I love biking through the streets of Los Angeles. I can be a bit of a wuss on hills (complaining on the up and terrified on the down), and I also host an exuberantly embarrassing amount of gears in a fixed-gear town but I love it. There’s nothing like arriving the same time as a car you’ve been trailing all the ride does, knowing you had the wind in your hair and they had an angry stick up their butt.

I look just like this:

Sike I look like this:

Please excuse me for the weekend… it’s our one year wedding anniversary. One year ago, this was happening.

See you with a new post Monday night or Tuesday!

I have decided that one of my greatest flaws is my ability to allow the amazing to become mundane. That’s just a fancy way of expressing my lack of gratitude. Of course sometimes I just jump around my house practically caressing the hardwood floors while I fawn over the joys of marriage and thank God for my amazing jobs and beautiful friends. But not always.

Drew became genuinely upset with me the other day because I had an absolutely wonderful morning that I forgot to praise after I blew a callback so badly hours later. In my defense, I wasn’t actually upset I didn’t get the movie; the point was that I was so disappointed in my feigned confidence. But still… I’ll admit to being a roller-coaster of emotion. A victory can completely count out a failure in my mind, as can a failure count out a victory. I understand how bad this is: truly a lack of perspective.

Anyway, I won’t let my brain explode trying to figure my weaknesses out, but it feels good to admit, hey readers, I completely suck at being level-headed. I really do live so many of my dreams come true, but always seeking the next thrill is very unhealthy. All that being said, here’s the great morning to my crappy evening.

A handful of actor friends and I get together every Monday to set goals, analyze scripts, watch movies, share stories, and so on. When it was my turn to speak I expressed a prayer I’ve spoken a lot lately. “I just really need representation that believes in me. I want an agent… and ya know, I don’t wanna drive all over Los Angeles killing myself over it. I want it to be easy. I just want it to happen, naturally.” I have a fancy, cool manager but it’s great to have both. Everyone suggested I find agents I like and mail them my acting package. I smiled but inwardly rolled my eyes knowing that hasn’t worked for me before. (A great attitude, I know.)

So, I get home that night and check my email to discover a great agent has written me, (that very night!) “Are you interested in commercial and print representation? Call us.” I googled the name to insure this was the agency I remembered and it had nothing but sparkling reviews from clients all over the web. (Side note for all you non-actors, an actor can have a variety of people working for them including up to three agents and one manager. Managers have smaller client lists and they’re supposed to guide the specifics of your career then one agent can get you print work while another gets you TV and movie work and the last sets you up for commercials.) Needless to say I nabbed their earliest appointment and was there with bells on Wednesday morning.

The interview began easily and the agent and I were laughing quickly. We traded stories, favorite TV shows, and worst industry experiences. Before we knew it he was asking if I would be willing to move to New York for anything and how skilled I am for sitcoms. Finally he tapped his face and said, “Wait, I brought you in for commercial and print, why are we talking theatrical?” (TV and movie) 

I gave a sly smile, “We can talk theatrical all day. I love your passion and energy and I need someone great who believes in me. I know I don’t have the credits, but that’s what I need someone great for. Help me really get started.”

He sat back in his plush chair and smiled, “So, you’re interested in representation across the board?”

“Absolutely.”

We both sat in a moment of silent expectation until he placed a hand over my pictures and reel, “I will call you. Very soon.” I felt at ease with him after joking around an entire hour so I put on my most exaggerated expression of hopefulness and exclaimed, “Call me!” as I left the office.

I shut and locked the door to my car, looked up to heaven and shouted, “Pleeeease tell me it will be this easy! This easy!” It seemed nearly too good to be true. However, an hour later the agent and I were on the phone, he requesting more of my pictures and I trying not to scream with glee.

So, this of course should be my focus. I do think tearing apart my disastrous callback is good for the sake of realizing where I went wrong. But now, time to let go! My desires are becoming flesh all around me and nothing, nothing should steal that joy away.

Apparently, according to CSV, I was indirectly in Playboy. I don’t know what issue it was but Simian Mobile Disco’s “Hustler” is the 27th sexiest video of all time. All time. Wow. I love you, Ace Norton but that was the least sexy day of my life. I’m surprised I was ever able to eat again. Just imagine eating a pile of fried chicken off a revolving set that’s had spit up milkshake rotting under the hot lights from 5 hours ago… However, we’re talking results here and Ace must’ve pulled off the fetish sex appeal. 

The most flattering thing in the universe about this is that I am on a countdown that includes Britney. I mean me verse Slave for You? I’ll be crying with joy all night long. 

Look here to see what I’m babbling about.

UPDATE: It only took me over 48 hours to remember, there are two versions of this video. We did the clean enough for TV version. I’m willing to bet this is actually what Playboy voted for. I mean, in a contest between food fetishes and chicks making out, I’m gonna assume most guys prefer the latter.

I have been in the devoted process of self-torture since last night. It takes a lot of will-power, a great ability to self-loath, and an amazing lack of self-esteem. I am really, really beating myself up the best I can, and it’s working. I was even dedicated enough to pop open my eyes at 5AM and only manage a light and angry sleep, making sure to be pissed at myself all the way ’til 9.

A week ago I went on an audition for a feature film and it went spectacularly. The director became so enthusiastic about my performance that he nearly cried when I announced my hour long meter was up and I had to go. He sighed in disappointment but added, “I will see you at the callbacks! Absolutely.” The producer’s eyes popped in surprise. This must not be his usual protocol, I imagined. We all shook happy hands and I left, floating on a cload of my own approval. 

When I received the callback notice I thought, welp, gotta wait ’til Wednesday to claim that role. It was so mine. The other two girls had no idea they were wasting their time. A whole summer on set; I could hardly wait.

The situation at the callback was to be, 3 potential leading men, 3 potential leading women. We would be interchanged to determine who proved the greatest sexual chemistry, as it is an intense film on love between a younger girl and an older man. So, last night I arrived and found myself to be the only chick on time. The 3 men waited and we all chatted until the director pulled me and the first man into the room. I was really not attracted to him and, although I should have pushed that aside, I did feel it hindered my audition. I shrugged it off knowing I had two more chances to make it right. However, when I entered the foyer again there sat a girl I would let ruin my whole night. 

We actually looked and dressed quite similarly. She was much more petite but we essentially wore the same outfit and a nearly identical desire to be the funniest in the room. She purposefully ignored the other girl and I, only making eye contact to ask me to hand over a bottle of water. The rest of the time she spent buttering up the guys and cultivated a flirtatious relationship with the most attractive guy of the three. I got the distinct impression she knew the role was hers and it was just a matter of deciding which guy she preferred.  

For some wretched reason her assurance slowly chipped away at mine. The greatest audition blunder is comparison and this one gave me three entire hours to ruin myself through her. She went second and when she reentered the room she was practically holding the guy’s hand; it was as though they decided it would be them. And unfortunately, I believed it.

From then on, I could not bring myself back to planet earth where I am fun, confident, and talented. My mind made the experience a competition for a role I cared about instead of an exhilarating opportunity to act. My greatest regret is that the director was on my side and I still couldn’t deliver. He kept saying, “Where’s your electricity? The real you I know? Give that to me this time. Action!” And instead I performed a half-assed rendition of, “God, why won’t that girl get sick and go home?” 

The man tried everything to bring me from my shell. At one point I was even straddling an actor on the floor, kissing, and trying to be intimate… but yes “trying.” “Acting,” not being present. I was on planet jealousy…or rather, insecurity.

Long story short, what hurts the most is that I thought I was so past being such an idiot. I keep thinking I know who I am and what I have to offer. I was so sure I knew better than to stoop down so low. I can’t even believe how badly the director wanted me to succeed… and I didn’t. 

All I can say to the benefit of myself, is that it was a great awakening to my heart. I am so grateful to become aware of this monstrous problem now, because I’ll be damned if I let myself be that way again. I need to work on this issue, starting this instant, to be sure my brain takes a 180 on this. Three cheers to that being the last time insecurity ruins me. Here’s to confidence! Hip. Hip. Hooray.

This is basically a courtesy notice.

This:

is the MOST AMAZING book I’ve ever read. Sometimes I think all of my reading is simply a vain search to discover something as wonderful as this. My darling Camille recommended it and, despite its seemingly monstrous size, I flew through this book in a handful of days. 

In short, this is not a tale of computer nerds. “Geek” is a piece of slang that refers to a carnival performer “who performs sensationally morbid or disgusting acts.” Ah, yes. The tale’s narrator is none other than an albino dwarf Olympia, sister to Siamese twins Electra and Iphigenia, “Chick” the telekinetic baby, and the flippered Arturo, the evil.  

Reading Dunn’s words sweeps one on the road with this family. I felt the dust creeping into my shoes and the horrors and adventure of carnival life. Understandably, some of you may not want to go on the road with a freak show; there are definitely disturbing elements. After all, the mother, Crystal Lil ingests customized drug cocktails to ensure deformity in her traveling showcase of offspring. This leads to several dead newborns who are preserved in glass tubes. However, for those who love the art of words and story, this is a stinkin’ masterpiece. It sweeps you off your feet and sends you tumbling back to earth with a painful drop. 

As for real life freaks, meet Burt Pugach and Linda Riss:

This is the tale of love… or obsession…or hatred… or all of the above captured in a documentary. Please avoid indulging in any reviews for fear the writers give the twist away (Run from the preview for the same reason). Just rent Crazy Love and pop it in. It will not disappoint. Again, profoundly disturbing, but anyone intrigued by human interactions, especially the deranged ones, will love this. Just when I thought I understood what I was watching, a cup was lifted and the hairs on my arms stood erect. The last scene, when you realize what this couple has done to one another… is more than a writer could dream up.

Let’s take a pause from my being profoundly disturbed by other couples’ domestic flaws and change the subject, shall we?

Ironically enough, after just having written a post on Jeffery Dean Morgan and Masi Oka, I ran into Jeffery at a local park today. I literally haven’t seen this man for over 5 years and today the adorable girl I sit resolved to chasing a dog on the far outskirts of her local playground. She was inadvertently taunting the doberman with a stick when I looked up and saw its owner. “Are you Jeffery?” I asked.

Very friendly, maybe even happy to be recognized, “Yes I am.” 

I explained that I used to work at his old agency and I’m positive he didn’t remember me. I was so shy back then someone could have probably punched me in the face and I’d only have the courage to smile back. Plus, let’s not forget the beautiful and confident Southern belle seated at the next desk.  

Regardless, this part of the park was utterly barren abate the four of us and I was grateful to have the opportunity to tell him I was so happy for him and encouraged by his success. “I mean a flamethrower, billboards, and shit-” I cupped my hands over my mouth and his eyes widened as we looked to the girl. “Wow, I forget my mouth sometimes.” I always curse too much when I’m talking to someone I don’t know well. We laughed, “Anyway,” I continued, “it’s just awesome for you. It must have happened so fast.”

To avoid misquotes, he basically said that it has been very overwhelming but equally exhilarating. “Forty years in the making,” he shrugged with a smile, “I was just about to give up.” 

I suggested it was dinnertime for the girl so neither of us were left lingering awkwardly, but I really couldn’t help myself from gushing as we trailed off: “I mean, I’m here to be an actress, of course. It’s just so great to see what’s happening for you. It’s really encouraging. I wish you all the best!”

We parted ways and I wondered if this couldn’t be a sign to just keep my eyes wide and faithful. It’s nice to see real live people, in the flesh, living their dreams.

Confused. So confused. And wretchedly heartbroken. 

I want to talk about church. The church we’ve been to and the church we’ve heard about.

There are several pastors who like to tell the story of what led Marilyn Manson on to the satanic songster track. Supposedly he was an ordinary kid going to youth group who was shunned by the whole lot. Other accounts claim he was molested by a “Christian” uncle.

Well, really I don’t think it could be as simple as the former or as complicated as the latter. Maybe he just distrusts the entire institution of religion. After all, he doesn’t even seem that particularly devoted to the Satanic Church either. However, while Googling to confirm either rumor I stumbled upon something depressing. User comments. One of the many:

“Manson brian whatever he is a lot smater than any f***ing christian moron…..i dont like marilyn manson…..and i dont like christians, they are the stupidest f***ers to crawl on their knees…..real facilitators of evil, quick to embrace hate, willing to do bad.”

I have never been ashamed or brash in revealing and reveling in my faith towards God. I think the reason is that my original introduction to Jesus was in the privacy of my own bedroom at a very young age. I’ve always had this innate understanding in my heart that there was something enormous out there that adored me and who couldn’t wait to hear me talk. I recall both feeling the beauty of the otherworldly within dreams and secret whispers and the terrifying in the same manner. I truly do believe in the polar opposite sides of the spiritual because I felt both laid bare to my young spirit. I sensed darkness that I now believe carried down in my family through my grandmother, whose livelihood was fortune telling and curses. But, more strongly, I felt a light ignited in my own heart.

Unfortunately as innocence decreases, doubt increases. Slowly, seeking the God I adored became somewhat tedious and confusing. Quickly it seemed that if I were to maintain this relationship, I needed some guidance. I bounced between a couple churches until I found one I thought to be spectacular. The congregation was in its infancy and the excitement and purity that radiated from the very walls of the building to the veins of the people was breathtaking. In nearly an instant my entire family and all my formerly non-Christian friends felt they found what they were looking for. 

Our journey began with the learning of worship songs and the understanding that we were allowed to and capable of reading the Bible. We attended church, youth group, and mission trips not out of obligation but birthed from passion. This beginning laid down the black and white basics, but the complications and heartbreak occurred within the grays. I was chastised for going to a frat party with a younger girl for example, as my argument of Jesus’ crazy prostitute and “sinner” companions fell on deaf ears. My story goes deeper, but in the end I forgave the leadership with the understanding that they held a parental role in my life. They wanted me to fly but were equally compelled to clip my wings, just to keep me safe. 

In all fairness, let’s freely admit that churches make a world of intense mistakes. It’s a place where emotions run high, strangers are willing to bear their souls, and the pastors are all the while expected to maintain a sense of stability and sanity. It must be an excruciatingly intense job. Therefore, all religious congregations anticipate their share of bouts and battles. They are practically a family unit and just as susceptible to all the ordinary familial conflicts.  Most churchgoers allow breathing room for this reason. Oh, the pastor lost his temper in the parking lot, the daycare chick ran out crying, the projectionist’s wife is pissed no one ate her potato salad. Whatever. Human beings, human flaws. 

Unfortunately, sometimes the mistakes evolve into tragic flaws and suddenly a “family” has a Shakespearean catastrophe on their hands. Such is true with my first, beloved church. Even 3,000 miles away I am feeling the pain and found my eyes begin to well and burst with tears while I talked to my mom about it today. “How could she be so stupid,” I begged, “for so long? How can you know God and still be so selfish?”

My friend explained, “You are a full, healthy woman who knows herself. She is sick, in her heart and mind. You can’t expect her to react to things as you would.” 

Still, this seems to be why Marilyn Manson screams against us and ordinary people despise even the scent of us. It is because there is hypocrisy and sometimes betrayal so deep one can scarcely imagine their atheist friends even entertaining the ideas.

Why does Christian not guarantee ”good”? I think very broken people use it as a crutch to wobble on, wearing a mask of happiness, all the while never having that bedroom awakening I had as a child. Maybe it’s just inautheniticity.

I hope so, because nothing else makes sense. Not today. Perhaps this public humiliation will allow God to really enter this picture. Perhaps now the church will not thrive on a regimented schedule and “serving” and demands, but on… Him. 

by David LaChapelle

* For a few more details, see Domestic Bliss.

from Superbomba

I am surrounded by the effects of infidelity. I have been all week. Ironically enough I was halfway through reading Little Children when everything was revealed.

It seems at first a thick veil was placed over two women I love and their sexual indiscretions. They have enjoyed the roller coaster and secret lifestyle such choices bring…until this week. This week, on nearly the same day, the blanket was lifted and they were revealed. Left, lying there naked, at the whims of public humiliation. These women have never met but they are both mothers, as well as wives to men with soft hearts.

One, “Sarah” is half of a public figure couple who always seemed to have her head lifted high as she stood behind and before her husband. The other, “Cassie” is a woman who signed up for “wife and working mother” perhaps before she knew what it meant. I know these women well, one from a distant seat in church and one from up close. Well, yes I said church. It is, I am afraid, the classic tale of how a congregation falls. Sex or money: without a doubt the weakest points of the human flesh.

Needless to say, I have been walking in a slightly nauseated daze the past few days. As friends and lovers, we tend to want the best, and to believe the best, for everyone. When that sweet dream is shattered by a simple, quick dose of reality the vision is disintegrated. Suddenly everything one thought they knew is thrown into their mental garbage pail, leaving them to scrounge for the pieces. “Who is this woman, really… now?”

from Superbomba

Most of us walk down the aisle full of expectation and joy. Most of us say, “for better or worse” with conviction and hope flowing easily in our veins. The “I do” is spoken effortlessly. “For better or worse, I do.”  However, after that wedding day… comes life. A real life. There are bills to pay, mouths to feed, deadlines to meet, vacations to aspire to, children to bathe, and, unfortunately, temptation.

I imagine temptation creeps up before someone has a moment to bat it away, or joke about it to their spouse. It is rarely squelched before becoming a monster. Why? Marriage is the millionth kiss, the trust to stand upon, the known, the understood. Adultery is the mysterious. It is first kisses and first glances and first butterflies and first love letters. It is the forbidden. 

I remember being in middle school when my favorite neighbors’ father left them for “another woman.” Back then, it was a simple abandonment. Now, I am finally able to understand that abandonment is far too simple; it was a stranger who crept in to seduce and steal away father from family. It can not ever be “just sex.” It is too heartbreaking.

Going back to Sarah and Cassie, I love them. I think they are both wonderful and sweet, and even hold a profound understanding of life. But to be a newlywed, viewing this awful movie is terrible and alarming. Terrible because the men lost their precious wives (even for a few nights) to the whims of another man. Alarming because… can’t a spiritual leader contain herself? Didn’t she know people were counting on her, even beyond her family? I know she knew.

So what is it? I’ve said before that evil is incredibly and entrancingly beautiful in its newborn state. The rapturously delicious taste of an enjoyable bad deed is shocking upon introduction. It feels inescapable… but it is avoidable. It is. So why did they not escape?

I know there are two profoundly deep sides to each of these stories and, perhaps, given a walk in each woman’s shoes we’d be on the exact path. After all, adultery is not a mysterious drug to comprehend. It is custom-made for the needy and lonely bodies even in a domestic lifestyle they feel imprisoned within. Or entrapped by the fear of age and lost sex appeal. Or simply sickened by the waves of eternal routine. 

This may be the terrible side-effect of not taking care of oneself and neglecting one’s deepest desires. I tend to believe if these women were fighting to succeed in their highest aspirations and weren’t afraid to escape the numbing chains of life’s rat race they may have been faithful forever. Desires not including abandoning their lives and children, but incorporating the enormous and lofty dreams they held in childhood to the paths they’ve taken. Life needs to be an adventure, and it seems they’ve lost it. 

I both forgive them and fervently pray I never fully understand them. I want Sarah, Cassie, and myself to grow old holding our husbands’ hands and smiling at our grown babies, knowing beyond a shadow of doubt, we’ve lived life to the fullest.

by Hellin Kay

The old man’s hands shook as he held the papers uncommonly close to his face. He had that sweet, almost forfeited depth in his eyes that many older people seem to have; as though he’d gained peace with the up and down roller coaster of life after 70 some years of riding it.

He looked to me with his watery eyes and managed a half smile despite his apparent nerves. The casting director called his name and he slowly stood from his chair and climbed onto the small stage before us. The room shared a collective hush of breath held and I pondered being that age, what he must have seen, wondered if he was a good man all along. I sighed out in gratitude as I looked to the gold band on his left hand; I hate to picture old people all alone in the end.

He swayed and had trouble on his feet as many old men do to which the casting director asked, “Are you drunk?” This was intended to be a joke, but we all seemed to imagine it hit too low. It must be quite difficult to go from agile to faltering. 

The man answered, a bit offended though trying to mask it, “Haven’t had a drop in twenty two years.” We all smiled and he proceeded to read the scene. There were some misplaced words, but everyone could tell he was a wonderful actor. In the end it felt natural to applaud him after such a laborious undertaking. He retreated back to his chair and when I smiled he voiced disgust. “That was terrible. Just terrible.” I argued, of course, but he had already resolved it in his mind. 

I discovered later that he had a very prosperous and successful career in the 1950’s and beyond. He starred with some of the greats and, well, it made me sad that later in life we’d find ourselves in the same room. I, at the beginning of my journey with prayers to be discovered and he, at the end of his life, sharing my same prayers. It begged the question, when is enough enough?

When a hopeful actor touches down in Hollywood they imagine that there are hundreds of thousands of pathetic people chasing similar desires who will never be as good as they. However, although there may be 99,999 terrible actors, the rest are pretty good. Great even. There truly is a ton of tough, substantial competition. So, when one is talented, prepared, and well-studied it simply comes down to playing roulette: whose space will the ball land on next?Of course I believe that God destines us for things, but I suppose that’s the point. I wonder how many people just desperately want this, and are even fully skilled to have it, compared to those who have really sought their hearts and found, “this is the only thing for me.”

I’ve had the privilege of experimenting and enjoyed a wide array of careers. I helped produce a show for New York fashion week, worked as a celebrity stylist, wrote for a nationwide publication, did music reviews for Universal, and even had a stint at a talent agency. All in all, my heart consistently draws me back to “actress,” but I love not limiting myself to that alone. 

Recently a fear has even grown inside of me, on behalf of myself and those around me. I’ve wondered, which of us is missing, or has missed the boat? So many gifted people strive an entire lifetime to act and, even if they’ve been guest stars on an a host of television shows, sometimes it only adds up to maybe one year of solid acting work. It’s quite heartbreaking, actually.

They call my home “the city of broken dreams,” but whose dreams? Who is living out a dead childhood fantasy or feeding off a pressure not to fail, all the while losing sight, or even being incapable to see, the extent of their true desires? Sometimes I wonder if the cure to cancer or the next Nobel Peace Prize recipient isn’t just sitting in a Colgate audition. 

In the end, I will always be an avid and fierce advocate of never giving up. But, without open eyes and a true sense of self there’s no way to be sure one is refusing to abandon the correct thing. It’s OK, wonderful even, to want to be an actor. Just be sure that it is your love and not your fear that is driving you. And not because, “geez, you’re never gonna make it” but because the peace of doing what one is born to do must be the most exhilarating, beautiful thing imaginable. 

<3