THE BAG from Ben Bushell on Vimeo.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Deep Thoughts: What's in a Name
Do girls who strongly dislike their maiden names for their whole lives have more motivation to get married?
They should do a study.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
"I don't like that man. I think I have to get to know him better."-Abraham Lincoln
Last night at 11:20, I landed in Los Angeles after a whirlwind trip to see many cousins and relatives that I hadn't seen in a long time, and others that I had never met. There were so many stories. Debates about what happened in what year. Laments about loved-ones passed and decisions gone awry. Gossip about the pathology that, not unlike many family, runs rampant in our clan. Meeting the people who I had always wondered about gave me a much better grounding in who I am.
When I got off the plane, I was cranky. I had not checked a bag, so went straight to Super Shuttle, which thankfully pulled up in less that 5 minutes. I joined four other girls. To my left, were two girls from England. They talked the entire trip, a lot about "kicking up a stick" with the travel agent for messing up their reservations. I sat next to them, irritated, stewing about how unfair it is that Americans always get a bad rap from talking and ignoring their international counterparts in foreign countries.
The girl behind me, in a shrill demanding voice, accused the driver of going the wrong way. It immediately put a quiet snarl on my face in the dark. He explained that he would take the freeway further because it was almost 1:00 am and there were, like, 3 cars on the road. She huffed a passive-aggressive sigh and settled back into her seat. I prayed she wouldn't say another word.
Another girl was watching a movie on her iPhone at top volume, and I stewed about her.
But, in that moment, I made a choice. I was curious about these people, so I just decided to see if I could learn a little bit more about them, instead of sitting there being angry. As it turns out, the British girls had been traveling for 24 hours, en route from England via Chicago. "I feel like a school girl...giggling like an idiot at everything. I'm sorry!" I told them, "No worries!" I could remember getting off the plane in New Zealand after over a day of travel. I had been overcome with exhaustion and at the same time stoked out of my mind for the adventure that had just begun. I could not begrudge them that kind of joy!
As far as the controlling girl in the back, I learned a little more about her too. When we got to her gorgeous apartment complex, she reluctantly admitted that the driver had been right about the alternate route. She said, "I didn't think there was another way because I've never done another way." Even she, tenacious law student that she is, learned something from the funny little man with white hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and black suspenders over his oxford shirt.
The girl watching the movie pleasantly joined the conversation with the travelers and me, and by the time we had dropped her off down the street from my own apartment, we were friends.
Everyone's behavior is motivated by something, and often it is something that we've all experienced at one point or another. And if you take the time to get to know them, you might just find something even more extraordinary.
My uncle is a mysterious and boisterous man with a bit of a napoleon complex. He still lives in my grandfather's basement and he gives everybody in the family a hard time, always calling it like it is, even if you don't really want to hear it.
However, he is one of the most generous men I know. Every day, several times a day, he goes over to Mr. Seaman's house to help him bathe, go to the bathroom, sit up for a few hours, and eventually go to bed. Often, my uncle takes Mr. Seaman on outings--to Irish fest, to the grocery store, to the lake, or even just aimless drives around the beautiful Wisconsin country side.
"He'd never leave that room, otherwise," my uncle says. His own daughter, my uncle's childhoo friend, lives down the street and rarely even goes to visit.
On my last day in Milwaukee, I agreed to go over and meet Mr. Seaman. I was greeted by his warm and loving home caregiver, Liliana, who comes for two weeks on/two weeks off from her home in Jupiter, Florida to help take care of Mr. Seaman. She made me feel so welcome, as if I was one of the family.
I went into Mr. Seaman's room. He was lying in a hospital bed, dressed in a white-hospital gown/pajamas with faint blue stripes. His soft, wrinkled face stared up at me like a newborn. His eyes were a murky green-brown and as my uncle trumpeted an introduction, I took his soft hand and gave it a little shake. He couldn't say anything, but I could see the corners of his eyes squeeze into a smile.
They sent me out of the room while they changed him and gave him a bath, and I had a chance to explore his beautiful home. Over a dozen Currier and Ives originals and other paintings adorned the walls next to pictures of children and grandchildren. Pillows sat on the colonial furniture with embroidered sayings like, "If I had known grandkids would be this much fun, I would have had them first," and "In the cookies of life, friends are the chocolate chips."
My uncle came back into the room and showed me a painting of an enormous manor on the wall with a 40 acre estate. "That's his old house. Here, check this out."
He handed me a small coffee table book, written by a reasonably well-known historian, which is the story of Mr. Seaman's family. As it turns out, Mr. Seaman's great-grandfather was the donald-trump of furniture and funeral sales in Milwaukee in the 19th century. His grandfather and father made their fortunes building frames for the new automobile industry. However, by the time Mr. Seaman came around, the fortunes were kaput, so he set out to start his own enterprise.
His product? The snowplow. He singlehandedly, over a period of 30 years, built a multi-million dollar company on his simple design of a simple product. He was even able to retire at age 64 in the 1980s when he reluctantly sold the company to a former railroad conglomerate, after it was turning a profit of over 40 million per year.
When I came back into his room, Mr. Seaman was dressed as if he were going to head off to the country club at any moment in a nice green sweater over a white oxford and slacks. He was perched in a leather recliner watching the U.S. Open on TV. When I came over to him, I told him that I had read his story and praised him for his achievements. Liliana told him he was also a very wonderful friend. If you ask me, that's probably the best thing someone can say about you.
As he stared up at me, his hand in mine, he said, very quietly, "I'm glad you came."
"Me too," I said.
There are many times when I find myself judging other people or getting angry at their actions, but I've started to realize that some of the most annoying or abominable actions are motivated by some of the most fascinating reasons, and, if you take the time to listen, everyone has a story to tell.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
the return of the guardian angel with a sense of humor...
Well, somebody out there is finally recognizing what a good sport I've been through all of the lost wallets and cars that have rolled down hills or crashed into grip trucks. Yes, there are stories behind those. My life really is by the book...the physics book, which teaches us that the universe tends toward chaos. Well, nothing's changed in that department. Things are just as random as ever, but they are starting to make more sense. All I know is that SOMEBODY out there has a sense of humor....
Yesterday morning, I went to my amazing friend Sarah Court's yoga class. I was all settled down to start getting into the zen zone, when someone came in late and squealed because she saw her friend. I turned around and then squealed because, it was one of my favorite comediennes from the Office! But, then I squashed the squeal because I realized that the only one squealing had been her, and it certainly wasn't because a hilarious celebrity came in the room. I don't know! Hollywood's tough. I don't want to make people feel uncomfortable or weird, but I do want to give them props if they're awesome. dilemmas, dilemmas.
I usually have no trouble clearing my mind during class, but this time I was all a flutter thinking of what I could possibly say to her after class, coupled with a very zen self-reprimand of, if an encounter is meant to be, it will come to you. Thank you, Sharon Jakubecy, Alexander Technique Guru, for playing the Voice of the Universe in my head :)
Well, after class, as we were passing each other on the way to the pile of yoga blankets, I told her what a fan I was, especially now that I know how hard comedy is after being told by my dad, my latest acting coach, and my favorite acting teaching that I'm really not that funny. Well, I didn't dump all that on her, but that was the motivation. Now, of course, what all those people have in common are that they are authority figures who I admire, and want to please, and who scare all the funny right out of me...but that's a chat for my therapist :)
After class, a guilt-ridden phone call with my mom about money prompted me to print out 20 resumes, and drop them off all up and down Vermont and Hillhurst. I wanted to avoid this with all of my being, and of course, the universe agreed, making me forget several things, causing several trips into the house.
The second to last trip, I forgot my keys, but locked the door from the handle, which rendered me powerless. Luckily, there was one unlocked window in the house, about 1 and a half midgets' heights off the ground. It was right above our dirty, disgusting dish that held every dish in the house I share with 3 other guys. I pushed them out of the way and pulled myself up over the dirty ledge, and into the house, cat-burglar style. On the next trip, I could finally be on my way.
Most places weren't hiring, but were happy to take my resume. I met a couple super hot guys and said to myself, "Well, I will not be working there...but I sure will be eating there more often!"
Figuero is a hipster/euro hotspot. I've found that the Mustard Seed Cafe is a comedian hotspot. The guys that work there Mike and...Bryce?...Pierce?...they're cool, so I can see why funny people want to eat their food. I saw the Indian guy from community and another dude that's on everything, but whose name I forget. Alcove is certainly a little jungle hide-away in the middle of los Feliz.
Public House 1739 was my favorite. I watched the USA-Czech Republic Game on TV, intermittently glancing at the HOT guy who sat down diagonal from me. He was watching me too, but I had to focus on getting the job! I went back twice and for once, the girls were super nice, but when the owner/manager came out, he was scary. I couldn't really understand his accent and couldn't stop starting at his teeth. but, I swallowed the fear and went into Old-Man charm mode, being as cute and adorable as I can, using being in trouble as a teenager as my motivation. Of course, he wanted someone with bar experience, and I had none, but I really was doing a very convincing job of telling him how awesome I am. I was THIS close to getting the job, when some lady walked by with a clipboard, and he abandoned me with a flourish of, "Maybe I'll call you." Ugh, I had turned on all the charm for that dude and he dismissed me like a cheap whore. If I hadn't been so close to tears, I would have gone back to hang out with the cute guy. Trust me, I thought about it.
Luckily, I went to Brian Belleza's yoga class at Blink to Light, he sufficiently strengthened, stretched, and kicked my ass, sending me back into the zen mode with which I had started the day.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I'm gonna get into my car and drive..
Honestly, I'm not always a hurricane, but when it rains, it pours. These last two days have been eventful. And to think, yesterday morning, I could hardly drag myself out of the house. First, I drove down to Westwood to pick up my fabulous friend Lara from a job interview. The two of us met on our first day at a Boiler-Room-meets-Office-Space Chinese holistic medicine marketing racket. She, wisely, only lasted a few weeks, knowing when to move on...which, truthfully, should have been DAY ONE for both of us. I slogged it out for almost six months...the longest I've ever had a job, actually. It was fun. We were all the same age and it was kind of a party, but all good things must come to an end.
Anyway, after an amazing lunch at the Fresh Corn Grill, Lara and I set out to kill 4 or 5 hours before her flight back to San Jose. So we drove through Hollywood and then Los Feliz and Silverlake, the artsy west-coast cousin to Greenwich Village. Then, we headed down to Long Beach Airport. We said our goodbyes, and then I headed back north to Manhattan Beach to visit with family friends who were expecting me...
Except, they had actually forgotten about me completely and flown to San Francisco
I had already been driving for about 5 hours already and my brain was kind of fried. I could have driven to San Francisco in the amount of time I had spent in the car. But, I didn't know where to go, so I continued to drive aimlessly around Manhattan Beach for a while and then spent some time in Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Luckily, thanks to a friend's status on Facebook, I found out Jack Johnson was playing for Free on Santa Monica Pier. I called my awesome friend Lindsay, who I know from kindergarten back in the day in Vienna, VA, and within an hour, we were parked and headed down to the beach bundled in blankets and multiple sweatshirts and armed with a bottle of wine.
We snagged a great seat in front of the giant TV screens, cracked open the wine, made some new friends, and met up with old ones and enjoyed a FREE show, under the lights of the Ferris Wheel and the stars.
It was cold, but we had our wine/beer coats on and we got some great Mexican food @ Cabo Cantina on the Third Street Promenade afterwards.
A long day of insane driving ended on a very good note :)
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
To market, to market to lose a fat pig?
I've been out of the Hollywood Bubble for a few days now, and my mom considers NPR her white-noise, so I've been forced to face some non-fiction while visiting the nation's capital. It's nice to exercise that part of my brain, although good news is hard to come by out here.
In light of the recent British Petroleum oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico…
He said, “We have to talk. You own stock in BP.”
I just don't know why we all keep playing this game. Good, honest people accepting that thousands of their hard-earned dollars can LITERALLY disappear overnight due to things that are totally out of their control.
How are we all so invested--pun, not intended--in a system that is little more than a glorified, overly legislated and equally loop-holed game of Russian Roulette?
Herein lies the problem:
She even seems to think trees are acceptable presents on special occasions. She spends her time advocating for green-spaces and sustainable eco-friendly transportation. She has literally turned off her car at red lights to spare the environment an extra few moments free of her exhaust. We would all be biking or roller-skating to work and school if she had her way.
She agreed to invest in BP Plc because it has made efforts in the development of solar energy and other alternative fuels.
The problem? Even though my mom’s financial guy is above-board, honest, and well-intentioned…
No one else can possibly care more about your money than you do!
Brokers and Investment specialists have dozens of clients with their own special needs. With the economy in such a state of flux, it's got to be virtually impossible for them to stay on top of things.
I would love to know how a nation, nay a WORLD of people have collectively agreed that losing huge percentages of what is sometimes a life-time of savings is totally ok!
And if we were to collectively move away from the current economic situation, what would be the solution?
I guess they'd just have to start making coffee cans in Super Jumbo size...
Friday, April 30, 2010
In the beginning...
11 months and 3 days ago, I packed up my Toyota Prius and headed west for Hollywood. It was quite a journey to get there. Years of preparation, eight days of a cross-country marathon drive, and a last stretch of highway with no GPS because it decided to die on the morning of my last travel day.
I have a little pin in my car that says, "Never Drive Faster than your Guardian Angel can fly." Well, my angel can obviously drive pretty fast because I was pushing 100 mph on a daily basis.
My guardian angel has a devilish sense of humor. She gets me in enough trouble to keep my life interesting, but never lets things get too out of hand...well, almost never.
Hollywood is a crazy place. Some people here are artists, some people are lunatics, and most of us are a little bit of both.
Being a young "slashie" in Los Angeles (actress/writer/singer/aspiring producer/temporary-job-holder-extraordinaire) is never dull, often difficult, and a comic gold mine, although of course sometimes it takes a few moments to find the funny in certain situations.
In this blog, I invite you to come along with me as I teeter along the precarious tightrope that separates comedy and disaster that all of us here in Hollywood seem to be walking.
I'll share my foibles and fits and starts, the things that make me laugh, the things that keep me sane, my favorites on the music and arts scene, my opinions, my musings, and my moving violations.
Thanks for reading :)
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