MyAdultLand

I am not a co’ ho’.

Raise your hand if you’re tired of people old enough to know a thing or two by now (and I’m talking to you, my fellow aging Gen Xers) complaining, lamenting, wondering: “how did I get here?” Not just in terms of their relationship, but their life: career, income, self-fulfillment. I used to do the same. But at some point, increasingly I’d ask that question of myself (rather than of a friend, rhetorically, over my second double macchiato, as was my way in the past). And when I asked it of myself, I actually required of myself an answer. And it hit me:  Because that’s what I’ve chosen. Wealth and a relationship and self-worth cannot be had if the price is feeling trapped. Compromise? Of course. Frustration? A given. But trapped: never, ever again. Not in a job, not in a relationship, nowhere. Let freedom reign.

I’m smart. So why am I not Wealthy? Married? Satisfied? Sometimes I need to remind myself, to be quite honest.

Why am I not wealthy? Because I chose to walk away from a lucrative corporate gig a long time ago. It paid well but I was miserable. I felt trapped. The good definitely did not outweigh the bad – no amount of money is worth feeling trapped, not to me. So I walked. I could quite easily have more money. There are lots of ways right outside my door I could easily earn a great income with lots of benefits. Perhaps I’ll find one that fits well and doesn’t feel come with that “trapped” feeling. In the meantime, I know exactly how I want to live my life, what I want to do with it: and it can pay off. It’s a longshot, I know. And that’s okay. I’m doing okay. It’s 100% worth the tradeoff. I’m loving every minute spent trying. This is an adventure.

Why am I not married? Again, I chose to not remain married. I loved being married. I loved him, he loved me; we still love each other. But Dave Mason said it best: “There ain’t no good guys. There ain’t no bad guys. There’s only you and me and we just disagree.” And if you spend your life together in disagreement, it’s not good for either party. It felt like another trap: one I’d built around myself. Some people stay with the wrong person for fear of ending up alone, or for the kids, or because they loathe the confrontation/battle of divorce, so they take the lifelong path of least resistance. It’s up to you: risk being alone for the right reasons or with someone for the wrong ones. And that is for no one to decide or judge but you.

Climb Me.

Why am I not satisfied? I choose — no in this case, I’ll always need — to ameliorate. Because I like the act of striving, pushing myself, wanting to accomplish more, improving myself. I’ve been satisfied many times, and to great degrees. I just don’t remain satisfied for very long. Show me a mountain and I have to climb it. And there’s always a mountain to climb. I like the climb as much as the view from the top. And I mean that literally, not metaphorically. But you can do what you want with that mountain and that metaphor.

Self pity, tear down this wall!

I wonder if he’s satisfied.

But let’s talk about you now, my fellow aging Gen Xers, who are still stuck on the “why me?” loop. Most of you are fiercely smart. Too smart for your own good. It was great currency in your 20s, when having a low-paying job with cool cred was hot. Or you were working a McJob until your big break, when your indie-alt-grunge band “Carpet Picnic” (or whatever genius name it was then) was discovered, signed to Sub Pop, and changed the face of rock forever. Or you were working to Save The Children (or The World, or The Peppered Moth) in a non-profit organization — which made you a good person. Fine and dandy.

But we’re 15, 20 years on, guys. You didn’t go into it for the money then. And you stuck with it. So why, oh why are you whining that there’s no money now? “How did I get here?” “How did this happen?” Answer: Because it’s what you chose. You could change it any second. Get a broker’s degree. Go into pharmaceutical sales. Not into selling out? Write the next blockbuster movie franchise that elevates the genre into the category of  “art”. Just do something, anything, different. Differently. Or own it, take pride, be the best you can be at it. Or… choose to stop complaining. It’s only your life we’re talking about after all. Just how much of it do you want to spend complaining, regretting, lamenting – and annoying everyone around you in the process (while you still have their attention, that is)?

Sure, there are some circumstances we definitely do not choose. Death of loved ones, layoffs at work, and other’s behavior all come to mind. But whether we stay vs. go? Choice. To listen vs. ignore? Choice. Accept vs. change? Choice. Path of least resistance (and often, least reward) vs. challenge? Big choice. Big choice. Choose wisely.

It saddens me, but I knew the day would come. My mancub has left captivity to explore the jungle. I’m happy for him. No, I’m downright proud of him. He’s practically a full grown man now, and I like to think I played some small roll in making him the man he almost is today.

But it leaves a huge gaping void in my life. One that’s going to be so much fun to fill!

So I’m recruiting a new mancub.

Job Responsiblilites: be available for last minute repair calls, road-trip calls, whatever calls. Must be keenly intelligent; must clean-up well.

DESIRED EXPERIENCE: restraint; some general contractor knowledge and application;

DEMONSTRATED SKILLS: intuitive neck rubs; mounting heavy objects on cheap old shotgun apartment walls; stuntdriving; comedic timing; flirting

JOB REQUIREMENTS: must own car and valid driver’s license, must have respectable toolbox, toolbelt preferred; able to life heavy objects; cell phone with lots of minutes on monthly plan; take direction well; know when to give direction well; politically incorrect and not easily offended; must have good old-fashioned manners; can-do attitude.

Submissions accepted until position is filled.

Please leave contact details and feeding requirements in the comment section.

So many past projects that I was fortunate to have worked on are getting their due this month, and it’s exciting!

1.“What does a photograph mean if the image is a lie?” STEPHANIE’S IMAGE is an official selection of NewFilmmakers Los Angeles and will have its LA premiere at Sunset Gower Studios in Hollywood on Wednesday, February 25. This the latest feature from Coffee and Language Productions, and stars (as Stephanie) Academy Award Nominee (for Best Lead Actress) Melissa Leo. Congrats Melissa, and to the filmmakers,  J.P. Allen and Janis DeLuca-Allen.

2. In addition to the 2 screenings (February 8 & 15) at San Francisco Independent Film Festival, BACK ISSUES is also screening this Saturday at Los Angeles’ Show Off Your Shorts Festival.

3. What better way to spent St. Valentine’s Day than at the SF opening reception for Croatia’s Museum of Broken Relationships at Root Division Gallery? Especially since yours truly will have an installation making its premiere there. I want all of you to come out and be my date!

4. The Independent Feature Film THE SNAKE maked its premiere at SXSW this March! The filmmakers, Eric Kutner & Adam Goldstein, were so amazing to audition for that I was flattered when they asked me to be Ugly Town Woman #1 (I’m in the same scene as Margaret Cho!). Check out the trailer at www.thesnakemovie.com.

Good times on the road.

Well, I did it. I released the mancub from captivity. It hurt a little. But it was time. And it was a fun — and mother of God was it long — drive. But that’s what you get when you borrow a nearly 20 year-old car that feels like it’s going to explode if you go above 65. With no CD player or satellite radio. Oh, and no AC, which is normally not a problem in February. But this is the Soutwest, and these are times of global warming… I’m sorry, I meant to say Climate Change. And even though I was in the best of company, I WAS DYING. We were both dying. It was the longest motherfucking drive ever. Ever.

But an important journey it was. For the thought of him running free in his natural habitat, the impossibly beautiful desert of the southwest, fills my heart and my head with indescribable joy. And titillation. There goes one tough act to follow.

Mainly because I love the desert of the southwest so much. It’s also where I grew up (though in a neighboring state). No place feels more holy to me that the desert.

Nonetheless, this gives me an excellent excuse to visit the desert more often, and a cozy place to stay while I’m there. I’m liking this new arrangement already.

Filling my tank.

I should really aim to find a new mancub with roots somewhere really exotic, someplace I’ve always wanted to visit. A destination location. So that next time I set him free… well, you get the picture. Venice. Barcelona. Hawaii (been there, but I’ll go again).

Door close, window open. Door close, window open.

A) Company

B) A second life as an installation in a touring museum exhibit!!!

That’s right, don’t be so quick to throw out those old mementos and relics that only serve to remind you of the broken heart you’ve suffered (or caused).

Come to think of it, Who is quick to throw this stuff out? A lot of people save this stuff: old photos, old gifts, old stuffed animals won at the state fair. Some save them for the happy or bittersweet memories they conjure. Some save them as a badge to remind themselves of the pain they’ve survived and learned from. And others never throw anything away and their homes look like the inside of a junk drawer.

I had one such of these relics. But of course, I love a good ceremony. So years ago I had my way with my memento.

It was a letter I wrote to a certain someone, about 15 years ago. I never sent it. I’m not sure I ever meant to send it. Sometimes I just write a letter to gather my thoughts, and then just keep it. It was a sort of “I love you this isn’t working why can’t we make it work blah blah blah” letter. Not a breakup. But not a lot of hope left in them there words either. But then… the guy beat me to the punch. And I didn’t protest. I knew it was the right thing to do. So we split and he moved to LA and I got my own flat (still here — GOD BLESS RENT CONTROL) but refused to give him my new address & phone numbers because though, on occasion, I may cave and dabble in martyrdom; ultimately, It Ain’t Me, Babe.

I kept the letter. It got old. My life changed. I moved on. I moved. Moving means shedding belongings — at least when you live in the Tiny-Apartment-World that is San Francisco. I was also getting rid of a mirror. Say, there’s an idea.

I saw it. Didn’t know if it would work, but I saw it. Shards Of A Broken Loveletter. So I glued it to the back of the mirror… then shattered the motherfucker. Whipped out my X-acto knife to finish the job, put the shards of broken mirror/loveletter in this glass column, to sort-of give it that natural history “preserved specimen” presentation… And that was it. It’s lost all emotional impact for me. I just thought it looked cool, so I kept it.

So if you are going to hang  onto your badges of heartache, why not reinvent them? Got T-shirt with a logo on it (maybe from the first show he/she took you to)? Stretch it over a canvas and presto! A new dartboard! Seriously, go out and get some darts — that would be awesome if I ever saw that in someone’s home! Maybe you can even make them functional? Decopage your garbage can (or toilet seat)  with old pictures of or associated with him/her? I don’t know, get creative! Have fun!

But back to my object. When I saw that the Museum of Broken Relationships (based in Croatia) was on tour and stopping in San Francisco, I thought “why not?” It deserves a good home. I never dreamed they’d get back to me within 2 hours. But… hey, it was just hours after President Barack Hussein Obama (God, my four favorite words right now) was sworn into office. I just fell head over heels in love with 2009 on that day. And most fittingly, the museum makes its San Francisco debut on St. Valentines’s (reception from 7 – 10pm) day at Root Division, an arts & education non-profit organization that does some amazing work here in San Francisco.

Feel free to bring a date.

Me. On a Nighthawk.

I LEARNED HOW TO DRIVE A MOTORCYCLE!

It was my birthday present, from me to me. I needed to stay close to home this year, so what could I do that would satisfy my lust for adventure, my appetite for adreneline? I wanted to do Jim Russell’s 1-Day Grand Prix Master Program at Infinion Racetrack in Sonoma. But it’s $2.5K. And you don’t get to keep the car. That ain’t right.

So instead I enrolled in the Bay Area Motorcycle Training Program. I don’t have a bike, but have thought about it. I just thought it’d be super fun. Plus I’m tired of being always a passenger, never a driver. On motorcycles, anyhow. And I also thought it might be a good skill to have. Like driving a stick: You never know…

Great program. Great program. Not down with the 7:45 call time at CCSF at 7:45 on a Saturday & Sunday. I don’t think anyone was.

Welcome to the machine.

But the good news is you’re done at 2 (though they tell you 1). The instructors are awesome. You get lots of time on the bikes. And that is… about it. Get a lot of sleep beforehand, because even if you’re fit, it take strength just to operate the bike on the most basic level.

So that was the planned portion of my birthday celebration weekend. With that in mind, I knew better than to go nuts on Friday or Saturday night. So Friday was nice (and stupid early as well): Served breakfast at Glide Memorial at 7am, followed by a luxurious lunch, then a matinee, “Waltz With Bashir”. Not a real feel-gooder for one’s birthday, in hindsight. But I’d heard an interview with the filmmaker, Ari Folman, and was absolutely riveted with his story and his approach to making this a film. It’s stunning to watch. After that, I felt like a day at the spa. After that, what could be better than fondue? When was the last time you had fondue? And that was all about day 1 that I’ll put in writing.

Besides riding a bike, Saturday saw the arrival of an unexpected houseguest. That happens a lot around here, for some reason. But I love my friends, so I don’t mind a bit. It just meant I got absolutely nothing done, and ended up going out that night. Not the best idea, but well worth it.

Sunday I had planned on having just a few friends over after the final day of riding. Though after Saturday night and another 6am wake-up call, I was not as excited about this plan as I originally was. But of course once my peeps showed up I was happy and it was grand.

What did I learn this birthday weekend? I’ll tell you:

1. Getting up at 6am for any reason (when its dark out) 3 days in a row sucks, especially  when its your birthday.
2. The Ooh La La is the best fondue choice at the Matterhorn.
3. Motorcycles are really heavy!
4. Motorcycles are really fun!
5. I look really good on a motorcycle.
6. It’s alarming how much champagne and cheese and chocolate 5 gals can put away.
7. The peanut butter hot chocolate at Bittersweet Cafe will give you an orgasm in your mouth.

Isn’t that a catchy little logline? Thank you. I wrote it.

Sorry if I’m gloating. I’m just UBER EXCITED about the San Francisco premiere of the short film I produced 2 years ago (shot here in San Francisco), “Back Issues“.

And it’s finally making its San Francisco big-screen debut as part of SF Indie Fest, after touring the world on the festival circuit. Screening dates are February 8 & 15 at The Roxie Cinema. Visit the link above for more information. Okay, here’s the synopsis:

It’s Friday morning. A proposal has been made. The clock is ticking. A decision must be reached.

Do you put an expiration date on your dream? That is the question Peter, an aspiring comic book letterer, must face after his proposal to his girlfriend, Felicia, is met with an ultimatum: “Either give up comics and get a real job, or we’re through.” Come Monday, Peter must decide. And all on the day he decided to quit smoking.

As if Peter isn’t under enough pressure, there are still more surprises awaiting him at Al’s Comics, where he works. Al weighs in on Peter’s dilemma – and Al’s opinion is usually not what Peter wants to hear. There’s also Foggy, a regular who paints a picture of love too impossibly perfect (he met his wife at Comicon) to be true. And of course, the annoying customer who just. won’t. go. away. ever.

Things go from bad to worse when the world’s most inept thieves show up to rob the store. Luckily for Peter, he has an ally in Diana, a new customer (and fellow comic book artist) who is much more than she appears. It all leads to a moment of reckoning when Peter realizes that only one thing stands between him and his destiny:

Back Issues.

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE! Also in February, Back Issues is screening in LA as part of the Show Off Your Shorts Festival! It’s also the first 2 weeks in February, and as soon as I have screening dates, I’ll put the word out. Word.

To learn more, please visit the official site at www.backissuesmovie.com. Or watch the trailer here at back_issues_teaser_mpeg_4_300kbps

I volunteered at Glide Memorial on Christmas day. I tell you this not because I want you think I’m this big-hearted, selfless philanthropist. Hardly the case. Honestly, as a maverickin’ gal,  I had nothing better to do on Christmas. I tell you this because I’m so glad I had nothing better to do. Because I learned there is nothing better to do. So shoulder to shoulder I stood with a bunch of very mellow, upbeat strangers for a few hours, stuffing brown paper bags — hundreds of brown paper bags — with sandwiches (1 bologna, 1 peanut butter), chips, and a candy. Sounds lame, but given the right group of people, this can be a very enjoyable activity. And doing this hearing the Glide Choir in the background belting it out — it just doesn’t get much better than that.

I could harp on about the importance of giving back, helping others less fortunate, blah blah blah. But you’ve heard all that before. But what I learned is how much I needed it, how much I got out of it. It was the greatest christmas give I could have given myself.

Let’s start with Glide Memorial itself, and specifically, the Rev. Cecil Williams. You don’t need to attend a holiday service to feel the power of Rev. Williams. Any service, any day will do. I’ve never been in the presence of Nelson Mandela or Jimmy Carter. But I imagine that if I were, I’d freeze. I’d be so overcome with awe that I’d be rendered useless. It’s like that with Rev. WIlliams. I’ve been to a few of his sermons and trust me, you will get goosebumbs. There is power and wisdom and kindness in his every message. Next time you visit San Francisco (or have friends visiting, if you already live here): screw Fisherman’s Wharf. Get yourself or your guests to Glide. Sure, its neighborhood, the Tenderloin, looks a little rough (very rough to those who aren’t visiting from NYC, Chicago, or Detroit). But trust me, it’s safe enough. It’s fine. There are people with some very real struggles on its streets, but I’ve never seen anyone there act aggressively toward a visitor. Plus, there are some good hole-in-the-wall restaurants nearby. Little Saigon is a few short blocks away and has great, cheap Vietnamese food. A little pricier is Farmer Brown, on Market, for some ass-kickin’ (and ass-expandin’) soul food.

The great thing about Glide: it isn’t about any particular religion. It’s about humanism. The human spirit, and love, and all those things we can take for granted or for some reason don’t nurture enough because of all the other distractions we’ve created for ourselves (Facebook, Facebook, Facebook). Surround yourself in the mesmerizing power of a Cecil Williams sermon — the great equalizer of all people from every walk of life — and you’ll have one of the biggest “aha” moments of your adult life. I’m not even sure what my “aha” was, but something along the lines of why did I wait so long to do this / this place feels more alive than anywhere else I’ve ever been / volunteering can be fun / church rocks! / I know what to do every holiday from now on.

Look, I don’t have particularly strong family ties at this point in my life. But for 3 hours today, I did. It felt beautiful. And it was fun! Merry Christmas everyone!

ps — word to my girl Janice at Glide: You are my idol! Thank you!

(note: this started out as a proposal for a book on Prince’s 3rd album, “Dirty Mind” in part of a series of  books about albums by 33 1/3). After writing this, I realized there really isn’t much to say about the album; it speaks for itself and gets right to the point. But I did have something to say about how I became aware of the album; one night, alone in my room, as a young girl so so curious about the world out there. And relying almost entirely on tv, movies and radio to serve as my portal.)

Prince performing \”Party Up\” on SNL, 1981

At the time I first saw this clip, I had had sex twice. I thought I knew sex. But all of that changed in three nationally-televised minutes.

One night in February, Prince was the musical guest on Saturday Night Live. Prince’s only real claim to fame thus far had been I Wanna Be Your Lover. A song that whispered nothing to me and my newly raging hormones. Back in the day, you stopped the party to watch SNL. It was like that. Now I remember very well I was not at a party on this particular airing. I remember so well because… I had a moment.

I don’t think I’d ever actually seen Prince before this performance. If I had it was pretty forgettable. But he comes on: He’s wearing a trench coat. It’s open. He’s shirtless. He’s wearing thigh-high black boots, which I thought were pants until he spun around and the coat twirled to reveal: No Pants . He’s playing a huge (relative to his diminuitive self) guitar. He’s singing a song called Party Up , the perfect marriage of funk and anarchy and sex. This song, this performance… Changed My Life.

(A little backstory: My parents were old-school Rat Pack Fabulous. We moved from New York to Vegas back when Vegas was small and glamorous and mob-related guys like my dad did very well. Seriously, they were straight outta a Scorscese movie. My mom even looked like Sharon Stone. And dad was Greek. Need I say more. I couldn’t wait to grow up. Childhood and its inhabiting children were so banal. Adulthood seemed so much more interesting.)

Now my upbringing was hardly sheltered. I was allowed to tag along my 2 older brothers whenever they’d allow it. And my mother took me to see “Rosemary’s Baby when I was 4; the Exorcist when I was 10 — which may explain my strange dreams to this day. But I digress. Point is, I was aware of a lot of things at an early age. But could it be there were some things perhaps even my parents were unaware of… or decided it best I remain unaware of?

So here was Prince, cracking the door on an adulthood my parents never told me about. It was nasty and sexy and forbidden and it was muthafuckin’ HOT. I knew a little bit about sex at this point, so I understood horniness and desire and lust. Adolesence, hormones, blah blah blah. You get the picture. But in Las Vegas in 1981, neither I – – nor my equally horny girlfriends – had ever considered fucking the lights out of a black man. Or a really short man. Or a man who could hit higher notes that us. Or a man who weighed less than us. Or a man who didn’t wear pants. If there was a “Cause and Effect” here, Prince was the Cause. The Effect was not: Want Sex (I already knew I wanted it). No, the effect was “ Want to Experience Sex”. For in that performance, I understood The Appeal Of The Unknown.  And Prince on that night could not have been any more unknown if he were from fucking Mars. And, again, HOT.

Yeah, that night adulthood got more enticing than I’d ever imagined. The next day, I bought the album on which Party Up appeared. It was called, most appropriately, “Dirty Mind”. There is nothing mysterious or cryptic about the album’s title. It starts with the title song.  Other equally in-your-face titles, such as as Head and Sister, are about, respectively, giving/getting head and fucking your sister.

Even songs with innocent titles had lyrics such as “you didn’t have the decency to change the sheets (When You Were Mine). But I think my favorite memory of listening to this album involves my father, the most conservative old-world Greek on the planet. I was scouting colleges to attend one day, and one of them was SUNY Stony Brook (Long Island, NY). By this time my parents were divorced, my father living with his sister in Queens. I was there to check out the college and we took in a Yankees game. My first and only sports crush (on Bucky Dent) was in full swing. So we go to Yankee Stadium. And during some break in the game, when we go to the concession stand, they play Prince’s song Dirty Mind over the speakers. Now from a distance, the song sounds innocent enough, Prince hitting all the high notes in his falsetto. It’s got a nice, bouncy melody. Until you get to the bridge, where Prince blurts out (rather loudly) the lyrics:

“you just gotta let me lay ya, gotta let me lay ya lay ya, you just gotta let me lay ya, gotta let me lay ya down. In my daddy’s car. It’s you I really wanna drive…”

Anticipating that moment in the song, I didn’t speak to my father for about a minute. And then I let him have it. I have no idea what I said, just made up some tirade so that he wouldn’t hear the words. He’s the type of man who would be so disgusted, and share his disgust, for days. It wouldn’t be worth it. If I tried to defend Prince, he’d only be disgusted with me. No, I had to create a diversion. It worked. Bucky Dent hit a home run. The Yankees lost the game, but who cares? For one bright shining afternoon, I had Prince, and I had Bucky. The future was looking bright.

Mountain Springs Saloon, Blue Diamond, NV. It's a long story.

Hard to believe, how fast they grow up. Seems like only yesterday it was merely a zygote of an urge / gut feeling I could no longer deny. And I’m definitely not done yet. It’s actually not so much a crisis, but rather a segue between Acts I & II. Although the segue itself is starting to feel like Act I.5. Here’s  what I’ve figured out so far:

1. It takes more guts to walk away from safety than into the fire.

2. If a total stranger (insert random act of rudeness here), be kind & cut ‘em some slack. For all you know, they just got that call telling them, “Your father has brain cancer”.

3. If the thought of doing something “outside your comfort zone” scares the shit out of you, you need to do it. Twice. Because the first time you’ll probably be too nervous to give it a fair shake.

4. Leave the past in the past. Period.

5. It’s going to get harder before it gets easier. And then it will get harder than ever before it gets easier. And then it will get so hard you can’t ever imagine it getting easier. But it does.

6. Be real good to your friends, cos you’re gonna need ’em.

7. If there are people in your life you have to make excuses for or seem to prefer “the old you”, scrape ’em off. Like shit on the bottom of your shoe, scrape ’em off.

8. This too shall pass. (That’s actually a Kurt Vonnegut Jr. quote, now taking up permanent residence on my arm)

9. If you find yourself looking for an answer, STOP. A) It won’t be what you think it’s gonna be. B) It won’t be where you’re looking. It will be the last thing you thought it would be, and it will find you when you least expect it. And it will be worth the wait.

10. I’m leaving this one blank, as I’m sure I still have more to learn. God, I hope so.