WHAT’S FUNNIER: “LUSH RIMBALLS” OR “THRUSH LIMPBALLS?”

I’ve been so busy, I was a little late in becoming aware of the whole “Rush Limbaugh calling Sandra Fluke a prostitute because she wants health insurance to cover birth control” thing.  My first response was to come up with a bunch of one-liners for my Facebook status:

• If a man I have sex with wears a condom that I purchased, does that make him my bitch?
• Rush Limbaugh does indeed hold the answer to the birth control prescription coverage debate…unless I’m the only woman whose entire reproductive system shrivels up when I hear him speak.
• Proud (birth control) Pill Popping Prostitute!

Then I realized that Rush Limbaugh’s incendiary comments are only a smoke screen for grappling with the real issue at hand.  I think it’s just as much a waste of time to rebut his nonsensical remarks as it is for him to make them.  So I took on the task of ignoring the whole “slut” thing and the whole “Obama calling Sandra Fluke” thing and tried to suss out Limbaugh’s actual argument…which was hard…and then I found out much to my surprise that it actually is valid.  Certainly worthy of a thing called “conversation” and “dialogue.”

I found this article by Tim Worstall in Forbes online, and felt very smart about doing research:

http://www.forbes.com/sites/timworstall/2012/03/03/rush-limbaugh-sandra-fluke-and-why-is-contraception-part-of-health-insurance-anyway/2/

The article cites that “insurance is a form of risk-management” and in the case of contraceptives, one is not taking measures to avoid an uncertain loss.  It’s not like a car accident or cancer.  You take pills for an indefinite amount of time so you can have sex and not get pregnant; it’s a “minor everyday thing” says Worstall.

But wait a minute…getting pregnant WOULD be kind of like a car accident.  It would change my body and my life forever, it would be a severe financial strain, and then it would end up being an even bigger cost for the insurance company to cover my medical expenses.  So, ok, I disagree with his assessment.  I also think comparing birth control pills to getting a flu shot is absurd.  It makes me feel better about my own blog entry, because I can write some pretty dumb things and they still won’t be as dumb as the things the guy who’s published on Forbes.com wrote.  (Actually it wasn't that bad, I even agreed with some of the things he said).

Now, at some point in his rambling, Rush Limbaugh brought up condoms, and I’m not exactly sure what he was saying, something about how if Sandra Fluke were to use condoms as her method of birth control, she would have to have sex three times a day to equal the cost of $3,000 that she claims to incur using pills.  I think one of his points is that if she wants to save money, she could just use condoms…Condoms are cheaper and they are not covered by insurance so taxpayers don’t have to pay for them…or something like that…Again, it was really hard to piece together coherent arguments from what he was spewing but let’s talk about condoms vs. the pill.  Here are some facts:

1. Guys wear condoms.  Just to be clear.
2. Birth control is taken by women.  It is a method of contraception that she has complete control over. 
3. Condoms are great, unless they break, and then the gal needs to get emergency contraceptives anyway if she’s not already on the pill.  The guy, on the other hand, need not worry.  He will not get pregnant. 
4. You would never use a condom for anything other than contraception or protection against STDs, except maybe to decorate a car for newlyweds in Vegas.
5. You COULD use the birth control pill for purposes other than contraception.  For instance, treatment for acne (wait a minute, my insurance covers Retin-A, and we’re arguing about contraception? I would much rather have a pimple than an unplanned pregnancy!), or treatment for abnormal menstrual cycles, endometriosis and ovarian cysts.
6. Unless you have an allergy to latex, condoms don’t really have any side effects.  Birth control pills can make a gal severely depressed, even suicidal; they can give her skin discoloration, heart palpitations, strokes, blurred vision, hot flashes and mood swings; they can make her tired and bloated.  Their intake really should be monitored by a doctor.

A woman’s choice to prevent pregnancy and have an active sex life is every bit as much a medical issue as her choice to have a child.  If condoms caused men to cry a lot and cease ejaculating altogether, I’d consider that a medical issue as well.  And if men ran the risk of ending up pregnant if they didn’t wear those condoms that made them cry and cease ejaculating, I would expect them to have some insurance coverage for that.  And if an 85 year old man wants to take a pill so that he can have sex with fresh young minxes and he demands insurance coverage for that…I just hope he stays away from me. 

Regardless, the bigger issue here is why should anything having to do with sex be covered by insurance at all?  Having sex purely for enjoyment is a luxury, and in some people’s eyes, a sin.  Why should insurance companies foot the bill so that people can indulge themselves in lascivious behaviors?  Well, yeah, that’s a toughie.  I think my answer to that is, no, in fact, sex is not a luxury.  My answer is, let’s all admit that we are sexual beings by nature, and that having a healthy sex life, (which I’m not sure is possible for any American given how backwards our culture is around this issue), is just as important as having a healthy diet, an active lifestyle and annual physical exams.  Part of a healthy sex life is being able to relax and enjoy, knowing that you have options and support in how you care for your body, whether it’s insurance coverage in the case of pregnancy or insurance coverage in the case of contraceptives.

Come to think of it, my insurance company gives me $400 a year as a reward for going to the gym at least twice a week.  I’m pretty sure that really great sex at least twice a week would make an even bigger impact on my overall health.  In fact, Rush, great idea!  Why shouldn’t I get paid for having sex if I get paid to go to the gym?  I’ll get each of my partners to sign my “Sex Reimbursement Form” each time we “do it” and submit it to my insurance company.  They should cover my online dating subscription!  In fact, prostitution should be legalized, and covered by health insurance!  After a $5,000 deductible of course, to be fair.

Regarding Georgetown being a Jesuit college and religious organizations being exempt from a national mandate that all insurance companies cover birth control, I think it’s an invasion of privacy for religious leaders to control the choices of their congregation.  Influence?  Absolutely!  But control the options?  That is coercion, and I’d be pretty pissed off if I was a teacher in a Catholic school and knew my pastor didn’t trust me to make my own choices.  Here in the United States, we are United States citizens first, and religious zealots second.    Maybe in other social structures, like Al Qaeda, you can be religious zealots first and citizens second, but not here.  I am very patriotic on that point.

Well, I said Rush's points were valid, I didn't say they were correct or just.  What disgusts me even more than the picture of this porcine, supercilious crud-muffin Rush Limbaugh spitting into is microphone is the picture of the blind followers hearing his words, slapping their knees, laughing, nodding in approval.  I started writing this entry to make sure that I was not the liberal version of them.  I wanted to think the issue through, do a little poking about and see what both sides of the line were saying.  I feel better, more grounded, and completely justified in calling him names:)

IF ONLY PURELL MADE HEAD SANE-ITIZER

December 28, 2011

You know when you're walking down the street talking to your ex-boyfriend, but he's not actually there, you're just revising a conversation you had with him 8 months ago?  It starts with a random thought, but pretty soon, you are talking in full sentences, loudly, as you continue on your way, spilling coffee on your new coat until you accidentally lock eyes with a stranger right at the climax of a wildly emphatic statement, your eyes blossomed open like manic sunflowers and nostrils flared with rage to their cavernous limit.  Right?  You with me?  Or something like it?

Well, I always thought that these imagined conversations we're a rehearsal for a conversation that needed to actually take place in the future.  For business interviews and doctor’s appointments, speaking your thoughts out loud so that your mouth is familiar with them by the time you encounter your interlocutor can be a useful tool.  However, when it comes to conversations with ex-boyfriends...not such a good idea to ring them up.

First of all, ex-boyfriends don't care that you're thinking about them; they have gone on with their life, as you should yours.  Second of all, ex-boyfriends won't change their minds and definitely won't learn any life lessons from you after the fact.  Finally, there is no possible response they could give or not give that would make you feel good about sharing any thought whatsoever with them, whether it's "You made me understand love in a new and wonderful way" or "Fuck you, you fucking fucktard," or even "Saw gr8 movie, thought of u."  There is no way an ex-boyfriend can respond to any of that in a satisfying way, and you know why?  Because IT'S REALLY WEIRD THAT YOU SENT HIM THAT EMAIL OR CALLED HIM OUT OF THE BLUE OR DRUNK TEXTED HIM.  You may have been obsessing about him over the course of a month-long passionate affair with Ben and Jerry, but he's just going to work, walking his dog, minding his own business and then BAM he gets a random email, phone call or text from someone he used to know who feels stuff, and he can't be bothered with that.

At the same, these conversations that I have with the person who is not here are not wholly without merit.  I've noticed that my discussions with said ex-boyfriends change over time.  With this last fellow, my language included a lot of expletives at first and I offended a lot of fellow commuters.  Recently, a positive conjuring of this person occurred quite unexpectedly.  A new romantic interest in my life was apologizing for cancelling a date we had made, because he had had a long day that started with a root canal.  "Does it make me a wuss that I’m not coming out now?" he asked me. "No," I said, "it makes you human."  The words rolled off my tongue naturally, but once uttered, I quickly realized that I had just said to him one of the most sincere and loving phrases my last boyfriend ever said to me.  My conscious memory of this person who had hurt me so badly was that of an abominable fucknut pussyfart.  Subconsciously, the things I loved about him while we were dating still existed in me.  It was a little weird, because here I was thinking about an ex-boyfriend as I was having a conversation with this new person in my life, but more than that, I felt grateful that I could pass this token of understanding on to someone else.

So I immediately wanted to write to Schmarlos again and say something like, "I can't apologize for calling you a fucktard a few months ago, because I was really angry and I meant it.  But I don't want to stay angry forever.  I want to let you know that I am walking away from our relationship with other things too."  I started fantasizing about a magically neutral coffee we could have together with very good eye contact and transparent honesty.  Not trying to get anything from each other, just a moment to honor our relationship by extending an olive branch.  Let’s face it, though, if we were to go to the trouble of meeting in person to have this experience, we would definitely want something from each other.  The only person I can reasonably extend the olive branch to is myself.  As in, "Hey Schmiz, how about we stop having beer for breakfast, watching Law and Order until three o’clock in the morning, and crying every evening on our way home from the train as if you're the only lonely person in the world who deserves something more for all your hard work at being a sensitive human being?"

Conversations that involve people from the past are not at all for the benefit of those people; they are for my own benefit.  Maybe those people stick around in my head because there is still something I can learn from them in their physical absence.  Yes, unchecked this habit turns into a dangerous and obsessive spiral; it can also be revelatory if those imaginary conversations are allowed to change shape over time.  So I just continue to chatter away, and hopefully I'll get better and better at doing it without moving my lips in public.

I have a theory that crazy behavior is often the result of taming even crazier behavior.  For instance, if you see a person flailing her arms in the street, you think, "Wow, that person must be totally crazy," right?  But imagine what that person might do with those arms if she wasn't flailing them around.  Maybe this person would be murdering someone, but she knows this about herself, so she saves that potential victim by flailing her arms around instead.  That sounds pretty sane to me.  (And it’s a completely hypothetical story that I think is likely to be true in some cases.)  Even my family dog used to whine and pee when strangers came in, having learned the lesson not to jump up and bite their face off.   That energy has got to go somewhere.

So I have at any point in time nine or ten peculiar, mostly harmless things I can do to get me through what could become a serious problem if not nipped in the bud.  Furthermore, I have found that because I am such a highly adaptable creature, my psyche finds loopholes around the ways I establish to deal with my troubles effectively, so I need to constantly refresh my arsenal. 

Some of these behaviors look insane but in fact are the very things that keep me sane.  For instance, in my day-planner, I scratch things off my to-do list with such fervor that the pen sometimes rips through to the next week.  By Sunday, it looks like all I've done is “X” out the days to my eventual death.  It makes my friends worry.   The real reason I do this is to see the things I haven’t done more clearly, which I can’t do so well while the things I’ve already done are still legible.  So it's as much about crossing out the tasks I’ve completed, as it is about re-focusing on what lies ahead.  That sounds pretty damn healthy, does it not?

Another example:  I have very conscientiously created multiple personalities inside my head.  There's Simon, who always bothers me when I am in an audience watching an actor on stage, who in that moment is so much better than I could ever hope to be.  Simon can't believe that I have the chutzpa to get up on a stage at all; it seems like an impossible feat when watching someone else do it…But that's just Simon.

Francine always pays me a visit when I'm walking to or from a subway station with a backpack, a purse, three bags of groceries and a random prop from a show I'm rehearsing, like a giant paper mâché ladybug costume.  Francine thinks it would be a great idea for me to move to New Hampshire and got a job in a copy shop sorting papers all day.  Then I could fall in love with a carpenter and invite him to my one-bedroom cottage, where my Irish Setter named Tomato is playing in the yard.  We would eat healthy organic meals using ingredients I got from the Old Fergusson farm earlier that morning.  We'd eventually get married and have a couple of perfect children.  I'm always 28 years old in the presence of Francine; she is very convincing, and she makes a good case…But she's just Francine.

Sounds pretty crazy, right?  If only you knew how crazy I was before I started doing this, then you'd be very impressed with my unique self-prescribed coping mechanisms.  I tend to throw myself into a serious relationship with every emotion that flirts with me.  So before I started taking responsibility for my mental well-being, I would jump right into bed with Simon and spend months thinking about what a terrible actor I am.  Or I might waste two weeks researching copy shops in New Hampshire after a benign cup of tea with Francine.  But now I recognize that I do not have to bring out the best China for these visitors who pop in unannounced from time to time.  I can't kill them either though, because they are very persistent.  So I've given them a name and set boundaries for them.  As a result, instead of feeling like I'm "wrestling with demons" every time they stop by, it feels more like a visit from Skippy on Family Ties, and I have to figure out a way to tactfully entice them to leave so that I can get back to work and spend time with the people in my life whose opinions I value.

Now, this is not to say that demons must not be wrestled with from time to time.  However, it's important to distinguish between real demons and the little neurotic sprites who try to distract me from confronting the real demons.  In other words, if I had wasted too much time taking Francine seriously, I wouldn't have gotten to the heart of the matter, which is that I needed to shift my priorities so that I could afford my own apartment and enjoy that small change in what is an otherwise groovy life.  This instead of changing careers, going organic, losing 15 pounds, growing 5 inches, falling in love with a carpenter, buying a car, a dog, and a house in New England.  Losing myself in a random, improbable fantasy that is far removed from what I’m doing right now is a tempting alternative to making a few real-life changes to what I already have going on.

Oh, there are more, so many more little tricks that I have up my sleeve.  I was cursed to be born a neurotic, but blessed with the common sense to see my neuroses for what they are and get help when I need it.  It can be maddening to have such intense feelings and objectively stand by while they run their course.  Sometimes, as lighthearted as my tone may be, it feels like a lot of work; as if life were just a string of coping mechanisms.  “What am I going to do today to keep myself from going insane?”  

So you know what my new toy is?  Pills!  That’s right, with three years of therapy, twenty years of yoga,  and a lifetime of “get over yourself, there’s nothing wrong with you” isms in my pocket, I decided, fuck this, I’m trying to accomplish something meaningful here and I can’t waste energy attempting to outsmart a panic attack.  So yeah, I went to a doctor who very freely gave me a couple of different prescriptions to play with and we haven’t bothered each other since.

Before I go further, I want to make it clear that I am speaking only in the context of my own life experience, and have no grounds to judge the mental health choices other people make.  What I had always thought of for myself as an “easy way out” is in fact an easier way into things that are much harder to confront than some of the things I was pre-occupied with.  Once I freed myself of all this “coping,” I was actually capable of living for a while and just taking care of business.  I’m nearing the end of my prescriptions and I believe nearing the end of my present need for them.  Partly I just don’t want to see that doctor again, because his total lack of concern as he scrawled out a scrip for mind-altering drugs to someone he had spoken to for all of five minutes sort of freaked me out.  But I have to admit, there’s a part of me that feels oddly at home in this quirky little system I have, and maybe feels a little validated by the struggle.  It’s similar to the experience of someone who has lived in New York for a really long time and then goes to Colorado or something for a couple of months.  Oh, that fresh air is so beautiful, and why would you ever want to look at any view other than crisp snow-capped mountains?  But then that feeling that you are missing out on what’s really going on in the world, down and dirty, creeps in, and New York, with all its funk and crabby crossing guards calls you back like a foul-mouthed Siren with a lousy singing voice.  “Eh, you know you want me, so get your ass ovah heah, baddabing baddahbang.”

GOD AND STUFF

BACKGROUND:

“Did you grow up going to church?”

“I grew up running from the church”

My father was raised in a bitterly atheist household, and my mother grew up talking to animal spirits.  They sent me and my brothers to Catholic school though, because at the time it was the best education available to us.  My childhood relationship with “God” was like that of a spurned lover.  Sure I was a dorky heathen whose flesh still burned with original sin, but I really thought “He" would overlook all that and know that while I couldn’t eat his body and drink his blood, I was at least, if not more, devoted to “Him” than some of the pretty Catholic girls who knew all the words to the hymns but stole beads from the arts and crafts room.  I was so hurt when I found out he liked them more than he liked me that all the pints of Ben and Jerry’s in the world couldn’t have filled that void.  I learned to hate “God,” that self-absorbed son-of-a-bitch.  I pictured him up there with all those prissy angels up in Heaven, like it was some nightclub and I wasn’t on the guest list.  Anger only gets you so far though, so eventually I forgave God his trespasses and now we sort of get a long in an “I don’t believe in you and you’re sending me to hell, but we’re still cool” kind of way.  It’s like when you have an x-boyfriend who is friends with all your best friends, or maybe he’s really famous so you can’t stop being reminded of his existence; you have to find a way to make your peace.

May 16, 2009

Our house belonged to prostitutes and drug dealers before we got there.  How did we know?  Because the police told us so when they busted inside unannounced one day looking for them.  We also had a hunch that PePe, who carved his name on several over our windowsills, was an unsavory character.  Too cheap for linoleum, they had stapled newspaper to the floors, and on top of the newspapers were flattened out circles of dried black chewing gum, like you see on the street.  They used the walls as their phone book.

All five of us lived on the top floor when we first moved in, and we worked our way down as the rest of the floors were made habitable.  My bed was right by the bay windows at the front of the house, Michael and Mathew in bunk beds across from me.  Adjacent to our bedroom was a small closet room where we kept our toys and swung on the chin-up bar.  My mother and father slept in the next room, which had no door or windows, and only half a wall to separate it from us.  It was just large enough for their bed and not much more.  The next room over was for the TV and the back of the house is where we ate our meals.  The bathroom up there frightened me because the water didn’t always turn off like it was supposed to.  To this day, I have nightmares about it, turning and turning the knob to no avail.

The kitchen was the first room to move downstairs.  On schooldays, my brothers and I would get dressed upstairs, and Mommy would call from two flights below, “BREAKFAST IS READY!!!”  Perhaps one or two of us would descend.

Five minutes later, “MICHAEL?”

“…YEAH?!?!?!”

“YOUR BREAKFAST IS GETTING COLD!!!”

“I DON’T FEEL WELL!!!”

“WHAT?!?!”

“I DON’T FEEL WELL!!!”

“WHAT?!?!”

“I’M SICK!”

There would be a pause and eventually the thumping of feet up one flight of stairs, around the banister and up the other flight of stairs, with the pitter-patter of our dog Ruffy’s feet behind her. 

…

In class, my teacher Mrs. Schmleary told us that your true birth occurred when you were baptized.   “But what if you were never baptized?” I asked her.  She looked sweetly into my eyes and replied in a saccharin voice, “Well then you were never born.”

By then my brothers and I shared a room on the second floor, from whence I shouted up the stairs

“MOM?!?!?!”

“YES HONEY?!?!?”

“WAS I REALLY BORN?!??!!”

“WHAT?!?”

“WAS I REALLY BORN?!?!?”

(Pitter pattering of footsteps and pawsteps)

“What honey?”

“Was I ever born?”

“Of course you were born, what do you mean?”

“Mrs. Shmleary said that if you were never baptized, you were never really born.”

Mom spoke to Mrs. Schmleary that night on the phone about my existence.

June 22, 2007

I arrived at the party, and then just kept walking right out into the field.  And I looked at those stars, as many as I could at once, and cried.  But it wasn’t an imploding cry.  I cried out.  The crying came through me.  It just flowed right through me, like it was the only thing that could possibly happen in that moment, and I neither tried to prevent it, nor invite it.  I just kept thinking, “I’m praying now.”  I am cosmically at peace.  I have the stars, I have this sense of the big big world around me, I am part of the universe.  I’m not alone, but I’m a small pea in a big big universe and it’s really not so bad if Boopity Bop isn’t interested in me, and if Bizzledy Bee isn’t interested in me, and if Poopyface isn’t interested in me and all those other boys.  It’s not to do with that.  I am just breathing in the air that other creatures breathe, I’m looking at the stars, I feel the world around me, I see the silhouettes of the trees in the distance.  And it’s all so breathtakingly beautiful, I don’t care so much if I don’t have someone standing right next to me at this given moment to share it with.  Because I’m sharing it with the whole world.  I am here now.

So I cried.  And felt okay about it.  And after about 15 minutes of this, I gradually made my way back to the group.  And then back into the house.  And then back into conversations.  And by the next day, I was having fun again.  And I’m really okay with it.  It’s kind of a relief. 

[Oh, there will surely be more additions to this post.  It’s a big topic, no?  Leads to all kinds of wars and epiphanies and torture and salvation and stuff.]

LOVE

October 28, 2010

I am so full of love with nowhere specific to put it, so I'm just sitting here radiating.  Please, please someone take this on, take me!  Use my energy!  I have too much to hold onto and I'm not in a city that is especially interested in it.  I have TO MUCH LOVE.


February, 2011

I've never done Valentine's Day.  Never had a date.  So this year, I want EVERYTHING.  I want flowers, I want a surprise candlelit dinner, a heart-shaped box of chocolates with champagne, I want fireworks---no really, this is not sexual symbolism, I want heart-shaped fireworks and our names glowing in the night sky---I want to wear red lingerie and I want my boyfriend to wear one of those gag gift underwear from Spencer’s Gifts with an elephant trunk or something where his dick should be…Wait,  I think I'm confusing this fantasy with those animal masks that you wear on your face...Yeah, the elephant trunk just totally killed the whole thing.


Sometime around 19...87?  88?  But it was a riff on a Valentine's Day card I made at school in 19...85?

Love
Love is my mother tucking me in two times
Love is going out for a whole day of fun
Love is seeing that I'm real sorry I broke her vase
Love is understanding problems
Love is just letting people know you’re there when you need them
I'm writing this poem because I think someone forgot how much I appreciate her love for me
Love is my mother


June 17, 2005

The last words I said to my brother Michael before he died were "I love you.  I'm proud of you."  I feel lucky about that.


Anytime anyone in my family was caught feeling sorry for him or herself

Nobody loves me
Everybody hates me
Think I'll go eat worms
Big fat juicy ones
Little teeny weeny ones
Worms three times a day
[These may not actually be the lyrics, but it's how I remember them]


December 1987

[This is not my writing, it's from I card I've kept stowed away all these years]

My Song To You

Right now I'm sitting
down on my doorstep
Stars are shining on me
as wind blows in my face.
I'm thinking of you; the
person that has made my
life wonderful.  The person
is you.  I think of all of
our joys and sorrows we've
shared together.  When I was
down you helped me go
along with life.  When I was
down you were quick with
a joke to make me life.  I
thought you were a beautiful
person on the outside but
I've found out your even
beautifuler on the inside.  When-
ever I see your face it makes
me happy and I'll always love
you.

July 2011

BACKGROUND:  Since 2008, I have been a teacher trainee of the Linklater voice technique for actors.  The Linklater technique integrates voice, movement and imagination in exercises that encourage the actor’s spontaneous emotional responses to be freely and openly connected to their voice and physical presence, unhindered by habitual tensions and behaviors acquired throughout their lives.  Over the last three years, I’ve spent over 600 hours observing classes, about 50 hours in various group workshops, 50 hours in private lessons, and a whole resume’s worth of teaching with guidance from my mentor.  Balancing that with acting pursuits, my day job and general “life” stuff has been challenging, which only served to deepen my resolve.  The final part of the designation is costly and requires acceptance through an intense audition process.  Months before the audition would even take place, I was thinking ahead to how I could possibly afford this, if accepted.  I had just had my heart broken (see my second entry, “Things I Learned From This Relationship”) and started writing.  I will never send this email to my family, it’s way too pathetic, but writing it helped me “work some shit out”.

MY NON-WEDDING PRESENT

Dear Family:

For many reasons, including plain old bad luck, I have reached the point where my gray hairs are growing faster than I can pluck them, and I’m still single.  Apart from posting a pretty picture and a witty self-description on a website for $30 a month, there’s nothing I can do about it.  I get painfully lonely at times and have even started to worry that I’ll miss the opportunity to have my own child.  It’s tempting to sulk down that self-pitying spiral, but I choose instead to take advantage of the freedom that my independence affords me, and invest in my commitment to myself.  I always figured that the stronger I am on my own, the stronger my relationships with others will be anyway.

I have grown a lot and taken a risk or two in the last several years under this assumption.  I have accrued a breathtaking debt in order to finance following my heart through a three year acting program.  Since then, I have maintained a patchwork of job combinations and living arrangements to support my non-linear quest for a career that fulfills me creatively, feeds me emotionally, sustains me financially, and inspires and interests me to no end. 

The good news is, at last, I found it.  All my acting pursuits, my interest in health and anatomy, my creativity, my need to interact with people, and my natural leadership qualities have led me to teach the Linklater voice technique for actors.  Teaching this peculiar vocal technique is exactly what I want to do and I think I’m good at it.  It’s been the one constant for the last six and a half years, and I have made a lifelong commitment to it— that’s longer than any romantic relationship I’ve had, and more rewarding too.

One of the most important things I’ve learned in my many years of dating is never to wait for a guy for anything.  Certainly not for things like phone calls or dinner plans.  So why should I wait for a guy to get wedding presents?  Can we pretend that this is my wedding?  Can you please contribute to my training whatever you would contribute toward a wedding present, no more?  If it ever happens, my wedding will look very different from the one I always expected would happen while I was in my twenties, because my understanding of love is very different now that I’m in my thirties.  I hope marriage will be a comfort and give me the balance of having a different perspective when I make big decisions, and I expect it will be all kinds of things I couldn’t possibly imagine it will be. I don’t need any more pots and pans, and if I ever do meet someone with the lucky combination of love for me and equal love from me, I’ll make sure it’s someone who understands why we have to buy our own pizza stone. 

August 2011

BACKGROUND: below is an excerpt from another letter I’ll never send. I had to write a statement of purpose as part of the audition packet for the final Linklater designation workshop, and “worked some more shit out” before I arrived at something appropriate.

One of the things that draws me to a life as a Linklater teacher is that my relationship to the work will shift and change along with my relationship to everything else in the world. This letter might be very different five years from now, but these days I think a lot about how my career pursuits have led me to my mid-thirties as a single woman who is friends with a lot of couples. For a long time, I thought I just had bad luck. I took advantage of my independence by focusing on my personal development and my career pursuits; I know a lot of people who make sacrifices in those departments because they have a family or significant other to consider. However, I’m beginning to understand that to a certain extent, my personal and career goals have prevented me from pursuing possible life partners. I want so deeply to share my life with someone and have a family, it amazes me that I could possibly want something else even more. But a few weeks ago, I found myself on a train on my way home from teaching, drafting a letter to my family to donate towards my designation whatever money they would have contributed towards my wedding. I certainly don’t rule out finding a life partner, but my first commitment is to a life that is fulfilling independent of that potential partner. Now that I recognize that I had subconsciously made that choice all along, I consciously uphold it…

WHAT DOES STEVE JOBS HAVE TO DO WITH ME?

In 2005 Steve Jobs gave the commencement speech at Stanford University.  I got to see him because my oldest brother Michael was a member of that graduating class.  The days of celebration that followed ended up being the last I ever spent with my brother: he died unexpectedly on a white water rafting trip two weeks later.

Mysteriously, Steve Jobs' speech has continued to resurface.  In 2009 I was asked to help present a public speaking workshop for an executive leadership retreat, and the workshop organizer chose this as one of the speeches we would use.  I've heard it twice a year since, during these repeated workshops.  When Steve Jobs passed away last month, these words came back into the public eye.  I remember how much of an impact they made on me when I heard them for the first time that day at Stanford's football stadium.  They've become so significant to me since that I've decided to add them to my creative stew.  Here are some exerpts:

"...Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.

The first story is about connecting the dots.

...I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK.

...Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

My second story is about love and loss.

I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired...What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.

...But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.

I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.

...Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.

My third story is about death.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

...No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch...On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish."...And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish."

[Taken from the Stanford Report, June 14, 2005 http://news.stanford.edu/news/2005/june15/jobs-061505.html]

FRACTALS AND FRICTION

Fractals have fascinated me since I found out what there were in Anatomy class, senior year in high school.  Since then, I took the idea and ran with it, perhaps far away from its actual meaning, but whatever, it is my right as a human being to take information and creatively interpret it, as long as I don’t parade it as fact on the evening news. 

My high school Anatomy teacher, at the time a recent Harvard graduate, Mr. Schminkin, spent his free time playing in a Ska band whose biggest hit was a re-imagining of the Spiderman themesong.  He brought up the concept of fractals when we were studying muscle fibers.  These filaments of actin and myosin make up strand-like myofibrils, which bundle into a long strands of single muscle cells, which bundle into groups to form ropes of muscle.  The myosin and actin filaments slide against each other, contracting and extending, the myofibrils slide against one another, contracting and extending, then the cells, and finally the muscles, all contracting and extending.  I take the parallel further and notice how we have these days that extend into the public, and then contract back into our private homes at night.  We have these moods that extend into periods of inspiration and then contract into periods when we need time alone.  We have seasons that extend into long days and short evenings, and then contract into short days and long evenings.  And if the universe started with a Big Bang, may not the universe contract back into nothingness at the very moment it re-explodes into somethingness?  So there you have it: fractals.  Extension and contraction on a chemical, cellular, anatomical, emotional, social, philosophical and galactic level.

I love this picture:

(I'm not sure how to credit correctly, but I got it on this website http://legacy.owensboro.kctcs.edu/GCaplan/anat/Notes/default.htm)

And here's a pretty great YouTube video that explains the muscle part of the whole thing. 

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN MICROSOFT EXCEL

After I wrote my little disclaimer that this wouldn’t be a blog with a bunch of lists, I realized what an important role lists have played in my life.  In my 6th grade creative writing class, Ms. Schmolland gave us an exercise where you write a word in the middle of a page, draw a circle around it, then draw a line to another word, draw a circle around that one, and so on and so forth until the whole page is filled with freely associated words.  From those “word spirals” as they were called, we would write a “stream of consciousness” and undoubtedly see parallels between our free-flowing thoughts and the words we had just listed.

I see a similarity between the relationship of those two writing exercises and the lists that act as a blueprint for my life.  I put on paper all my hopes, dreams, plans, lessons and schedules.  The creativity happens when I tuck that list away and let it percolate inside me as it is translates into action.  Sometimes I am master of the list: it's a jumping off point, an opportunity to work things out, inspiration for later.  Other times, the list governs me: it's the thing that keeps me functioning, keeps me from sinking too far into myself, and reminds me that I do in fact have dreams, even if they only exist as words on a page for the moment.  During those times, I am almost always clutching a list in my hand, and the items get more and more specific, as if I might just stop existing if I didn’t have an item to mark “completed.”

Lists have gotten me out of some very dark places, they have kept me on top of my game, they have kept me in prime physical condition, and they have led to any success I’ve ever enjoyed.  They tell my story in a way.  So how about instead of writing fewer lists, I write MORE lists, LONGER lists, a whole LIST of lists!  Here are some of my "greatest hits," a tribute if you will, to “The List.”

May 16, 1988

My Schedule for Tomorrow

1)      Eat breakfast (20 minutes)

2)      Work in yard (30 minutes)

3)      Homework (45 minutes)

4)      Work in yard (30 minutes)

5)      Free time (30 minutes)

6)      Work in yard (30 minutes)

7)      Homework (45 minutes)

8)      Clean kitchen (45 minutes)

9)      Homework (45 minutes)

10)   Eat lunch (30 minutes)

11)   Clean living room (45 minutes)

12)   Free time (45 minutes)

13)   Clean room (1 hour)

14)   Free time (45 minutes)

15)   Practice piano (30 minutes)

16)   Make lunch for Wednesday

17)   Take shower

18)   Anything

June 15, 1988

Things I Like

1)      Swimming

2)      Art

3)      Poetry and stories (I write them)

4)      Skateboarding

5)      Acting

6)      Thinking

7)      Listening and playing music (I play piano and am learning to play the flute)

8)      Organizing things

9)      Getting things done

10)   Running

11)   Talking

February 24, 1988

I might as well write all my problems, it might make me feel better.  I’ll use an old method.  I write the bad things that happen, and then I write what is good about it.

My brother is in the hospital	I’ll see him today
My guinea pig is dying	I won’t have to take care of him
My dad went away on a trip	He’ll be back in about a week
I lost my “best friends” charm necklace	It’s early yet

The good point about my guinea pig isn’t very nice, but it’s the only thing I could think good about it.  I feel a teensy bit better.

1992-1994

Shmiz and Schmaime’s List of Words That Sound Perverted but Aren’t

Pewter

Jocund

Punic Wars

Polycleitus

Euclidean

Boing

Bungee

Clytemnestra

Hermes

Erechtheion caryatids

Euclid’s Fifth

Fluctuate

Fiche

Abrasive

Fissure

Nooks and crannies

Crevice

Polyploidy

Pinocytosis

Phagocytosis

Bushel

Pupil

Finch

Gerund

Puddy

Vestigial

Flipper

Fickle

Rhombus

Crest

Flagella

Pellicle

Gonyaulax

1994-1995

[NOTE: Here is an example of a list born out of anxiety that was mistaken for productivity.  This list was copied six times over under the pretense of keeping it legible as things were crossed out.  It was then re-sorted into three different formats: by day of execution, by location and by category (i.e. “friends to see,” “things to eat,” etc.)  Lists of things to do can be great motivators, but they can also be paralyzing spirals.  Sometimes I wish Microsoft Excel existed when I was in high school; oh the macros, charts and formulas I would have employed!  But then I think how disproportionate the many hours I may have spent making lists of things to do might be to the time I spent actually “doing.”]

To Do Before College

Hand wash delicates

Meghan

Johnny Rockets

Gabriela

Clean room

Lenses

Flan

Make mixes

Pesto

Glasses

Watch Living in Oblivion

Ikea

Buy computer

Secaucus Outlet center

Benny Tudino’s Pizza

Watch Immortal Beloved

MKP Address

Read Troilus and Cressida

Graduation Pictures

Share a pint of Ben and Jerry’s

Grilled Cheese

Learn monologue

Song

Pigs in a blanket

April 1, 1997

I feel as if I might get through these pitfalls more easily if I had a better grasp of myself.  I have to define who I am and what I want:

1)      To act in a mainstage

2)      To direct La Leçon

3)      To direct Midsummer Night’s Dream

4)      To be in a dance concert

5)      To row again

6)      To fence again

7)      To have a boyfriend

8)      To go to NTI

9)      To go to France, Italy and Ireland

10)   To teach

11)    To be on Saturday Night Live

12)   To get married and have three of my own children and not get divorced

13)   To be 115 pounds or less again

14)   To find a wardrobe that suits and flatters me

15)   To cook pasta and lasagna for family get-togethers

16)   To make lots of money this semester

17)   To give blood

18)   To read Lord of the Rings and many other books

19)   To improve my vocabulary

20)   To learn to play tennis

21)   Be in a movie

22)   Get electrolysis

23)   Do gymnastics

24)   Be strong

25)   Learn to swim

26)   Yoga

27)   Martial arts

28)   Shave my head

May 24, 1999

Things I Learned in College

1)      I would rather be sad than angry

2)      Do good work – don’t just do a good job (process, not product)

3)      I would rather be alone and lonely than with others and lonely

4)      I learned what a good kiss is

5)      Friends aren’t always forever, but that’s okay

6)      At the same time, don’t make friends whom you know from the start you won’t want to keep

7)      I am reduced to a neurotic, depressed mess when I am not acting

8)      The more you like someone, the easier it is for them to hurt you

9)      Never let anyone quote you in the newspaper without first checking the exact words as they wish to print them

10)   I would rather seem stupid and nice than intelligent and mean

11)   People will take advantage of you, even if you won’t take advantage of them

12)   It’s good to think the best of people, but be realistic

13)   You can only hate if you don’t think of people as people

14)   I only really need one good friend.  Hopefully I will marry that person before too long

15)   I hate parties

16)   Always be honest with yourself, and follow your instincts.  And when you don’t follow your instincts, still be honest with yourself

17)   I can relax better when I have a time limit

18)   Even if something doesn’t matter in the long run, it MUST matter in the short run

19)   Never try to change a person

20)   Speak up

21)   I am capable of wooing

 [I have a whole book of full of the following two entries from this time period]

January 17, 2002

8:45am – small bowl of cereal, OJ

2:30pm – soft pretzel, steamed milk

5:40pm – slice of pizza with mushrooms, snickers bar

10:00pm – OJ, chocolate

Abs

40 min. elliptical and bike, light

3 sets 45, 55, 65 lb. squat press

3 sets 10 reps 25lb. lower back lifts

January 18, 2002

8:30am – small bowl of cereal, OJ, piece of chocolate

2:30pm – apricots, carrots, 1 pc. Rye bread with Swiss cheese

5:15pm – gummy candy

6:30pm – popcorn

9:30pm – chocolate and OJ

Abs

30 min. bike, 10 min. rowing

Bench press – 10 @ 10lb, 10@12 ½, 10 @ 15

Incline press- 10@10lb, 10 @ 12lb, 10 @ 12 lb

Upright row – 3 x 10 @ 35lb

Lat pull-down – 3 x 10@75lb

Iso. Row – 10@10, 10@12.5, 10@12.5

Back fly – 3 x 10 @ 50

Triceps press – 3 x 10 @ 50lb

Biceps curls – 3 x 10 @ 8lb.

July 2004

Things I Learned After College

1)      It’s egotistical to think people are always talking about you behind your back

2)      Even if they are talking about you behind your back, that’s ok

3)      Think about what You want in a  partner, not just what is appealing to others

4)      One day blends into another and everything doesn’t have to be complete to sleep and you don’t have to do the same thing every day

5)      Worrying about something from a location where it is impossible to actually solve a problem is unnecessary

6)      You can eat three meals a day and dessert without getting fat

7)      Working out feels better when you do what your body feels like doing instead of following a routine

8)      Taking breaks is more productive than plodding through endlessly

9)      Dinner is beauty

10)   Radio is a great place for news

11)   Being nervous doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll screw up

12)   Answers are not in the past

13)   What I think is most funny is taking something totally outrageous and bringing it to life with truth and sensitivity, and also, taking something totally truthful and illuminating how outrageous it is.

14)   Sometimes you just need to make a list

May 13, 2007

I have no fear of gaining weight

I have no fear of being mugged

I have no fear of dying young

I have no fear of getting old

I am no longer afraid of feet

I’ve learned to love being late because the trains are less crowded


May 16, 2009

Mommy was often speaking to teachers. They often had to be spoken too. They had to be spoken to when my Math teacher thought I was cheating because I got all the answers right. Granted, one of the questions involved measuring a line in centimeters and I never asked for a ruler, but I knew that the distance from my thumb knuckle to the tip of the nail was exactly a centimeter so I didn’t need one. I barely even needed to do that. I took one look at it and knew it was seven centimeters long. Math was so easy, because I spent much of my free time adding numbers, especially when my family was watching something scary like Planet of the Apes or Star Trek. I just sat on my bed playing with shapes, and completing problems in my brothers’ old math workbooks. I was learning to regroup while some kids were still learning to add. That’s all dormant now, because I became an actor, but I used to be quite nifty with numbers. Every year in school, we did the Mathathon for the St. Jude children’s research hospital.  I felt sorry for Josh, the boy in the picture with a roomy baseball hat and bald head.  He looked happy enough in the photo, but I didn’t like for him to be sick. Still, I'd be lying if I said my participation was purely altruistic.

December 9, 2011

Things I use as Substitutes for Hugs

Cupcakes
Fluffy blankets and pillows
Netflix
Ice cream
Take out
Deliver if I'm feeling really needy
Delicious home-cooked meals made just for me
Artichokes
Skipping the gym (VERY RARE)
Pedicure
Lavendar body wash
Snuggie
This fantastic new grey hoodie I got that has fuzzy white lining
Alcohol
Xanax
Curling up in a fetal position bawling my eyes out while listening to something pathetic like "Blower's Daughter," by Damien Rice, "Another Lonely Day," by Ben Harper, or really any Coldplay song will do
Blasting "Black Flowers" by Yo La Tengo
Morning coffee in a non-travel mug on a bench in the park across the street
Evening beer in a travel mug on a bench in the park across the street
Having short conversations with total strangers at the gym, on the train, at the deli, or in the park while I'm drinking my coffee or my beer, etc.
Texting my friends
A vocal warmup with lots of humming, but I have to be feeling pretty fucking emotionally responsible to do that!