Disection of a Run - or alternately - If You Build It and They DON'T Come Does It Actually Exist

I've been mulling the experience I have had this year of doing my original play, "4 at 40: Mothers' Letters To Their Daughters" in an art gallery for a performing space. It was a first experiment for the gallery in theatre and as first experiments go it was a mixed bag.

But we will slog on and take what we have learned hopefully and be able to apply it to the next play which will start in Feb. at the odd run, but much shorter than my own, of two performances a month for five months. I performed my play two performances a month this year in April, May, June, September, October and November. Each month it was a new struggle to get publicity and listings in the local weekly. Unhelpfully the weekly did not publish our listing - one month printing absolutely no local listings at all and the following month randomly selecting listings. That did nothing for our audience turnout let me tell you. On my second to last performance my brother-in-law was the only one in the audience who hadn't seen it already....

Which brings me to my semi-point. If you are talented for no one are you really? If I give a brilliant performances in the mirror, am I still brilliant? For years I had struggled the actor's struggle that is if you have no venue, no play, no audience you have no performance, you only have you being ridiculous in afforementioned mirror. I suppose musicians are largely in the same boat. You could be a brilliant songwriter but if no one ever hears your songs then you are what? Without recognition and the ever so important audience, are you really a performance or just a fool?

And then there are those performances where you feel like so much a trained monkey for an audience that you know is not so much valuing you as being patronizingly charmed by you. There have been some nights on stage where I have almost expected coins to come hurling my way.

This is an odd inner struggle. On the one hand I dread the prospect of there being an audience at all. On the other hand I feel foolish if there is not one, or rather not enough of one to give them and yourself the distance of anonymity. If there are too many of the audience they feel safe their laugh or cry will not be singled out for ridicule and likewise if you are performing in front of a happy and appreciative audience then one is certainly enough - but you can't get passed the odds game - more audience members, more likely to be a good audience.

Sean Penn so succinctly described this strange state of the performer when he said in a recent Iconoclasts that he tries to hide from the rest of the crew on a movie set how much he really dreads performing. And yet he still does it. On a much smaller scale, of course, I feel the same. I dread performing and I am compelled to do it. And then there are times when it is joyful and times when that slides toward trained monkey.

I've been trying to figure out the lessons in this experience. One is that when I do my own projects in my own way I feel successful. I feel proud of myself. Whether "4 at 40" was a success depends upon how it is judged. We sold out the house only once to a private audience, which was great. We got good turnout about half the time and little turnout the rest. It was reviewed glowingly but the review gave us very little by way in bump in sales. Every audience member who stayed after to speak with me was thrilled and moved to have seen the show. And that was probably half at least... so it's really six of one, half a dozen of the other.

I guess it is good that I just did it. I proved to myself that I could take on the whole thing. I would have loved for the audience to have been full every night - and we certainly would have been much fuller each night if all those who had promised to attend had. But at the same time I know what we are trying to do is, in this place, unprecidented. If we were in LA or SF or NY or even Seattle or Chicago people would have just scoffed "What, theatrical performance in a gallery space, how droll, how yesteryear, how been there done that!" But in Palm Springs people just really can't wrap their minds around it.

What we have out here is solidly and proudly 'community theatre' and what we are trying to do is professional theatre in a very small space, with original plays, with high performance level... one wouldn't think that would be a stretch of the imagination but I get the sense that people don't really believe it's real yet.

Ah, life and career. Again and probably over and over I will wonder, does my best work go unseen? Is it ME who fails to attract and audience? Do I just not know HOW to work the publicity machine? If an actor falls off stage but no one is in the audience, does he make a sound as he hits the front row seats?

Crunch Time

SO, I am working on thisradio show demo for a spiritual advisor and trying to find ways to reach potential callers and have gotten exactly... 3. Half of what I need.

So here is my plea to you blogosphere - if you would like to speak to a spiritual advisor, or know someone who might, about any ole thing: say, you can't stop biting your fingernails and you don't know why (if only she took 3 year olds!) or just broke up with someone and can't get over it, or have some sort of recurring illness and you want to know what in the bloody hell it all means - please let me know.

Taping will take place on November 29, 2007 between 12:30 pm and 3:30 pm (that's Pacific/California time). We can call anywhere in the US, no problem. Just post a comment here with an email address (if I don't have it) and I will get in touch with you.

Let me know soon, as ah time is ah tickin'. Eeeeek! Crunch!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Wednesdays...

...tell me whaa ah don' lawk weddd-days, tell me whaa...

Oh well, doesn't go as well as 'Mondays' but you get the idea.
Boomtown Rats everyone.... prescient...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POl4vFp-5os

Aaaaaanyway, not as dramatic as all that but I do seem to have tough Wednesdays... I've been thinking about writing this blog for several weeks and it seems I keep having news things to complain about each Wednesday that passes (to be clear this is a bitching monoblog so stop reading if too irritating).

Most people are likely to suffer from heart attacks on Mondays - or so I have heard research has shown - we can infer from the day of the week because they don't want to go to their jobs... But I relish getting out of the house and to the distraction of the job on Wednesdays.

Number One: Wednesdays are early days for S.O.v.1 at kindergarten. All the kindergarten classes start at 8:20 am on Wednedays. As S.O.v.1 is in the afternoon class we are accustomed to leisurely making our way out of the house to school. But Wednesdays mean I have to wake up at 6:30 am which means I have just gotten back to sleep since the last time I woke up in the middle of the night either to get milk for S.O.v.2, to quell a nightmare, or the ever popular just because. I never feel as if I have gotten enough sleep anyway so 6:30 just seems insulting.

Then because we have to hustle there is usually a fuss from S.O.v.2. It is generally a shoe issue but sometimes it involves a snack or clothing choice or fuss over what to eat - or eating at all which if she wins means even bigger fuss as her blood sugar plunges. I get irritated, S.O.v.1 gets irritated because he hates to be late to school (lest he be the one to screw up the all present and on time popsicle party offered for every class with perfect attendance at the end of the month), S.O.v.2 is already irritated and probably dirty at this point from flinging herself to the ground and tear stained... oh wait, that part's usually me.... It all usually ends with the mommy-handling of the girl as I wrestle her into her car seat because if we don't leave NOW then there is no way to be on time... Strapped in, mad dash to school with some questionable driving and then a run to the school from our hard won parking spot way too far away from the gate. Then after S.O.v.1 is safely ensconced in his classroom there is some more fuss from S.O.v.2 because she hasn't had a chance to play on the playground. Then there is the public humiliation of picking up a kicking and screaming 3 year old from the ground and me trying to calmly explain that if she had just put on what I chose for her to wear, since she decided that mama should choose this morning, then we would have gotten here in time for her to play... hahahahahahahaaaaaa! Reasoning with a 3 year old, that's funny.

Then last Wednesday, S.O. got let go from his job. We are trying to avoid saying the F word, especially around the house. We are saying "Daddy isn't working at his old job anymore and is looking for a new one" because the stress freaks out the kids and then they misbehave. They are like little canaries aren't they? You can tell when you have been snipping at each other too much when your children start misbehaving!

So that was a pretty stressful day. But he got some severence and will get unemployment and silly me thought, "Oh well he'll be around to help me more with the kids for a while". And to be fair he did take them to sitter and school this Mon and Tues but come this morning S.O. has a migraine - his body obviously battling the sick all of us have experienced these past few days. But since he does not now have a job to go to, he was free to sleep until his meds kicked in whist I, sick, head congested, snuffly, spacy have had to slog myself to the one job we still have despite feeling lousy to get in as many hours as possible. I mean, we always did have to be careful about taking days off for sick or whatever because it does affect the family finances - ah the glory of working for an hourly wage (why can't we put congress or the President on an hourly wage with no time off for sick days or overtime or vacation days?) - but now it is even more stark.

So I've been coughing and sneezing all over my phone, keyboard, desk, trash filled with tissues. Luckily I am the only one in the office at the moment as the boss is shooting a film in FL at the moment. But you know, it was just a sock you in the face moment. The Gods or fate or kismet or the universe or whoever is in charge going "Na na na na na na" at me.

Now, tell me again why I don't like Wednesdays? I'll take a Monday any day...

Sleep, Interrupted

Just after S.O.v.1 was born D-Doll and WGD were over for a visit. I remember asking them at what point you got to sleep through the night again. WGD said "We'll let you know"... I believe their boy was about 2 1/2 at that point... oi.

I thought of that at about 3am last night as S.O.v.2 woke me up yet again for milk or being cold or bad dream... Not that I was sleeping that well anyway. My seestor and her family were evacuated from their home in Rancho Bernardo in San Diego yesterday morning. The fire creeps ever closer to my mom's home where they all are. It could be engulfing her grocery store as I write this and I just got an email from one of my best friends who is being evacuated from her home in El Cajon area now....

And I just found out from Oprah the other day (where else would one learn things?) that I am probably experiencing perimenopause. Of course my mother had been telling me this the past two years but I was in denial. And who believes their mother anyway? It's just not done! So that is probably contributing to my sleepless nights (and also my sadness in understanding that even if I could get S.O. to agree to it, I'll probably never have another baby. But I should beware of what I say never to - I said I'd never live in this desert. Oooooo! I'll never lose this last baby weight! I'll never be wildly successful in my career! My children will never talk to me when they're teenagers! I'll never live to 100... maybe it'll work).

But I would really like to sleep. I have always had what one would call a difficult relationship with sleep. I sort of envy my seestor and mom, they can really sleep and love to. I have not been a great lover of sleep so much either. Though I do love the nap genre of sleep and can usually without much trouble. Maybe I am kind of an Einstein and have been resisting. Maybe I need spurts that add up to 7 or 8 hours and not all of them in a row. It's all of them in a row that I have real problems with.

And stress doesn't help. I first came to realize I had a sleeping problem when my mother was ill. I was 19 and when she was in the hospital I just was not sleeping much at all. It began to worry my then boyfriend and I went to the doc and got some 'sleep aids'. But then I'd have the sleep aid hangover, which if you've never experienced it, really rivals a tequilla hangover. I understand they are better now but... Thank goodness for melatonin. Even if it doesn't help keep me asleep I wake up less tired than without it.

So maybe my best strategy at this point is to embrace the "Sleep when you're dead!" attitude... if only I never had to be anywhere on time, that might be the perfect solution...

More Disappointment Machine

I have come to realize that you need to tell children what you can and cannot accomplish... not that this makes any difference to S.O.v.s.1 & 2... Here's the problem. They want all of you, meaning all plus more. They want milk and you to change the channel and to look all at once. Of course we try but it doesn't seem to quite work. Something gets missed, milk gets spilled and then someone is disappointed. Even the husband can get his share of it when something is forgotten at the grocery store or the proper socks are not clean. They try not to act disappointed but...

I often wondered what the meaning of the housewife song in the musical "Working" was. OK, let me fess, I didn't really wonder at the age of 16, I was pretty obnoxious thinking "Number one, I will never be a housewife and number two if I am I certainly won't be that kind of housewife!" - Never say never. Actually not a full time housewife, I'm a part-time employee, part-time housewife. For those of you who have never had the chance to see the musical which you should if you can, no doubt it is relevant today and quite beautiful, the housewife sings, "All I am is just a housewife" in melancholy tones. I realize what that means more now. You never intend to be something that can so easily be taken advantage of, dismissed, disappoint... You imagine that your house will be clean and tidy and your children just so too. That everyone will be happy and there will be time for a quiet cup of tea as the little ones are playing in the backyard nicely or napping.... You never imagine that the constant drudgery of things getting dirty, cleaning bathrooms, toys laying around and no one but yourself seemingly bothered by it enough to pick them up... You never imagine that you will feel as if you are working... for them and that your interests seem somehow subverted.

It's the same with any occupation of course. We are very few of us fully appreciated for what we can do but soundly reprimanded for what we might mistake. I suspect that with our society's rabid obsession with celebrity and grand accomplishments cleaning both bathrooms in the same day or totally reorganizing the company's rolodex to be more efficient seem somehow petty compared to birthing Brad Pitt's child, winning enough money in the lottery to be able to hire a nanny or your startup company ending up on the Fortune 500 list in its first year of existence.

Even my love, my acting, has at time felt.... well, there was one recent performance where the thought popped into my mind, "I am nothing but a trained monkey". So I think nothing is totally satisfactory - only in the final cut - we take out all the disappointment and boredom and neglect in the editing and life on the other side looks grand...

Speaking of hiring a nanny. There is no bed of roses either. If you are relegated to hiring a nanny it means you are working too much probably and dont' get to see your kids enough... but if you want them to have a good education, be in the good school neighborhood you'd better keep working... And if we as women have to admit we need help we have on some level disappointed our sex. You can see it in the eyes of your elders and your peers. It even disappoints to not have 'married well' enough to be able to be a stay at home mom, I have noticed at S.O.v.1's school. They are slight, the sidelong pitying looks and subtle but they are there. "Oh, your husband doesn't earn enough for you to stay at home? That must be so humiliating" they seem to say though they would never say it out loud certainly.

Any way you slice it something falls by the wayside and someone is disappointed. And forget being sick. Unless you remind your kids 12 times before breakfast that you don't feel well they will expect the perky and if you don't have it to give up there it is, the disappointment. Today, I feel like crap, so instead of dusting and vacuuming the sand out of the window wells I will play as vigourously as I can with my kids... at least that way I only disappoint myself.

Tell someone today you appreciate the little things they do... we all forget.

Random Minor Irritations

You know, I now - though I did not previously - understand why mothers choose to homeschool (or maybe just one of the myriad reasons)... because of the mommie politics. Even peripherally on the fray I already feel victim to them. There is a distinct seperation between Working Mommy and Stay at Home Mommy. SAHMs definitely rule the school and all school functions. WMs are second tier, adjunct unfortunate necessities because of their spawn and "we love the kids of course" but the WMs just don't 'participate' as they should. And I'm not even a full-time WM!

There is no overt commentary of course, there is only the, well, high schoolesque shunning and looks and... can we just all remember back to high school where there are clicks and rivalries and no one has to say word one you just know because you KNOW! Back when we were all less kind and forgiving and more attuned to the energy people throw off. You just knew cutie girl suzy was after your boyfriend because you knew! No one had to discover them making out in the gym. Well, Seestor and I have been exchanging shunning experiences since our 5 year olds have started kindergarten this year.

One would think that since there are so many more WMs that the playing field would even out. But what we must remember people is that there can only be so many cheerleaders! And if you are not one of them.... (ironic since both Seestor and I were cheerleaders in school... but this is a whole 'nother playground!)

Had more play performances last week. Friday, great audience. Saturday, miniscule and tough. It's so hard to keep just a few people with you, you have to work and work and as it is a solo performance there is no one to lean on or gaff with backstage and complain about the dud of an audience. Not that they didn't appreciate it... it just felt like they were holding their breath the entire time... didn't feel comfortable enough to react... As a result I was completely knackered on Sunday and have not really recovered since.

I was talking briefly the other night to S.O. about what a difficult juggle being a woman is. I mean the potential of becoming a disappointment machine is great. Women need to be good, first and foremost and not bitchy (although I am trying to help S.O.v.2 retain her inner bitch without being a complete one because I think it's always helpful to have her in reserve), sexy but not slutty, a good mommy without being fanatical or overbearing, a good friend without being nosy or uninvolved, a good sister without being nosy or meddling, a good worker without losing your own hopes and dreams, a good cook, homemaker, dresser, cheerful, clean, upbeat and sweet... and I am sure I have missed many, many things on that list. Whereas a man's item agenda involves mostly manly things (much to their own psychological and emotional detriment I'm sure) that are all, well, manly. The definitions of what a good father, brother, worker, husband, lover, etc. all look pretty much the same. The downside for men is that they all look pretty much the same... Women's definitions run to the schizophrenic however. It is a matter of switching gears on a dime and when you are tired or distracted or compromised emotionally the gears can get jammed up. Then you just don't function well and things get dropped... like the kids' dentist appointment that was supposed to be last week... or, oh, meals...

It's just not possible for a woman to be effectively tired. There is just no outlet. Vegging in front of the TV or football or golf with the guys is the purview of men. They need to be a guy with guys sometimes. I don't know why, I just know it works. It always makes them better at everything when they come back from 'guy time'. But as a woman, even when you get 'gal time' you can't really let go... maybe because for men all the gears are closer together. For a woman it's 0 to 60 is sixty seconds or something gets left behind....

The Biological Sound Barrier

I just watched "Venus" yesterday at work. I had absolutely nothing to do and couldn't bring myself to surf the web any longer or read another movie making magazine and I was being held hostage by the clock. I remembered we had a couple of screeners so...

There is one very lovely scene where Maurice (the Peter O'Toole character) and the young girl, Jesse, are in a museum and looking at a painting of the goddess Venus (spoiler alert). He says to her the the female body is perhaps the most beautiful thing men ever lay eyes on (pressumably his is only talking about heterosexual men, I would guess gay men would beg to differ). She asks what is the most beautiful this a woman lays eyes on. He says her first born child. You can tell by her reaction that instinctually she knows this to be true and will never be able to lay eyes on her first born, technically speaking (a pain women who have had abortions or miscarriages of their first conception no doubt on some level share). Whether this is politically correct or not it seems to me inherently true, and something mankind collectively has always understood.

It makes it obvious why men try to keep getting that 'first look' by being horn dogs and why women always want another baby. OK, before you all go getting your knickers in a twist I am talking in GROSS generalizations leaving the possibility and inevitability for a wild range of differences from this. But it also makes me wonder, if we understand this collectively, why do we fail to apply this understanding to our relationships. Any woman who has children knows that you are so in love with them that it is very easy to neglect the husband for weeks whilst steeped in the cocoon of children's love. And men, well they have these things called 'needs' which is really another way of saying "I want you to want me" Cheap Trick was so wise.

But yet we still fail to see each other's perspectives... but then we fail to see each other's perspectives on a lot of things. Maybe to be human is essentially to be hedonistic and selfish. We fight those tendencies because we are civilized... but we don't always win over our nature.

Hip Kids

What a day.

First thing this morning the kids and I went to a composting class in Palm Springs. We have a completely blank slate in our backyard, all sand with a few tumbleweeds. I have tried and failed at it before so I figured... I thought it would be taught outside, but alas, it was inside a classroom at the Police Academy. The kids did get to see live worms in the vermiculture display. They always like that.

Then it was off to downtown to get a cup of coffee and a pastry before heading off to pick up one of the owners of the art gallery where I perform my play to go off and do a local radio program. The kids came with us into the studio and did an excellent job at being quiet while we were on the air. S.O.v.1 did have to go pee pee pee right at the beginning so we had a rush business and then back to stump the play.

Then to the toy store for a reward for being so well behaved (or a bribe depending how you look at it!) then to lunch. By this time we were all quite knackered and so it was a long sleepy nap next.

Then after S.O. got home we all dressed up and went off to the art gallery's season opening show. They loved looking at all the paintings. They even requested to go see the art in the other gallery's in the building who were also open.

Wow. I certainly hope they will be as well rounded as it seems like they are already!

They Still Don't Get It

They, men, still don't get it how easy it is for them to walk out the front door. I am speaking in general terms here, of course. I mean, they don't understand how loose their responsibilities hang on them.

S.O.v.1 started school this week. It's a big time for him... and for me. Probably more for me than him. It means one of my responsibilities hangs just a little farther from me and in good, capable hands for a time during the day. Most of those hands feminine.

As liberated as we are women still bear the brunt of the responsibility for all things house and children. If a man leaves a thing undone he knows with some unconscious certainty that it will get done, somehow, and by whom is not his place to wonder or know. At appropriate times they of course protest this fact and take reigns and Lord knows we appreciate it mightily, any sort of backup we can get.

But if you look around a school, and especially a parent meeting, what you largely see is women. This at least gives me some relief that I am not in the least liberated relationship - and I thought I was doing pretty good - in town. We are all smart and capable and worthy women, and what we are bound to is to take care of the babies no matter where else our strengths may lie.

I realized this week for the first time that women with children think not in terms of goals for the future reaching 1 year or 5 year milestones even. We look to when school starts, when our children's milestones of independence are met and so then we can loose the bonds just ever so slightly to say, take more time for ourselves, to reach our own goals. It is endemic. It's not just me. For that small comfort I am grateful.

Because when I think of my work life, my 'career', it is not in terms of what I might be able to accomplish but where my children are in their need for my care and attention. Men don't get this. Of course they don't live this so how could they know and if they cared to know they might feel badly, and then that does no one any good. Because of course we all know, whether we care to admit it or not, being a mother is a very particular bond and responsibility, one which being a father does not even come close to matching in its scope. Fathers are necessary but mothers are vital. Perhaps if men actually realized that - maybe if they all paid attention to who all the knumbnuts on TV say hi to when they get caught in the Jumbo Cam - there might actually be a Single Mother tax break, or a Mother Trying to Work But Her Child is Home Sick With Daddy Lunch Break, or a Sports Widow Vacation Allowance - really, that one is really necessary for a lot of women, thankfully not me.

The point is, as my mother reminds me often, the childen are attached to the mommy by a cord, an invisible cord that ties them to you until they no longer need you. A time which we all conversely dread and anticipate with relish. It is in a way a beautiful prison. Someone has done the walls up real nice and the guards are just lovely company, but you ain't getting out until it's time and there is no parole board. Fathers may be able to give us a break every once in a while but the babies will need their mommies until they don't, and that is just all there is to that. Might as well do good, honest time.

tagged

The Rules:
A)We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
B)Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
C)People who are tagged write their own blog post about their eight things and include these rules.
D)At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged and that they should read your blog.And here we go:

1. I am secretly lazy, even though I present as an A, ok well, B+ Type.
2. I still have ambitions to do something with my career (children not included, they are already something and unlike celebrities, I consider them personal, not career moves)
3. I still don't know how to post pictures on my blog and barely know how to post them on myspace... even though I am generally 'good at computers'
4. I secretly harbor the wish to have another baby, even though Al Gore convinced me I shouldn't.
5. I am secretly proud of being able to tolerate 'difficult' bosses, even though this makes my life intermittantly miserable.
6. I am wishing now that there were only 5 facts to have to convey.
7. I am writing a novel.
8. I am still, after many years, embarassed to say, want to be or admit that I am an actor before and more than anything else. I think I think it makes me seem desperate or less than serious or ridiculous - that's the worst. I never want to seem ridiculous even though I am convinced it is a permanent part of the human condition.

OK, Matt, Mommasita (I know you read my blog, so now you have to email me your 8), Seestor same with you), Arianna, Kate, Cynthia (if you have time, I know, baby, hard), Rick, Krishanti, Kadi

S.O.v.2 asserts herself... and loses

...for her own good though, of course. Miss decided that she didn't wish to wear clothes today. A notion that we normally indulge. But this morning there were workmen coming - new house: so, electricians to install the fans (it's the desert, you NEED moving air), painters to fix the chip on the entry and other things, yet another electrician from the warranty company to repair a buzzing light switch (you really don't want your light switches or any kind of electrical equipment to be buzzing or, sparking or speaking to you in any manner, that is decidedly bad), delivery men to deliver replacement dishes and a laptop messenger bag for me to hold my new laptop that S.O. bought me (to make up for a lot of bad Octobers in a row where we were too skint most times to even go out to dinner, let alone present) which I now write this blog entry on... aaaaaaanyway, she din' wan' no clothes. So, I told her, "Look baby, you should feel lucky that you have a daddy in your life to be careful of these things. You can't go around in just a diaper today, no way. Daddy would not allow it, no way, no how, not in your lifetime will he allow you to go around half clothed in front of strange men". She understood.

I always think it must be nice, to have a daddy consistently in your life for your childhood. I had no daddy in my baby and toddler years and I had a daddy in my adolesence but none in my teenage years. I can't think, now that I have a daughter of my own, which are the most important years. I am grateful for my father though (stepfather in legality sense, real father in spirit and substance) who gave me a sense that I was an important and valuable person in the world. I think that, in many ways, saved me and probably my sister too from many of the pitfalls of being a woman who was raised without a father.

But S.O.v.2's innocent request got me to thinking about women in society today and how there are no more protections for us, as a class. If there ever really were. Men used to make all sorts of verbal and physical protestations to the 'protection of their women' and we used to believe them. But that all started to errode with the start of the last century and especially at the onset of the industrial age. It's a sticky wicket. The more independence from men and male society we acquired, the more men left off the sense that propriety should win and the more advantage women were taken of.

I have no doubt that by the time the women's movement came about it was in no small part born of the understanding that society and men, collectively, were no longer going to be taking care of them... in any way. And men's response to the women's movement has been a passive agressive "screw you" to women. "OK, fine. You wanna make your own money, feel your own independence, pursue your own interests, go right on ahead honey" and then proceeded to let every gratuity towards women slide. No doors opened, no 'ma'am' or 'miss', no even buying on the first date! For you doubters out there I just have few things to say; "Girls Gone Wild", Internet porn, and .76 cents to a man's dollar - almost 40 years after the women's movement began. OK, you argue, "Those women in porn are consenting..."... ah duh, because they no longer have the option of a man taking care of them.... Any woman who has been a single mom can no doubt attest to the fact that men do not have the same sense of responsibility that they might have many decades ago. Empirical evidence does not recount the statistical evidence of women - and their children - living in poverty in embarassingly large numbers.

So, yes, when Daddy warns S.O.v.2 about men in any way shape or form I'm listening and encourging her to as well. Sure, my teenage self would have balked but I was naive and didn't know what I know now. As mothers of daughters, we used to worry about raising 'nice' girls. I propose that that is no longer necessary nor warranted. No one in taking care of a nice girl. No man is looking out for your 'nice' daughter anymore. Except her daddy if she has an active one... No, women, girls, are taken advantage of these days. Let them be bitchy. Every woman needs a little inner bitch in order to look out for herself these days... because Daddy won't be around forever.

And to those of you mothers raising sons, make sure they are good guys. I always tell S.O.v.1 that he should never tell a girl he is going to call when he isn't really... of course he is only 5 but you can't start too early.

Tick Tah-owk!

S.O. has been gone since early Sunday morning, to work in Santa Barbara - lucky him, 75 there 108 here. And I have been manning the fort although I could really use reinforcements. S.O. is due back NOW, about an hour ago and I need the relief. I need a shower. I need to stop saying "Don't fight/argue/hit/take things from each other or I'll... do something". And love them as I do I am tired of sharing the bed with two toddlers. I'm also tired of the tears for missing Daddy. It's hard and I am so thankful that he'll be here in just a few minutes... mostly for the kids because he makes them so happy. But for me because of afforementioned needed break...

This is nothing though, last summer he was gone for about 3 weeks total and I really began to appreciate what my mother did and why she said so often "Stop whining!"

Ah, tick tock, dude. I'm getting stinky!

You forget...

When you move to a new home there are several things you forget.

You forget how much everything costs to set up and forget the fact that you have been a customer for decades they will extract that $30 set up fee!

You forget that you still have things in boxes from the last time you moved and you forgot what all was in there. Oh! That's where that went!

You forget that when you move to a new home it takes time to get the layout and the navigation skills to get around it. I have so many bruises on my legs. And it doesn't help that boxes keep getting moved around. Poor S.O.v.2 ran into the door the other day!

You forget about the new sounds and the first and probably through to the fifth time you hear them they freak you out.

You forget how much fun it is to be in a new place and all the dreams you have of making it pretty or functional or cool or all of the above and you wonder why you didn't do it with your last home?

And then finally, you forget where the hell you put the extra toilet paper!

Moving Day(s)

You never really know how much stuff you have... until you move.

Ah, boxes boxes. At first it looks like so many. But as you begin to pack and pack and pack and the dust and the sneezing - hey, didn't I just clean under here, yeah like last year! - and then you look around and it looks like you have done nuh-thing at all... then you look at your supply of boxes rapidly dwindling. Oi!

But this moving day reminds me of our last moving day. Moving days when you were a DINK or a SINK (that's single income no kids, not a slur) are not memorable anymore. The only good thing about packing up is the anticipation of the new house. And in this case it is actually new and actually ours. I thought at times we would never own a home and look at us now! But I still have a little melancholy. I am remembering as I pack all the very helpful girlfriends of mine who came and watched S.O.v.1 when he was a baby so I could pack up our Hollywood apartment to move out here. I thought of Demondoll putting her own little one - probably on her hip most of the way - and S.O.v.1 in the stroller and going up the hill by our house in Hollywood. About Cynthia watching him while the movers took all the boxes and furniture away. I remember going down into the courtyard and seeing her sitting there with him sleeping on her shoulder. And she, a normally Type A personality with an equal mix of hippy, who always looks happy to be where she is but ready to get to the next place, looked totally contented and not eager to get anywhere at all. I remember thinking that she looked really good holding a baby. Now she has her own little 5 month old tyke and I am so glad for her and her hubby.

I remember the lovely, bubbly Krishanti looking after S.O.v.1 and that laugh of hers every time he would do something cute. She looks really good with a baby too. Something about a woman laughing and smiling with a baby makes them so beautiful.

This move makes me melancholy because it also means we are staying in the desert for the foreseeable future. As much as I love my life here I miss LA and my friends there. A part of me really hoped that we would be buying a house there for the first time. A large part of me wishes it wasn't so hard to get back there more often. Thank goodness Shrub got on the phone to jawbone those oil barrens he's so close to or gas prices would be impossible, not nearly impossible like they are now.

But the packing reminds me too of just how endless stuff is and I kind of wish we had less of it. I have been trying to purge the stuff as much as possible and yet the pull to keep things... for sentimental reasons, for just in case reasons, for unknown reasons... I am having a hard time ridding myself of certain baby items. The wedge I made for S.O.v.1 for when he slept in our bed and had a stuffy nose, which he did often. My breast pump (stop it! don't be gross) just in case... and the co-sleeper that S.O.v.2 slept in not so often but would catch her in case she rolled off the bed sleeping next to me most of her babyhood. I know this irritates S.O. to no end because he really is done-done having children whereas I would, if he changed his mind, have another in a red hot second (stop it!) and although I do owe it to Al Gore for convincing me that there is no real need for me to populate the planet with more people just like me, and it would be for selfish reasons, I still can't bring myself to part with these things... Just in case. I give myself credit for purging most (if not totally all) baby clothes though. We can't say the same for S.O.'s ancient and smelly T-shirt collection however...

Blohg blohg blohg

You know, it's been a while... I've been writing blog entries in my mind... does that count? You know, and then you get to the computer and poof! Blank. Funny that.

It's bloody hot. And I've been putting out fires. At work, at extracurricular work (freelance writing job) at home (computer problems again)... and so my mind is filled with all the little details that have to be accomplished so that problems don't flare up... and I get in trouble, see really there's the truth. I just don't want to get in trouble! Not that I've done anything wrong but anyone who has now or has ever (or who ever will shall soon find out) had a job knows you don't have to actually do anything wrong to get in trouble.

But the worst of course is getting in trouble with yourself, when something screws up because you forgot to do some little thing. Or when you forgot to do something you promised your kids you would do. Ouch.

And then of course there is the detail laden outer world where people screw you up (and you get in trouble or things delay) because they failed to accomplish some detail... oi. Example, our house, which technically we should be in already but documents got lost, funds got depleated and our file sat on a desk for too long before phone calls were made. Oi.

What can you do? Doesn't anyone believe in being organized, doing it right the first time anymore? Or are we all just too overwhelmed?

Reviewed

Click the link to see the very nice write up I got for my play.

http://www.thedesertsun.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2007706140323

OK, here's the deal...

I usually leave the political outrage to S.O. (see http://www.matthewfeath.blogspot.com/) but I just read an article about Hillary Clinton in Newsweek and they ask a couple of really stupid rhetorical questions (rhetorical because I can't really believe they don't know the answers, they just don't want to be the ones to say in print).

They wonder why, after 30 years in public life, people still seem to dislike Hillary Clinton. Duh, I think they answered their own question when they say the Clintons made a 'miscalculation' in in assuming that "America was ready for a new kind of empowered, ambitious political spouse..." (June 18, 2007 issue), except that they clearly misprinted (accidentally on purpose so as to remain PC) when they put in 'spouse' instead of 'wife'.

To steal some early Clinton rhetoric, "It's the gender stupid". Come on, if it walks like a duck... Can we just say it out loud. We, America, are not ready for a female president. We are just not. There are thousands of board rooms and conference rooms where women are leading the meeting as we speak that can attest to this fact. As long as they (the women leaders) are being nice and encouraging all the men in the room get that nice gushy feeling inside (and some might even be feeling so gushy they are also thinking, "I could do her") but the minute she-leader starts to exude some power, some influence, some dissatisfaction all the men and probably many of the women in the room are reduced to 4 year olds and their jockey shorts suddenly feel three sizes too small. Men hate this. Ladies, try it with your own husbands and see if you get laid later. It doesn't work.

We've so disconnected men from their feelings and so indoctrinated women to the religion of self loathing that we can't really get outside the 'traditional roles', particularly on a large scale, i.e. an election. Currently we, as a society, pretty much have women where we want them; Paris Hilton in jail (how many porn fantasies in how many guys' minds across the country is that illiciting! Can we say, sexy, dumb, rich and now totally controlled by men in uniforms?), women at work and still doing the bulk of the housework and childcare (yippee for men, Monday Night Football lives!), and a self-loathing so strong and entrenched that there is not really much hope of it ever going away (exhibit Vogue).

It's not that we don't think a woman can't do the job, I mean come on, seriously. And conservatives know that we are so precariously emotionally positioned as a society when it comes to women in power (can we remember Martha Stewart, speedy trial, did jail time; Enron broke 2001, Ken Lay wasn't found guilty until 2006) we can easily be tipped even on suspicions of misconduct or harpy-ism. (Remember the old jokes, "What happens to Russia if the (female) president is on her period?" hahahahahahahahaha) We just really don't want to get in trouble with mom.

Why do the conservatives still hate the Clintons. Uh, easy, because any conservative with half a brain (and I'm not saying that there are many) knows that 'liberal politics' such as those applied to the country during the Clinton administration actually work on a lot of levels for many kinds of Americans. Conservatism works only for the most wealthy, i.e. campaign contributors. If you gave a conservative some truth serum and started questioning them they'd tell you that they are actually pretty liberally minded and did pretty well in the 90s. We all are more liberal than we want to admit because you can't admit to being a caring human being and then vote for the dude you really want to have a beer with.

But my biggest beef with our inability to face the fact that we are not ready for a female president (I'm not even going to get into Barak Obama, seriously if we aren't yet comfortable with women in power...) is that means there is a chance Hillary will be on the Democratic ticket for '08. And you know what that means! Can we all sing "Hail to the Chief" for President Fred Thompson, and Vice President Ruddy Guliani? And you thought Ronald Regan and George Jr. were bad?

Tagged

OK, so if your name is at the end then you have been tagged and you have to do as I will do following. Seven random 'facts' about yourself and then you must tag seven people.

1. I have been married 3 times, never thought I would be married before I was 30 as a kid but actually was married 3 times by then... go figure (I also said I would never live in the desert so maybe I should be saying I'll never be successful and have tons of money too!)

2. I have bunions - they are not what you think, they are misdirected bone growth, not like corns and can't be treated any way but to cut the bone and reset it in place - my bunions hurt a lot less when I heard that! Seems a little unfair since I was never much of a highheel wearer.

3. I've never seen the Grand Canyon or most of the United States but have seen almost all of California.

4. Despite years of singing lessons I still can't sing a whole song without losing a note. Although my only singing audience - my kids - do not seem to mind.

5. I grew an inch and a half between the ages of 19 and 26. Although my military ID says I am an inch taller than I actually am.

6. This is hard... um... I went to 'junior college' before going to 'real' college and that is where I met some of the best friends I ever had (i.e. Demondoll, Tony) and had some of the best academic experiences I ever had (Religion as mythology class, ISLS course).

7. Ah... mmmm... having trouble thinking of one more... hmmm... well, I've never been arrested though that is surprising considering I have nearly been about 3 times - and not for innocuous civil disobedience either, nope, I was involved in some shenanigans in my youth that are best left for my autobiography!

OK, you are tagged:

Matt
Demondoll
Cynthia
Kate
Arianna
Whitney
Mommasita

Oh Merciful Flu

Two weeks ago on a Wednesday S.O.v.1 complained that his tummy hurt. He said it was because he ate too much lunch at school, but knowing him I thought that sounded fishy. Of course, being the skeptic and probably a little bit merciless mother I suspected candy overdose. But nope, 'round about bedtime he was looking pretty miserable. It is that particular sound in their voice when they yell "Mama" that you just know means serious ick. So he booted and then quickly fell asleep. He was up the next morning and pretty OK, except for a small appetite. One down.

Then the following Monday night my stomach felt a little wonkey. But I just chalked it up to too much comfort food (Rice-a-Roni counts, doesn't it?) which I am not used to eating. Then the sweats. Consequently I spent the night laying on the bathroom floor with a problem too gross to mention but which you can probably guess at. Finally at about 3:30 in the morning I booted. For hours before that I felt sure I would but having been historically a 'non-thrower-upper' my body has become accustomed to resisting. It goes back to all the binge drinking in college and the years immediately after (well and a few years immediately before too, to be honest), which of course we didn't call 'binge drinking', that sounds oh so judgemental. We just called it fun. But I always thought the puking afterwards was unseemly and lacking in a certain dignity so I forced myself to endure the room spining and racous hangovers for years. Between moving to the desert (which has the most gawd-awful flu bugs that no person, practiced or not, can withstand and keep it down) and before that living in the Bay Area - a span of about 8 or 9 years I had not thrown up. That last time was a particularly bad night of homemade pizza - which, don't get my wrong, was great, it wasn't the pizza's fault - the red wine, the real culprit I suspect, and a few starter gin martinis. I decided that I'd never do THAT again! (Not the drinking part silly, the barfing part)

But picture me at the porceline, you know whatever, last Monday begging my body to stop resisting and get it over with... for about 5 hours... then finally. Whew. Two down. I spent the next day in bed, feeling mostly fine but making up for the lost sleep.

Then that Thursday S.O.v.2 was not eating her rice. I should have immediately suspected something because she is, afterall, the Rice Baby. But I was silly, I didn't catch on until literally seconds before, even with the large hint of icky diaper. She was in bed and I was just about to move her to own bed (she usually falls asleep in big bed and then we move her to own bed) when she said "Mama I cold" and fussed. Then urp. Ick. Three down.

That was last week and we all seemed fine and recovered which I was thankful for as I had two shows to do on the weekend. But last night S.O. finally caught up. He now is fine but spending the day in bed making up for the lost sleep he spent instead... well you get the picture. Whew. Four down.

Let's hope for no relapse and be thankful it was a merciful 24 hour flu!

Ups and Downs

Let me just start with the down, ya know, just get it out of the way.

The day after a show is always a low energy, crabby day for me. Exhibit A: After spending the last month being calm and consciously letting little things go I snap at S.O. for some driving (in my irritable opinion) snafu. The little S.O.s were irritating me with their non-listening, non-compliance behavior too. On normal days I just deal with it and move on, but on crabby days it sticks with me till quiet time (i.e. nap). I was really tired too. I guess I didn't really realize how much energy I expend doing the show.

I was slightly disappointed that more of my friends did not come out to support the show. But I imagine they will come next month... or eventually.

Ups

I did two shows over the weekend of "4 at 40". Friday night the house was bought by a friend and colleague for a private party. They were a splendid audience, memorable. They were ready to laugh and be moved and it was really fun to perform for them. I met some wonderful people after - not all of whose names I can recall unfortunately! And got some wonderful comments. I cannot recall how many times I heard the word 'amazing'. It was the kind of performance that keeps you out at the cast party till way too late on an adrenaline high. Luckily I am the cast and so got home at a decent hour. S.O. was kind enough to retrieve the kids from the sitter so I could stay and schmooze for a bit at the reception after the show.

The Saturday audience were smaller and more subdued. You must work harder when they are a small audience, harder to get them absorbed and on board so they won't feel self-conscious and can just experience the play. I learned an interesting and valuable lesson about contrast in performance - and that you need to bring the audience with you but you have to be flexible enough to give them what they need, to respond to their energy and not just run away from them with the show.

On our 10 year anniversary last week S.O. and I got a call from the housing program we'd signed up for to purchase an affordable house in our town. We were set for a house in the 3rd Phase - hadn't been built yet, hadn't even laid the foundation yet, but we had our lot. So the call was a shock. "Do you want a house now?" she said. So, sometime soon we should know when the close of escrow is and we will be home owners. Yeah! Eeek! Wow! Yikes! What are we thinking! This is so great! and all those other emotions that go along with it... panic and joy living side by side.

I knock around work for one more week like a single marble in the trunk of your car. All that space and just a tiny object to fill it. All this time and just a few undoubtably crap scripts to read. Well, can't be busy always, especially not out here, unless it is busy of one's own making. But I should luxuriate in it nonetheless.