It was a beautiful day in Vegas, like most days in Vegas. Beautiful, in that surreal way, where the sky is blue, the mountains are rusty-red, and the tickets in Alex's pocket are winners! A beautiful day, as Alex went into the casino to cash out his winners. It was 1PM. 19 hours later, he was finally released from jail.
Before I go any further, please know that this all took place about a month and a half ago. I didn't want to write anything about it until we had a better sense of what was happening. See, Alex didn't know why he got arrested. He didn't know why he was charged with 8--EIGHT--felonies. He didn't know he was breaking any laws. He just knew that, after spending some time waiting for his winning tickets to be paid, he was told by a gaming agent, "These tickets are unlocked and you can cash them out. Do you understand?" and when he said, "Yes," he was then told, "Now, turn around, put your hands on the wall, you're under arrest." He was told that he was being arrested for, I don't know, something to do with defrauding the IRS, which he wasn't doing. He didn't know he would be spending a night in jail until he was actually behind bars. He didn't know that he was charged with 8--EIGHT--felonies, until he was behind those bars and got a slip of paper, listing all the charges, many of which he didn't understand at all. He wasn't able to call anyone until almost 9PM that night, but as he only knows people with cell phones, he didn't know that you cannot place collect calls to a cell phone, and the only calls you can make from Clark County Detention Center are from a pay phone, after all of your belongings have been removed, leaving you no option but to place a collect call. Basically, Alex knew nothing, other than HOLY SHIT I'VE BEEN CHARGED WITH EIGHT FELONIES AND AM SITTING IN JAIL WITH A BUNCH OF ACTUAL FELONS.
I am writing now, because his arraignment has finally taken place. A judge looked at the pending charges, he looked at the evidence, and he said, "None of these charges are applicable. What else you got?" The DA had nothing else, but the case isn't yet closed. However, it's closed enough that we finally, FINALLY, are able to catch our collective breath and know that Alex is not going to jail, he is not going to be paying gajillions of dollars in fines (though hiring a lawyer has been plenty close to gajillions for us), and we can begin to move on with our lives. We spent a very anxious 7 weeks, wondering what was to become of us, what is this career path that Alex is on, WHERE THE HELL ARE THE LAWS THAT ARE MEANT TO PROTECT US?? Turns out, in the state of Nevada anyway, that you can be arrested at any time, for any thing, as long as the arresting officer thinks that "thing" is a crime. In Alex's case, the "thing" he was arrested for was not a crime. He broke no laws. He did nothing illegal. But the arresting officer (AKA, the gaming agent, the person whose job is to know the gaming laws inside and out, the person whose job is to protect the player from the casino, the person who gets paid DIRECTLY by the casino--see any conflict of interest there??), the arresting officer thought Alex had committed a crime. Which proves one of two things: A) the man is completely incompetent; or B) the man is entirely corrupt. See, Alex has had some problems with this particular casino in the past. Well, he won a lot of money there a few years ago, and that is a problem. They don't like him. And they used this opportunity to let him know just how much they don't like him. That's what this whole thing comes down to: Alex spent a night in jail as payback. Alex had his life (and mine) thrown for a big fat loop as payback. Alex is out a LOT of money is lawyer fees as payback.
And those winning tickets that he was told were his to be cashed? They still haven't cashed them. Sigh.
This was by far one of the worst nights of Alex's life. And, well, it sucked royally for me, too. I knew he was having issues cashing these 2 tickets, as he called me at 1:15 to let me know that he had to go talk to someone to get the tix unlocked. He told me there was no problem, his friend had gone through the same thing a week earlier no big deal, that he'd call me later to let me know what was up and, What's for dinner, baby? He wasn't worried. I was. When I hadn't heard from him by 6, I was more worried. I sent him a text, saying, "Are you in jail or what?" I was kidding. Totally kidding. He didn't respond. 45 minutes later, I sent the next text, "Let me know you're okay!" Again, no response. I waited 10 minutes before calling. Straight to voicemail. I was starting to panic. I didn't have any phone numbers for his partners...but then I remembered Skype. Skype is a chat service that he uses at work, he's logged in all day, this is how they communicate with each other, so I went to Skype to see if, maybe, he was at the office and just had his phone off for some weird reason. Nope. But his partners were online, and I began to scroll through their messages, past the work-related stuff, and I started seeing things like, "Are you worried about him?" "When's the last time anyone heard from him?" "Does anyone have his girlfriend's number?" "The casino said he's been arrested." "They won't say if he's still there or in county." Well. Weeeeellllllll.... I hopped on and said, "Hi guys. It's Meg." And they caught me up on what they knew. Not much. They were already in touch with a lawyer, who was the one who had called the casino and found out that he'd been arrested. But no one knew where he was. And this was the worst part for me. Was he in jail, or...was he in a back room of the casino, getting the crap kicked out of him by some big casino goons who wanted to teach him a little lesson? I never though I would find myself saying, "Please let Alex be in jail!" But that's where I was. Oh, Please GOD, let Alex be in jail! I talked to one of his partners, then to another of his friends. And as sick as I was about the whole thing, I felt SO GLAD to know that Alex has such an amazing support network out here. He had guys in Seattle ready to send bail money, guys in Vegas leaving hockey games to try to get him taken care of, multiple lawyers already working on his case. But, at this point, no one knew where he was. They said they'd call if they found anything out, and I continued my pacing. Finally, I did something very unusual for me: I picked up the phone and called my friends. See, I'm really bad at asking for help. I'm really bad at reaching out to people. I'm a caretaker, but I feel guilty asking anyone to take care of me. Since I've been in Vegas, I can count on one hand the number of calls I've made to my friends, even though I've spent a lot of my time here feeling lonely and isolated. My friends yell at me for not reaching out. But on this night, I did. I called numerous ladies. My New York ladies. My Seattle ladies. No one answered. I left messages, something like, "Hey, how are you? Been awhile. I'm just calling to say hi, no big deal, but if you get this tonite, give me a call, I'll be up pretty late, no big deal, just want to say hi, hear your voice, I miss you, hope you're well, I love you, I'll talk to you later, no big deal, okay, bye." More pacing, more nerves. Finally, I called my mom. I knew I shouldn't, she certainly didn't need to worry, so when she answered I said, "Oh hey! No, just calling to say hi, no, I'm fine, how are you?" It took all of 60 seconds before she broke me and said, "Meg, what's wrong?" And I told her, doing my best to keep it together. But she's my mom, and so I told her, and I cried. I got off the phone with her, telling her I'd let her know as soon as I knew anything. More pacing. My phone rang, and it was Anna, calling from New York. It took about 30 seconds before I just LOST IT. Hyperventilating, totally freaking out, "What if he's bleeding in a back room somewhere? What if he's really hurt? What if, what if..." Thank goodness she called. She managed to talk me down, even got me laughing, and she stayed on the phone with me for about 30 minutes until I got another call and switched over to hear a recorded voice saying, "This is a call from Clark County Detention Center. You have a call from...Alex (oh, it was HIS VOICE, saying HIS NAME, the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard)...to accept the charges press 1". And I did so. And then it disconnected me. WHAT??! I tried calling back, I waited for the phone to ring again. Nothing. (This is due to the "no collect calls to cell phones" thing that neither of us was aware of.) More pacing. Finally, I went online. I found the CCDC site, and after some searching, I found Alex! He was in jail! And he was charged with...EIGHT FELONIES?? I saw the charges, they meant nothing to me, other than, HOLY CRAP!! I saw that bail was set at $3000 for each charge, a total of $24000. I sent the link to his file to his guys on Skype. Not long after, I got a call from one of his partners, saying that he and another guy were heading downtown to bail him out, would I like them to pick me up? YES PLEASE!! They had the bail money ready, and I was beginning to catch my breath. We went to the bail window and were ready with the money, except..."We don't accept over $10,000 in cash." What? See, when a cash transaction of $10,000 or more takes place in this country, the IRS wants to know. In the casino, you fill out what is called a CTR form (I forget what it stands for, Cash Transaction Report, I think) for cash-outs of more than 10K. (This is why Alex was originally arrested, for falsifying info on a CTR, which he didn't do. Sigh.) Seems that CCDC doesn't want to have to deal with these kinds of legalities, so no go with our cash. Okay, how about a credit card? "We don't accept over $3000 on a credit card." Okay, what about 8 credit cards? "Nope." So, what can we do? "You can go to the bank and get a cashier's check." It was 10PM, there are no banks open at 10PM. ARGH!! I was beginning to panic again, being so close to him but upheld by all this BS. Finally, the woman behind the desk, who turned out to be very helpful and kind, called another helpful and kind woman, and they discovered that Alex had already posted his bail 3 hours earlier. (He had to convince them to take his cash, write him a personal check for it, which he could then hand over to them, so no CTR's had to be filed. Bureaucracy.) So, can he come home? "Oh no, he still has to be processed." What the hell does that mean? Bureaucracy. So, can I talk to him? Or send him a note? Or something, PLEASE, just let me tell my husband that I know he's here, and that I love him, PLEASE!! The nice lady let me write him a note, telling me that he wouldn't be able to keep it, but someone would let him read it. FINE! Whatever, just let me tell him I know. (Alex later told me that one of the worst things about this night was that he couldn't get in touch with me to tell me that he was okay, that he knew how worried I would be. Reading my note was like getting a little piece of Heaven.) And so, there was nothing left to do but go home and wait. The guys drove me around a few casino parking lots until I found our car, and I headed home and waited for the call. I was home before midnight. The call came at 8:20 the next morning.
Things Alex learned in jail:
1. Speak only when spoken to. (This is in reference to the prison guards.) Don't ask questions. Don't make eye contact. Many of these guards are just itching for a fight.
2. Prison is bureaucracy at its most inefficient.
3. Expect to be there for at least 12 hours, even if you walk in with bail in your pocket.
4. You will be transferred to at least 5 different, over-crowded cells during your stay.
5. If you get charged with felonies, you will be held with the other felons. (Alex's cellmates were in mostly for violent crimes. And they all knew he was a newbie. And when they looked at his sheet, they all felt that he was in a lot more trouble than they were. EIGHT FELONIES!!)
6. A very thorough pat-down will occur on at least 2 occasions, along with a check of your hair, mouth, nose, ears, socks, jocks, and then some. (No cavity search, thankfully.)
7. KNOW SOME PHONE NUMBERS OFFHAND!! And make sure you've got a land-line to call.
8. Before heading into the cells, you will be injected with something which, should your arm turn purple later on, indicates that you have contracted tuberculosis while in jail. (No purple arm, thankfully.)
9. There is a 3:30AM meal at CCDC, but only in certain kinds of holding cells. Sucks to get moved at 3:15. (By the time Alex got home, he hadn't slept or eaten for over 25 hours.)
10. Having to watch/listen to "The Matrix 2" over 3 times in a row is cruel and unusual punishment.
All in all, this has been one hell of a learning experience. I have learned that I don't trust my legal system. I don't feel protected; I feel screwed. I have learned that Alex is in a business full of shady dealings, but he has some real stand-up guys at his back. The thing is, Alex loves his job. Really loves it. And he's good at it. Really good at it. He found the thing that he's supposed to do, which is blessing. Sure, there are times when I wish he had some nice, safe job, with benefits and regular hours and a steady paycheck. But before he was a pro-gambler, Alex was a Wall Street stockbroker. Imagine how screwed we'd be if he was still doing that! Besides, look at me. What do I want to do with my life? I want to be a performer! I go months without a job, I go through all kinds of hell even when I get the job, I've got no security, no benefits, no safety...And I wouldn't trade it for anything. Because this is what I'm meant to do. Being onstage makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else does. Why would I ever give that up? It's the same thing with Alex. For years, he couldn't understand how I could put up with all the crap I go through try to be an actor. It wasn't until he found the thing he's supposed to do that he understood.
So, here we are in Vegas. The gambler and the showgirl. Really, I think we were born in the wrong era. We should have been living in the Wild West, me as a saloon singer/madame, Alex as the man running the tables. We'll find our way in this 21st century wild west, I'm sure. I believe it's meant to be. We're not meant for an easy, traditional life, me and my guy. We've had a roller coaster existence thus far, and I'm sure it will continue. And while that frightens me at times, while I wish I knew what kind of money we'll have or when I'll have another job or whether Alex will be going back to jail on trumped-up charges again, it frightens me less than thinking about giving it all up, looking for safety in jobs that don't excite us or mean anything to us beyond a paycheck. In truth, we are lucky as hell to know what we are supposed to be doing in this life. How many people are just going through the motions out there, wondering what there is to wake up for in the morning? We are lucky as hell to have found each other in the madness of this world, to have a partner-in-crime in each other, to know that we've got nothing but support from each other. If I had to choose between this life or some other, a life with steady paychecks and a steady address and a steady future...well, as we're all finding out, there's no such thing as steady in this world. All the safe bets that people have made, with 401Ks and home values and legally-binding marriages, well, we all know what kind of stability you find there. No, I'll take the risks over the safety, I'll take the roller coaster over the merry-go-round, I'll take my chances at finding happiness in the only way that's ever made sense to me. Will there be heartache ahead? No doubt. Will we spend a lot of our lives struggling? You betcha. Will it be worth it? In every way imaginable.
I am thankful for many things. I am thankful for my family, the best, most supportive family an out-of-work actor who is meant to be a STAR could have. I am thankful for my friends, the old friends who've stood by me through the years of my craziness and love me even more today, the new friends who have reminded me how young I still am, and the friends I'm just making out here in Vegas, my mailman and my voice teacher extraordinaire, who see my possibilities even when I don't. I'm thankful for the directors who've given me a chance, and those who will do so in my future. I'm thankful for my voice, for the knowledge that I have a gift in it. I'm thankful for the adventures I've lived through and the ones that await me. I'm thankful for my baby, my almost-14-year-old kitty who lets me be a mom. I'm thankful to have a place to stay connected with all of you, and to let you get to know me a little better. I'm thankful for Alex, for the 15 years he's been in my life, for the almost 13 years he's been my guy, and for the incredible years we've got ahead of us. I'm thankful to be alive, even though I don't live as completely as I should. I have so much to be thankful for, and I have to remind myself of this, on those days when our finances seems to be eating us alive, on those nights when I wonder, Will I ever be onstage again? I am the luckiest girl alive, I think, because I am Me. And I wouldn't choose to be anyone else. Broke as I am, unemployed as I am, struggling as I am, lost as I am, scared as I am, stagnant as I am, everything that I am, I am Me. How lucky am I?
Happy Thanksgiving to one and all! Here's wishing you a chance to feel as lucky as I do, just to be alive, just to be the incredible people you all are. Because you are, each and every one of you. How lucky am I to have you in my life? AND WHEN ARE YOU COMING TO VISIT???
With love.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Loggins!
A few years ago, there was a short-lived sitcom on FOX called (I think) "Method & Red". It was the story of two rappers (Method Man and Redman) who hit it big, moved into a high-class shwanky neighborhood, and then tried to get acclimated to their new surroundings, including their nervous neighbors. Not a great show, but it had it's moments. I only remember one episode, and in this episode, the lady next door was hosting a big party, and the entertainment was to be provided by none other than Kenny Loggins. There was a backstory, in which either Method or Red (we'll say it was Red, for simplicity's sake) was once a roadie or something for Loggins, and Loggins was a major pain in the ass, always trying to keep the Redman down, so that to this day, the mere mention of his name brought a look of disgust and anger to the face of his former roadie, and the only verbal response was a growled, breathy, "Loggins", as if to say, "Some day, Loggins, you will pay!" The episode ended with a series of mishaps and some payback, I don't really remember anything as well as that gutturally spoken "Loggins". It made me laugh, to think of these rappers having some kind of vendetta with the guy that wrote that "Top Gun" song. 'Cause that's how I knew Kenny Loggins. Highway to the Danger Zone, baby! I wasn't around for the Loggins & Messina days; it took Tom Cruise playing a Maverick to introduce me to the man. And I didn't look much further. I thought of Kenny Loggins as a guy who wrote good theme songs (there was that other one from the Stallone arm-wrestling movie, I think it was "Meet Me Halfway"). And much later, I thought of him as the fictional foe of a couple of rappers, and I would find myself saying his name in the same way, full of breath and venom, "Loggins". Of course, this would bring a smile to my face. Kenny Loggins certainly didn't seem like a villain. He seemed like some harmless pop singer from a generation ago. He was right there beside my sanitary image of Michael McDonald as the smiley-faced, grey-bearded man singing along with Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines in that video for that other theme song from that other 80's movie. Something cute and harmless that I allowed into my preteen sensibility only because the music was catchy enough to be safe from the un-cool. That was my impression of Kenny Loggins.
Until last night. Last night, I got schooled.
Kenny Loggins and St. Paul Peterson sat in with Sante Fe and the Fat City Horns last night. We showed up an hour early to find the place already packed (fortunately, Alex worked his magic with one of the casino hosts and had a table reserved for us). Clearly, people were excited about the Loggins. Including the band! From the second they started playing, they were ON! The thing I love so much about seeing these shows is that everyone onstage looks like he's having the time of his life. These guys are doing this for the pure pleasure of it, and that's been the case each week I've seen them. There was something different in the air last night, an energy, an electricity, I don't know how to describe it, but they took the stage like they were claiming victory on a battlefield. An incredible show, and that's before they invited their guests onstage. First up, St. Paul from Minneapolis. Now, I don't know music, I didn't know who this guy was, but good GOD, this dude was funky. The first song, "Blue Cadillac", was great, but the 2nd tune (can't remember the name) was out-of-control amazing. I was getting blisters on my butt from dancing in my seat! Then, they called up the Loggins (I still hear Redman spitting out that name, and it brings an even bigger smile to my face today). Oh. My. WOW. First song, "This Is It", a song I knew but never attributed to Loggins. Holy cow, can this man wail!! The second song, "Ain't That Peculiar", is a Sante Fe staple, but Loggins took the lead vocal with no problem, just a little assistance on the arrangement, that was that. Amazing. A-MA-zing.
And my favorite part of seeing the Sante Fe shows on Monday nights? It's not the phenomenal musicians onstage or the guests that get called up, it's my inability to sit still during the show, my inability to keep my butt in my chair and NOT get up to dance. I simply have to dance, and I dance like a big crazy fool, with no concern for how silly I look, I just let the music move me. And I've got the best dance partner in the world. Lloyd must be...well, I won't try to guess his age. I'll just say he's older than me by a decade or 4. Lloyd is there without fail, every Monday night, and he's got a bevy of beauties to dance with, I don't fool myself into thinking that I'm his favorite. But I'm happy to be one of his gals, I'm happy to see someone else get as much pleasure from my erratic movements as I get. Lloyd proves time and again that you're only as old as you feel, and when I'm dancing with him on a Monday night with these amazing musicians jamming just feet away from us, I feel like a kid without a care in the world. I guess that's part of where the healing comes in. Each week, as Bobby G announces the band (and hawks his wares in the Fat City Super Store), he shouts out, "Let the healing begin!" And no matter how I felt when I walked into that room, I walk out feeling like I could take on the world.
Until last night. Last night, I got schooled.
Kenny Loggins and St. Paul Peterson sat in with Sante Fe and the Fat City Horns last night. We showed up an hour early to find the place already packed (fortunately, Alex worked his magic with one of the casino hosts and had a table reserved for us). Clearly, people were excited about the Loggins. Including the band! From the second they started playing, they were ON! The thing I love so much about seeing these shows is that everyone onstage looks like he's having the time of his life. These guys are doing this for the pure pleasure of it, and that's been the case each week I've seen them. There was something different in the air last night, an energy, an electricity, I don't know how to describe it, but they took the stage like they were claiming victory on a battlefield. An incredible show, and that's before they invited their guests onstage. First up, St. Paul from Minneapolis. Now, I don't know music, I didn't know who this guy was, but good GOD, this dude was funky. The first song, "Blue Cadillac", was great, but the 2nd tune (can't remember the name) was out-of-control amazing. I was getting blisters on my butt from dancing in my seat! Then, they called up the Loggins (I still hear Redman spitting out that name, and it brings an even bigger smile to my face today). Oh. My. WOW. First song, "This Is It", a song I knew but never attributed to Loggins. Holy cow, can this man wail!! The second song, "Ain't That Peculiar", is a Sante Fe staple, but Loggins took the lead vocal with no problem, just a little assistance on the arrangement, that was that. Amazing. A-MA-zing.
And my favorite part of seeing the Sante Fe shows on Monday nights? It's not the phenomenal musicians onstage or the guests that get called up, it's my inability to sit still during the show, my inability to keep my butt in my chair and NOT get up to dance. I simply have to dance, and I dance like a big crazy fool, with no concern for how silly I look, I just let the music move me. And I've got the best dance partner in the world. Lloyd must be...well, I won't try to guess his age. I'll just say he's older than me by a decade or 4. Lloyd is there without fail, every Monday night, and he's got a bevy of beauties to dance with, I don't fool myself into thinking that I'm his favorite. But I'm happy to be one of his gals, I'm happy to see someone else get as much pleasure from my erratic movements as I get. Lloyd proves time and again that you're only as old as you feel, and when I'm dancing with him on a Monday night with these amazing musicians jamming just feet away from us, I feel like a kid without a care in the world. I guess that's part of where the healing comes in. Each week, as Bobby G announces the band (and hawks his wares in the Fat City Super Store), he shouts out, "Let the healing begin!" And no matter how I felt when I walked into that room, I walk out feeling like I could take on the world.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Ohhhh, Life.
There's a song running through my head, an 80's song by a group called Soul II Soul:
Back to life, back to reality
Back to the here and now, oh yeah
Tell me how you decide what you want from me
Tell me, maybe I could be there for you...
However do you want me, However do you need me?
Well, here I am, back in Vegas, back to the reality that is my life these days. Is this really my life? I spent an amazing week in New York, reconnecting with friends and family, working as an actor, so much to do that sleep was caught in mini-doses throughout the week. And now I'm back to the place I'm calling "home" and wondering...Is this really my life?
I've got a lot of work to do. So much work, and so much time, and yet no clue where to begin. I feel like I'm doggie-paddling my way across the Pacific, not staying still but my motion barely makes a ripple in the water. I spent some great time with my friend Liz last week, who is doing her best to help me get into motion. Liz is in a place in her life where she is surrounded by inspiration and creativity and opportunity, to the point where she sees millions of avenues to be explored and wonders how in her life she'll ever find the time to do it all. Me, well, I'm out in the desert feeling entirely deserted, by my creative impulses, by my self-motivation, by my courage. I'm trying to write this one-woman show, but nothing is happening. I write and I write, but I don't write anything worthwhile, and I haven't read over anything I've written, I just forget it as worthless. I was explaining this to Liz, and she asked what I needed, how she could help me from across the continent. See, Liz believes in me. She believes that I have the talent and ability to create a show that would speak to lots of people, she believes that it is rather necessary that I do so. So what do I need to get it done? What I need is inspiration, people to bounce ideas off of, I need composition, a structure for all this free-form scribbling. So Liz gave me an assignment: Start reading over my writings from the past few months and pick a few pieces to send to her, just to put this stuff out into the universe, and maybe see if there are any recurring themes or ideas or whatever, just start sharing stuff with her. Awesome, I have homework! Which is great, except that I'm now reading what I've been writing, and I want to burn every last word of it. Crap, all of it. At least, I feel like crap when I read it. Sigh.
What do I have to say? What can I offer the world that is unique and worth listening to? I'm chock full of stories, but how do they come together? And even if they come together, who really gives a damn what I have to say? I've written and performed my own monologues before, and they are all autobiographical. I write what I know, and what I know is my life. And I think I have an understanding of how the lessons of my life connect me to the rest of humanity. At least, that's the response I've gotten from audiences who've seen my work. I'm not afraid of speaking the truth, no matter how ugly my truths may be. And I can laugh at myself just as easily as I can scold myself or nurture myself. Well, the nurturing bit I'm not so good at. I'm really good at taking care of other people, but I'm terrible at taking care of myself. Being onstage is healing for me, opening myself up to others is incredibly therapeutic. I just haven't found any opportunities to do that in months. And I feel smothered by stagnation. I try to write, and nothing happens. I feel so far away from myself, I feel trapped inside myself, I am all contradictions and no resolutions. I have so much to say, and I have no words. I feel numb. I feel, so much these days, like slipping away into a bottle. Staying drunk is 100% easier than dealing with life, you know? And I have been craving a drink so badly. No, not a drink. I don't want a drink. What's the point of a drink? I've never understood people who like to have A drink. Me, I want a drunk. I want a good, hard, blurry drunk. I want to slip into a bottle and hang out there for awhile. I want to take this numbness that is eating me alive and fill it up with bourbon until the tears flow like rain down my cheeks, until tomorrow seems like an eternity away, until my life feels a little less vacant. I feel lost, and I'd rather be lost in a bottle than lost in my own reluctance to live. Because isn't that what this is? Shouldn't I be battling with myself right now, battling to make something happen with my life, battling to find a reason to wake up in the morning? And yet, I woke up this morning wishing I had some painkillers so I could go back to sleep.
Addiction. A recurring theme in my life. I'm sure it's a theme for a show. But is it really a show that anyone wants to sit through? I don't know. I've got some pretty funny stories about my years of "partying", and everyone loves to laugh at a drunk. (I'm kidding about that last comment. Drunks make me cry.) It's been 7 1/2 years since my last drink, and yet I still remember the way bourbon feels as it slides down my throat. It's been over a decade since I was doing the heavy stuff, and yet I still remember the taste in the back of my throat, the way my skin would tighten and itch after a few hours. I still feel the pull of it all, the reminder that life is so much easier when I'm living it in a haze. Every day is a battle to remember WHY I went clean and sober, a battle to believe that I made the right choice, that there is something more that I am meant to do with my life. I gave it up because I knew I couldn't live the life I was supposed to live if I was fucked up all the time. But what is this life that I'm living now? What do I have to wake up for in the morning? Why bother staying sober for THIS?
Don't worry, I'm not going back to that life. I'm not giving up on this life. But what is this life that I am living? What is this reality? This here and now? Tell me, how do I decide what I want from me? How can I be there for ME?
Back to life, back to the present time
Back from the fantasy
Tell me now to take the initiative
Leave it in your hands until you're ready...
Hear me out, don't let it waste away,
Make up your mind so you know where you stand
Back to life, back to reality
Back to the here and now, oh yeah
Tell me how you decide what you want from me
Tell me, maybe I could be there for you...
However do you want me, However do you need me?
Well, here I am, back in Vegas, back to the reality that is my life these days. Is this really my life? I spent an amazing week in New York, reconnecting with friends and family, working as an actor, so much to do that sleep was caught in mini-doses throughout the week. And now I'm back to the place I'm calling "home" and wondering...Is this really my life?
I've got a lot of work to do. So much work, and so much time, and yet no clue where to begin. I feel like I'm doggie-paddling my way across the Pacific, not staying still but my motion barely makes a ripple in the water. I spent some great time with my friend Liz last week, who is doing her best to help me get into motion. Liz is in a place in her life where she is surrounded by inspiration and creativity and opportunity, to the point where she sees millions of avenues to be explored and wonders how in her life she'll ever find the time to do it all. Me, well, I'm out in the desert feeling entirely deserted, by my creative impulses, by my self-motivation, by my courage. I'm trying to write this one-woman show, but nothing is happening. I write and I write, but I don't write anything worthwhile, and I haven't read over anything I've written, I just forget it as worthless. I was explaining this to Liz, and she asked what I needed, how she could help me from across the continent. See, Liz believes in me. She believes that I have the talent and ability to create a show that would speak to lots of people, she believes that it is rather necessary that I do so. So what do I need to get it done? What I need is inspiration, people to bounce ideas off of, I need composition, a structure for all this free-form scribbling. So Liz gave me an assignment: Start reading over my writings from the past few months and pick a few pieces to send to her, just to put this stuff out into the universe, and maybe see if there are any recurring themes or ideas or whatever, just start sharing stuff with her. Awesome, I have homework! Which is great, except that I'm now reading what I've been writing, and I want to burn every last word of it. Crap, all of it. At least, I feel like crap when I read it. Sigh.
What do I have to say? What can I offer the world that is unique and worth listening to? I'm chock full of stories, but how do they come together? And even if they come together, who really gives a damn what I have to say? I've written and performed my own monologues before, and they are all autobiographical. I write what I know, and what I know is my life. And I think I have an understanding of how the lessons of my life connect me to the rest of humanity. At least, that's the response I've gotten from audiences who've seen my work. I'm not afraid of speaking the truth, no matter how ugly my truths may be. And I can laugh at myself just as easily as I can scold myself or nurture myself. Well, the nurturing bit I'm not so good at. I'm really good at taking care of other people, but I'm terrible at taking care of myself. Being onstage is healing for me, opening myself up to others is incredibly therapeutic. I just haven't found any opportunities to do that in months. And I feel smothered by stagnation. I try to write, and nothing happens. I feel so far away from myself, I feel trapped inside myself, I am all contradictions and no resolutions. I have so much to say, and I have no words. I feel numb. I feel, so much these days, like slipping away into a bottle. Staying drunk is 100% easier than dealing with life, you know? And I have been craving a drink so badly. No, not a drink. I don't want a drink. What's the point of a drink? I've never understood people who like to have A drink. Me, I want a drunk. I want a good, hard, blurry drunk. I want to slip into a bottle and hang out there for awhile. I want to take this numbness that is eating me alive and fill it up with bourbon until the tears flow like rain down my cheeks, until tomorrow seems like an eternity away, until my life feels a little less vacant. I feel lost, and I'd rather be lost in a bottle than lost in my own reluctance to live. Because isn't that what this is? Shouldn't I be battling with myself right now, battling to make something happen with my life, battling to find a reason to wake up in the morning? And yet, I woke up this morning wishing I had some painkillers so I could go back to sleep.
Addiction. A recurring theme in my life. I'm sure it's a theme for a show. But is it really a show that anyone wants to sit through? I don't know. I've got some pretty funny stories about my years of "partying", and everyone loves to laugh at a drunk. (I'm kidding about that last comment. Drunks make me cry.) It's been 7 1/2 years since my last drink, and yet I still remember the way bourbon feels as it slides down my throat. It's been over a decade since I was doing the heavy stuff, and yet I still remember the taste in the back of my throat, the way my skin would tighten and itch after a few hours. I still feel the pull of it all, the reminder that life is so much easier when I'm living it in a haze. Every day is a battle to remember WHY I went clean and sober, a battle to believe that I made the right choice, that there is something more that I am meant to do with my life. I gave it up because I knew I couldn't live the life I was supposed to live if I was fucked up all the time. But what is this life that I'm living now? What do I have to wake up for in the morning? Why bother staying sober for THIS?
Don't worry, I'm not going back to that life. I'm not giving up on this life. But what is this life that I am living? What is this reality? This here and now? Tell me, how do I decide what I want from me? How can I be there for ME?
Back to life, back to the present time
Back from the fantasy
Tell me now to take the initiative
Leave it in your hands until you're ready...
Hear me out, don't let it waste away,
Make up your mind so you know where you stand
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
New York, New York
I haven't missed New York in the 2 1/2 months since I left it. I've missed my people, I've missed my walks, I've missed the parks and rivers. But I haven't missed the city.
Until I got back.
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked if I'd be in her short film, which would be shooting in New York. I jumped at the chance, not only to get a free ticket to see my family and friends, but mostly for the opportunity to call myself an actor. It's been awhile. So last Friday, I flew into Newark and spent the weekend in New Jersey with my parents. I realized how much I love Fall. I love the colors, I love the crispness, I love the smell of decaying leaves. We don't have Fall in Vegas. There's nothing that changes in the look of the place. Yes, the temperature drops (quite a bit!) but that's the only difference between the months. It was good to be surrounded by autumn colors. It was good to be with my folks, especially my daddy, whom I have been missing something awful (and I'm pretty sure he's been missing me). It was good to be back east. But on Sunday night, as I boarded a New Jersey Transit Manhattan-bound train, I had a slight feeling of anxiety. The thought of the city, The City, with it's traffic and noise and energy, felt a bit bigger than I could handle. I've enjoyed the slower rhythms of the west, I've enjoyed the the open space, the friendly people, the low cost of living. As much as I've been frustrated with the lack of a LIFE for myself out there, I haven't really missed New York.
Until I got back.
The train pulled into Penn Station at 7:38PM. The station was packed, I swirled through the masses with my bags, already back in the swing of crowd-control. I found my way to the 7th Avenue staircase and climbed the two flights to...
New York!! Oh, how I missed it!! I was back home, as soon as I hit the street. I walked the 10 blocks to 23rd and 6th, my feet falling into their old familiar rhythm, my eyes searching out the flashing "WALK/DON'T WALK" signs so I wouldn't waste any time waiting for a light to change. It felt so natural, so familiar, so right. I'm supposed to be here!! I am, I am!!
Except that I can't afford to live here. And I hate the business of acting here. And my quasi-husband love-of-my-life lives in Las Vegas.
But I am thrilled to be here this week! I'm having a great time shooting this film. Vanita, the director, is the wife of one of my Columbia classmates, Maury, and it's been fun spending my days working with them and our international crew (3 of Vanita's classmates: Olga from Ukraine, Christian from Peru, and Virginia from Dominican Republic). I'm staying with my brother, Bob, his fiancee, Sarah, and their 4 AWESOME cats (Ollie, Annie, Jaco and Pig) in their killer Union Square penthouse. I'm seeing so many friends this week, my best friends from college (including a surprise visit from another out-of-towner), my best friends from grad school, and even one of my best friends from high school whom I haven't seen since the day we graduated. This is one of those blissful weeks when I get to do what I love to do and be with people I love to be with and appreciate every single moment of it. Because I know that it is temporary. The film wraps tomorrow, I fly back to Vegas on Friday, and I am once again an out-of-work actor living very far away from all the people she loves, except for the one she loves the most. And when it comes down to it, that's where I want to be. Which surprises me, and it doesn't.
I love New York. And I miss New York. But I don't want to live here. Not just yet.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
History lessons...Third time's a charm!
Wow. Seriously. Wow.
I do not consider myself to be a political person. I have strong opinions when it comes to politics, but politics has never been a large part of my life. I voted for the first time in the 2000 presidential election. I listened with some interest to the candidates speak during the campaign and I went with the candidate whose words connected with me the most: Ralph Nader. Truthfully, there was no part of me that felt George W. Bush could beat Al Gore (who was my "lesser of 2 evils" that year) and I felt free to cast my vote for a candidate that I knew would never win, but a candidate that at least stirred some passion in me. I felt that my vote was not wasted, it would only have been wasted if I did not vote for the candidate I wanted to win. I voted in Washington State by absentee ballot, as I was scheduled to fly to Austin, TX on election day for a few days work. How could I have imagined the scene I would witness in the following days near the Texas state capitol? Texas voted overwhelmingly for its then-Governor to take the White House, in all districts EXCEPT its liberal enclave of Austin, which was split pretty evenly. I was there to witness the protesters on both sides, waving their signs, shouting their slogans, demanding the TRUE winner be recognized. I was there for 3 days, performing 3 shows a day for hundreds of schoolkids at the Jewish Community Center. The one-woman show, "Through the Eyes of a Friend" (see http://www.livingvoices.org/ for more info), is a story of the Holocaust, and it was scheduled to coincide with the anniversary of Kristallnacht, or the "night of broken glass", a country-wide pogrom initiated by the Nazi government in 1938. I was in Austin to remind students of the vast importance of understanding the failures of history in order to keep that history from repeating itself. Little did I expect to be witnessing a piece of history myself. On my second day in Austin, George W. Bush gave a televised address to the nation and his followers, assuring them that the votes would be counted and that he would surely win the election, and for some reason, he chose to give this speech from the JCC. I showed up for work early that morning to find dozens of men in suits and dark glasses looking like linebackers in a wedding party. As I entered the building, I was stopped and redirected, and while it seemed that no one even looked at me, I felt dozens of pairs of sunglass-shaded eyes burning into me. The room felt colder. Quieter than a normal room should be. I managed to find a way into a back room, then to an outside courtyard, again thick with men in suits and shades. I found myself feeling angry, angry at these people for not seeing me, for not recognizing the importance of what I was there to do. Not that they knew anything about the busloads of kids coming to get some of my signature-style schoolin'. I don't know, but between my own feelings about the election and about my work, I felt that George W. Bush had shoved his way into my life uninvited and I wanted him out. This feeling has been with me for 8 years now.
In 2004, I voted in my second presidential election, this time in-person in Astoria, NY. During that campaign, I was really paying attention. Early on, I went to see Howard Dean speak, and I knew that he was my guy. Too bad he turned out to be human and show emotion. So I settled for Kerry. I liked him well enough, and I certainly preferred him to the alternative. This was the campaign season that first interested Alex (now, I can barely pull him away from the 24-hour news channels). He and I watched debates and got ourselves registered in our new town. On election day, we woke up at his dad's cabin in the Pennsylvania Poconos, and I remember driving home, past long lines of swing-state voters waiting to cast their ballots. I remember wishing there was a way we could have voted in Pennsy, really made our votes count. But we were sure it wouldn't matter, there was NO WAY Bush could win again, not with his approval rating decreasing and concern about Iraq growing. Alex and I walked to our voting place, cast our votes, and were back home, all within 30 minutes. No long waits for us (perhaps it has something to do with the demographic of Astoria, in that so many of it's adults are immigrants and unable to vote in an American election). Easy as pie! Then we went home to watch the numbers roll in, sure of the outcome. I mean, I was certain! As much as I couldn't believe Bush could have won in 2000, it seemed impossible that he could win in '04. People nation-wide were unhappy with his job performance, so of course he'd get the boot. Ohhhhhh how wrong I was. While people were unhappy, turns out they were more fearful of switching gears in the midst of a war. Oh, and gay marriage. Bad, sex-crazed, god-hating gays wanting to marry scared people to the voting booths in record numbers. People were afraid of change, the thing they seem to want more than anything now. Go figure. I was very wrong in my optimism in '04, and I felt like I'd been slapped in the face with a 2x4.
And that is when I stopped watching the news. And reading the newspaper. Seriously. I couldn't take it. I was angry at the media, at all the politicians, I felt lied to and cheated and that I couldn't trust any of them, therefore I'd stop listening. And so I did. The only news I received over the next few years came from Alex (who began watching news with a level of fanaticism that still causes me concern) or from overheard subway conversations or other such outside sources. I sought out no info on my own. I was done caring, I was done hoping, I was done believing. Cynicism seemed to rule the world, everyone was out to serve his or her own self-interest, so I chose to stay interested only in the things that came from me internally. Which worked out well enough, except that I was still working in schools, teaching students of the necessity of looking outside of themselves and reaching out to those in need. I was teaching them to recognize the dreams that flooded Ellis Island with thousands and eventually millions of immigrants in search of the American dream, the same dreams bringing thousands to our country each year. I was teaching them to see the cattle-car journey to Nazi concentration camps in relation to the Middle Passage journey to American slave auctions, to understand that our country has it's own history to learn from. I was forcing these students to look long and hard at the America of this day and understand how we got here, how far we had left to go. But my own choice to ignore politics, and the media which reported it, kept getting in the way. Until I went to grad school and was no longer at the head of a classroom, making it easy to once again ignore the news. I felt a cool separation between myself and my country, almost like the relationship one has with an absentee landlord. I lived according to the law (most of them anyway, but I cannot stop myself from jaywalking when there is no traffic approaching) and asked little in return. Things were broken all around me, but as long as I didn't ask for or expect any improvements, and as long as I paid rent by April 15th, I was free to go about my business and nothing would be asked of me.
I was fine with this arrangement. It was simple. I'd hear the latest numbers coming out of Iraq and have a moment of pause, a moment when emotion might have entered in, but instead I would think only of the statistic, not the lives affected. I'd hear of mistreatment of prisoners at Gitmo, and where once I might have been outraged that AMERICA could do such a thing, I'd find myself thinking, "Well, that's just the way the world works." I let myself be numb, and numbness served me well.
Then one day early this summer, I found myself talking about the campaign with my registered-Republican father. Dad had nothing good to say about Hilary or Obama or even McCain, they were all "pieces of shit". And instead of simply nodding or agreeing or letting the comment go, I began questioning him. Then I began getting angry. I found myself actually yelling at him, I even threw out an F-bomb, a word I have NEVER before spoken in front of my Catholic parents. I found myself telling him that maybe it was okay for him to just give up and be complacent and pissed off but I've got a lot of years left to live and I plan on living them in this country and I'm tired of feeling disconnected from and even embarrassed by my country and I like the idea of a President who wants to reach out to the world community and recognize that we can't do it unilaterally and....
I don't know how it happened, but after years of numbness, something opened up inside of me and started to feel a little glimmer of something that was unfamiliar after so many years, I started to feel a little bit of hope. Yes, hope. The audacity of hope. And with that little bit of hope, I was reborn into my country. Today, I feel embraced by my country, like it has recognized the worth of MY values, instead of discounting them as naive and pie-eyed and idealistic and either dangerous or impossible. My family values may not reflect those of "real" America in some ways, but they are valuable to me. My prayers may not be sent out to the same god as those prayers of "real" Americans, but my prayers are valuable to me. My hopes and dreams might seem petty or selfish or impractical to some "real" Americans, but it was in America that my hopes and dreams were born, and it is in America that my hopes and dreams were made valuable to me. I am so many things: student, teacher, woman, daughter, lover, singer, sister, friend, actor, I am an individual within a tight-knit family within an extended family within a citizenry within the world. My country does not define me, nor do my politics. But they are a part of me, once again. And it is a welcome return. This year, I cast my ballot early in a Las Vegas shopping mall. My vote was one of thousands that helped change the electoral map. My vote mattered, as it always has before, but this time, more than ever, it mattered to me. Win or loss, I was inspired to believe in my country once again. Win or loss, I was inspired to believe that my opinions are just as valid as those of any other citizen of my country. Win or loss, I was inspired to believe that anything is possible, and that Yes, We Can.
And Yes, We Did. I watched President-elect Barack Obama give his speech in Chicago, while I stood in a packed ballroom at the Rio, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, children, all ethnicities, all ages. I cheered as a part of a community of believers, I cried along with a woman who kept saying "yes yes yes" in response to Obama's every word, a woman who was just coming of voting age when her government first gave her the right to vote. I smiled at the children who couldn't understand the history behind last night's history-making election but who clearly understood it's significance. It was a room full of strangers who cheered with one voice, "Yes We Can! Yes We Can!" And I'm so very glad that I was a part of it.
My guy won, which should make for interesting conversation at the annual Christmas gathering with my Republican family. BRING IT ON!!!
I do not consider myself to be a political person. I have strong opinions when it comes to politics, but politics has never been a large part of my life. I voted for the first time in the 2000 presidential election. I listened with some interest to the candidates speak during the campaign and I went with the candidate whose words connected with me the most: Ralph Nader. Truthfully, there was no part of me that felt George W. Bush could beat Al Gore (who was my "lesser of 2 evils" that year) and I felt free to cast my vote for a candidate that I knew would never win, but a candidate that at least stirred some passion in me. I felt that my vote was not wasted, it would only have been wasted if I did not vote for the candidate I wanted to win. I voted in Washington State by absentee ballot, as I was scheduled to fly to Austin, TX on election day for a few days work. How could I have imagined the scene I would witness in the following days near the Texas state capitol? Texas voted overwhelmingly for its then-Governor to take the White House, in all districts EXCEPT its liberal enclave of Austin, which was split pretty evenly. I was there to witness the protesters on both sides, waving their signs, shouting their slogans, demanding the TRUE winner be recognized. I was there for 3 days, performing 3 shows a day for hundreds of schoolkids at the Jewish Community Center. The one-woman show, "Through the Eyes of a Friend" (see http://www.livingvoices.org/ for more info), is a story of the Holocaust, and it was scheduled to coincide with the anniversary of Kristallnacht, or the "night of broken glass", a country-wide pogrom initiated by the Nazi government in 1938. I was in Austin to remind students of the vast importance of understanding the failures of history in order to keep that history from repeating itself. Little did I expect to be witnessing a piece of history myself. On my second day in Austin, George W. Bush gave a televised address to the nation and his followers, assuring them that the votes would be counted and that he would surely win the election, and for some reason, he chose to give this speech from the JCC. I showed up for work early that morning to find dozens of men in suits and dark glasses looking like linebackers in a wedding party. As I entered the building, I was stopped and redirected, and while it seemed that no one even looked at me, I felt dozens of pairs of sunglass-shaded eyes burning into me. The room felt colder. Quieter than a normal room should be. I managed to find a way into a back room, then to an outside courtyard, again thick with men in suits and shades. I found myself feeling angry, angry at these people for not seeing me, for not recognizing the importance of what I was there to do. Not that they knew anything about the busloads of kids coming to get some of my signature-style schoolin'. I don't know, but between my own feelings about the election and about my work, I felt that George W. Bush had shoved his way into my life uninvited and I wanted him out. This feeling has been with me for 8 years now.
In 2004, I voted in my second presidential election, this time in-person in Astoria, NY. During that campaign, I was really paying attention. Early on, I went to see Howard Dean speak, and I knew that he was my guy. Too bad he turned out to be human and show emotion. So I settled for Kerry. I liked him well enough, and I certainly preferred him to the alternative. This was the campaign season that first interested Alex (now, I can barely pull him away from the 24-hour news channels). He and I watched debates and got ourselves registered in our new town. On election day, we woke up at his dad's cabin in the Pennsylvania Poconos, and I remember driving home, past long lines of swing-state voters waiting to cast their ballots. I remember wishing there was a way we could have voted in Pennsy, really made our votes count. But we were sure it wouldn't matter, there was NO WAY Bush could win again, not with his approval rating decreasing and concern about Iraq growing. Alex and I walked to our voting place, cast our votes, and were back home, all within 30 minutes. No long waits for us (perhaps it has something to do with the demographic of Astoria, in that so many of it's adults are immigrants and unable to vote in an American election). Easy as pie! Then we went home to watch the numbers roll in, sure of the outcome. I mean, I was certain! As much as I couldn't believe Bush could have won in 2000, it seemed impossible that he could win in '04. People nation-wide were unhappy with his job performance, so of course he'd get the boot. Ohhhhhh how wrong I was. While people were unhappy, turns out they were more fearful of switching gears in the midst of a war. Oh, and gay marriage. Bad, sex-crazed, god-hating gays wanting to marry scared people to the voting booths in record numbers. People were afraid of change, the thing they seem to want more than anything now. Go figure. I was very wrong in my optimism in '04, and I felt like I'd been slapped in the face with a 2x4.
And that is when I stopped watching the news. And reading the newspaper. Seriously. I couldn't take it. I was angry at the media, at all the politicians, I felt lied to and cheated and that I couldn't trust any of them, therefore I'd stop listening. And so I did. The only news I received over the next few years came from Alex (who began watching news with a level of fanaticism that still causes me concern) or from overheard subway conversations or other such outside sources. I sought out no info on my own. I was done caring, I was done hoping, I was done believing. Cynicism seemed to rule the world, everyone was out to serve his or her own self-interest, so I chose to stay interested only in the things that came from me internally. Which worked out well enough, except that I was still working in schools, teaching students of the necessity of looking outside of themselves and reaching out to those in need. I was teaching them to recognize the dreams that flooded Ellis Island with thousands and eventually millions of immigrants in search of the American dream, the same dreams bringing thousands to our country each year. I was teaching them to see the cattle-car journey to Nazi concentration camps in relation to the Middle Passage journey to American slave auctions, to understand that our country has it's own history to learn from. I was forcing these students to look long and hard at the America of this day and understand how we got here, how far we had left to go. But my own choice to ignore politics, and the media which reported it, kept getting in the way. Until I went to grad school and was no longer at the head of a classroom, making it easy to once again ignore the news. I felt a cool separation between myself and my country, almost like the relationship one has with an absentee landlord. I lived according to the law (most of them anyway, but I cannot stop myself from jaywalking when there is no traffic approaching) and asked little in return. Things were broken all around me, but as long as I didn't ask for or expect any improvements, and as long as I paid rent by April 15th, I was free to go about my business and nothing would be asked of me.
I was fine with this arrangement. It was simple. I'd hear the latest numbers coming out of Iraq and have a moment of pause, a moment when emotion might have entered in, but instead I would think only of the statistic, not the lives affected. I'd hear of mistreatment of prisoners at Gitmo, and where once I might have been outraged that AMERICA could do such a thing, I'd find myself thinking, "Well, that's just the way the world works." I let myself be numb, and numbness served me well.
Then one day early this summer, I found myself talking about the campaign with my registered-Republican father. Dad had nothing good to say about Hilary or Obama or even McCain, they were all "pieces of shit". And instead of simply nodding or agreeing or letting the comment go, I began questioning him. Then I began getting angry. I found myself actually yelling at him, I even threw out an F-bomb, a word I have NEVER before spoken in front of my Catholic parents. I found myself telling him that maybe it was okay for him to just give up and be complacent and pissed off but I've got a lot of years left to live and I plan on living them in this country and I'm tired of feeling disconnected from and even embarrassed by my country and I like the idea of a President who wants to reach out to the world community and recognize that we can't do it unilaterally and....
I don't know how it happened, but after years of numbness, something opened up inside of me and started to feel a little glimmer of something that was unfamiliar after so many years, I started to feel a little bit of hope. Yes, hope. The audacity of hope. And with that little bit of hope, I was reborn into my country. Today, I feel embraced by my country, like it has recognized the worth of MY values, instead of discounting them as naive and pie-eyed and idealistic and either dangerous or impossible. My family values may not reflect those of "real" America in some ways, but they are valuable to me. My prayers may not be sent out to the same god as those prayers of "real" Americans, but my prayers are valuable to me. My hopes and dreams might seem petty or selfish or impractical to some "real" Americans, but it was in America that my hopes and dreams were born, and it is in America that my hopes and dreams were made valuable to me. I am so many things: student, teacher, woman, daughter, lover, singer, sister, friend, actor, I am an individual within a tight-knit family within an extended family within a citizenry within the world. My country does not define me, nor do my politics. But they are a part of me, once again. And it is a welcome return. This year, I cast my ballot early in a Las Vegas shopping mall. My vote was one of thousands that helped change the electoral map. My vote mattered, as it always has before, but this time, more than ever, it mattered to me. Win or loss, I was inspired to believe in my country once again. Win or loss, I was inspired to believe that my opinions are just as valid as those of any other citizen of my country. Win or loss, I was inspired to believe that anything is possible, and that Yes, We Can.
And Yes, We Did. I watched President-elect Barack Obama give his speech in Chicago, while I stood in a packed ballroom at the Rio, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, children, all ethnicities, all ages. I cheered as a part of a community of believers, I cried along with a woman who kept saying "yes yes yes" in response to Obama's every word, a woman who was just coming of voting age when her government first gave her the right to vote. I smiled at the children who couldn't understand the history behind last night's history-making election but who clearly understood it's significance. It was a room full of strangers who cheered with one voice, "Yes We Can! Yes We Can!" And I'm so very glad that I was a part of it.
My guy won, which should make for interesting conversation at the annual Christmas gathering with my Republican family. BRING IT ON!!!
Monday, November 3, 2008
Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!
On a glorious, hot day in June, Alex and I drove down to Atlantic City so he could pick up $500 in Best Buy gift cards at Harrah's. Casinos are constantly giving away shwag to their players, in an attempt to get players into the casino, where they will hopefully lose much more $$ than whatever the value of the shwag that got them into the casino in the first place. Alex has gotten plenty of casino shwag over the years: t-shirts galore; desk planners; Macy's gift cards; a mini car-fridge; a VUDU; a GPS for the car; concert tickets; massages; a summer trip to Tahoe; a New Year's cruise to the Caribbean (that's for this coming New Year--my first cruise, my first time to the Caribbean--I will be purchasing a "Best of Billy Ocean" album to set the proper tone). Shwag a-plenty has dotted our lives over the past few years, allowing us to live as if we have some money (seriously, when am I ever gonna have enough funds to justify taking a yacht cruise around Lake Tahoe for an afternoon?). The shwag takes the sting out of some losses (coming back to an all-expenses-paid luxury suite after a bad run at the blackjack table serves as a reminder of sorts as to how fickle fortune can be) and it allows us some little luxuries that we'd never otherwise know (as if I would EVER spend $90 on an entree if I was paying for it with real money). Because as much as Alex's job has all these little perks that allow us to live the high-life sometimes, the reality is that we're kind of broke. In fact, all I have is debt!
So when we got the $500 in Best Buy cards, we debated for a time as to how they should be spent. Should this be fun-money or wise-woney? We could use the gift cards to make sound purchases, replace our broken DVD player, for example. Or we could hold onto them and use them to buy holiday gifts for the friends and family on our list. That would be using the money wisely, right? But then, this is Best Buy we're talking about. No matter how "wisely" we might choose to spend our $500, it would still be $500 spent on electronics. There are no "necessities" to be purchased there, no groceries or medicine or winter coats. One day, we actually took a walk to Best Buy, just so we could window-shop and see if there were any items that could be construed as "necessities". Nothing. So the decision was made: We had $500 of fun-money to be spent at Best Buy, woo hoo!! But what to spend it on?
We began small. While still in New York, we purchased the first 3 seasons of "The Muppet Show". Brilliant!! I loved the Muppets when I was a kid, I have very clear memories of watching it in my Ohio home, and "The Muppet Movie" is one of my all-time favorites. Now, we've got the Muppets hanging out with Sly Stallone, Gilda Radner, Vincent Price. Brilliance galore!! My next purchase was an iPod adaptor for the car, so our cross-country drives will have less time spent scanning through Christian radio in search of decent tunage. Excellent investment! But these purchases still left us with $350 to be used however we saw fit. What to buy, what to buy...
When I was a kid, my parents bought an Atari for me and my brothers. Oh, how I loved playing video games! Donkey Kong, Qbert, Pitfall, I couldn't get enough. This was back in the day when video games were first becoming a part of our every day culture, when Pac-Man became a Saturday morning cartoon show AND a breakfast cereal with ghostie marshmallows. This was back in the day when video games were played with a "joystick", an actual stick-like device where one hand controlled the movement on screen and the other hand held the joystick and pressed the single red button to fire/jump/turn/whatever needed to take place. That was it: a stick and a button. My 10-year-old hands had no trouble operating a joystick, my 10-year-old brain had no trouble following the action on the screen. We never moved beyond Atari in the McLynn household, but the world moved far, FAR beyond. Fast-forward to the modern age of Nintendo. There are no more joysticks; there are now controllers with numerous buttons and wands and wheels. My hands feel big and clumsy on them. Alex has kept somewhat up-to-date with gaming systems. Well, not at all "up-to-date", as he's still playing Madden '05 on his Game Cube. But he LOVES playing video games, video games have been a big part of his Vegas experience. In his pre-Meg Vegas life, back when he was living with 5 guys in a 2-bedroom apartment, he and his roommates would have nightly "Mario Kart" races, which Alex generally won. Alex finds video games to be an excellent reliever of stress and anxiety: they allow his mind to focus on anything BUT numbers, allow his brain to slow down for a bit and focus on the immediate problem of beating his record-high racing time. It's actually therapeutic for him, and trust me, with the sky-high stress levels that come with his profession, I fully support him playing video games to unwind at night. Me, well, I find video games to CAUSE stress: I can't steer, keep driving off the road, come in last place every time, there's too many frickin' buttons, ARGH. I've been trying to play with Alex, but it's more a matter of him WAITING for me to catch up to wherever he's at. Not much fun for anyone. If only I knew how to use the controllers! But I'm decades behind on the technology, I don't know if those brain-to-finger synapses are still firing, and without proper command of the controllers, I am shit-out-of-luck in the gaming world. If only there were controllers that I could figure out, controllers that would even the playing field in the McLynn-Fayer household. If only...
For those of you who are familiar with today's gaming systems, you probably see where I'm headed here. The other day, Alex and I went to Best Buy and spent the rest of our shwag money on a new gaming system, the Nintendo Wii. The Wii has a controller with multiple buttons and looks just as daunting as most other modern-day controllers. Except it works in an entirely different fashion. Instead of me controlling all the action onscreen by pressing buttons and scrolling around, I am controlling the action by moving my body. Like, playing baseball, when I'm at bat and I want to swing at a pitch, I swing my arm as if I were holding a bat. If I'm throwing a pitch, I raise my arm above my head and let 'er rip! In tennis, I can swing front- or back-hand. Bowling? Just take aim and throw the ball. Brilliant! Suddenly, Alex and I are on even footing, I am just as likely to win a game as he is, which allows my uber-competitive side (the side that really HATES looking studip) to relax, even when I'm losing. We haven't bought many games yet, just the ones that come with it and some other basic games (like laser hockey, and this game where we race cows while hitting scarecrows, my favorite). We will definitely be buying Mario Kart, as I've watched Alex break his own records for years and I am looking forward to giving him a run for his money. I am LOVING the Wii! It's silly, it's kind of mindless, and I am already developing what I will refer to as my "Wii Muscles" in my right arm. Seriously, my arm has been sore for days, I'm afraid I'm gonna go all Popeye on my right side. But it's worth it. I feel like I've been initiated into some boys club here, and I've always liked hangin' with the boys, especially when I get to beat them up!! Thank you, Harrah's, for giving us the opportunity to spend money foolishly. Here's hoping there's lots more foolishness to come!
So when we got the $500 in Best Buy cards, we debated for a time as to how they should be spent. Should this be fun-money or wise-woney? We could use the gift cards to make sound purchases, replace our broken DVD player, for example. Or we could hold onto them and use them to buy holiday gifts for the friends and family on our list. That would be using the money wisely, right? But then, this is Best Buy we're talking about. No matter how "wisely" we might choose to spend our $500, it would still be $500 spent on electronics. There are no "necessities" to be purchased there, no groceries or medicine or winter coats. One day, we actually took a walk to Best Buy, just so we could window-shop and see if there were any items that could be construed as "necessities". Nothing. So the decision was made: We had $500 of fun-money to be spent at Best Buy, woo hoo!! But what to spend it on?
We began small. While still in New York, we purchased the first 3 seasons of "The Muppet Show". Brilliant!! I loved the Muppets when I was a kid, I have very clear memories of watching it in my Ohio home, and "The Muppet Movie" is one of my all-time favorites. Now, we've got the Muppets hanging out with Sly Stallone, Gilda Radner, Vincent Price. Brilliance galore!! My next purchase was an iPod adaptor for the car, so our cross-country drives will have less time spent scanning through Christian radio in search of decent tunage. Excellent investment! But these purchases still left us with $350 to be used however we saw fit. What to buy, what to buy...
When I was a kid, my parents bought an Atari for me and my brothers. Oh, how I loved playing video games! Donkey Kong, Qbert, Pitfall, I couldn't get enough. This was back in the day when video games were first becoming a part of our every day culture, when Pac-Man became a Saturday morning cartoon show AND a breakfast cereal with ghostie marshmallows. This was back in the day when video games were played with a "joystick", an actual stick-like device where one hand controlled the movement on screen and the other hand held the joystick and pressed the single red button to fire/jump/turn/whatever needed to take place. That was it: a stick and a button. My 10-year-old hands had no trouble operating a joystick, my 10-year-old brain had no trouble following the action on the screen. We never moved beyond Atari in the McLynn household, but the world moved far, FAR beyond. Fast-forward to the modern age of Nintendo. There are no more joysticks; there are now controllers with numerous buttons and wands and wheels. My hands feel big and clumsy on them. Alex has kept somewhat up-to-date with gaming systems. Well, not at all "up-to-date", as he's still playing Madden '05 on his Game Cube. But he LOVES playing video games, video games have been a big part of his Vegas experience. In his pre-Meg Vegas life, back when he was living with 5 guys in a 2-bedroom apartment, he and his roommates would have nightly "Mario Kart" races, which Alex generally won. Alex finds video games to be an excellent reliever of stress and anxiety: they allow his mind to focus on anything BUT numbers, allow his brain to slow down for a bit and focus on the immediate problem of beating his record-high racing time. It's actually therapeutic for him, and trust me, with the sky-high stress levels that come with his profession, I fully support him playing video games to unwind at night. Me, well, I find video games to CAUSE stress: I can't steer, keep driving off the road, come in last place every time, there's too many frickin' buttons, ARGH. I've been trying to play with Alex, but it's more a matter of him WAITING for me to catch up to wherever he's at. Not much fun for anyone. If only I knew how to use the controllers! But I'm decades behind on the technology, I don't know if those brain-to-finger synapses are still firing, and without proper command of the controllers, I am shit-out-of-luck in the gaming world. If only there were controllers that I could figure out, controllers that would even the playing field in the McLynn-Fayer household. If only...
For those of you who are familiar with today's gaming systems, you probably see where I'm headed here. The other day, Alex and I went to Best Buy and spent the rest of our shwag money on a new gaming system, the Nintendo Wii. The Wii has a controller with multiple buttons and looks just as daunting as most other modern-day controllers. Except it works in an entirely different fashion. Instead of me controlling all the action onscreen by pressing buttons and scrolling around, I am controlling the action by moving my body. Like, playing baseball, when I'm at bat and I want to swing at a pitch, I swing my arm as if I were holding a bat. If I'm throwing a pitch, I raise my arm above my head and let 'er rip! In tennis, I can swing front- or back-hand. Bowling? Just take aim and throw the ball. Brilliant! Suddenly, Alex and I are on even footing, I am just as likely to win a game as he is, which allows my uber-competitive side (the side that really HATES looking studip) to relax, even when I'm losing. We haven't bought many games yet, just the ones that come with it and some other basic games (like laser hockey, and this game where we race cows while hitting scarecrows, my favorite). We will definitely be buying Mario Kart, as I've watched Alex break his own records for years and I am looking forward to giving him a run for his money. I am LOVING the Wii! It's silly, it's kind of mindless, and I am already developing what I will refer to as my "Wii Muscles" in my right arm. Seriously, my arm has been sore for days, I'm afraid I'm gonna go all Popeye on my right side. But it's worth it. I feel like I've been initiated into some boys club here, and I've always liked hangin' with the boys, especially when I get to beat them up!! Thank you, Harrah's, for giving us the opportunity to spend money foolishly. Here's hoping there's lots more foolishness to come!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Baseball is over...
The Phillies are World Champs! Who woulda thunk it? And I actually enjoyed watching the World Series this year, so I guess I'm learning to be patient enough for baseball. My only complaints have nothing to do with the Series itself but with the gaming rules that apply to a rain-delay. See, Alex had a bunch of money on game 5 (he has money on every game, he even bet on the Japanese World Series this week) and he needed Tampa to win by 1 run. CORRECTION: He needed a Tampa win financially, but the Philly fanatic in him needed his team to win the penant. Anyway, if you watched game 5, you know that the weather went from wild to wooly by the 3rd inning, when the Phillies were up by one run. The Phillies were ahead until the bottom of the 5th inning, when a series of stolen bases led to a score by TB's BJ Upton, tying the game. And then the game was held for a rain delay, before finally being postponed, to be completed the next night (which turned into 2 nights until we reached a dry night with temps in the low 30's--not what I'd call "baseball weather", which could send me into a rant on how the ever-lengthening sports seasons are getting to be more and more ridiculous, but I'll hold myself back). In my mind, since the game was not cancelled but simply delayed, it made sense that any bets made on the game would just carry over to the completion, but Vegas don't work this way. Casino rules state that a baseball game that ends before completion will be scored at the end of the last complete inning (which would have been the 4th inning in this case, when Philly was winning by 1 run). And even if the game is not cancelled but delayed, the casino still considers the game ended at the end of the last complete inning (no bets carry-over to the next day). So even though the score was tied when the game ended, it was counted as a Philly win by the casinos, which counted as a loss for Alex. Oh, how fickle is the hand of fortune! Whatever, the Phillies eventually won the series and this household rejoiced. Alex now has license to talk smack for years to come...
You know how a lot of girls use Halloween as an excuse to dress like sluts? It's true, I've worked in many schools all over the country on Halloween, and there are always lots of girls dressed up in costumes that would make a hooker blush. Well, consider the fact that women often use Vegas as an excuse to dress like sluts, then add Halloween into the picture, and you can begin to imagine how little was left to the imagination Friday night. I wasn't expecting any trick-or-treaters to come knocking on my hotel door, and I was correct, which is a good thing. I had a moment of concern in the afternoon, concern that a child might knock, a child dressed like a baby cow or a pretty pirate or a milk carton, a child that would melt my heart and make me want to give it things, sweet things to make it smile...and so I began tearing through my cupboards, looking for any possibilities. Miso soup packets, a banana, nicotine gum...nothing. I was gonna be the lady who gives loose change or raisins if anyone came a-knockin'. Truthfully, I was afraid of having a bag of candy in my house, as my sweet tooth has been getting me into all kinds of trouble. But I didn't want to be the crappy candy lady! No worries, no kids. I haven't had trick-or-treaters in years. There was one year in Seattle when two kids, probably about 13 years old, came knocking on my door telling me to give them candy. They were wearing jeans and black shirts, holding empty pillowcases. I found some Tic-Tacs for them, which pleased them not at all. They actually gave me attitude! I gave it right back. That sums up my experience with trick-or-treaters in my adult life. And I couldn't tell you the last time I got into costume for Halloween. I've spent a lot of time wearing costumes, I've never felt a need to do it outside of work. Maybe some day...
You know how a lot of girls use Halloween as an excuse to dress like sluts? It's true, I've worked in many schools all over the country on Halloween, and there are always lots of girls dressed up in costumes that would make a hooker blush. Well, consider the fact that women often use Vegas as an excuse to dress like sluts, then add Halloween into the picture, and you can begin to imagine how little was left to the imagination Friday night. I wasn't expecting any trick-or-treaters to come knocking on my hotel door, and I was correct, which is a good thing. I had a moment of concern in the afternoon, concern that a child might knock, a child dressed like a baby cow or a pretty pirate or a milk carton, a child that would melt my heart and make me want to give it things, sweet things to make it smile...and so I began tearing through my cupboards, looking for any possibilities. Miso soup packets, a banana, nicotine gum...nothing. I was gonna be the lady who gives loose change or raisins if anyone came a-knockin'. Truthfully, I was afraid of having a bag of candy in my house, as my sweet tooth has been getting me into all kinds of trouble. But I didn't want to be the crappy candy lady! No worries, no kids. I haven't had trick-or-treaters in years. There was one year in Seattle when two kids, probably about 13 years old, came knocking on my door telling me to give them candy. They were wearing jeans and black shirts, holding empty pillowcases. I found some Tic-Tacs for them, which pleased them not at all. They actually gave me attitude! I gave it right back. That sums up my experience with trick-or-treaters in my adult life. And I couldn't tell you the last time I got into costume for Halloween. I've spent a lot of time wearing costumes, I've never felt a need to do it outside of work. Maybe some day...
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