My Boy

Today is Sullivan's 4th birthday.

Exactly 4 years ago, at this very moment, I was sitting on my futon couch, watching tv with my husband, my mother and my mother-in-law, waiting for my contractions to kick in hard core. I emailed friends and fielded phone calls from Norway and Isreal with frantic voices asking me "Shouldn't you be on your way to the hospital or something?"

It was grey outside and a little chilly. Around 2:00 I had some weird idea that I would be more comfortable in the bathroom. So Tom grabbed his stop watch while my mother and mother-in-law drank coffee at our kitchen table worrying that we would not make it to the hospital in time. They mentally prepared a list of things they would need- towels, hot water, and clothespins to clamp on the umbilical cord. She never told me this, but I am almost 100% certain that my mother-in-law, Liz, was thinking even further ahead to the new set of bath towels she would buy me to replace the set we would have ruined in the delivery.

I did not deliver at home. I made it to the (now sadly non-existant) Elizabeth Seton Child Bearing Center and had Sullivan in a nice, warm, supportive jacuzzi bath with Tom holding my hand and the two new grandmothers watching the skill of my midwife with befuddled admiration. This was definately not what their birth experiences had been like. It was idyllic. We had a nice, cozy room and we ordered dinner to be delivered while everyone cooed over our perfect little baby, Sullivan. My best friend, Sara, arrived (just in time to witness the afterbirth- poor thing) with the day's newspapers and a willingness to chip in.

Sullivan was born at precisely 6:00pm, October 31, 2001- just in time for trick or treating. He's been ready for it ever since. It was such a wonderful day and I would truly live that day over and over again if I could. Never have I ever felt so focused! It's the birth that nearly every woman wants and it made me feel like I did something right.

But, it quickly became clear that this was going to be so much harder than I could ever anticipate. Love is wonderful, but it is also hard. It is hard to imagine how much you could love someone so intensely and then discover that BECAUSE you love them you are going to have to let them fall down. Because you love them, you have to expose them to pain and disappointment. Because you love them, you have to lead them through the land mine that is life on this planet. Constantly reorganizing your urge to shelter and protect so that you introduce them to things that are hard, things that are sad, things that are difficult to explain and, in the end, hoping that they will see the beauty and the value of the world through all of those experiences.

We had Sullivan's birthday party on Saturday morning. We rented the carousel at Prospect Park and it was freezing cold, but Sullivan got to see all of these people who love him. He was so happy and he finds such joy in his friendships that I could see his heart swelling with each new arrival. I rode the carousel by myself at one point in the party. I was allowed to sit back and watch Sullivan delight in his friends and his friends' parents. As we spun around the calliope played a selection of Burt Bacharach tunes- how Brooklyn! I couldn't help but feel a little weepy. Not out of sadness, but out of hope.

A friend of mine once told me that it isn't tragedy that makes you cry. What makes you cry is your relationship to hope. You cry if you have it and you cry if you lose it. Well, at this moment, I cried because I had it. I had it all over, from my freezing fingertips to the ends of my hair and all the way out my icy toes. The world is just a better place with a happy child in it. For a couple of hours, my little family was in heaven with pirates, carousel horses, the complete and all encompassing love of friends, and lots of whipped cream on a soft yellow cake.

Happy Birthday, Sullivan John. May you always have as much love to recieve as you have to give.

Economy Crazy

I've been a bit obsessed with economics lately. For the first time in my life I have begun to understand just how fascinating it can be. I may have missed a calling. Of course, I would have had to have made an effort to understand mathematical and statistical concepts in school, but no one told me that they had an interesting sociological componant so I didn't care. I just thought it was for the eggheads.

Of course, I've always loved eggheads, but didn't want to be one.

Here is what is getting me all fired up about economics- the greater public is really not paying attention. Since the actual FACTS about the economic structure of our society aren't quite sexy enough and hurricanes shaped like a fetus apparently are, people are not paying attention to the economic forces that shape their lives. This does not bode well for us as a nation. Ignoring the economic factors that determine our very survival in a capitalist system means that we are all too focused on unwinable social battles that will only serve to re-elect loud, self-righteous politicians who pull the old bait and switch. Elect me because I say homosexuality is an abomination! But while I am in office I will vote for legisation that favors big business, wipes out the family farm, destroys social security, and punishes women for ANY choice they make! But I am one of YOU because I don't think gays should get married! Really? In all honesty, homosexuals living together and getting married does not directly affect too many people, but the corporatization of America hits you every day!

Take child care in this country. Business (which, as a nation we have decided is "good", so for the purposes of this discussion I will work under that assumption) has constructed a 24/7 society. As a nation, especially in our urban centers, we are supposed to be on the go 24 hours a day. However, child care centers (which are more affordable than a nanny, aupair or other, more flexible options) are usually only available from 8- 6. I can't blame owners and operators in the child care industry, necessarily, because it is expensive to run a business like that and there are few, if any, government supports for the child care industry. Why? Because, socially speaking, the nation is afraid of communists. Funny. There is an overwhelming need for affordable child care to help run this nation and yet we are all on our own.

During World War II when men had gone off to war and Rosie the Riviter went to work, what do you think happend to the nation's children? There were government run child care centers all over the country. Some better than others, but they were available 24 hours a day to support the war effort. I've read tales of a few centers that offered incredible services to the working mother. You could drop off your laundry, buy a hot meal to bring home, leave a grocery list and pick up your groceries on your way home! Can you imagine? So, if government could mobilize to help working women then, why can't they now?

Because the only women the government really wants working are poor black women. If you are white you should stay home and raise your children during those all important first years of life. Stay home, care for your flock, be a good mommy. If you are black you need to get your lazy ass off the couch and work. Don't complain about never getting to see your kids, we'll raise them for you. We'll raise them for you in conditions that we tell white parents are substandard, but for you, it's okay.

Economic assumptions rule our lives as Americans. Most of those assumptions are not true. There are more white women on welfare in this country than black. Yet what is the representative face of welfare? It's a black face. Who put that face there, and why? The socio-economic factors that allow black culture and white culture to be two separate entities in this nation also allow us to demonize the "other". This way we can accept getting rid of welfare because the face is not the same as ours. This has meaning in our lives. This has meaning for government. Government cannot get rid of gays or shove them back into the closet. Government cannot outlaw Jews or Muslims or anyone else that makes you uncomfortable. (I hope not!) But government CAN destroy your farm, make it more difficult for you to work, determine the minimum wage, and provide the basic economic framework for this nation. So, why are we busy arguing over these social issues that truly affect so few of us?

Because it elects Republicans and favors big business. Big business wants your money, your time, your loyalty and your blood. And they want it cheap.

Don't let them have it.

Tipping

I'm sick of tipping. It's kind of embarassing. I don't mind leaving a tip for a waitron, because 9 times out of 10 I just leave it on the table and that is that. But the person behind the counter at the coffee shop- she just pushed a button and put coffee in a cup. Do I really need to tip her 15%? Then I feel like a total schmuck if she sees me drop in my money but feel her bitter resentment if I don't drop in my money. Then, if I tip one time then return to the same coffee shop, am I required to tip again? It's a few quarters!

Then there's grocery delivery, cab drivers, sky caps, etc. I've actually stopped ordering my groceries online because Fresh Direct changed their no tipping policy to a you can tip if you experience "exceptional service" policy. They are schlepping boxes up one flight of stairs. Aside from not dropping or breaking anything, what else can they do for me? Then, I am afraid I am the "chick who doesn't tip" so my food is always delivered at the latest moment possible! That's extortion! I can't tip the customer service reps or the people who actually pack up my groceries and get the order right, so why do the drivers get all the goodies? And they look at you expectantly like Pavlov's dogs. I just feel guilty about it, but I hate tipping.

I used to live on tips. I was a waitress. I know what it is like. But I think it is grossly unfair that the consumer has to factor in these 'surprise' expenses because our workers- the backbone of our society- do not get paid a living wage! But then, I am also freaked out about raising the minimum wage because that could drive the small businesses that try to hold their own against Wal-Mart out of business. Well, I don't want that! But it is a cyclical thing in my world. I don't make enough money. I can't afford to do much and sometimes when I factor in the tip I find I cannot afford to go out to eat, have my groceries delivered, take a cab home when it is just too late and I am too drunk, get a facial or a massage or a pedicure, or any of the number of things that require tipping. This means I stay home and do something cheaper. (Free) and my money doesn't get spent in area businesses. Which in turn means that other workers don't get paid as much because there is only so much money going into a business and then they need to rely on tips and cannot make enough to get by. Then they have to avoid eating out, taking a cab, having their groceries delivered...

If you want to read a depressing book about the proletariat that will turn you into a commie pinko socialist, read the book "Rickshaw". I forget the author, but it is a rather grim Chinese (I believe) novel about a man who dreams of running his own rickshaw and how his life is a series of small successes and huge failures that threaten his ability to survive in a market driven society.

I bet he really needed the tips too.

Accountablility!

Another thing that sticks in my craw is irresponsible beak flappers. So many people (including some good friends of mine) like to be racy, ignorant, or out and out crude not out of any conviction or even lightly held belief, but just to fucking hear themselves talk. Hey, in private everyone does it. Even me. Well, it's one thing to get that over dinner or drinks (annoying, but it can be dealt with) but when I see people in the public eye doing it, it just pisses me off!

A few nights ago I was watching Adam Carolla, and dude, he's a fucking beak flapper if there ever was one. He can be slightly amusing from time to time, but for the most part I just think he's a dick. Anyway, he was talking with Danny Banaduce and they were just throwing away some stupid comments ( I can't even really remember what it was about, but I vaguely remember something misogynistic- that would not be out of character) and then they both started laughing and Bonaduce says "You know, I don't really care what I say..." and Carolla laughs and agrees. What an obnoxious display of ego! I can say whatever load of shit I want to say and I don't have to be accountable for what I say because I'm an entertainer.

Okay- don't fucking go there. I am not suggesting we limit anyone's speech. Do NOT fucking go there! I'm saying that I am disgusted with the careless manner with which we, as Americans, communicate. It is my own view that as an artist I should be a communicator. It is my job to communicate thoughts, feelings and ideas to my audience and if I am misunderstood I have done a bad job of communicating. If I just throw shit out there, I am not doing my job either, because I would be abusing my platform and not practicing my craft. (FYI, this blog is not my only platform- I know my audience here is a small one and I don't have any illusions about that) Shouldn't people who have a very public forum give a shit about what they put out there into the world? I'm not saying Adam Carolla or Danny Bonaduce bein' dudes on a crappy late night talk show is really going to bring down Western Civilization, but it just pisses me off to see people being so cavalier with a solid 22 minutes of air time.

That and no one really SAYS anything anymore. It's all so empty or so full of propaganda that real people are lost. I don't mind fluffy fun, I really have nothing against it, but I know that even fluffy fun can mean something. Even fluffy fun can be smart and you don't have to be a PhD to get it. Farts and calling someone a whore is a real cheap and stupid way to entertain. Makes me feel all fucking Holden Caufield and I just don't want to walk down THAT road again. All I want are PEOPLE to inhabit this planet with me- not mindless, self-important boobs who only want to "push envelopes".

This reminds me of an incident while I was working on a show in Minneapolis. I was in rehearsals with two actors (of which one was the writer) working on some newly written pages. The writer of said pages explained that he had put this yeast infection joke in just as a filler and that he would be coming up with something else but that would fill in for the purposes of rehearsing the scene. The other actor pitched a fit that lead to an excrutiatingly long conversation where the other actor was begging the writer not to dumb down his script and that he should push the envelope. The writer was dumbfounded and told the actor that it was a crappy joke and he didn't like it and that there was no "yeast infection envelope" to push. It got ugly. The actor cried. Over a stupid yeast infection joke that really had nothing to do with the story. The thing is, so many people are out there crying over the lost yeast infection jokes while a few of us are actually concerned with telling the fucking story. Words and images should not be the battle. The battle should be content.

Give me some fucking content.

Namby Pamby Democrats

Okay, so Harriet Meirs withdrew from Supreme Court consideration. Pardon the phrase, but THANK GOD! What bothers me, though, is that the Democrats just have ridiculously poor judgement. When this President (who is, at the very least ideologically opposed to the way Dems would like to do business) is on the ropes, making dumbass decision after dumbass decision, do the angry Dems go for blood? No. They leave the dirty work of denouncing the President to the religious right. Dude, if ever there was a time to throw in with the far right, this was it. She is ludicrously unqualified and the Dems should have stood up and said so. I suppose they were afraid of the next pick W would make. Well, that's no reason to back a nominee by not protesting her nomination! Let's all roll over and piss on ourselves, shall we? Besides, wouldn't it be interesting to highlight to red staters that there are things we actually agree on? Wouldn't that be a nice fucking change of pace in this country for once? Agreeing on one thing does not mean we need to get into bed, but it does demonstrate to the country that politics are not as simple as the sound bite would have you believe.

I'm sorry, but the Democrats have got to get angry. They have got to stop being the guy at the party who just got dissed by the waiter and stands in the corner with egg all over his face in disbelief but still looking smug and superior. We all hate that guy! We hate that smirking nincompoop who doesn't stand up for himself but says snide little comments to no one in particular. Get pissed you fucking pantywaists! A little righteous indignation could go far. After all, you can't win this way anyway so you might as well try something else. Get pissed, get loud and get in charge. I'm sick of waiting for you! I'm your base and you are losing me. The only reason I am still here at all is because I don't see a viable alternative. Well, that just isn't good enough. Shape up or I will defect and just hang out with Nader for a while. You can't afford to lose me. You need me, fuckers so get on the freaking stick and have some balls for once! You are supposed to be a workers party! The workers of this country have guts, determination and persistance. Why don't you?

It is FLIPPING HOT in Here!

So, my apartment's heat is set to HELLFIRE from October to April. I prefer it to being cold. The first thing that my neighbors told me when I moved in was "Never, never complain about the heat. Just open a window or they will turn it off." I experienced that last year when another tenant let slip a comment about the heat. It was shut off for two days. It was miserable. So I spend my days hanging out in my summer clothes and trying to convince Sullivan that it really is cold outside and he does need to wear a coat. As I said, I prefer to live in Tahiti than in the Arctic, but every once ina while it becomes oppressive and I just need to say it.

It is so fucking miserable hot in here!

Revelation

Remember when you were having that particularly difficult day (week/month/year) in high school and some helpful adult told you, "Don't worry, I know this seems like the biggest thing in the world right now but by the time you get to your ten year reunion all the popular girls will be fat with, like, 10 kids and the jocks will all be balding with beer guts and nothing interesting to say."

While lamenting my larger than desired size it hit me... I was fat for my ten year reunion.

Oh my God, was I hot in high school? If I was, why didn't any of you fuckers tell me?!?!

Quick Question- No Easy Answers

So, Republicans are all fired up and worried about "Big Brother" aka "Big Government" sticking its nose into the marketplace and dictating the business culture from Washington. Okay, all that free market New Economy argument aside, I must query my Republican brethren; If you are so concerned about the rights and the privacy of (big) business being stripped by big brother, why are you not so concerned about the rights and privacy of individual citizens? You see, the sharing of information pertaining to the preferences/ incomes/ habits of regular Americans is often done without the consent of said American. And forget about all the nosing around the government (ahem...Bush Administration) has done in flagrant violation of our most basic civil rights! So, tell me...why is the concern not across the board?

Riddle me that one, Batman.

Oscar Predictions

For a long time now we have known what kinds of roles elicit the most Oscar attention for men. In our house we call it "The Rain Man" award. Of course, we could have called it the "My Left Foot", but the trend wasn't an entirely solid trend until Rain Man came along so what's the point of bickering about it? You see, anytime a man plays a character that is developmentally delayed, physically incapacitated, or in any other way infirm this would get an Oscar nod. Well, a new trend is on the horizon for hopeful women in the biz.

It's called "Looking Like Shit".

If you are a gorgeous woman and you dare to look like hell on screen you, too could win an Oscar. Of course, the only problem is you have to be hot in the first place or it doesn't count. And it has to look like real hell, not "movie hell" where you still have a little "come fuck me pout", but real stressed out hell. Looking like hell= Oscar Street Cred. Yeah, stardom don't mean squat to her 'cuz she gained 30 pounds to look like a normal woman! I've got an extra 30 LBS and a stressed out, tired mug 24/7. Where the fuck is MY Oscar?

Okay. I know. I'm totally kicking these actors in the teeth when they are finally doing what I want them to do and that is to be real. I'm not knocking their work, necessarily. I AM knocking the shallowness of the trend to give these little congratulatory back slaps for something that should be happening anyway...honest portrayal of real people in modern drama. Real people in the middle of real crises look like shit. It just seems so silly that that is going to be the yardstick with which the Academy will choose to measure female performances. It's coming people. Hell- it's here.

Plus, what a slap in the face it is to "normal" America to see what gets an appreciative nod from the beautiful people. "WOW! That movie you two were in where you played the retard and you played the ugly chick, yeah, that was amazing! What amazing depths you must have stooped to in order to become so painfully trod upon, retarded and unattractive! No. I didn't actually WATCH the film, but I saw the previews and you looked NOTHING like you do now. So it stands to reason that you MUST have been fabulous!"

Yes. I am going to watch the Oscars this winter. I may be cynical and jaded, but they're all so pretty and shiny...

Post Tango Wrap Up

So I've been taking tango lessons. I've only just started but I have already learned two very important things.

#1. As a woman, it is important to approach the tango wearing heels and clothing that shows off your assets. Lucky for me, I feel my legs are a huge asset. My progress today was much better than the previous class when I wore my usual dance/workout attire. I felt like shit, a big fat shit last time. Nobody wanted to dance with me. I didn't want to dance with me! This time I was belle of the freaking ball. Which means I danced more which means I learned more.

#2. Having a man lead, I mean REALLY lead is so sexy, appealing, comforting, and ego gratifying. Some guys will talk at you and piss and moan at you and blame every mistake on you but the guys who just go out and dance...what a difference. Some of the whinier guys just could not communicate their intentions to me. They were too busy ignoring their limp posture and leering at my breasts to guide me anywhere. At the practica this evening a gentleman who would not tell me how long he had been dancing wheeled me around the floor and had me doing steps that were way out of my league. He was also leering at my breasts (the girls were in good form tonight, what can I say?) but he at least knew what he wanted to do! I didn't question. His lead was so sure and so firm I had no choice but to just do what his body had demanded. He was either a lucky fool for thinking I could do it or a genius for seeing my potential. I feel better thinking that he was a genius.

I've done other types of ballroom dancing (although, historically speaking tango doesn't REALLY qualify as ballroom) and I cannot stress enough the importance of a strong and confident leader. He has to take control of the dance, his partner, and the partnership or it falls apart. Once he gets to know his partner, he should find himself automatically leading her toward the things she does best. Really, isn't that what a woman wants in a life partner? Someone to be strong and commanding, but supportive enough of her natural gifts to encourage her to display them to the world?

Now, if only that could be achieved OFF the dance floor!

Republican Insurgency

Someone, please tell me we are in the last throes of this Republican Insurgency! I'm getting so damn tired of being misrepresented by this group of zealots! Let me straighten out a few things about me and mine. Then I'll issue a few directives so that you can help me stop this damn thing before we start trying to punish Gallileo posthumously!

The Republican Machine (note I do not imply all Republicans because I do believe there are sensible centrists in their midst) would have you believe the following about me. Yes, me personally, as I am a typical, North Eastern Blue Stater who lives in an urban area. I'm a Red State Bogeyman! Boo! (Did I scare you?)

MISCONCEPTION #1. I drink lattes because I am rich (HA!) and extravagent and give no thought to throwing away my money on frivolities. My expensive tastes prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I think I am better than you.

TRUTH: I drink lattes and cappucinos because they are so tasty. If you think my little addiction is a whimsical one, you are wrong. The $3 plus that I spend for a coffee pains me greatly, but since my day is so jam packed it is often the only break I get all day. If I have to shell out a little money every day (or every other day) for the priveledge of a little time and treat for myself, I'm going to do it. It certainly does not make me any better than anyone else. I know plenty of Red Staters who have a hell of a lot more money than me, who have travelled more than me, and who have had better educations than me. (I- see what I mean? My grammar sucks!)

MISCONCEPTION #2: I do not do anything for myself because I have blue blood and have grown up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I'm a rebellious and ungrateful brat who delights in torturing good, stout, hardy, relgious Americans by supporting art that offends the basic American sensibility (Piss Christ, Mapplethorpes famous bullwhip picture...) and I have never done an honest day's work in my life. I smoke pot, have multiple sex partners, and don't give a damn about anyone in the flyover states.

TRUTH: My parents were well off by the time I was born, but they weren't always that way. You can't get any more salt of the earth than my mother who grew up in a farming family and used an outhouse (IN MINNESOTA- BRRR!) during her formative years. I know how to do basic home repairs, I can make my own clothes, I enjoy cooking- and not just stuffy French cooking, but serious down home fare! I am raising my own kid (no nannies, governesses, nurses, or activity directors in the O'Connor household- those jobs are all held by me) and I am BROKE BROKE BROKE! I have spent my entire adult life trying to eek out a living in a competitive and laregely low-paying field that is forsaking true creativity for plots pre-packaged like polyester kids Halloween costumes at Wal-Mart. I have scrubbed toilets, waited tables, tended bar, taught preschool, and been a nanny myself. I am an artist, but that does not mean I LIKE everything that comes out of the art world. However, I do support the artist's right to make the art they want to make, even if it is not to my particular taste. Actually, I find the "shock" art obnoxious and infantile becuase it does nothing but create a larger rift instead of actually delivering a compelling message in language that might actually change someone's perception. I don't like preaching to the choir. But I support their right to do it, because if I don't, my right will be taken away. I don't smoke pot (but I won't say that I've never tried it) and my sex life is no one's business. But, if you look at my dance card you'll see it has had only one name on it for the past twelve years. As for the flyovers, I'm from a flyover. I am dedicated to creating work that once again takes the focus off the New York/ LA mentality and focuses on stories that take place in the America I grew up in.

MISCONCEPTION #3: As an artist I am a bleeding heart liberal who does not understand how the real world works. I do not know the dangers that lurk out in the big scary world. I am blind to the threats of terrorism. I live in happy slappy la la land and therefore my opinion has no value.

TRUTH: I live in New York, fucker! This one makes me angry. Every single day these thoughts cross my mind: Will I get stuck in the subway tunnel today? Is my son safe at school? Can I get to him if something happens? How will I get in touch with my husband if things fall apart? I don't think we'll ever get another pet because if we need to flee the city and they won't let us take a pet it would break my heart and I might be tempted to stay. I'm not living a cushy life of luxury here where I can afford to be as deluded as they might think I am. I live one ring out from the bullseye, but I am not leaving. I understand there is a threat, but I don't buy the idea of "fighting them over there so we don't have to fight them here". Especially since recent events have shown that Homeland Security is an absolute joke and if they come up with a plan, they'll do it again regardless of what is happening in Iraq.

I recognize that I can probably talk until I am blue in the face but it won't matter because I am a liberal, female, artist residing in New York. I knew Kerry did not have a chance in 2004 when I saw someone holding up a sign on TV reading "ARTISTS FOR KERRY". Nothing could discredit a national campaign more. Sadly, I cannot reach America from where I sit. So YOU have to do it. Yes. YOU.

You need to talk to those around you. You need to reach out and talk to those around you about how the market is failing us! The New Economy is not working! Separation of church and state is vital for our survival as a nation. We need a spokesperson who is not from Massachuesettes, Vermont, Maine, New York or New Hampshire. Someone who can soothe the fears of Red Staters by being one of them. Someone who can convince Americans that the corporatization of American society is NOT in the best interests of the average American. Wal Mart is killing our towns. Corporate farms are driving American farmers off their land and killing the tradition of family farming. The Republican New Economy is actually destroying the life they claim to celebrate and protect! Deregulation and de-unionization is lowering the cost of labor which means that Americans who break their backs to feed their families make less and less every year. To add insult to injury, there is even cheaper labor available overseas and the Republicans want to make it easier for businesses to handle their labor issues exactly as they please without the protections that farmers and other laborers of other generations worked so hard to procure.

The time for a blue collar revolution is NOW. The time for women to stand up for their homes, their livelihood, their wages, and childcare is NOW. The time for working families to demand that No Child Left Behind actually means what it says is NOW. The time for cronyism is over. We need to sensibly fix the mess we have gotten ourselves into, stop being afraid of the fire and brimstone damnation of the Republican machine and call them on their misdeeds! I cannot even begin to list them all. NOW, we must take action. NOW we must fight for ourselves, our national dignity, and for the freedoms we were BORN to. Don't just watch the news and shake your head anymore. GO TALK. TALK LOUD. TALK OFTEN. TALK POLITELY AND SENSIBLY, BUT TALK!

Save my America. We don't have to agree on everything. We don't even have to like each other. That is the joy of being FREE. There is a little envelope icon at the bottom of this post. Send it to someone. Get them to stand up, get them to argue with you and wonder why you sent them such rhetoric. But do it NOW.

That Smites!

Throughout my lifetime I have only briefly and playfully entertained the fear of human extinction. I don't necessarily think that is what is happening now, but if it WAS happening, I sure as hell don't blame planet Earth for wanting to rid itself of these pesky parasites once and for all. Unfortunately, that does not bode well at all for my plans to become wealthy and enjoy a life of luxury in Tahiti with a cabana boy named Jeffrey.

Now the thought crosses my mind with alarming frequency as of late. My intellectual side refuses to believe such nonsense and I go about my day doing my activities as usual. Then my crazy primal self comes out a few times a day to wonder at the mysterious light in the refrigerator, marvel at the synchronicity of sundown and the streetlamps beginning to glow, and then I throw myself upon the mercy of a vengeful God that delights in torturing the masses in order to further humiliate George W. Bush.

You see, God didn't vote for Bush. That's pretty clear. I almost feel sorry for the guy. First off, God put him in a power hungry family and gave him only limited intelligence. Then God gave him a smugness that could penetrate and irritate rhinoceros hide. They say that God never serves you up more than you can handle.

Clearly that is not true in the case of George W. Bush.

If you are keeping track, this Christian President has kept a few of God's Commandments- in no particular order.

As far as I can tell, he honors his father and his mother. Of course, George Sr. was head of the CIA and could probably kill with a well aimed spear of broccoli and Barbara is a formidable creature herself. If you can imagine being mothered by a classist, power mad yeti you might be able to enter the mind of our current (shudder) President.

I have seen no evidence of graven images. Yeah, way to keep that commandment, W!

There are definitely no other Gods in W's world.

I don't know if he has committed adultery. Let's just give him a free pass on that one. I can be charitable even though DL Hughley seems to think that W and Condi are knocking patent leather uppers.

I don't know if he has ever taken the Lord's name in vain. Although, if I had been President during 9/11, missed catching Osama bin Ladin, catapaulted my country into a monumental deficeit, left my fellow countrymen stranded in inhuman conditions after Katrina, been caught leading my country into an insane and unjust war, watched natural disaster after natural disaster pummel not only my own country but others around the world, watched my nincompoop friends fuck up in every position I appointed them to, and then had to defend myself I think I might let fly a few God damn its! But, that's just speculation.

I'm pretty sure he's worked on the odd Sunday. He's President after all, you'd think there'd be a phone call or something he'd have to take on the occassional Sunday. Of course- maybe not. That would explain a few things, wouldn't it?

Hmmmm, stealing... is it stealing to take an open position that should have been filled by someone with outstanding credentials and give it to someone who clearly has no experience whatsoever? Is it stealing to guard an occupied nation's oil while museums, palaces and other national treasures are allowed to be ransacked and looted? Is it considered stealing when there are questionable ballots and voting practices that put you in office in the first place?

Coveting your neighbor's wife. Yeah, I don't think this one is really fair. I mean, first you're not allowed to sleep with someone else if you are married and THEN you aren't allowed to even THINK about it. Aw, come on...

No bearing false witness...do I need to go over this one? WMD, Brownie's doing a heck of a job, if anyone in the White House is involved they will be fired, blah blah blah.

Well, coveting thy neighbor's goods...I only have three words to respond to that one. Oil, oil and oil.

Oh, I almost forget the killing one. Does it really count if you only order men to kill and die for their country? If you facilitate the killing but don't pull the trigger yourself? Oh wait- I forgot, he was the governor of Texas. He's got enough blood on his hands to make the Nile turning to blood look like only a flesh wound.

Be wary of a man like this who claims God is on his side.

I Should Be Going Crazy, But I Feel Okay

Last night I ordered about $100 worth of party supplies for Sullivan's birthday. I ordered plates, napkins, cups, etc in addition to the stuff for the goodie bags and pinata. You see, Sullivan said it best on our way to the last birthday party we were invited to:

"If there's not a pinata, it's not a party."

I'm trying really hard not to go nuts. I will not be hiring an entertainer. Although for my own peace of mind I probably should because the job will most likely fall to me. Most of the time when kids get bored or restless I am silently elected entertainer or group leader. But, we've rented the carousel at Prospect Park so perhaps I will be saved from that role by the attraction of going around and around in a circle for two hours.

I'm not trying to do the competitive birthday thing. I only invited every child my son knows because I couldn't bring myself to cut the group down. He is friends with everyone in his class. Plus he misses his preschool friends, as do I. And, believe it or not, renting the carousel was at least $100 cheaper than any other space I could find! So I went with it. I didn't get a big birthday party when I turned 30 (bitter? YES!) so I'm throwing a bash for Sullivan.

I wasn't going to spend a lot on favors or anything, but I got such good deals on pirate stuff from Oriental Trading Company that I couldn't help myself. I ordered mustaches, cardboard pirate hats, eye patches, tattoos, and gummy treats shaped like skull and crossbones. The only thing left to order is the cake. Mmmmm, cake...

The truth is, this party is a nice thing to stress about. It's fun to think about the kids that will be there, eating the food, watching them run and giggle but it is allowing me to hide from my real responsibilities. I'm hiding out in LaLa Land listing all of my favorite pirate phrases and plotting to wear my skull and crossbone pajama pants in public. How nice will it be to have an excuse to dress like a college kid and be comfortable? But I have deadlines to stare down and I keep throwing everything out and starting from scratch. I have two other projects waiting on the back burner until this thing is over and done with. I'm having trouble finding something to dream about. So, I'm constructing the perfect pirate cake in my head because I don't want to face the horror that I may not be able to profitably function as a creative person. What will I do once this party is over and done with? Freak out over Thanksgiving?

Some traps are just too easy to fall into.

Coat Tail Popularity

My son has a lot of friends at school. A lot of friends means a lot of after school play dates. This means I am popular by association! We've been hittin' the play date scene pretty hard and when we don't have a play date, we are Lords of the Jungle Gym after school. Plenty of screaming monster action and parents exchanging information. It's good. I like it. A few of the parents even appreciate my sense of humor. Now there's a perk.

I'm so glad that Sullivan has these social skills because then I don't have to work so hard to be social. What a relief! Of course I don't really get to drink expensive wine, smoke tiny Indian cigarettes and discuss the latest in physics, politics, or religion (see physics) all that much, but I do get to rub elbows with grown ups for a bit. Not to mention how we are all in the same boat, comparing recent monster-related injuries and confiding in each other about how isolated we were before our kids went to school. It's nice to know that I wasn't the only freak who felt completely alone.

It's amazing how hard it is to build that support network when you have a kid who doesn't even rate as a "kid" yet. (newborns, babies, toddlers...) As much as you might think you'll be able to count on your single friends, you really can't. They move on and begin to find you and your baby terminally boring. It's no wonder people decide to stick near their crazy families because even though they may be completely out of their minds at least they are THERE. The devil you know is often far better than no devil of any kind at all. I didn't know how hard it would be to start from scratch. When and if Tom and I decide to do this baby thing again, at least I will have a few people in my life who can and will lend a hand or an ear.

That said, I don't know if we ever will have another kid. I'd like Sullivan to experience a sibling. I adore toddlers. But these last few years have taken such a toll on me. I don't know if I CAN do it again without falling apart. That's what is scary. Being a whole person is pretty important to me.

Ding. Lasagna is ready.

Happy Birthday Caitlin

My friend Caitlin's birthday is today.

There was no hot man whore jumping out of her cake. Unfortunately, the ladies voted for cupcakes instead of a regular cake. So we got Tom Thumb to jump out of the cupcake. No worries though. He's no super buff hottie, but I hear he's hung like a pony.

Happy Birthday, Caity-did, the Brazilian Queen of BoCoCa!

Public Service Announcement

I'm going to say this one really loud. Please pass on this message to all of your female friends because it is vital public health information. Look it up, if you like.

IT IS OKAY TO SIT ON THE TOILET SEAT!!!!

Let's go over this step by step. Okay? I'll hold your hand through this one- as long as you promise to wash.

The toilet seat is one of the few surfaces that actually get cleaned in a public bathroom. It is a hell of a lot cleaner than the bathroom floor which you set your purse on and then set on your kitchen table a mere hour later. (EW!) The toilet seat is one of the cleanest places in the bathroom. And even if it wasn't, let me make another argument for not hovering over the seat...

I know you are worried about how vulnerable your delicate parts are, but even when you actually sit on the seat (if you do it properly) your goodies never touch the seat. The human body is brilliantly designed. You see, bacteria does not crawl. It needs to be transported through contact, and even if you are worried about bacteria being rubbed toward your vagina by the act of pulling up your pants, please note how the crotch of your panties never touches the backs of your thighs. Unless you do something that I don't.

Here's the ultimate catch- the seat should be just fine to sit on unless SOMEONE ELSE HAS PEED ON IT!!! Dude! So, just sit your ass down and wash your hands for a good 30 seconds and you will survive even a New York public toilet without getting syphillis. I'm 30. I've sat on public toilets all over the country my whole life. Never had a problem. Unless of course you count the extreme irritation of having to use a toilet after some prissy little twit did her hovercraft routine and didn't clean up after herself. Gross. So stop it.

And wash your hands. It is a bigger health risk to shake someone's hand than it is to sit on a toilet seat. And if you're so worried about your goodies- think about the number of men that do not wash after using the restroom. (More than you'd think) Consider that risk during your next grope-a-thon with Mr. Pee-Hands and suddenly sitting on the seat doesn't seem quite as risky.

The long and short of this is: Stop pissing all over the toilet seats, girls.

Done and done.

Don't Blog During Cyberchase

It's hard to concentrate listening to Christopher Lloyd as Hacker.

I really wonder if adults who work in children's television ever have sex. I mean, isn't it a cultural prerequisite that children's entertainers be completely sexless? C'mon, who really believes that "Steve" from Blue's Clues is getting any? Even the new guy, "Joe", can't possibly be active. Don't get me wrong, he's terminally adorable, but he can't be knockin' Keds with anyone. Can he?

Now, I've entertained children and when I am in that mode I am all sweet. I'm sure no one who has met me in that mode has ever expected me to even know what sex is. (Except for the existance of my child- but hey- how about a virgin birth?) You see, that frustrated me. It wasn't just sex, it is a lack of acceptance that I could possibly be interested in any aspects of life that aren't all Raffi all the time. (By the way- I can't stand listening to Raffi- so pttttthhhhhh!) So, maybe I should allow children's entertainers/ educators the opportunity to have a "dark" side.

That's an inaccurate way of describing it. Sex isn't dark. We tend to keep it in the dark. Now, I'm not advocating that we start parading sex on children's shows or start giving them graphic instructions of things adults do after the kids go to bed. But, what if we could find a way to promote healthier expression?

I know that this sounds like a turn about from my rant about popular porn a few months back. It isn't. I still think that we glorify taboo and ojectify women in a way that is a lose-lose situation for everyone. Especially for kids. But what would constitute a healty display of love and desire? The fact that I even have to ask that question should tell me that this culture is a little twisted when it comes to sex. What do we- as a culture, not as scientists- know about sexuality? We know "dirty" when we see it. But what else do we know? We have a lot of assumptions about sexuality, but how many of those assumptions touch upon the truth?

This will require some study on my part.

More Things to Love

Turkey and gruyere croissants from Delicies de Paris on 9th Street. Yum.

Reading biographies, memoirs and such. In particular, Arthur Miller, Gene Wilder, Alan Alda. Mae West, and after I finish reading Kiss & Tango, I will be diving head first into some of Federico Garcia Lorca's letters. Should be fun.

Walking in the rain with an iced latte nestled in the crook of my arm (so I can carry the umbrella and bag holding the aforementioned turkey and gruyere croisssant) and listening to my walk being turned into a salsa rythm by the sloshing of the ice in my latte.

Pirates. Maybe I am noticing a lot of pirate things because Sullivan is into pirates at the moment. Or maybe it is because there is a quiet pirate revolution going on under our noses. According to one pirate book, my pirate name would be "Soggy Headwound the Incorrigable" or something like that. I kind of like it. Just call me Soggy, aarrgh.

The bandeneon. In my tango adventures I have really come to love this preposterous little instrument that sounds like an outdoor cafe in springtime.

Nuetral mask. For you non-actors out there, nuetral mask is used to help the actor strip away physical characteristics that are the actor's natural habits. This allows the actor to start building characters from a blank slate. It is truly beautiful to watch and thrilling to do. Liberating, actually.

Well, I'm off to ride a city bus and think about things that I love. It keeps my spirits up on a rainy day.

Tough Topics

How do you tell someone you care about that they stink? How can you delicately break the news that you cannot stand next to them because they smell of rotten fish, sour milk, and ammonia? They didn't smell like that before! Do I casually ask them if they have ever had severe gastro-intestinal discomfort or if they have recently discharged in their pants? Inquire about their daily hygeine routine? Or do I just come out and say, Dude, ass smell would be a delight compared to your aroma. Give me a roadkill skunk and low tide combo any day!

Well, I have a physical tomorrow. Should be fun. Hopefully I won't stink.

The Cruxt of My Problem Is...

A discussion with a casting director last week:

CD: I'm not sure what role you submitted your headshot for.

ME: You have roles for women in their 20's and roles for women in their 40's.

CD: Yes.

ME: In my experience this is what happens to me. I'll walk in the room and immediately you'll want to cast me as the pretty girl's quirky best friend, the young, suburban mom, ingenue, what have you. Then, once you know me and work with me you will only want me to play serial killers and prostitutes.

CD: Okay. I've got a prostitute role for you to read. How's 4:00?

I told my friend about this discussion and he laughed.

"You're dead on. I can't see you as anything but a psycho killer or a prostitute now. It's just the kind of girl you are."

Ain't it the truth, though?

Strange Distractions

I have an audition tomorrow and I have one week to come up with a sufficient amount of pages for this screenplay I'm getting paid to write and yet I cannot bring myself to do any of it. Why? Because my ass is just too big.

That's right. I am distracted by my own ass. I can't stop thinking about it. It is seriously making me crazy. I've been on the pilates and yoga trip. I've cut back on my latte intake (there are days I even *GASP* go without) I'm on the fruits and vegetables, but refuse to make any other dietary concessions beyond extreme moderation. (XXXXtreme!) My ass is considerably smaller than it was two years ago, but my inability to wear pants haunts me throughout the day. My ass is now disproportionate to the rest of my body and I can no longer wear clothing or go out of my house because I am just so uncomfortable with my ass.

Okay. I go out. I even enjoy myself from time to time. I am in a Tango class, but I am afraid that I was left out of many dances because of ass discrimination. (Or, perhaps because I am so ashamed of my ass that I was too shy to make eye contact with potential dance partners and signal my willingness to dance?) How is my ass going to get smaller if you don't dance with me? I'm saying ass a lot, aren't I? Get used to it, because it is really all I can think about. There is this constant stream of inner dialogue that sounds something like this, "Is my ass sticking out? My ass doesn't look so bad if I stand sideways...I wonder if I could only get people to look at me in profile? Where IS my ass? Oh, there it is- all around me! Is it any smaller than yesterday? Who'd know?" Oh, and Body by Victoria can KISS my ass. Didn't help me a bit. It just squeezed my ass fat so hard that it popped out around my knees. Fat ass knees are not a good look.

I know, I know, I never wanted to be this woman. I was one of those obnoxious people who never worried. In high school I actually needed to gain weight (thyroid problem) and had trouble doing it. Well, my thyroid is gone now (since 1993) and all those dinners I had of pure fudge and potato chips are coming back to haunt me oh these many years later. Throughout most of my adult life I've been on the thicker side, but it never really bothered me. I thought I was hot enough. Now I can't stop thinking about my lack of hotness.

Really, that is the issue. Not my pants or my ass, but my ultimate lack of faith in my hotness. On the catcall scale of sexual success I can only get the attention of oxygen deprived coal miners. Not too many of those wandering the streets of New York. Even fewer holding positions of power in a casting office. Luckily, the role I am up for tomorrow is a prostitute gone to seed. Dude, I am ON that one.

This is one of my deep, dark secrets that just about everyone has- I would rather BE a muse than HAVE a muse. See what I'm saying? And since Baby Got Back has already been written, what else could be said about me?

It really is amazing what bits of popular culture you refuse to ingest and yet, some day, you mysteriously end up regurgitating it all over your mumu.

Falling by the Wayside

A list of things that I can let slide (in no particular order):

1. Deep Cleaning- a tidy and a vacuum is good enough, so long as there are no crumbs or dirty dishes left out to attract critters.

2. Organizing all my credit card offers- those can just go to the shredder and I'll shred it whenever I get around to it. No rush.

3. Ranking things in order of importance.

4. Dressing to impress. Who the hell in my world (my home, Sully's school, the playground, the grocery store) is going to be wowed by a well put together outfit with "Mommy stains" on it? Whatever, I'm clean and I'm a genius, that should be enough for you people.

5. Low-fat, low-carb, no-sugar, no-salt diets. Just be fucking reasonable, have some fruit and veggies with that cappucino and move on.

6. Being hyper punctual. I'm always 15-20 minutes early. I have a fear of being late. But here everyone is 15 minutes late which makes me pissed. So, I'll just be 5 minutes early or on time and everyone else can suck my balls.

7. Seeking sexual attention just to see if I can still get it. At some point in my life I should have better things to do, right? Please tell me that there is more to life than having a mate and several back ups? Please???

8. Excuses for not going out/ trying new things/ or taking care of myself when I am feeling low. You see, my job description is as follows: I must take care of my home including the cleaning, shopping, scheduling of maintenance, food prepartaion (several times a day for 3 people), I am in charge of all social activities (mine, Sullivan's, and Tom and I as a couple) and this includes event planning (there is a birthday coming up and guess who is in charge of putting all the disparate elements together to make a 4 year old happy? Hint: it ain't Tom), finding and booking sitters,arguing the cost/benefit analysis for each planned activity, writing screenplay, research (including, but not limited to Tango lessons), self promotion (keeping up with auditions, finding excuses to talk to people who might one day need my services and don't know it yet), management of creative resources for upcoming projects, and, oh yeah- do something nice for yourself while you're at it.

It's too much to balance by myself. It is easy to get bitter when someone tells you that you have to take care of yourself when you are in the middle of this shitstorm trying to get everything you want out of life. There just aren't enough hours in the day and no one is really part of my team. It's just Team Leader Bree. Well, that's bullshit. So I am adding it to my list of things to leave by the wayside. Here goes...

9. Team Leader Bree.

All right everyone! You're on your own! I'm hanging up my riding crop and Jack Boots so you may fend for yourselves! I'm going dancing.

School Holiday Get Yer Groove On

The next two weeks are riddled with odd public school holidays. Today and tomorrow the kids are off for Rosh Hashana. (I'm sure I misspelled that.) Then Monday they are off for Columbus Day. Thursday they have off for Yom Kippur. This really throws a kink into my week. I was just getting used to life with my days free. It was nice. Such irregularity is difficult to deal with. Oh well, that's life.

I took a little Ballroom Dance refresher course this evening, which was lovely. I will be starting Argentine Tango this weekend. All in the name of research, plus I think it will have a side benefit of allowing me to enjoy moving my body again. I'll admit it. I'm a closet dancer. I love to dance. I love dance classes. I pretend that I am a talentless, three footed boob, but I can cut a rug reasonably well. I also forget that when I move well, I don't look so fat. If I try to hide my body under billowy clothes I look so much bigger, but when I strap on the lycra and move so the backs of my thighs can't quite catch up with the front I look pretty good. Plus, I have better posture when I dance. That shaves off a pound or two.

I also forgot just how much I love being in class. When I took Meisner in Minneapolis my teacher would tell me that I always sat through class with the biggest smile on my face. I think I spent two years at Circle smiling my ass off. I love class. I love the kinesthetic learning that happens in an acting or dance class. It tickles me and I can't help but grin from ear to ear. The thought that I could possibly come to an understanding about myself,the universe, or a time step gives me great joy. I need to be in class. I need to teach class.

But not now. Jon Stewart is on in two minutes.

Competitive Birthday Bonanza

Okay. If you have a recently or soon to be four year old in Brooklyn, I just want to say KNOCK IT OFF, RIGHT NOW!

Dude, the birthday parties are out of flipping control. I want to invite everyone and their dog to Sully's 4th birthday because I like parties. If I still had my Barbie Dream House, you bet your ass I'd have the world's biggest to-do at mi casa. But, there would be no DJ. No cotton candy machines. No light shows or fog machines. No catered flippin' buffet. No giant costumed characters. Of course that is mostly because I still have flashbacks and scars from when I used to do that job. I once did a show for a full 40 minutes with a faulty Minnie Mouse head that scraped all the flesh off the bridge of my nose. Then there was the time when I was doing Winnie the Pooh for 7 year old boys at a McMansion on a 95 degree day and got monkey piled and the holy hell kicked out of me while snooty McMommies watched and laughed at my misery. I don't mind a clown or a face painter or a magician. Just don't flipping overdo it, okay?

Here's a hint...a good birthday clown/ magician should be self contained. He/she shouldn't need an entourage to put on the show. It should be a solo gig. They should anticipate and have solutions for the inevitable cryers. In short, they should know their freakin' jobs. I've seen some good clowns this year. I've also seen some sucky ones. I wasn't a clown for long, but I sure as hell knew how to make my balloon poodles symetrical. No lopsided doggies at my shows. Plus, I also did cats, bunnies, flowers, swords, crowns, hearts, and, on one very special occassion, I made a balloon wig. I wasn't just a one trick pony. Some of these clowns are just too expensive for what you get...I ain't paying for poop and fart jokes for my preschooler, dude. They make enough of those jokes themselves without some clown adding to their repertoire.

Here's the other thing... STOP TAKING ALL THE BIRTHDAY PARTY VENUES EIGHT FLIPPING MONTHS IN ADVANCE! It makes us normal humans with lives look like damn fools three weeks before the kid's birthday. No, I don't have a place to have this party yet. I refuse to spend $650.00 on a four year old's birthday. Jesus Christ that is out of whack! I know I should have been more on the ball, since I knew it was coming and all, but I was always able to have it at my house. Now, not so much. What I wouldn't do for a back yard right now!

Sweet Employment

I love having a job. Even a low paying job. Feels so good. It is so good to have a little time that I am doing something for which I will be monitarily compensated- even if it doesn't cover my living expenses. Hey. Such is life.

I am back in a creative saddle and it feels good. My money job will be doctoring a screenplay, I just finished a rough draft of a play, I got a call for an audition last night (the first in blah blah blah years...), and I have to get my class and performance series running soon or I will burst. But, one thing must be handled at a time. I'm only one person and I must have time to enjoy things like Clue Jr. and apple picking.

Tom is picking away at editing the film we shot last summer and all we need now is enough money to live our lives. That's not too much to ask, is it? I don't need to be insanely wealthy, just comfortable with a little to sock away toward Sully's college/ roaming Europe with a sucky rock band fund. And pay for a certain personal trainer named Larry who beats and stretches me mercilessly, lets me swear at him and curse his family while he smiles and whispers "Good girl. You're doing great. That's it." I really don't ask for much.