangusthasana Reclining finger to foot pose before the baby crowns!!!.'
Actually its a good thing that I am going to stay home tonight - I will be able to work on the play. It's quite exciting, but at the same time, scaring the poop out of me! Maybe I will use some of the outrageous things that have happened to me in the past in the show.
I am wondering about a title for this thing. I had a friend of mine who cleverly came up with -blowjobs in the boroughs'. I laughed for about 1/2 hour after I heard that. E has mentioned 'Sex in la cité' where city becomes Frenchofied. I am really stumped! There already is a 'New Sex in the City' - a crappy reality TV show about, you guessed it!! Four girls who move out on their own in the Big Apple. So I ask you, my dear readers, do you have any suggestions? I would like the title to be a similar play on words as in the original title (because we all know Carrie Bradshaw is just so punny !!! ), but please let your imagination run wild!!
Until next episode!
Oh, and you must check out this story. I almost had to ask for an oxygen mask and tank after I read it. It is inspiring me to look back on my outrageous childhood and explore those zany ghosts of my past. You have to scroll down midway to the page - the story is called - I've Never Really Been A Fan Of Fish and it is a classic. Just the right thing to top off a Friday night before you venture out (or in like yours truly).
http://www.mentallyincontinent.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=146
I'm at home.
The shoot has been canceled, but that's okay with me.
There were some minor technicalities that got in the way of the evening:
- my friend has bruised his knee and didn't want to aggravating it before his audition on Sunday
- there was some sort of pre-natal yoga class that was going on during our scheduled time slot, added last minute.
Like who needs last minute pre-natal yoga classes anyway?
'Honey, my water just broke! Quick, get me to the class so I can do the Supta Padangusthasana Reclining finger to foot pose before the baby crowns!!!.'
Actually its a good thing that I am going to stay home tonight - I will be able to work on the play. It's quite exciting, but at the same time, scaring the poop out of me! Maybe I will use some of the outrageous things that have happened to me in the past in the show.
I am wondering about a title for this thing. I had a friend of mine who cleverly came up with -blowjobs in the boroughs'. I laughed for about 1/2 hour after I heard that. E has mentioned 'Sex in la cité' where city becomes Frenchofied. I am really stumped! There already is a 'New Sex in the City' - a crappy reality TV show about, you guessed it!! Four girls who move out on their own in the Big Apple. So I ask you, my dear readers, do you have any suggestions? I would like the title to be a similar play on words as in the original title (because we all know Carrie Bradshaw is just so punny !!! ), but please let your imagination run wild!!
Until next episode!
Oh, and you must check out this story. I almost had to ask for an oxygen mask and tank after I read it. It is inspiring me to look back on my outrageous childhood and explore those zany ghosts of my past. You have to scroll down midway to the page - the story is called - I've Never Really Been A Fan Of Fish and it is a classic. Just the right thing to top off a Friday night before you venture out (or in like yours truly).
http://www.mentallyincontinent.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=146
NINJA!!
Ninja ninja ninja. Ninja ninja ninja ninjaninja ninja?
'Ninja ninja ninja - ninja"
"Ninja!!!"
Ninja....
And the challenge continues...
http://minzoforever.blogspot.com/
'Ninja ninja ninja - ninja"
"Ninja!!!"
Ninja....
And the challenge continues...
http://minzoforever.blogspot.com/
Dueling confessionals
This is a photo from one of my short films. Now this is a creepy confessional booth! And Gama - I bless you ;-) 
Folding into a little ball and rolling along with the dust bunnies...
Bleh!
How many of you readers out there hate January/February as much as me?
A nice show of hands will do...
GAD!! It is such a horrible time of year! Have I bitched about it enough?! It's so grey, cold, windy, slippery, crappy, dreary, lonely, appetite increasing - hibernation inducing shitty shitty weather. I could go on...
please don't...
So yesterday was yet again, another wasted day. I know now not to attend hump-day parties. It completely screws you up on the lead up to Friday's joy and elation mood. The culprit was a pot luck for a friend's birthday - the food was great (remind me never to eat chilli beans in Jambalaya again!!) with the usual copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and cigarettes. When I awoke the next morning, I felt like I had dragged my whole mouth along the hot pavement on one of the side streets of New York city on a hot July afternoon. (I pause to contemplate the imagery... UECHHG!!) Having about as much energy as a Kleenex, I stumbled around the apartment trying to complete some delinquent tasks that I had been putting off for eons. After several successive attempt, I aborted the mission and headed to the couch for relief. Outside, the wind howled from between my window panes. The branches on the trees waved about like hysterical anaemic waifs on a fashion show runway in Milan (note to self - where the hell is all this imagery coming from?!??!). Too cold to go out. Too boring to stay indoors. My only option? To fold myself into a little ball and roll along with the dust bunnies that had come out to play in my hallway (not an intentional rhyme there folks).
Today?
Woke up at a decent time. Replied to some emails that were dated 2004 (and for those of you who read this who I have yet to reply to via email - you're still in my in box and flagged for 'follow up') and will get ready to head downtown to take some pix of a friend of mine at the dance studio he works at. That might be interesting.
Tomorrow I have brunch with my mom and gmother (grandmother - 1/4 abbreviated) and then the PM will be attending a Capricorn party. Happy birthday to all you Capricorns out there. You crazy Aquarians - you're next, so don't get all wishy washy/huffy puffy thinking that I forgot about you!!
I took this personality test last night (too keep my mind from spinning off in 1001 different directions) and found out that I am a #7 with a #4. This was soo strangely accurate.
What # are you?
The Adventurer (the Seven)
Adventurers are energetic, lively, and optimistic. They want to contribute to the world.
How to Get Along with Me : Give me companionship, affection, and freedom.
Engage with me in stimulating conversation and laughter.
Appreciate my grand visions and listen to my stories.
Don't try to change my style. Accept me the way I am.
Be responsible for youself. I dislike clingy or needy people.
Don't tell me what to do.
(and they forgot: "Are you looking at me? Are YOU looking at ME?')
What's Hard About Being a Seven :
not having enough time to do all the things I want
not completing things I start
not being able to profit from the benefits that come from specializing; not making a commitment to a career
having a tendency to be ungrounded; getting lost in plans or fantasies
feeling confined when I'm in a one-to-one relationship
What I Like About Being a Seven :
being optimistic and not letting life's troubles get me down
being spontaneous and free-spirited
being outspoken and outrageous. It's part of the fun.
being generous and trying to make the world a better place
having the guts to take risks and to try exciting adventures
having such varied interests and abilities
Here is the link.
http://www.9types.com/
How many of you readers out there hate January/February as much as me?
A nice show of hands will do...
GAD!! It is such a horrible time of year! Have I bitched about it enough?! It's so grey, cold, windy, slippery, crappy, dreary, lonely, appetite increasing - hibernation inducing shitty shitty weather. I could go on...
please don't...
So yesterday was yet again, another wasted day. I know now not to attend hump-day parties. It completely screws you up on the lead up to Friday's joy and elation mood. The culprit was a pot luck for a friend's birthday - the food was great (remind me never to eat chilli beans in Jambalaya again!!) with the usual copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and cigarettes. When I awoke the next morning, I felt like I had dragged my whole mouth along the hot pavement on one of the side streets of New York city on a hot July afternoon. (I pause to contemplate the imagery... UECHHG!!) Having about as much energy as a Kleenex, I stumbled around the apartment trying to complete some delinquent tasks that I had been putting off for eons. After several successive attempt, I aborted the mission and headed to the couch for relief. Outside, the wind howled from between my window panes. The branches on the trees waved about like hysterical anaemic waifs on a fashion show runway in Milan (note to self - where the hell is all this imagery coming from?!??!). Too cold to go out. Too boring to stay indoors. My only option? To fold myself into a little ball and roll along with the dust bunnies that had come out to play in my hallway (not an intentional rhyme there folks).
Today?
Woke up at a decent time. Replied to some emails that were dated 2004 (and for those of you who read this who I have yet to reply to via email - you're still in my in box and flagged for 'follow up') and will get ready to head downtown to take some pix of a friend of mine at the dance studio he works at. That might be interesting.
Tomorrow I have brunch with my mom and gmother (grandmother - 1/4 abbreviated) and then the PM will be attending a Capricorn party. Happy birthday to all you Capricorns out there. You crazy Aquarians - you're next, so don't get all wishy washy/huffy puffy thinking that I forgot about you!!
I took this personality test last night (too keep my mind from spinning off in 1001 different directions) and found out that I am a #7 with a #4. This was soo strangely accurate.
What # are you?
The Adventurer (the Seven)
Adventurers are energetic, lively, and optimistic. They want to contribute to the world.
How to Get Along with Me : Give me companionship, affection, and freedom.
Engage with me in stimulating conversation and laughter.
Appreciate my grand visions and listen to my stories.
Don't try to change my style. Accept me the way I am.
Be responsible for youself. I dislike clingy or needy people.
Don't tell me what to do.
(and they forgot: "Are you looking at me? Are YOU looking at ME?')
What's Hard About Being a Seven :
not having enough time to do all the things I want
not completing things I start
not being able to profit from the benefits that come from specializing; not making a commitment to a career
having a tendency to be ungrounded; getting lost in plans or fantasies
feeling confined when I'm in a one-to-one relationship
What I Like About Being a Seven :
being optimistic and not letting life's troubles get me down
being spontaneous and free-spirited
being outspoken and outrageous. It's part of the fun.
being generous and trying to make the world a better place
having the guts to take risks and to try exciting adventures
having such varied interests and abilities
Here is the link.
http://www.9types.com/
Thursday, January 13, 2005
I confess...
This is a photo I took of the main actor in my friend's film. You don't have to ask me twice if I love my job as a set photographer...
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
The danger in chocolate chip cookies and other brown things that go 'Chuuu chuuu chuuu' in the night...
Oh boy.
What a wasted day.
I mean that in the most literal of senses.
Sunday was a complete nothing day, nothing went right, nothing turned out as it was planned, nothing on the television (Arrested Development was pre-empted by some stupid awards show - like we need another awards show!!), nothing to do. Please allow me to elaborate (I figure I should be polite cause if you don't want details, this might become a bit boring and tedious):
I was supposed to take photos of my friend at the ballet studio he works at, but the afternoon wore on, he became tied up with family phone calls and other engagements, and I just became more listless. We had a two hour window, but I realized that if I didn't want photos of a ballet dancer looking like he was about to spring from a plieé into a panic attack, doing the shoot in 90 minutes was not a good thing. I opted to go over to his house instead. That is where the fun began...
We had some pot to smoke (I do it every once in a blue moon. Apparently it is supposed to help with my Fibromyalgia and take my mind off the pain... DUH!! Of course it takes my mind off the pain!! I am too busy laughing my head off as I look at the cigarette butt burn!!) and brainstormed about the artistic logistics of the shoot. It seemed oddly funny that we spoke in elliptical sentences, ending in me saying - "I though we talked about this before?". The herbal tea was nice on a cold, crummy day and staying inside a warm house with a new friend was enough to get my spirits out of a weekend sag.
As I got ready to leave, my friend carefully placed in a Ziploc, a piece of pot cake (I think I may have mentioned this in the previous blog). It was wrapped in wax paper like the shroud of Turin. 'That's some nasty Betty Crocker mix there my dear!! No wonder there were so many happy housewives at those 1960's Tupperware parties!!'
Pulling his hand out of the fridge, he said: 'Here - try this -.'
A chunky smooshy looking chocolate chip cookie was being waved in my face.
This was a no-no.
I am stoned, have not eaten dinner and you wave a cookie in my face? Why torture me??
I took a little micro-nibble.
'I'll give you one to take home, we made them today - they were still hot and chewy. I think putting them in the fridge made them all hard...'
One cookie?
Just one cookie?
Strange...
So that night I went home, buried myself into a bag of Orville Redenbacher's Buttery Popcorn, poured a glass of Taylor Fladgate Port (Special reserve, whatever that means...) and planted my butt in front of the TV. The hours came and went. I was exhausted. I fell asleep before 4am. A record for me.
Monday night, I was supposed to meet with the producer, but her associate had 'surprise visitation rights' and had to reschedule for another time. What to do. As was (and still am) in the middle of my 'big fat obnoxious unwanted houseguest', the muchie barometer started peaking.
That cookie...
that one cookie.
Hmmm.
It tasted different. Not off, just different.
I figured it had some sort of spice added to it like Cardamom or Nutmeg. I had recently been introduced to Swedish cooking at my friend's cookie party and learned a new language of herbs and spices that I never even knew existed. I chalked up this 'interesting taste' to some Nordic recipe that the roommate had.
Oh Boy. Was I wrong.
As I sat watching the Simpsons, everything seemed so funny. Funnier than usual. I caught myself laughing, but no sound came out. My belly was so clenched from the heave that I felt my face turn a bright red and the pressure in my eyes build up. E just looked at me with a 'what the hell is up with you' look.
'You okay there?"
I thought that was the second funniest thing in the world.
I slapped his arm and and then folded in two.
It was hysterical, or so my baked brain thought.
Why am I feeling like this?
"I dunno, you tell me."
"I mean that as an internal monologue/question.'
'oh.'
It was the cookie!! They had put pot in the cookie, baked it and made it look like an unsuspecting 'made from scratch with lots of love' cookie!
That is why he only gave me one! It all made sense! The cravings, suddenly finding commercials deeply engaging and enlightening, the sheer joy of making my cat run in circles until it stumbled across the room on a diagonal trajectory.
The pot was in the cookie...
And now I had a whole 4 hours to enjoy the ride this wacked-out culinary high.
As I said before, consuming this stuff makes me really silly and quite entertaining to be around, but when it wears off, I get really sleepy really fast. The day after is really 'the day after' as I wake up bloated from the copious consumption of junk food and exhausted from what the drug siphons out of my system. Being bi-polar II (manic depressive with rapid cycling mania/hypo mania, for those not familiar with the DSMV - IV) and on meds, doing this kind of thing is not really frowned upon by headshrinkers, (they just shake their heads and say ' I told you so') but the reality is that pot is a 'downer' and can make you a little melancholy (I don't like to use the word depressed because I have not had a huge wave of 'depression' in a while, and it evokes images of people who don't believe in personal hygiene and Manchester England on a grey rainy spring day). So today I woke up, melancholy and super bloated. I don't know how, but I managed to plough through 1/3 of a chocolate cake that E's mother had given us (plus that whole bag of popcorn with 1/2 cup of butter on it) in last night's sitting. E left a message for me on the answering machine:
"God! I don't know how you did it! It's past noon and you still must be sleeping! (Laughing) When I saw the container for the cake empty in the skink I was wondering what time you got to bed last night!? With all that caffeine, I was sure that I would wake up to go to work and you would still be awake!"
The day was a waste. It was so sunny outside (days that my withering body craves!) but I had missed the whole thing. I ate a bow of cereal for my breakfastlunchmidafternoon snack and tried to write. I was verbally constipated (and you might be saying - WOW GIRL !! You must have gotten a hold of the Exlax for writers tonight!!!) and uninspired. I spoke with the producer briefly, had confirmation that it is, indeed I who will be writing the play, and was asked how my progress was with it. I said that things were coming together. It's true, but I also fear that I might have taken off a little more than I can chew...
On a downer, everything is crappy. Your life is crappy, your hair is crappy, the milk in your fridge is crappy, the cats crap is crappy and the list goes on. Today, I felt like my body and brain had been wrung dry of all the elements of funny, and what remained were bad puns and silly euphemisms that only Big Bird on Sesame Street used - and that was in a pinch.
So I sit here, floating around in an ambivalent state of bland, hoping that tomorrow will bring some much needed inspiration and shape to this amoeba of a potential play.
Blogging is the literary diareaha of a generation.
And because of that statement, I have to share this with you...
If you don't really care, let it come out everywhere...
Diarrhoea.. Diarrhoea.
This wet bottom belch'll make u sit down with a squelch...
It looks a bit like fudge, with a consistency of sludge...
I did it on the bus, to make a little fuss...
I once just let it squirt, but I got some on my shirt...
When u feel it in ur bowels, prepare several towels...
Once I ate a chilli, and it came out of my wily...
It usually heads south, but can come out of ur mouth...
When it came out of my ear, I had to shed a tear...
It comes out the fanny, of every single granny...
Squeeze ur buttocks tight, don't let it gush without a fight...
If u want it in ur life, you'll never find a wife...When u've drunk a lot of beer, the sooth-seer makes it clear, to know it's very near, my dear oh dear dear dear...
diarrhoea!
Thank you so much Pogo for that wonderful wonderful song... http://thepogosphere.blogspot.com/
and my silly reply:
OH MY GOD!I thought I was the only other person in the world that knew this song...
diarrhoea (chuuu chuuu chuuu**) diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu)
Some people think its funny but its really wet and runny, diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu) diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu)
Some people think its gross but its really good on toast diarrhoea (chuuu chuuu chuuu) diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu).
**my friend and I learned this song with the percussion -y "chuuu chuuu chuuu" added in as pacing or iambic pentameter, but yours is hysterical.
What a wasted day.
I mean that in the most literal of senses.
Sunday was a complete nothing day, nothing went right, nothing turned out as it was planned, nothing on the television (Arrested Development was pre-empted by some stupid awards show - like we need another awards show!!), nothing to do. Please allow me to elaborate (I figure I should be polite cause if you don't want details, this might become a bit boring and tedious):
I was supposed to take photos of my friend at the ballet studio he works at, but the afternoon wore on, he became tied up with family phone calls and other engagements, and I just became more listless. We had a two hour window, but I realized that if I didn't want photos of a ballet dancer looking like he was about to spring from a plieé into a panic attack, doing the shoot in 90 minutes was not a good thing. I opted to go over to his house instead. That is where the fun began...
We had some pot to smoke (I do it every once in a blue moon. Apparently it is supposed to help with my Fibromyalgia and take my mind off the pain... DUH!! Of course it takes my mind off the pain!! I am too busy laughing my head off as I look at the cigarette butt burn!!) and brainstormed about the artistic logistics of the shoot. It seemed oddly funny that we spoke in elliptical sentences, ending in me saying - "I though we talked about this before?". The herbal tea was nice on a cold, crummy day and staying inside a warm house with a new friend was enough to get my spirits out of a weekend sag.
As I got ready to leave, my friend carefully placed in a Ziploc, a piece of pot cake (I think I may have mentioned this in the previous blog). It was wrapped in wax paper like the shroud of Turin. 'That's some nasty Betty Crocker mix there my dear!! No wonder there were so many happy housewives at those 1960's Tupperware parties!!'
Pulling his hand out of the fridge, he said: 'Here - try this -.'
A chunky smooshy looking chocolate chip cookie was being waved in my face.
This was a no-no.
I am stoned, have not eaten dinner and you wave a cookie in my face? Why torture me??
I took a little micro-nibble.
'I'll give you one to take home, we made them today - they were still hot and chewy. I think putting them in the fridge made them all hard...'
One cookie?
Just one cookie?
Strange...
So that night I went home, buried myself into a bag of Orville Redenbacher's Buttery Popcorn, poured a glass of Taylor Fladgate Port (Special reserve, whatever that means...) and planted my butt in front of the TV. The hours came and went. I was exhausted. I fell asleep before 4am. A record for me.
Monday night, I was supposed to meet with the producer, but her associate had 'surprise visitation rights' and had to reschedule for another time. What to do. As was (and still am) in the middle of my 'big fat obnoxious unwanted houseguest', the muchie barometer started peaking.
That cookie...
that one cookie.
Hmmm.
It tasted different. Not off, just different.
I figured it had some sort of spice added to it like Cardamom or Nutmeg. I had recently been introduced to Swedish cooking at my friend's cookie party and learned a new language of herbs and spices that I never even knew existed. I chalked up this 'interesting taste' to some Nordic recipe that the roommate had.
Oh Boy. Was I wrong.
As I sat watching the Simpsons, everything seemed so funny. Funnier than usual. I caught myself laughing, but no sound came out. My belly was so clenched from the heave that I felt my face turn a bright red and the pressure in my eyes build up. E just looked at me with a 'what the hell is up with you' look.
'You okay there?"
I thought that was the second funniest thing in the world.
I slapped his arm and and then folded in two.
It was hysterical, or so my baked brain thought.
Why am I feeling like this?
"I dunno, you tell me."
"I mean that as an internal monologue/question.'
'oh.'
It was the cookie!! They had put pot in the cookie, baked it and made it look like an unsuspecting 'made from scratch with lots of love' cookie!
That is why he only gave me one! It all made sense! The cravings, suddenly finding commercials deeply engaging and enlightening, the sheer joy of making my cat run in circles until it stumbled across the room on a diagonal trajectory.
The pot was in the cookie...
And now I had a whole 4 hours to enjoy the ride this wacked-out culinary high.
As I said before, consuming this stuff makes me really silly and quite entertaining to be around, but when it wears off, I get really sleepy really fast. The day after is really 'the day after' as I wake up bloated from the copious consumption of junk food and exhausted from what the drug siphons out of my system. Being bi-polar II (manic depressive with rapid cycling mania/hypo mania, for those not familiar with the DSMV - IV) and on meds, doing this kind of thing is not really frowned upon by headshrinkers, (they just shake their heads and say ' I told you so') but the reality is that pot is a 'downer' and can make you a little melancholy (I don't like to use the word depressed because I have not had a huge wave of 'depression' in a while, and it evokes images of people who don't believe in personal hygiene and Manchester England on a grey rainy spring day). So today I woke up, melancholy and super bloated. I don't know how, but I managed to plough through 1/3 of a chocolate cake that E's mother had given us (plus that whole bag of popcorn with 1/2 cup of butter on it) in last night's sitting. E left a message for me on the answering machine:
"God! I don't know how you did it! It's past noon and you still must be sleeping! (Laughing) When I saw the container for the cake empty in the skink I was wondering what time you got to bed last night!? With all that caffeine, I was sure that I would wake up to go to work and you would still be awake!"
The day was a waste. It was so sunny outside (days that my withering body craves!) but I had missed the whole thing. I ate a bow of cereal for my breakfastlunchmidafternoon snack and tried to write. I was verbally constipated (and you might be saying - WOW GIRL !! You must have gotten a hold of the Exlax for writers tonight!!!) and uninspired. I spoke with the producer briefly, had confirmation that it is, indeed I who will be writing the play, and was asked how my progress was with it. I said that things were coming together. It's true, but I also fear that I might have taken off a little more than I can chew...
On a downer, everything is crappy. Your life is crappy, your hair is crappy, the milk in your fridge is crappy, the cats crap is crappy and the list goes on. Today, I felt like my body and brain had been wrung dry of all the elements of funny, and what remained were bad puns and silly euphemisms that only Big Bird on Sesame Street used - and that was in a pinch.
So I sit here, floating around in an ambivalent state of bland, hoping that tomorrow will bring some much needed inspiration and shape to this amoeba of a potential play.
Blogging is the literary diareaha of a generation.
And because of that statement, I have to share this with you...
If you don't really care, let it come out everywhere...
Diarrhoea.. Diarrhoea.
This wet bottom belch'll make u sit down with a squelch...
It looks a bit like fudge, with a consistency of sludge...
I did it on the bus, to make a little fuss...
I once just let it squirt, but I got some on my shirt...
When u feel it in ur bowels, prepare several towels...
Once I ate a chilli, and it came out of my wily...
It usually heads south, but can come out of ur mouth...
When it came out of my ear, I had to shed a tear...
It comes out the fanny, of every single granny...
Squeeze ur buttocks tight, don't let it gush without a fight...
If u want it in ur life, you'll never find a wife...When u've drunk a lot of beer, the sooth-seer makes it clear, to know it's very near, my dear oh dear dear dear...
diarrhoea!
Thank you so much Pogo for that wonderful wonderful song... http://thepogosphere.blogspot.com/
and my silly reply:
OH MY GOD!I thought I was the only other person in the world that knew this song...
diarrhoea (chuuu chuuu chuuu**) diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu)
Some people think its funny but its really wet and runny, diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu) diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu)
Some people think its gross but its really good on toast diarrhoea (chuuu chuuu chuuu) diarrhoea(chuuu chuuu chuuu).
**my friend and I learned this song with the percussion -y "chuuu chuuu chuuu" added in as pacing or iambic pentameter, but yours is hysterical.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
My pride in being 'different'.
I for the longest time, I felt awkward about being who I was - a quirky skinny, sensitive, hyper, funny kid. Not much has changed since those years, except I am not called toothpick or dental floss anymore.
It takes guts to be an artist. You are not guaranteed money or fame - that is more like a lottery. You might be shunned by your relatives and friends:
'Ah! Another comedian! Like the world needs more of those? Why don't you get a 'real education' and live in the real world'.
As an artsy, its a pre-requisite that we have to dress different. Maybe its a hormonal/chromosome misread, but one of the basic staples in our wardrobe is black. What I got as a kid:
"So where's the funeral!?" "Who are you mourning for?' and the classic, 'you know, black attracts the sunlight and heat in the summer...'
Artsy people appreciate weird things - Chia pets, Little teeny tiny Japanese teapots, crayons and metallic pens, really big and fluffy floor pillows, most of what is retro/tiki/euro-mod, keep weird sleep/waking hours and subtitles in movies. I could go on, but then I would be uncovering the 'mystery' (neurosis) which makes us 'artsy-fartsies' so unique.
I am happy that I am at times weird, quirky, unique.
This is a quote from somebody who was a real 'unique' in the most real sense.
(It was all in those eyebrows)
Psychoanalysis. Almost went three times - almost. Then I decided what was peculiar about me was probably what made me successful. I've seen some very talented actors go into analysis and really lose it."
Bette Davis
It takes guts to be an artist. You are not guaranteed money or fame - that is more like a lottery. You might be shunned by your relatives and friends:
'Ah! Another comedian! Like the world needs more of those? Why don't you get a 'real education' and live in the real world'.
As an artsy, its a pre-requisite that we have to dress different. Maybe its a hormonal/chromosome misread, but one of the basic staples in our wardrobe is black. What I got as a kid:
"So where's the funeral!?" "Who are you mourning for?' and the classic, 'you know, black attracts the sunlight and heat in the summer...'
Artsy people appreciate weird things - Chia pets, Little teeny tiny Japanese teapots, crayons and metallic pens, really big and fluffy floor pillows, most of what is retro/tiki/euro-mod, keep weird sleep/waking hours and subtitles in movies. I could go on, but then I would be uncovering the 'mystery' (neurosis) which makes us 'artsy-fartsies' so unique.
I am happy that I am at times weird, quirky, unique.
This is a quote from somebody who was a real 'unique' in the most real sense.
(It was all in those eyebrows)
Psychoanalysis. Almost went three times - almost. Then I decided what was peculiar about me was probably what made me successful. I've seen some very talented actors go into analysis and really lose it."
Bette Davis
All quiet on the eastern front...
Its visitor time again.
Yep - the fat obnoxious relative that comes to visit is hanging around again. (you can refer to an earlier post for history on this...)
Did actually not much today. Was supposed to take pix of a friend of mine (he's a trained ballet dancer) but the day slogged on, it was cold outside and neither of us were ready to head out to a studio when we both had commitments later on in the evening. So I just went over to his house, we brainstormed about a future shoot and drank a few brews. I am a little tired out (that stuff can do that to me...) and am not too functional right now. There are few pounds of fruit cake in the kitchen from E's mother.
Fruit cake - the cake that people are ashamed to admit they like.
So tomorrow I am meeting with the producer of the Sex In The City play (and will be now know as SITC) and the other actress. I have a feeling that I will have lots to blog about!!
Thanks to all my readers (new and old) who are giving me so many encouraging words! It is a real inspiration and makes me feel all warm and glowy inside to know that I have made people laugh ;-)
"I'd luv to kiss ya, but I just washed my hair."
Bette Davis
Yep - the fat obnoxious relative that comes to visit is hanging around again. (you can refer to an earlier post for history on this...)
Did actually not much today. Was supposed to take pix of a friend of mine (he's a trained ballet dancer) but the day slogged on, it was cold outside and neither of us were ready to head out to a studio when we both had commitments later on in the evening. So I just went over to his house, we brainstormed about a future shoot and drank a few brews. I am a little tired out (that stuff can do that to me...) and am not too functional right now. There are few pounds of fruit cake in the kitchen from E's mother.
Fruit cake - the cake that people are ashamed to admit they like.
So tomorrow I am meeting with the producer of the Sex In The City play (and will be now know as SITC) and the other actress. I have a feeling that I will have lots to blog about!!
Thanks to all my readers (new and old) who are giving me so many encouraging words! It is a real inspiration and makes me feel all warm and glowy inside to know that I have made people laugh ;-)
"I'd luv to kiss ya, but I just washed my hair."
Bette Davis
Saturday, January 08, 2005
'Oh well' and being Zen (or Bette Davis)...
Oh well...
Got the word from the Comedy Network.
I didn't make the cut.
I'm wondering how these titles will make it...
David Schmidt and David Pearson, Vancouver B.C. for "So You Wanna Be A Gangsta"
Darrin Rows, Toronto for "The Shwa"
Keith Savage, Ottawa for "Blueballs"
Greg Howes, Toronto for "Dude!"
Allison Buck, Toronto for "The Not So Simple Life"
Because it's so shitty outside, so grey and cold, becasue I am feeling like my legs have been stomped on by a heard of elephants, I reserve the right to be quite depressed. I shouldn't be. I know that. The upside to this is somehow I managed to write down ten years worth of comedy ideas in less than 4 hours. Its the bare bones what could be a great TV skit show. That in itself should be applauded. But rejection is never something that we as humans take lightly. Rejections means that you are not up to par to what the standard of the situation in question. It doesn't mean that you are 'no -good', it just means that you don't have the kind of thing that they were looking for. I am trying not to take it all too personally (why should I when there were a total of 300 applicants). I have to keep telling myself that when God closes a door, he always opens a window.
So onward and upward.
I found this quote today.
It's my new saying...
Thanks Bette.
I've been lucky. I'll be lucky again.
Bette Davis
Got the word from the Comedy Network.
I didn't make the cut.
I'm wondering how these titles will make it...
David Schmidt and David Pearson, Vancouver B.C. for "So You Wanna Be A Gangsta"
Darrin Rows, Toronto for "The Shwa"
Keith Savage, Ottawa for "Blueballs"
Greg Howes, Toronto for "Dude!"
Allison Buck, Toronto for "The Not So Simple Life"
Because it's so shitty outside, so grey and cold, becasue I am feeling like my legs have been stomped on by a heard of elephants, I reserve the right to be quite depressed. I shouldn't be. I know that. The upside to this is somehow I managed to write down ten years worth of comedy ideas in less than 4 hours. Its the bare bones what could be a great TV skit show. That in itself should be applauded. But rejection is never something that we as humans take lightly. Rejections means that you are not up to par to what the standard of the situation in question. It doesn't mean that you are 'no -good', it just means that you don't have the kind of thing that they were looking for. I am trying not to take it all too personally (why should I when there were a total of 300 applicants). I have to keep telling myself that when God closes a door, he always opens a window.
So onward and upward.
I found this quote today.
It's my new saying...
Thanks Bette.
I've been lucky. I'll be lucky again.
Bette Davis
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