Jason Ell

Only recently have I arrived at a better way to view the Hollywood machine. As a girl in her mid-twenties, with no television on her resume, it is easy to feel like some sort of delusional outcast. Most people are kind but a few “feet-on-the-ground” types hold to the opinion that if one didn’t begin gaining momentum by 19, a girl might as well go home. Part of myself daydreams how effortless it is to get in any door fresh out of high school or before. No TV credits, well duh! She’s 15, give her a break; bring her in! Well, excuse me for being socially awkward and living in New Jersey at that ripe age. How bout giving me a break?!

This truth is often difficult to bear. How many young, blonde parts can fly by my television screen- parts I was never even given the chance to get. It’s not like failing; it’s like never being allowed to go up to bat. I have a theatrical agent and a manager but auditions are an event as rare as a unicorn’s horn. The call comes once every couple of months, I do my hair, drive to a studio exhilarated, get a callback for the next day… and wait to do it all again months later. Worst of all there’s no one to blame: my reps are sincerely trying to open doors and few casting directors want to give the “green” person a shot over the girl who’s been working since exiting the womb. The ultimate Catch 22 of get a job then maybe we’ll give you a job. The cycle could make a sane person curl in the fetal position and start rocking.

Luckily Drew came into my life like a knight in shining armor. He was one of the first people I knew to start planting healthy seeds in my head. He constantly watered packets of “write your own stuff,” “don’t wait for other people to let you work,” and “do what you love until someone notices!” When I worried I missed the boat he exclaimed, “The ship has sailed, and you’re ON IT!”

Drew’s been working on a certain film for a year now and we visited with some of the actors who happened to live close by. I was struck by their similar mentality. Some of them are not yet conventionally successful but they are all constantly doing what they love: ya know, being actors. They are starring in plays, making youtube videos, playing around with friends and doing whatever it takes to not wait for anyone to tell them “congratulations, you’re allowed to act now.” It was exhilarating because I am finally, after a long frustrating journey,  right there in my mind. I am more consistently writing on my own projects, studying comedy, performing for audiences, keeping abreast of the films that inspire me, and gathering like-minded people to jump on the boat and get to it.

Do I wish Martin Scorsese would just discover me at a Coffee Bean already? Yes, sure. However it feels good to at last be resigned to my very own path. There is not one way to personal fulfillment no matter what those feet-on-the-ground people say. March to your own drummer.

Me for Wildfox

It is the conclusion of another day in Los Angeles. The three quarter moon looks enormous enough to crush us all under its glow and I am assessing my day. I often feel a void within, a guilt that screams,”You did nothing worthwhile today!” When those thoughts creep in sometimes a gal just has to step back and do the math. Often a good conversation is worth checking off a To Do list so… why am I so hard on myself?

Today I ventured through the beach towns to audition for a car commercial. (Went well.) From there I drove onto the Fox lot and peered at the Simpson’s paraphernalia before I picked up a show tape for my boss. Afterwards a splendid meeting took place in a little French cafe with Andy and Amanda; we plan on shooting a short this week. Next I bought pieces perfect for our costumes at Out of the Closet. I spent time at home with our new rabbit and tortoises before Meredith drove me to a lovely dinner with Kim and her dad. Lastly, the four of us joined Marissa for a show at my improv school… but I did “nothing” today, huh?

My self-doubt got me wondering, what is my idea of “accomplishment”? Do I need to be raking in a paycheck to feel worthwhile day by day? … Something to consider and work on.

Alasdair McLellan

This is my favorite quote at the moment:

“I love women. I worship women. Don’t want to be any other woman but myself.” –Zoë Saldana

Someone responded to my “Don’t Give Up” post by basically saying it was the dumbest thing I ever said to assume suicide is a result of unpopularity. I quickly reread my writing and agreed it sounded pretty asinine. I’m so sorry if I offended anyone who has been devastated by a tragedy like that.

I wanted to take the moment to say it is so wonderful to have people, even strangers, read my babble but please don’t ever take my words as the authority on anything. Moreover, some of these I write very quickly and are nothing more than a stream of my emotions; sometimes I don’t look at things from every angle. This time around I never meant to sound like I had this perspective, I know that depression is diagnosable and devastating. When I said not to give up physically or mentally I was thinking more about people I know who have forfeited desires, goals or happiness not actual life. Also I thought, although not a remote authority on this, the girls who have gotten cyber bullied and ended up ending their lives- I’m not saying it’s the root but maybe there is something to it? Not as though social status is the end all be all, but just that how one is treated in the world may become really painful on top of physical/mental ailment?

But… reading back, I do just sound like a moron. Done.

So, forgive me and- like this honest reader- please never hesitate to tell me when you hate it. It’s so good to understand how you see the world as well.

Last night my babe Kim hosted her birthday soiree at The Magic Castle in Hollywood. The castle is a place one may pass by a hundred thousand times in LA but never enter. It is literally built according to its name but one may only enter after an invite from an official magician; pretty nerdy and superbly awesome at the same time! We traveled from room to room hearing the cheesiest humor imaginable while being entertained by hand tricks I can scarcely figure out.

At one point Marissa, who has her own blog Tangents and the Times, and I turned to one another. “You gonna ‘blog’ about this tomorrow?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Could be a conflict,” I assessed.

“Eh.”

“Well, actually I’ll probably get super emotional and find the lesson to be learned in all this… and you’ll make fun of it all.”

So true.

Happy Birthday, Kim!!

via Knighttcat

It’s hard to believe that I was in high school when Columbine occurred. To my generation “Columbine” is more an event than an actual place. We walked the halls in a daze, guidance counselors were made available, “hit lists” were found on bathroom walls, and certain boys added to the pandemonium by sporting long black trench coats. If a few young boys weren’t committing violence against their peers they or their female counterparts were stealing their own breath away. Suicide and murder were by no means common but when it did occur the event magnified in my heart and devastated my spirit. How could anyone so young, so undeveloped decide they could no longer go on? Did words really hurt so bad? Was it really so difficult to be unpopular? Is it really so heartbreaking to be conventionally unattractive?

I was the kind of girl who went to the kind of school that really was the Hollywood cliche. Early on in middle school it was determined who was pretty, who was hilarious, who was slutty, who wore the best clothes, and who would be left out all together. After the jury had spoken it was scarcely possible to climb the ladder from one’s own crowd. Unless of course, there was a major boob growth or the simple discovery that when she added gel her hair was a gorgeous mess of curls instead of frizz: instant promotion.

Those of us who were taking a bit longer to blossom, let’s say, all found our own groups to click with. There were theater nerds, band geeks, car freaks, and the usual crop of chicks who just wanted to play with their hair and have sleepovers. Back then I spent a lot of time fantasizing about beauty and boys. What would it feel like to be wanted, I wondered. When will I be kissed, is my period ever coming, will I ever be Disney princess pretty, I died to know. I watched Camp Nowhere about eight hundred times cultivating a major girl crush on “Trish Prescott” and desiring Andrew Keegan to fall deeply in love with me. Some nights I cried myself to sleep feeling my every daydream was in vein. But mostly I had an innate notion that one day I’d be OK; one day my ambitions would align with my reality.

Going back to the darker elements of “fitting in”, there is so much I wish those teenagers who do give up could visualize. Perhaps they would see a job they love or a partner in life they would adore. Adolescence can be really difficult because it feels so constricting; there is nowhere to run or hide except within the occasional pulled-off sick day. It is easy to forget that one day we’d have our own homes, friends chosen from any walk of life or city in the world, jobs developed from hard work, and maybe a partner in crime. Best of all, with time comes sense of self. I had such a hard time simply becoming “me”. I was too scared to experiment with fashion, hair, or makeup; just fly safely under the radar and no one will make fun of me (something that used to be the worst thing imaginable). Now however, I’ve found that some of people’s most abhorred features in youth become the most adored things in adulthood. For example, impossible-to-tame hair…

Nicole Clulee

Dreaded freckles…

Grace Hobson

Major, substantial eyebrows…

Kira

or ginger hair.

Victoria Cooper Smith

And that is only to mention beauty! Some of the most successful actors, musicians, and entrepreneurs claimed to have been a high school disaster. My personal theory is that the more stifled one is during youth the stronger their desire to ensure they thrive in adulthood. I for one used to think, “Just get me out of here so I can be me! So I can make my dreams come true!”

All in all, if you are having a difficult time feeling secure and joyful in life I hope you will not give up, whether physically or mentally. If you are not yet dead there is time to improve and do a heavy dose of healthy fantasizing. If you hate your school, or job, or entire life don’t be afraid to make some changes. It takes a lifetime to come into our own.

I have a lovely friend who introduced me to her lovely roommate. This is nearly three years ago now but the fast-following friendship would perplex and sting now as though it was yesterday. There was no neon sign that read, “Pass go! Just collect the 200 dollars and run! This is gonna hurt otherwise!” I just laid all my cards on the table and expected normalcy. Not so.

It was practically love at first conversation. We adored the same things, fancied ourselves spiritually alike, and shared dreams considered outlandish. Before one could say “best friends” we were spending nearly every waking moment together, if not in person on the phone, if not on the phone via text messages. I was engaged and not yet living with Drew so after work I had plenty of time to just relax and be with friends. She was quickly the number one choice of company.

The first night I ever knew her (let’s name her “Emma” to make this easier) she divulged her best friend was a household name actress. I never asked to meet this celebrity friend of Emma’s but very early in our relationship she introduced us. (Let’s call the actress “Diana.”) Diana was incredibly sweet, on par in intelligence and wondrous stories as Emma, and really open to encouraging me on my own path. I felt exhilarated by these new friendships which seemed to grow and blossom each new day. Emma and I would meet Diana at fancy hotels or restaurants, play marco polo, assemble puzzles, and watch hours of Arrested Development. When Drew’s career led to actualizing beautiful projections for End Vacuum, a beautiful orchestral concert conducted by Michael Einziger of Incubus, Emma, Diana, and I went to support him unconditionally.

Above all, Emma and I valued our time and conversations together. We spoke of otherworldly things, shared books and knowledge, traded old stories, and genuinely allowed ourselves into each other’s lives. She wrote gorgeous music and Drew and I were front row at every show, even hauling her equipment onto the stage at times. The three of us had sleepovers and quiet nights; it was wonderful.

Soon another famous actress friend of Emma and Diana’s entered the scene. We’ll call her “Kathryn.” She claimed to have heard wonderful things about me and quickly, probably too quickly for me, led me arm in arm through a fancy restaurant after proclaiming her adoration. Her TV star boyfriend “Doug” joined us as well. When they all sat around the table it was difficult to ever get a word in. Often there were powerful agents and such in the mix and they all spoke about things of which I had nothing to add. Exotic travels, higher educations, gossip about actors they despise, and on and on. When Kathryn was around I usually deferred to quiet nods and smiles. Unless someone’s passed through New Jersey and lived off of cereal last Christmas, I got nothin’ to summate. Slowly, Emma and my time together felt compromised by the finer things in life and, although I fancy myself confident, one can only stomach so much sushi and designer talk before dying to climb into their single bed in their cream carpeted Valley apartment. Sometimes I was crawling out of my skin to get out from around this or that dinner table but I kept on coming. I don’t know why but maybe it was to hopefully not lose Emma. Little did I know, I would anyway.

One fateful evening Emma called from outside from my apartment. She was with a boy, “Eric,” she proclaimed to adore and wanted my opinion of him. I invited them up and my first, overwhelming impression was that God has spent more time handcrafting and perfecting this guy than most people. He was like an airbrushed movie poster and seemed kind to boot. (Side-note, my husband is a total, total babe; don’t get your panties in a bunch.) I gave her  two thumbs up on her pursuit of this man even though he was apparently soon leaving town.

Within the next few days Emma invited me to go bowling with her, Kathryn, Doug, and other acquaintances. I chauffeured us there and we spent the afternoon knocking pins. The girls quickly, even cliquishly made a team and I was the odd female out. Boys’ teammate I was. To everyone’s amazement, or to what supposedly became Kathryne’s grudge, every time Doug coached me in where to aim the ball I got a strike or spare. Every time! It was like magic. I laughed and enjoyed while spending the majority of my time chatting it up with a friend of Doug’s. However perhaps because this friend was a bit short and stout, my time spent in that direction was ignored while my innocent moments with Doug were magnified and misconstrued in Emma and Kathryne’s eyes. Kathryne would never treat me kindly again.

From here the tale gets sticky. There are faults of Emma’s not fair to mention unless I point out pieces of my private life that I don’t want floating around. Long story short, the ride from the bowling alley to a show at Hotel Cafe was a moody one. It got to the point that I asked Emma if she was growing sick of me or something. There is such a truth in “too much of a good thing.” But she denied anything was wrong. At Hotel Cafe we were met by Eric who chose seating beside me over seating beside her, standing room by me over standing room by her. I was married by now but because I had admitted before he was attractive, Emma burned daggers into my eyes and accused me of inviting the attention. To the contrary I was stealing trips to the bathroom and lengthening moments with my friend Tanya to save myself from the situation. I even told her to go dance with him but judging by her incensed reaction I was misunderstood under the music. Emma never invited me to any gatherings or one-on-one meals again. I was completely carved out of her life without so much as a proper falling out.

I don’t know if I was an accidental addition to a mass text but about a month later I was encouraged to attend her latest show. By this time she had gained loads of momentum and all her friends proclaimed she was the toast of the town. Drew and I went, as we always had before, only this time tons of people, from celebrities to church friends, showed. She flat out ignored us. We met eyes and she seemed to pretend we’d never met before. The show began before we could sneak out of our front row seats so I sat and cried tears of rage while Drew rubbed my back in comfort.

We had two more chances to make things right but even if the proper words were spoken I never felt the sincerity required of them on either end. I had organized a party for her at a point when I questioned her pain as a reason for the mistreatment of our friendship. However, the closer the date drew the more begrudgingly I baked the red velvets I was bringing to the soiree. Diana had taken it over and elevated it to a sleepover chock-full of activities. I longed to see if within the celebration of her we could make amends. But by the second day high in the hills, I couldn’t wait to return to my own reality. I felt like a fake up there. The two of us met for a going-away dinner later and I felt no less plastic than I had before. I covered my feelings in a layer of pink icing in hopes she couldn’t see the truth.

Emma and I are now parted by oceans and emotions. My current best friendships have taken years to found, were paved slowly and more cautiously, and seem built to last. Perhaps the faster the friends, the faster the strangers.

Cris Barros

Wendy Bevan

Having felt a connection to “God” since I can remember it became second nature to constantly question and discover who “He” is. I place God and He in between two, neat little quotation marks so that perhaps all of you may relate to what I’m feeling without constraining ourselves to specific words and details. After all, for the past few years I have been on a journey about spirituality that I never imagined I’d allow myself to go on.

When I was fourteen my family and I began attending a non-denominational Christian church that we loved. After walking through the same looming hallways with the same segregated faces since elementary school it was so refreshing to frequent a place where the cute boys actually talked to me, the adults weren’t always bossing me around, and the teenagers acknowledged I may have something valuable to say. I didn’t have to be the shy, quiet girl that people determined I was in high school (minus the drama department who knew my loud mouth well); I could have a fresh start. I never felt comfortable as the rebel so sitting within four walls where virginity and non-alcoholic drinks were all the rage, I felt safe and at home, no inner-struggle required.

However, the years between then and my uprooting to Los Angeles were peppered with judgmental people and situations where I was forced to play the longing-to-be-perfect people’s scapegoat. I stopped from beginning that sentence with an “unfortunately” because now I doubt there was anything remotely unfortunate about it. A virgin with no desire for alcohol I was suddenly painted as a frat party girl and was promptly kicked out of youth leadership. My new family became a united front of enemies and it left me wondering, “How come I feel so close to God? I must still be a good girl.”

Of course, it is overwhelming to attempt a post that abruptly covers eleven years but I’m trying. Let’s just say my time as a girl in her early twenties has brought out the party in me, the creativity, the alcohol, the sexuality, the ability to feel guiltless while bikini dancing in a pile of food, and a deepened understanding of God; yes, all at the same time. This is life, not a fairy tale and I’m beginning to think being a “good girl” has little to do with whether or not one can connect to Jesus or to the people around them in a nobel way. All I want to express is, try your best to follow your spirit. Make your very own, very personal connection to the larger, spiritual elements of life. Of course, go to a church if you want but without fear from mere men. There are plenty of well-meaning, beautiful people who are navigating their own lives and believe you must navigate yours the same.

So, from a girl who threw out all her secular CD’s in high school (Bob Marley, Radiohead) only to rebuy them years later, from a girl who became homeless because leadership told her she shouldn’t live with her brother and a boy who wasn’t her husband, from a girl who felt guilty everytime she merely kissed a boy: LISTEN TO YOUR OWN SPIRIT, not people who tell you what your spirit ought to think. Listen for God in beautiful melodies, know and respect your own sexual boundaries, and relax.

If you are following the truth you know in the purest parts of your heart, you are a good girl.

via Knighttcat

Isn’t is strange to witness something tragic or scary? Beyond the expected gathering of spectators at such an event one may notice some people horrified and other people smiling, as though exhilarated. I often feel somewhere in between. Sad to see something awful and yet somehow grateful for life and the extremely rare occasion to lend a needed hand.

This afternoon Drew and I went out for a walk before he had to work. We intended to grab a slice of pizza before Marissa picked me up for our newly frequent coffee shop writing sessions. He and I walked hand in hand talking until we noticed an older, teeny woman trying to push a shopping cart full of laundry up onto the curb before us. One of the enormous LA busses was impatiently turning right, likely assuming the woman was onto the sidewalk by then. Unfortunately the cart wouldn’t jump the cement aided only by her frail arms and the bus, in what seemed like an eternity of slow motion, crushed the woman into her own cart and smashed her to the ground. She had been more so toppled than hit.

Everyone around us yelled at the driver to stop while Drew and I flailed our arms doing the same, fearing a continued hit of the gas would find the woman under the back wheel (something none of us were prepared to see). The driver slowed for a moment and seemed to be considering a 3MPH hit and run escape plan. I ran to her door, pounded my hand against it, and found myself getting real Jersey on this chick. “Stop! You stop the f*&king bus or you’ll run her over!” She had the nerve to roll her eyes while putting the monster in park.

Feeling safer for the woman I scurried over to find her lying on the street in a small pile of cigarette butts, dirt, and food wrappers. Her hands were covered in blood and she seemed to not comprehend what happened. Perhaps I shouldn’t have underestimated the potential for a sweet old Mexican lady to have a seedy past but I couldn’t help stroking her forehead and arm, calming her while I dialed 911.

Drew went on a running search for a towel to press against her head wound but the nearby fire station sent out a truck and an ambulance in less than 5 minutes. I packed her glasses, which had flown about ten feet away, into her brown suede floral purse and stepped back into the growing crowd. I finally noticed a decent amount of blood was already crusting onto my skin so an EMT dumped about a fistful of antibacterial in my hands. “Keep the bottle,” he said.

Drew was hit by a car on his bike a while back and the man who did it reacted so similarly to the bus driver. Both of these people, naturally from different backgrounds, driving different vehicles, and living towns away both felt nothing but a sense of anger and inconvenience towards their accidental victims. I apologized to the bus driver for freaking out on her and she gave a snide, “Yeah.” I was like, “Yeah?! You sent a woman to the hospital, and if she’s anything like me, maybe without health insurance! You don’t even care?” However, the selfish bones in my body kept silent. After all, if this woman’s route cruises down Sunset, so do I, on a bike. I didn’t really want to reside on her bad side.

From there Drew and I left a statement with two officers, one who looked like Erik Estrada in his Chips attire, and we watched Esther being wheeled into the ambulance. The poor thing looked so scared. I surveyed the officers and fireman who had come to help and couldn’t help but think, “Wow. I really live in LA.” These buff, short haired boys are not my type but I laughed with Drew and called them Chip-n-Dale firefighters. They were all Ken-doll handsome; it was amazingly appropriate, like a modern Hollywood movie.

At the end of the day, I’m so grateful I live in a neighborhood full of caring people, albeit a bus driver here and there. And it was nice to be in the right place at the right time, with a cell phone.

I cyber-stalked and somehow coaxed Amanda of Little Mysteries to have coffee with me one day. I fell in love with her and her friend Maria’s brilliant little videos on Youtube and wanted to know how she makes it happen.

Long story short she steered me towards improv classes at IO West, which I am sososososo loving now, and we did a video yesterday with their director and my new friend Andy Deyoung. (AKA- Amanda and Andy did something hilarious in which I make itsy appearances.)  :)