A Polar Bear's Love Song

In defense of math and science and fact-based learning.

2011-06-28T15:38:00.000-07:00

Before I begin this quasi-rant let me make one thing perfectly clear: I am not the world's most factual thinker.

That's not to say that I don't "believe in facts," or that I don't think logically. I would be labeled as one of those "creative" types. I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that magic is real. There are no facts in the world to prove my knowledge, but I know it none-the-less. I guess I would be one of those rogue cops on your-cop-show-of-choice who follows her proverbial "gut." I use intuition as knowledge.

My monkey likes to make fun of me for this, sometimes. One day, I was explaining the nature of unicorns - she was laughing so hard, she was practically crying, and said, "Oh my! I love Alyssa Science!" And that's the best way to explain it. I just have my own systematic thinking on any variety of subjects.

This last week, while I was in Canada visiting said Monkey, she's finally realized that what my psyche calls "math" has nothing to do with actual numbers. She has a tendency to hog the bed, and as I was pointing this out (in an oh-so-charming way), I said, "You take up like, 2/3's of the bed!" her response? Hysterical laughter. Again. Not because of my incredible wit, but because my assertion is ridiculous - she has a double bed. 2/3's was apparently over-reaching and not factual. (I still think I'm right) Alyssa math: making shit up since 1986.

I almost failed geometry. I'm TERRIBLE with fractions. I got an A- in Advanced Algebra in high school because my teacher assigned lots of extra credit. And when I had to theorize about math in college, forgettaboutit. That grade single-handedly prevented my sure-fire accumulative 3.7 GPA. I'm better at science - at least when it comes to memorizing words and actions. But science has equations, too. Once we moved beyond the classifications of rocks and how they were formed, in geology; we had to figure out the chemical compounds. What? They're rocks. They're here! I see them, I can feel them. I don't need to know the stinking chemical compounds of the rock to prove its existence!

Now - with all of my idiocy, all my lack-of-facts theories, at least I'm smart enough to know when I'm stupid. I wholeheartedly admit that knowledge of both math and science is infantile. I KNOW that there are much, much, much smarter people who know many, many, many more things than I do. Real facts, even. As an adult, sometimes I read publications to try to understand these things - and sometimes I do! I like to know what's going on in the world around me - factually. Then I can contort it in my imagination.

Three things presented themselves to me today, and I felt something I've never felt before: The need to defend fact-based learning.

Exhibit A: Cameron Diaz wants to change public education

"I like to cook and I like to clean so I think I would be a pretty good home economics teacher… But they don't teach kids that anymore. They don't teach stuff that you can actually use in life. You learn stuff like algebra instead. So now we eat out all the time and don't know how to look after ourselves. It's all wrong."

Exhibit B: Miss United States hopefuls disclose their views on Evolution
http://jezebel.com/5814161/watch-the-miss-usa-hopefuls-dance-around-the-question-of-evolution

In Cameron Diaz's defense, I think I know what she's saying. I think she's saying that we're not doing enough to teach kids how to take care of themselves - which I agree with. But to dismiss a subject like algebra - that is helpful and useful (critical thinking and problem solving, Cameron - and not just for equations), sounds like a really really bad teen movie. We need people to cook and clean and change oil and fix plumbing problems, I'm not knocking usefulness. But if my plumber has a higher grasp of problem solving and critical thinking because he didn't do badly in Algebra, then maybe I won't argue when he charges me $1,000 to unclog a drain, without having to take apart half of a wall. Perhaps this is art mirroring life a little too closely for you, Bad Teacher?

All I can say about the pageant contestants, is that sadly, I'm not surprised. But huzzah for Miss Washington! "I think facts should be taught in schools." Well said, lady! The revelation that struck me while watching it, however, was the reminder about how quick women are to make things okay. With a couple of exceptions (Miss Alabama on one end of the creationist spectrum, and Miss Washington on the side of evolution), almost everyone else was trying to make both sides fit into the system: "Maybe we can teach a little bit of evolution" said Miss Virginia. "I think it's fine as long as the biblical theories aren't excluded," said Miss North Dakota. "I think all views on the subject should be taught," said hippy Miss Oregon. And perhaps it's because I'm a woman myself, that ideally, that the middle-of-the-road sounds wonderful. The problem that arises, however, is the notion of public school. If public school is truly public, then everyone has the right to be represented. Which means that Buddhism and Islam and scientology, Hindi, Taoism, Anarchy, Wiccans, Satan-worshippers, Mormons, Klingons, and everyother faction of the world has a right to have a say - which would be a fascinating class! except that I think several different Christian groups would protest, and public schools are so woefully underfunded that there's not practical way to teach something as wide-reaching, no matter how diverse and tolerant.

But most importantly, you bag of overly made-up ladies, evolution is based in science. SCIENCE. Christianity is based on religious belief. And while you believe in creationism and God created the world in a record-breaking 7 days, not one bit of has any proof, any fact, and evidence. Just like my belief on the nature of unicorns. But you don't see ME demanding that evolution not be talked about because evolution never once mentions my magical, golden friends, do you?

Facts are based on evidence, and findings, and study, and research. And you can't discount any of it. There's merit in them, and hard-work, and higher thinking. Just because you don't believe in it, doesn't mean it's not true.

And finally - I do believe that math should be taught in schools, regardless of my ignorant math brain.
http://jezebel.com/5815965/should-math-be-taught-in-schools

Rapture, baby!

2011-05-21T09:53:00.000-07:00

Since people may be suddenly bodily ascending to space today, I thought I'd celebrate us sinful bottom dwellers by our captain, our Rogue, our hero - Banksy. This may or may not be inspired by the fact that I'm currently watching Exit Through the Gift Shop. But I bring this to you as a reflection of one of my favorite aspects of earthly humanity: Civil Dissent. Especially in Art.

So ... push play, listen to Debbie Harry, wait for the man from mars, and scroll through some Banksy.

Something's rotten in the state of Tennessee...(a blog in pictures....)

2011-05-20T19:07:00.000-07:00

And it ain't Claudius.

In case you haven't heard, or read, here's the story:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/20/tennessee-teaching-homosexuality-ban_n_864895.html

I am truly puzzled by the notion that "homosexuality" is "taught." Nobody taught me to be a homosexual. It just kind of happened, well, naturally. No one "teaches" it. I almost wish it had been taught - I might have been a lot less confused in middle school. But to go so far as banning it? When it's not in any curriculum?

Preventative/minority legislation. You know who was a big fan of that? THIS GUY:

And these guys:

My best friend Tracy wrote a really great blog post about fear. Read it. It's spot on. Fear is the original exaggerator. It's the man behind the curtain, the monster under the bed, the wind through the trees. It's a Nothing that has become Everything. So you'll understand my confusion when I hear that a state legislature is afraid of this:

Or these guys??

Actually, I think it's because of these guys. ALL these (gay) guys:

Because according to the latest Gallup Poll, "For the first time, majority of Americans favor gay marriage." 53% in favor, 45% against. If it were a presidential election (especially in the last decade), that would almost be considered a land-slide. Their grasp of control is slipping, their vice-grip on "normal" is fading. Especially when a guy this cool...

Does this.

Beam me up, Mr. Sulu. If you're the Rapture, I want in.

it's the end of the world, as we know it.....

2011-05-17T19:18:00.000-07:00

On Saturday evening, I drove into downtown LA to attend a fabulous theatre piece that some dear friends of mine were in. As I was stuck on the 5 North, slowly crawling to the on-ramp of the 101, my gaze happened upon a billboard. This billboard, to be exact:

Now. I do not consider myself an alarmist. I'm not particularly superstitious (outside of hockey). And I've never considered God (Allah, Buddha, Yahweh, et.al) to be a jerky douchebag. But I will gladly admit to being anti-apocalyptic; I am staunchly, irrevocably, and vehemently against the apocalypse. And yet, this billboard freaked me out.

But I didn't let it get to me - I've become very good at ignoring the hysterical fear that is apocalyptic propaganda. I went to my friends' performance, and had a lovely time. I thought nothing of the billboard, or the ominous May 21st due date, until Monday. Monday, Monday, Monday. When one of my little 6th grade cherubims innocently said during check-in:

"Did you know the world's going to end on May 21st?"

I didn't say anything. I avoid touchy subjects like religion, politics, and boyfriends/girlfriends like the end-of-days plague. But something really bothered me about my 12 year old student saying that - not the religion - but the notion that an entire generation and culture of children believe that the world is going to end before they reach 14. Eerily, Friday's check-in question was "What's something that scares you?" The second most popular answer, after creepy-crawlies (insects, snakes, spiders, etc, etc): the Mayan 2012 prophesy. At least 1/3 of my kids think that the world is going to end suddenly, violently, frighteningly before any of them can graduate the 8th grade, enter high school, or have a job.

Depressingly, many of them (I perceive), believe this so totally that they don't really see the point of school. And they're right - what's the point of learning things if the end is going to come in just over a year?? What's the point of anything at all?!

When they tell me this, and ask my opinion (about 2012), I simply say that there's no clear outcome to the Mayan prophesy - it really just states that it'll be the end of the third age - nothing more, nothing less. They tend to just give me a confused look, and then I'll say something like, "everything will be okay." They accept this, and go back to talking out of turn, or hitting the person next to them.

Regardless of my own vehement objection towards the apocalypse - seeing my students so resigned to accepting THE END OF ALL THINGS angers me beyond reckoning. Not because of their resignation - they don't know any better - but because it proves how much of an oppressor Fear is; how dangerous a weapon. And then I think about the last 10 years, and how much we've been told to fear - Muslims, anyone from the Middle East, bacteria, nuclear weapons, biological weapons, asteroids, our president's nationality (really?!), even Communists and Fascists (still??) - and each one of these things are seemingly beyond our control. It's no wonder that people are buying guns, stock-piling supplies, and praying for the Rapture as soon as possible -WE'RE A WRECK! And yet, the things that we do have control over - global warming, alternative energy solutions, oil companies, pharmaceutical companies, gay marriage, the economy - we do nothing about because we're so fucking exhausted from worrying about all the giant question marks, all the boogie men making bumps in the night, that we destroy logic and reason. Or we relate the fixables to the unfixables:

"You think WE created global warming?! You must be a Commie! Or a Fascist. OR BOTH!"
"You believe that people should have the freedom to marry anyone they choose?! You're going to hell!"
"It's those damn Muslims who've ruined our economy!"

I'm tired of the fear. I'm tired of the media. I'm tired of zealots. But most of all, I'm sad that my 6th graders are growing up without hope.

So you know what? I hope the Rapture does come, in so much as it sucks up all those "deserving" and "repentant" souls, and takes them off and away to wherever it is they'll go. Just so long as they leave the rest of us in peace, calm, and tolerance. That's what the Jews believe the end-of-days to be - not a catastrophic event, but a culture change brought forth by good deeds and understanding. Now that's an apocalypse I can support.

............I'm seriously thinking of returning to my Jewish roots.

In other news, here's the top 10 things you should know about my life in the last two months:

1. I got into Grad School! In CANADA!

2. I got a SCHOLARSHIP for grad school in CANADA!

3. I took a week-long visit to Oregon over spring break.

4. I turned 29.

5. I've been working on bringing SOC up to the 21st Century.

6. I have 2.5 weeks to get 95 children into performance mode.

7. I'm organizing volunteers for a fundraiser.

8. Because of 5, 6, and 7, I've been more stressed out than normal.

9. I've been wanting to write a blog about ethics vs. morals, but haven't found the time.

10. I'll be SO HAPPY when June 10th arrives.

Crazy like a Greek Polar Bear

2011-03-31T17:45:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, though not all the time, I am a wily, outside-the-box thinker. I would love to be able to claim this as being a continual and thriving part of my brain, but I just can't. Sometimes I'm down-right obtuse. BUT! For those glorious moments when I solve an odd problem so ingeniously, so cleverly - no one is ever around to see!

For the sake of hubris, I suppose this is as it should be. I think I read/saw too many classical plays in my formative youth - I am all too aware of the catastrophic repercussions that the gods create specifically for mouthy mortals who tout their brilliance too loudly, too openly, too ungraciously. I won't lie. I really don't want to end up like Oedipus. or Lear. or Cassiopeia.

BUT - sometimes an idea is birthed so fabulously, it should be shared! (as I thank the muses/deities/spaghetti monsters above) One such solution happened to me today, and I won't lie, I feel a little bit like Odysseus.

I'm spearheading a ticket project for Shakespeare Orange County. Essentially, we've been living in the Paleozoic era for the last 19 years, and have not utilized online tickets sales. I KNOW. So I've found a program and a company that will help us, while not taking $5.00 per every ticket sold. Good, right? Part of this process requires sending all manner of paperwork to them. Like a seating chart.

Since we've never had any legitimate on-line ticket sales before, we haven't needed to use many seating charts. So when I went to our box office to search for this mythical file, it was (typically) no where to be found. But what kind of a quest has an easy answer? "You know who does have our seating chart?" I asked myself, "Seat Advisor!" I replied. So back home I went to have a phone meeting with our ticket company's representative.

I explained that I couldn't find a seating chart file on our computer, but that seat advisor had one. What should I do? "See if you can print the webpage," she replied, "and scan and email it." Okay! I printed it not once, but twice. And while my laptop screen displayed our theatre's seating chart, no seating chart printed on the paper. Next, I tried a screen grab - no go. Save page as? Nope. What the hell am I going to do? Make a new chart by hand?? I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!

But then ... from the dark, dry abyss where all my best ideas come from, I heard a calm, reassuring voice say, "Use your digital camera."

"Use my digital camera?! How am I going to use my - I'M GOING TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THE SCREEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Yes. I took pictures of the seating chart on my laptop screen and sent those in. It was so simple, so deliciously simple. And it took two minutes. Okay - I have to say it - it was a thing of beauty. I will now go make an homage to the goddess of crazy great ideas, lest she think I claim the genius for my own. But it's days like this that make my gray matter feel a little more awesome than normal.

Wouldn't it be cool if our brains could glow like this?

BOOM!

What a good day looks like to this Polar Bear...

2011-03-31T00:33:00.000-07:00

10:00 a.m. wake up
It's my day off! go back to sleep.

10:45 a.m. check the mail
Oh, HELLO PAYCHECK!!!
do a happy dance

12:00 p.m. deposit aforementioned check in the bank!
happy dance continues

1:00 p.m. pay bills at Starbucks while drinking cappuccino, which I can now afford!
happy dance is altered for chair sitting

1:45 p.m. meet with fabulous friend for more coffee
happy dance is moved inside

3:45 p.m. arrive home, turn on laptop again, check email discover OFFICIAL ACCEPTANCE INTO GRAD SCHOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Happy Dance gets bumped up to a 9.9

4:00 p.m. tell everyone I know about grad school!
The happy dance goes viral!

4:30 p.m. purchase plane ticket to Portland for Spring Break next week!
HUGE PACIFIC NORTHWESTERN HAPPY DANCE!

5:00 p.m. go to the dog park and watch happy dogs in between texting friends long distance
Happy dance turns into the doggy dance

6:15 p.m. arrive back at home, check on the viral happy dance once more.

6:45 p.m. pick up a friend for dinner, drinks, hockey game, and general celebration
Happy dance x's 2

7:15 p.m. order celebratory drinks, cheers, hockey!

7:45 p.m. joined by another friend for more dinner, drinks, and general celebration
happy dance for hockey - we're winning!

9:00 p.m. pay my bill, because now I CAN, hockey game = success, Polar Bear drives back home.

9:30 p.m. calmly happy dancing my way through the front door
---------------------------------------------------------------

In summation: Patience repaid, assassins called down, stress level dropped to a minimum, life moving forward, gratitude abounding.

Happy belated 150 posts, Polar Bear!

2011-03-30T02:26:00.000-07:00

So, apparently I passed the 150 post mile stone 6 posts ago. OOPS!

To celebrate this un momentous occasion, I thought I'd post some nuggets for you. Because you take the time to read this blog, God love ya, and I should be entertaining. And really, who doesn't want an excuse to look at awesome things on a Wednesday???

I totally want to give a whale a high-five someday.

Word.

Every creature deserves their own security blanket and teddy bear.

Admit it! You totally wish you could do this right now!

My personal motto. As supplied by StumbleUpon.

Little known fact: Polar Bears like to frolic in flowers, but only if they are purple.

Looks like someone drew the short straw...

Oh Art! Transforming "derelict" into "urban chic" since 4000BC.

Thanks for reading, my peeps. Here's to a 150ish more.

I heart my cosmic family

2011-03-30T00:09:00.000-07:00

Let me say this straight off: I love my family. I really do.

But since I was a little girl, I've adopted people. I didn't always feel as though I belonged to the people I was related to. My childhood was kind of chaotic and unpredictable at times, and I didn't always feel safe. In fact, I felt down right alien - I was from another planet, and not many people understood my language. But there were a select few who did understand, and I would cling to them desperately - my life preservers on a planet I didn't fully comprehend.

The problem with this practice, as you might expect, is that I am who I am; heart on my sleeve, all too loyal, and too ready to feel wanted - multiplied by 50 as a child. And I was hurt a lot as I flung my heart here and there. Turns out 5 year olds are not always the best judges of character. But I learned, and became much more discerning, much more careful.

And 24 years later, I have a very wonderful, very amazing cosmic family. A family comprised of kindred spirits, parallel souls, and like minds. And they've stayed. These are not people that I talk to every day - I don't have to talk to them every day. They're just there, in my life. And when they need me, I'm there. And when I need them, they're here for me. They are my family, just as much as any of the people with whom I share chromosomes.

I've been increasingly grateful for my cosmic family over the last few weeks. And I don't always get to tell them how much I love them, or what they mean to me. So I'm tossing this out into the cosmos. I'm grateful for you, you know who you are. I'm grateful that I'm lucky enough to share my life with you. To know you and laugh with you and stumble around with you in this dark room called life. Thank you for all that you do, and all that you are. Thank you for helping my world make sense, and for translating rough passages and mixed messages. Thank you for always making me feel valid and loved and appreciated.

But most of all, thank you for finding me.

"Money ain't got no soul, money ain't got no heart...."

2011-03-23T15:52:00.000-07:00

This is the anthem of artists everywhere. We don't work for money. We work for enjoyment, for fulfillment, for the notion that we are contributing to the betterment of humanity through whichever medium we happen to work. And we do this not because of the money, but to spite it. We'd do it for nothing! We were those poor suckers in college who dreamed of an Utopian Bohemia, where everyone wears recycled clothing and lives on Top Ramen. Where everyone shares their art, their food, and their books, and commerce is too bourgeois and degrading to be concerned with. But instead of snapping out of it a year or two after graduation, like everyone else; after the real world has had some prime opportunities to slap some stupid sense into us - we are the ones who keep living the dream...on breadcrumbs, occasionally living back with our parents when we can't afford rent.

But we can't live on nothing; and our society knows that. They know it, and they exploit it. Society begrudgingly agrees that the arts are "important" - not in an immediate, foundational kind of way like garbage collection or sewer functionality, but in an abstract, "we-know-it's-good-for-our-kids-but-won't support-it-ourselves" kind of way. So they hire us to instill artistic appreciation and aesthetic into their children. Sometimes, depending on the funding, we get paid well for this. Sometimes, it's not enough to get by. But teaching is the artists' bread and butter. I suppose that's what GB Shaw was getting at when he wrote that loathed idiom, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach."

Yeah well, George Bernard, most of us do both.

I do both. And I'm actually getting paid rather well by my school - in theory. I say "in theory" because I haven't been paid yet. I've been working there since early January, though to be fair, my proposal wasn't approved by the school board until January 24th, which means I wasn't official until the 26th. HOWEVER. It is now March 23rd. MARCH! I submitted my invoice EARLY, though invoices are not allowed to go to the district until the last day of the pay period, in this case February 26th. What does a reasonable amount of processing time sound like to you? Two weeks, if we're giving the District leniency for dealing with dozens of schools and artists-in-residence?

Well, I was told three weeks. Three weeks was last Friday. I'm now on Week 4, with no guarantee it will get here by the end of this week, which would mean that I'll have gone 5 weeks. FIVE. WEEKS.

Now, I ask you: in what other work disciplines is this allowed to happen? Business? HELL no. Law? They'd sue you and resurrect debtors jail. Contracting/construction? They'll hand you over to the mob, who'll put your feet in cement blocks and throw you in the Hudson River (even if you live in California). And so I return to my original point, that artists are exploited (I would argue) the most. Clearly, we don't have real jobs, which means that we don't have real lives, which means that we don't pay bills or have cars or need to finish paying taxes, or, you know, EAT. No, no. We're make-believe people who are only needed to inspire children to learn and play in ways that might actually help their educations and futures - outside of that we turn back into faerie dust, and only need to be kept alive with claps and cheers, like in that one play written by that one English dude about boys who won't grow up, and their pixie friends who die when children say they don't believe in faeries. Yep. That's where artists live.

To illustrate how incredibly untrue this scenario is, I will now list the items that I have not been able to do IN A MONTH, because I have not been paid:

1. get my car lube, oiled, and filtered and rotate my tires
2. pay turbo tax to email my taxes (I am usually able to complete this by February)
3. pay my bills
4. buy myself actual groceries (I eat a lot of left-overs, and get creative with items long forgotten in pantries)
5. related to #3, because I cannot pay my bills, I can't apply for a school loan yet.
6. take a college student out to dinner, which I owe him for coming and performing slam poetry in my classes at school.
7. buy my plane tickets to Portland for Spring Break
8. take my golden retriever to the groomer (you'd think this was unnecessary, until you own a golden retriever)
9. buy myself some socks - like ones that don't have any holes in them
10. buy myself some shoes - again, ones without holes
11. buy tickets to the theatre to support my friends and their work
12. buy myself treats (I'm not talking big, I'm talking little things like chocolate covered graham crackers at Starbucks - things to brighten my day)
13. I have to decline invitations to go out with friends to dinner, drinks, movies, or any other social activity

I might sound as though I'm whining needlessly, and perhaps even greedily. But in my own defense, I don't spend a lot of money, even when I have it, and have made quite a science of being poor.

I've been watching Disney's Princess and the Frog a lot on cable tv, primarily because it's surprisingly good, but also because it's a sincere attempt at keeping my Bohemian perspective, and remind myself that even though I chose this life, I deserve to be treated as a valued member of society, like everyone else. Just because money is not the primary driving force of my life, it doesn't give any entity or body or bureaucracy the freedom to treat me any differently than they would any other working professional. I'm good at what I do, damnit. I am an asset, not an afterthought.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJT0uhfcCkw

Oh Knut, sweet Knut!

2011-03-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

It has been entirely too long since I've written. My schedule has been insane, I've been sick twice (and I'm rarely ever sick), and I've just felt a lack of inspiration - whether due to the previous causes, or for another reason entirely, it doesn't matter.

But I bring to you now sad tidings.

Knut, the baby polar bear who captured the world's heart in 2006, died today. He was only four years old. Causes are so far unknown, though results should be available tomorrow or Wednesday. If you don't remember, Knut was born in 2006 at a zoo in Germany. His mother refused to nurse him or take care of him, so his handler, Thomas Dorflein cared from him day and night. Because of Thomas' care, Knut survived - and thrived! And kept growing bigger and bigger.

But yesterday, he collapsed suddenly after turning circles in his habitat, and fell into the deep pond in his enclosure.

We haven't had the best news so far this year - and this - just makes it ten times worse. I'm really, really saddened by Knut's sudden death. Thomas his handler passed away in 2008. Part of me was glad to read that. I couldn't begin to imagine the heartache that would come with raising such a beautiful animal from infancy, only to be snatched away so soon, and seemingly without cause. Polar bears typically live to be 15-20 years old in the wild, and even longer in captivity.

I like to think that Knut and Thomas are now reunited somewhere cold, frolicking in snow and reveling in the joy of being together again.

And so to Knut and Thomas, I bless and salute you for adding even a small margin of light into this increasingly dark world.

You say tax cuts, I say government programs.

2011-01-26T21:56:00.000-08:00

A couple of months ago, I decided to take out my senior yearbook from high school, and look through it. Why? I have no earthly idea. But I did, and it was kind of interesting. I had forgotten how many things I was involved in, how many people actually signed my yearbook, and was kind of surprised that I didn't remember more names and faces.

However, the strangest aspect about my tip-toe through the teen years had to be the comments themselves. I cannot tell you how many different people wrote "Don't worry, you'll be a Republican someday." Or something akin to it, usually accompanied by a smiley cartoon face with a stuck-out tongue.

Let it be known that I was ridiculously outspoken in high school. And earnest! Earnestly out-spoken, out-spokenly earnest; that was me. I suppose this isn't altogether surprising considering that I'm an Aries, and I was one of only a few "out" democrats. Well, I wasn't a democrat yet; I wasn't of legal voting age. But you know what I mean - I had scandalously democratic tendencies for a mostly conservative high school. I would dive, fearlessly, into political debates, determined to convince the multitudes of conservative children that medicare was helpful, welfare wasn't a waste of tax dollars, and women had the right to make decisions about their bodies.

Needless to say, I was always outnumbered. But damnit, I was born with the gift of a loud booming voice, and I wouldn't be my father's daughter if I didn't use it for the powers of good. I remember distinctly a conversation with my best friend and my Honors Economics teacher, a professed Libertarian, about taxes:

Teacher: "So okay, Ms. Liberal, let me ask you this: you're okay with the government taking a large piece of your hard-earned money to feed, clothe, and house other people? Even criminals and drug-addicts?"
Me: "Yes I am."
T: "Why?"
Megan: "Without taxes, we wouldn't have paved roads or garbage services. We wouldn't have education, Mr. Starnes. Your paycheck is paid for with taxes. Taxes help the government take care of its' people. There are socio-economic issues that more than likely went into those criminals and drug-addicts becoming criminals and drug-addicts."
T: "Wow. I don't like the government taking my money. I guess I'm just a selfish person."
Me: "I guess you are."

Discussions like this would stop the class for at least 20 minutes at a time, which was never a bad thing. But it's these kind of debates I'd get into all the time.

So I guess it's no wonder that the people who signed my yearbook would tease my earnest liberalness. But you know, it's been ten years. TEN YEARS. And I'm still a proud liberal. I won't say a proud democrat - the party system in our country is a little too ridiculous for me to grasp.

It also reminded me of a kind of idiom someone once told me:

"If you're not a liberal when you're young, you have no heart. If you're not a conservative when you're older, you have no brain."

I hate that expression. HATE it. Such complete horse shit.

I guess my point in writing this mini-rant, is for me to say that as I continue through life, edging further and further away from my "youth," I have yet to see or experience anything that has made me even consider becoming a conservative. I'm not stupid, I'm not wasteful. I just see things differently than you. And probably always will.

In hindsight, I'm really glad that I didn't go to my ten year reunion.

Words you didn't know, wish you had, but probably won't know again...

2011-01-24T20:15:00.000-08:00

One of the constants in my life has been feast/famine, which is rudely inconsistent. I didn't have a job for most of the fall, which meant I had much more time to write, which really was all I could afford to do. Then I applied to grad schools, left for Canada, came back from Canada, left a day later for Denver/Boulder, flew back, had a week to sort out my life, and then started my day job. And it's not even February yet.

I'm not complaining. I like being busy. I'm wildly productive when I'm busy; so not only do I get things done, but it means that I feel calmer, more confident, and much less lonely. Hey - I love my laptop, but I do love actual human interaction every now and then.

Canada was beautiful, Denver/Boulder was inspiring (I met with Shakespeare geeks AND saw how tea gets made at the Celestial Seasoning plant!), and I haven't heard from grad schools yet - which is a good thing; they send the rejection letters out first. And my day job! My day job is awesome. I'm creating/running/implementing a 6th grade Drama program at an under-achieving Middle School. RIGHT?!

So my insane life aside, one of the many themes of the conference in Boulder surrounded the sad fact that the vocabulary in the English language is shrinking. Observe:

William Shakespeare knew an estimated 25,000+ words.*
A few generations ago, the English speaking world knew about 18-20,000 words.
My generation is sitting pretty with about 11-13,000 words.
The children currently going through school are projected to know 7-8,000 words by the time they graduate high school.

* - keep in mind, Shakespeare created thousands of words, but for the sake of depressing statistics, let's say those are not included in his original 25,000+.

With the understanding that the previous statistics I can in no way justify through any kind of acceptable means, those are some really depressing numbers, no? Kind of makes me want to add a "word of the day" app to my non-existent smart phone.

Now, my ex-girlfriend, perhaps in a premonition of the discussions to come, bought me a desk calendar for Christmas. But not just ANY desk calendar my friends. She bought me .............wait for it....................

a FORGOTTEN ENGLISH DAILY WORD CALENDAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And let me tell you, it's just as awesome as it sounds. Here are some examples of this modern miracle:

Nizzle - You thought it was a word created by Snoop Dogg, didn't you? Hizzle, my nizzles! Nizzle actually means: To be slightly intoxicated, to be the worse for liquor; to be unsteady; usually in past participle [nizzled]. (Joseph Wright's English Dialect Dictionary, 1898-1905)

Beats the Dutch - Something extraordinary; "That beats the Dutch, and the Dutch beats the Devil" is the superlative. (James Maitland's American Slang Dictionary, 1891)

Sport Ivory - If someone smiled, he sported ivory. (Morris Marples, University Slang, 1950)

Jugulator - Sounds like a Marvel Comic Villain, eh? Or perhaps what Jack the Ripper's imaginary friends called him. A Jugulator is actually a cutthroat or murderer. (William Whitney's Century Dictionary, 1889)

Googer - No, not Google's puny baby brother. It's actually a synonym for The Devil. (Walter Sleat's Specimens of English Dialects, Westmoreland, 1879)

Death Hunter - An undertaker, one who furnishes the necessary articles for funerals. Sounds kind of bad ass to me; dare I say it - Lord of the Rings-esque. (Francis Grose's Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, 1796)

Tree-Geese - A name given to barnacles, from their supposed metamorphosis [into geese]. I swear to you, I'm not making this up! (Robert Nare's Glossary [of] the Works of English Authors, 1859)

Gone to Texas - An American expression for one who has decamped, leaving debts behind. It was, and is, no unusual thing for a man to display this notice - perhaps only the initials G.T.T. on his door for the callers after he has absconded. Does that explain anything at all about the years from 2000-2008?? (Trench Johnson's Phases and Names: Their Origins and Meanings, 1906)

Toozle - To pull about, especially applied to any rough dalliance with a female. Perhaps after some Nizzle, for shizzle! (John Brockett's Glossary of North Country Words, 1825)

Bag of Nails - American thieves' cant. Confusion; topsy-turvydom; from "bacchanals." (John Farmer's Slang and its Analogues, 1890)

Scurryfunge - a hasty tidying of the house between the time you see a neighbor and the time she knocks on the door. See?? Some of these actually come in handy; I scurryfunge all the time! (John Gould's Maine Lingo: Boiled Owls, Billdads, and Wazzats, 1975)

Stick with me kids, and you too will become a bona fide nerd. As the year progresses, I'm sure these words will continues to find their way onto my page. Bonus points if you send me some rare words of your own ...

The Year of the Bunny!

2011-01-05T00:22:00.000-08:00

Hey there - happy 2011! I don't know about you, but this was what my collective being said/expressed/vented as the clock struck midnight, NYE, Mountain Standard Time:

"Oh, thank GOD."

Seriously. 2010 was not a super year. I can't say that it was the worst ever - I don't believe in long-term exaggerations. I know, I know, this is coming from a person who is constantly making up words to express exaggerations in the first place. My Monkey constantly gets, "I love you the mostest!" And while I'm a person prone to passions, ginormous (see?) emotions, and an epically-scaled soul, I do not allow myself to look at life, time, or any other massively long-term scale in hyperbole.

That being said, 2010 was not kind. In fact, I would go so far as to call it mean; it was a mean year! And not in the rock-critic sense (e.g., "He plays a mean guitar!). I mean MEAN in the original dictionary definition, as an adjective: offensive, selfish, or unaccommodating; nasty; malicious. That essentially sums it up. Is it any wonder, then, that in the Chinese horoscope, 2010 was the year of the Tiger? I like Tigers as much as the next animal rights activist - I love them! But from a very, very far distance.

Now, 2011, again in the Chinese horoscope, falls under the year of the Rabbit. CAN YOU GET MORE OPPOSITE TO A TIGER, THAN A RABBIT??????? NO!!! Exactly! This calls for THE SNOOPY DANCE!!

The year of the Rabbit will theoretically bring luck and safety in the year to come. And so to you, I wish lots and lots of luck and safety.

But why am I so jazzed for this little woodland rodent's approach? I just applied to four graduate schools. This might not sound like a big deal, but it really is. Not only is this a big push for a life change/advancement, but the sense of rejection and dejection I experienced from the 2010 Tiger is still quite present with me. And the last time I applied to a grad school (just one, in that case), I was rejected. Only that was 2007, the year of the Pig. Oinkity bloody oink.

I was in Calgary for two weeks over Christmas and New Years, and in the Calgary Herald a couple of days ago, the paper's astrologist had a half page layout about what the year of the Rabbit was going to mean for me, as an Aries. And, perhaps prophetically, she told me that 2011 was going to be my year - the start to the next new phase of my life, culminating in achieving my career goals by 2018 (she's nothing if not specific). She also told me that I was going to feel like me again, after a year of feeling not at all like myself. She told me that making my move for advancement definitely needed to happen this year, and that my relationship would be fine, so long as my significant other didn't try to stifle my power and flow; I am Aries, here me roar!

Everything I've been reading lately, everything has been screaming at me, exasperatedly, "HOLD ON! It's about to get really, really good!" And I think that for the first time in a long time, I believe it - though more importantly, I'm able to SEE the universe gesticulating madly like an enraged baboon. I think I've just been too caught up, or too buried? Blinders pop up sometimes, out of a necessity to keep one's head down and protected. I've been keeping my head protected, and failing miserably.

Is it cliche to now say that I don't put actual stock in any of this? That is to say, I don't commit to astrology - I don't adhere to it as an absolute way of living my life, much like exaggerations. BUT - and this is a really big but - that doesn't mean that I don't find it informative and highly fascinating. Because I totally do.

While I call Liz my monkey, she calls me her bunny. I know, it's disgusting. This started as a joke after my sister brought home an actual rabbit after her first year at college - all the way from New Jersey. It later turned into a term of endearment that went from annoyingly funny to begrudgingly cute, on my end.

Tomorrow, I leave for a theatre conference in Boulder, Colorado. I sent the last of my grad school applications out a few hours ago. I start a new job next week starting a theatre program at a low-income middle school. But if all else fails, I can't say I didn't try - astrology or no.

Behold: The Year of the Bunny.

It's looking a bit dusty in here ...

2010-12-16T15:00:00.000-08:00

Good lord! Neglectful and disgraceful! I'm so, so, sorry!

The funny thing about life is that it moves on, whether you're ready or not. I've pondered at least half a dozen blog topics in the space of time in which I was monstrously missing. Did I write any of them? No. Do I remember what any of those blog topics are? Ha! And so I face you here now, embarrassed at my absence, and desperately searching for something interesting to say. And all I can think about is Christmas.

Christmas has come early this year - earlier for me than normal. In fact, until this year, I was ardently against the massive retail over-hauls that happen at Halloween's termination. I've not been a big fan of early Christmas, and will not accept the Christmas season until the Thanksgiving weekend is long over, around December 1st. If I heard so much as a "deck the halls" playing over retail radio speakers, I'd glower and clench my jaw, and hurl a "bah-humbug!" in anyone's general direction. Christmas has it's place, and it's time, and it's NOT in November.

However, this year, I needed Christmas to come early. I really, really did. 2010 has not been kind to me. It's been a hard year, a sad year, a heart-breaking, indigestible, painful, rejection-filled year. And I'm done with it. And so when the first decorations went up, and the dulcet tones of holiday cheer shot out of the grocery store audio system, instead of scowling and growling and being grumpy at our country's love of holiday retail madness - instead, I said, "Thank you." I breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled, and looked forward to the kinder, gentler days of greens and reds, of people tacking on "Happy Holidays!" or "Merry Christmas!" to the ends of their conversations, of seeing the ones I love and remembering that I am loved in turn.

But it's not just me who needed it early this year - I think we all did. I think everyone I know has more or less breathed a collective sigh of relief at finally reaching the end of a very long, tight, stress-filled year. I'm certainly not suggesting that the holidays are any less stressful. But with the end of the year comes the rising hope that the impending new year will be so much better. And after months and months of no hope, of being unemployed, or removed from a home, or deaths of loved ones, or whatever the case may be - the new year looms with tidings of comfort and joy and hope for a fresh start, a fresh chance to make our lives better; not with resolutions, necessarily (though they're nice, too), just that the tide will turn, our luck will change, and we can move on to something better.

We can be better.

For the first time - ever - I'm sending out Christmas cards. This is a big commitment for me, because I'm terrible at this sort of thing. But I've been thinking about people who are not around me, and I think I should tell those people - just because I don't talk with them very often, doesn't mean I don't love them, or that I'm not thinking of them. I believe that's the reason that people originally started sending Christmas cards, though I'm no expert on the subject.

My Christmas cards have Polar Bears on them.

Lesbian Turkey Day!

2010-11-22T22:51:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Is it because of the food?? Absolutely. But it also has a little something to do with family. Thanksgiving is family. Not just blood family - world family.

What? What's that? "World Family" sounds hoaky, cliche, and ultra lesbian????? EXACTLY.

Let me explain.

This Thanksgiving, my family is away. Back in August or September, my Dad said, "Hey, I'll pay for you to go to Calgary or to Olympia for Thanksgiving, if you want." And I said, "Great!" And then I thought about it - Thanksgiving in Canada is in October - so no one would be off, and I'd just be celebrating for myself, and that's just awkward. Olympia was where I spent Thanksgiving in College - I LOVE Thanksgiving in Olympia. However, I wanted to be able to share it with my monkey (since it IS my most favoritest holiday - I was serious). And then, I started wondering who ELSE was around ....

And I thought of my ex, Lara, who wasn't going to home to the Mid-West. Me, Liz, and Lara for Thanksgiving. Then I discovered my oldest friend in the world, Crystal, had no place to go on Turkey Day, and I invited her too. Crystal's NOT a lesbian, but she might as well be. On an off-chance, I thought of my good friend Josh, who's from Colorado, and doesn't usually go home for the Holidays. Would he like to come over too? Yes, in fact, he was! Josh - also not a lesbian. But he's funny, and he's been friends with me for a long time now, and he might as well be.

Then, on Friday, Lara calls me. "Can I bring a guest to Thanksgiving?" Lara's been dating a woman in LA for a few weeks now, and I figured she could only mean Susan. So ... this Thanksgiving is going to be Me, my wonderful girlfriend, my wonderful ex-girlfriend, the woman she's dating, my oldest friend who might as well be a lesbian, and my friend Josh who should be a lesbian.

THE MOST LESBIAN THANKSGIVING EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But all kidding aside, this is the very reason I love Thanksgiving. It's a transient holiday - a holiday where giving is the goal, and generosity is truly king. Christmas is wonderful, and likes to claim these things, but the commercialism that's invaded Christmas doesn't seem to make this true any more. Christmas is very much about family. Thanksgiving, is very much about giving whatever you can, to whomever you can. Don't have anywhere to go? Come over here! Share my turkey, let me cook for you. The best part, is that the meaning is in the name: It's the giving of thanks in as many ways as you can. That's it. And this year, it truly is. And that makes me so very happy!

This will ALSO be my first attempt at COOKING Thanksgiving dinner. It's going to be quite the experiment. Pictures will be taken. Let's just hope I don't burn the house down.

I'll blog after the event - but I wish you and everyone at your table, whomever they may be, many many happy wishes.

My very own Inferno...

2010-11-17T21:25:00.000-08:00

For the last two weeks, I worked a retail re-merchandising job inside of a Staples store between the hours of 8:00 p.m. and 4:30 a.m.* "What is re-merchandising?" You ask. Somehow, I don't think it's performing bizarre acts of manual labor in the wee hours of the morning, but that's what I was doing. For $11.00 an hour. Oh temp work ... how ... ~~awful~~ ~~weird~~ ~~unsatisfying~~ ~~sucky~~ interesting you are. But you know what? It's money. And bear's gotta do what a bear's gotta do. I've decided that my college diploma doesn't get to be framed until it starts working for me. Until then, it's going to stay in the decorative protective envelope in my closet where it currently belongs; doing me not a lot of good.

[*I also worked over time, so 4:30 a.m. actually turned into more like 6:00 a.m. most nights of the 2nd week]

Anyway, as I was lifting 60-75 lb. boxes up and down stock ladders, contemplating the shear perfection in which a semi-trained gorilla could do my job, I had often listened to the retail music loop that played every. day. for 10 days. Most of it was totally fine; some of it was even enjoyable. But the other 10% ... the other 10% made my eyeballs cringe and roll backwards in my head, like a Felix the Cat clock gone batty.

And in the middle of a refrain from "I Want it That Way" by the Backstreet Boys, on a night when I was constantly fantasizing about dropping every MADE IN CHINA piece of useless crap on the floor from the top of my ladder - it hit me - I might be in hell. This might be my very own version hell. Which mercifully changed my thoughts from retail destruction to the deep contemplation of songs that, if played in a loop over and over, would almost certainly mean that I was in hell. Because if I believed in hell (which I do not), I would imagine that hell (and consequently heaven) would be specifically made on an individual level. So the songs that would play in my little flame-filled corner of Hell would not (necessarily) be the songs that would play in your little flame-filled corner of hell. Right? So then ... what songs would play in my hell?

There are 10 - chiefly because, if played in a loop, would inflict the maximum amount of pain and torture. And when the devils and demons wanted to be REALLY sadistic, they'd change the loop order occasionally, just to lure me into a false hope of change, and then WHAM! It would be just another voyage of the 10 most cringe-worthy songs to my person, and the despair would begin anew.

10. Orinoco Flow, by Enya (I don't mind it once or twice, but in a loop? I think I'd despise it.)

9. Two Princes, by The Spin Doctors (An ultra low-spot in an otherwise interesting music decade)

8. Kiss on my List, by Hall & Oates (*gag!*)

7. Sk8ter Boy, by Avril Levigne (every morning in the dorm bathrooms for a semester in college was enough)

6. Everything I Do/Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman/most anything he's ever done, by Bryan Adams (Sorry Canada, he and Avril Levigne are MAJOR lemons on a nearly flawless record)

5. Desert Rose, by Sting (it's a loop in itself...)

4. Follow Me, Uncle Kracker (it verges on offensive, and I don't just mean the lame chord progressions)

3. Moondance, by Van Morrison (I seem to be the only person in the world that thinks this...so I apologize if I offend anyone. But I hate it.)

2. Truly, Madly, Deeply by Savage Garden (MAJOR. CRINGE.)

1. American Woman, cover by Lenny Kravitz (no words. only rage.......lots and lots of RAGE)

So there you go.

My best friend and I once had a very lengthy, and impassioned discussion about the elements that need to be present in a good song. We basically boiled it down to more than 3 repetitive chords, and better lyrics than rhyming "love" and "dove." I think out of the above, the song that actually meets those requirements is Moondance. But it still drives me nuts. (I can't explain it, people ... my hatred is on a purely cellular level.) My gorgeous girlfriend hates Mr. Roboto with a passion, though also can't explain it. She loves Van Morrison, I love Mr. Roboto ... so long as neither song is played at our wedding, I think it'll be okay.

Okay ... throw some at me!

PS - a song that I'm currently loving?

BAM.

An Open Letter to Shonda Rhimes

2010-11-06T18:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Ms. Rhimes, (may I call you Shonda?)

Firstly, allow me to say I'm a big fan. I think the scripts you continually smith on both Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice are among the best on television; quirky, fresh, and continually empathetic in creative and touching ways. I also think that your shows have been, since their genesis, leaders in diversity - and I cannot tell you what that means to me, personally. There are more actors of various colors on your shows than the rest of prime-time television put together; from your leads right on down to your extras. You've got a veritable human cornucopia of race and ethnicity, and it thrills me to no end!

There is one thing I'd like to say to you - and this isn't a criticism, so much as it's a plea.

Please, please, PLEASE - Shonda, I beg of you - do NOT write off the lesbians. (I mean that literally, I'm not being euphemistic) Do you realize that Grey's Anatomy is the only show on network TV that has a lesbian couple? And not just a lesbian couple - a non-stereotyped, empathetic, interesting lesbian couple. Do you realize how long people like me have waited for this? Do you know how *awful* sifting through 5 seasons of the L Word was?? It was like chewing glass and having to say "Thank you," through the painful lacerations continually opening and re-opening in my mouth, while swallowing at the same time.

I know Jessica Capshaw is away on maternity leave. I love that Callie needs to stay in Seattle, because let's face it, she has a lot to learn. But please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, keep Callie on the Sapphic side of relationships. I'll freely admit that I love Callie and Arizona together - but I'm not going to tell you how to write your show. If Arizona comes back and the relationship picks up again - GREAT. If not, I know for a FACT that Seattle has a HUGE lesbian population for Callie and Arizona to mine. But I don't think my little lesbian heart can take another trip with Callie to Mensville. Especially with (no offense!) the incredible heterosexuality of Seattle Grace ... lots of boy/girl meetings in supply closets, you know? It could be its own drinking game.

So please, Shonda. Do this longing lesbian a solid, and keep Callie on the female side of life. I can't stand another "bi-curious lesbian dalliance" joke made in the past-tense. I just can't.

Oh. And also, thank you for keeping Amy Brenneman on television. I love her a lot, and kudos to you for keeping her working, and televisionally married to Tim Daly. Whom I also love, and am glad he's working too.

This lesbian is for you and your continued success,
The Polar Bear

PS - I apologize for the gross over-usage of the emphatic ALL CAPS. It's ridiculously unruly, but as the science of fonts has yet evolve, it's all I have to work with.

Ghosts of Halloweens past ...

2010-10-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

Before I begin, let me just say: I LOVE that Halloween is on a Sunday this year. LOVE. IT. Christine O'Donnell might deny her witchiness, but if you ask me, she planned it.

HALLOWEEN! The celebration of All Hallow's Eve, Samhain, All Souls Day, El Dia de los Muertos (which, while technically Nov.1st, still celebrates the dead, so it counts). Do you remember waiting months, weeks, and days for Halloween? Do you remember planning out your costume in intricate detail? That familiar scent of fall mixed high fructose corn syrup? The anticipation of going to school looking like something other than a nerdy kid, and maybe (depending on the year), getting to wear *gasp!* MAKEUP?! Do you remember the thrill of watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" on public access TV??????? (Okay, maybe that last one was just me...)

I DO. I loved the anticipation of Halloween, though not necessarily Halloween itself. I loved planning my costumes every year, racking my brain for better, more creative ideas than anyone else. I loved trick or treating, I loved the candy. What I didn't love was all the scariness attached to it. I *HATED* being scared, and this is coming from a child who was scared all the time, whether it was Halloween or no. I still get scared easily. I don't do scary movies, I don't do fright fests, and I CERTAINLY do not do Haunted Houses. It was a bit of a battle for me, year after year - in order to celebrate my awesome creativity, I had to brave all the haunted-house-nightmare-on-elm-street-friday-the-13th-Jason-in-a-hockey-mask-Freddy-Kreuger's-blood-drenched-metal-fingers-ghosts-in-the-graveyard-things-that-go-bump-in-the-night-and-kill-me-with-a-chainsaw bullshit. Sometimes I failed, sometimes I succeeded. But no matter the fear factor, I was always there - ironic and esoteric costume in tow.

You have to understand - when you're raised by theatre professionals, the costume possibilities are endless. It was never enough for me to be a typical Halloween anything. I was never once a witch, or a ghost, or a mummy (I did go as Dracula one year, but I was the best Dracula you've ever seen!). I never went as the cartoon-character-of-the-year, never dressed up as any kind of doll or princess. And with my costume shop kingdom, I won costume contest after costume contest - it was every child's DREAM! Except most other children weren't envious of me, so much as they were relieved that there was someone (much) weirder than them. But I *liked* being weird. In fact, I kind of excelled at it.

Case-in-point: The 1st Grade Dragonfly Faery (age 6)

I wasn't just a Dragonfly, and I wasn't just a Faery. I was a dragonflyfaery. Costume source: Gem Theatre costume shop, thanks to my dad. I believe the wings and head were from a recent production of A Midsummer Night's Dream.

That was pretty much as girly as I got. I don't think I was ever caught in pink tights again. But look at the production values on that mask! What kid wouldn't want something that ~~geeky~~ cool??

Costumes became more complicated as I grew older, however. At some point, I lost my costume shop privileges; not because of anything I'd done, but I didn't have access to it anymore. That's when my right brain kicked in, and came up with some truly out-there ideas. Like what? Davy Crockett. In 1992. I don't know if you remember how popular Davy Crockett was in 1992, but I think he was somewhere between Howdy Doody and a French Revolutionary. I was *SO* insanely proud of this idea. I had gone on a roadtrip that summer with my mom, step-dad, and step-sisters. It was a wholly awful trip - lots of arguing, usually about something that I did (I hated being the youngest), though I can't remember. The arguing was so bad, my mom took me and we went off on our own. For my money, that was the best part of the trip - we saw Old Faithful, and the sulfer springs - and with the money I had been saving, I bought myself a coon-skin cap and a musk-ox horn - the noise-making variety, not for gunpowder.

In late August, long after we had returned home, I told my mom I wanted to be Davy Crockett for Halloween. She found the costume print, we picked out the fabric, and she even bought me a pair of moccasins to wear. It had the fringe on the arms, the front of the jacket - I had my cap guns and air-chamber rifle I had been given the Christmas before - it. was. AWESOME. I won 2nd place at the Whittier Halloween Festival, and received a whole bucket load of candy, and a ribbon. The candy was offered up to the rest of the family (and was promptly consumed). But the ribbon stayed on my bookshelf for YEARS - a testament to my originality and affirmation in my creativity. So while I was constantly doing something wrong in the eyes of my step-family, I had a token reminder that I was actually much better than what they were telling me.

Unfortunately, I don't have any photos of me as Davy Crockett, though my mom might. But that's still my favorite Halloween costume to date.

By the time I reached high school, my need for originality got worse. A LOT worse. My sophomore year, I stapled trash to an old shirt and pair of jeans, smeared my face with dirt, and went as Pollution.

My senior year, I went as an Academic:

[By the by, this photo was taken at my friend Anna's house at 6:30 a.m., before 0 period Marching Band. So if I look half-awake, it's because I am.]

As an adult, Halloween doesn't have the same significance to me. I enjoy it, it's fun. I don't dress up anymore - I think being an actor has taken all of the air out of that particular balloon. I do love passing out candy, though, and seeing the kids in their costumes now. Unfortunately, adulthood also comes with a price - I'm starting a temp job on Halloween that begins at 6:00 p.m. and lasts until 3:00 a.m. So no candy deposits for me this year. The things we do for a buck, eh? Ah well.

I could go on and on about the weirdness/genius of my past Halloween costumes, but rather than waxing poetical in long detail, I'll list them instead.

Top 9 Halloween Costumes I've worn/created:

1. Davy Crockett (age 10)*
2. The Artful Dodger (age 5)* - Yes, from Oliver!
3. Errol Flynn/Captain Blood (age 8)
4. Pollywog/Frog (age 2)
5. Pollution (age 15)

6. Lesbian Army of one (age 20)*
7. Calamity Jane (age 9)
8. Werewolf of London (age 7)*
9. Robbin Hood (age 11)

* Denotes costume contest winners

(Wow. I'm totally braggy about my costumes! I apologize for the blatant douchiness)

Single WORST Costume I've ever been forced to wear:

CLOWN (age 4)

The story: I hate clowns. I've ALWAYS hated clowns. One Halloween, my dad has to go out of town for business, so he asks my best friend's mom if I can go trick-or-treating with them? Of course! My dad wonders what costume he should appropriate for me, and Pam, my best friend's mom says, don't worry about it, I have an extra costume, then the girls will match! Perfect, says my dad. So I show up to my best friend's house, very excited about wearing a matchy-matchy costume with her. She takes me into her room to show me, and whambamthankyouma'am, I see the clown wig and the crazy costume, and I BURST into tears. Somewhere, there's a photo of Crystal and I standing in Pam's kitchen - Crystal is smiling shyly, not sure what to do, because I can't stop crying.

If you could see the photo below close up, you'd see tear-tracks in my clown makeup. This is after the fiasco, where I'm emotionally binge-eating chocolate, in an attempt to patch the giant hole of terror that was brutally ripped in my psyche.

Trick-or-treating with pillow cases! OLD. SCHOOL.

Some more Halloween Favorites:

Candy: Rolos or Milky Way Midnights (worst: anything that's not chocolate, and whoppers)

Movie: "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown"

Song: "I Put a Spell on You" Bette Midler, a la Hocus Pocus

Event: The Rocky Horror Halloween party I threw in my hall when I was an RA in College, complete with toilet paper, toast, rice, and every Rocky Horror accoutrement known to human kind.

So what about you? Favorites? Worsts? Fears? I hope your Halloween is whatever you want it to be - whether it's celebrating your own brilliance, or cuddling up on the couch with your favorite bag of candy, and watching something scary like the 700 Club on the boob tube.

THE list.

2010-10-22T14:41:00.000-07:00

You know what I'm talking about. THE. LIST. That mental sheet of celebrity names you keep in the back of your head - the names of people which you would gladly sleep with, despite that awesome relationship with your partner. THE LIST!

One night during my sophomore year of college, I was having an IM session with my friend Jon, who lives in San Francisco. I don't remember most of the details, except that somehow we started claiming female celebrities. I'm sure the conversation began with us bemoaning our lack of girlfriends. He claimed one, and then I claimed one, and after we each had our top 10, and I figured the conversation would change onto something more ... meaningful? we kept going. This turned into a three hour conversation, and each of us with a list of over 100 celebrities that we had "claimed," like gold stakes in the Yukon. Were we serious? Of course not. Was it my proudest moment? Hell no. Was it fun in a crazy, competitive, once-in-a-lifetime kind of way? YOU. BET.

At the time, I was severely depressed - I had just been left (repeatedly) by my first love, who moved from Oregon to Wyoming in an attempt to find Jesus ... again. (remember my "that's a story for another time" comment on my last post? She's who I meant) And while Oregon is apparently a very gay state, Salem is not a very gay town. And my university (at the time) was not a very gay university. So I spent the next 3 years being very celibate and very lonely. Ergo, the cultivation of my list served as sustenance through some very, very dry years.

And I thought I was being all creative ... I thought I was the only one to have list, chiefly because (at the time) I was the only one I knew who needed a list! But it was a lie! Once I left college, I realized that *everyone* has a list, whether they're in relationships or not. Not only that, their partners have their own set of lists, and it's just generally understood that if either person were to have that one in a billion opportunity of having a romantic night with any person on their list, the walls of fidelity would dissipate for that one night. Especially if the same person is on BOTH lists ... talk about a night to remember.

Am I serious about this? Yes, in the sense that lists exists. No, to the extent that anyone would actually fulfill the purpose of the list or even be in the situation where fidelity would need to be broken. It's a game. It's a fun, fun, FUN game. Yet one that can add a certain something for certain people. For example, me. As the passionate, independent, and loyal person that I am, having a list fuels my imagination - but when my partner has a list, I suddenly have something to compete for, in a non-realistic, non-threatening way. And the only thing Aries love more than independence, is competition - but not forced competition. I get more creative, more flirty, more saucy if I know I have something to compete with, though again, not something real. It adds spice and character and invention. Not to mention the fact that The List can help level the playing field. We're all human, we have foibles and weaknesses - how better to express that in a non-actual way, than with a list. The worst is finding out that while your list is active and fun, your partners' is non-existent. You want to talk about kill-joy. The subtext then becomes "I don't look at anyone else but you," (which is almost always a lie, to some degree or other) and boy does one feel like an ass if one's on the other side of this scenario. And I have been.

So with all that in mind, I admit that I totally have a list. It rotates between 5-10 people, for various reasons. Oh ... what's that? You want to know who's on my list?? Oh. You don't.

Well ... I'm going to tell you anyway. (It's really the inspiration for this post, you know...)

Today's list

(because it totally changes)

1. Sara Ramirez

2. Tilda Swinton

I think this is the biggest surprise for most people, when I say Tilda (she's been on my list for a LONG time), but I find androgyny, TRUE androgyny, incredibly sexy. She is completely transmutable, incredibly interesting, and wonderfully intelligent. I LOVE HER.

3. Mariska Hargitay

4. Brandi Carlile

Duh.

5. Martha Burns

So Martha Burns is a Canadian actress, who's the female lead in Slings and Arrows, who's also married to Paul Gross (someone who occasionally circulates my list), who's just kind of phenomenal, except that no one below the 48th parallel really knows it. Try doing a google image search for Martha Burns. I dare you.

6. Kim Dickens

I honestly can't tell you why ... perhaps because she's been on two of my favorite shows (Deadwood and Treme), perhaps because she frequently has fairly weird haircuts and sometimes looks like a lesbian - I don't know. But she's wicked talented, and highly underrated, and there's just something!

There are others, but again, they rotate in on different days. I shared mine ...who's on yours?

Our Scarlet Letter isn't "A"...

2010-10-19T15:31:00.000-07:00

Apparently, October is my "I'm going to talk about gay issues" month. It could be because elections are coming up in two short weeks (Halloween's got nothin' on this fright fest) so DADT and DOMA are at the forefront of the Democrats' failure card; it could also be because I'm looping Grey's Anatomy episodes in the cave of unemployment that is my room, while simultaneously (and frantically) searching for job opportunities ... or, simply because I miss my gorgeous girlfriend A LOT. Either way ... I'm super gay this month.

[You're probably wishing for more entries about the puppies at this point.]

My parents are good liberals. They are not hypocritical, they're open minded, and they watch Rachel Maddow, Jon Stewart, The Colbert Report, and Keith Olbermann - every. single. day. And because I'm unemployed, and home in the early evenings, I watch them (or rather, listen to them) too. I like listening to these programs, not just because they're highly entertaining, but strangely, they're highly informative. Keith Olbermann is occasionally supercilious, but I forgive him when he gets to his staple segment, "Worst Person in the World!" (it's usually Bill O'Reilly or Rush Limbaugh)

Last night on Rachel Maddow, Meghan McCain was a guest. She's a frequent guest. Oddly, I like Meghan McCain quite a bit. She's what I'm hoping the future of the Republican Party will be. She's smart, she she's an independent thinker, and can be reasonably conservative and still support social issues and civil rights. Pretty awesome. Anyway, here's a clip from last night's show. About 2/3's of the way through the video, Rachel shows an interview with Colorado congressional candidate Ken Buck on Meet the Press.

He's asked by the interviewer if he believes being gay is a choice. Buck says yes. And then compares homosexuality to alcoholism.

The concept that being gay is a "choice" boggles my mind. I realize that I have a very subjective view of this issue, but on a logical, reason-based planet (if one exists?) - I don't understand the notion that anyone would voluntarily choose to be a part of a minority that is poorly treated, marginalized, continually denied basic human rights, and risk physical bodily harm and death in some cases, just because of their "lifestyle choice." That seems fairly ridiculous. And as someone who tried to pray the gay away in secret for the better part of a year, I can safely tell you, Mr. Buck, that it is NOT a choice.

Unsurprisingly, the candidates like Ken Buck (see: Carl Paladino, Sharron Angle) who hate the gays, would also deny the right to choose abortion to women who are the victims of rape and incest, should they be elected. I'm the first liberal to say that Harry Reid (the Nevada incumbent Sharron Angle is running against/Senate majority leader) is one of the least effective Democrats on the Hill. But you know, when it comes down to politicians who do more harm than good, I'd take Harry Reid over Sharron Angle any day of the week. The worst part is that Sharron Angle is a woman ... who believes that women don't have the right to terminate a pregnancy that was created through domestic terrorism! Talk about "abomination."

Abortion sidetrack aside, the notion of homosexuality and choice (and the persecution therein) is becoming an international epidemic. There's a horrifying article on Gay365.com, that sites a Ugandan newspaper that printed photos of the "Top 100 homosexuals" in the Ugandan city, lists their addresses, and with a headline over the photos that reads, "Hang them!" Within the body of the article, there are quotes from a Ugandan minister, calling for an investigation as to "why homosexuality is increasing in the country." 20 of the "homosexuals" printed in that article have been attacked. In South Africa, the ONLY African nation to allow gay marriage, gangs make a point to find out and "correctively" rape lesbians.

Is it a matter of "increasing homosexuality?" Or is it simply that homosexuals are becoming braver? The bottom line, is that it doesn't matter - and it shouldn't matter. These are specific, targeted attacks on a minority of humans because of who they are. Does this sound familiar throughout the annals of history at all?

Thankfully, there's an upside. It seems as one side gets more and more fanatical, the other side gets more and more tolerant. I found this on a friend's facebook page. Strangely, it's an article by the dating website, OKcupid.com. It's a data-based collection of statistics, polled from over 3.2 million OKcupid members. It's kind of hilarious, and hugely interesting.

Gay sex vs. Straight sex

A couple of things I'd like to say, as a real-life lesbian:
1) I HATE the L Word. NOT ALL LESBIANS LOVE THE L WORD!
2) I don't do drugs ... nor do I know any other lesbians who do drugs on a regular basis, unless drugs = alcohol
3) From my knowledge of North America, which is fairly extensive, that map is pretty accurate, except that I think Utah should be slightly more orange than it is. Mormons are pretty gay - intensely closeted - but gay nonetheless.

The last two things I'd like say have to do with the oh-so-mysterious "gay agenda," that Republicans like to scare and excite their constituents with. Now, it will go against my Satan-worshiping coven blood-oath, but I'm going to fill you on what the American "gay agenda" actually is (because I can't speak for the Bulgarian, Chinese, Albanian, Finnish, or Mozambiquan gay agendas). Are you ready? It's going to blow your mind!

The American Gay Agenda is focused on obtaining equality through legislation so that all citizens may be equal under the law; specifically in the sectors of marriage, partnership rights, and domestic living. Other than that, we just want to be left alone.

Consider your minds blown. Notice how nowhere in that "agenda" is there a clause that reads something like this:

Also, we aim to improve our recruitment numbers by planting homosexual teachers in your schools for the sole purpose of indoctrinating your children into a life of homosexuality. The more children we convert, the more prizes we win!

The scary part is that nearly 50% of Americans believe the statement above to be true. THEY BELIEVE IT! There's a myth attached with the acceptance of Gay Marriage as a law, claiming that homosexuality is going to be taught in the schools. Now, being the lesbian liberal who values logic and reason when it comes to my law-making, I don't know exactly what the other side means when they say "homosexuality is going to be taught in schools." I've been trying to figure it out for a few years now, but to no avail. Will it be taught in sex education classes (if any are left) as a clinical option, along side heterosexuality? I'd hope so. Will it be mentioned over and over by your kids' physics teacher as a way to make "new friends" and see the world? Probably not. And if so, I'd totally be in favor of firing that teacher for teaching something other than physics. Also, I'd like to say that as a teacher, I do not make a habit of teaching anything outside of my field. Most of the teachers I know are the same way.

I have not, in my 11 years of being an "out" lesbian recruited, coerced, seduced, or manipulated a "heterosexual" person into homosexuality unwillingly (that's a story for another time).

Oh ... and that chart about how 50% of women are bi-curious? I've found in my "research" that that's usually true. Heck ... even Katy Perry kissed a girl. And apparently, she liked it.

Obsessions, big and small ... but mostly big.

2010-10-18T23:44:00.000-07:00

I do not have an addictive personality. I do not have compulsive need for things (or substances) - cravings, occasionally - but addictions, no.

What I do have ... are obsessions. I have (largely) illogical, emotional connections to a bizarre array of things. Relationships (mostly fictional), art, books, desserts ... those are the big ones. And when I have a lot of time on my hands, like ... now, I find new things to fill my obsessional void. My current obsession? Grey's Anatomy.

I stopped watching Grey's Anatomy at the beginning of Season 5, when Dr. Erica Hahn (the faboo Brooke Smith), was kicked off the show for not being pretty enough, or nice enough, or something. Dr. Erica Hahn was at the beginning of a relationship with the gorgeous Dr. Calliope Torres (mmmmmmm Sara Ramirez!), the first non-heterosexual relationship for series regulars on the show. And at the time, I thought it was a conspiracy by ABC (and the Disney Corp.) to end lesbian relationships on TV!! Surely, they were behind the lesbian relationship mass extinction. Damn you, Disney! You may have taken part of my soul when I worked for you, but you'll never take away my TV girlfriends!!!

Or, you know, not. Because had I just hung in for 5-6 more episodes beyond the Dr. Erica Hahn debacle, I would have been introduced to Dr. Arizona Robbins, pediatric surgeon extraordinaire, who's not only cute and fabulous with children (she wears heelys!), but is also a lesbian. And the folks at ABC must be satisfied that she's cuter and more personable than Erica Hahn (I'm sorry Brooke Smith ... *I* love you!). So long soap opera story line short, a non-heterosexual representation of Seattle doctors remains. And is one of the few (possibly, only?) lesbian relationships on network TV.

And I've been obsessed with it. I've watched all of seasons 5 & 6 ... twice. In about two weeks. And thanks to ABC.com, I'm all caught up on the beginning of season 7 now, too.

Lara and I had a conversation about this earlier in the year. Some people like Lara, have short fixations, little bursts of excitement that fizzle out as quickly as they pop up. I, on the other hand, tend to get fixated on one thing at a time ... and when I do, it's not a fleeting occurrence - I fixate for life. Examples:

- At 6 years old, my grandfather taped the CBC version of Anne of Green Gables on Beta tapes. I fell in love! I watched those tapes over and over and over ... until I wore them out, about 3 years later. Then my grandfather got fancy and high-tech, bought a cutting-edge VHS player, and Anne of Green Gables on VHS, and then I wore those out, too.

- My grandmother and I used to get chocolate croissants every Sunday after church. Sometimes I could get two. This was a tradition for almost 10 years. I could eat chocolate croissants every day, and be incredibly happy.

- I've had to buy multiple copies of these books because I wore down the binding, and they fell apart:
The Hotel New Hampshire, Sense & Sensibility, Misty of Chincoteague, and Reservation Blues.

- In a word: Xena.

- Fantasy Sports - I spend hours, and hours out of my week obsessing about my Fantasy Sports teams.

These are only a few examples. Sometimes it's a long, slow progression that eventually leads to the assimilation of whatever-it-is into my life, like Grey's Anatomy. Sometimes, it happens all at once - like my discovery of the wonders of hockey. But either way ... sometimes it's the little/big things that get me through the day.

What gets you through the day?

National Coming Out Day

2010-10-11T20:12:00.000-07:00

So today is Columbus Day. I've personally always thought this to be one of the crappiest "holidays" on the American Calendar - precisely for the reason that I never once got the day off from school. Why write the names of Holidays in italics on the calendar, if you're not going to give us the day off!? It seems like a fountainhead day to celebrate a fairly lame fountainhead explorer. Did you know that kids on the East Coast get Columbus Day off from school? I was ticked, until I realized that celebrating the memory of a man who began the systematic raping and pillaging of native peoples in the Western continents was just not my cup.

But today is not just Columbus Day. It's also National Coming Out Day. And instead of talking about celebrating the "discovery of the Americas" (pffffft ... so histrionically wrong on soooo many levels), I thought I'd tell you a bit about my experience with the coming out process. Because truthful identities are something worth celebrating.

I came out when I was 17, almost 18. It was the last week of Winter break in my senior year of high school. I had known for at least two years, but in the community where I lived, the high school I went to, and my own sense of stature among my peers, coming out wasn't an option. This was the mid-late 90's. And while the GLBT community was being exposed in a very positive, new, and revolutionary way, the gay-straight alliances that are now the "norm" at high schools, were completely radical, and virtually unheard of at the time. I might not have come out on my own at all, except that my best friend, upon reading a poem I had compiled of single-line Tori Amos lyrics (yeah ... you can totally laugh), flat out asked me.

"So what's this about?"
"Huh?"

"This poem ... what's this about? Is it about one person?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"And is this person ..."

"Is this person what?"

"Well ... is it a boy or a girl?"

[silence] "I don't know. I think I'm trying to figure that out."

"Okay ... well, if you had to choose between one or the other, which would it be?"

"Choose between one or the other what?"

"Gender. Which do you like better?"

"Uhmmm..."

"I'm just asking."

"I think I like girls. I think I really like girls."

"I knew it!"

"WHAT?!"

"I've known."
"WHAT?! How did you? I mean, I didn't ... WHAT?!"

"I've known since junior year, I think."
"Well why didn't you tell me??"
"I just didn't know how to broach the subject."

"Would have saved me a lot of agony, you know ... that you're okay with it."

"Of course I am! I love you. And I want you to be happy. This doesn't change who you are ... it's just another level."

"Thank you."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"No - I've never said it out loud. I should probably do it now - Megan, I think I'm a lesbian."
"YAY! I'm so happy for you! And I'm the first one to know! YAY!"

[That's a mostly dramatized retelling - I don't remember all the details of the conversation, but that's the essential idea.]

This conversation then carried long into the night. My biggest fear was that other students at school, like Megan, had figured it out. I was paranoid about being "obvious." My fear took hold - what would they do to me if they knew? What about the awards and scholarships I was up for? What about my teachers - would they grade me differently? Would my parents still love me? Would I have any friends at all?

Anyone struggling with self-identity battles with these questions and more ... and the more questions asked, the more fear is produced. Now, thankfully, Megan is probably 50 times more perceptive than most normal humans, let alone teenagers. I lived the last semester of high school in a kind of paranoid bliss - I was simultaneously horrified of someone finding out - or worse - figuring it out before I had a chance to control it. But I was so completely thrilled that someone else knew ... someone knew! Not just someone - my best friend, who knew me better than anyone. Who sat with me at lunch time, who commiserated with me about the vileness of high school, and the hate we had for our hometown. My intelligent, articulate, valedictorian best friend who didn't even blink that I was different, and who didn't love me any less. In fact, she was excited and proud of the fact that she was the first one to know.

Part of the coming out process includes damage control. Lots and lots of damage control. The impetus of controlling who knows what: when you'll tell them, how you'll tell them, how MUCH you'll tell them, and attempting to calculate the fall-out as the news spreads is so daunting - it's enough to make you want to stay good and hidden in that closet for, oh, 80 years or so. It's maddening! Especially because once you say it - once you lay it all out there, that's it. You can't get it back, you can't retract it. It's such a brave, terrifying, and completely lonely process - it can't be fully experienced unless you're right in the middle of it. Unless you're living it.

My coming out experience was (by-in-large) so completely awesome, so supportive, so wonderful - and with each new person I told, it became that much easier for the next time, and the next time. I'm one of the really lucky ones.

I have friends who've come out to me, and with many I was the first person they told. And with almost all of them, the set up was written or said to me in a way that had me deathly afraid they were dying of cancer. "I have something I need to tell you, and it's really, really difficult. I can't even say the words - but I have to ..." So dour, so depressed, so frightened - and the phrase, "I understand if you don't want to talk with me anymore," or some variation, is ALWAYS the conclusive statement - (I think I said it a few times myself) because that's what their expectation is. They're expecting the worst-case scenario - that everyone they know will leave them, will stop loving them, will disown them. It doesn't matter how real this scenario could be - it's every non-straight person's worst fear. It certainly was for me - and I had exceptionally wonderful people in my life.

And if someone you know does that to you ... if they have such a hard time getting the words out that you're afraid they've got some terribly terminal disease - you are absolutely allowed to yell at them! Just so long as you hug them, or smile, or exclaim your immense relief. Tell them that you love them, no matter what, and that all you could ever hope for, is for them to be happy with who they are. That is the singularly best gift you can give: joyful acceptance.

So today I celebrate all those teens, all those early 20-somethings, 30-somethings, 40-somethings, 50-somethings, 60-somethings, and beyond - it's not too late to love who you are; who you've always been. And while you might feel alone - you're not. And days like today (without Columbus' help) exist to remind us of that.

Oh. And fuck you, Carl Paladino!

And some bonus videos ...

G.A.Y.S. (Guys Against You Serving) from Thomas Lennon

New Music Thursday...

2010-10-07T15:06:00.000-07:00

I thought I should make up for the obnoxiously nerdy blog post I threw up in the wee hours of the morning. While I'm clearly not ashamed of my uber nerdiness, I know it isn't everyone's cup of tea. But you know what is? MUSIC.

Now, I know it isn't the end of 2010 yet - but I thought I'd post my top five favorite bands of this last year, mainly because I've done a poor job of sharing music with you recently. And music, like a good wine, needs to be shared to be enjoyed. The joys of this life, after all, are not for the covetous.

Gas Light Anthem - The down-and-out, bad-things-happen-to good-people working man that The Boss first shared with the world, is kept alive and well in Gas Light Anthem's breakthrough record, The '59 Sound. Throw in some classic '50's guitar riffs (some lovely Buddy Holly homages), and you have yourself a really interesting, gritty, soul-bearing band; a refreshing relief from the emo-laden "rock 'n roll" that haunts the aisles of what used to be "alternative" rock. These guys are the real deal.

Sample of brilliance:
"Everthing has a price/everyone has a price/nothing is free, not even me."

Oh. And they played with Bruce Springsteen. Yeah. I just died a lot.

The Avett Brothers - I know I wrote a whole post about these guys on Monday, but they deserve repeating. Perhaps you, like me, have heard magazines, critics, and even musicians proclaim cynically that "Rock n' Roll is DEAD!" No, it's fucking not. And so long as bands like the Avett Brothers exist, it won't ever die. What Rock n' Roll needs to get away from is the over-produced, badly written simplicity of "the music industry." Music requires musicians who have musicianship. Not suits with glasses who sell bullshit to the masses. But thankfully, the Avett Brothers have the market CORNERED on musicianship. Long live North Carolina!

Sample Brilliance:
"Keep your clothes on/I've got all that I can take/teach me how to use/the love that people say you make"

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros - I've written about these guys too. I think they're one of my favorite bands of this year solely because of their originality. They're encapsulating an entirely new culture in their music, one that is suddenly getting a lot more attention - the neo-hippie, burning man attending, peace-loving, love-loving slightly hipster kids of my generation, who are trying their hardest to shake off the materialistic, "stuff"-mongering 80's childhood they were raised with - the kids who are creating sustainability, not just in farming, but in every aspect of their lives. A free-spirit, a need to change the world, and an optimism that will never die. The Zeros are the sound for this generation. And thank goodness.

The sound on this video isn't great ... but the spirit captures what I'm talking about ...

The National - I don't know if I've talked about this band before, but I love them. Love, love, LOVE them. I can't even really articulate in words the awesomeness of this band ... so I'm just going to give you the video, so you can listen for yourselves.

Sample of brilliance:
"We're half awake in our fake empire..."

Arcade Fire - The upside of bands who take time between albums, like the Arcade Fire, is that their albums tend to be the most thought-out, well-executed, and musically diverse in the market. And this is certainly true of the Montreal band. Their third major album since 2004, Suburbs, tells of the homogenized plasticity of the middle class, their fall from "American Dream" glory, and relationships left in the ruined aftermath. Highly intelligent, thought-provoking lyrics, paired with organ riffs, optimistic guitars, and a killer rhythm section - Arcade Fire is keeping it real. Not bad for a bunch of Canadians, eh?

Sample of brilliance:
"I feel like I've been livin' in/a city with no children in it/a garden left for ruin/by a millionaire inside of a private prison"

There you go, kids. Download at your own discretion. Or be totally hipster and go buy them in vinyl.

Please don't read this. Unless you want to...

2010-10-07T02:53:00.000-07:00

I'm warning you now: this blog is about fantasy hockey, drafting, and all completely nerdy subjects related therein. Most of you will have absolutely NO interest in what I'm going to say - and that's alright. But don't roll your eyes and leave me nasty comments about how uninteresting my life is. Believe me, I already know. On the other hand, you might get a good laugh at my expense - and at the very least, feel better about yourself.

Polar Bears - champions of creating schadenfreude moments since global warming.

Great. Now I'm depressed.

Anyway ... YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

I've been playing fantasy sports since 2007. It was my first real office job - and like so many young professionals with excellent multi-tasking skill, and unmonitored internet access, I thought, "Meh - it'll be fun." I started with fantasy baseball. I'll tell you right now - I haven't done better than 4th place in fantasy baseball. I have other fantasy fanatic friends who say that baseball is the hardest fantasy sport to play - I'm not sure why, exactly. But there you go. I played fantasy college football - which is lame - and then ... I started playing hockey. And hockey continues to be my love, my obsession, and my heartbreak, year in and year out.

(By the way, I'm watching Jeff Tweedy and Mavis Staples on the Colbert Report. Awesome. Jeff just said, "I don't argue with her about anything," and Mavis just said, "The devil ain't got no music." I think my heart just stopped with happiness!)

For the two non-fantasy players still reading this blog, you might not believe it, but people get paid to blog about fantasy sports and share their strategies. Unfortunately, I'm NOT getting paid, but I'm going to tell you my strategy anyway. No, no, don't thank me.

The truth is that strategy is ever-changing. At first, I didn't have a strategy - I just let yahoo draft everything for me. I didn't trade, I didn't add/drop very often, I didn't get rid of players that weren't producing. Even with my non-planning, I ended up in 6th place out of 12 teams. Not terrible. Last year, I focused my efforts on defensemen and goalies. In many leagues, Goalie stats count for at least 4 out of 10 categories, if not 5. The madness behind seeking top defensemen, was the theory that forwards were going to score points no matter what ... but if I had *awesome* defensemen, they'd boost my forwards, and give me an edge. With this strategy, I came in 1st in one league, and 2nd in the other two, which, believe me - is nothing to sneeze at.

Here's the problem with the goalie/defensemen strategy. While I was superior in the goalie stats (I love you, Martin Brodeur!), my defensemen didn't boost my offensive numbers nearly as much as I had projected them to. Here's why: most good defensemen will have 40-50 points in a season. Now, if you sacrifice your early draft picks on defensemen, thereby sacrificing your offense for forwards who are only reaching 50-60 points (or less), you're using two players to reach what one top 6 forward could potentially reach on his own. The argument against this logic, is that if you draft the best defenseman (Mike Green - who had 70 points last season, all on his own) in the NHL, you're drafting a defenseman who might as well be a forward, and that's better than any forward ranked below 20 - and let's face it - you only get one or two drafting slots in the top 20.

Here's my counter-argument: The number of forwards who will score more than 70 points is MUCH greater than the number of defensemen who will score more than 70. The end. So this year, I went all out for high-producing forwards in the first 4 rounds. And I have to say, I'm quite happy with my teams. It also doesn't hurt that I drafted 1st in two out of three leagues. Which means I ended up with one of the two best players in the NHL, Alexander Ovechkin. (GOD! I hope he doesn't get hurt!!) Which leads me to ...

Draft Placement. You can plan, you can strategize, you can spend countless hours planning out different scenarios ... but there's a HUGE factor to fantasy sports that you *can't* plan - and that's the luck of the draw. Here's what you need to know about draft positions - if you're in the first 3 or the last 3 slots, you're in good shape. The reason for this is due to the fact that 99% of fantasy drafts involve a system called "snake drafts." Which means that the draft starts at the top with 1, 2, 3, and so on and so forth, until the last position in the draft - for the purposes of today, let's say 10. The second round then starts at the bottom, and works its way back up to the top, and then back down again; like this:

round one: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 round two: 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 round three: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10, etc.

So - positions 1, 2, 3, 8, 9, 10 are the best - for the simple fact that the closeness of draft picks usually garner the best results. 4, 5, 6, 7 are the hardest - by FAR - namely because you're usually settling for lesser players in each round, while the players you want are getting scooped up by at the tops and bottom of the draft. But this, my fantasy fanatics, is where your strategy can boost you to the top, regardless of position. In one league, I drafted 6th out of 12, but rendered a fairly decent team. Here's who I drafted:

Round 1: Henrik Sedin C (112 points last season!)
Round 2: Alexander Semin RW (84 points)

Round 3: Bobby Ryan C, LW (64 pts)

Round 4: Tuuka Rask G

Round 5: Nicklas Lidstrom D (49 pts)

Round 6: Christian Ehrhoff D (44 pts)

Round 7: Alex Burrows LW (67 pts)

Round 8: Mason Raymond LW (53 pts)

Round 9: Lubomir Visnovsky D (45 pts)

Round 10: Chris Mason G

Round 11: Kurtis Foster D (42 pts)

Round 12: Mikael Samuelsson RW (53 pts)

Round 13: Jussi Jokinen LW (65 pts)

Round 14: Andy Sutton D (13 pts)*

Round 15: Joni Pitkanen D (46 pts)

Round 16: Saku Koivu C (52 pts)

Round 17: Brian Gionta RW (46 pts)

Round 18: Nikolai Khabibulin G

Round 19: Tyler Seguin C (ROOKIE!)

Round 20: RJ Umberger C (55 pts)

It might not look as great to you, but it leaves me very hopeful. I drafted a lot of players who are on the upswing - meaning that not only are they good, fundamental players - they're going to improve. Alex Semin, Bobby Ryan, Christian Ehrhoff, Alex Burrows, Mason Raymond, Jussi Jokinen - I think they're all going to have a great year. Then I have some consistent players, who, while I know aren't going to do much (if any) better, won't do much worse - work horses whose style of play is rock solid and dependable. These are mostly veterans - Henrik Sedin, Nik Lidstrom, Lubomir Visnovsky, Mikael Samuelsson. But that brings us to:

WILD CARDS! Fantasy sports is just like gambling - you have to take some kind of a risk in order to get ahead. Risks in fantasy sports include everything from drafting rookies right out of training camp, to projecting which goalies might pull themselves up from the basement of the unknown. Examples on my roster - Chris Mason - who was picked up by the Atlanta Thrashers after a luke-warm season with the St. Louis Blues. The guy isn't a bad goalie - in fact, St. Louis would have won more games if they had scored more goals. But even in a relatively poor year, he won 30 games, and has a save percentage of .913% - which while not breathtaking, isn't something to ignore. (A "good" goalie has a save percentage of .917+) On the other spectrum, I drafted Nikolai Khabibulin, who was injured for all but the first three weeks of last season. Not only has he been out, he was just arrested in Arizona for a DUI this August, and released on bail. Khabibulin has had some sparks of brilliance, but hasn't managed to hold any kind of consistency. I actually dropped him the night of the draft to pick up Jean-Sebastien Giguere, veteran goalie for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Giggy (as he's referred to) helped the Ducks win the Stanley Cup in 2007, and ALMOST won the cup for them (single-handedly) in 2003. After the cup, Giggy had a string of personal problems (like his father's death), which, understandably, effected his play between the pipes. He was out-shined and up-staged by Jonas Hiller. Giggy had been with the Ducks for so long, the management was loathed to get rid of him - but finally, loyalty gave way to salary cap space, and off to Toronto he went toward the end of last season. Giggy's arrival in Toronto sparked some life into the nearly-dead Leafs, and I'm *hoping* that in the off-season Giggy got his groove back. We'll see, because after all ...

GOALIES ARE NOT ALWAYS RELIABLE. It's sad, but true. Goalies, like baseball pitchers, have ups, downs, crazy stretches of brilliance, and maddeningly disappointing bouts of suckiness. Any position upon which so much is depended - well - it's to be expected, I guess. Even Roy Halladay, who pitched a no-hitter today, (only the 2nd playoff game no-hitter in MLB history!) had some really crappy games this season. Just ask Liz. But goalies can't be ignored - again, their stats make up half of the fantasy scoring categories. So, here's what you do. Divide up your favorite goalies into three tiers - Top tier, work-horses, and gambles. Examples of top tier goalies are goalies who are not only consistent, talented goalies, but are on teams that will help them win games - examples include: Martin Brodeur, Roberto Luongo, Henrik Lunqvist, Ryan Miller. Work-horses are goalies who are talented and usually consistent, but are perhaps on teams with more of a struggle, examples: Jimmy Howard, Jonas Hiller, Pekka Rinne, Miika Kiprusoff - in other words, goalies that will get at least 30-35 wins, whether their teams are helping or not. Then ... the gambles - usually untested, new to the team, battling for a no. 1 spot - these are goalies in which there is potential, but not enough evidence to prove it. Goalies like this include Dan Ellis, who was just traded to Tampa Bay, Antti Niemi, who was traded to San Jose, Chris Mason, traded to Atlanta, Tuuka Rask in Boston, Steve Mason in Columbus, JS Giguere in Toronto, and Brian Elliott in Ottawa.

There's also a 4th category of goalie - one that I don't like to draft. I'll call them puppets - namely because they aren't *really* good goalies, but they're on teams whose offense is SO good, they're going to win games, whether they try to stop the puck or not (which is why people like to draft them). These goalies include Seymon Varlamov, goalie of the offensive powerhouse Washington Capitols, Marc-Andre Fleury, goalie for the superstar Pittsburgh Penguins, and Marty Turco of the Stanley Cup defending Chicago Blackhawks. Whoever they decide to play in-goal in Philadelphia will also fall into this category.

FORWARD POSITIONS. When drafting forward positions, you need to know that not all forwards are created equally. This varies from year to year, but this year, it happened like this: LW are rare and valuable, RW are tricky, and Centers are good 'n plenty. So part of my offensive strategy was to draft a LW first - which I succeeded in, except in the case of Henrik Sedin. The fall-out wasn't as bad as I thought, but my LW's aren't as flashy as I'd like; especially since Alex Burrows is out for another month with an injury. Ah well.

DEFENSE = STEADY AS SHE GOES! So here's the deal with defense, when you're not drafting them in the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd rounds. Consistent is good! Look at their stats for the past 3 years. Have they stayed within a 5 point spread year after year? Are they slowly getting better? How many shots on goal are they taking? Are they moving the puck with assists? How are they on the power-play? Good, steady defensemen = Nick Lidstrom, Brian Rafalski, Lubomir Visnovsky, Chris Pronger, Zdeno Chara. Also, up-and-coming defensemen are always worth a gamble. Tyler Myers was a huge payoff last year. Cam Fowler could prove to be a wonderboy this year. If you're going to gamble big in one position, Defense can be a good place to do it.

SLEEPERS. There are two kinds of sleepers. The first are players who are quiet with their points, and most people don't look twice at. Jussi Jokinen had a 30 goal/35 assist year last year for Carolina. Rene Borque had 30 goals and 27 assists. What makes these players so awesome is that they're usually just starting to hit their stride, which means that they're only going to get better, which means that it could be the difference between in winning, and coming in 2nd or 3rd. The other kind are young players, usually rookies. Sometimes they have a lot of hype surrounding them like Taylor Hall, Tyler Seguin, or Cam Fowler. Sometimes they're less visible, but are fulfilling a specific job on the team - Nazeem Kadri of the Leafs is like this. Jordan Eberle could fall into either category. Dan Sexton of the Ducks, who was pulled up from the minor leagues last year, had an impressive 7 goals and 10 assists in the 10-15 games he played. The difficult task of discerning these young'uns, is whether or not they'll stay up in the NHL, or if they'll be sent back down for development. Big money, big money, big money!

DO's and DON'Ts

1. DON'T draft more than 4 players from the same team

2. DO draft players from teams you think will make play-offs
3. DON'T draft more than three players from your favorite team - trust me on this.

4. DO draft two players from your favorite team.

5. DON'T fall in love with any of your drafted players - it'll only lead to heartache.

6. DO track your stats in the league - it'll show you where your weak spots are.

7. DON'T rob Peter to pay Paul - ie, if you're low in assists, but high in saves, don't leverage one to gain the other. It doesn't usually work.

8. DO propose trades - it's the surest way to improve your team.

9. DON'T feel pressured into accepting trades that won't help you.

10. DO engage in smack talk - it's fun.

FINALLY - STRUCTURING YOUR DRAFT. So here's the deal. You need to pad your pre-draft rankings. You can't just throw people up and hope they'll stick. Also - pad according to position. Decide on the projected positions for the first 6 rounds - tweak it until you like it. Mine went a little something like this:

Round 1 - LW

Round 2 - RW

Round 3 - C

Round 4 - G

Round 5 - D

Round 6 - G

This, my friends, is called a frame; setting up each position for maximum success. However, each frame needs to be tailor fitted to each league - in fact, the frame is dependent upon how many teams are on the league. The frame above was for a 10 player league. A 12 player league might look a little something like this:

Round 1 - LW

Round 2 - G

Round 3 - RW

Round 4 - D

Round 5 - G

Round 6 - C

If you have 16 players on a team, and 10 teams in a league, that's 160 players. If you have 16 players on a team, and 12 teams in a league, that's 192 players. The difference of 32 players might not seem big, but believe me, it IS. You have to account for the fact that you'll be scraping the bottom of the barrel by round 12.

Where I went wrong in the list toward the beginning of the blog, was that I didn't realize that particular league was drafting for 20 players on each team. Which meant that my goalie positioning was way off, hence my crazy goalie spread. In my other two leagues I drafted Martin Brodeur, Henrik Lunqvist, and Antti Niemi - and Miika Kiprusoff, Jonas Hiller, and Chris Mason. Much better, no?

Good drafting takes time. You have to go through and pull up players who are stuck further down the list. The goal is to position them in such a way to where you'll draft them before anyone else. Alex Semin was listed at 31 on the list. He's gone in the top 20 for every draft I've done. It takes research, intuition, and trial-by-fire precision to set a good draft - but when you do - it pays off in spades!

Of course, sheer dumb luck trumps just about everything I wrote about. And thereby hangs a tale ...

My weekend in pictures! (with captions...)

2010-10-06T01:44:00.000-07:00

In an effort to forget about my unemployment blues, I thought I'd create a multi-media post about my weekend. Let's see how this works ...

First, click play on the video. You don't need to watch it, just click it.

Okay ... now scroll ...

Opening band: Grace and the Nocturnals - actually pretty kick ass...

Ooooooooo!!! LIGHTS!!! Quick, where's my pacifier and necklace??

On their last song, all members of the Nocturnals were wailing on the drums.

Why? I don't know, but it was kind of rad.

Eat your heart out, "real" L Word...

Hi. I need a haircut.

I. LOVE. HER. (and her band...)

So much love ... I even forgive the skinny jeans ...

a Johnny Cash pose, for some Johnny Cash covers ... mmmmmm ...

What? You can't see Brandi Carlile? NEITHER COULD WE.

These two did a LOT of standing. I did a lot of fuming....

Rock n' Roll cello #1 of the night...

Okay ... so she tells us that she and the band are going to unplug, and sing this song acoustically ... in the Nokia Theater; a 20,000 seat venue. And you know what? It was a beautiful, fun, and awesome moment. Especially since the audience was miraculously douche-bag free ... (minus the go-go dancers in front of us...)

Seriously, this place is HUGE.

and seriously ... she belted that song out like a champ. Diaphragm and all!! (hush)

Lara's got a crush on her drummer (far left) ... can you blame her?

Wailing on a guitar ... and every lesbian's heart ...

See that red bandanna in her back pocket?? Any woman who can honor Johnny Cash

AND Bruce Springsteen in an hour is aces in my book!

...and now... THE AVETT BROTHERS! I have dubbed them Alt-Appalachian.

...and Rock n' Roll cello #2!

This is about how far from the stage we were ...

They were working pretty frakkin' hard ... note the loss of jackets and the loosening of ties.

I imagine, that had we been closer, we would have been unintentionally rained on....

I kind of love their bass player... nerdy chic!

Yeah ... they play multiple instruments ...

I kind of want to learn how to play the banjo...

Did I mention they play multiple instruments??

am I the only one who thinks they look like they could be the long-lost brothers of Wyatt Earp?

DAY 2

The Costa Mesa Dog Park

"Oh boy! Throw the ball, mom! Throw the ball!"

"Hey you guys, BRING BACK THE BALL!"

"Oh mom, I sure do love the dog park!"

"I love it so much, I wanted to take some of it home with me..."

Mud...

More mud...

"Does it help if I give you the cute eyes??"

"How about the happy face????"

"He's such a doof."

...Yeah, he totally plopped down in a big old mud puddle, and became the object of giddy schadenfreude from the other puppy moms (*&#^$%@). Which resulted in my running home, washing him as fast as I could, and then going to go see Godspell at the university.

The mud wasn't so bad, in comparison.

MISCELLANEOUS

My purse/bag/thing!

The dogs have had this stuffed animal for over a month, and the only thing they've been able to rip is his tail. Not bad, eh?

And in case you're hankering for some more music...

"Always remember there was nothing worth sharing, like the love that let us share our name..."

Brilliant.

This is the song she sang unplugged, which they also show in the video.

Seriously rad.

They did this cover at the concert ... it was pretty far out.

Grace Slick would have been happy, I think.

Friday Potpourri!

2010-10-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

So it's Friday. I have a job interview at 2:00 p.m. (hooray!!!), I'm going to go see the Avett Brothers and Brandi Carlile play, with Grace Potter and the Nocturnals opening (EPIC!!!). It's been a thunder-n'-lighting extravaganza, complete with a downpour here today ... all in all, it's shaping up to be a pretty great day. One in which I fully intend to ignore the news, and just groove to the beat of my own vibe ... which today, goes a little something like this:

Provocative poses!

Europe, through the eyes of Brits. To see more, go HERE.

The Avett Bros.!

OK GO (with friends!)

Glee goes GAGA!

I hope you ALL have an excellent Friday. And remember, when all else fails, when all seems bleak, dismal, and beyond hope ...

there's always YOUTUBE!

Oh - And Hermione and Hagrid say hello...

Culture Wars: The other US war on Terror

2010-09-29T17:32:00.000-07:00

Within the last hour, I've seen three stories about gay teen suicide, and a separate story about a gay college student who's being harassed by a crazy alumni.

WHAT IS GOING ON???

It's shit like this that creates gay rage within me. These cultural wars have got to stop! There needs to be some kind of intervention when boys as young as 13 are hanging themselves in their backyards. Different is not bad. It is not evil. It is not the destroyer of life as we know it. But you know what is? Hate. And Fear. And when Fear fuels Hate, we end up with an inferno of madness - shear, unadulterated, illogical, unreasonable madness. I've been crying on and off for the past hour, gob-smacked with sadness.

I'll post links below. You may choose to read at your own discretion. But if you, like me, have had a terrible, scary news day, I don't recommend clicking on them now.

One of the links asks why teen lesbians aren't targeted in the same way. Are they more resilient? Do they just hide better? Are they less self-destructive? Having been a former lesbian teen, I don't think it has anything to do with that. Girls and sexuality are handled so differently than boys, especially as teens. When boys figure out their sexuality - especially as young as 13 - it's a lot more obvious, because so many of their peers are going through rite-of-passage rituals that we provide for heterosexuals. Boys are supposed to learn how to be "men" and play sports. They spit. They laugh at stupid, bawdy jokes. They punch each other in the arm for no apparent reason - and as guy, you're just supposed to take it - because that's what "guys" do. If you complain, if you cry, if you show fear or misunderstanding or shy away from any of this - like blood in the water, the sharks come and circle and bite. Boys are so physical - the sheer visible differences between "young dude" and "young, cute gay boy" are amazingly clear.

I don't know what it's like for other girls, but for me, it was all about hiding. I do think it's easier for girls to hide, to a degree. But the ease of that choice is only permissible because girls don't have the same gender expectations. It was easy for me to agree with a standing gaggle of girls that JP Huntington was the cutest boy in school. All I had to do was say yes. It was easy for me to go to another girls' sleepover and let her mom put make up on me and give me a facial. It was easy for me to fill up my middle school and high school life to such a quantity, that I had no time to hang out or be "pretty." And more importantly, as girls, we're taught to show love for other people, patience, kindness, niceness, pleasantness - which is why so many teen girls have issues with expressing anger. Dudes are allowed to be angry and lash-out. Girls are allowed to love anyone, we're just not allowed to be angry and/or express our anger. We're supposed to smother it internally, and keep smiling through it all. That's what "nice" girls do, anyway.

This my sound silly, but I also think that in being *so* much taller than the other kids, that already marked me as being "different," so no one had the same expectations for me as they did for other girls. But all I had to do was say "Yes" and go along with everything. In fact, I once was so afraid about being found out, I made a terrible gay joke (to my basketball team), trying to create a diversion of attention away from myself. Thankfully my dad had the courage to tell me, right there, in front of my friends, how inappropriate and uncouth that tactic was. I still get embarrassed about that particular act of cowardice. I didn't really gather the courage to be myself and start saying "No" to the bullshit until I was 17, and knew I was leaving for college.

But the hiding - the hiding in itself is incredibly self-destructive. I remember listening to one of my basketball teammates senior year, talk about how, if she knew any lesbians, she'd punch them in the face for being "unnatural." Granted, I was almost twice her size, and would have no problem taking her down. But the point is, I shouldn't have had to. And I shouldn't have had to hide. I was so scared for years and years after that about someone freaking out that my friendship with other women would be taken the wrong way. And a few times, it has been. And I've gotten hurt. But I was at an age where losing a friend was no longer the biggest tragedy in the world - especially because I had SO MUCH incredible support around me. Now, I'm to the age where I just don't care. And that's a nice place to be.

But not everyone has what I have, men or women. Especially not 13 year olds. 13 was the crappiest year of my life, and that was without knowing anything about my sexuality, one way or another. The transitions that happen in Middle School can be the hardest of anyone's life - add on top of that a life-changing self-truth of a counter culture sexuality?? I can't even imagine. And then to be bullied every day at school. To not have friends. To not have the support of your parents because you're too scared to talk to them about it, and far too embarrassed. To live in a place so dark and desperate, you are convinced that death is a far more healthy choice than any further existence could be. To know at the core of your soul (albeit, incorrectly), that everyone else would be better off without you; hell, even YOU would be better off without you. And the penetrating SHAME that consumes your life, bit by bit.

Meanwhile, most states are (or have already) banning gay marriage with the fear-based argument that homosexuality will be taught in schools. Well you know what? Maybe it should be. Maybe we should be having a talk with kids and giving them information, instead of making them scared about their differences. Maybe it would save lives and improve generation upon generation, so that we're not dealing with this shit in 10, 20, 30 years.

And I urge you - if you have some gay males in your family, be they friends or relatives - just tell them that you love them. Just as a reminder. Because chances are, they were in these kids' shoes at one point or another. And it's never tacky to remind the ones you love that you're happy they're alive, and in your life.

That's all very heavy-handed; but amidst this madness - here's what I'm grateful for:

1) Dan Savage

2) Glee

3) People like you.

4) My friends and family - without whom - well, I don't know where I'd be today.

Muster yer Hope, all ye who enter here:

The incident at Rutgers

A blog that sums it up

Crazy Dude in Michigan. Sick 'em, Anderson!

"Let's all go to the movies!" or, FINALLY! A post that's not about dogs!!

2010-09-27T01:00:00.000-07:00

When I was little ... like 3 or 4 ... Annie was my favorite movie. I loved it *so* much, my dad produced the live stage version, just for me! I would sing it, I would quote it, I would while away hours in my room by myself, reenacting it. One of the highlights was that the dog who played Sandie came to live with us, and as we didn't have a dog of our own, it was awesome!

Ahhh ... the halcyon days of my childhood. I identified with that spunky, little orphan. In fact, when I was really young, I thought I was an orphan. I didn't see how I possibly belonged to my mother. Oh, my father I knew - beyond the shadow of a doubt - I was related to. But I figured he just searched for me until he found me. Coincidentally my love for Little Orphan Annie was only replaced (around the age of 6 or 7) by another orphan named Anne ... but this one was Canadian, and didn't sing or dance.

Both orphans ... with red hair ... names begin with A ... smart, spunky, optimistic girls who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, took it on the chin, and never looked back. That must have been the reason why I hated being blonde - by all rights, my hair should have been red. UGH! Stoopid genetics.

I digress.

One of my favorite scenes in Annie (the movie) is when Albert Finney, as Daddy Warbucks, takes Annie and Grace (Ann Reinking) to the movies, simply because Annie had never been to one before ... because she's an orphan. What I loved about that bit, was the bizarre fact that Daddy Warbucks buys every seat in the theater, just for that one show. I guess it isn't really bizarre - if I were a billionaire at the beginning of the depression, and seats were only a nickel a pop, buying all the seats would be chump change in the deep money couch of my life. But when I was little, it seemed so ... extravagant!

I went to the movies tonight. I also went to the movies on Thursday night. And while I understand that it isn't 1933 anymore, I think that $11.50 for one seat in a movie theater is a little much. $11.50!! Last year, it was $10.00. The inflation rate seems a bit steep, doesn't it? But then, I suppose with the competition of television, live performances, and more visual stimulus than anyone in 1933 could possibly imagine, I suppose I understand the need for it ... to a degree. I'm sure that in the '30s, everyone would go to the movies. That was it - that was the entertainment. Besides my two friends and I, there were maybe 20 other people, sitting in a theatre that could probably seat 100-125 people.

On the other hand, we have 30 times the amount of movies playing in one theatre now. Literally - the movie houses had one screen, and one movie. Now, we have AMC 30 - 30 screens, and up to 30 movies (though probably closer to 24, since the newest releases show on multiple screens). But all of this means that I spent $23.00 in two days to see two separate movies.

So my $23.00 is going to what, exactly? The actors on screen? Only partially. The Studios? Most definitely. The movie theatre itself? I'm sure. I don't generally go to the movies a lot. I'm usually either too poor, or too busy. It takes a lot - and I mean, A LOT - to get me to slap down $11.50 to go watch people (who get paid amounts that I can't even quantify), perform on a two-dimensional screen, surrounded by other people who can't turn off their electrical gadgets, for reasons I can only assume are related to life-threatening situations (or ... you know, not), listening to babies cry (seriously? Why are you taking your NEWBORN to the MOVIES?), and/or children running up and down the aisles (When did the concept of parenting vanish??).

And for all of this - I actually like going to see movies. I'm not trying to knock films, or film actors. I don't think it's a stupid medium. I value both the art and entertainment a movie can provide. But more and more, I would rather take my $11.50 and go see some possibly hideous NoHo live theatre. Which I would totally do ... if I lived in NoHo.*

Now ... all of this being said, the movie I saw on Thursday night is called Easy A. This one was WELL worth my money. Why?

1. Emma Stone.
2. Any teen movie that seeks to question and chastise the obsession we have with female sexuality is AWESOME.
3. Any teen movie that does the above by incorporating smart dialogue and the major themes and parallels of the Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne - yes, Yes, YES!

I'm going to buy it when it comes out on DVD, it was that good.

Tonight we saw You Again. I probably could have waited to see this one on Netflix.

1. Kristen Bell is very good - the best thing about the movie, really.
2. Sigourney Weaver - well, who doesn't like Sigourney Weaver? In anything??
3. Script - nice concept, poor delivery.
4. If you go see it, tell me what you think about the dude who plays Kristen Bell's brother. (I wanted to hit him in the face with a baseball bat, just to shut him up)

But the bone that I'll throw to both these movies, is that I found myself in an inner-dialogue questioning my own experience. With Easy A, I was thinking about the creative delivery and brilliant tie-in with the Scarlet Letter, and then how the writers turned it on its head. It made me want to become an English teacher, again. Or ... you know, for the first time. I really want every teenager to see this film - a "what not to do" for both men and women.

You Again had me thinking back to my high school career - being grateful that I was never horrible to anyone, and that no one tormented me. I survived, and got out (relatively) unscathed. No, don't think I'm lucky ... I got mine in Middle School. Although hideously, the movie had Kristen Bell graduating high school in 2002, and supposedly growing up and empowering herself in the long, long years since her teenage version of hell; she plays a public relations executive - a VP at the age of 26?? REALLY?? I have to admit ... that was just a bit much. Especially since I graduated in ... never mind. But it made me feel OLD - and I'm not really in any life position just yet to feel that way. Although, the fact that I'm currently unemployed at the moment didn't make it any easier.

Ah well.

Also, I spend $8.95 a month to watch movies, courtesy of Netflix, on my Wii. Saturday night, I was up till 3:30 a.m., watching Lena Headey (mmmmm) speak with a Scottish accent (*Drool*) in a British film called Aberdeen. Relatively depressing, yet redeeming - Stellan Skarsgard is also in it. In a nutshell: A cocaine addict is sent by her mother, who's dying of cancer, to retrieve her alcoholic father in Norway, and get him back to Aberdeen, before mom dies.

I decided to chase that little gem of happiness with Rachel Getting Married. Everyone I know has been telling me how great this movie is, and how great Anne Hathaway is in it. I don't know what I was expecting; possibly some honest-to-goodness self-deprecating humor, or at least the "funny-'cause-it's-true" variety -the kind I love in movies about family dysfunction. Yeah, it doesn't have any of that. Imagine my shock! It was so painful ... I almost turned it off. I didn't - and I'm glad I didn't. But hot damn. There should be category requirements for dysfunctional family films:

"It puts the FUN in dysFUNctional!" or "It's just going to make you cry." Or, possibly: "Wes Anderson Dysfunctional" or "Mommy Dearest Dysfunctional." I know I'd appreciate the warning. Anyway, Anna Deavere Smith and Bill Irwin are in it, as is Debra Winger. It was all sort of heart-wrenchingly fabulous from an acting point-of-view.

And lastly, having nothing to do with anything I've just talked about, I've decided that I like Glee. Many people thought I already did, just because I happen to be a lesbian, and the show deals with gay themes and musical theatre. But folks, let me tell you - the gay boys are the ones who are stereotyped to like musicals. The lesbians are stereotyped to like sports. See the difference? You can witness this stereotyping right here, on my blog. Just look to see how many musical theatre-related items I've tagged. Now look to see how many sports-related items I've tagged. PLEASE - let's stop confusing this. I feel slightly annoyed whenever someone tries to stereotype me outside of my stereotype.

Also - I'm tired of the "liberal" media linking pedophilia to gay rights and/or sex. [see: anti-gay rights pastors/priests/politicians who are accused and/or actually solicit sex from young boys] This story pissed me off ... though I do find a *great* amount of irony in Ted Haggard coming to his defense ...

And - I bought my first purse/bag/thing on Saturday. I was with my friend Stephanie who said, "It's stylish, but it's also very you!!" I wasn't sure how to take that comment, exactly, but it's true! It's cargo-fabulous, has a long adjustable strap, and lots of pockets. I was getting really tired of carrying my wallet, keys, cell phone and multiple pairs of glasses in my pockets, on my head, or hanging by my shirt. Lara told me today that it was a "bag." Liz told me it was "a satchel." Whatever it is, it's mine, and it boosts my estrogen and femininity in one fell swoop. Just one more element in my ultimate quest for androgyny! BWUAHAHAHAHA! My evil plan is working! Soon, no stereotype will work at all!! Look upon me and tremble!!

......and I'm done.

* While I do support OC theatre, NoHo is the only place I know of where tickets for $11.50 (or less!) actually exist.

So there are dog parks, and then there are DOG PARKS ...

2010-09-25T03:09:00.000-07:00

I know I've written about our adventures at the dog park before ... but believe me when I say that not all dog parks are created equally.

So my little Garden Grove dog park is great. I mean, besides the fact that I seem to get hurt every time I go there ... It's a great place to take the dogs for an hour, play some ball, and then go home. It's not very big, and at most, I've only seen 7-8 dogs in the big dog park at a time - but it's easy, clean, and convenient. Sure, there are giant holes void of dirt where dogs have had a digging party, and where I consequently twisted my ankle the afternoon before show - but still. As a tax payer, I'm glad it's there. We don't have much in Garden Grove, but doggoneit, we have a dog park!

[it's called the Barking Lot!]

[long-story short: I stupidly attempted to stop a pack of 6 huge dogs from chasing a tiny, white yippy thing last week. I lost. Oh Barking Lot, why must you hurt me so?]

But today ... today I decided we needed a change. Hagrid and Hermione, while completely kind, happy, sociable dogs, are not ... playful. I don't know if it's because they never learned how to play (you have to remember, they have 5 and 3 years of history that I don't know anything about), or that they just like each other better than any other dog that's come along. But they do not "play" with other dogs ... that wrestling, running, jumping, pouncing thing that normal dogs usually partake in with each other - yeah. No.

The irony of this, is that when they simply *see* another dog in a vicinity they could potentially get to, they will LUNGE with the power of Thor to get to this new dog - one morning on a walk, they almost knocked my step mother over with their crazed enthusiasm. They pull, struggle, and barge their way over to the other dog ... and then, just when you think they're going to pounce, they stop, smell the strange dog's nether regions for about 10 seconds ... and THEN -

They're done. That's it. Like nothing ever happened.

At the dog park, when they're off leash, this usually results in the two of them (and any other dog that might be in pen) running along the fence, following any new dog and owner as they approach the entrance. They run and bark and wag their tail, completely enamored. The other dog comes in - they smell - and then they trot away. WHAT?? And I'd like them to play with other dogs - don't get me wrong - I'm grateful for who they are. I'm grateful that they don't maul other dogs, or get too rough. I'm REALLY grateful that they're generally so charming, and that people think they're sweet. But still. When one takes their canine forever friend to the dog park, one anticipates their furry pal to frolic and play with others of their species.

So today I thought, "Maybe they just don't care for the dogs at the Garden Grove park. Maybe it's like kids at school; they just don't gel with these dogs! Yeah, they just need new friends! I'll try a new park!"

And so I researched. Yes, that's right - I researched dog parks. Don't laugh - there are 10 (ten!!) in Orange County. On a Friday afternoon at 5:00 p.m. - well, half of them were immediately tossed out for being too far away. I narrowed it down to the two others I could get to easily, using surface streets: The Huntington Beach Dog Park, and the Arbor Dog Park in Seal Beach. I had heard some iffy things about the folks at the HB Park (and apparently, it's laden with wood chips, rather than grass), and so to Seal Beach we went.

Let me put it this way: The Arbor Park compared with the GG Park, is like comparing Disneyland to a Kindergarten play ground. It was doggie wonderland! 2 acres of grass with shady trees, and the dogs! Oh the dogs, dogs, dogs, DOGS! There must have been close to 50 running around, of all shapes, sizes, and breeds. Big dogs, little dogs playing together in intense grassland bliss! Most of the mommies and daddies were over the age of 35 - which I have to say, was a welcome relief. I find some of the younger owners to just be ... elitist and cliquey. Let me give you an example of the kind of conversation I overheard.

Doggy Dad 1: "I don't know about you, but I was the number one man of the house before we got our guy."

Doggy Dad 2: [good natured chuckles] "I hear that. Our guy's just taken over the whole house."

Doggy Dad 1: "Does your wife prefer his company to yours, too?"

I stopped listening at that point, for obvious reasons.

Then, one of the little dog mommies was admiring Hermione, and said,

"She's so sweet!"

"Yeah ... she sure can be."

"What's her name?"

"Hermione."

"Oh ... what's that mean?"

"Well, it's a British* name ... and is also a character in the Harry Potter series."

"Ahh. I think I'm one of two people who's never read Harry Potter."

* I realize Hermione is actually Greek in origin, but since the British seem to be so fond of it, that was the easy explanation.

Anyway, It was a splendid time. Hermione did play with some of the little dogs for a while, which was so nice - she misses those little pups. Hagrid trotted around the circumference of the park at least three times. Smelled other dogs, chased as many tennis balls as he possibly could. There were a few people who brought camping chairs (there weren't too many benches at the park), many owners brought huge tote bags with them, like most people would with human babies or toddlers. But instead of toys, diapers and bottles, the bags held poop bags, water bowls, and tennis balls. Yet another example of how owning a dog is like having a child.

Or in my case, children.

But here's what I'll say about the Garden Grove dog park. It's paid for by the city ... and therefore, our taxes. Apparently, the Seal Beach park requires that non-residents of the city pay for a $12 non-resident dog registry for usage of the park - which I didn't know until after our outing. The Huntington Beach and Costa Mesa parks ask for donations, as the parks are operated by private citizens.

My park might be small, and I might have a statistically high chance of injury when I go - but it's free. And in my little life, that counts for a lot. Clearly.

...and my poor foole is hanged...

2010-09-19T14:51:00.000-07:00

Last night was the closing of King Lear, and the closing of Shakespeare Orange County's 19th Season. The end of a theatre company's season is always quite emotional - though I find this one, in particular, more so. I am really, really fond of this Fool - that is to say, I'm really really fond of the parts of me that this fool lives in. I was in the right place at the right time with the right company of actors - the clarity of this perfection is going to resonate with me for a long time.

Theatre companies are families, without the obligation or responsibility. There's the fun uncles, the caring aunts, the awesome big sister, the cool big brothers, the squirmy younger cousins that make you laugh. And for 6-8 weeks, you live with them in this intense, pervasive, inescapable bubble. You learn things about these people that sometimes even their spouses don't know. You laugh and cry together, you fuck up together, you make fun of each other - and then, suddenly, it ends. But there's no obligation to write, no obligation to keep in touch, or call, or visit. We always say we will, but we usually don't. It's not out of callousness, it's just ... the unspoken understanding that artists are vagabonds are rolling stones. We move on, we move out, we move up or down. If we're lucky, we'll see each other again. If we're even luckier, we'll act with each other again. But it'll almost NEVER be the exact same group of people. The ties are as slight and invisible as single strands of silk. They will always be there, but it's almost always impossible to see them.

The perfection (or imperfection) of a cast is known instantaneously. There's not much doubt about it - it's either going to be an amazing adventure, or long, hard slog up the Mountain of Hardship; usually a mixture of both. You say the same words each night, but they're different each time - a change of inflection, the raise of an eyebrow, the tapping of a different register; breath coming from a different place, or a new impulse revelation that only happened that one night (the attempt at duplication fails too easily). The happening of a good theatrical performance changes minute to minute, second to second. You will never see the same show twice. Therein lies its genius and its agony. Once it's gone, it's gone, and nothing in the world will ever replicate it again. It's impossible. It's magic.

I went to the theatre today to clean up the massive amounts of food that we all brought last night. On my way out, I called my dad to ask if I could keep my Fool's coxcombe and puppets. I don't often get sentimental in that way - I'm almost always okay with the completion of show. I tend to play lots of clowns - though don't be mistaken - a clown is NOT a fool. Clowns are for laugh breaks - they don't typically add anything to the plot, they're not essential in carrying the action forward. They're support for a leading character, or usage in a quirky little subplot, or a stumbling, drunken little soliloquy before something really terrible happens. In the biz, we call them "One-and-dones." You go out for a big scene, you make 'em laugh, you come off stage, and you're done. I can do those in my sleep.

But Fools ... fools are different. Fools, though witty, aren't just there for laughs. Their commentary cuts to the quick of the tragic problem, flaw, or circumstance of the play, serving for a mirror or foil of the lead character. Fools tell the truth - though often vaguely or metaphorically. Fools are multi-dimensionally, and simultaneously sad, angry, bawdy, and joyous. Fools love more than any other character on stage, for there is no moderation in a fool.

I can't say that my fool was iconic. I can't say that it was the fool to end all fools - though even if I could, I wouldn't. I can't say that it moved people to tears, or taught them anything about their humanity. I mean, hope it did, but I can't say for sure - the audience gets to have their own emotional and intellectual reaction without my imposing knowledge one way or another. But what I can say is that I was present in every moment and that I didn't hold back anything. In my dad's beginning Acting Shakespeare class, he constantly reminds his students that when they leave everything on the stage, and give it all to the audience, they won't need to worry about whether or not they were any good - because at that point, it doesn't matter. If you've given everything you can give, the "good" or "bad" of a performance ceases to have any meaning - it just is.

That's what I can say for myself. I held nothing back.

The reality of "the great and powerful biz," being what it is, chances are pretty favorable for me not ever getting to play that part again, anywhere else. I'm not the small, slender male that many people think of when Lear's Fool comes to mind. In fact, I'm the exact opposite - in every instance. But in this company, with this family - I am the Fool. And the amount of gratitude and joy I have as a result - is something so special, so unique - it will stay with me for the rest of my life.

I don't know how much more I can say about it, without becoming redundant. But I'll leave you with this poem - it's a childhood favorite of mine, recited by one of the founding members of SOC when we used to do Christmas shows. He was our Kent. He's a superb Kent.

The Shakespearean Christmas Tree
by Vachel Lindsay

In Saskatoon, Saskatchewan,
Shakespeare's voice seemed in the air,
And something in the prairie line,
Something in the wheat field fair,
Something in the British hearts
That gave me welcome in my need
Made my soul a splendid flower,
Out of a dry and frozen weed.

And something in the stubbly fields
And their young snow to end the year,
Brought a sob and a great wind,
Each snowflake was a frozen tear.
The sky rained thoughts, and a great song
In the Elizabethan tongue
Swept from the Canadian fields!
New broken sod, too sad, too young,
Yet brother fields to Kansas fields,
Where once I worked in sweat and fire
To give the farmer his ripe wheat,And slake my patriarch desire,
For wheat sheaves for my eyes and arms
A satisfaction vast and strange.
And now I reaped dim fields of snow
And heard the song from the wide range.

All prairies in the world are mine,
For I was born upon the plain.
And I can plant the wheat I choose,
In alien lands, in snow or rain.
I heard a song from Arden's wood,
A song from the edge of Arcady.
Rosalind was in the snow.
Singing her arch melody,
Although the only tree there found,
In alien, cold Saskatoon,
Was heaven's Christmas Tree of stars,
Swaying with a Shakespearean croon.
The skies were Juliet that night,
And I was Romeo below.
The skies Cordelia and Lear
And I the fool that loved them so.
I shook my silly bells and sang
And told young Saskatoon good-by.
And still I own those level fields
And hear that great wind's noble cry

Things that make you go ... "WTF?!"

2010-09-13T01:07:00.000-07:00

The celebration of 9/11 by burning the Qu'ran ... you're a douche, Terry Jones. I know it was theoretically "called down," but the planting of idiocy can infect at warp speed. I wonder how many "Americans" actually went through with it.

Things my dogs chewed up this week, while I was running errands or acting:

1. bottle of sunscreen

2. half of a 4 oz. canaster of chocolate nibs (don't worry, the dogs are fine)

3. my dad's eye glass case

4. my dad's eye glasses

5. my playstation 2 (I can no longer turn it on or off)

This arrived in the mail for my father a few days ago:

And because I hate ending on a morbid note, a positive WTF?!

I enjoyed my first gourmet food truck experience on Thursday night. I went with a couple of friends to Kogi's after the show, a Korean/Mexican fusion truck. Apparently, it's been featured on the Food Network. One would think that with the regularity (and, quite frankly, compulsion) in which I watch the Food Network, I'd have seen it. WTF?!

Three words: OH. MY. GOD. I had a Kimchi/Korean short rib burrito. Possibly one of the most amazing things I've ever consumed. In my life. And it was so stereotypically "LA" in its exclusivity - this truck travels locations - it's never in the same place one night after the next. To find it, you must go to their website, or sign up for their Twitter page. They have three trucks circulating in LA, one in Orange County. GO. NOW.

Crap. Now I'm hungry.

http://kogibbq.com/

Thanks to Brian Clark and Stephanie Lee for foodnapping me after the show...

I'll never forget it, nor will I ever stop being grateful.

Adventure #3 of being a dog owner: The Dog Beach

2010-09-07T16:36:00.000-07:00

So here's the thing about the dog beach: there are LOTS of dogs.

I know, I know - sounds improbable. But there are more off-leash dogs at the dog beach than there are at the dog park. Add that to the fact that there's a mile or two worth of open beach, tennis balls being thrown in every direction, and more doggy smells than a trash heap on a hot day - and you have yourself one hell of a dog owner's dilemma:

Should I let them off the leash? ... Will they come back?

Seriously - it all boils down to that great conundrum. It's the ultimate experiment in trust, letting go, and honest-to-goodness hope that the trust and letting go doesn't get ruined by two drooly canines who love to get excited about damn near anything. And the chaos that is sure to ensue.

I have been putting off the dog beach purposefully. Hagrid and Hermione's acclimation to our household notwithstanding, I wanted to make sure that they really were good, kind dogs. The dog park was phase I of my plan. If they can handle the dog park, chances are they can handle the dog beach. It even took me a few weeks to get brave enough to go to the park. But: not one fight started, not one bite given, not one growl uttered. We've been dog-parking it for awhile, and now they get a bit elitist about the whole thing. They kind of ignore most of the other dogs and would rather play fetch with me ... I say that, because I'm *still* chasing my own tennis balls half the time. Which brings me to....

Phase II: Will Hagrid come when he's called? This phase is more complicated and time consuming than Phase I, primarily since there was an episode in June, consisting of my dad forgetting that we had brand new, rescue shelter puppies, leaving the front door wide open to make a phone call, Hagrid taking off like a Lear Jet down the street, and my sister and I trailing him (she was running, I was jogging), frantically calling his name. He stopped suddenly, Caitlin grabbed him, and we walked him back home. It was this solitary jail break that mitigated the need for a gate in our front yard. Hagrid had a huge listening problem when he first arrived home. I spent many, many hours, coaxing him with food and toys to listen to the sound of my voice. And it's paid off. There have been two or three times where he's started to take off down the street, I've called him, he's stopped, turned around, and come right to me. I never have to chase after him at the dog park, and I even let him walk himself to our newly built gate when we return from aforementioned dog park.

But the *real* test is the dog beach, and I have to admit - it didn't start out well. As we were in the parking lot, waiting for the cars ahead to claim parking spaces, watching the numerous dogs on leashes. I heard a scratch in the back of my car, and Hagrid is half way out the window. Let it be known, the window was only half-way rolled down. I frantically got out of my car, and tried to help the nice young man who was holding onto Hagrid so that he wouldn't get caught by his leash. If I've been more simultaneously scared and mortified, I surely can't recall. I almost packed it in and drove us back. But no - with all of the packing and prep work I had done in order to get us there, I was going to see this mother through! [Note: Dogs, like children, take plenty of prep time]

We finally park. It takes me 5 minutes just to get the quarters into the meter, the dogs are way too excited and squirmy. [Sidenote: Huntington Beach parking meters SUCK! a quarter for 10 minutes??? You've got to be kidding me!] We walk ... slowly ... as I hold the hounds of Hades back with most of my strength. The other bit of my strength was dedicated to keeping me upright. I'm sure we look like one massive whirling dervish of insanity. I'm trying to keep my dogs from pouncing delightedly on other canines with full anticipation of a good sniff, who's owners are glaring at me with a look of, "Don't you let those things near my dog!" To which I wanted to say, "You're at a DOG BEACH." We slowly, painfully make our way through the sand to an area that isn't packed in with people ... I figured that any attempts to avoid disaster would pay off in the long run.

I took them down to the water. There I was, face to face with the ultimate question. It was just me, and the beach, running on either direction. Would I lose my dogs forever? Would they come back? Would they do something so terribly heinous that we're never allowed back here?? And then a voice in the recesses of my brain said, "Let them go." And I did. And they sat there, anticipating the throwing of the great purple wubba, the water toy to end all water toys. So I threw it ...

One bounding golden body, and one white one, vying for the best toy known to dogkind. Through the waves and foam they leaped, swam, frolicked and ran, their tongues lolling out the sides of their mouths with pure happiness....

And they were fine.

They didn't go more than 15 yards in either direction...they'd go play with other dogs, and then come back, sometimes bringing their new friends back with them. Hermione chased a little cockapoo around in a circle for 5 minutes. Hagrid was on a tennis ball chase, wanting to race with each new ball that he saw; but he always came back for the purple wubba. I was so proud of them! And I was proud of myself. We stayed for about an hour [see:aforementioned parking meter suckiness], and then made the painstaking trip back to the car, and drove back home. Wet, sandy, and very happy, we all made it back to the Bradac homestead safe and sound, with naught but a few scratches on my rear passenger door.

Regrettably, I don't have any photos. Being the single parent with two 65 lb. dogs has many challenges, not the least of which is my misfortune in not having 2 extra limbs - photo taking on this adventure would have been impossible. But ... my monkey is coming to visit next week (squeeeeeel!!), and there will be more opportunity for photos.

In other news:

King Lear opened this weekend, and seems to be getting great responses from both critics and audience alike. You can read this review, if you'd like. And here's a photo:

Also ... a friend of mine posted this on facebook. "King HROTHGAR!" Ahhhhh...there's nothing like a bunch of a classics nerds putting a musical on. They're in Montreal. If I were there, I'd TOTALLY go.

In defense of manners ...

2010-09-01T14:38:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you a little story.

Growing up in the wilds of Orange County, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. Being the only child of a divorced marriage is hectic enough - but move both parents 35-40 minutes away from each other, add in school activities, practices, vacations, and the omni-present question, "What do we do with Alyssa?" Well ... it's really no wonder. Let it be known that my grandparents were not the typical "grandma" and "grandpa." In fact, I was to call them "Grandmother" and "Granddaddy." There's a myth (told by my parents) that my grandmother wanted to be called "grand-mère," after the French fashion, but I don't know if that's really accurate. But ... that would have been very typical for my grandmother.

My grandmother didn't make me sweets and spoil me rotten and take me to amusement parks. My granddad was closer to that, but he worked so much, that it was really just me and my grandmother. All the time. They were quite young when I was born - my mom was only 24. And the youngest of my mother's siblings was still in high school. It was a strange position to be in - not really a grandchild, not really child - some void of a thing in between.

As I was saying, my grandmother wasn't the rosy-cheeked, spectacles-on-the-nose, copious amounts of hug-giving grandparent that many of my friends had. When I was younger, she seemed strict, dour, and down-right scary at times. I was always being corrected, always being taught the proper way to go about things like napkin placement, salad fork vs. dinner fork, the necessity of an "excuse me" when I needed to get up from the table ... she was a regular sergeant-major of manners. And I became a fast study.

Despite the near-militarism of my grandmother by way of civility and good-breeding (whatever that is), I really loved being with her. She would leave me to read, leave me to watch old movies while she prepared dinner or was out in the garden or whatever it was that needed doing. She'd call me in to shuck corn, shell peas, help with dishes ... but we'd talk. In fact, I remember a very vivid talk of college when I was only 12. She was emphatic that I go, and that I finish. I didn't realize it at the time, but later discovered that she dropped out of USC to marry my grandfather, and, as I perceive now, maybe regretted it more than she'd ever thought. She was my biggest advocate, one of my best teachers, and liked me, in spite of myself. It sounds odd to write that, but I wasn't the sharpest kid when it came to looks, style, or just general awareness - and my grandmother was for all of that. But I tried and worked hard to please her, and I was a very polite young girl, which I think made her proud.

I didn't really come into my own until high school. Something in me woke up, and I saw the world, and my place in it - the power I was capable of (at times), and the good I wanted to do. Like most of us at 16 or 17, I had a slightly anarchic side, that started scorning manners for being barricades to truth. Pleasantries became objects of my ire. I'd still say please and thank you, I've never been a "rude" person. But I thought back to my grandmother after she died, and all her work toward emphasizing manners. What did any of it matter? And more over, why do something if it's not honest? And at that time, I perceived that her manners, more often than not, were not always sincere. "Fuck that!" I thought.

Cut to my first journey to Massachusetts. A huge wake up moment for me in regard to the brazenness of human beings. I was miserable that first summer. I didn't have any friends, I didn't do anything socially - I was afraid of the people. I was wholly unprepared for what I found, the harshness, the lack of courtesy, the rude gestures, the curtness. Who would want to live here? It was explained to me some years later that it's just the New England way - instantly distrustful of others. Whether it's because of the cold, whether it's because of the Puritan foundations, whether it's because they embrace rudeness in a purely singular way and make it their own - they're called "Massholes" for a reason.

I've been noticing this terrible trend over the past 5 or so years. We don't treat each other very well, and I don't think it's for the purposes of honesty or an attempt to be more sincere. At camp over the last few weeks, a handful of children said, "Please" or "thank-you" when they received candy or awards. It made me really sad.

But here's the thing about manners - you can't practice them solely for themselves. You have to use them because you want to. Because you want to treat everyone kindly. Because you care about other people. Because you can make someone's day just by smiling and saying "thank you" when they hold a door open, or move for you, or hand you something you need. Because treating people with respect has never, and will never go out of style. Because maybe, if you show someone a common courtesy, they'll pass it on. And maybe that will result in less horns being honked, less middle fingers being raised, less rage on the road, less violence, less expletives being used in anger, less rudeness tossed about as flippantly and mindlessly as trash on the street.

I admit that it can, at times, require vast amounts of patience, humility, and kindness, which may just not be there at times. But there's nothing that can replace our human connections to each other. We are all so connected, yet spend so much time severing those connections with little shows of our displeasure. So why not let the guy merge in front of you? Why not ask the cashier at the drive-thru window how his day is going? Why not smile at the woman walking past you on the street? Why not make someone else's day better, and perhaps even yours in the process? It's a hell of a lot better than being angry all the time, than clenching your jaw in frustration, than screaming in your car. Don't get me wrong - there are times when those things are completely necessary.

But when all else fails ...

How do YOU want to be treated?

THIS IS A REPEAT AFTER ME SONG!...and other ditties.

2010-08-31T16:13:00.000-07:00

Once again, I've been hijacked by life. For a good two weeks.

I showed up to a former place of employment a few weeks ago, just to drop by and say hi to the two best bosses I've ever had. They asked me if I would be available to work for a few weeks? What else could I possibly say, but yes?

This "place of employment" is a Summer day-camp in the canyons of Irvine. It's the most simultaneously fun and exhausting places I've ever worked, not to mention the most rewarding. I was a Drama Specialist there for three years (which means I created and/or taught theatre games for children ranging in age from 4-13) ... and suddenly, for two weeks, they made me a counselor. WHAT??

The great thing about being a specialist (as I took for granted so many years ago), is that one gets to stay in one place, and sees all manner of children every day - diversity, if you will. And each class only lasts for about 40 minutes (30, if the group is coming from the other side of camp). I never got the opportunity to hate any children, because I didn't have time. And if I made drama fun enough, they'd all participate and be great for me. I could love them all, and not know that they were crazy cracked-out children who wouldn't leave the porta-potties alone, and ran around trying to lift all manner of things, from children to counselors.

Yeah ... I totally had that kid two weeks ago.

Now, my best friend Tracy wrote a blog post about birth control on her blog last week. And while her story has the gross factor, I'll say that my method has the longevity factor:

If you ever think about having children, but aren't sure ... go work at a summer camp.

I'm serious. You'll have every walking age. You'll see their development, their trials, the challenges involved with each age group. Because here's the thing ... raising a child NEVER STOPS. And as soon as they can walk, there's NO easy age. But if you can deal with them every day, their little quirks, their complaints, hiking with them in 100 degree weather, celebrate their little victories (you'll know when they happen), and be there to draw the hard line when they fail (which happens all the time, and is crazy hard!), then you can be a parent.

The other thing I'll say about camp is that it's family. You can leave for 5 years, come back, and be welcomed just as warmly as you were the day you were hired. You know ... provided no children died because of your care (or lack thereof), or you said something ridiculously inappropriate to a camper, or you let the kid light his own farts. Although, things go wrong all the time. Usually at the end of the day, the epitaph is: "Well at least no children died!" True story.

Anyway, it was an awesome two weeks, which included everything from trying to get caught up on the new camp fads (songs, dances, silly bandz, etc.), to me having to ice down my lower body at the end of the night, and suddenly realizing that I'm not 20 anymore. Because after my 10 hour camp day, I'd have to go to rehearsal ... and play Lear's Fool until 11:00 p.m. And then get back up and do it all again the next day. Oi! Needless to say, that's much of the reason I've been missing in action. Now it's on to finishing tech week, and opening the show! YIKES!

Here's a by-the-numbers look at camp:

Total number of campers: 30
Times that I had to eat gummy worms in tapioca pudding as fast as I could for a contest: 1
Times splashed with a water balloon: 2
Hours spent at Wild Rivers: 24
Sunburns acquired: 3
Approximate number of acres walked: 200
Times in which I fell down for no apparent reason, other than my own talent at gravity: 2
Number of times I had to take children to First Aid: 7
Number of times I had to take myself to First Aid: 1
Songs I made up: 3
Songs that worked: 1
Number of silly bandz acquired: 7
Number of swear words uttered by children, caught by me: 8
Number of swear words uttered by me, caught by children: 1
Times I woke up before the sun: 8
Times I ran to Target for camp supplies and/or costume pieces after 10:00 p.m.: 3
Approximate cups of coffee consumed: 22
New facebook friends made: 15-20
Children who drove me crazy: 2
Children whom I loved: 30
Bought and depleted bottles of sunscreen: 1
Number of children who asked about the origins of my camp name: 50+
Number of counselors who knew my name before I got to camp: 10
Percentage of happiness: 1000%

In other news ... I finished the Hunger Games trilogy. If you haven't read it, start. If you haven't finished it, hurry up! I finished book 3 last night, and sobbed through the last 20 or so pages. Seriously. READ THEM NOW.

I'm in the wrong line of business...or, The Great Sock Monkey Massacre of '10

2010-08-12T13:49:00.000-07:00

So here's something that no one (read: me) thinks about when they buy dogs:

ACCESSORIES ARE EXPENSIVE!

I suddenly understand the necessity for traditional female rituals like baby showers. One NEEDS a baby shower in order to afford accessories for said baby! So *why* aren't there puppy showers, I'd like to know?? Perhaps because the great thing about dogs (or, at least my dogs) is that all it takes is a tennis ball or a frisbee to keep them happy and entertained, and they don't (usually) require clothes. If only I could remember that.

Question: Besides the price of food and vet bills, what other expense could a dog require???

Answer: When owned by me, a whole lot more!

Why? In three words: Pet Accessory Marketing.

Last Sunday, I went to PetCo. I LOVE going to PetCo. I don't know why ... I can't explain it. There's just something about the prospect of buying something new for my dogs that they'll love - like cracking their personality codes with toys. And it's that pet-lover mentality that PetCo, PetSmart, and any other pet manufacturer in the world banks on. Literally. According to Donald Trump (via an episode of The Apprentice), the pet accessory industry is a multi-million dollar profit making machine. They target fools like me with promises of cuteness, jack up the prices, and voila! The money-giving automaton is complete!

Evidence A: Sock Monkey Stuffed Animal, aka Hagrid's baby

I know, I'm a sucker for a good sock monkey. I'd been eyeing this particular toy for almost two months ... since I took Hagrid home, really. Do you want to take a guess at what this relatively little toy cost? Anyone?

$11.95. Yep ... you read that correctly. $11.95. But it's worth it, right? It's worth it to give your good, loyal, happy, ever-lovin' furry companion something that makes him happy, right??

Evidence B: 5 minutes after the gifting of the sock monkey

Evidence C: Miscellaneous images of the massacre

The Perpetrators:*

For SHAME!!!

In case you've ever wanted to see $11.95 burn faster than a sheet of paper dowsed in kerosene, go buy the above sock monkey at your local pet store, and then give it to your dog. There is no greater, more humbling experience than seeing $11.95 being gnawed on before your very eyes. The small clumps of cotton stuffing you saw in the photos above, I'm estimating at $0.50 each.

* Shameless excuse to post pictures of the puppies...

Linguistics are SO gay...

2010-08-10T14:28:00.000-07:00

I'm a bit of a word junkie. My career is all about words - the connection, the physicality, the movement, the meaning, the biology - and how to use them. My dad said, "He's a cowboy and a braggadocio!" last night, in reference to the guy at Office Depot attempting to fix my sister's insanely sick computer. I probably spent at least 20 minutes trying to think of circumstances and perfect moments in which to say "braggadocio!" This is my idea of fun.

Anyway, in case you're living in a cave at the bottom of Loch Ness, and didn't read about it *everywhere* - California has re-opened the door for gay marriage. Hooray! And while everyone's (like my glittering generalizations?) talking about the legal, political, and religious ramifications, what we're not talking about - are words.

A few years ago, the word "marriage" was all anyone could talk about. The (mostly) Conservative standpoint being that "unions" or "partnerships" were okay for homosexual couples, but not "marriage." Marriage, just as a word, it was argued, is sacred to the joining of one man and one woman. Fun Fact: The history of marriages covers all manner of business deals, including swapping a (virgin) woman for chattel, land, money, birthright, etc. etc. That doesn't sound holy and sacred to me. That sounds like a bargaining agreement.

But there's an issue, says the Left, with "Domestic Partnership" and "Civil Unions." Now we're going back to different drinking fountains and bathrooms - the separate-but-equal lie. This is one of my favorite videos dealing with this issue:

"I want to commitment ceremony you..." Kind of says it all, no?

The pro-Prop 8 people and their likes have been denying words to the GLBT community as a way to keep us separate ... different ... remaining in the "other" category, because if we're something "other," then we're not like everyone else - "human," or "normal." And what about other touchy words? "Wife, husband, mother, step-mother, father, step-father" - words for family? How do they fit in?

My uncle sent me this wonderful letter that addresses this question. This is why the words matter. This is why the myth of separate-but-equal won't cut it as we move forward, and why it's *never* going to cut it for any minority. When Liz and I get married, I will have a wife. I will have a sister and brother-in-law, I will have a mother and father-in-law. And she'll have that too (and more, because I have a pretty big clan). And we'll be family. Words have power.

From the Daily Dish article by Andrew Sullivan:

A reader writes:

I found this piece of yours very moving, and I want to add to the conversation on gay marriage my perspective as a child raised by a gay couple (a "homogenate" as I call us, for short) in the U.S. in the 1980s.
If I had been born in the '90s or the '00s in the right state instead of the '80s, perhaps my biological mother and her lover, Mollie, could have had a civil union. That would have made their relationship simpler from a legal standpoint, for sure. But still, what would I have told my friends who came over after school and asked innocently: "Why does that woman live with you?"
Would I have felt better telling them that she is my mom's "domestic partners" instead of the usual routine: blushing, averting my eyes and blurting out "She's my mom's friend" or "Uhh ... she just lives with us" before frantically changing the topic.
Even if I was a pedantic 9-year-old willing to explain to my friends what a civil union is and how it is the legal equivalent to the (first or second) marriage of my friends' parents, that still doesn't address the fundamental problem in my opinion: Mollie could be my mom's friend, my mom's domestic partner, my mom's lover -- but she could never be myanything. She could never be my stepmother.
Family names are generic things -- mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and all their step-incarnations. It is the possessive that creates intimacy and a sense of family. And while our family would have had the same strains as any step-family even in the best of circumstances, I have no doubt that she and I would be closer today if I had grown up calling her and thinking of her as "mine" in some sense -- even when I was angry with her, or I missed my father, or, yes, when I wished that she was just gone and my family was normal.

Let me add something that I experienced as well. My in-laws have always been supportive and loving and tolerant. They accepted me at Christmas and other occasions and were glad their son had found a partner. But it was not until we told them that we were "engaged" that something suddenly clicked. They finally had a way to understand us and our love because they had the linguistic architecture to make sense of it. I was going to be their son-in-law! With those words. I became family - not Aaron's friend, or roommate or boyfriend or lover or what-have-you. But his husband. And thereby their family as well.

There was and is something about these words - engaged, married, husband - even though they may contain a mountain of different experiences, that made us a family. I think conservatives should favor the unification and mutual love and support of families. And that means they must by definition favor the mutual love and support of the gay people in them.

This is not about creating something new. It is about making a home for people who have been here all the time for centuries. It is about making the human family whole.

-----------------------------------------------

"It is about making the human family whole."

Why would anyone want to stop that??

So a Fool and a Mantracker walk into a bar in Calgary ....

2010-08-06T15:03:00.000-07:00

So that was a long two-week hiatus! Goodness gracious. Does anyone else find it highly ironic that the very day I fly back from Canada, California over-turned prop. 8???

Firstly, let me tell you that I'm alright. That last post probably wasn't the best to leave you all with, but I needed to get out and get away. And I did. And I feel much better. Thank you to those who left comments of concern. You don't know what they mean to me. I wish I could get into specifics, but I can't.

So all crypticness aside, Canada was great. I went to the Calgary Folk Festival with my monkey (the tickets were a birthday present from her ... awwwwwww), drank a lot of really good beer (and a few less so), ate a lot of really good food (and some not so much), saw some of my favorite people in the world (and a few who are not at all), worked on memorizing my lines, missed my dog way too much, and watched lots and lots of episodes of MANTRACKER .... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm .... (yeah, this is totally a real thing)

I'm contemplating the creation of a music-only blog called "Trombone Rock n' Roll" ... with guest bloggers. I figure that I write enough about music as a topic of interest to sustain this crazy thing. No, it won't be about music featuring trombones ... I just thought the title might be paradoxical enough to get me some nerd points. And it just so happens that most of the cool (read:nerdy) music lovers I know, like me, at some point in their life, played the trombone. True story! Anyway, it's a work in progress. If you can think of anything better, give me a shout.

Finally, I begin rehearsals for King Lear next week. And I'm scared out of my ever-lovin' mind.

Let the insanity begin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wish I had a river I could skate away on...

2010-07-20T01:11:00.000-07:00

The last four days have been a kind of hell for me. I'm not eating very well, I'm not sleeping very well. The specifics don't matter, really, to anyone else but me; but what was said cannot be unsaid. It can't be taken back.

I've been trying, in a completely unsuccessful measure, to gain some clarity - some specifics that might inform me of the what/where/when/why of the things that were said. None have come forth. As a result, I'm stuck in a revolving door of hurt-pain-anger-sadness-resignation-indignation [rinse and repeat]. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for Canada - I've been longing for this trip since May. Instead of the unrestrained joy and excitement I normally feel, there's this ugly, tar-black hole in my chest that I can't seem to shake, an unknown raptor on the edges of my consciousness. It's waiting to strike, and I have no way to avoid it. And I'm so angry that it's there, so incredibly hurt that I'm in this position - with no means to fix it.

I've done nothing wrong. But the grotesque shame and confusion I'm experiencing are doing their best to make me think I have. I've been scouring my brain in search of something - because if I can only pinpoint this mysterious *it*, I might have a solution or a way to fix it. But I don't know if that's actually true. And that scares me. I wish I didn't worry and I wish I didn't always expect the worst. I wish I could sleep, I wish my stomach didn't ache quite so much, or my heart feel quite so painful. I wish I could just let this go. I wish that walking away were an option for me. It's not.

I've had so many thoughts zooming endlessly in circles - combustible balls of fire that collide and miss and dodge and collide again. I want out of my head. And I wonder if you care at all? I wonder if the collective 'you' doing this to me gives a damn? Am I so expendable? Am I so unworthy your time? Am I so ignorant and inconsequential that I am undeserving of an explanation? Where did I go wrong; would you explain if all those words of praise were, in fact, just words? To what end?? I wasn't out to get anyone, I wasn't out for ambition or pride or false glory. I wanted to learn, and I wanted to get better, and I wanted to grow. That's what I was striving for.

I'm hoping that in writing this, I'll be able to start letting these thoughts and feelings break off and float away. If I get them out, and away from me, maybe this will dissipate and somehow be less painful.

Please - please be less painful.

Lilith Fair Part I - THE MUSIC

2010-07-14T20:24:00.000-07:00

I submit to you, my readers, one irrefutable fact in life:

There is nothing more lesbian than going to Lilith Fair with your exgirlfriend.

And I did. Which makes me super gay. SUPER. DUPER. GAY. In case you don't know what I'm talking about, one of the first rules (and by rules, I mean stereotypes) of being a lesbian is remaining friends with your exes. Although stereotypes, while based in some form of truth, never sit well with Aries children. Stereotypes?? Who needs stereotypes?? We are original! We are unique! We are pioneers of our own destiny! WATCH US AND BE INSPIRED, YE LESSER MORTALS!!!!

Trust me - this is the Aries subtext. It runs in the background of our programming. All. The. Time.

Anyway, I had never been friends with my exes previously, and was always a little proud of this fact, though it may seem callous. One thing I'm really good at: not going with the crowd - on purpose. It's not a natural trait - I'm not automatically rebellious like James Dean. I am calculatedly contradictory. 12 years ago, when everyone was jumping on the Harry Potter bandwagon, I just refused - on principle. And I still do that - if there's something everyone is raving about, I will purposefully avoid it; my initial reaction is to reject it. But slowly, painfully, over time I'll investigate to really see if it's as great as everyone else says. And then 8 years after the fad, I'll indulge, and usually declare it the best thing ever. Like Harry Potter. (All star Ravenclaw, right here ... I named my dog HAGRID)

It's either that, or I have to be one of the FIRST to like it. This happens a lot with me and bands. I love being the first among my friends to recommend a band and watch them all eat it up like delicious musical candy. GOD! I am such an Aries.

[And while I'm at it...]

GOD! I am such a lesbian!

I went to Lilith Fair - the most lesbian concert of all time - YES - even MORE than Melissa Etheridge or the Indigo Girls (and I've seen both of them live too). How lesbian is Lilith Fair, you ask? It's THIS lesbian:

See?? You can't get more lesbian than that ...

Well, yes you can. Multiply this by a few thousand. An entire crowd of this. In fact, after Brandi Carlile (the neo lesbian song siren of my generation) sang a particularly awesome song, I let forth my version of a Xena battle cry (I'm on season 6!!), and a group of them turned around, laughing and smiling, and gave me some thumbs up.

Are you getting how truly lesbian this is?? I know I'm harping on and on about this ... I just want to make sure we're clear.

And all of this is not to say that I didn't have a great time - I did! And I have a great ex. She's one of my dearest friends, in fact (Hi Lala!). But since I haven't been to Pride in at least 4 years, I figure Lilith Fair counts toward my annual quota. (right?) This was also my first time going to Lilith Fair ... ever. I missed them the first time around ... I wasn't cool enough. The first concert I ever went to was when I was a senior in high school ... I didn't get out much; I was too busy trying to get into college. So really, I think I should get double points.

It was definitely an experience. Highlights include: seeing the Weepies, seeing Brandi Carlile, buying a (small) glass of wine for $8.50 (thanks again, Lala!), having the concert be interrupted by vendors in yellow shirts trying to sell an assortment of different things on the lawn where we were sitting, having dirt kicked on us by a small child, watching men wearing Lilipad shirts and giving out free samples of feminine hygiene products, and seeing two friends of mine who I used to work with at Disneyland! All of this for $10.00. It was probably the most fun night I've had in well over a month.

The best thing about music festivals, hands down, is the people watching. Lara saw some serious DD (dyke drama), in the form of one woman throwing her glass of beer at another woman, and drenching 5 additional women ... in beer. Awesome! We were also privileged in observing one very drunk woman offering and successfully selling a pole's worth of cotton candy on the lawn, as the hapless, laughing vendor toddled behind. There were hippies hoolahooping, lesbians cuddling (in mass amounts), and young punks in faux-hawks standing front and center every time we wanted to take a picture on Lara's super camera.

The sad thing about Lilith Fair this year, is that it's underwhelming. From the publicity to the lineup order to the crowd attendance - it was just flat. The lineup spots, in particular, were horrendous. This is what it looked like:

2:30 someone we didn't know playing on a small stage
3:20 someone we didn't know playing on a small stage
4:30 The Weepies! playing on an even SMALLER stage
5:00 someone we didn't know singing opera-rock (??) on a small stage
5:50 Brandi Carlile on the Main Stage
6:40 Emmylou Harris on the Main Stage
7:30 Jenni Rivera on the Main Stage
8:40 Miranda Lambert on the Main Stage
10:00 Sarah McLaughlin on the Main Stage
11:00 end of show

"But Alyssa, what's wrong with this lineup?" Oh ... I'll TELL you what's wrong with the lineup.

I know the smaller stages are for unknown bands. I get it. And I realize not a lot of people know who the Weepies are. But trust me when I say, they deserve the main stage. They have the sound, energy, and personality for the Main Stage. The stage they were actually playing on was in such an out-of-the-way, tiny spot where there wasn't more than about 15 yards of actual lawn - and the area was so packed by the time they got done playing, it was standing room only, covering more than about 50 yards.

Now - while Emmylou Harris is a big name, and maybe deserves a main stage, she can't handle it. It was so abundantly clear that she's used to playing small, intimate venues; and she was on this huge, amphitheater stage - she was positively overwhelmed by it all. Lara and I agreed that she was only talking to about half of the orchestra - we couldn't hear her as she was talking about whatever she was talking about - and she had a microphone with mega-watts worth of audio power. Sad. So while it might seem like it's a dis to Emmylou to put her on one of the smaller stages, I think it would better serve her, her fans, and her music to be on one of the smaller stages. I think part of my disappointment lies in the fact that I was SOOOOO excited to see her. Any time I get the chance to see a music legend, of any genre, I'm there. To be able to say, "I saw Emmylou Harris play!" Ideally I'd like to follow that up with, "She was rockin'!" But I can't. I can only say, "Meh."

Next - Brandi Carlile. In case you don't know, Brandi Carlile is phenomenal. She has a great voice, she writes her own stuff, and she has an AWESOME on-stage personality. And they put her in the first main stage slot - which, considering Emmylou's underwhelming follow up, was awful.

Do you know who Miranda Lambert is?? Neither did I. I have since learned that she's an upcoming country star. But you know what, Lilith Fair? You're playing Orange County. We are NOT a country market. She had a decent show, and it was high-energy, but no one knows who the hell she is! There weren't tons of people there to begin with, and then add in the unknown factor of this singer ... and it made for a terrible setup for Queen Sarah.

Solution: Move Emmylou to the Weepies slot. Put the Weepies in Brandi Carlile's slot, move Brandi to Miranda Lambert's spot, and move Miranda Lambert to Emmylou's spot. Bam. Why don't people pay me hundreds of thousands of dollars to make these decisions?!?!

Now - Jenni Rivera is the one thing Lilith got right - timing, market, show - everything. Jenni Rivera is a classic Mariachi singer ... who had an accompanying 10 piece Mariachi band behind her. It was cultural without being obnoxious, it was environmentally appropriate without being showy, it was LA without being LA. She sang classic Mexican/Mariachi songs like "Cielito Lindo" (Ay, yi, yi yi), and then paired them with classic Motown doo-wop, like "Angel Baby." It was fucking rad. She cracked jokes about the Arizona immigration law, talked about her "Laker-pride" dress, and was just oozing charm, humor, and excitement in being asked to play Lilith Fair. It was SO. Rad. Oh ... and her dress looked a little something like this:

Awesome, right?? and part of her Mariachi Band:

Here is a shot of Emmylou. What you don't see are her weird silver space boots [sad fact: the only Emmylou Harris song I know is "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues" which she thankfully played]:

The Weepies [they were sooooo adorable and charming! Tracy, Lara said that Deb Talan reminds her of you...]

Queen Sarah, playing the Guitar [I don't know if you know this, but she also plays the piano]:

And last, but NEVER least, my new crush, Brandi Carlile [it's okay ... my girlfriend knows]:

[*sigh*]

It should be noted that none of the above are photos taken by me or Lara, sadly. We were about 5 miles up and away on the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater lawn. But, these photos are courtesy of Meg Strouse and the OC Weekly. So please don't sue me - I think you're pretty swell.

If you every get the chance to see Brandi Carlile live, GO. GO, GO, GO. It's beyond worth it. She did two Johnny Cash covers ("Jackson" and "Folsom Prison"), and Miranda Lambert called Brandi out during her set to do a duet to Patsy Cline's "Crazy." It was awesome. She's great on stage, her band is awesome, she has an accompanying cello player (what's not to love about rock n' roll cello???), AND she has one hell of an incredible voice. Oh ... and she's ridiculously hot. Notice that tattoo on her shoulder? Well, it's on both of her shoulders ... and it's of this:

Look familiar? It's the auryn - Atreyu's symbol from "The Neverending Story." HOT.

Brandi Carlile playing live in Boston ... oh ... and two out of her 4 band mates are twins, which is really cool, in a weird way. And I want to steal her wardrobe.

Also - I urge you to get into the Weepies if you haven't already. Here's a little ditty I wooed my girlfriend with:

The claymation is an added bonus. Note: They have a new album coming out in August, which from the songs they played, sounds like a huge bottle of summertime awesomeness.

Other musical highlights of the night:

-Queen Sarah sang "Ice Cream" live ... which, while I guess she sings it for an encore a lot, was awesome for me hear, since I had never seen her perform before (I'm not the world's biggest Sarah McLaughlin fan, though I find her general Canadian politeness to be adorable).

- Emmylou Harris sang backup on Sarah's "Angel."

- After "Ice Cream" was over, she brought ALL of the ladies out and they sang a great version of "Because the Night," as made popular by Patti Smith (written by one B. Springsteen...)

Sorry, I mean all of the ladies except Deb Talan ... she was, undoubtedly, putting her son, Theo, to bed on the bus. Which was a bummer, but I'll take it anyway, because her bass player (the one on the platform with the bad ass bass) was there being bad ass. (BAD ASS!)

Stay tuned for the next installment of Lilith Fair: The Lesbians!

[Don't get too excited, there's only one other installment, and it's to do with my casual, and in no way scientific anthropological findings on the various sub-groups of the Lesbian species]

Speechless

2010-07-11T00:30:00.000-07:00

Uhm ... I just returned from the Lilith Fair concert to find the following letter in my facebook message inbox ... I don't think I've ever been more touched in my entire life.
-----------------------------------
Hi! I don't know if you remember me, but about 5 years ago, I was a camper at Camp James and if I have the right person, you were the drama specialist. I just wanted to send this message to thank you for really making Camp James my home, because in my returning years, I ended up doing quite a bit. 2 years after you left camp, there was a lot of talk about closing it down, so I petitioned to keep Camp open and the publicity it generated got the mayor to take a decisive roll in keeping the camp open. After "saving" Camp James, I stayed there for several years until I was too old for the camp. From there, I became a staff member and I am now working as Counselor in Leadership Training (or CILT). So once again, thank you for working at Camp James, because if you hadn't, than I wouldn't have returned, and I would have never gotten to meet so many amazing people and experience so many amazing things. Your presence has changed my life!

Sincerely,
Nate O.
P.S. I still have the award/elephant you gave me hanging on my wall (next to my "2007 Overall Camper of the Year" award)
-----------------------------------
This kid is one of my all-time favorite campers ... he must be about 15 by now. And for him to write so eloquently and freely and warmly - it brought me to tears.

I wrote him back and told him that of course I remembered him, and how proud I am of him and all he's accomplished - his passion and conviction to fight for what he believes in. And how truly humbled and grateful I am for his letter.

I am so incredibly fortunate.

Welcome to the Dog Park...or...Once again, I'm not a cool human.

2010-07-09T01:49:00.000-07:00

So apparently, there's a completely foreign and unique culture at Dog Parks. When Lady was alive, we didn't bother going to the dog park very often. She was so incredibly submissive; she'd walk in, sniff a butt or two, and look back at me with bored eyes as if to say, "Uhm. Okay. I'm ready to go home now." It was the same at the Dog Beach. She just didn't care.

My other favorite childhood dog, Shadow, was way too smart to be lured anywhere than wherever it was that she wanted to be. That's a convoluted sentence, but suffice it to say, she was her own dog. We let her roam free most of them time - she *desperately* hated getting into cars, so we were never afraid of her getting abducted, and she was too loyal to run away. Any time we tried to lock her up, she'd find a way out of wherever it was. Shadow at a Dog Park would have been like putting James Bond in an undersea box with 25 locks. She'd just be out in 30 seconds.

Skipper - the mad scientist dog - would have gotten us kicked out of the dog park. Skipper was too smart for his own good - the crazy genius - he probably would have taken out some other dog's eye, just to see how it worked. He was, unfortunately, the Ted Kaczynski of dogs.

Taking an unwilling dog to a dog park park is like a parent taking a nerdy kid to football practice - only the parent gets any satisfaction. And the kid just grows up hating sports, and resenting aforementioned parent for "making" them participate. Ah childhood! Keeping therapists in business since 1875.

Anyway. I've had a lot of dogs, but I haven't had a lot of "dog park" exposure. I tried taking the pups on July 4th, but there were no other dogs. So I attempted to play fetch with them, while they succeeded in ignoring me and smelling every single square inch of the lawn - three times.

So we tried again today. Success! We hit the puppy jackpot! Eight other dogs to play with, as well as 4 smaller dogs in the lawn across the way to look and bark at! Bliss!

There were only three dogs there at first - a purebred Husky named Yuki, a hound-mutt dog named Milo, and a dog that could have been Hermione's twin named Layla. Yuki, Milo, and Layla's owners were there, sitting on a bench together - one human per dog. I asked if it was okay if we could join them, and they said sure. I let Hagrid and Hermione off the leash - mass amounts of sniffing ensued. I asked the humans about their dogs, and received very basic answers. It was pretty clear from the get go that all three humans knew each other. Okay, fair enough. Three friends bring their dog to the dog park every Thursday at 5:00 p.m. Seems normal and fun and charming. I'm the outsider, I should shut up and let them enjoy their afternoon. The only question I get asked is:

"Is he a purebred?" This is in reference to Hagrid.
"Uhm, you know, we got him from the Golden Retriever Rescue of Southern California - they say that he's a purebred. I wonder if he has some shepherd or something, somewhere down the line. He has some atypical Golden markings, and his hair is a bit shorter than most Goldens."
"Oh."

The talking amongst themselves ensues.

.....uhm.....okay.

And so I play with the dogs, throwing the tennis balls I brought with me. The Husky, Yuki, was a sweetheart - she was a tawny brown and white with crystal blue eyes. She liked me a lot. She did not like Hagrid. She made it clear that she was the Alpha, and no ass-sniffing from anyone was allowed, least of all him. Hagrid carefully slunk away to smell the other dogs. Milo, the hound-mutt, was a humper. In fact, I think that was the first thing he did upon meeting Hagrid, before I even clicked Hagrid's leash off. And Hagrid looked up at me, trapped, eyes pleading, "Uhm, Mom? Who is this freak?! HELP ME!!!"

Milo's owner was trying to be helpful, but proved mostly ineffectual. Her soft cries of, "Milo, stop," clearly inspired nothing but more humping on Milo's part. It continued for at least the next 35 minutes, off and on. Milo made Hagrid his bitch on multiple occasions. Hagrid was trying really hard to be patient, but he'd reach a breaking point and challenge Milo by jumping in the air, and trying to out-maneuver him, but this only excited Milo more. Poor Hagrid.

Milo only tried to hump Hermione two or three times, and each time, Hermione bitch-slapped Milo like Shiva.

Layla, the other yellow lab, seemed nice enough. She liked to chase the balls I was throwing, but much like my dogs, often had sudden, furious bouts of ADD, and wouldn't return the second half of the "fetch" deal. Which resulted in me throwing and walking, walking and throwing. Ah well. It gave me a task, and a reason not to be the awkward "new human" at the Park, trying to wheedle my way into a conversation I'm not remotely interested in.

Dogs are not the only ones with social hierarchy at the Dog Park.

Not long after I arrived, two brown boxers arrived with their humans in tow. Their humans, I think, were married. They clearly showed up every Thursday at around 5:00 p.m. too, because they greeted the bench club warmly and familiarly. The wife smiled warmly at me. Her mate said nothing. Upon seeing Milo humping Hagrid, the husband said, "Yeah, Milo! Get to it!" Then, upon realizing that Hagrid was a boy said, "Oh. Never mind, Milo. At least pick a dog of the opposite sex!" This resulted in lots of chortling from him. I secretly wanted Milo to go hump his leg.

Not less than 5 minutes later, an English Bulldog with a poorly cropped tail named Roxy showed up, with her human - a tall dude who looked like he just got off of work. Roxy was pretty cute, but apparently had some entitlement issues when it came to tennis balls. Her human kept saying, "Roxy, share." She wasn't supposed to be sharing with the other dogs, she was supposed to be sharing with me ... since I was only entertaining myself by throwing and walking, walking and throwing. I train easily, no?

Now, here's where the Dog Park gets interesting. Once Roxy and her Dude show up, her Dude goes and talks to the Dad of the Boxers, and they form their own pack in the middle of the yard, arms folded, head shaking and muttering. About what? I couldn't say. I was too busy fetching my own tennis balls. The women, on the other hand, congregated around the bench, talking familiarly about things I wasn't privy to.

Next to arrive at the Dog Park were two tiny white dogs - a Boxer puppy, and white something that should have "teacup" in the title. The huge pack of behemoth dogs flocked to these two like crazy. Again, I tried my tennis ball diversion tactic - but again, only I found it interesting. Then, to make the insanity worse, along comes an American Bulldog.

This wouldn't seem like something of note, except that American Bulldogs are apparently not the most purchased of puppies. Or, at least, not where this group of humans was concerned, because as soon as the dog was let to go play, the human males flocked around the Am.Bulldog's owner, another male, like he was the star quarterback on the HS football team. "Is that an American Bulldog?" "Wow, she's got great color." "You know, Boxers were bred from bulldogs and mastiffs," that was the Boxer Dad, obviously. Hump, Milo, hump!

And then it hit me - I'm not cool, because apparently my dogs aren't cool? There's nothing remarkable about a Golden Retriever and a Yellow Lab - kind, bumbling, sweet dogs that everyone sees everywhere. So lame. So humanly lame.

And just as I thought, "Okay, let's blow this popsicle stand...." another dog/human combo shows up. This dog - I can't even tell you what kind of dog this. It looks like a cross between a small wolf and a greyhound. A long, sleek, thin body - built for speed - with shaggy, jet black hair and pointy ears. Her human was another male, but he was young - probably in his late teens, early twenties. He stood on the opposite side of the park, earbuds in, ipod on. His black dog, running circles all over the Park with ridiculous speed ... and every. single. dog. running. behind. I kid you not. Most of the other dogs gave up after about 10 minutes ... but not Hagrid. Hagrid found a new girlfriend. They played tag for the next 20 minutes, until Hermione came and laid down next to me, panting furiously. We packed up my tennis balls and went home.

Cut to now. Hagrid is passed out, dead as a doornail on the floor. I returned from walking them about an hour ago, and instead of the frothing-at-the-mouth excitement they normally have when it's walk time, they were right by my side, sniffing occasionally, stopping every so often. I was dragging them by then end - and we only went around the corner.

So - it was a successful day, I think, despite the human cliques. They behaved like the good dogs they are - and besides some crazy bounding through mud puddles that resulted in two very sloshy baths (provided by yours truly), I was a proud mama.

I may have to go back next Thursday at 5:00 p.m., to see if the Dog Park Gang is there, and do some more anthropological research....

Let my "dog days of summer" begin!

An Open Letter to my Uterus

2010-07-08T15:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Uterus,

You and I, we've been together a long time. Forever, really. Sure, I didn't know you existed for the first 11 years, but what can I say? You grew on me. We've been through some crazy things together, though, that's for sure. Remember the first full physical we ever had? With the Japanese Doctor who said I'd be really good at birthing babies? And it was all because of you, dear Uterus (and my good "birthing hips," of course)! Boy, do you sure know how to make a 16 year old feel proud!

We've also had our share of uncomfortable moments. Once a month, in fact. Some certainly more uncomfortable than others - but you know what? You're almost always on time. And for that - I'm forever grateful. I've never had to go on birth control to regulate you, or calm you do down - and that is a boon I can never repay. You've been saving my body from potentially cancer-causing substances for 16 years. Uterus, you're the best!

All of this makes what I want to say all the more difficult. I absolutely realize that when it comes to my womanly anatomy, I have it pretty damn good. And I know that.

But here's the thing. I ain't gonna birth no babies, Uterus. You and I - we're never gonna walk down that 9-10 month road. Planned or accidental - your job is never going to come to fruition. So why do we still have to go through the "fake labor pains" once a month? Why must you cause my back muscles to stiffen up, as though I'm actually pregnant? Why must you contort my body into a fetus position at the most inappropriate times?

Look, blood I can deal with. Do I love it? No. But I can handle it. It's 4 days of an inconvenience - and I'm okay with that. But the pain - the pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THE PAIN! Shoveling down four, 200 mg caplets of Advil a day just isn't my idea of a good time. And if we're not careful, Stomach may start complaining.

I'll be honest - I've looked in to trading you. Don't look at me like that!! What other choice have you given me? Because you're such a (relatively) wonderful uterus, I was hoping to trade you back to whatever divine creator there may be for something wickedly awesome - like teleportation, or the ability to fly. You are so totally worth a super power! And there are so many women in the world who didn't get the upscale Uterus that you are, and actually want to have children - it doesn't seem fair that I probably can, but don't want to; and they want to, but can't! Plus, you'd get used properly - like you should - instead of being stuck with a bum host who has no intention of reproducing. Do you see my reasoning?

But apparently, a trade is simply not possible. Seems like we're a good 50 years away from that biological breakthrough. So it looks like we're stuck together. And I'm okay with that - because again - you are a damn fine uterus. But can we please try to compromise? Maybe back off on the pain a little, and I won't pursue any kind of removal. Deal?

I really do know how good I have it. But your help in this matter would be greatly appreciated.

Warmest Regards,
PB

Pictures of Puppies!!! (and who doesn't like puppies??)

2010-07-06T17:23:00.000-07:00

My dogs aren't retarded (at least I don't think they are), but I do feel like this sometimes when we're training.

And "best woman in human history" goes to....

2010-07-04T16:30:00.000-07:00

Today is July 4th - which, if you're American, means a national holiday involving alcohol and the lighting of explosives. Hooray! If you're not an American - well, it's just a normal Sunday for you, sorry; you have to have your alcohol without explosives, poor souls that you are. Don't feel too bad - at least you'll have all of your limbs intact at the end of the day. Good for you!

Anyway, for the past 2 years, Shakespeare Orange County has had a free and public reading of the Declaration of Independence, and so we did again this year. My favorite section of this little gathering entails the reading of passages written by our fore-fathers and mothers, incorporating Shakespeare. Example? Abigail Adams and John Adams quote a lot from Julius Caesar back and forth to each other during their letters throughout the days leading up to the Revolutionary War. Jefferson uses Shakespeare, Washington uses Shakespeare, I'm sure even Benjamin Franklin quotes some kind of irreverent piece of text at some point. Shakespeare's use of rhetoric - the art of persuasion - is the cornerstone of our country's important documents; straight up.

This year, my dad couldn't find the Abigail Adams passages, and I became very sad. And I told this to my monkey, and said, "Abigail Adams is in my top 5 women of all time..." And then I started to think about my top 5 women of all time ... who are they? what did they do? how did they change our world? do I always ask myself rhetorical questions?

In a word, yes.

Then, I asked my sister last night as we were walking the dogs, who her top 5 women of all history would be. She came up with three, initially. She had trouble thinking of more. "I don't know a lot of great women in history." Excuse me, WHAT?!?! How can you say that and call yourself my sister??? Then, because she was grasping at straws, she picked some weird choices out of thin air ....

"Oh! I know who I'm missing ... Marie Antoinette!"

"Marie Antoinette?!?! Really?? Why??"

"Because I think she was really good."

"Uhm ... really good at what?"

"That's not what I mean - like, everyone thought she was this heartless bitch, and I don't think she really was."

"Oh. You think she was a scapegoat."

"YEAH."

"Okay ... but what did she do?!"

"What do you meant?"

"Well ... I guess when I think about great women of history, they tried - against all male odds - to make the world a better place, when usually they wouldn't have been able to - because they were women, and therefore second rate citizens - if citizens at all. You know? Women who have had an impact to change the course of our lives and the way we live."

"Oh. Well, I can't think of very many."

Then she asked me about my choices for great men in history, and I let her off the hook.

So, on this July 4th, in the spirit of my own feminist pride, I give you:

PB's Top 10 Women of World History

1. Boadicea - led an uprising against the occupying Roman Army in Brittain in AD 60, after her husband was captured, and her daughters (and herself) nearly raped. Sure, she was later caught and executed, but I have three words for you: ORIGINAL. BAD. ASS.

2. Abigail Adams - She's the original feminist. People credit Emmeline Pankhurst or other suffragettes ... no no no. She wasn't a wife-as-commodity, she was a partner and an equal to her husband, on her own insistence - though I'm sure she wouldn't have married John Adams if he had been a horse's ass. Here are some of her little gems:

"Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of husbands. Remember all men would be tyrants if they could."
"If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice, or representation."
"If we mean to have heroes, statesmen and philosophers, we should have learned women."
"Well, knowledge is a fine thing, and mother Eve thought so; but she smarted so severely for hers, that most of her daughters have been afraid of it since."

Abigail did a LOT of background work before, during, and after the revolution, and doesn't get NEARLY as much credit as she should. And considering her ideas on women's rights within a "Free" society were nearly 200 years before her time, I think she's bee's knees.

3. Elizabeth I - One of England's longest reigning monarchs (second only to Victoria), one of the most enlightened, educated, and powerful women to have lived. Ever. While an obvious choice, certainly a good one, I think.

4. Eleanor Roosevelt - Best first lady since Abigail Adams. HUGE civil and social rights activist. Another great woman who did countless behind-the-scenes work on everything from public policy to international politics. I also think it's a relatively enlightened woman who can allow her husband to have affairs, and then allow herself to have some too.

5. Pope Joan - While the Catholic church firmly, passionately, and contemptuously denies the existence of Pope Joan, there is ancient documented evidence that she existed in the 12th century. The fact that the Catholic church denies it so vehemently ... well. I'll say no more. But according to what was written about her, she studied in Athens and Rome, disguised as a boy, simply because she wanted to learn. And since a good education at the time was only got by the church, she rose through the ranks on the skill of her intelligence and kindness alone. She was later, reportedly, found out as a woman because she gave birth. Firebrand? Yes ma'am!

6. Harriet Tubman - She escaped her own slavery, went back into the South 13 times to save over 70 slaves on the Underground Railroad. When the Civil War started she worked in the Union Army as a cook, a nurse, an armored scout, and a spy. After the war, she was a huge help during the very early stages of the women's suffrage movement. And I'm sure, given half the chance, would have fought for Native rights too.

7. Sacagawea - The interpreter and guide for Lewis & Clark - traveled from North Dakota to the Pacific Ocean with a baby on her back. There should be a quote along the lines of, "Sacagawea did everything Lewis & Clark did, only with a baby on her back, while speaking multiple languages!" Without her, Lewis & Clark would have been a small footnote in the annals of history, about the first two men to try and reach the Pacific Ocean. Because of Sacagawea, they actually did. She's a big deal in the Pacific Northwest, as well she should be.

8. Hatshepsut - Forget Cleopatra. Hatshepsut ruled before Cleopatra, and had the longest and most successful pharoahship of any other woman ruler of Egypt (and they were not strangers to women rulers). She was highly skilled as a tactician, but had a rule of long-standing peace, re-opened trade routes that helped regain Egypt's wealth, and issued in a period of architecture that was unparalleled for thousands of years. Oh. And this was all around 1479 B.C. BAM.

9. Empress Wu Zetian - The first, and ONLY Chinese Empress in History (690), and is also the first to start her own Dynasty (Zhou, which interrupted the Tang Dynasty). She started out as a concubine, like you do, became the Empress Dowager, deposed two of her sons, supposedly killed her daughter to frame another woman of royalty, Empress Wang, as well as her eldest son - but then, that's the price for being an original. She was said to be ruthless and shrewd, but at the same time an attentive ruler and a great judge of character. She was later deposed by one of the sons that SHE deposed, and called herself 'emperor' until the say she died. Her rule lasted almost 30 years. Contemporary scholars are still trying to decide who she really was - yet another case of, "Was she really a bitch? Or is that just how the conquerors made her out to be?"

10. Babe Didrikson Zaharias - Not all great women of history are leaders of nations. Babe Zaharias is, I believe, to this day, the most talented multi-sport female athlete the world's ever seen. Golf, basketball, and a swath of track & field events left Babe with 3 Olympic medals, 10 LPGA major championships wins (including the US Open), 17 amateur women's golf wins (not even Tiger Woods has won as much!), she was also accomplished at pool, and won an Amateur Athlete Team Championship - all by herself. Babe paved the way so that girls like me could play sports too. Without Babe, there would be no Billie Jean King, no Jackie Joyner Kersey (perhaps the only other woman I could name as the most talented multi-sport athlete).

Top 10 Women I wish had been real
1. Xena - Uhm, duh.
2. Penthesilea - Queen of the Amazons, fought at Troy, honored by Achilles for her courage and skill.

3. Hua Mulan - Chinese Female warrior, disguised herself as a man.
4. Lao Ma - Fictional character from Xena - in the Xenaverse, Lao Ma is responsible for Lao Tzu's Taoist book of Wisdom.
5. Rogue - Marvel comics. The ORIGINAL Rogue. Not the Anna Paquin Rogue. Ugh.
6. Morgaine - as written by Marion Zimmer Bradley in the Mists of Avalon.
7. Cassandra - as written by Marion Zimmer Bradley in The Firebrand.
8. The nameless Amazon on the isle of St. Kilda, Scotland - Or, Taigh na Banaghaisgeich. This is a piece of folklore I learned of relatively recently, but I've become fascinated. (the link is Wikipedia, look under "Pre-historic buildings)
9. Atalanta - Greek mythology, abandoned in the wild by her father (who wanted a boy), suckled by a mama-bear to survive, was said to have been one of the best hunters alive, was always happy, had "bear like" ferocity and skill, was one of Jason's argonauts, swore and oath to Artemis, killed rapists.
10. Elphaba Thropp - as written by Gregory Maquire in Wicked, not that silly musical.

The woman to be most excited about right now:
Ellen Johnson Sirleaf - President of Liberia.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLLL!!

The Great and Mysterious Lesbian Code ... PROVED.

2010-07-04T02:48:00.000-07:00

In case you need a refresher...

Chapter 2 (strangely disabled embedding):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHSxBacEy3w&feature=related

Chapter 5 (again with the disabled embedding...)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8E0oJDYIs6M&feature=related

BAM. Did I tell you? Or did I TELL YOU??!!

I fully concede the 4th and 5th chapters are ... crazy gay, and not in a cool, campy way. Sometimes, the lesbian code is painful. This is what happens when we are forced to lick the discarded sub-text scraps Hollywood condescends to throw our way. We fantasize about it obsessively and then put it on YouTube, to share with each other like a lesbian ocular orgy.

Welcome to my life as a sexual minority seeking entertainment.

Now, at least this little video ... which comes with the charming "Lesbian Code" song, written and sung by Alix Dobkin ... makes fun of itself - in fact, it's actually pretty hilarious.

I can't sleep = Lame sports team names? ... with snarky comments!

2010-06-30T05:04:00.000-07:00

It's almost 3:00 a.m., and I can't sleep. My sister, for possibly the 4th or 5th night in a row, came home past 1:30 a.m. And because of this, *both* dogs have been sleeping with me. And they have this incredibly annoying habit of barking at the sound of a would-be intruder. I know, I know - it's what dogs do. But this inevitably results in me being rudely awaken, pissed and tired, forced to fight for those illusive fucking sheep, one more fucking time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Clearly I've been watching too much Xena]

Anyway. At 2:35 a.m. my sister returned home from a midnight showing of Eclipse. While I could write an incredibly lengthy and venomous post about the evils of Stephany Mejier and her kingdom of misogynist emotional abuse - I will refrain, as I'm sure the amount of expletives I'd use would be exponentially higher, given that I'm a) cranky, b) sleep deprived, and c) hate, hate, HATE Stephany Mejier's writing/fiction/characters/irresponsibility in regard to teen girls/promotion of abusive relationships, et.al. On top of which, there was an incredibly loud and raging party at a house down the block, so loud that I went outside, in my boxer shorts, and told some drunken kids to shut the fuck up!

Okay, that last part is a lie. I didn't tell them to shut the fuck up. I stood in my boxer shorts, arms crossed, staring passively aggressively under the security lights of our house, hoping they'd see me and shut up out of guilt, shame, or both. They didn't. And so I went back inside. I showed THEM! (Is it just me? or am I getting old??)

Oddly, as I was lying on my stomach, trying to wrestle myself back into a nest-like comfortability (and failing miserably), I started thinking of really lame sports teams - although more specifically, the lame names sports teams have. Given that I'm a native of Orange County, and presumably because Orange County is typically a pretty lame place, we have two really lame team names - The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim - and The Anaheim Ducks, formally, The Anaheim Mighty Ducks. A baseball team based on (theoretically) mythological Christian messengers of God, and a hockey team that was formed because of a cheesy Walt Disney franchise.

Makes you want to move here, no?

Now don't get me wrong - I'm a huge fan of both the Angels and the Ducks (as I've more than proven on this blog). I'm as loyal to my OC teams as the screaming panoply of tweens that profess undying devotion to "Team Edward" (lay off! I'm tired!!). And then some! But even I can admit that our lameness in name choices is ridiculous. This may be due to the fact that both teams are results of their respective sports leagues' expansions, but aren't expansions meant to make these professional sports cooler, and not lamer? My strongest, most logical argument in defense of this ridiculousness, is that Orange County is a family county - we're the largely gentrified suburb to the South of LA. We do families, Republicans, and house wives like no where else on earth. Angels are so unoffensive - who can argue with an Angel? He'll just save your ass after you kick his. And Ducks - well - in other places, Ducks are hunted. In Orange County, they just live in swimming pools and man-made ponds. They also make good stuffed animals.

In short, Angels + Ducks = Fun for the whole family!

[Trust me, this makes sense in my head.]

Yet, I would argue that neither the Ducks nor the Angels are the lamest team names currently active in sports. What's that? you want examples?? Oh, okay. If you insist.

Baseball
The Colorado Rockies = Really? You're a baseball playing mountain range??
San Diego Padres = Less powerful and holy than Angels. Fail.
Philadelphia Phillies = Can we be any less original?
Minnesota Twins = I guess those twins in The Shining were pretty scary...
The Toronto Blue Jays = Pretty birds play baseball??
The Milwaukee Brewers = I love me some beer. I love me some baseball. I love me some beer at baseball games. But why are the makers of my beer out there playing?? Watch out! They'll ferment you!!
The Houston Astros = Sadly, this is a better name than what they previously had - the Houston Colt .45's. Astronauts, guns, or astronauts with guns. I'll take "Get me out of here" for $1,000, Alex.
The New York Metropolitans = For the first league expansion in 1962, that's all they could come up with?

Hockey
The Dallas Stars = It's almost as impossible to see stars at night in Dallas as it is in Los Angeles.
The Pittsburgh Penguins = Pittsburgh is one of the most blue-collar, gritty rep cities we have in the US - and you went with penguins??
The NY Islanders = Not entirely something to be proud of.
The Washington Capitals = I don't think I need to say anything.
The Columbus Blue Jackets = Essentially, they're the Midwestern equivalent to a Civil War Yankee, but instead of a fighter, went with the article of clothing motif. 'Nuff said.
The Nashville Predators = Not the worst name out there, but certainly the most vague. Anything is a predator of something else - even Bunnies prey on grass, carrots, and strawberry tops.

The Atlanta Thrashers = You get points for sounding tough, but what the hell IS this thing?? ------------->
[NOTE: Apparently, the Thrasher is a small bird that lives in the Gulf states, as well as the Caribbean. I had to look it up on Wikipedia. If you have to look a mascot up on Wikipedia, you have more issues than bad branding.]

Basketball
The Lakers = When you moved to LA from Minnesota, you didn't take the lakes with you! Morons.
The Seattle Super Sonics = I love you Seattle. But what the fuck is a Super Sonic? And don't you give me that bullshit about the Space Needle being the mascot.
The Salt Lake City Jazz = Since when is SLC known for it's mind-blowing music - of ANY kind??
The Denver Nuggets = Yep, gold nuggets sure are known for their excellent speed and rebounding ability.
The Orlando Magic = Don't tell me - you were owned by Disney too??
The Washington Wizards = I love the nerdy factor. But I don't think you could roll a +10 crit rating on a 12 sided die if your life depended on it.
Oklahoma City Thunder = ROAR!! We're loud and boomy and stuff!!
The Indiana Pacers = A basketball team based on stock car and harness racing. Welcome to Indiana! Wait...where are you going?

Classic sports teams that get a pass because they were created before telephones and good naming sense:
The Boston Red Sox
The Chicago White Sox
The Cincinnati Red Stockings (No, I'm not kidding)
The Oakland Athletics (formally of Philadelphia)
The Brooklyn (Los Angeles) Dodgers
The Montreal Canadiens/Les Habitants
The Detroit Red Wings (you don't even know how painful that was for me to type)
The Toronto Maple Leafs (sorry Monkey)
The New York Yankees (would only be great if there was ever a "Richmond Rebels" pro-baseball team)
The New York Knickerbockers (Tee hee ... makes me giggle every time!)
The Philadelphia 76ers (I suppose it's better than "The Brotherly Love")
The Baltimore Orioles (same problem as the Thrashers and the Blue Jays ... it's a small, pretty bird)
The St. Louis Cardinals (WHY ARE SO MANY SMALL BIRDS PLAYING PRO SPORTS??)
The Chicago Cubs (Cute, fluffy bear babies!!)
The St. Louis Blues (At least St. Louis is known for it's Blues music, unlike Salt Lake City...)

Classically great sports teams with great names/mascots:
Boston Bruins
Boston Celtics
New York Rangers
New Jersey Devils
Buffalo Sabres

Names that I can't put into any other category because their mascots are just racist:
The Atlanta Braves
The Cleveland Indians
The Chicago Blackhawks

Most Creative:
Calgary Flames (if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen!! and The Miami Heat is just too obvious)
Minnesota Wild (grumble, grumble, begrudgingly I make this acknowledgement)
Tampa Bay Rays (don't mess! one of those things killed Steve Irwin!!)
Pittsburgh Pirates (There are NOT enough pirates in professional sports)
The Portland Trail Blazers (You have to have lived in Oregon to understand why this is awesome)
Toronto Raptors (Finally! A ferocious, prehistoric mascot! Too bad they're in Toronto...)
The Phoenix Suns (if you've ever been to Phoenix in August, you'll know what I'm talking about)
The Cleveland Cavaliers (A basketball team named for those loyal to King Charles I during the English Civil War...from Ohio. I like it!)
The Carolina Hurricanes (I wouldn't want to be caught in one of them...would you?)

[Oh Good! Someone's decided to throttle their incredibly loud motorcycle down the street. Fucking awesome.]

Goodnight, good morning - I probably should just stay up at this point - it's now 5:03 a.m. The Polar Bear shall SLEEP NO MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PS - I don't like the NFL, therefore, I ignored football altogether.

Thank you.

My Top 10 Alternative Professions....and an award!

2010-06-28T17:12:00.000-07:00

Last week was chalk-full of life jumping up, smacking me in the face, and saying, "Why didn't you go to school to become a therapist?? You'd be making an obscenely larger sum of money!" Which was then punctuated by one or two additional smacks, just drive to the point across. With the faux therapy hours I put in last week, at a rate of $50.00 and hour, I'd have $500. That's more than twice what I make in a week, and for significantly less hours of work.

So why didn't I become a therapist? Because I'm a theatre artist, that's why! And I'd probably come home from work sobbing uncontrollably every day - and I don't think that's very healthy. I think the gift of empathy I have, which serves me as an actor, would kill me as a licensed mental-health professional.

But that had me thinking about the other careers I might have had, other alternatives I could've taken. Then I started thinking about the "What I want to be when I grow up" question - and the historical markers that garnished my formative years with pretending that I didn't want to be in theatre (when really, I did). This required some deep thought, as several of the various career paths I've dreamed up in my life, would be completely unsuitable for my brain type/skill set.

So here - along with the age at the time of conception - are the top 10 career alternatives I've thought of in my life, that I would actually be good at.

10. Firefighter - age 7 - I liked seeing the surprised, admired, and even dumb-founded looks on the faces of boys when I said that. I was big, I was strong, I could told carry other 7 years olds in and out of buildings. I totally could have been a fire-fighter. Major set-back: I wasn't so hot on the concept of fire. And that's sort of a job requirement.

9. Large Animal Veterinarian - age 8-9 - Specifically, a horse Vet. I LOVE HORSES! Major set-back: Math, science, and again, that pesky over-developed empathy thingamajig in my brain. I couldn't watch horses die in movies - what made me think I could watch them die in real life??

8. Architect - age 10 - I was a Lego Queen! Building, creating - totally up my alley. Major set-back: Geometry, as I would come to discover in grade 10.

7. Cowboy - age 6 - Knowledge of riding horses? Check. Possession of Western Wear? Double Check. Good with animals? Triple check! Major set-back: Dying job market, and lack of knowledge concerning shooting weapons - I don't like guns.

6. Poet - on and off since I was 9 - Technically, there is no job one can possess called "Poet" - it's just something one does, if one has the proclivity. And I do. But to be a published poet - in a legit publication, well, that's something different entirely. Major set-back: if it's even conceivable, poets get paid less than actors.

5. Musician - for 6-8 months when I was 11 - I started playing the Trombone when I was 10. And I have to say, I was more gifted than many of my elementary school peers. This ambition did not last long, but I had a very strong romantic notion of playing jazz trombone in Wynton Marsalis' band. Major set-back: Practice time. Ugh.

4. HS or College Women's Basketball Coach - 13 - I knew I was never going to grow to the height necessary for my position on a pro-basketball team, nor was I ever going to miraculously learn to be a guard. But I grew up watching Pat Summitt dominate women's basketball in such a fiercely enticing way, and was dumb-struck that the most winningest (it's a word!) coach in NCAA basketball (men's AND women's) history was a woman, that I thought, "Yeah! I could do that!" Major set-back: A growing, and ever increasing disillusionment with the sport of basketball. I also think it would have helped having a female coach. Not once - in my 10 years of playing - did I *ever* have a female coach.

3. Professor of Literature - 15 - I love to read. I love to talk about books. Bam! Major set-back: in order to be admitted into grad school for Literature, one must be proficient in a non-English language, and my handle of foreign languages is quite regrettable. Ay Dios mio!

2. High School English Teacher - 14 - I know, without a doubt, that I would be a great high school teacher. I know this, it's been told to me, encouraged for me, and is still a possible fall back if my theatre career dies a painful death at the hands of __________________________ (fill in the blank). Major set-back: Because it would be the fall-back for me, it's also the job that I REALLY don't want to do, because (for me) it would be settling. And with the educational budget cuts, lobbies, and Presidential mandates, I don't think it would be a job that would make me very happy in the long run.

1. Rock Journalist for Rolling Stone Magazine - 17 to present - In short: This is my non-theatre dream job. Major set-back: It has a less than 1% probability of ever happening - for anyone.

Do I know how to pick 'em? Or do I know how to pick 'em??

And to satiate your curiosity - the top 5 jobs I've ever dreamed of being, but would have less than a snow-balls' chance in hell of becoming (largely because I'm math/science deficient):

1. Engineer (I think I had an erector set at the time)
2. Marine Biologist (7th grade science trip to Catalina)
3. Environmental Lawyer (What? it requires law school?)
4. Pediatrician (Again with the math/science failure)
5. Social Worker (Empathy thingamajig over-kill)

It's been brought to my attention that my best friend gave me this pretty little award for leaving "ray of sunshine" comments on her blog. I don't know if this is based in reality (I don't leave many comments on her blog), or her own biased thoughts, but seeing as how I've never been given a blog award before, I'll take it.

Thanks, Trace!

So now, I have to pass this along to people who leave little "rays of sunshine" on MY blog, via comments. I choose:
Queen Fee
The Struggling Actress
Kristin Quinn
Ms. Cleaver

Would it be redundant to re-tag you, Tracy? Especially since you've left the 2nd longest comment on my blog thus far?

Amarikuns.

2010-06-24T13:34:00.000-07:00

This was forwarded to me by my girlfriend, a Canadian. If we ever wanted to know what Canadians think of us, here is it. Is it true? Sure it is - for at least 50% of our population.

Although, if they *really* wanted to make this accurate, they should have put a "Keep them Out!" sign around the blob where Mexico should be. And shouldn't the "Call Centers" be color coded differently than the "Evil-doers?" Oh ... and the misshapen floating blob (presumably Africa) should probably read "AIDS and Zoo Animals come from here." Or maybe even, "AIDS, Slaves, and Zoo Animals come from here."

Ah well. Those are Canadians for you - entirely too polite.

My hockey hero ...

2010-06-22T14:06:00.000-07:00

My hockey hero just announced his retirement. I'm at a huge loss for words - and I can't say that it's completely out of the blue, but I had a very bright and shining glimmer of hope that he'd be back, after a tepid, luke-warm season - that included an Olympic Gold Medal.

This man is a Prince among men - the classiest, hardest-working, humblest man in hockey. And I will adore him for that, and for so much more, for the rest of my hockey-watching life. Which, so far as I'm concerned, is all of it.

He was the one I'd watch back before I even liked hockey. He's the most winning-est man in hockey, though you wouldn't know it by how quiet he is. He's been a huge proponent of friendly environmental habits, not just for himself, but his team as well. He grows the best playoff beard ever.

I'm really, really going to miss him.

Thank you, Scotty. Without you, there'd be no hockey in my life, no hero on my wall, no champion for me to cheer for, no Stanley Cup glories in my memory. The only thing I regret is not having your autograph on my Ducks jersey - with your name and number on it.

Long live #27. Long live Scott Niedermayer! You will always be my Captain Canada.

This one's for you Scott....

The Great and Mysterious Lesbian Code ...

2010-06-21T15:27:00.000-07:00

See?? Your interest is already fully piqued, and you don't even know what the hell I'm talking about ... yet.

I know I have 25 awesome public readers over here ---------------------------------->

I'm not sure how many non-public subscribers I have, though I love you too, and respect your anonymity. But for you, let's make up a number - let's make my non-public readership amount 75 people (and give a HUGE ego boost for moi), or maybe 70 people, 3 dogs, 1 monkey, and 1 house cat. Either way - a total of 75. So 75 + 25 = 100.

Now - let's take 10% of 100 which would be ... class? Yes monkey, that's correct. 10.

Why 10%? Well, 10 is the standard and accepted percentage of gay folks in the world. The "they" conjecture that 1 person for every group of 10 people is a gay. Like me. And my girlfriend. And hypothetically speaking, 8 more of you out there, public readers or not. While I admit that the statistics of this fact are probably wrong - as it's more than likely that I have more than a 10% gay readership, by virtue of me (as a lesbian) knowing an exponentially higher amount of gay folks than the other 90% of straight bloggers out there - let's just keep this easy and say that 10% of my readership is, in fact, gay.

Now throw that 10% away (no offense to my rainbows out there). What do we have left? Okay, let's not see the same hands. Yes, Octopus, 90% would be the right answer. OCTOPUS?!?! Really?? Wow.

Anyway, 90% of my blog readership are (theoretically) heterosexual. Completely ignoring the likelihood that many of you are mostly:
a) liberal,
b) open-minded,
c) have many gay friends yourselves,
d) all of the above
let's assume that you are Joe or Jane the Plumber of middle america (a lesser off-shoot of Middle Earth). You don't know anyone who's gay, and if you did, you probably don't feel comfortable enough to ask them questions or learn about their life, let alone taken any college courses that would enlighten your cultural awareness to include such a relatively small minority (or even to have gone to college at all).

Do you feel comfortable in your role as the reader of this blog post now? God, I hope so. I don't do math for just ANY reason.

Okay, Joe/Jane. I'm going to tell you something that's going to blow your mind. Something that the average, white, heterosexual human being has no awareness to, recognition of, conjecture towards. Are you ready for this? I'm serious - once you know, you'll never look at film, TV, or comic books in the same way ever again.

There is a hidden gay and lesbian code.

SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Not so loud! If Karl Rove finds out, I'll be put into a camp.

Now listen, because I'm only going to say this once: The code is everywhere. It is! I know what you're thinking. It's 2010 - what use have we for codes in such a socially liberated and accepting time?! Well, sadly, it's to do with the fact that the 10% of the gay population we have is totally under-represented in Hollywood. Yes, I know Hollywood is run by "flamingly gay, liberal Jews." But how many flamingly gay liberal Jew shows do you see on television? Movies? But apparently, studio executives are paid to make money for the studio. And to do that, they need to appeal to the overwhelming television needs of the other 90%.

Enter THE LESBIAN CODE. (Forgive me, I have a giant God-like sound effect that detonates in my head whenever I say THE LESBIAN CODE. And since the blogosphere doesn't have sound effects yet, you're stuck with my all-caps over-usage.)

Now, typically, writers write in "guest star" gay characters when they want to win an Emmy or Golden Globe. Or have some kind of tortured gay character to illustrate their power boost for an Academy Award nomination (see: Brokeback Mountain, Notes on a Scandal, Boys Don't Cry, and hundreds more). I mean, let's face it. Gay characters are good enough to help win awards, but they're not good enough to have a regular show about. Unless they're used in a highly farcical way (see: Will & Grace, Nurse Betty). Gay characters can be hilarious on TV, tragic on film - but give them any complexity on a daily basis - and consider yourself cancelled before you can say the L Word. (bwuahahahaha ... little inside joke, there.)

When we do have the rare grace of being given our own show, like the L Word, the story and characters are so marginal, that most lesbians end up resenting it, because the representation is so insultingly minimal. In fact, there's now a follow up Showtime reality show called "The Real L Word," so Eileen Chaikan can prove to us that lesbians like the ones she created, actually do exist. To which I say, "If you have to prove it, Ms. Chaikan, you're not representing us. You're representing you." But I digress. The L Word made me angry for several reasons, and it's not the inspiration for this post.

So yes - we've been shafted more times than not. Lesbians are forced to feed on the scraps that Hollywood deigns to throw our way. And even that's a double-edged sword, because on some levels, television has played a huge role in our country's increasingly positive view of homosexuality. There have been books upon books written on this very topic. But how can the studios make money on a show for such a small consumership?

They split the difference...and use that classic Freudian device: SUBTEXT.

Yes folks, it's true. THE LESBIAN CODE is SUBTEXT! Is it starting to make sense now? How do I know this? Well, firstly, I'm a lesbian, so the chip in my brain is activated when there's any inkling of girl-on-girl relationships, no matter how diluted. Secondly, go google "Lesbian fanfiction." What pops up? Xena, Star Trek: Voyager, Law & Order: SVU. Now. Can any of these shows be qualified as "Lesbian" shows?? No. Not one. Not even Xena. I'm telling you - I'm now half way through the third season, and there's more girl-guy action than an episode of M*A*S*H - and M*A*S*H is pretty damn heterosexual. Gabrielle and Xena have taken at least 4-5 MALE lovers each since the first episode of the first season. Gabrielle even marries a man in Season 2. This is not the stuff that lesbian dreams are made of, people. And yet, Xena is the lesbian cult show that conventions are built around - even 8-9 years after the series ended!

So how do the writers do it? It's more simple with women, I think. Create two strong, reasonably independent women. Now have them become friends. Then have their friendship be tested under life-threatening circumstances - explosives, evil gods, and alien races are all completely acceptable vehicles. Add a few pinches of heart-felt confessions, a dollop of side-ways glances, and garnish liberally with full-body embraces. LOTS AND LOTS OF EMBRACES. Voila! You have yourself a non-lesbian-lesbian relationship, so water-tight, that your show can air on prime-time, all-access TV, appealing to a wide-variety of audience, and threatening no one. The lesbians will be happy for new fan-fiction fodder, the straight men will be happy with the prospect of girl-on-girl action but it won't seem "gay," and straight women will wish for female friendships like that, and take comfort that women can be friends without the backstabbing and ripping each other apart - like in real life. Brilliant, no??

And as I watch these episodes, remembering how at the tender age of 13, I was completely engrossed, obsessed, and very much in love with the idea of Xena, yet not knowing why - I realize that Xena was the key to my lesbian confusion, in a VERY heterosexual world. I had no one to take me aside and say, "You know Alyssa, you might like girls instead of boys, and that's okay. Just know that it's an option for what you're feeling." I didn't have anyone in my life saying anything to that, or any other effect. But I had Xena. And I saw that relationship, and knew that that was what I wanted. And even though they couldn't come out in Ancient Greece and make-out all the time, I was blessed enough to watch a devoted, funny, healthy relationship love continually - through the explosions, wars, and impregnations of evil-god sperm - really, what more could a 13 year old want?

Besides equal rights and more kissing - not a damn thing.

So go take a look at some of these shows, or find some of your own. Reports from the field are completely welcome.

Why I hate the Lakers. And the Red Wings, the Yankees, the Habs, the Raiders....

2010-06-18T13:41:00.000-07:00

I was totally going to write a post about my ardent and undying love of Xena - yes, the Warrior Princess. And I still will, because I have an ardent, undying love for her. And I'm 11 episodes into the second season, on my way through to all 6. Oh, it's on like Donkey Kong, my peeps!

But the reason why I'm not writing about this now, is that the ever-lovin' Lakers had to go and win the NBA Finals.

Let me clarify one thing for you right now - I am NO Laker fan. I am a native of Southern California, I grew loving the Angels, the Dodgers, and in the days of Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul-Jabar, AC Green, Kurt Rambis, Byron Scott, and James Worthy. You want the best basketball team of all time? Look at the Lakers of '87. Now there was a TEAM. Basketball was better then - fundamentals, passing, three-point shots, POST MOVES. Do you remember them? Man ... back in the day, a young girl about 8 years old could watch players like Kareem, Hakeem Olajuwon, and the "Mail Man" - Karl Malone - and LEARN from them. Sky hooks, drop steps, reverse fake bankshots - it was the golden age of basketball.

And learn from them, I did. Hakeem Olajuwon was my personal favorite. I would watch him all the time, and by the time I was a freshman in high school, I had created my own move called "The Bradac Bounce" that was somewhat akin to his mid-key drop hook. Mine wasn't a full hook shot, but for girls basketball, it wasn't bad.

The other player I watched with shock and awe and delight - Larry Bird. Larry Bird will *always* be one of my sports heroes. His quiet, yet pronounced intensity, his shot, his hustle - THAT, my friends, is a basketball player. But the best thing about the players back then, was that (for the most part) they respected each other. The Laker/Celtic rivalry was *awesome* because while it was two epic dynasties battling it out for guts and glory, they were battling with the utmost respect for each other. And the respect carried on to the fans. And you know who set that respect on their shoulders and carried it through? Larry Bird and Magic Johnson.

Cut to now. Kobe Bryant is the star of the Laker's Show, with underrated help from Derek Fisher. The other Lakers - Gosol, Odom, Bynum, Artest - serve as sometime heroes, though are more often than not - comic relief. The Celtics of today are a little better - they, at least have a solid team, with a lot of heart from the likes of Ray Allen, Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce - and some awesome efforts from unsung heroes Glen "Big Baby" Davisand Nate Robinson are the "Shrek and Donkey" of basketball (that was the best metaphor/analogy ever!). However, the Celtics are not without their faults - and that was evident in the last two games of the series. But you know what? At least the Celtics won and lost as a team. The Lakers rode on Kobe's coattails all the way to the riots of celebration last night.

Oh yes - I said the riots of celebration. For those of you on the other coast or even in different countries, I'm not sure what you're seeing in regard to the "celebration" in Los Angeles. Really, you shouldn't be seeing anything at all - it shouldn't be news worthy. But if I know our news system at all, and I think I do, you've probably heard some talk of some rowdiness, maybe some fires, almost certainly of policeman being injured by hooligan fans who were burning taco trucks downtown, and getting into fist-fights with each other. And yes - it's all true.

The sad fact, is that had the Celtics won? There would have been rioting in Boston too. Don't believe me? Go google the last few championship events that ANY Boston team has won - including the BoSox, the Patriots, and yes, the Celtics of 2008. When I lived in Massachusetts in 2004, the patriots and the BoSox both won championships that year. There were riots during both events. I distinctly remember a news story of a girl who attended BU getting trampled by wild and crazed fans.

So my question for both teams, cities, and fans is WHY? Why is this necessary? While I'm asking, I should include Montreal, New York, and Detroit in this quandary. WHY must you loot, riot, and set things on fire when your team wins?? What is celebratory about destroying your city, while trying to declare to the world that it's the best at the same time?? It makes you look like a city of assholes, thugs, and vandals. And what tourist in their right mind wants to go to a city like that? What person in their right mind wants to LIVE in a city like that?

And the worst part. The WORST PART is that no one on any of these teams ever speaks out against it. No "star" player ever says, "Hey guys. Let's celebrate in a non-violent way! Let's NOT destroy the city we've fought for to win this major sporting event. Let's celebrate with some class and common sense, rather than bumbling, drunken criminals."

So. very. lame.