Songs of 33 (Jesus Year)

 Free to Be Me -- Francesca Battistelli

an ironic TikTok song I started to take literally

Vineyard -- Jackopierce

nostalgic walks around the neighborhood

Spirits -- The Strumbellas

oozing into summer like

Freedom Was A Highway -- Jimmie Allen, Brad Paisley

pretending to be normal fall

Peach -- Future Islands

caving to abnormal fall

breadwinner -- Kasey Musgraves

midwestern melodies

See You at the Finish Line -- Barbie

a real cheerful banger from one of my episodes

Most Girls -- Hailee Steinfeld

Saturdays at the community gym trying to land that handspring

High Hopes -- Panic! At The Disco

anthem for learning to believe it could all happen

abcdefu -- GAYLE

screaming in the car, in the shower, in the closet organizing t-shirts

Hooked On A Feeling -- Blue Swede, Bjorn Skifs

lunges and runs, dancing and stretches

All Too Well (10 Minute Version) -- Taylor Swift

THE cultural touchstone of 2021, inescapable

I'll Never Let You Go -- Third Eye Blind

my song with Cap

30/90 -- Tick Tick BOOM

crying in the back row of the movies alone

Help Myself -- Dave Matthews Band

blasted over and over writing my Scream spec

just like magic -- Ariana Grande

bopping on the Starbucks patio with a Venti iced coffee and my goal notebook

Hammer -- Point North

the song that most got me, any day any time

Things Happen -- Dawes

reflective something as I try to get better

Just the Girl -- The Click Five

unearthed for a writing project

American Girl -- Bonnie McKee

what I envision as closing credits on the most outlandish thing I've ever worked on

Come Clean -- Hilary Duff

willing to rewrite history

That's What Girls Do -- No Secrets

fifteen drafts of my feature later

Dollhouse -- Priscilla Renea

sending aforementioned feature out

Man! I Feel Like A Woman! -- Shania Twain

prepping for and soaking in my birthday

it's about time that they go and take me serious

if you're not feelin' this, you're probably delirious

Giddy Giddy Ghosts

 At Disneyland a few weeks ago I saw a display of Mickeys and felt a nostalgic breeze. Something I'd known before I knew most things. Stacked stuffed Mickeys. I've known the stacked stuffed Mickeys three decades, can you/I believe? I had a VHS of a singalong video, Disney songs over short almost music videos of the park. Genius idea. Basically a thirty-minute commercial I rewatched again and again.

Two nights ago I couldn't sleep. I found the "tape" on YouTube. Just as I remembered and yet I didn't remember most. I think I fast forwarded big chunks, in hindsight. Yes, I think I did. I liked the Mainstreet song and Goofy sweeping and then there's a bunch of Adventureland bits that bothered me. "Follow the Leader" and Tom Sawyer's island. I scrubbed through the video just as I did on the brown beanbag in the Midwestern summer and then ah ah yes. Finally, the best part, the "Giddy Giddy Ghosts" segment. Captain Hook and a terrifying fox creeping around the Haunted Mansion. Yes, yes, yes. I felt my pupils dilate all the same. Mm the horror, mm the spooks.

I did something I assuredly never did as a child: watched all the credits. Who made this funny little project? The names came up so 1990 colorful and tilted. I wondered if there had been a discussion about if randomly shoving in a horror piece was really appropriate for the rest of the mood. Or did no one care what was going on in those stupid little side projects when The Lion King was in pre-production? "This will scare kids," I imagine someone saying, having no idea it would be my favorite part for ever and ever.

Spicy Ranch

Yesterday a man outside my window shouted for an hour at the cars whooshing by. I've seen him before. He walks around the neighborhood with a tattered poster that reads, "DON'T BUY HONDA." I've never heard his voice before. Yesterday he repeated two sentences over and over, "DON'T BUY HONDA. MY KID DIED IN A HONDA." Sometimes his voice was full of pain and other times it was rote.

Another day in paradise Thursday. I buzz into the bungalows and AP greets me with a hug by her pool. We spend the first half hour of the session chatting and laughing. Her assistant brings us fancy organic salads with farro and sweet potatoes, I'm in love. For two hours we brainstorm. I always feel like I get away with what "work" is, but then I remember it took me fifteen years to be able to hang like I can hang. I drive away full, instructing Spotify to play LFO.

But that night I text a friend who defends someone I thought we didn't like, and I feel so betrayed I can't keep my mind off the interaction for two days. I beg to go to breakfast with Puhg on Friday morning, just to have something else fill the clouds. My scone is perfect, but it's not enough.

What is is gymnastics. My main issue (with all my moves) is I just go too slow. Our coach is really laid back. He doesn't offer much feedback, which I personally like. But when he does, for me, it's a simple, "faster." I feel like I'm sprinting and whipping but when I watch the videos, gosh if he isn't right. It's like a turtle doing a roundoff. How can I feel so sure in my skin but the evidence simply proves otherwise? I walk out into the sun with a new friend. We stand by our cars talking for twenty minutes. At home I get on my swimsuit and hit the pool. It's hot enough, but cool enough I question myself before jumping in. Once I do, it's heaven. I do 15 laps, huffing and puffing.

I remember going to Outback Steakhouse after a round of mini golf when I was 19. I ordered the cheese fries as dinner. I remember the painting of cowboys and knowing it was the end, but the ranch was so good. The last time I went to an Outback was, I think, in 2014 when my sister, Dad, and I were at Mount Rushmore. I got the side salad then--the fries a distant fantasy. But then this Friday. Went to a wrestling show, and my friend, being a friend, told me I could leave after her match. It was 10 PM in Burbank, nothing was open but lo and behold, an Outback Steakhouse. And this time, I did get those fries, and they were not as good as I remembered. Not even a little bit. So now I am free.

not thinkin' bout forever just six minutes of her time

That's Showbiz

My most successful actor acquaintance in Chicago has always believed in me. I'm not totally sure why, but there are some people you barely know who just like ya. Sad was my first friend I saw on a TV show. She was in at all the big theatres--not constantly, but all of them--and she of all people was always championing me. I tried to become friends with her, and she wasn't interested. One fall I knew she was at a theatre near my office every day, but she never accepted a lunch no matter how many times I asked. But when we'd cross paths you'd never know she ignored those texts--always gushing. She set me up with an audition from her agent. She gave me a play by play of every moment of the future fifteen minute appointment. She described the agent's hair and how she tossed it, what she'd say to me, when she'd follow up with an offer. Sad met me for coffee (with ease when it came to furthering my career) and went over my monologue line by line. I've never seen someone so confident, the glimmer rubbed off on me.

I lost some weight before the audition, got a sub for my classes, printed a dozen headshots, and I went to a weird part of Lincoln Park mid-morning. I was nervous about getting there on time, so I showed up too early and sat in a Nordstrom Rack for a long time.

It's obvious from the way I'm telling this story, I did not sign with Sad's agent. I never even met Sad's agent. I showed up and nothing was the way Sad described. She couldn't have known of course. But it still shook me. The agent wasn't there and not explained for. The two young assistants (?) called me in (late), took one headshot (and looked with distain at the rest of the stack), and lead to to a small room where I wasn't sure if I was supposed to sit or stand. They were wearing jeans and t-shirts and I was wearing dress pants and a blouse. One of them said, "Okay so...who are you?" I said, "Yeah! I moved here two and a half years ago. I do comedy--just got back from touring with S___ C___ and doing a musical show. I do improv at i_ too." Girl said, "Okay. Go ahead." I did my monologue, fairly well I think, but she only gave a pinched smile. Then she said, "Okay...um...read this." The other girl, who hadn't spoken, handed me a slip of paper with ad copy on it about macaroni and cheese. The first girl said, "Read that then deliver it to camera." There was a little camcorder nearby. As looked over through the lines, she talked to her associate. "S___ C__, you know who they just cast in their new show? [Name of an improviser who was TWICE very rude to me]! She's so funny. We need to get her in here." I read the copy into the camcorder poorly. The first girl didn't acknowledge I did it. She simply responded, "Okay sing 16 bars." I felt a wave of panic rise in me but nodded, "Sure." She said, "You said you did a musical show, right?" My brain had nothing prepared, so I started singing the first song I thought of--a song that I myself wrote. I didn't know if I sang more or less than 16 bars. The girl looked over at her pal with "woof" eyes, said, "You'll hear from us," and did not look up as I left.

I walked back out into the cold day. It had been ten minutes that felt like a million. I'd already had a little plan of where I'd go to get a celebration treat. But I felt to punched in the face I just sat down, right on the curb, and ate the diet protein bar in my purse. Four days later the company emailed to say they unfortunately could not represent me.

I never told Sad but she found out herself, which also made me feel weird. What was said? By who? She texted me we could do another round of monologue work next season and try again. We never did. And yet, I really didn't miss anything.

New Things to Love

 Puhg looked out over the balcony. "Sometimes I feel guilty I'll never get to all of it." He meant all the books he'd never read and all the places he'd never go and all the movies he'd never see.

I've never felt this way. Every time I like something I think, "Well there it went, the last place I ever liked going, the last book I ever enjoyed, the last movie ever made for me." My taste is so specific. I know what I'll like and what I don't, I really don't. And yet last week I read a fifteen book comic series in one night and reveled in it all day. I started Yellowjackets in November and this morning I voted it best drama at the WGA Awards. I'm afraid to go on a new vacation, but when I went to the redwoods in December, I adored every mushroom on the trail.

Same Hundred Dollars

Back got hot, itchy looking for that envelope. The envelope with $100 in it. It was a gift from last year. Been on my bookshelf since for a special (undetermined) purpose. Suddenly doing my frantic New Years' Eve scrub of the apartment, I couldn't find it. I wanted to cry. I'd shoved so many papers in the trash. Old statements and receipts--did the envelope and its cargo end go with them? I made the peace when, an hour later, I saw it. Sitting next to a book. In plain sight. I carefully hid it inside my cigar box of things not to lose--

--next to a gift card for $100 to a swanky Hollywood spot. A piece of plastic with real value. I look forward to using it but couldn't tell you when that might be. I haven't eaten inside a restaurant in months. But when it's safe enough, and when I find the right date, I'll be ready.

Because of omicron, no parties to midnight. Instead we ordered a pizza. For pick-up even--to save the delivery fees. When I arrived the girl behind the counter was stressed. Our order was under the wrong name and a line was forming and I peered into the kitchen to see a couple masked, hair-netted, workers rushing around the ovens. "How many people are working tonight?" I asked. She told me a couple drivers, her int he front, a few in the back...but they were super understaffed. I'd gotten some 20s for a drive, pulled five out, and put them in the tip jar. I walked out feeling generous, but by the time I reached Puhg idling on the street, I felt dumb. I go on work hiatus February 1st.

Two months ago some young 20something guy in a Tesla scratched my bumper in traffic. We exchanged info. It was such a small scratch (on an already scratched up car), the $1200 fix and calls on calls to insurance companies seemed excessive. I texted him I wasn't moving forward with action. He gratefully Venmoed me $100 as a gesture. It was nice. But now, when I'm in a bad mood, I see that scratch and get so upset. I saved that rich guy a thousand dollars and he made me late for gymnastics. Not the right way to think about it.

Wake up to an email from this designer I follow on Instagram. She makes one-of-a-kind coats repurposed from old quilts. I raced to her website to see five new coats for sale. I had to act fast. Only one remained. $300. I put it in my cart...but then wondered if it was indeed the perfect color for me. Maybe too pale. I knew if I didn't buy it now it would disappear forever. What's money if it's once in a lifetime? I didn't buy it and the next day revisited the photo. It was fine.

I pay my thousand dollar rent and don't question it. I look up rentals for a vacation. Some hundreds of dollars more than others. But that's negligible. I remember my friend in high school who had me spot him $5 to buy tickets to another school's play. He never paid me back. I spend $40 on fancy donuts, get fussy my license replacement was $38. 

I wish it was easier to kiss you on the mouth,

like it is to work hard, and earn an honest wage.

You're not always fair to me, like I wish you would be.

He's the one who left home, and I'm the one who stayed.

It's My Blog & I'll Brag If I Want To (2021)

Traveled to a snowy A-frame in Big Bear, old friends in Arizona, new friends in Idyllwild, the present in Santa Barbara, the past in Chicago, the future in Mexico,  the midwest for family, Catalina for family, Encinitas for fun, Big Sur for love, Palm Springs for Christmas.

Wrote a full revamp of an old pilot, heavily revised two others, sold a movie on a pitch, wrote said movie, wrote a Scream feature spec, wrote a new thriller feature on spec, revised a horror thriller feature about six times (only for it to be shelved), started development on three TV shows, co-wrote two Barbie series, independently wrote four more Barbie series, negotiated for better pay, signed with a new manager, published an essay, wrote a new play, dramaturged another, two film festivals, consulted here and there. Weathered about 100 rejections--some that left me for dead and others I've forgotten. Expanded my network and ran a successful writers' event.

Graduated from an online attachment style program and made progress in monthly therapy. Read, I don't know, a dozen books? Did, I don't know, 300 work-outs and 52 meditations? Enjoyed so many afternoons at the Burbank movie theatre. Played board games with and without friends. Beat Mario Odyssey on the Switch. Kept my spaces tidy. Mourned a sweet little bb and came to love another. Never got Covid, managed my health insurance. Needles in my skin. Finally freed myself from a three-month long bank fraud nightmare. Started gymnastics, 

Went to Six Flags and Horror Nights. Andrew McMahon and Future Islands. Mentored a teen in writing every week. Helped mobilize for green legislature in LA. Began communications with an inmate writers' program. Maintained my status in the NAACP and White People for Black Lives. Showed myself. Liked being at home, liked taking meetings at the bakery patio down the street. Said no out of a need for rest, said yes to weekly Survivor with the neighbors. Made it.

We're just left to decay, modernity has failed us,

and I'd love it if we made it.