Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Justine, Justine

It's raining in France. The coverage of the French Open is all from yesterday. At least I'm caught up.
I'm still obsessing a little bit about Justine Henin's sudden retirement. A number one player, playing at the top of her game just decides to walk away. Part of me understands and feels it makes sense. If you've reached that level of satisfaction and what you're doing doesn't mean as much any more, it's probably better to walk away then become a shell of yourself. I'm all about doing whatever it takes to keep one's spirit intact and unbroken. Still, the other part of me wonders about what's really going on when a champion calls it quits. It can't be as simple as she makes it out to be, can it?
I guess I'm not even close to being able to imagine what she must be going through. I think I'm struggling with finding something I can attack with that kind of intensity that someone in sports has to. Well, that's really intense. I'd settle for something I'm willing to do with a tenth of that intensity.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Called To The Sea

I'm off to Mexico. I am spending my days with blue hairs and sticky mouths. Climbing walls, paddling boats and driving the back country on an ATV with a bandanna on my mouth to keep out the dirt. I am cut off from civilization and I am told to stay clear from the railings. I must pack a cocktail dress and hide water bottles in my my luggage.
I'll be back on Saturday and I'll post my travel log. I hope I remember to take Dramamine.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

I Dream of... Brooke White

I do. In my dream, I got to meet American Idol's Brooke White. She seemed really nice. She took me to a park where she was shooting a crayon commercial (which seems really fitting given her sunny disposition). I think it stems from my love for her CD, "Songs from the Attic," which someone just got me and I'm falling in love with.
I was hesitant to like her at first. The sweet girl thing seemed like so much of an act, but as the show wore on and on, I valued the fact that she could actually interpret a song rather than just hit big hollow notes like I feel a lot of the other singers did.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Dark Weather & An Afternoon Movie

The thunderstorm comes quickly and passes just as quickly. I go outside to throw out the garbage and there's barely a trace of it. But the world is a little cleaner. It's a fresh start.
But what if you don't know where to start? The first steps to take? How to make that new beginning? It's much easier to walk down that path you're familiar with, to make the same choice over and over again.
I'm in some kind of mood lately. It's rapidly cycling from one thing to another. Some moments I'm fine, some moments my mind races out of control. I decided to go see "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" this morning. I went online and bought my ticket and got ready to go. Then I checked my email. A friend who I had talked about going with asked if we were still going to see it. I went to the theater and exchanged my ticket for "The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian." Those Narnia books are so woven into my DNA. I grew up reading them over and over again and watching the cartoon version of "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" so much that I pretty much have it memorized. I did the same with the BBC adaptations of the first four books. I was a little underwhelmed with the new version of "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." I didn't know whether the magic had faded or I was jaded, so I wasn't that excited for this new one. The middling reviews didn't help to excite me either.
But I enjoyed it. And found myself crying through a lot of it. I don't know why I get so emotional over science fantasy movies, but the same thing happened with "Lord of the Rings." Something about a group of people with the odds against them, making the hard choices in the face of incredible obstacles always seems to get to me.
I think a lot of times I've shied away from making the hard decisions. I've made the easy choices over and over again. But looking back, the hard choices are the ones I remember the most, the ones that have all the meaning, the ones that form the major bones on which my life is built. I think the magic is still there as long as I can keep from being jaded. It hard to do when the easier choice is to phone it in, to lose a part of myself.
I don't know. I guess it's always an opportunity when you're faced with hard decisions, I just hope there are things ahead that I'm willing to fight for.

Love...Hollywood Style

All I hear on Oprah, all I read in Self help books, all I listen to countless spiritual advisers repeat is "love is all there is" or "where there is God, there is love," etc. But, where is all this love they keep talking about. People continue cutting me off in the fast lane, racing to beat me to the only open lane at the grocery store, and Xing my car door with a key over a parking spot.
So, let's start showing some love, Hollywood. Doctors, give your patients an extra shot of botox or throw in an extra thigh of lipo. Stylists, how about a free eyebrow tinting to go with those new blond extensions? Say hi to the lady who makes your craft service table so delicious and offer the gaffer a bottle of Evian when the sweat pours from his big bald-eagle head.
Pack some extra dog biscuits for the other pooches attending Summer Camp in Malibu with your labradoodle and give your nanny a ride to the bus stop when the tape breaks on her shoe.
I mean anybody can go to Africa. And Idol Gives Back?...what a scam. So, eat your heart out Bono...Tinseltown can love too.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Trophy Wife in a Bubble

As hard it seems to let go of some things, letting go of the life outside my front door seems pretty easy. It kind of scares me how simple it is to detach from the world when there's no job for me to go to. It's strange that not leaving the apartment and watching hours of "Lost" makes sense in some weird way. And the more it goes on, the more the world seems like some unfamiliar, scary place... and it's harder to step out that door.
It's been a while since time without a job stretched out endlessly before me. I can't even remember the last time and what I did. I do know that circumstances have changed this time. Before I had no one to answer to but myself. The days would begin and end without me having to hear another voice, but these days there's someone else in the apartment with me. He has to deal with the opposite of what I do, not just work, but lots of work. I wonder what I would think of myself if I were him. Would I make the judgments I already do?
I went to a birthday party last Saturday. It was a low-key dinner comprised mostly of people I don't know. After she got her dessert, the birthday girl went around and toasted all her friends that were there. She mostly mentioned people skills or talents or jobs or drives, but when it came to me, the reference was to me being a "trophy wife." It was like a nightmare come true: that I'm not the only one who things horrible things about myself. She may have thought it was cute or offhand, but the statement stuck with me. What's even more daunting is that I don't know how to make it untrue. As I've just said, it seems I'm at my best sitting at home being that person.
I guess that's life in the bubble, to be able to see things and not touch them, to have a view on the world that's slightly askew. Maybe I should be satisfied that at least I am a trophy wife and not some raving lunatic on the street.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

The Art of Letting Go (a different perspective)

Letting go of anything is hard. It could be an ex-lover, a pet, a deceased loved one, a job, a house, an addiction, or even a pair of Jimmy Choo's that your dog ate the heel off of. The hardest part of letting go is when the thing you are trying so desperately to put behind you, to move away from...rears it's ugly(or pretty...depending on the item) head. When you're cleaning out your garage and you find the studded collar of the dog you lost a year ago, when you drive past the neighborhood you moved away from years ago...but never forgot, when you hear a stranger laugh across a room and stand paralyzed because that laugh reminds you of the relative you buried only months before, when you cross paths with an ex at an event you thought twice about attending, when the bartender at a party accidentally puts vodka in your cranberry with a splash of soda and that familiar taste coats your lips and floods your body with a warmth you have never forgotten.
The moment of grace occurs moments later. The moment you remember the person, place, or thing, but you keep moving... the moment you are able to take a deep breath, pick yourself up off the floor, and continue living your life. That is the moment of grace.

Monday, May 19, 2008

The Art of Letting Go

I did what I could without having to spend the estimated $1700. I bought a hard drive exactly like the one that started clicking and took it apart, piece by piece. I was gentle as I could be as screws came out, circuitry was revealed... It didn't work out. Years of pictures, some writing, some back ups are all gone with the wind. Ideally, I would have liked to have spent the $1700 to pay for someone to recover my stuff, but it's not like that kind of money comes easy to an "Assistant Story Editor" who, as of today, is unemployed. So I have to learn to let go.
I realize how long I put off even trying to fix the damn drive. I didn't even want to start the mourning process. There was so much on that Maxtor drive that I probably couldn't remember most of it. But some of it, I do remember. Trips home or to visit my sister and her family. Holidays, days at the beach, my first pictures of B. They're gone. And I'm sad, but I not as torn apart as I think I should be. I think I should be devastated but I'm not. I know I should have backed up all my files and I didn't. I brought the situation on myself. I should have known better.
Right now I'm thinking of some of the pictures that are gone. Me with my niece and nephew and sister at Discovery World in Milwaukee. Discovery World was fine, but I remember the grassy area outside the building by the lake. E and H were just running around in the sunlight and smiling. No picture could ever replace me being there and living it. No picture could ever replace B walking up to his apartment in Echo Park with his sunglasses and my shirt on.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

7th Grade Wisdom

"A writer would never say that," he scolds from his desk across the room in response to my whining that I have nothing to write about. "Well, I just said it," I sass back.
Am I not free to express my frustration with the blank page and the flashing cursor? There are days when the words pour from my body like blood from a slashed artery and then there are days like today, where every letter feels like a struggle and every page takes hours to fill.
In 7th grade, Mrs. Fields sent me to the Iowa Young Writer's Conference with a story I wrote called "Sparky" tucked in my over the shoulder book bag. "Sparky" was about a dog who was thrown away by the family he loved and how he struggled to survive alone on the streets. I received a lot of positive feedback about that story and I remember feeling so proud and so excited to be considered a "writer." It is funny how those feelings fade, how I question my path, my journey because I am not exactly where I want to be. How can I question something that comes so naturally, something that makes me feel so alive, so passionate, so present? How can I question something that already felt right at 12 years old?
On my end of the season evaluation I received a 4 in decisiveness, in most everything else (except punctuality) I received 5's...now I see the connection.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Van Nuys Blues

The fog has lifted as suddenly as it descended. Weeks of strange, dark, cloudy weather have given way to the sun and rising temperatures. But I still wonder how many people are walking around with a fog of their own that waits to clear. I know I've walked for years with certain misconceptions, ideas, thoughts that I thought were beyond reproach. Suddenly things that were so right are so wrong and I wonder how I lived my life for so long under false truths.
I wonder what ideas are brewing in my head just waiting to be proven wrong. Things I hold on to with a death grip that could change in an hour, a day, a year.
There's someone I know who I watch with strange curiosity. There seems to be things in his life he isn't facing. It's not that he's just not facing them, but he seems to be running full-speed away from them into a life that has nothing to do with the truth of what he is. It's strange how willing some people are to make the ultimate compromise, one that involves the rest of their lives.
Still, I guess it works out for most people. They move on, they go on living, and no one seems to know the better of it. It's so easy to fall into that trap of looking everywhere outside yourself instead of the inside. Things are scarier on the inside, they cut deeper, but I think that satisfaction you get from realizing things about yourself is something more permanent and true than anything that can be gained from any outside comparisons.
When the fog's been there for so long, the sun seems so much brighter when it finally shines through.

Friday, May 9, 2008

The next million dollar screenplay idea

Lights from above glimmer off the ice. It's a shame that something so beautiful can be home to games that can become deadly.
On the ice rink, there are usually two groups of skaters, the figure skaters and the hockey players. Both rely on power and speed, but where the figure skaters move towards grace and expression, the hockey players are more on the side of brute strength and stops and starts. It makes for an interesting time when they share the ice as the figure skaters try to move in lines and curves, the hockey players skid and move unpredictably.
One figure skater has had enough of the headaches involved in making his way through the minefield of the hockey players, with their short edged blades digging up the ice. He vows to correct the problem by making the hockey players pay for their lack of regard for others on the ice.
It's kind of "Ice Princess" meets "I Know What You Did Last Summer" meets "The Cutting Edge" meets "My Bloody Valentine." I see it starring Johnny Weir, Sascha Cohen, Drea de Matteo, and Robert Buckley.
Coming soon to a theater near you.

Junkie Fuzz

A pink plastic necklace hangs from a green push pin that holds a pop art postcard securely above my desk. It makes me think of Mardi Gras and I wonder once again if I have ever really been to New Orleans. I remember a discussion about the Jazz festival some years ago, but I'm not sure if that is because I was at the Jazz festival or it was just something to talk about. When you're an ex-junkie, your memories disappear like a tractor in a Texas sink hole and your brain is a smörgåsbord of fleeting moments and fuzz.
My friend's mom was abducted in New Orleans and put in the trunk or backseat (the fuzz again) of someone's car. She was eventually thrown out by the river, hours later, still alive, but forever changed. Her driver's license appeared, weeks later, at the convenience store down the street from her house. She has since moved back to the East Coast where she pops pills and works in an emergency room.
The Rio Hotel in Las Vegas has a Mardi Gras in their lobby every hour on the hour. I have been to that, I even got some necklaces. I always thought The Rio was a New Orleans themed hotel, but recently someone reminded me that the name of the hotel is The Rio...you know, Rio de Janeiro and it's probably a Carnival they have in their lobby every hour on the hour...not a Mardi Gras. "Oh," I said, "you're probably right."

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

The Art of Doing Nothing

Yesterday I bought poker chips. They are sitting on the long center table in my office, still unopened. I bought a baby gift for a woman I've never met and picked out the perfect stuffed green bone for my neighbor's new stray, Sam. I scoured the Internet for the best shore excursion in Cabo and unveiled my pick for best Los Angeles steakhouse (although I'm not sure anyone will be interested in my opinion...I don't even eat steak).
I have concluded that the light headedness and head pressure I have been feeling could be low blood pressure or hypoglycemia, but most likely is computer eye strain from my endless hours of surfing.
If anyone needs to know the perfect beach bag for his/her body type, I can offer the perfect suggestion.
I have learned every word of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and watched Bonnie Tyler cover a dozen or more songs on youtube wearing a bad purple suit and dancing like a middle aged woman at Burning Man.
And then, just when I think I have mastered the art...it is over...and it ends even faster then it began. Suddenly, I am thrown back into the trenches. The trenches of finding the perfect bite that doesn't exist, creating the perfect scene without any footage, explaining to an archaic editor why we made this choice...or that choice...and then looking for something different...or rather "something better" (At least I think that is how he put it).
But our hiatus looms in the in the distance like a freeway exit getting closer with each mile. So, as the department becomes dark and the blinds in each office are closed, we are left alone to perfect our jobs or work on our scripts or prepare for next season. But instead, he plays with a deranged Alice in Wonderland while I eat Thin Mints and blog about 'The Art of Doing Nothing.'

Last Night...

...I was with family driving down a stretch of flat, Texas countryside. Someone had to stop to pick up something. I'm not sure what it was. There was a shop out in the middle of nowhere and I went in to check things out. Inside, I was going through all the items in this thrift store place. It was insanely crowded given where it was located. I went through the records, which were 2 for 25 cents. I then freaked out because I found 2 rare Barbra Streisand recordings I had never heard of. Why is Barbra Streisand on my mind? I'm not really sure. But I know I was really happy when I found those records. I immediately thought to call AC, who is the one person who shares my love for Babs, but I had to leave a message.

Monday, May 5, 2008

The Hard Way

A great tennis match occurs when two people are at the height of their powers out on the court. One spectacular shot is followed by a response that is even more spectacular. Both people are raising each other's games because they have to and because neither one is willing to back down and give an inch. Then there are other tennis matches, imbalances when one person is playing well and the other isn't. That usually results in a blow-out. Then there's the opposite, where both people aren't playing there best and have to rely on something else.
I'm thinking right now of the 2007 Wimbledon final between Rafeal Nadal and Roger Federer as an example where both players were pushed to the limits, hitting hard, hitting smart, pushing each other. The same can be said of the Lindsay Davenport and Venus William's in the 2005 Wimbledon Final. When players play like this, there is so little between them and it's thrilling to watch.
Thursday was an important day for me. I went out to hit with a friend, NC, and he put me through some weird exercises. NC is an amazing player. He can beat most people with his left hand even though he's a right-handed player. One of the exercises involved hitting back and forth during a set and having to do 10 push-ups for every unforced error I made. He won the set 6-0 having to do 20 push-ups. I had to do 100 and something push-ups and struggled to win points. It was a pretty important lesson. He didn't have to do much but get the ball in play and I would just give points to him.
Friday I didn't have anyone to play with, so I went and hit with a ball machine for an hour. The hitting was good. But any time you can have a machine feeding you exactly the way you want the ball to be hit to you, it tends to make things easier.
Saturday was a nightmare. I went to hit with BM, who's always calm no matter what kind of pressure he's under. Things started well and then fell apart. While I was playing, I started to miss shots, the more shots I missed, the more I started to think about everything that people had been saying to me in the previous weeks and about the person I would be playing the next day. I couldn't stop the voices in my head, I fell apart. I forgot how to hit a forehand. Things were sailing long and into the net. I had lost it. I packed up and stormed off. Once home, the voices didn't stop. I was having a nervous breakdown. I went to the bathroom and shaved off my hair. Just shaved it off. It made things a little better. I had some control over something (me and Britney Spears). I had agreed to sub that day and went to play. Things went fine. Nothing spectacular but enough to win.
Saturday night, the thoughts kept returning. Was I making the right decision? How badly was I going to lose my upcoming match? I needed all the voices to be silenced. I cleaned up the house, I listened to music, I messed around with my computer, I watched "Land of the Lost."
I was so drained that the next day I ended up sleeping until 2 hours before match time. I barely had time to eat anything so I put some crinkle French fries in the oven and was off to hit with BM for about 30 minutes before match time. We hit. Things didn't go well. I was so nervous, but slowly they got better. I changed the grip on my forehand and was hitting with more clearance over the net. Time to go.
I got there. Through all the comments people had made, all the advice I had been given, I had never really thought about not playing. I had entertained the idea of having someone else play for me just to make others happy, but deep down, I knew I would show up. (Although part of me wished for a sudden rainstorm that would make playing impossible.) We played doubles and won without a hassle. My singles match was up second. We were called to the court.
Things started out so-so. PK went up 40-love quickly on his serve, but I fought back to get a break point but I ended up losing the game. I also lost my next service game. I was down 0-2, but broke in the next game but was broken again with my fragile serve letting me down. It was 1-3 and I started have hints that I was out of the match. I just wasn't playing that well. I had a glimpse of losing and it almost felt like a relief to know I would soon be put out of my misery. Then I figured why not just play. Why not do what I did Thursday and just try to get every ball over the net. I'm not used to playing long points. I'm more about bang-bang for better or worse, but this was more important. Everything was on the line. People were watching knowing that I would be ripe for a breakdown. I trusted my legs to keep moving and just ran to everything and put it back over the net. Way over the net. Highballs with heavy topspin, nothing fancy. Ugly even. But they balls were going back over and PK was making mistakes.
At one point, I reeled off 7 straight points and went up 4-3. I served to take a 5-3 lead but quickly lost my edge. It was 4-4. The first point of that game was a long, tough one and I lost it. But I had hit a bunch of balls over the net and knew I had to keep doing it. And I did. And I broke again to go up 5-4. I've been to 5 many times in matches. 5-0, 5-1, 5-2, 5-3, 5-4 and something seems to happen. While most people tell themselves to close it out, I usually think to myself "The worst I can lose now is 5-7." This time I actually thought "Close it out." I knew my serve wasn't doing me any favors and I tried just to get it in and start grinding out the points. Luckily, my opponent was over it, or generous, or whatever, because he relented. I went up 40-0 with 3 match points. The last point was questionable, but PK called it in my favor and it was over. Did someone tell him to just give it to me? At that point I didn't care, the pain was over.
This wasn't a match of two people playing at their best. This was two so-so players playing so-so tennis. I did enough not to beat myself. I think I went the whole match without hitting a winner, but my unforced error count was low and I kept the ball in play.
I don't know if this victory is representative of anything like I wanted it to be. I don't know if it was the passing of some major test like I let myself think it was. I think it was good that in the end I didn't fall apart and just hand it over. I think maybe it's a step I need to take over and over again until it clicks. The truest words were when someone told me that after it was all over, win or lose, I'd be the same person when I woke up the next day.
I am the same person, maybe just a little happier that all the drama is done with.

Friday, May 2, 2008

I bet you think this blog is about you (Don't you? Don't you?)

I've been feeling like a teenage girl who's dating a guy from the wrong side of the tracks lately. Everyone wonders what I'm doing with him, everyone wonders why I would make a choice like that. People aren't afraid to tell me so and I've heard it over and over again.
Do I really feel that strongly about making this choice? Am I being stubborn and deciding to go against everyone else's wishes just to show them up? Am I playing the bruised martyr who's looking for salvation?
At this point, I don't really know what I'm doing. Things aren't coming together like I wished they would. There's a fog that's descending. It's one thing with someone gives you their opinion and you disagree with it. It's quite another when everyone seems to think you're doing the wrong thing but you're resolute that you're not.
When I was 15, I took a couple weeks of tennis lessons. I wasn't a natural. Tryouts for the Fort Walton Beach High School tennis team came up pretty soon after I started playing and my coach said I might as well try out even if I wasn't ready. I tried out. I played two matches and was beaten badly. I defaulted the rest of my matches and quit playing for years. I just walked away. I rediscovered tennis a few years ago and LOVED it. I must admit I think about all the years that I missed because I backed down and the improvements I could have made and the fun I could have had.
When I watched Andy Roddick win the 2003 US Open, I saw someone fearless. Someone taking chances, not backing down. Someone forcing the issue. Watching him made me want to play again and to maybe do something to make those wasted years right.