My Very Favorite Quote

There is a vitality, a life force, energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channels open. When you look at your work and see only its ineptitude, inorganic flaws and crudities, remember, no artist is ever pleased. For an artist, there is not satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others. - Martha Graham, 1943

"Oooohhh. As long as we got each other..."

I've been waiting to write another post. Every morning the urge hits me, I pull up my account and sign in. Then I sit there and check email. I'm not sure what to say.

I have several topics in my head. I'm exploring many issues these days. I think they all boil down to one thing that I'm not proud of admitting: fear...(or is it pride?) What if anyone reading this feels like rolling his/her eyes, or, heaven forbid, gets pissed at me...or even worse...sees a side of me I thought I was hiding from the world. A shameful side.

White People Problems. I think Chris Rock said it? When I hear the evil voice in my head ask silly questions about my actuality I can't ignore her. I call her Jan. (I'm kidding.)

I call her Susan.

(Joke!)

Ethel.

(Alright!)

.....Rather than seek answers - 'cause I couldn't possibly ignore her - I punish myself for feeling anxious about illusory issues like 'defining myself'. I can't help but want to vomit a little in my mouth.

At least I have legs.

See? Shame. I'm not talking about sex toys or something you'd hide from your Grandpa... or the FCC... taboos are taboo these days... what celebrity has not been dissected in the name of journalism? Judged and reprimanded for personal choices? Fame does not make someone righteous or responsible or smart, just popular. And back in the beginnings of your mini-society [Jr. High] do you recall any of the popular folks being particularly gracious or generous or good at physics? John Hughes built an entire empire on the beginnings of this odd little expectation we have about our beloved. The Beautiful People, The Beautiful People. I think the entire basis of Marketing and Advertising starts here. Oxy was our first tube of confidence. [Still mine.]

Do you think popularity is the microwave for the meaning of life? Under cooked in certain places, burned in others... severe molecular damage?

People I admire appear to not care what others think about them. Censorship is paralysis. Again, probably why I admire those afflicted with Down Syndrome. I use the term 'afflicted' lightly. And probably why I've dated some real gems. A life-loathing soul can wear a lion's suit like anyone else. Costumes are an expression but ain't it great when it fits the character just right?

So many good things in my life. Growing pains are lovely. Truly. I'm so glad I'm not ten anymore. Although I got more sleep. My worst nightmares were about getting up in front of class without pants. Last night I dreamt I was pregnant and the war in Iraq moved to NYC... oh and for the second time I had to perform surgery on my friend in the hospital... this was of course after I had to drive through the desert to find Greg and hide him from the militia... they'd already taken my brother...

Here I go...

Since I started this blog, I've been inspired to try and think a certain way and not be afraid to share my thoughts and not censor myself. I'm not sure I'm really doing that. I do not at all think I am someone or something particularly special, most certainly not more than anyone or anything else but there is this part of me that is enjoying showing-sharing a part of myself to the 'world' this way. I had thought initially it was because I like to call myself an artist. I like entertaining folks. And I think part of it is because I truly like to make people happy - any way I can - but here is the thing: I just went back and re-read my bloggy blogs and felt a little strange. They have this carefully structured rhythm and each is very similar to the next. And it has just dawned on me why, so I thought I'd share-show THIS to the world and let it lie:

I think a large part of why I enjoy expressing myself artistically is because it enables me to have a feeling of control about how people view me. I can define myself through a medium.

What if I stopped defining myself? Does that even make sense? Does that cause an existential downward spiral? Or is that a secret-to-happiness sort of thing? This is a new discovery here so I'm rambly but I feel like I've hit something. Having an 'Ahh' moment, you know?

K. I'm just gonna stop here. Leave it as this before I go off telling everyone dirty secrets about my shaving habits or something. Not that I have strange shaving habits. Just sayin'. But I do grab Greg's shaver every once in a while and attack the little hairs on my upper lip. I've heard I shouldn't do that but I'm too lazy to pluck. Oh Moises Alou...

Counting Blessings

I went to see 3:10 to Yuma last night. Finally. I've wanted to see this movie since I first heard about it. And I' m not even sure why. I'm a huge Deadwood fan? I'm from Texas? I wondered why everyone loved Russell Crow's over-acting in Gladiator?

When I was ten, on Sundays my Daddy used to make me watch boring 'ol black and white Westerns while he slept on the couch. And kitchy Sci-fi movies. And the silly vampire-werewolf-humaneatingblobthing horror stuff too but that is another story and I still love Vampira.

I think I miss cowboys. Or my Dad. Or both.

Between Greg's busy life and mine, his slim budget and mine we managed to pick a time and place for this long awaited modern western. A whole evening. He called me yesterday morning at work, "Pick a movie...I'm taking you out tonight..."

Well alright Fonzy! I was so excited I almost didn't know which movie to pick out. 3:10! Hello Jennifer! You've been dying to see it! Focus!

6:45p.

Work is a tad nuts. I like it that way but I am running late and have just enough time to run to the bank, walk the dog and meet Greg outside of Clearview Chelsea Cinemas. I've got my head in the zone. I'm picking out the subway car I should be in so I can be closest to the exit nearest the bank. I'm prepping my ankles for the dash in heels. I recall that the pens-attached-to-tables in the poly-ATM bubble never work. I've got my purse-pen in hand. I slip in the door and don't even have to do the annoying hotel-room, door-lock thing with my ATM card. I'm whippin' out checks to sign the back of, I've scouted out deposit envelopes, I turn to go to a machine when some grumpy guy muttering into a cell phone, comes over to me and tosses down a debit card on the table top. It lands next to me.

Um, I'm trying to do math, here. I keep adding. Stare at the card. Back at the dude on the cell phone now in a little ATM stall. I stare at the card. Carry the two. Stare at the card. Total the checks. Did I sign the back? Yes I signed the back. Watch grumpy guy leaving. The card. The math. The card. The card. The card. I look around and nobody seems to care about it.

Am I on Candid Camera? HOW HONEST ARE YOU?

I'm thinkin' the dude on the cell phone obviously walked up to a machine where someone didn't take their card out and thought he was being helpful by slapping it down on the counter out in the open in the middle of the ATM world. Is he nuts? Homeless people live in here! There are all kinds of crazy New York folks running in and out and around. Anyone could grab that sucker and start charging away. This isn't a jacket that someone left in a cab!

I still have to walk the dog.

I still have to friggin' carry the two. Start over. Wait. I know. I'll put the card in with my deposit. I'll put it in an envelope and write on the envelope it was found. That way the homeless guy can't buy shoes willy nilly!

[1. I recognize that new shoes from Chelsea are probably the last thing on Homeless Guy's mind and 2. since when do people accept credit cards from transients? 3. People live in New York City without food or shelter and that is a very sad state of the world. I should calm down.]

I do the deposity deed. Not only do I feel like I've helped a fellow citizen-in-a-rush but I still have time to walk the Tasmanian Devil.

...whom I get home to and has pissed the floor and managed to open the cabinet under the sink and pull out the garbage, that until now, we've been brilliantly hiding from him and he and his little walnut brain have been doing God-knows-what with coffee grounds, dirty paper towels, banana peels and old mail ALL OVER OUR TINY STUDIO FLOOR! Our entire home mind you. Entire home.

I throw him in the bathroom. Poor thing probably thinks I'm playing a new game. Clean the floor. Open the bathroom door. His head is hung low and he's trembling. Why is furry Satan so adorable? I could never have been Eve. Women today would be burdened with children coming out of their nostrils four at a time if the apple thing had been left up to me.

I walk him...correction: drag him...call Greg...I'm late...I'll be there when the movie starts...he decides to walk down to meet me. I run back up stairs. Throw Mephistopheles on the couch. Pee and powder. At the same time. Spray. Pose. Run out the door. Into Greg.

We bolt for the theater. We are next in line behind a man with nowhere to be even though he is BUYING A MOVIE TICKET. "You want anything honey?" I run inside to get Greg a medium Coke. The kids behind the counter have to finish their conversation and their soda-cup-football game before they can begin to find where they keep the Twizlers. Just give me the Coke. No Twizlers. (I actually have to charge the Coke 'cause the $4 cash I have scrounged together is not enough. It's a Coke people.) We race up the escalator. Greg pees. Probably doesn't powder. We go into the movie and it has started. What happened to forty thousand minutes of commercials and previews and singing popcorn? Whatever. Adjust eyes and sit. After about three minutes I notice the woman down the row from me is compelled to moan through handfuls of popcorn in agreement to every third line of the movie. Come on. I've also decided I can't completely situate around to the two silhouettes of giant heads in the middle of my movie. I look at Greg and scrunch my nose. We move.

Ah. Perfect seats. The movie is getting good. I've never been so excited to see an over-produced gun powder explosion actually blowing up a man and his horse. Did they have Smart Bombs in the Old West? Whatever. I dig it.

Then. The. Movie. Just. Stops. No cool melty projectory thing like back in the day. It just stops. The lights come on and the muzak too.

Nuh. Uh.

After ten minutes of conversation and five of quietly trying to get through the rest of the movie with a giant black streak down the middle of it:

Jen: (whispered) Let's go.

Greg: (whispered) Yeah?

Jen: Yeah.

Greg: But you've been dying to see this. For weeks, Baby.

Jen: Yeah, but not like this.

The man I love who has to have the bathroom door cracked open to a pre-measured distance enabling a perfect amount of ambient light-spill for all of our home entertainment viewing completely understands. He escorts me out.

We get refunds and go outside. Another movie? Nah. Drinks? Nah. Dinner? Not really. Let's walk.

Do you know how nice it is to walk around this city and be present and alive and not have to do anything that has been scheduled? Greg and I are all mushy and feel like we're on a first date.

A couple walks by with their arms around each other. "I love her so much. We're getting married tomorrow!" Greg congratulates them and throws his arm around me. Cute.

We end up going to book stores and having dinner and wine and come home to the little Devil and vow to train him better. Great night. Awake and alert.

Thing is, through the stress and challenges and journeys of the evening, I had a good sense of humor. Even after a certain phone call on the way home. I appreciated it all even more.

A very dear friend of mine might have cancer. Again.

Keep smiling.

TGIBWCF

Is it sad that I truly dig Beer-Wine-Cake Fridays at my office?

It's the little things.

"I've seen fire and I've seen rain..."

Excuse me...I think I have some weird power here...not that I really think I am more special than the next guy...but as of yesterday O.J. Simpson IS in jail!!!

I awoke at some ungodly hour this morning because fire trucks were racing down our street, one after another and so loud. And yesterday I was taking a lazy Sunday afternoon nap and I awoke to squealing tires and the sound of crunching metal. After both incidents, I closed my eyes again, rolled over and thought the same thing we all do here: "ah, life in New York".

However, both times, when I closed my eyes again I dreamt that the President had been assassinated. Homeland Security might come get me for saying this, but with my new-found, super-hero blog powers I thought I would plead my innocence before it happens.

I watched part of a little political show last night called Now...from what Greg (my news authority) tells me, it is a Liberal slanted show...and they were doing a little documentary about the war in Iraq. It was sad and confusing. I'm not going off on a political rant here...but I just don't understand the sense of using violence to gain peace. Puhlease, I realize nothing necessarily makes sense about this war...2+2=5 in ALL aspects...and we swallow it...but war to spread a democratic agenda?....isn't that like punching someone in the face to get them to be nice? I don't get it.

Oh and by-the-by, last night on the Emmy's, the Fox network (whom Greg continually expresses his disgust regarding their Republican slant) apparently censored Sally Field when she subtly spoke out against the war. She was saying something about mothers running the country which directly reflects her character on the show she WON AN EMMY FOR...and they censored her. I was in the tub when I was listening to her speech. The sound went out. I thought Greg changed the channel. "Nope," he said, "flippin' Fox Network!" Creepy.

[There are about 10 big tangents sitting in my brain. Probably why I napped so much this weekend.]

I talked to a new friend who had driven to D.C. on Saturday to march in a rally. He said when the world looks back on this era and the mess it is causing...he wanted to be able to tell his grandchildren that he tried to do something, anything. I guess even a yelling parade.

About eight years ago in L.A. when I was working at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, part of my duties were to visit the homes of the families of the interred. I remember driving to Northridge, in the Valley, and realizing I was about 45 minutes early (that in itself should have been the clue...I was clearly possessed). I pulled into a drive-thru and got some lunch. I drove by the home where I was to visit and parked a few blocks away so they wouldn't see me pounding a Quarter-Pounder before I talked to them about what they wanted to do with their dead grandfather.

I take a bite out of my burger and look to the right at the house directly next to me. And it BURSTS INTO FLAMES. No kidding. I happened to look at the house at the exact moment before and at the exact moment it was instantly engulfed. My mouth dropped, I held my burger and froze.

When I came to about two seconds later, I was on the phone dialing 911...which really is a joke...at least at that time...I was on hold for over 20 minutes while this house was burning down right in front of my eyes...I jump out of the car, cell phone in hand...I run to the house to ring the door bell over and over just in case someone in the house wasn't aware they were surrounded by flames......I run to each neighbors' house yelling for them to evacuate...I run to the neighbor across the street so they can call 911 in vain as well.

Looking back, I don't know where I got the gumption to do this but I turned around and saw that the four-lane, decently busy street had come to a complete stop with onlookers...there was traffic in all lanes in both directions as far as I could see...I ran to the intersection waving at cars and yelling "come on...get going...move out...let's go!!" All I could think was 'how are the fire trucks going to get through?!!'. I literally start directing traffic, I get through to 911 (they had already gotten the call) and eventually the fire trucks come.

The fire chief replaced my traffic directing with a trained professional, neighbors stopped coming to me for instructions and I found myself answering the new man-in-charge...a man in a uniform... "I don't know any of these people. I just pulled over to eat a hamburger." We look at each other oddly. How did I get to this point? What now? It seemed useless for me to stay. Everyone was ok...I was just eating some fast food...so...I said goodbye and I went to my car I had previously moved around the corner and left. After that I just went to my appointment. I wasn't even late. So strange.

My boyfriend at the time told me it was proof I was the devil.

Maybe I should go to a rally with Drew Barrymore.

O.J. Simpson is not in jail

"I don't know, but I have a hunch that what you're gonna find can't be categorized or easily referenced."

- F. Mulder (C. Carter)

I was standing in the middle of 23rd street last night. I stopped to take a note. Then I thought, "wait a minute, I think my cell phone records memos...I'll use technology!" I start scrolling through the menus. 'Voice mail.' Nope. 'Messaging.' Nope. Scrolly scrolly. I decide I should keep a notepad. It was 10:30p. Someone scary zig-zags by me forcefully kicking a squashed soda can. I look up. What am I doing? I put the phone away and continue looking for a place...wine bar-y...quiet pub-y...after dinner desert-y place to meet Greg for a wind down whatever. He's been in tech rehearsals all day and I just came from a friend's show that really wound me up.

I keep wandering, up Broadway closer to Greg's rehearsal?...no...too dark...back down 5th...across 20th...back up 6th...where am I going? I find that each time I cross 5th, Broadway, 6th, 7th...I look South. Huge, beautiful white beams light up the sky. I try to take a picture. My phone alerts me this option is full. I decide I should get a real camera. I keep wandering and feel myself hit an endurance wall. I've been walking an awful lot today. I just got over the flu. I'm exhausted. I leave Greg another message, "I'm sorry honey, I just couldn't find a place and now I'm tired. I'll meet you at home. I love you." I head West. I think.

Everytime I pass an avenue I overhear someone mention the lights. I stand opposite a group of well-fed couples on the other side of the street. They are waiting to cross. I look down the way and no cars are coming so I walk towards them. I hear a Southern drawl, "well, I don't know what we're waitin' for...she's goin'...". They all laugh. Cute. I notice all of the women have perfect hair. I smile at them and as we pass I hear one gasp at the lights downtown.

I keep going.

I come upon The 10th Precinct and some young cops are standing outside. My belly jumps. I walked this way on purpose thinking it was smart. I suddenly feel like I'm about to step in a church. Reverance. Respect. Relief. As I pass, I glance sideways and catch the oldest one's eyes. He loudly clasps his hands, looks at me and says, "Yes. It is a beautiful night". I giggle, embarrassed that he read my mind.

You see...I wanted to thank him and I think he knew that.

My brother told me the other day he felt like being back home was like being in a sitcom. He is having trouble tolerating his friends and his clients...as if their concerns can't be real...they have swimming pools and malls and cars and buy in bulk. "Dallas just isn't New York."

I don't think anything is.

When I compare myself to say...anyone else in the world...I feel this advantage...for getting to grow up in the USA. For winning the birth-location lottery. Yes, there are struggles...yes, good health is a privilege, not a right...yes, if you don't have money or fame or big boobs it is hard to feel worthy...but I love this place. Like I love my Dad and Superman.

I have goals in my life and they don't revolve around survival. There are such things as 'come backs' and second, third, fourth chances. If you don't see those chances the second, third or fourth time...SOME one will STILL believe in you.

First impressions last as long as a commercial. This is America, bitch.

I still want to be really skinny if I ever run into my ex.