Easy Rider

I have this theory. EVERYTHING is new to us. Every moment before the next. Ok. Not so much a theory but a fact. Let me start over.

I have this REMINDER. Of course there is a such thing as experience and as humans we have that one little pesky trait...learning...but when I'm rationalizing about my lack of knowledge or making myself feel better about fear of something in the future, I tell myself, 'we've never experienced this next second, minute, moment, day, week, holiday, party, hair color, smell before...' and I feel a little better.

Like I'm not alone on the roller coaster.

In a tunnel.

A dark one.

I hear other screams too.

You know how you don't really know what is happening when you are in the middle of it? Remember on September 11th, 2001 how we talked to people on the phone that morning, hung up and didn't realize we wouldn't have phone lines for the next few days? How we all lined up to give blood? And volunteers from all over drove in to help out the staff of the hospitals? And then, we waited. And then, no one showed up. Remember how we just assumed we'd see all those people again?

Whoa. I just went down kind of a morbid path to make a point. See, I didn't know I was going to do that. Or this. Or this...

So here is my little reminder for change. It is always happening. You can't really prepare for it except to hold open your arms and be awake... and hopefully be able to duck if you hear someone screaming in the seat next to you.

I'm Pro-Anti

[For full effect, read the following entry out loud a la Jennifer Tilly meets Downtown Julie Brown.] Maybe it was because I was just a wee zygote, but I completely forgot about filling out the 'Country Of Preference' questionnaire before I was born. Were the American Indians American before we came here? They must not have been. And they must have really hated America and Americans. That explains why we made them move to a casino in Oklahoma. Wait, that must be why black people hate America. They found some crazy loop-hole in our Constitution, the Constitution that Jesus wrote, and they shipped themselves over here from Africa so they could hog all the saxophones. What creeps! Not to mention the Irish and Italians, with their beer and their wine. I'll bet those Mexicans are coming over here because they just want to show off! Manual labor and English-as-a-second-language crap. ONE language Americans and ONE desk job thank you very much. That is how we do it here, Anti's! And those ANTI-British that came here on the Mayflower. Stupid. Definitely NOT American.

I think the anti-Americans in the United States Civil War definitely caused the worst problems. INSANE people who were just out there on that 'fringe' and changed things up for everyone! If things CHANGE then they won't stay the way they are!! Hello!!??

What If...

http://www.grizzlybay.org/SarahPalinInfoPage.htm

P. O. V.

My stepmother called me last night and left me a beautiful message.

She wanted me to know:

1. How much she and my father love me and support any decision I make...

AND

2. She thought I quit ballet 'cause my feet were too big.

Occam's razor.

Bin and Grare it.

When I was 14 I quit ballet classes. I had been dancing since I could walk and explained to my mother at the ripe young age of 5 that I was going to live in New York City to be a 'Santa Claus Dancer' [a Rockette] and a waitress [I somehow already knew I'd need the day-job...and apparently I thought handing out food was cool].

By about nine I had a massive collection of tutus as well as photos of me in said tutus; drawers full of pink tights with holes in them; bobby pins followed me where ever I went and many many many blisters on my feet.

I'll never forget the day I decided to stop. I was so flippant. After school, in the middle of a toe class, I remember being tapped on my legs with a yard stick by my Turkish Torture Teacher [Tanju Tuzer] and I recall silently crying while trying to execute perfect tor jetes for him. I adored him. I looked down during a break and saw blood soaking through to the outside of my pink satin shoes. I had recently lost my toe nails on my big toes and the bleeding wouldn't stop. That was a big day! That was equivalent to drinking blood after your first kill. Only I think hunters wouldn't shoot each other in the face as often if they wore tutus.

Quitting. I stood there in the middle of class. In pain. In blood. Feeling very sorry for myself and decided I was done.

Not only do I recall Mr. and Mrs. Tuzer trying desperately to talk me out of the decision, I remember crying a lot afterwards. I couldn't even listen to the sound of a piano, I refused to go to the Nutcracker at Christmas and I was completely and utterly tortured whenever we drove past the ballet school.

I realize now why. I was IN LOVE with ballet. Absolutely IN LOVE. Only, Ballet and I weren't compatible anymore. I think I've always regretted that I didn't try harder. I let a little blood stop me. I think I've always wished I was stronger than that.

But maybe I was just smart. Completely overly-sensitive and guilt riddled but maybe I had good instincts. If I was done...and continued to keep going...without passion...without that 'DO OR DIE' behind my work...what would be the point? And I probably wouldn't have been "successful". There aren't many dilettante ballerinas. Hunters, yes....but you have to complete control of your mind, of every muscle, not to mention every emotion in your body if you want to be a dancer. And even then you probably won't 'make it'. I sound like such a nay-sayer but it is the reality. You better be prepared to love it enough to give up everything else. You better be prepared to love it enough to be a "failure". I just didn't.

Too proud to go back? Perhaps. Lord [and many others] know I've quit things before in the same fashion. But those quick, jump-off-the-cliff-with-out-looking-below-me choices did start to add up and collectively did a number on me a few years back. I found myself completely numb and unable to make any choices at all for fear I'd have terrible consequences to face...

...or worse...

REGRET.

But you HAVE to go forward or you get stale. You have to make a choice. Apathy kills.

I've spent the last five years saying I was quitting acting...then going back for just one more hit. A friend recently described what I was doing was like running into an ex on the street...you haven't talked in a while...you go out again...you make love again...you can't for the life of you recall why you broke up in the first place. Then he does that thing you hate that makes you cry and your eyes open up and you remember why you ran away.

So after you gather your senses, you turn around and look back at all of the things you stomped on and ignored to get back to this SAME place. You try to pick up the pieces you dropped, dust them off and give another go at the new thing. The thing that ain't a quick fix so it seems boring and hard compared to...well...dropping everything and falling in love...again.

They say you can't quit a habit without replacing it with another. I guess it is why drugs are so tough. How do you get the same buzz with out that pill...that needle...THAT STAGE...THAT AUDIENCE....THAT APPLAUSE!!!!!

Effort. Hard work. It is actually more difficult to inspire yourself to stay focused 'cause nobody else will do it for you and nobody will blame you for taking the shortest route to get 'what you want'. But I don't want to hit the fast-forward through the commercials in my life anymore. I want to take a look at them and learn a little bit about choice. Define my life. Be awake and aware and maybe challenge myself. And I also want to be realistic. I want 'it all'. I don't want ONE thing. The one thing that consumes me completely when I'm with it. And frankly I've stopped allowing myself to be consumed...so what good does that do? Do EVERYTHING 100%, but first make sure you want to do it. Right?

I sadly sadly sadly, heartbrokenly, listening to sad songs and not eating enough, hating all the happy people in the world decided I am quitting acting once and for all. I love you Thespis. It's not you, it's me.

And I suppose there is a chance I'll regret it. But I think I won't. I really did try. I really did give it a go in every way I knew how. And I just didn't want to give up certain things and work hard enough. And you know what? Maybe I am smart.


I will miss it so very very much. It will always be a part of me.

Just like the way my toenail grows a little funny at the tip.

I like little frogs.

I really really wanted to post something today.

Where does the time go??

One Man's Trash...

I'm walking down the street. Sunny day. Saturday. Greg at my side, Stewart attached to the leash attached to my arm. Coffee in hand. We are having a pleasant stroll. The air is nice. It smells like when school is about to start. We stop and chat with the 'someone' we ALWAYS run into when we are out walking the dog. I like to tease Greg about this. We live in a spot in Manhattan that everyone seems to visit on a regular basis and Greg knows a lot of these people. Before I lived here I visited the area mostly for Happy Hours.

We continue West toward the water. We are thinking of going to the park or the dog run. Stewart is thinking about what that tree smells like. I'm not sure why, but we are either walking slowly or have just stopped for a moment. Just the three of us, our little family, on a fairly empty street.

We hear a loud cracking sound over our heads as if a large tree branch is beginning to fall. Neither Greg nor I look up. We simply pause and as we see and feel debris falling around us we slowly crouch down into our own separate fetal positions. Looking back, we now laugh that is was not instinct for either of us to protect each other or the dog. We didn't even think far enough to see what was falling. We just went down.

We hear a lot of screaming and yelling from afar. Something slams on my head. I peek up and see a brick crash and crumble on the ground. We hear a woman yell, "RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN!", we wait a minute and then we do. We bolt across the street and look back at what everyone else who has come out of their apartment, stopped his jogging, pulled over, stuck her head out of the window or jumped out of the van for....

The top of the brick facade of the building we were standing directly under just came off the building. Fell off the building. Came unstuck, unglued, uncemented, peeled off and forward and came crashing down all around us. Around us. How did we survive this?? Except for a couple of scrapes and a bruise on Greg, a minor bump on my noggin...and a bloody paw...[poor little guy]... we realized that our slow, INSTINCTual reactions probably saved our lives. Had we actually "RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! etc..." we would have surely been killed.

We were standing directly under the ladder to the fire escape.

The police came and gave us some paperwork. We headed back home to call our parents. Instinct. We stayed in and watched a movie that night. Now there is scaffolding in front of the place and this morning when I started to jog under it I pulled to the right and Stewart and I ran on the other side of the street. Boycott.

Believe it or not [if you do, it could explain a lot about how I think], this is the second time I've been walking in this city and a piece of a building fell off and hit me on the head. The first time was much more frightening as I was by myself and I was knocked out. When I came to, I was standing in the center of a ring of Asian construction workers and for a good 15 seconds I had no idea where I was or how I'd gotten there. I burst into tears and they stood there silently staring at me. I busted through them Red Rover style and went into the building that attacked me. Not a single soul spoke English nor was interested in assisting me.

I'm not sure I would have helped me either. Not in this city. I was crying and yelling at anyone who would listen. I calmed down when I realized the hilarity of my behavior and that I was actually just fine. I walked out the door...and called my mom. Instinct.

So, here I am on my lunch hour feeling overwhelmed with the urge to share this with the world. Especially after I get an email from a dear friend I haven't seen in years. She sent me a picture of her new babies. I got teary over their cuteness.

I'm 35. I get choked up over anything newly born. Instinct.