Saturday, March 26, 2016

Catching Up! Why I blog, The Golden Age of Radio w/ SAG-AFTRA at the Autry, Fiction Fridays (My Life as a Phone Psychic, V.NYC2012, Part Two, Chapter Two), Gratitude Saturdays #178-188 and a Four-Leaf Clover.


Hi y'all!

I am sorry I have been remiss in my blogging commitments this week. Funny- I have been taking things OFF my plate so as to be truly committed and do my very best with the commitments I HAVE made- and also so that I may get proper rest (as some of you may know, I was sick the last month with pneumonia.) And I definitely did NOT mean to let THIS commitment go.

NOTE: FICTION FRIDAYS: I will be posting the weekly chapter of my novel "My Life as a Phone Psychic," Part Two, Chapter Two, at the end of the blog. Scroll to the end if that's all you're here for! XOXOXOOXOX


Blogging is for my soul, more than it is to get readers an create a platform to entice publishers and get advertisers and make money or whatever. I mean, of course I would like all of those things. I want to publish my novels and sell my scripts and star in the TV show version of the web series I am writing and tour with Andrea Bocelli. I want to entice publishers and make money. But honestly, as much as there is a part of me that is aware that I should perhaps shift my style to become more commercial, more like Oprah perhaps, there is this other part of me that is stubborn, I guess, and wants to be the artist me. I definitely want to be commercial and speak to as many people as possible, but I just don't want to do it by trying to be like 100 other bloggers who have the same cookie-cutter blogs about five ways to do such and such.

And in no way am I trying to besmirch those bloggers who are savvy and smart in that way and know how to make and write blog pieces that help people feel advised, and break complex and wondrous subjects such as sexual empowerment and broken hearts and spirituality and skin care down into simple steps. Simple is good. Simple is beautiful.

Maybe I am more simple than I think.

But I am also interested in the fine-spun silk of the spider's webs, and I know that as the sun moves across the earth, so does the light scatter across a different part of that spider web that perhaps you hadn't noticed before- perhaps the web has been disturbed and even broken- perhaps the spider is spinning that part of the web just now as you are looking.

I blog for my soul,

I blog for the practice of the integration of my writer's heart and mind and channel and fingers and hands and listening,

I blog to share my life through story and shared experience,

I blog to talk about recent gigs, share my books, and learn.


On Thursday I had the distinct pleasure of performing alongside 30 or so other SAG-AFTRA members (for those of you who may not know, SAG-AFTRA is the Screen Actors Guild/ American Federation of Television and Radio Actors, a two-in-one combined guild for professional actors. It's like a Union, but a Guild. Sadly, our president, Ken Davis, had just passed on Wednesday, the day of our cue-to-cue rehearsal. Controversial and political elements aside, although if you know me you know I actually sort of love those parts of the Guild, being a member of SAG, AFTRA, and/or AEA, the Actors' Equity Association, aka the Guild for Stage Actors, is a rite of passage and a mark of professional honor for any actor, and I am proud to be a member!) at the Autry Museum inside Griffith Park here in Los Angeles. We performed old-timey radio shows as part of a fun arm of the Guild, "The Golden Age of Radio." 

If you're a member of SAG-AFTRA, and on their mailing list, about once or twice a week you will receive a newsletter with all of their happenings, announcements, etc. Sometimes the announcements are about voting, and Awards ceremonies, and casting opportunities, and screenings. Sometimes they are about new programs, sessions on taxes or health care, or special programs connected to veterans or senior citizens or singers or dancers, etc. A month or so ago, I saw a casting announcement for a live stage presentation of the Radio Shows, and I actually set an alarm for when audition slots would open up on the website! I think I must have been one of the earlier applicants, because I got an audition time for early in the morning on the day of the audition!

A lot of very talented people auditioned. I say that because there were just a plain lot of people there! And I am not just banking on the idea that if they're members of the union, they must be talented, but the fact of the matter is, I heard a lot of them rehearsing and was impressed! I had an audition partner named Greg. We had a lot of fun trying things different ways. I wore an orange dress I call the professional safari dress, because it looks like if you took a safari outfit, changed it into a wrap dress, but made it orange.... that would be the dress! Every time I wear that dress I get... uh... if not a compliment on the dress... on something. I swear to god, the power of an orange dress is incredible. I do not get the same responses from blue dresses (even though that more clearly compliments my eyes) or red dresses or black or even shorter or lower cut dresses. Nope. Orange stands out. I got a lot of compliments on my shoes that day. (Plain black pumps.) Hmm..... I don't think it was the shoes, I really don't. 

I mentioned Greg because it was fun to run into him at the dress rehearsal! He and I both were cast as some of the commercial people for our respective episodes. There were three different programs/ episodes: I was in the GUNSMOKE program (listen to the ORIGINAL here,) he was in the FIVE MINUTE MYSTERY program, and then there was a brilliant episode of BABY SNOOKS.

So, yup, I was the Commercial Gal. It was a blast wearing my fun vintage dress from Pin Up Girl and a flower in my hair. I was surprised that the audience laughed when I sang the jingle for L & M cigarettes, but then again, old-time commercials are SO blatant in their bid for your money, it IS funny. You can read my previous blog post about my compunction at doing a role that "promotes" cigarettes, but I really don't think I was "promoting" them after all. Moreso, I wonder about the things in our current advertising over which future generations will most certainly howl with laughter... as if diets really work.... as if waist trainers don't cause internal damage (reminiscent not only of corsets, but of things like blood-letting or tape-worms.) 

The highlight of the evening, for me, well, aside from getting to know a bunch of really talented actors, literally of all ages, from young child to senior citizen, was the gal who played Baby Snooks, an actress, singer and songwriter named Sherry Weston. What a talent! She was amazing and totally carried the show. Look her up, you've seen her in plenty of things!

Here's a pic of my makeup. I will post links from SAG-AFTRA when they get the photos up either on the website or in the magazine!

Hair and makeup by me, for better or for worse! haha! American flag by the spirit of liberty, freedom, and justice for all. And jewelry by my partner's wonderful mamma in Italia!


I'm going to post this week's chapter of "My Life as a Phone Psychic" at the bottom of the blog!

This week is Part Two, Chapter Two


SCROLL TO THE END if that's what you're here for!


Lately I have been getting very honest about where I am at in life with relation to my REAL desires, dreams and visions, and therefore, I have been getting really sad, because plainly put, I have NOT been as dedicated, committed, or honest as I thought I was being. Meaning, like most humans, I was letting fear cloud my vision. And so, in the wake of the wake-up call (thanks Barbara Stanny and my friends) I am really practicing what I preach RE choosing joy on purpose. 
I am practicing the following:
-continuing a relationship with my spiritual higher power
-self-awareness and honesty
-acceptance of life on life's terms
-getting clear on my dreams/ desires goals
-finding the opportunity in every obstacle

And I am so





no seriously, I am.


Grateful for:

182. Renewed hope

183. Clarification of Vision

184. Triple A to tow my car when it is overheating and shutting down on its own accord

185. The design of my car which does not let me ruin my engine because I am too stubborn to really honor the dummy lights on the dashboard

186. That stubbornness, which can definitely get in my way sometimes, but does make me RECOMMIT and double down on the commitments I do have. I am committed to mastery. And being stubborn about that, well, the good part is that I really do not ever give up. The hard part is that I have to not think "I KNOW" the way it should go. Ha!

187. Great teachers and coaches. I am currently working with Barbara Stanny, author of such wonderful financial/ spiritual books as "Overcoming Underearning" and "Prince Charming isn't Coming." 

188. Reflection. I have been writing a lot about this idea about Prince Charming not coming. As Barbara says, it's not just a fellah, but the idea that there is going to be some man, job, (stardom breakthrough) or windfall (lottery, gambling opportunity etc) that is going to "SAVE ME" from, well, form myself, ultimately. And while fairy tales have mutated into marketing opportunities, I really have been reflecting a lot about the original stories and myths and their intentions for teaching, for reflecting back what it means to be human.

Right now it seems a lot of humans are waiting for Prince Charming in the form of other things than an actual romantic partner, although believe you me, as I see in my work over at 12Listen, yes, that myth is alive and well. No, we are also hoping for Prince Charming in:

Presidential Candidates 
(I still love ya Bernie! Because you remind us that YOU aren't Daddy or Prince Charming. You remind us that WE are what we are waiting for! Oof duh.)

Military and its counter-force, Insurgency

Celebrity/ Fame


Just to start.

But if we look at fairy tales and the old myths from when they arose or were inspired, we start to get a very different feel for what the heck is the purpose of Prince Charming.

I feel that Prince Charming, as a DEVICE in a story, as a spiritual METAPHOR, is about awakening the soul to a new purpose. The YOUTH (young man or woman, as is the hero in these stories very often) is SUPPOSED to die to the old way of life, sever the old family ties, and often it is a sexual or romantic awakening that creates the spark required for that separation. Then, the main character goes through trials and tribulations to step into one's OWN POWER. Not to be rescued, per se, but to know oneself for the first time and yet forever as a possessor of his or her own heart which he or she can choose to give or keep...

I don't think that there is any different in that regard for us in 2016. We just forgot that we are actually the possessor of our own heart, and we forgot to take back our personal power and instead blame it on the bad relationship/ IRS/ President/ government/ marketing/ media/ weight loss industry/ Hollywood/ schools/ parents/ churches/ ISIS/ Democrats/ Republicans/ secular media/ religious right/ insert anything or anyone here as a projection of your own fear.


That got heavy.

Here is a four-leaf clover I found on a walk with Henry this morning. And then here is a pic of that clover WITH Henry, patiently waiting for me to throw the chew toy (chew toy not pictured.)





Chapter Two
            They are having dinner at a very fun, old school Italian restaurant. Lily is truly enjoying herself. She is enjoying Jones letting loose. He’s certainly having fun. Phil is always living in this sort of level of, “as long as I’m okay and smiling, nothing can go wrong” panacea… And then, there’s David. David is really, really gorgeous. He has no idea about what happened the other night, when Lily went missing unto herself, and so even though a tiny part of her wants to be dramatic and hold him hostage for it…  It had nothing to do with him and she knows it would scare him away from her romantically and she can feel something growing inside of her in that way…
And what would she say? So she lets it go.
Let it go. God knows I have no say about my life, anyway. She winces at this thought. And while there definitely is a Lily in there somewhere, she shares her body with so much nothingness, it feels like there is no Lily. But there is, there is, there is. There is Lily the speaker, the watcher, the writer, the lover. There is a woman still connected to a desire for love and sex with two men at this table. She looks at herself in a mirror across the room and is surprised to see
            a beautiful woman sitting there at the table,
            So beautiful, in fact,
            she drops her glass.
            “Whoops! Enough wine for Lily,” Phil laughs. “No, I’m just kidding, honey. I’ll get you a new one.” Phil gets up and waves the waitress over as Lily’s cell phone rings.
            “It is my mother,” she says, checking her phone, “Gentleman, will you excuse me for a moment? It’s my mother and she’s only recently out of the hospital.” She rises from the table to take the phone call outside. She feels grateful for this distraction and concerned. Her mother never calls her.
            Phil stands up, David follows quickly and so does Jones. Lily smiles. Even Jones. She nods, walks out the front door, and into the cool evening.
            “Hi, mom,” she answers.
            “Oh, hi, my sweetheart!”
            Victoria Moore is in a great mood.
            “I am so sorry I haven’t called, mom, I have been so busy,” Lily begins. “Are you okay? How is everything going…”
            “Oh, me too…” Victoria interrupts. She’s a bit out breath. She’s excited about something.
            “How are you feeling?” Lily looks up at the moon peeking through behind clouds.
            “What’s going on?”
            Her mother laughs, a high, girlish, twinkle of her operatic voice, and Lily thinks instantly of her mother singing. How beautifully she sings, how beautiful is her voice, that Victoria Moore.
            Sometimes, Lily does not think of Victoria Moore as “mother” or “mom.” She thinks of her as a glorious singer with an angelic voice.
            “Oh, Lily. I’m going to be going on Larry’s sabbatical with him. I’m taking an extended leave of absence to go with him to Korea where he will be working with some scientists there on this new experiment!”
            Lily laughs. She has not heard her mother happy like this… perhaps… ever.
            “Mom, I think you should sing while you’re there.”
            Victoria laughs.
            “Oh, I will! I am singing again, Lily! Singing again! I have to tell you. That non-stroke that was a stroke but really wasn’t… oh, whatever it was! It opened me up, opened up a section of my voice that I thought was lost forever! I was so depressed when your father died and then my voice started closing and I thought it was just over. I was over, done! Done singing! Can you believe it? But I have to tell you it wasn’t over! I was wrong! Larry and I have talked about this and he thinks I should just be singing everywhere I can, maybe getting back into some productions, we will see, I don’t know. I am just so thrilled, so thrilled…”
            Victoria gushes about singing, and Larry. She is so superbly happy, it is magnificent.
            She is
            “…. so, honey, I just wanted to make sure that you are okay with that.”
            Lily has missed what Victoria just said but she guesses it has something to do with Larry and getting remarried.
            “Of course. Wait. What?”
            Victoria laughs. She is undeniably in joy tonight.
            “Little Airhead Lily checking out again. Where do you go when you go away, my little Houdini?”
            She hasn’t called Lily “Houdini” in many years.
Lily used to do magic tricks as a young girl. She even began teaching herself to free herself from handcuffs while in the kiddie pool in their backyard in San Luis… until one day, her mother found her two seconds post drowning and had to give her mouth to mouth resuscitation. That was the end of Houdini Games. Lily always suspected she could have been very good, though, as good as Houdini.
            “I don’t know, Mom.”
            “Yes, about Larry. Honey, I want you to come on up for a visit as soon as you can. It would be great for us to spend some time together. I mean. I know you know Larry and all and he just has such respect for your mind, your fine scientific mind.”
            Aha. She is going to sic Larry on me, Lily realizes.
            “Well, Mom,” Lily begins. Big sigh.
            “How soon can you come?”
            “Oh, mom. We made a deal this afternoon. I’m going to be shooting a pilot for this reality TV show about me.”
            A pregnant pause.
            “A… reality… TV show? About you?”
            A wave rushes through Lily. She sees herself as her mother sees her, the life she envisions for her. Lily begins to weep uncontrollably.
            “Honey, are you alright?” Words, disconnected, across the phone lines, micro macro, now Lily has crossed reality and sits in her mother’s lap, somehow, although Victoria does not know it, but energetically it is so. Lily is curling up in her lap and Victoria is stroking her head.
            No mom, I am losing everything I ever thought about who I was and I don’t know if I am going to exist much longer and I don’t know if I do exist, I have no one to talk to about life and death and who I am and who I am not and there is so often not a me anywhere and I get so scared and please believe I am thankful for my scientific mind I hate to let it rot but I can’t do it the way you say or the way dad said and I can’t be Houdini and so for now I have to be a psychic because it is the only thing keeping me on earth without my job I have no reason to live.
            “I am just so happy,” Lily says, waking up from her interlude.
            “You can’t lie to me.”
            Victoria’s voice is sharp and clear.
            Lily watches the palm trees shiver in the breeze. They are not native to Southern California, palm trees, but were shipped in to Los Angeles and now are inextricably linked to the public opinion and perception of this City of Angels. A sort of lie? Who can say? This is a crazy city, Los Angeles, the epitome of America in all its best and worst, no matter what anyone says, it has it all and is all, and Lily is among its residents. She refuses to lie, even to her mother. So she breathes deep.
            “No. I’m just nervous.”
            “Lily, honey, if you want to do this, well. That’s fine. But if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. And you can come home anytime.”
            “Thanks, mom.”
            “Why don’t you come have a little sanity break? I love you, sweetie pie. Come on home.”
            “As soon as we finish shooting the pilot, I will come home.”
            “I don’t believe you.” And she doesn’t. Victoria does not believe her daughter.
            “I’ll do my best.”
            “Okay. If you’re happy, I’m happy, baby doll. We’re not going to Korea until this summer. So there is time. And, oh!” She snaps in a new idea. “You could come with us, to Korea!”
            Lily laughs. She doubts her mother really means that.
            “Really!” Victoria protests, feeling Lily’s doubt. “Okay. Yes! Sure. I’m sure it would be just fine! Okay.”
            “I love you, Lily.”
            “Love you too, Mom.”
            Lily returns to the restaurant and sees that everyone has been waiting for her to return, very politely. The dinner is over. Lily is kissing Phil and then David on the cheek. She puts her coat on and Jones offers to drive her home.
            “Seven blocks,” she protests.
            “I think I’d better,” Jones says pointedly.
            She sighs. Acquiesces. They walk to his car and the stars are peeking out from behind the nighttime smog of the City of Angels.
            “Your mom okay?” he asks.
            “She’s great,” Lily says.
            Silence. Lily reflects that perhaps one of the reasons she has no friends is because she shares almost nothing.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained…
            “She’s marrying my dad’s best friend and research partner, and going to Korea with him. And she’s going to start singing again.”
            So maybe I need to work on delivery, she thinks, watching Jones’ shoulders tighten.
            “Didn’t she just have a stroke?” He’s confused.
            “Don’t know many opera singers, do you?” Lily says.
            “What does that mean?” They arrive at his car and he opens the door for her. Lily smiles and bows her head in thanks.
            “They’re drama divas,” she explains.
            “Your mother, too? Huh.” Jones closes the door thoughtfully behind her.
            She feels guilty as she fastens her seatbelt and Jones gets in. He starts the car.
            “My mother is wonderful… She has an amazing voice.” She feels a need to defend her mother now.
            Jones laughs and pats her knee.
            “I bet she does,” he says. They drive the seven blocks in a thoughtful silence.
            “There are a few things we should talk about,” he says, parking in front of her building.
“Okay. So… I’ll come in then.” He gets out and so does Lily and they go into her apartment.


Monday, March 21, 2016

For days when you love reading other people's diaries: BinderCon, Rumi, Lucille Clifton, Mama Cass

Monday, Monday...

"Monday, Monday, can't trust that day;
Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way.
Oh, Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be.
Oh, Monday, Monday, how could you leave and not take me?"
 -Mamas and the Papas
When I was little my Dad had, who still had all his 8-tracks, records, tapes AND CDs, had various recordings of the Mamas and the Papas.... by which I mean, I remember he had the record as well as, well, a little later than when I was VERY young, the CD. I remember the four of them all in a row, looking at you, looking back at them. None of them look happy. They all look intense- they were likely stoned...

Mama Cass wasn't happy. She was beautiful and full of sorrow. I hate when people say she died by choking on a ham sandwich because it is a statement that is not only false, but borne of meanness about her weight. In fact, she died of a heart attack (according to the coroner. I imagine that person know a little more about the cause of death than an urban legend that clearly stems from cruelty about weight.)

Well, it's Monday afternoon, and I had such a fantastic weekend that I am left a little blue today.

Part of it is the high octane weekend of BinderCon! BinderCon deserves so much more than my mood indigo, but it's a testament to the incredible experience that is/was BinderCon that I am actually FEELING something other than numbness or boredom (a cover for numbness or fear)... the whole weekend- workshops, lectures, meetings- got me so riled up! It was the inspiration of being with hundreds of strong and powerful women and fluid gender people, all sharing, all being honest about writing, about possibility, about hope, about pain. It left me excited and amped up and vulnerable all at once!

By which I mean full of feeling!

By which I mean, a little blue.

So, since I'm blue, I want to share a poem by Lucille Clifton that my new hero, Jenny Lumet, cited at the end of the conference:

won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my one hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

Friday, March 18, 2016

Fiction Fridays: Novel: My Life as a Phone Psychic, Version NYC 2012: Part Two, Chapter One


Chapter One
            “It is so nice to meet you in reality!” a very lean man with long tawny bangs gushes, shaking Lily’s hand, “I secretly got a psychic reading from you after I heard about Phil and Rufus the 2nd. I’m Joe from West Hollywood.”
            Lily wears a silky red blouse and jeans and high heels and a crystal ring and a crystal necklace. She wears a ruby red bhindi over her third eye and a lot of eye makeup with bright red lipstick. She looks sort of like an Indian Gwen Stefani only with the body of Marilyn Monroe.
            “… and you were totally right on, by the way, right on. Like, freaky.”
            “Thanks,” Lily says, gazing into his eyes. She sees fourteen possible paths unfolding before him. He could build an empire or dabble in drugs and lose it all or somewhere in between. “You must really learn to ride the waves, rather then go up and down with them,” she continues.
            “I know! Do you have anymore insight since we last talked?”
            Lily honestly doesn’t remember him, but she tunes right in.
            “Just heed what I’m saying. Do not go up and down with the waves of your life. They are broad and mighty. Learn to surf.”
            He takes her hand, nods very seriously.
            “Yes,” he says.
            Lily is always in her channel, in transit. In between worlds. In all worlds. Except she doesn’t feel able to help herself when it comes to her own life.
She had told Jones in the car on the ride over to the studios what had happened with David, and then after… sort of. She protected the most vulnerable aspects of David’s memory. Anyway, Jones is not happy about it, exactly. He is not happy that Lily seems to have lost 5 hours during which she cannot account for her whereabouts. He doesn’t like that no one knew where she was, especially him. He feels guilty that he hadn’t gone down to Swingers, after all. And he is very unhappy that David left her alone. And he prays for her. He so desperately wants her to do well, for this project to succeed.
            “Here’s Phil and David,” Jones announces. Joe lets go of Lily’s hand and exhales sharply.
            “Lily! Jones!” Phil smiles broadly, waving. Then he clasps Jones on the shoulder in a weird man hug handshake sizing up biceps move.
            David smiles at Lily.
            He’s blushing…
            It does feel as though something… happened…. But something DID happen.
            David looks away as Lily feels the intimacy resurface. She blushes and looks away.
            “So, you’ve met Joe,” Phil says, “One of our other producers.”
            “I am SO excited about this concept,” Joe continues. “I really love it, and besides, Lily is AMAZING!!!!” He sings the word “amazing” and Lily has visions of him starring as Freddy in his high school production of My Fair Lady.
            “Were you ever in My Fair Lady?” she asks.
            He turns to her, shaking his head in amazement once again.    
            “You just kill me!” he shouts. Then he walks out of the small studio they are in, toward the doors leading to the hallway to the offices, singing, “I have often walked down this street before…”
            “We’ll be right there,” Phil shouts. Then he turns toward Lily.
            “I think this is going to be very good for all of us.” He smiles. “Very good in deed.”
            Lily nods. She feels Jones’ excitement, and a slight fear. Too good to be true?
            But there is no time for doubt now, as Phil leads them down a cadet blue painted hallway with fluorescent lights. For a TV studio, the building is decidedly UN-glamorous.
            “First of all, let’s be lively, let’s do this spontaneously. I’ll lead the way.” Phil continues talking but Lily is inside Jones’s heart now. It is growing hot in fear and excitement, a slight sensual thrill at a glance at Lily’s breasts, excitement over the prospect of money. A lot of money. And fear. Scenes are replaying in his subconscious mind of the many, many times he believes he was screwed over. He grows defensive without really knowing why. It feels real, but why?
Lily knows that he is just feeling fear and responding by returning to historical patterns related to events that occurred in the past and therefore feel like they are occurring now. He is doing this to protect himself. How can she explain this to him without insulting him? Most people don’t take kindly to their employees telling them that what they are feeling is not entirely valid. But… Jones has long lived, as do most people, without enough awareness to see that the historical pattern is building a repeat of the past… if he could see it, he would take a deeper risk, but he can’t see the pattern. He only knows that something feels scary and something doomed is about to happen… he can feel it….
But impending doom is all in his mind. Lily prays he does not create a self-fulfilling prophecy without knowing it. She experiments with deep breathing and focusing a vision of light cooling all the heat growing in his heart.
            Jones reaches out and grabs her hand at this. He smiles at her. He feels her energy cooling him and he likes it.
            Out of the corner of her eye, Lily notices David flinch. It is so slight. Then she realizes that Phil has been talking and she has missed every word. And in this moment, she sees herself. She knows that she is no longer tied to words and game plans. Something has shifted, deeply, forever.
            I am I am I am.
            Jones clears his throat.
            “Just one last thing…”
            Lily squeezes his hand, knowing on a soul level what he is about to say, although searching intellectually for the words, and shakes her head, no.
            He nods.
            Just let it go, she thinks.
            Then, a surprise. In her head, she hears his voice loud and clear as if her were actually speaking to her… and yet time continues and there are others in the room and he is not speaking, his mouth is not moving.
            I wish you would let me bring it up.
            She nods her head, no, again, tiny tiny movements. So slight. Jones’s eyes are huge. He is sharing her experience.
            We are having a conversation through thought? he asks her.
            We are, she answers.
            “Just that I’m glad we are taking this opportunity to grow our businesses and have some fun,” he says.
How uncharacteristic. I’m impressed, Lily thinks.
I really wanted to ask about the going missing, get it out there, Jones thinks.
Don’t. Let’s keep it between us, Lily responds.
            Jones shrugs.
            “Then let’s do this! Whaddya say Lily, you ready for all your dreams to come true?” Phil smiles broadly. He turns and grabs David by the shoulder.
            “David?” Phil asks.
Wow. He really means well, Jones thinks.
            What dreams? Lily thinks, only she realizes now, as a strong sound of silence enters her mind again, that the conversation she and Jones had been having through thought is over.
            Jones is making head movements toward her.
            She shakes her head no and smiles.
            “It’s over,” she whispers in his ear. “I can’t hear you anymore.”
            “That was crazy,” Jones whispers back. “But I liked it.”
            “I am really excited about this project,” David says, grabbing Lily by the hand, and shaking it. Then he shakes Jones’ hand. “We’ve got a lot of work to do!”
Calling all Angels
            fuck oh my god that word dream dream dream I live in dream I live in fantasy I have a recurring dream which is not a day dream and is not a fantasy and in this dream I am drowning I am being choked and drowned flailing about
            and if you could see that I see your dreams and most of them are psychological detoxification and then there are those rare heart dreams that sing sweetly to you at 3 am and calm your fears and they are god calling you ailing you beguiling you during the only time that he has your full undivided attention be present be present be present to
            the water is all around me now and I am getting very cold and very calm, very calm, very calm, there is no struggle, no, nor was there ever a need, nor was there ever a need, nor was there ever a
Wherefore Art Thou
            Lily snaps to attention. The executives are laughing. Everyone is in on the joke, apparently, even Lily, as she is laughing, too. Where has she been? She checks in, quickly, on everyone’s energy. She is aware that everyone in the room feels very comfortable with her. All have been introduced to her; she can feel that, although she has no recollection of that occurrence. Everyone in this room loves her and feels in awe of her as a potential commodity. They believe that have discovered something, although they do not know what. She becomes aware even that she has been speaking but at the same time she has been present, some other voice has been present through her, she has also not been present.
A ghost? An angel? Split personalities? She does not know what or who has been speaking in her stead. Nor does she know if this opinion of her experience is even true. For all she knows, she is hallucinating the entirety of the situation. She must drop down below thought, into the earth and below that, into the place where there is no thing now here, or else she will buy into this socialized American human version of reality and go insane and she is clearly one of the only actually sane people walking the streets of Los Angeles.
            And with that, everyone shakes her hand.
            She realizes she wishes she knew what she was getting into, but then decides it doesn’t matter. No one ever does, not really. What makes her think she’s any different?
            Besides, she thinks, you would just feel crazy if it didn’t go the way you read it for yourself. You have some agenda, somewhere. But… have you really lost all say about your life?

Wednesday, March 16, 2016

SAG-AFTRA Glory Days of Radio, Commercials and Commercial Agents, Reminiscences of Cigarettes, BinderCon, and learning about the power of pink!

I believe it was Audrey Hepburn who said "I believe in pink."

Me, too.

(I think the quote is:

Yes. Go buy the print from this artist on Etsy.)

I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles. Audrey Hepburn
Read more at:
I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles. Audrey Hepburn
Read more at:
I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles. Audrey Hepburn
Read more at:

I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles. Audrey Hepburn
Read more at:, too!

To some of my friends, that might sound girly and, well, weak.

I beg to differ.

The power of pink, what I am talking about, it is the power of femininity, the power that inspires poets to write such lines as "...your voice is deeper than all roses" and gives all of us some intrinsic understanding of that line beyond the intellect, beyond the rational and into experiential wisdom...

A lot of you may understand that the power of pink (or other words that start with a "p," and I don't mean of the variety that the GOP candidates have recently debated about the size of their respective... ahems...) is something that is ever present and powerful when in alignment with nature. It is a power that we are reaching out to in a surge, seeking balance, having swung our- ahem- pendulums- a bit too far to one side.

I set that simple and relatively uninvestigated context (or conversely, this entire blog is an investigation of precisely that, i.e., the power of pink) for a blog about some of the acting and writing things I am up to in this end of winter and beginning of spring, this blooming change of seasons, this bursting with life moment in time (all our passion over politics, over art, over fixing ourselves and our lives... let's lose our minds and enter into a Rumi like state of love and laughter, shall we? Oh, it's going to happen anyway!)

Here in Los Angeles the weather is glorious. Sure, my allergies are acting up something fierce, but the scent of jasmine and spring blooms as I walk Henry is like a whiff of romance from Mother Nature herself...

I have been cast in the SAG-AFTRA "Glory Days of Radio" live play at the Wells Fargo Theater at the Gene Autry Museum. I'm performing as the female radio announcer during the episode of Gunsmoke. This is a very fun evening of sheer entertainment, a look back at the story-telling device of radio in the 1950s. I'm excited, and honored, because of ALL the people who auditioned, I was one of the lucky few chosen for the evening! It cracks me up, my lines, because they are all about smoking, cigarettes, and tobacco. I get to use my sultry voice to sell cigarettes. Ugh! If you know me, even just a little, you know a few things about me: 1. I love dogs. 2. I find and collect four and five leaf clovers. 3. I HATE cigarettes with a passion. I did, however, love the film "Thank You For Smoking."

I hate cigarettes because they killed my Grandmother, the one who had the four-leaf clovers, the one who introduced me to old-timey movies, the one who was a poker-playing, late night movie watching, Cheeto and Pepsi and coffee diet Pisces who would lean in conspiratorially and whisper "Pisces is Best" and therefore after whom this blog is named as an honor of the inspiration of her wisdom in MY heart. She, whose birthday would have been Monday, taught me that you don't have to like everyone, but you do have to be kind... that there is so much more value than you can estimate in your mind to simply being present to sharing time with people. She used to offer me a penny for my thoughts and she used to sit and peel apples and talk with me for hours. Around her, you knew you were cared about, and loved. And I hope to continue those traditions.

She also smoked from the time she was 14 and died at the age of 67. Way too young.

My mother told me that when SHE was young, doctors (including gynecologists!) would smoke IN THE TREATMENT rooms at clinics and hospitals. Wow!

Well, next week, I have the pleasure of revisiting the days of Mad Men style advertising, and I plan on having a BLAST with it. We had a rehearsal today and all of my fellow actors are simply wonderful. If you're in Los Angeles, I encourage you to come on down!

I hear that if you try to reserve tickets online (they are free!) it is listed as "sold out." But today, one of the producers of the event told us that if people just come on down, they will all get a seat. He has "never seen anyone get turned away" from this event, and that said, I can bring up to four guests, so if you are a commercial agent and want to be my guest, email me! ;) (Read on for more info about the commercial agent aspect!)

I laugh at the synchronicity of it all. I have been actively seeking a commercial agent. (I wanna make bank like Flo from Progressive!) I have not yet gotten a single commercial agent to give me a call or an email. I don't know why- I can only imagine their rosters of midwestern blonde mom types/ sexy femme fatale but not skinny model types are full. But the universe DID send me an actual job DOING commercials with SAG-AFTRA, so I take this as a positive sign. :)

It's not actually a commercial job, of course, it's a one night presentation in celebration of SAG-AFTRA and Hollywood/ Radio/ Western history! But it's a sign, right?

Oh, cigarettes. Deep admission: I did pretend to smoke once.

For a boy.

Of course.

That's the power of pink!

I have actually turned down dates with people and broken UP with people over cigarettes (when the joy of pink was over and all we had left was stale smoke and yellowed butts, I was done!)

But I once had a romance with a guy known to me and my roommate at the time as "Matt from San Francisco." Matt from SF may or may not know who he is. But he's a great fellow and he is SOOOOOooooo good at romance. He smoked fancy cigarettes- Gauloises- so chic in a 1960s / French version of La Dolce Vita kinda way- and so I decided I would, too. Oh, Lord, thank God it wasn't heroine. Please. Don't do as I did! Anyway.. Mostly I would let the very expensive cancer sticks burn away at the ends and not inhale a whole lot. Now, a few years later, having invested SO much in rebuilding my voice and having suffered from walking pneumonia MULTIPLE times in the last few years, I am frankly horrified by myself.

But if you had been there... if you had arrived at the apartment and seen the way Matt from SF had strewn rose petals up the stairs leading to a bubble bath with champagne... if you had walked the romantic city streets with this tall drink of water in a suit jacket and nice shoes... well. Dare I repeat? That's the power of pink.

Of course, it all ended when I got strep throat, the other illness that is a bane to my existence, and a 104 degree fever complete with delusions that he was an assassin sent by my ex-boyfriend Frank the German (sense a theme) to kill me. I guess most people would find that a little offensive. We never really saw each other after I fell into a sleep for three days and sweat sickness through several sets of sheets. Poor guy. What a nice guy for taking care of me.

Moving on to Binder Con!

So, y'all remember poor ol' (rich ol') Mitt Romney's gaffe about Binders Full of Women? No? Good. Who cares. Forget that guy. He can take care of himself! But this weekend at UCLA, women writers are coming together to network, share, learn, and support one another! I'm going to be pitching some of the projects on my slate to producers and I am just giddy at the thought of meeting so many smart and intriguing writers (and women!)

Included in my slate is the project I have written with my dear one, Carlo, as well as a few other projects. Some are finished drafts, some are only at treatment level. I won't share them here because I have learned to jealously guard my projects after friends in a former acting class ripped off one of my projects (but "forgot all about my project" when I confronted them with it. Bitter? Well, I once was. Now, I'm just wiser.)

(That experience represents the OPPOSITE of Binder Con and the Power of Pink!)

I look forward to sharing some of my experiences at the Binder Con with you all after the fact.

Finally, although I will be editing a REAL set of videos shot by professionals from my gig last week at Genghis Cohen ... Concert Window DID make a highlight reel from last Friday's concert and I'm sharing here. Enjoy!

p.s. The sound is NOT representative of either the venue, Genghis Cohen, nor of Concert Window. I LOVE both venues, and will so gladly work with Genghis Cohen and Concert Window again! It was MY fault that I didn't get an external microphone and so you will hear from time to time that the sound (in the room) blows out the receivers on the computer mic. I hired some professional videographers to make video and so when we have edited them I will present them here, but still, I think that this video from CW is pretty good and I encourage you ALL to check out Concert Window and its live streaming events. They are AWESOME in every way.