You’ve heard of low budget movies, indie films, and even underground flicks. Well, a couple of years ago, a few friends and I started making our short little “no budget” film. Our crew equaled the number in our cast — four. Craft services consisted of Starbucks to go and Pringles. And yours truly was writer, actress, and gopher.
Now I’d like to invite you to our movie premiere. No fashion accessory is necessary. Just click on the link and enjoy our 16:30 minute film.
While much of the rest of the country is cursing (and some even suing) that dingle-brained little gopher Punxsutawney Phil for his off-the-charts erroneous early forecast for Spring this year, in Los Angeles it’s (don’t hate me)… gorgeous.
This past weekend, Bitty and I went to see a show downtown (the fabulous Tracie Bennett playing an end-of-her life Judy Garland in End of the Rainbow). And then we went to eat at our favorite steakhouse, Nick ‘n Stef’s.
Because in Southern California it really is spring (kind of always is), we walked around downtown en route to dinner. The cherry blossoms were in bloom and the Disney Hall was as beautiful as ever…
And then we arrived at the restaurant. The only thing to make an Aging Gal (or Guy) happier than a beautiful spring Saturday night? BEEF…
On Friday, I went on what may be my last audition for 2012. The casting office was on the Sony/Columbia lot, which was the first lot I worked on when I first came to Los Angeles twenty-four years ago. The lot wasn’t yet owned by Sony and wasn’t nearly as nice. Now it is truly a city-within-a-city complete with shopping, coffee, and, of course, entertainment. A girl employed there wouldn’t ever need to leave…
A studio with a lot of history…
This studio lot mixes the old…
…with the new…
There’s even modern art (rainbow) and Christmas decorations (flags)…
And then Santa on his motorcycle in rush hour traffic. Wonder if he booked his audition?
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Lately, I’ve been driving into Hollywood quite regularly for auditions (thank you, new agent).
Of course, there is the occasional fun “star” sighting…
A true star’s hands and feet prints…
And then there is this:
Not something you see driving around in the Midwest…
If only I had this many Oscars…
God, I love this town…
For those who have been wondering how my off and on acting career is faring, well, this week it is on and faring well. I just shot an episode of Showtime’s “Dexter” which will air later this year. Here is my photo album for all you lovers of the serial killers’ serial killer…
The Fox Hole strip club
At the homicide board
Relaxing at Detective Quinn’s desk
Xeroxing in the bullpen with the crew shooting in back
Should I be worried that this guy has blood samples as artwork?
Through the looking glass, uh, microscope…
With Detective Batista (actor David Zayas, a real sweetheart)
What does an actor do while waiting between auditions on the Paramount lot? Take iPhotos, of course!
Stage 17 on the Paramount lot where the television show “Happy Endings” is shot
This next shot is of me (with my 3 chins and giant head) in front of Paramount’s Blue Sky Tank, which is a really big deal in the world of production because the parking lot in front of the “sky” is a tank that can be filled with water for any beach, ocean, or pool scene.
Aging Gal in front of Paramount’s Blue Sky Tank
A fun fact: Paramount Pictures is America’s oldest running movie studio, founded in 1912.
A map of the lot (and it’s a really big lot)
And, finally, the shows that are presently being shot on the lot…
Hope you enjoyed your VIP tour of Paramount, Hollywood’s only remaining major studio!
Joey Chestnut, Hot Dog-Eating Champion
As you probably know, tomorrow is the annual Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July International Hot Dog Eating Contest which is now a big enough sporting(?) event to warrant being televised on ESPN. Five-Time Champ Joey Chestnut will compete for most consecutive wins in this feat, and, in the women’s competition, 100-pound Sonya Thomas will defend her title. And the rest of us will be jealously ill.
Certainly, we Americans love our hot dogs. According to this article from the Orange County Register, “On July 4 alone, the biggest hot dog day of the year, 155 million hot dogs will be consumed. That is enough hot dogs to stretch from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., more than five times.”
Sonya Thomas, who downed 40 dogs in last year’s contest; How is that possible?
Now you probably think I’m going to reprimand you into eating healthy on this July 4th holiday, to which I say, Hell, no. In fact, I’ll race you to the grocery store because it would be damned unpatriotic not to have a hot dog on July 4th. Have a great holiday!
In our fame-obsessed society, where mothers push toddlers into tiaras, and fathers thrust sons onto sports teams of every kind, is it okay to be content with NOT being famous? To be happy with NOT being the starting quarterback or the beauty pageant queen? Is it acceptable to admit to enjoying life in the realm of Runner-Ups?
Is Celebrity the Most Important Thing to Us as a Society?
After spending half my life in Hollywood and summoning the guts to “put myself out there” and “fake it till I make it,” I finally realized something: I don’t want to be famous. I used to think I did because famous people are the ones who get all the attention. And I like attention. But as I’ve grown up, I’ve noticed that a lot of those famous people aren’t very happy. I’m not always happy, either. But I am content. And contentment has a lot going for it.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the work of being an artist. I love acting and have relished and grown during every role I’ve ever played, whether it be in the church basement of a community theatre production or on the sound stage of a hit TV sitcom. In fact, it’s because I do love the actual process of acting and writing that I began questioning my need to be famous. Was this actually my desire or was this what society pushes persons to expect from themselves?
I used to think I was a victim of that old cliché: fear of success. Whenever I would book a role on a television show or find one of my blog posts going viral, I’d back away, intuiting that to remain on that pace was too overwhelming. And you know what? My intuition was right. Being a constant success, a perpetual hit-maker is too stressful to maintain. I won’t even get into the number of celebrities we’ve seen fall from grace or witnessed the media literally rip to shreds. Drug, eating, alcohol, sex abuse. It’s little wonder. We watch our celebrities rise, but we relish their fall (brought to you on reality TV everywhere). Make no mistake, fame — the cost to achieve it and the price to maintain it — is a sacrifice.
Janis Joplin knew the loneliness and discontent of fame: “On stage I make love to twenty five thousand people; then I go home alone.”
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the dichotomy of fame: a performer needs it, yet wants to be free of it. Even at my lowly part-time performer status, I recognize it. As an old boss of mine (a former television star) once said, “Acting is cocaine.” The more attention/success/fame a person has, the more he wants. This isn’t ego; this is human nature.
Except, guess what? I’ve realized that I’m happier when I’m not on the hamster wheel of (as Charles Dickens might write) “More fame, please, sir?” So when I grumble that my career never “took off” like I had hoped, that I am a mere nobody who has happened to act on a few TV shows, I have to face the truth. The truth that, in fact, maybe I’m exactly where I want to be. Content.
I remember being a young girl and going with Momma to see a high school production of Hello, Dolly. I was probably about eight at the time, and, during the title song number, I sat there with my eyes wide and my mouth open. I had never seen performances so brilliant! 
Yes, I had loved the big screen version of The Sound of Music and Rodger & Hammerstein’s TV production of Cinderella, but this was the best live performance I’d ever seen. Inspiring, yes. Thrilling, absolutely. At the time. I wonder what the 49-year-old me would think of that same production if she could go back in time. You see, the 49-year-old me is not so easily inspired or thrilled. Instead of jadedness or cynicism, let’s call it perspective.
My Perspective...
Case in point: the first time I went to New York City. I was just out of college, and my friend and I stayed at the Milford Plaza in Times Square – the 1980s pre-Disney-fied Times Square. I remember the red staircase that was the centerpiece of the lobby as well as the Lullaby of Broadway television commercial that ran on late night TV. Both were spectacular. Electrifying, even.
My Parents' Perspective
Then, months later, as I made the move to Manhattan, my parents stayed with me in the very same hotel. That’s when I saw it through their eyes. The neighboring red light district. The discarded bra hanging from our room’s curtain rod. The three-legged bed that required my father to steady it with a stack of Gideon Bibles. Perspective.
So now, as I near my 50th birthday, I have higher standards than I did as an 8 year old or a 22 year old. I have experienced much more of the world, and I have acquired the ennui that comes with age. And it’s not necessarily better.
No, I’m not as likely to get taken advantage of as the 8 or 22 year old me’s because I’ve learned from past mistakes. The stand-up comedy promoter in New York who gave me a slot at a club only because I packed the house with my friends… and then escaped out the back without paying me? Learned from it. The executive producer of a hit sitcom who regularly made his entire writing staff (and me, the writers’ assistant) wait to complete a post-midnight rewrite because he had to retreat to his office for a quickie blow job? Learned from that, too.
In fact, I’ve gained a lot of perspective about how distrustful and rotten people can be. And not just from Hollywood either. From the news. From observations. From life.
And you know what? I miss my childlike naivety. Spontaneity. Unsophisticatedness.
I want it back.
This, I realize, is why people have grandkids — to watch our old world through the wide-eyed newness of children. Hmmm. Of course, this is a problem for those of us who don’t even have offspring. Anyone have some grandchildren I can borrow? Because, truly, I need an injection of their perspective.
I have now seen the movie Midnight in Paris twice. I never see a movie twice that’s still in the theater as I am cheap, but this one captured my imagination. So after seeing it for the first time with my parents when I was in Texas, I had to bring Bitty to see it this weekend back in California.
For those who don’t know, Midnight in Paris is a fantasy in which a present-day screenwriter (Owen Wilson) travels to Paris on holiday (see I’m using “holiday,” not “vacation” — I’m already a Francophile). Anyway, he dreams of living in Paris in the 1920s — his Golden Age — when, lo and behold, one night when the clock strikes twelve is he granted passage to that very time period. He proceeds to meet his literary and artistic heroes of that period — Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Cole Porter — and his own writing is taken seriously by the likes of Gertrude Stein.
But, to me, the most interesting twist in the movie is when he meets a model and budding costume designer (Marion Cotillard) who finds the time period in which she is living (the 1920s) uninspired. Her Golden Age is Paris in the1890s (Belle Époch), one in which Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and Paul Gauguin live and created “real” art. Of course, upon time-traveling there, she meets Gauguin who finds the 1890s a bore and longs for still an earlier Golden Age.
You get the idea.
Which brings me to my real question, dear readers… What is your Golden Age? If you could time travel to a place and period in which you’ve only dreamed, what would it be? I asked Bitty last night and she’s ready to go back to the 1960s and 70s because of the rock ‘n roll music. Yeah, I would love to go back and see the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, but then I also romanticize the World War II years. Hollywood in the 1930s? New York City in the 40s? Of course, maybe I’m just fantasizing about traveling through time and still retaining the knowledge of now. I mean, seriously, can you imagine traveling to 1940s Manhattan and buying up real estate? Or meeting a teenaged Steve Jobs and investing in what would become Apple? Okay, okay, so this is me being cheap again.
I guess it all comes down to the fact that fantasy and reality must always collide. While I thrill at the thought of working with a young Katharine Hepburn or assisting an in-his-prime Cary Grant, I also understand the disappointment in meeting a “hero” and having him be, at best, only human and, at worst, downright nasty. Fantasies help us through the slog of reality, but sometimes they need to stay just that — fantasies.
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