Genius or Sell-out?

Is it me or am I the only one annoyed by the latest Gap ad with Audrey Hepburn dancing to AC/DC's Back in Black? I'm sure they donate the money to some of her charities, but how could her family sell her out like that?

Anyway, I'm so going to regret staying up late tonight but it's been awhile since I've written. I managed to start many posts this week but would fall asleep before I could finish any of them. Just one more day of work to muddle through....

Scottish Rockers

Citing the reason that his "throat fell out", the lead singer of Snow Patrol, explained why the concert had been postponed from June until now. Back in June, when life felt so different from now, I was going to go to the concert with a certain redheaded Irish boy whom I had a latent crush on for years.

Now in September, said redheaded Irish boy was visiting the motherland of Ireland. Luckily good ole Bizarro twin stepped in to save the day. She introduced me to the wonders of Silver Lake as I fumbled my way through the hilly and confusing hipster town, trying to find one of her favorite Vietnamese joints Pho Cafe. I swear this place was as fast as a McDonald's drive-thru but with better food.

After another great pep talk and quick catch up with our lives, we made it into the Wiltern at the tail end of the 2nd opening band Augustana and found a spot standing smack in the middle of the place. To my surprise, instead of the usual short and slight, trendy Indie music crowd, the crowd was littered with tall white folks. I mean, it looked like a frat and their Amazonian blond women. Not that I have anything against tall white folk, but I've never had so much trouble seeing over the crowd to catch a glimpse of the band. I guess this means the band has really made it.

It was sold out, no crazy people around me (though the couple blocking my view should have got a room), no pot smokers, and no rabid fans with the urge to bellow out inane song requests or I love yous every five minutes. To top it off, Snow Patrol actually sounded really clean and strong live. At the end, the lead singer got into the moment and started taking off his sweat drenched shirt. And nothing beats the sight of a cute scrawny Scottish rocker prancing around shirtless and singing his little heart out.



Feed a Cold or Starve a Fever?

After nearly two months of 60+ hour weeks at work, my body has had enough and broken down. I'm congested, kinda achy, and want to sleep all the time. The nice thing is it's my get out of jail free card. No one bats an eye when I leave before 7 these days. The bad thing is breathing and coughing are kind of an issue.

I made plans this week long ago when I didn't realize the craziness would still be going on. Despite the slight cold, I joined some girl friends for Dine Out week at Windows in downtown. The view was amazing.









Sly kept joking that Citysearch had rated this place as "very romantic" and periodically brought that up during dinner. Though it was a quiet Tuesday night, it felt like a special occasion to be out on the town eating a delicious meal and enjoying good conversation with friends.

Apparently I was feeding a cold, because even though I was with girls who could eat (no picking at salads type girl friends for me!), I polished off my 3 course meal - from calamari to steak to a brownie sundae ala mode, the size of 3 CD covers - shocking even myself. It was not pretty. But sooooooo worth it.






A Post Inspired by my People Magazine

There is a funny ad in my People's magazine. It's for Teddy Grahams and Colin Mochrie from Whose Line Is It Anyway? is the Snack Fairy. Sprinkled over a scattering of Teddy Grahams, he says "Tell your kids not to feel bad: bears would eat them in a heartbeat."

These are things I wish I was told as a kid. So I could have felt less guilt eating things like Teddy Grahams and goldfish crackers or anything with a face. I'm such a wuss, I can't even toss stuffed animals aside or punch a pillow without feeling like I'm hurting the poor inanimate object's feelings.

See Ya Lata Suckas!

Every morning, no matter how tired we were, or how unresponsive I was, she always greeted me with a "Morning!" The first few months, I didn't know how to respond - I was much too groggy in the mornings to interact with people and most of the guys who sat around me didn't possess enough social skills to partake of traditional greetings. Even my own boss and the other producer who sat on the other side of the table never acknowledged the morning. This whole interaction was new to me at this company.

We were complete opposites. She was a morning person and didn't really eat dinner. She studied theater and thrived in conflict and challenges. She hadn't had a staff position in over ten years, preferring to freelance work whenever something popped up. She had a zen about her that only a tough single career woman in her forties, who's seen her share of BS and bullies in our industry, could possess. And the best part about it - she still retained a strong sense of moral integrity. You could never push her around but she'd also never step on anyone to get things done. I couldn't figure out if I wanted to grow up to be like her or not.

On her first week, we were talking about a mutual client and she told me she could read a person within 5 minutes. I marvelled at that skill and said I wished I could do that. She looked at me wisely and said "With time."

On her last week there, she looked at me with a mixture of compassion and resignation. She had had enough. And apparently the powers that be knew that she wasn't a good fit either. I wouldn't find out for 2 more days.

On her last day, she gave me a hug and simply said "good luck." Then she waltzed out of there without any bitterness, already looking forward to her next adventure. She lasted almost a year at the company and I was just beginning to get used to having her around.

Blubbering

Maybe it's because it's been months since I've bawled, maybe it's because I'm tired and fed up, maybe it's because I've had no time to take care of mundane life stuff... but watching Grey's Anatomy and listening to the angsty music they use to really punctuate those emotional moments was just the release I needed to cry my eyes out over everything.

The chronic fatigue of work, the insensitivity of my brother before he left for Chicago, the disarray of a number of friendships, the antipeptalk from my old boss, the stunning layoff of a fellow coworker today, the piling on of her unfinished work onto my already full plate, the continual burn-out (to the point of illness) of my team of artists, the constant drowning feeling of never getting any projects done at home, the confusion and overwhelmingness of self-improvement, and finally the disappointment and self-loathing of the person I'm growing up to become. I am my harshest critic.

Things I Wish I Could Do

In no particular order...

• Whistle
• Shoot straw wrappers at people by blowing on the opened end of a straw
• Ride a bicycle
• Play drums
• Race cars
• Climb a tree
• Style my hair with merely a brush and blow dryer like a hairstylist
  
• Juggle
• Walk around without bumping into inanimate objects or tripping on rugs
  
• Hang glide
• Rappel down a cliff
• Brake when rollerblading
  
• Build a tree house
• Shoot pool well enough to hustle money
  
• Shark diving
• Wear pretty shoes even if they hurt my feet
• Move my hips like Tahitian dancers
• Fly like a bird
  

Visual Aids

Maybe it's because I've spent so much time confined in the same space as him, but I do believe things are getting better with Mr. Dating Debacle. At least I'm not as affected anymore, though I do wonder if it's possible we'll ever be friends again. As I pondered that thought to Wavy, she decided to draw me a diagram to illustrate the inner workings of his brain. It went something like this:



Sometimes seeing things drawn out make so much more sense.

There's Something For Everybody

I just saw a commercial for a slew of religious movies on TV and while I wondered if it was Easter again, the banner for Fox Faith flew on screen.

Wow, I never knew it existed. The Bible Belt is going strong.

Tis the season...

For the return of new primetime TV! Ah, it brings me joy... The TV is my friend and for much of my childhood, my babysitter and instructor.

Grey's Anatomy starts Thursday. I'm so psyched for another season of yearning, tears, laughs, and heartbreak - calling my friends up right after the show screeching "OMG, did you watch?!" Not quite sure why it touches me so. Those writers sometimes seem to be writing from inside my head.

I've been trying to cut down the amount of shows I watch over the past couple of years, but all of a sudden, I don't care. Bring on the new shows. Bring on those star-studded ensemble casts.

The Tivo is set.

Things I Used To Be Proud Of...

• Being smart in school
• Playing piano well
• Remembering everyone's face and name
• Being a great friend
• Keeping in touch with everyone
• Remembering everyone's birthday
  
• Writing everyone back right away
• Reading at least a book a month
• Balancing my checkbook every month
• Having all my photos updated and in albums
• Crying only about once a year
  
• Having no emotional baggage
• Being deliriously optimistic about everything
  

Headshrinker

Recently, a good friend confessed that she was thinking of seeking therapy. I guess it's nothing new out here in LA, especially in this day and age. But considering that I always found her to be one of the most positive, well-adjusted, happy people I knew, I was floored for days. She certainly was at least happier and more well-adjusted than me. And most people I knew.

Though I'm a big advocate of it for many people, especially before seeking medication, it forced me to look inward and question my own innate aversion to it. Maybe it's a cultural thing of not airing your dirty laundry to strangers. Maybe it's not wanting to admit my sadness or problems aloud because then it becomes real. Maybe it's the fear of opening up, being vulnerable, and fearing judgment from someone who should know what normal is. Or God forbid, what if I'm nowhere near normal?

Irrational, yes. But I never claimed to be otherwise.

On the other note, she had a great point. Not necessarily everyone needs therapy. But everyone could certainly use some. Friends are there for you to listen, empathize, rant... perhaps run over someone who hurt you with their car (I have a dear friend who always offers to do this). Unfortunately, they care too much to be impartial and sometimes the problems are too overwhelming and beyond their scope of help.

This will definitely be something I'll continue to ponder.

How To Know You've Been Brainwashed By Work

• You feel guilty leaving before 9pm
• You check your work email 1st thing in the morning, every hour when you're away from work and right before you go to sleep
• When one of your coworkers takes an early paternity leave because his wife delivers 3 weeks early, the first thing you think is "damn, we're down one artist! I need a plan B for this project!"
• When one of the artists declines a dinner order, you ask "are you sure you don't need to work late?"
  
• You're bitter at the people who only work 8 hours and leave before 7. You think they're slackers.
• You dream about work. Then you wake up. And go to work.
  

The End of Summer

As a kid, I hated the month of August because 1) there were no holidays and 2) it meant school was looming ahead early next month. As a working adult, every month blends together and I categorize the seasons as 1) more traffic (during school months) vs less traffic and 2) less daylight hours vs more daylight hours (giving you the illusion of working less and getting out earlier).

Last Thursday, on my weekly get-out-of-work-at-a-decent-hour treat night, Clancy and me@co journeyed to my neck of the woods for dinner, refusing to accept that summer was over by picnicing at the beach. Unbeknownst to us, mother nature wasn't in a cooperative mood and the night sky prompty went dark by 7ish. The temperature also dropped a good twenty degrees as we huddled at the lifeguard tower in Venice Beach, stubbornly eating our sandwiches and chips, watching the two lone surfers in the ocean and warily eyeing the occasional drifters that wandered about the beach. I must say, ENTIRELY different feel at Venice Beach when the sun sets versus when I go there at lunch all the time, bordering on almost scary and kinda sketchy.

We caved after an hour and packed up for warmer places and hot beverages. On the way back to the car, we saw a peculiar sight. An extremely built African-American guy, clad in only a speedo and oiled up a like a body builder, doing pull ups on a random corner of the boardwalk. We looked staight ahead and tried not to stare, thinking "why is this guy doing pull ups here? Why is he all oiled up? Isn't he cold? It's freezing out here! And WHY, why why why, of all things a speedo at night, in public?!!" Before we got to the car, we saw him jog down the street, presumably back home, I hope.

The funniest thing was when I relayed the story to my coworkers at lunch the next day. None of them were surprised.
"Oh the Black guy at Venice Beach? Yeah, we know who you're talking about."
"Oh yeah, he usually as a giant snake wrapped around him and he plays the guitar."
"Pull-ups? Yeah, we've seen him do that."
"Oh, that guy in the speedo. Yeah, he's there all the time."
"Hey, wouldn't it be funny if we were all thinking of different guys who fit that description, all at Venice Beach?"

Navel Gazing

Lately, I feel like the wizard Dumbledore from Harry Potter, so full of those silvery strands of thoughts that need to be pulled out and tucked away elsewhere before my brain explodes. Unfortunately, I've still been working 10am -10pm most days and too exhausted to string together any coherent thoughts by the time I drag my tired carcass home for the night. I try to leave early at least one night a week and do something fun like meet a friend for dinner - my treat to look forward to each week.

One of the things I'm looking forward to watching next week is the movie The Last Kiss with Zach Braff of Scrubs and Garden State fame. It deals with the whole turning 30 phenomenon. At first I was resistant to the blatantly trendy theme of quarter life crises; it so shamelessly targets my "is this it?" demographic, hitting home with equally yearning melodies on its soundtrack.

"I feel like I'm supposed to like it since we're the target demographic," I explained to Wavy, "which makes me a little resistant to it and wondering if I'll just be disappointed with the movie."
"Yeah, it looks like a lot of navel-gazing going on in there," she replied.
"Navel gazing?"
She sent me the link and I yet again learned something new for the day. I'm looking forward to indulging in 2 good hours of navel gazing next week. I can angst some more and write about it here!

A Typical Day Out With the Family

On the last summer weekend of the year, before my brother has to fly back to Chicago for round 2 of business school, my dad decided to splurge and get us box seats at the Hollywood Bowl for the Best American Movie Musicals night.

An outing with my family is always a treat and a chance to embarrass my parents when my brother and I revert to our true juvenile ages of 5 and 9. On the shuttle, we poked at each other, yanked the Ipod earbuds out of each other's ears when the other nodded off, bribed each other with candy... at one point he called me Hezbollah for always instigating something and he was Israel - fed up and retaliating with a rain of bombs or in his case punches on the shoulder. I guess his metaphor bestows some maturity to our childish bickering. Or maybe not.

At the Bowl, there was us and then there were the rest of the WASPy looking, grey-haired, music loving afficionados. "There are no Asians down here," my brother whispered. We looked around and the closest thing we saw that was Asian, was a backwards tattoo on some lady's shoulder that was supposed to say "fair lady" in Chinese. Except that she had reversed the characters which really didn't mean anything except that she was illiterate in Chinese.

We kept making bets on which movies would make the list, which one would be considered the number one movie musical of all time by the AFI. I bet Sound of Music (#4) and he bet Wizard of Oz (#3). Turned out to be Singing In the Rain. Moulin Rouge just made the cut at #25. Beauty and the Beast, the animated film from Disney ranked #22. For some reason, that film clip choked me up with nostalgia and I started to feel oncoming tears. My brother turned to me again. "I think Belle suffered from Stockholm Syndrome." Then I tried to stifle my laughter.

The Fighters Foo

That's what Jed the Fish from KROQ calls them. And I kinda like it. On the one day I escaped work early last week, it was for the Foo Fighters Acoustic Concert, which was sold out all three nights. I saw their rock tour with Weezer back in October but was excited to see the acoustic version this year.

Dave Grohl, who's voice is even better live, told stories from his Nirvana days in Seattle, made the audience sing happy birthday to his mother who was in the audience (and was the one who told him to take the chance and move to Seattle to join Nirvana), and managed to make the Pantages theater as intimate as chatting with friends in a small restaurant.

Our seats were in the 2nd to the last row, and I sat next to a crazy person, but all that could not dampen the excellence of the two and half hour show. Speaking of crazy, the woman next to me, who could not refrain from jumping up for nearly every song, bellowing out her request "AURORA!!!!" into my ear, holding her head in her hands as if her head would roll off on its own, and generally looking like she was going to explode out of her skin, was scary. The first person I've ever seen up close on speed. I kept turning to Vaj and whispering "Trade seats with me!!!!" and he would shake his head no every time.

My brother on the other hand, blessed as he always is by all that is good and fortunate in the world, looked up Craig's list last Monday, found extra tickets through the beast that is Ticketmaster, paid face value for his tickets and managed to get front row mezzanine seats. He sat next to nice normal people.