Tara's Rants and Raves
Tara's Rants and Raves
A Regular Person's Take On the Oscars
I'm not a film critic. I don't host a TV show. No one pays me to air my opinion about movies. But when all the pros complain about the state of film and how bad the Oscars are, no one in the industry pays attention. They just keep rolling out the crap. So I might as well throw in my own opinion. Because, unlike the people who review films, I pay for the movies I see. And as a person currently living off unemployment, I have to be super choosy with where my meager entertainment dollar goes. I've managed to see only a handful of the nominated films, and I purposely avoided "Avatar" (and will continue to do so).
However, I did see "The Hurt Locker", at a special screening at the Portland Women's Film Festival where Kathryn Bigelow was in attendance. And even then, in the months B.A. (Before Avatar), I predicted this film would go a long way. I knew it would be lauded come Oscar time, and when Ms. Bigelow was nominated, I knew she would win.
So I watched the telecast, as I have every year since I can remember. I recall the glory years when Johnny Carson hosted, and it felt like a great big cocktail party. Then there was Billy Crystal, the best host in recent memory. This year's show had to be one of the worst I've ever seen, which was a sincere disappointment. It was promised to be the best ever, and...NOT. In the past decade, the Oscar broadcast has become a running joke in the industry, because it's too long and it's too boring and everyone's always coming up with ways to make it better.
This is where I come in.
As a veteran of more than (I hate to say) three decades of Oscar-watchin', I have come up with a list of suggestions for next year's Oscar producers. I'm the one you want to please, the person who's sitting in their yoga pants on the couch, eating Oatmeal Squares out of the box (this may or may not be a rhetorical setup). Here's how you make the show worth watching again.
1. One Host to Rule Them All. Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin should have KILLED together. Instead, their patter was awkward and mostly unfunny. They were better when presenting separately. And I think this year will make everyone pine even more for Billy Crystal and his outrageously hilarious medleys and film montages. Bring him back. This show needs a solid leader who can keep it moving.
2. Keep The Clips to a Minimum. Speaking of montages, enough already. Yes, you're the Oscars, we already know you're there to honor the movies. But it's time to quit patting yourselves on the back with this kind of filler. The salute to horror films was a waste of time and editing. Films not really in the horror genre were shown ("Marathon Man"?), and the fact that the Leprechaun from "Leprechaun" was shown on the Oscars makes my stomach hurt. The only montage we want to see is the In Memoriam reel, aka The Dead People Montage. And this year, Farrah Fawcett was left out, which is an embarassing oversight for the Academy.
3. No Dancing. Ever. This isn't the Grammys or "So You Think You Can Dance to Film Scores". The Oscars did us a solid this year by sparing us the usually unbearable live performances of the nominated songs by showing a quick clip reel. Why couldn't they do the same with the Best Score nominees? Now whenever I see Jeremy Renner, I'm going to think of him having to watch a dancer do the Robot in a "Hurt Locker" dance sequence. You might as well call that sequence The Bathroom Break.
4. Pare Down the Broadcast Categories. I realize the mother of the guy who won Best Documentary Short Subject is kvelling somewhere, but the harsh truth is that a hearty portion of the viewing audience couldn't care less. They want the meat. They want the big categories. They don't want to have to sit through a guy muttering his way through a list of thank yous. If you want people to watch the show in its entirety, these are the categories they care about:
Best Picture
Best Director
Best Actor
Best Actress
Best Supporting Actor
Best Supporting Actress
A smaller portion of the viewers will care about costumes and sets and sound effects editing. Perhaps those categories could be awarded earlier, and broadcast on ABC Family. Then, once we hit the prime time, you go live on ABC at 9pm, and pack those six categories into a tight, 2-hour broadcast. That way, when it's getting to the point where your eyes are rolling back in your head because it's so late and you just want to see WHO WINS ALREADY, the sight of five different actors coming out on stage to honor the acting nominess won't make you want to throw your glass of HI-C at the screen.
4. Hire Smart People for the Pre-Show Coverage. It's clear Kathy Ireland was fresh off the Fembot assembly line when 'interviewing' the nominees she cornered. Why not get actual movie buffs to host your pre-game, so that their questions aren't innocuous and condescending? They may not be as telegenic, but these actors see pretty people all the damn time. Get someone who knows something about film to ask the questions next year. PLEASE.
5. Get More Civilians Involved. The biggest joke about the Oscars is that it's like the high school prom, only everyone is rich and pretty. We get to watch the insiders' party, but without us little people, there wouldn't be all that money going around to make their movies. The emotional connection isn't there, because most of us don't know what it's like to wear fancy gowns and ride in limos and get to find out what George Clooney smells like. Next year, let some non-industry people come on board to live-blog the show from a non-jaded perspective. Or have a contest to have a movie fan stand on the red carpet and do interviews. Make it more interactive with handheld audience cameras. Basically, I just want a way in, and those are some cool ideas.
It's supposed to be a FUN show, and right now, it's kind of like being forced to go to your grandmother's funeral. I got more laughs off my Twitter feed than from the actual show. I doubt that's what the show producers were going for. It's time for the Oscars to catch up with its audience...whatever's left of it, that is.
However, I did see "The Hurt Locker", at a special screening at the Portland Women's Film Festival where Kathryn Bigelow was in attendance. And even then, in the months B.A. (Before Avatar), I predicted this film would go a long way. I knew it would be lauded come Oscar time, and when Ms. Bigelow was nominated, I knew she would win.
So I watched the telecast, as I have every year since I can remember. I recall the glory years when Johnny Carson hosted, and it felt like a great big cocktail party. Then there was Billy Crystal, the best host in recent memory. This year's show had to be one of the worst I've ever seen, which was a sincere disappointment. It was promised to be the best ever, and...NOT. In the past decade, the Oscar broadcast has become a running joke in the industry, because it's too long and it's too boring and everyone's always coming up with ways to make it better.
This is where I come in.
As a veteran of more than (I hate to say) three decades of Oscar-watchin', I have come up with a list of suggestions for next year's Oscar producers. I'm the one you want to please, the person who's sitting in their yoga pants on the couch, eating Oatmeal Squares out of the box (this may or may not be a rhetorical setup). Here's how you make the show worth watching again.
1. One Host to Rule Them All. Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin should have KILLED together. Instead, their patter was awkward and mostly unfunny. They were better when presenting separately. And I think this year will make everyone pine even more for Billy Crystal and his outrageously hilarious medleys and film montages. Bring him back. This show needs a solid leader who can keep it moving.
2. Keep The Clips to a Minimum. Speaking of montages, enough already. Yes, you're the Oscars, we already know you're there to honor the movies. But it's time to quit patting yourselves on the back with this kind of filler. The salute to horror films was a waste of time and editing. Films not really in the horror genre were shown ("Marathon Man"?), and the fact that the Leprechaun from "Leprechaun" was shown on the Oscars makes my stomach hurt. The only montage we want to see is the In Memoriam reel, aka The Dead People Montage. And this year, Farrah Fawcett was left out, which is an embarassing oversight for the Academy.
3. No Dancing. Ever. This isn't the Grammys or "So You Think You Can Dance to Film Scores". The Oscars did us a solid this year by sparing us the usually unbearable live performances of the nominated songs by showing a quick clip reel. Why couldn't they do the same with the Best Score nominees? Now whenever I see Jeremy Renner, I'm going to think of him having to watch a dancer do the Robot in a "Hurt Locker" dance sequence. You might as well call that sequence The Bathroom Break.
4. Pare Down the Broadcast Categories. I realize the mother of the guy who won Best Documentary Short Subject is kvelling somewhere, but the harsh truth is that a hearty portion of the viewing audience couldn't care less. They want the meat. They want the big categories. They don't want to have to sit through a guy muttering his way through a list of thank yous. If you want people to watch the show in its entirety, these are the categories they care about:
Best Picture
Best Director
Best Actor
Best Actress
Best Supporting Actor
Best Supporting Actress
A smaller portion of the viewers will care about costumes and sets and sound effects editing. Perhaps those categories could be awarded earlier, and broadcast on ABC Family. Then, once we hit the prime time, you go live on ABC at 9pm, and pack those six categories into a tight, 2-hour broadcast. That way, when it's getting to the point where your eyes are rolling back in your head because it's so late and you just want to see WHO WINS ALREADY, the sight of five different actors coming out on stage to honor the acting nominess won't make you want to throw your glass of HI-C at the screen.
4. Hire Smart People for the Pre-Show Coverage. It's clear Kathy Ireland was fresh off the Fembot assembly line when 'interviewing' the nominees she cornered. Why not get actual movie buffs to host your pre-game, so that their questions aren't innocuous and condescending? They may not be as telegenic, but these actors see pretty people all the damn time. Get someone who knows something about film to ask the questions next year. PLEASE.
5. Get More Civilians Involved. The biggest joke about the Oscars is that it's like the high school prom, only everyone is rich and pretty. We get to watch the insiders' party, but without us little people, there wouldn't be all that money going around to make their movies. The emotional connection isn't there, because most of us don't know what it's like to wear fancy gowns and ride in limos and get to find out what George Clooney smells like. Next year, let some non-industry people come on board to live-blog the show from a non-jaded perspective. Or have a contest to have a movie fan stand on the red carpet and do interviews. Make it more interactive with handheld audience cameras. Basically, I just want a way in, and those are some cool ideas.
It's supposed to be a FUN show, and right now, it's kind of like being forced to go to your grandmother's funeral. I got more laughs off my Twitter feed than from the actual show. I doubt that's what the show producers were going for. It's time for the Oscars to catch up with its audience...whatever's left of it, that is.
The Stephen King and I
When I was a sophomore in high school, I wrote a paper for my Honors English class comparing and contrasting the works of H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King. While there was plenty of material at the library on Lovecraft, I couldn't find too much biographical material on King, whom I worshipped at the time.
I was as ballsy then as I am now, so 15-year-old Tara Dublin wrote a letter (on PAPER, even!) to Stephen King, and mailed it to him via his publisher. I told him about my paper, that I was a big fan, and asked if THE DARK TOWER was available anywhere, because it was out of print at the time. I didn't really expect much, but I had learned early on that it never hurts to ask, because the worst thing someone can say is no. And I figured if it never got to him, I'd cobble together whatever information I could get from magazine articles. He's a busy guy, after all, writing stuff to scare the bejeebus out of everyone, and I was just this little girl from New Jersey.
So imagine my surprise when I received a packet of information from Stephen King just a few weeks later. It was a generic, fan-club type mailer with his bio- and bibiliographies. It also included a photocopied letter from Mr. King, explaining that in the past, he'd had the time to answer all fan inquiries himself, but there was now so much mail, he couldn't keep up with it. It's understandable. But at the bottom of that page, he'd personally typed: "Hope I'm not toooo late with this info. Good luck and hope you get an A! SK"
I brought that letter to school to show to my English teacher, Mr. Martin. He was duly impressed, as were many of my friends, and my mother. This was the same year I had my first ever letter published in a magazine (a missive to PEOPLE magazine regarding Band Aid), so my mom predicted I was headed for my own fame via the written word.
I simply basked in the fact that Stephen King had taken the time to read my letter AND to type out a personal response to me. It was just cool, the first of many celebrity encounters I would come to have in my life.
Shortly after I turned in my paper, I got another surprise in the mail. Check it out...it's become one of my most prized possessions:
If you can't quite make it out (it's framed and I don't want to handle it too much), this is what it says:
5/31/85
Dear Tara Dublin:
Thank you very much for your interest. As of November 1985 Don Grant in Kingston, Rhode Island, told me THE DARK TOWER is officially out of print. If you're still interested in obtaining a copy, may I suggest you contact a reputable dealer of used books and out of print editions. May I also suggest you refuse to pay more than $50.
Stephen King
Forgot to enclose this information
with the stuff for your term paper.
Now, I ask you: how COOL is that? Stephen King didn't have to write to me. He was probably working on MISERY at the time or something. That just rules. And if that wasn't enough, check this out: Stephen and his wife Tabitha own The Zone Corporation, a central Maine radio station group consisting of WZON, WZON-FM, and WKIT, which has the tagline "Stephen King's Rock 'n' Roll Station." I mean, come on. The man supports terrestrial radio as well. DUDE.
I look at this framed postcard every day of my life. I remind myself that Stephen King was on the brink of poverty when "Carrie" sold. I tell myself that if my book does indeed ever get published, I will answer the hopeful kids who write to me, because Stephen King set the example of how to remain a class act while being a big deal writer at the same time.
And if anyone out there actually knows Stephen King, shoot him this link, would you? It's the only way I know how to thank him for being such a badass all these years....and for helping me get an A on that paper. ; )
I was as ballsy then as I am now, so 15-year-old Tara Dublin wrote a letter (on PAPER, even!) to Stephen King, and mailed it to him via his publisher. I told him about my paper, that I was a big fan, and asked if THE DARK TOWER was available anywhere, because it was out of print at the time. I didn't really expect much, but I had learned early on that it never hurts to ask, because the worst thing someone can say is no. And I figured if it never got to him, I'd cobble together whatever information I could get from magazine articles. He's a busy guy, after all, writing stuff to scare the bejeebus out of everyone, and I was just this little girl from New Jersey.
So imagine my surprise when I received a packet of information from Stephen King just a few weeks later. It was a generic, fan-club type mailer with his bio- and bibiliographies. It also included a photocopied letter from Mr. King, explaining that in the past, he'd had the time to answer all fan inquiries himself, but there was now so much mail, he couldn't keep up with it. It's understandable. But at the bottom of that page, he'd personally typed: "Hope I'm not toooo late with this info. Good luck and hope you get an A! SK"
I brought that letter to school to show to my English teacher, Mr. Martin. He was duly impressed, as were many of my friends, and my mother. This was the same year I had my first ever letter published in a magazine (a missive to PEOPLE magazine regarding Band Aid), so my mom predicted I was headed for my own fame via the written word.
I simply basked in the fact that Stephen King had taken the time to read my letter AND to type out a personal response to me. It was just cool, the first of many celebrity encounters I would come to have in my life.
Shortly after I turned in my paper, I got another surprise in the mail. Check it out...it's become one of my most prized possessions:
If you can't quite make it out (it's framed and I don't want to handle it too much), this is what it says:
5/31/85
Dear Tara Dublin:
Thank you very much for your interest. As of November 1985 Don Grant in Kingston, Rhode Island, told me THE DARK TOWER is officially out of print. If you're still interested in obtaining a copy, may I suggest you contact a reputable dealer of used books and out of print editions. May I also suggest you refuse to pay more than $50.
Stephen King
Forgot to enclose this information
with the stuff for your term paper.
Now, I ask you: how COOL is that? Stephen King didn't have to write to me. He was probably working on MISERY at the time or something. That just rules. And if that wasn't enough, check this out: Stephen and his wife Tabitha own The Zone Corporation, a central Maine radio station group consisting of WZON, WZON-FM, and WKIT, which has the tagline "Stephen King's Rock 'n' Roll Station." I mean, come on. The man supports terrestrial radio as well. DUDE.
I look at this framed postcard every day of my life. I remind myself that Stephen King was on the brink of poverty when "Carrie" sold. I tell myself that if my book does indeed ever get published, I will answer the hopeful kids who write to me, because Stephen King set the example of how to remain a class act while being a big deal writer at the same time.
And if anyone out there actually knows Stephen King, shoot him this link, would you? It's the only way I know how to thank him for being such a badass all these years....and for helping me get an A on that paper. ; )
Here Comes Your 19th Nervous Breakdown
Yesterday was bad.
It didn't start out that way. Yesterday (February 9, for those reading this at a later date) was gloriously sunny and warm for this time of year. Thanks to a connection at KINK, I had passes to a session with the Barenaked Ladies, a band I'd always liked in a casual way. I was curious about how they'd sound without their main lead singer, who'd parted ways from the band a couple of years ago. And, to be honest, I wanted certain people over there to see me and remember that I'm still kicking around town, and I'm available.
My sweet friend Ann joined me, and as we were led up to the KINK Live Lounge, I felt a sinking in the pit of my stomach. I used to do this all the time, host sessions with bands. And now, I was a guest, just another face in the crowd. Still, I put on a brave face, and said my hellos to the wonderful people on the KINK staff that I've had the pleasure of meeting before. Ann and I settled in and the band took the stage. The BNL are known for their sense of humor, and they didn't disappoint on that level. But what people forget about them is that they're also seriously talented musicians. In the middle of their set, they played their new single, "You Run Away". It's not a funny lark like "One Week"; in fact, it's the polar opposite. You can hear it HERE.
When Ed Robertson sang the line, "I made a mess/who doesn't?/I did my best/But it wasn't enough", I lost it. I started crying. CRYING. In public. Because of a line in a song, and also because that part hit home, and it hit hard.
I made a mess of some professional relationships because of an unfortunate slip of the tongue, and I still am feeling badly about that. I am also still unemployed, which makes me feel like a failure in a lot of ways, and so right there in the KINK Live Lounge, my all-day Pity Party began.
After the session was over, we were offered a tour of the radio station. Now, I didn't really need it, having had been over there the week after I was fired (and thank you again, Dennis Constantine, for your kindness in that meeting). But Annie had never seen a radio station, and so I indulged her. I was fine until we were led into the booth, and there was my ex-competition, Steve Pringle, doing his thing. He's a really good guy, and we joked about how he'd had that gig long enough, he was ready to move on, and he should take an extended vacation so I could fill in, ha-ha.
That sealed it. The lump I'd been holding onto moved from my throat to my stomach and settled there. It was one of those moments we've probably all had, where everything is dark and everything you think has a finality to it that could become self-fulfilling prophecy: I will never be on the radio again.
I mean, I know I'll be on the radio again. I'm still all about KZME, and someday they hope to give me a show once it's live. So there's that. My "time off" has been occupied with some good things, like being able to volunteer with the Human Rights Campaign. But I walked out of KINK with a dark cloud over my head nonetheless.
Then I went over to Cupcake Jones, to support Live Wire Radio, and lo and behold, it was filled with so many fabulous and talented people. In the 45 minutes I ended up standing around (and drinking surprisingly tasty $8 "Champagne"), I encountered local writers, performers, and a notable filmmaker, all of whom I consider friends. And all of whom had a job, or a class, or a rehearsal to go to. The stone in my stomach twisted and burned, and yet I kept smiling. I adore these people and support their every effort, and it wasn't jealousy I was feeling. It was disappointment, in myself. Because the only place I had to go was home (with a pit stop at Whole Foods).
It just made me ache for something to finally happen already, DAMMIT.
Because, there's also the book thing. I've sent it off, and it's in the hands of a very capable agent, who is going to decide my fate. He will either say yes or no. He will assess my talent, he will decide if what I've written is something people other than my mom will want to read. So I'm waiting on that. And like the wise philosopher Tom Petty once wrote, the waiting is the hardest part.
I feel like I've been in this eternal holding pattern since May. And I don't like it. I'm frustrated, I'm anxious, I'm worried about my mortgage and my sons. Mostly, I'm exhausted from keeping up the front. I'm keeping it together, but barely. With every step forward (the agent, the performance I did last week), there is a yank backwards (dead car battery, broken dishwasher, boyfriend not getting the job we thought he was going to get). My new mantra has gone from "This too shall pass" to "Well, this is another funny story to tell Oprah", mainly just to make that joke.
But I'm tired of joking about my life. It's enough already. I can't keep putting up this front for much longer, kids. I burned my 2009 calendar, I'm trying to accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative, but even an optimist is entitled to the occasional journey into the abyss.
If anyone needs me, I'll be smashing the crap out of tennis balls on Wii Fit.
It didn't start out that way. Yesterday (February 9, for those reading this at a later date) was gloriously sunny and warm for this time of year. Thanks to a connection at KINK, I had passes to a session with the Barenaked Ladies, a band I'd always liked in a casual way. I was curious about how they'd sound without their main lead singer, who'd parted ways from the band a couple of years ago. And, to be honest, I wanted certain people over there to see me and remember that I'm still kicking around town, and I'm available.
My sweet friend Ann joined me, and as we were led up to the KINK Live Lounge, I felt a sinking in the pit of my stomach. I used to do this all the time, host sessions with bands. And now, I was a guest, just another face in the crowd. Still, I put on a brave face, and said my hellos to the wonderful people on the KINK staff that I've had the pleasure of meeting before. Ann and I settled in and the band took the stage. The BNL are known for their sense of humor, and they didn't disappoint on that level. But what people forget about them is that they're also seriously talented musicians. In the middle of their set, they played their new single, "You Run Away". It's not a funny lark like "One Week"; in fact, it's the polar opposite. You can hear it HERE.
When Ed Robertson sang the line, "I made a mess/who doesn't?/I did my best/But it wasn't enough", I lost it. I started crying. CRYING. In public. Because of a line in a song, and also because that part hit home, and it hit hard.
I made a mess of some professional relationships because of an unfortunate slip of the tongue, and I still am feeling badly about that. I am also still unemployed, which makes me feel like a failure in a lot of ways, and so right there in the KINK Live Lounge, my all-day Pity Party began.
After the session was over, we were offered a tour of the radio station. Now, I didn't really need it, having had been over there the week after I was fired (and thank you again, Dennis Constantine, for your kindness in that meeting). But Annie had never seen a radio station, and so I indulged her. I was fine until we were led into the booth, and there was my ex-competition, Steve Pringle, doing his thing. He's a really good guy, and we joked about how he'd had that gig long enough, he was ready to move on, and he should take an extended vacation so I could fill in, ha-ha.
That sealed it. The lump I'd been holding onto moved from my throat to my stomach and settled there. It was one of those moments we've probably all had, where everything is dark and everything you think has a finality to it that could become self-fulfilling prophecy: I will never be on the radio again.
I mean, I know I'll be on the radio again. I'm still all about KZME, and someday they hope to give me a show once it's live. So there's that. My "time off" has been occupied with some good things, like being able to volunteer with the Human Rights Campaign. But I walked out of KINK with a dark cloud over my head nonetheless.
Then I went over to Cupcake Jones, to support Live Wire Radio, and lo and behold, it was filled with so many fabulous and talented people. In the 45 minutes I ended up standing around (and drinking surprisingly tasty $8 "Champagne"), I encountered local writers, performers, and a notable filmmaker, all of whom I consider friends. And all of whom had a job, or a class, or a rehearsal to go to. The stone in my stomach twisted and burned, and yet I kept smiling. I adore these people and support their every effort, and it wasn't jealousy I was feeling. It was disappointment, in myself. Because the only place I had to go was home (with a pit stop at Whole Foods).
It just made me ache for something to finally happen already, DAMMIT.
Because, there's also the book thing. I've sent it off, and it's in the hands of a very capable agent, who is going to decide my fate. He will either say yes or no. He will assess my talent, he will decide if what I've written is something people other than my mom will want to read. So I'm waiting on that. And like the wise philosopher Tom Petty once wrote, the waiting is the hardest part.
I feel like I've been in this eternal holding pattern since May. And I don't like it. I'm frustrated, I'm anxious, I'm worried about my mortgage and my sons. Mostly, I'm exhausted from keeping up the front. I'm keeping it together, but barely. With every step forward (the agent, the performance I did last week), there is a yank backwards (dead car battery, broken dishwasher, boyfriend not getting the job we thought he was going to get). My new mantra has gone from "This too shall pass" to "Well, this is another funny story to tell Oprah", mainly just to make that joke.
But I'm tired of joking about my life. It's enough already. I can't keep putting up this front for much longer, kids. I burned my 2009 calendar, I'm trying to accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative, but even an optimist is entitled to the occasional journey into the abyss.
If anyone needs me, I'll be smashing the crap out of tennis balls on Wii Fit.
ME AND MY BIG MOUTH
I have a big mouth. I talk a lot. Sometimes, my passion gets the better of me, and I end up saying stuff that's taken the wrong way, and people I care about get mad. I could skywrite a thousand times my intentions, but once you make people mad at you, it's really hard to make them un-mad. But still, I'm going to try.
I was asked to call in to a local radio show this morning, on 101.1 KUFO. Kidd Chris, the morning host, openly bites the hand that feeds him, complaining about the state of radio. Last week he was ranting about how, when anything goes wrong in radio (be it sales, ratings, the coffee maker's broken), they fire the DJ. That falls into the "It's funny 'cause it's true" category, so I sent him an email. The fact is, there aren't many people who know what he's talking about on a personal level. We had a nice email exchange, where he learned about me and how I'd been fired, and he invited me to call into his show this morning to talk about it.
Now, I thought this over carefully. Did I want to be back on Portland radio? Hell yeah. Did I want it to be on KUFO? Not as a first choice, but this was offered to me as a chance to speak openly about Portland radio. If nothing else, I could make a plea for a great local station because of all the people who've been fired in this last year. So I accepted, knowing that he'd probably try to go to dark places, and I was going to do my best to not go there with him. There was banter, there was a chance for me to make my plea about the power of radio at the terrestrial level, it was going fine.
And then came the old "Why don't you just do a podcast?"
I have to tell you all this: I have heard that about 1,000,000 times since I got laid off. Unfortunately, I replied with a very offhand comment about how 'anyone can do a podcast'. And that pissed people off. People I admire, and care about, and want to succeed because they are all so very good at what they do.
Here's the thing: while anyone CAN do a podcast because of the technology that is out there, NOT JUST ANYONE can do a GREAT podcast. I believe with all my heart that I am not capable of doing a great podcast. Not unless there's a team of people to help me. Because I have no techie skills, no fun sidekick to chat with, no money to build a home studio, and frankly, because I'd rather be an employee than a boss. It's so much work to maintain a great podcast, and I really don't know how the people who are so good at them make them work day after day.
I liked going to work, being in the studio, having the guidelines to put together a great show. I still believe with all my heart that one day, I'll have that again. In the meantime, I suggest you all bookmark PDX.FM, as I have. Because the people on there have everything it takes to make great podcasts. Not only do I admire them, I'm jealous of them. I know I can't do what they do. And I hope they keep doing it, because the internet is a better place with them on it.
To all the podcasters in Portland, please accept this as a heartfelt apology. I will certainly be more careful about what I say and how I say it in the future.
I was asked to call in to a local radio show this morning, on 101.1 KUFO. Kidd Chris, the morning host, openly bites the hand that feeds him, complaining about the state of radio. Last week he was ranting about how, when anything goes wrong in radio (be it sales, ratings, the coffee maker's broken), they fire the DJ. That falls into the "It's funny 'cause it's true" category, so I sent him an email. The fact is, there aren't many people who know what he's talking about on a personal level. We had a nice email exchange, where he learned about me and how I'd been fired, and he invited me to call into his show this morning to talk about it.
Now, I thought this over carefully. Did I want to be back on Portland radio? Hell yeah. Did I want it to be on KUFO? Not as a first choice, but this was offered to me as a chance to speak openly about Portland radio. If nothing else, I could make a plea for a great local station because of all the people who've been fired in this last year. So I accepted, knowing that he'd probably try to go to dark places, and I was going to do my best to not go there with him. There was banter, there was a chance for me to make my plea about the power of radio at the terrestrial level, it was going fine.
And then came the old "Why don't you just do a podcast?"
I have to tell you all this: I have heard that about 1,000,000 times since I got laid off. Unfortunately, I replied with a very offhand comment about how 'anyone can do a podcast'. And that pissed people off. People I admire, and care about, and want to succeed because they are all so very good at what they do.
Here's the thing: while anyone CAN do a podcast because of the technology that is out there, NOT JUST ANYONE can do a GREAT podcast. I believe with all my heart that I am not capable of doing a great podcast. Not unless there's a team of people to help me. Because I have no techie skills, no fun sidekick to chat with, no money to build a home studio, and frankly, because I'd rather be an employee than a boss. It's so much work to maintain a great podcast, and I really don't know how the people who are so good at them make them work day after day.
I liked going to work, being in the studio, having the guidelines to put together a great show. I still believe with all my heart that one day, I'll have that again. In the meantime, I suggest you all bookmark PDX.FM, as I have. Because the people on there have everything it takes to make great podcasts. Not only do I admire them, I'm jealous of them. I know I can't do what they do. And I hope they keep doing it, because the internet is a better place with them on it.
To all the podcasters in Portland, please accept this as a heartfelt apology. I will certainly be more careful about what I say and how I say it in the future.
Ode to Jack
My firstborn baby boy, Jack Henry, turns 11 today (January 8th). He shares his birthday with Elvis, David Bowie, and Stephen Hawking, among others; upon learning this soon after his birth, I decided he was sure to be a musical genius.
And oh, he is that and more, my Jack. People tell you how much you will love your children, but your body can't comprehend it until your child that you've carried inside you is placed in your arms. In those first few seconds of our life together, Jack opened his eyes at the sound of my voice and looked right at me. From that moment on, we were tight. Those early months and years, where we spent so much time getting to know each other, are the most delicious of all my memories. I talked to him constantly from birth, so that he would pick up language early; his first word, at 13 months, was "car." Like me, he read early, and often. For the first three and half years of his life, I was his main teacher until I handed him over to the wonderful people at his Montessori school. By then, I knew he was brighter than I, and I wouldn't be able to keep up with his intense desire to learn.
Jack has gone through all of the typical boy phases: obsessions with construction led to many years of Bob the Builder, then Thomas the Tank Engine (the latter now his younger brother's main hobby). There was a brief period of dinosaur fascination, but then The Lego Years took hold. Just before he turned 6, he put together a Lego ship all by himself. It took him hours, but he was happiest when building from that age until about a year ago.
Now we are into the Long Rule of The Video Game, an era I see no end to. But Jack also loves music, and is currently all about The Beatles. He is learning the guitar, still plays the violin, and is an excellent swimmer. He would still rather read than do most anything else. Jack is sweet and kind, a pure hearted soul who doesn't have a mean bone in his body (unlike his younger brother, The Booger) and goes out of his way to make sure everyone around him is doing well. His empathy knows no bounds, and if he doesn't become a chef, like he's currently planning to do, I could see him being a wonderful veterinarian someday because of his love of animals.
My baby, my boy. My son. He was this little tiny peanut baby in my arms, eleven years ago.
And now he's this big 11-year-old, nearly as tall as I am, brilliant and beautiful, smart and loving, infuriating but hilarious, a wonderful big brother and a fabulous dining companion. I could not have asked for a more perfect first born child than my Jack Henry. Oh my man, I love him so.
And oh, he is that and more, my Jack. People tell you how much you will love your children, but your body can't comprehend it until your child that you've carried inside you is placed in your arms. In those first few seconds of our life together, Jack opened his eyes at the sound of my voice and looked right at me. From that moment on, we were tight. Those early months and years, where we spent so much time getting to know each other, are the most delicious of all my memories. I talked to him constantly from birth, so that he would pick up language early; his first word, at 13 months, was "car." Like me, he read early, and often. For the first three and half years of his life, I was his main teacher until I handed him over to the wonderful people at his Montessori school. By then, I knew he was brighter than I, and I wouldn't be able to keep up with his intense desire to learn.
Jack has gone through all of the typical boy phases: obsessions with construction led to many years of Bob the Builder, then Thomas the Tank Engine (the latter now his younger brother's main hobby). There was a brief period of dinosaur fascination, but then The Lego Years took hold. Just before he turned 6, he put together a Lego ship all by himself. It took him hours, but he was happiest when building from that age until about a year ago.
Now we are into the Long Rule of The Video Game, an era I see no end to. But Jack also loves music, and is currently all about The Beatles. He is learning the guitar, still plays the violin, and is an excellent swimmer. He would still rather read than do most anything else. Jack is sweet and kind, a pure hearted soul who doesn't have a mean bone in his body (unlike his younger brother, The Booger) and goes out of his way to make sure everyone around him is doing well. His empathy knows no bounds, and if he doesn't become a chef, like he's currently planning to do, I could see him being a wonderful veterinarian someday because of his love of animals.
My baby, my boy. My son. He was this little tiny peanut baby in my arms, eleven years ago.
And now he's this big 11-year-old, nearly as tall as I am, brilliant and beautiful, smart and loving, infuriating but hilarious, a wonderful big brother and a fabulous dining companion. I could not have asked for a more perfect first born child than my Jack Henry. Oh my man, I love him so.
Highlights of 2009
I know I've been bitching plenty about this year (and my mother says I never complain, ha!). I wanted to try to begin the new year with a good attitude, so I decided to make a list of good things about 2009. Positivity begets positivity. SO, here we go!
1. Of all the people that died this year, I wasn't one of them.
2. My kids still think I'm awesome and my boyfriend didn't dump me despite the constant crap.
3. My friends and family stuck by me without judgment and with plenty of encouragement.
4. I had the greatest birthday party of my entire life. Those of you who were there, I cannot thank you enough. I will hold the memory of that night with me forever.
5. I reconnected with a very special old friend, whose live show was the best of the year. 
6. I wrote a book, which my editor believes WILL sell in 2010. Please, publishing peoplegods, please.
7. The world's greatest cat continues to live in my house.
8. The Hangover and I Love You, Man made me laugh so hard, I forgot that I was depressed.
9. Them Crooked Vultures made me love music again.
10. Um...cupcakes? Yeah, I ate a lot of cupcakes this year.
Well, at least I tried. There just wasn't a whole lot of great things in 2009. Everyone seems to be in agreeance on this (my favorite Durst-ism of the past decade), so I'm putting a fork in this bad boy and calling it done.
This time next year, I'd like to be blogging about how mind-blowingly radtastical 2010 was. Oh, yes, how I'd like that.
Bring On 2010 Already!
I am SO over 2009.
2009 kicked my ass in ways no other year could match. 2003 tried, what with Ben being born early and spending 12 days in the NICU at Emmanuel Hospital. 2005 wasn't too kind, neither: that's when I got divorced and began Ms. Tara's Wild Ride of Stress that carried into 2006, another not-great time. That was the year I developed a heart condition and had to have a surgical procedure to correct it.
2007 and 2008 decided to cut me some slack and let me have some good times. Thanks for that.
But oh, 2009, you have been one big, bad bitch, and you need to go. I realize you're gonna stick around for a few more weeks, but let me be the first to send you off and give you the kind of eulogy you so rightly deserve.
I have come to bury 2009, not praise it.
While it started off as the most promising year in recent history, thanks to Mr. Obama taking office (and when a year has its peak in January, you know you're in for it), it rapidly declined into a fiery shame spiral of death, fear, panic, poverty, and uncertainty. The weakening economy, the war in Afghanistan, and a never-ending line of celebrity deaths dominated the headlines. The news was so bad, we allowed ourselves to watch reality TV show marriages collapse and followed a floating (and passenger-less) balloon for hours.
While my personal life at home thankfully continued to thrive, my professional life suffered its greatest blow in 2009, and I am still in recovery. Being laid off from a job you loved is bad enough; being laid off from a job that puts you in the public eye is harder. Everyone who knows you is watching to see what you'll do next. In public, I put on a happy face and let people know I wasn't taking it lying down. But oh, at home? Let's just say the summer of 2009 passed in a haze of hysterical crying, pot smoke, and diarrhea. I lost at least 10 pounds thanks to what my mom calls The Aggravation Diet. My sweet, devoted man (who dealt with his own crap this year--stand by) stayed by my side and did nothing but encourage me. I never expected to be a 40-year-old unemployed single mother, but here I am: a statistic. I never thought I'd ever have to worry about money, but here I am: scared about the holidays and whether or not we'll have a house to celebrate in come December 2010.
I found out who my real friends were; certainly not the ex-co-worker who simply sent me a text the day after I was canned: "R U OK?" Seriously? We worked together for five years, and you can't even be bothered to write out the words "Are" and "you"? Get bent. Those I expected to stand by me vanished; others whom I didn't know well surprisingly stepped up and have become close allies.
Thanks to 2009 being such a JERK, I was able to devote time to writing, something I've always loved to do but never managed to get serious about. So I wrote a book. In about 5 weeks. I am working with a fantastic editor and hope to get an agent. But something tells me it won't happen in 2009, because 2009 sucks ass and doesn't want me to succeed or be happy.
2009 took my friend Marc's mother Megan, and my boyfriend's close friend, Will. Both to cancer, both at different stages in their lives. Megan, close to 70, felt she'd had a wonderful life and was ready to go out on her own terms. Conversely, Will suffered from stomachaches for well over a year, finally went to the doctor, was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer, and died roughly two weeks later at the age of 28. Tell me, what do you say when something like that happens? Don't roll out that "God has a plan" shit. 2009 was the year that made me start to question everything we've ever been taught about a supreme deity. If there is a God (and we can get all philosophical some other time), I'm guessing S/He was on vacation the entire year.
So goodbye, 2009, and good riddance to you. From the OctoMom to the Twilight Moms, from Jon & Kate to Spencer & Heidi, from Sarah Palin to Glenn Beck, you have brought us enough misery to last a lifetime. I'll be very glad to close the book on the '00s, the oughts, the whatever-the-hell-they-were.
Come on 2010, please be the year we need you to be.
2009 kicked my ass in ways no other year could match. 2003 tried, what with Ben being born early and spending 12 days in the NICU at Emmanuel Hospital. 2005 wasn't too kind, neither: that's when I got divorced and began Ms. Tara's Wild Ride of Stress that carried into 2006, another not-great time. That was the year I developed a heart condition and had to have a surgical procedure to correct it.
2007 and 2008 decided to cut me some slack and let me have some good times. Thanks for that.
But oh, 2009, you have been one big, bad bitch, and you need to go. I realize you're gonna stick around for a few more weeks, but let me be the first to send you off and give you the kind of eulogy you so rightly deserve.
I have come to bury 2009, not praise it.
While it started off as the most promising year in recent history, thanks to Mr. Obama taking office (and when a year has its peak in January, you know you're in for it), it rapidly declined into a fiery shame spiral of death, fear, panic, poverty, and uncertainty. The weakening economy, the war in Afghanistan, and a never-ending line of celebrity deaths dominated the headlines. The news was so bad, we allowed ourselves to watch reality TV show marriages collapse and followed a floating (and passenger-less) balloon for hours.
While my personal life at home thankfully continued to thrive, my professional life suffered its greatest blow in 2009, and I am still in recovery. Being laid off from a job you loved is bad enough; being laid off from a job that puts you in the public eye is harder. Everyone who knows you is watching to see what you'll do next. In public, I put on a happy face and let people know I wasn't taking it lying down. But oh, at home? Let's just say the summer of 2009 passed in a haze of hysterical crying, pot smoke, and diarrhea. I lost at least 10 pounds thanks to what my mom calls The Aggravation Diet. My sweet, devoted man (who dealt with his own crap this year--stand by) stayed by my side and did nothing but encourage me. I never expected to be a 40-year-old unemployed single mother, but here I am: a statistic. I never thought I'd ever have to worry about money, but here I am: scared about the holidays and whether or not we'll have a house to celebrate in come December 2010.
I found out who my real friends were; certainly not the ex-co-worker who simply sent me a text the day after I was canned: "R U OK?" Seriously? We worked together for five years, and you can't even be bothered to write out the words "Are" and "you"? Get bent. Those I expected to stand by me vanished; others whom I didn't know well surprisingly stepped up and have become close allies.
Thanks to 2009 being such a JERK, I was able to devote time to writing, something I've always loved to do but never managed to get serious about. So I wrote a book. In about 5 weeks. I am working with a fantastic editor and hope to get an agent. But something tells me it won't happen in 2009, because 2009 sucks ass and doesn't want me to succeed or be happy.
2009 took my friend Marc's mother Megan, and my boyfriend's close friend, Will. Both to cancer, both at different stages in their lives. Megan, close to 70, felt she'd had a wonderful life and was ready to go out on her own terms. Conversely, Will suffered from stomachaches for well over a year, finally went to the doctor, was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer, and died roughly two weeks later at the age of 28. Tell me, what do you say when something like that happens? Don't roll out that "God has a plan" shit. 2009 was the year that made me start to question everything we've ever been taught about a supreme deity. If there is a God (and we can get all philosophical some other time), I'm guessing S/He was on vacation the entire year.
So goodbye, 2009, and good riddance to you. From the OctoMom to the Twilight Moms, from Jon & Kate to Spencer & Heidi, from Sarah Palin to Glenn Beck, you have brought us enough misery to last a lifetime. I'll be very glad to close the book on the '00s, the oughts, the whatever-the-hell-they-were.
Come on 2010, please be the year we need you to be.
It's So Easy to Hate on "Twilight"...
So I'm gonna.
I am writing this blog on the day "New Moon" opens. Screenings started at midnight. Local radio stations covered the SIX AM SHOWING. SIX.A.M. Oh, and 6:01AM. And 7AM. And 10AM. Ad nauseum.
Mothers are letting their kids miss school. FOR A MOVIE. I checked, and it's not just playing today. Seriously! It'll be around in theaters for at least a few weeks, what's the rush?
I kid, I kid. But I'm not kidding when I say that all those "Twilight" Moms need somewhat of a reality check here.
I don't begrudge the little tween girls who are crushing over Robert Pattinson. That's what being a tween girl is all about. You hang pictures of pretty, non-threatening boys on your wall and you think about getting your first kiss from those sweet, sweet lips. In my day, it was Matt Dillon and John Taylor from Duran Duran. So it's not like I don't get the whole substitute boyfriend thing. Robert/Edward will be a mental stand-in for these girls until they get a real-life boyfriend. And then the crush will fade. In theory.
What I don't get, however, is grown women, MARRIED women, who shriek and scream over this not-a-boy-not-quite-yet-a-man. I've got eyes, I can see how pretty he is. And were I younger and single, I might just get a case of the moony eyes over him. However, he is a 23 year old man-child who is portraying a teenager. Grown women should leave this to their daughters, yeah?
And what of their poor husbands? Could there be anything more emasculating for a man than hearing their wives go on and on about Edward Cullen, who isn't even real? The books came first, folks. They were a huge success before young Mr. Pattinson got the call to play Edward. So these women were already swooning over this ideal, albeit fictitious, man; one who would love them for all of eternity and protect them even from afar. This is barely a step up from Harlequin Romances here, Mr. Darcy-as-teen-vampire. Combine this idealized version of a man (who is actually controlling, rather than loyal; who actually keeps his love at arms' length and therefore keeps it pure and chaste) with the casting of a young, handsome actor, and POOF! You've got yourself the perfect storm of delusional crushes. I've started joking that these husbands should simply go out and buy something they've always wanted, but have been denied. Then, when the wives complain, the men can simply retort: "Edward.Fucking.Cullen." The women will have nothing.
Now, before you accuse me of casting stones, I totally cop to my crush on Dave Grohl from some years back. Of course, we're the same age, but setting that aside: I was indeed married, and he was indeed (for me) an idealized version of what I thought the perfect man should be, a substitute for the reality that was making me so unhappy. I didn't realize it then, but it was crystal clear to me once I left that marriage. Now that I'm in a healthy, loving relationship, the idea of crushing to the point where I'm standing outside in the rain to catch a mere glimpse of someone famous is utterly and completely ridiculous to me.
I would suggest to these Married Twilight Moms that they take a good look at the reasons why they're reacting to this boy the way they are. Is there something lacking in your marriage? Then figure out what it is, and get to work on it. Do you wish your man acted more like Edward? Well, he's not going to, but maybe you can tell him what it is you need from him, rather than say, "EDWARD would have remembered to pick up BELLA'S dry cleaning!" I've heard plenty of these women say, "Oh, my husband is fine with it!" Yeah, he's really not. Maybe you should look into how he's occupying his time while you're making scrapbooks of the Forks High School prom.
All I'm saying is: these movies are entertainment, not an alternate reality to mentally visit anytime life gets too crappy for you. Edward is not coming to your bedroom window to save you. He can't protect you from all the Bads in life. But the man in the bed next to you is actually doing that for you already, in the best way he knows how. So how about squealing over him for once? He might actually surprise you with some real-life stuff that's worth writing about.
I am writing this blog on the day "New Moon" opens. Screenings started at midnight. Local radio stations covered the SIX AM SHOWING. SIX.A.M. Oh, and 6:01AM. And 7AM. And 10AM. Ad nauseum.
Mothers are letting their kids miss school. FOR A MOVIE. I checked, and it's not just playing today. Seriously! It'll be around in theaters for at least a few weeks, what's the rush?
I kid, I kid. But I'm not kidding when I say that all those "Twilight" Moms need somewhat of a reality check here.
I don't begrudge the little tween girls who are crushing over Robert Pattinson. That's what being a tween girl is all about. You hang pictures of pretty, non-threatening boys on your wall and you think about getting your first kiss from those sweet, sweet lips. In my day, it was Matt Dillon and John Taylor from Duran Duran. So it's not like I don't get the whole substitute boyfriend thing. Robert/Edward will be a mental stand-in for these girls until they get a real-life boyfriend. And then the crush will fade. In theory.
What I don't get, however, is grown women, MARRIED women, who shriek and scream over this not-a-boy-not-quite-yet-a-man. I've got eyes, I can see how pretty he is. And were I younger and single, I might just get a case of the moony eyes over him. However, he is a 23 year old man-child who is portraying a teenager. Grown women should leave this to their daughters, yeah?
And what of their poor husbands? Could there be anything more emasculating for a man than hearing their wives go on and on about Edward Cullen, who isn't even real? The books came first, folks. They were a huge success before young Mr. Pattinson got the call to play Edward. So these women were already swooning over this ideal, albeit fictitious, man; one who would love them for all of eternity and protect them even from afar. This is barely a step up from Harlequin Romances here, Mr. Darcy-as-teen-vampire. Combine this idealized version of a man (who is actually controlling, rather than loyal; who actually keeps his love at arms' length and therefore keeps it pure and chaste) with the casting of a young, handsome actor, and POOF! You've got yourself the perfect storm of delusional crushes. I've started joking that these husbands should simply go out and buy something they've always wanted, but have been denied. Then, when the wives complain, the men can simply retort: "Edward.Fucking.Cullen." The women will have nothing.
Now, before you accuse me of casting stones, I totally cop to my crush on Dave Grohl from some years back. Of course, we're the same age, but setting that aside: I was indeed married, and he was indeed (for me) an idealized version of what I thought the perfect man should be, a substitute for the reality that was making me so unhappy. I didn't realize it then, but it was crystal clear to me once I left that marriage. Now that I'm in a healthy, loving relationship, the idea of crushing to the point where I'm standing outside in the rain to catch a mere glimpse of someone famous is utterly and completely ridiculous to me.
I would suggest to these Married Twilight Moms that they take a good look at the reasons why they're reacting to this boy the way they are. Is there something lacking in your marriage? Then figure out what it is, and get to work on it. Do you wish your man acted more like Edward? Well, he's not going to, but maybe you can tell him what it is you need from him, rather than say, "EDWARD would have remembered to pick up BELLA'S dry cleaning!" I've heard plenty of these women say, "Oh, my husband is fine with it!" Yeah, he's really not. Maybe you should look into how he's occupying his time while you're making scrapbooks of the Forks High School prom.
All I'm saying is: these movies are entertainment, not an alternate reality to mentally visit anytime life gets too crappy for you. Edward is not coming to your bedroom window to save you. He can't protect you from all the Bads in life. But the man in the bed next to you is actually doing that for you already, in the best way he knows how. So how about squealing over him for once? He might actually surprise you with some real-life stuff that's worth writing about.
I'm Still Here (In D Flat)
Yeah, it's been awhile since I've blogged. Like, a month or so. Sorry to the three people who've been checking. ; )
I gave myself a break, but that doesn't mean I actually stopped doing stuff. I can't stop doing stuff, it's against my nature. So I did stuff.
Like: I wrote a book. Seriously, I did! All I'll reveal about it is that it's young adult, but in a twisting shock, everyone is a human being, and there's no magic or transformations into werewolves or any of that stuff. It IS set in 1985, so there's that. I will say nothing else until the wonderful editor guy I know who is reading it tells me what to do next, but the sense of accomplishment is pretty great. I mean, I DREAMED about these characters. A plot device came to me in a dream. NO LIE. And I finished it just before midnight on Friday the 13th. What a great story to tell Oprah someday. *falls over laughing*
Let's see...what else...oh yeah, I caused another little kerfuffle over at Oregon Media Central. I'm not a glutton for punishment, I promise you. I still believe in the power of radio, especially at the local level, and I always will. I'm shocked that more people can't get behind the idea, but I think some people just have it out for me. And I totally don't care. A few years back, internet flaming and personal attacks would have upset me. Now, I could not care less. I want Portland to have a great radio station that represents everything that makes this city the amazing place it is. Why some people can't get behind that is beyond me. Maybe those people eat the same dinner every night and wear the same clothes every day and don't have any real opinions because they're fine with being force-fed mediocrity, but that's not how I roll. And until there IS such a station, I'm not going to shut up about it. Deal with THAT.
I was lucky enough to host the Women in Film-PDX 1st Annual Holiday Party Thursday night at the Hotel deLuxe. It was fantastic to connect with so many talented women. And they've secured me as their standing emcee for all of their events, which is an incredible honor for me.
This week, I'll be seeing Everclear and reviewing the show for Oregon Music News. Sunday, I'm seeing Them Crooked Vultures at the Roseland. If I haven't passed out from sheer rock and roll awesomeness, I'll review that show as well.
The kids are great and delicious. Jack is currently obsessed with learning the acoustic guitar and has already mastered the intros to "Day Tripper" and "I Feel Fine". Both of the boys want to listen to the Beatles exclusively, and the Beatles Rock Band is getting quite the workout on the ol XBox.
Wednesday is Kelly's birthday. Since last Tuesday, he's been producing the morning show on The Buzz (105.1), so he's been getting up at 3:30am (and not waking me, because he rules like that). If you're so inclined, tune in. Anytime you hear anything pre-recorded or any kind of cool edited bit, know that my man is the one who done it.
So that's the rosy stuff. The not-so-rosy is that I'm no closer to a permanent job than I was six months ago, and money worries plague me at all times. I try to force them to the back of my mind, but they manage to work their way to the front, usually around the time I'm attempting to fall asleep. That's always fun. But I do have a new agent, and even though I haven't landed a VO gig yet, they still send me more auditions than my old agent. With all the on camera stuff coming in to Portland, I might even try to do some actual acting. I'm open to anything that would help keep us in our house another month.
I have so much love in my life, from my boys to my family and the wonderful network of friends I have here. Now, to just make some serious money. Please, please, good spirits, time to end this long long long period of Total Suck and move into Much Better Now, Thanks.
I gave myself a break, but that doesn't mean I actually stopped doing stuff. I can't stop doing stuff, it's against my nature. So I did stuff.
Like: I wrote a book. Seriously, I did! All I'll reveal about it is that it's young adult, but in a twisting shock, everyone is a human being, and there's no magic or transformations into werewolves or any of that stuff. It IS set in 1985, so there's that. I will say nothing else until the wonderful editor guy I know who is reading it tells me what to do next, but the sense of accomplishment is pretty great. I mean, I DREAMED about these characters. A plot device came to me in a dream. NO LIE. And I finished it just before midnight on Friday the 13th. What a great story to tell Oprah someday. *falls over laughing*
Let's see...what else...oh yeah, I caused another little kerfuffle over at Oregon Media Central. I'm not a glutton for punishment, I promise you. I still believe in the power of radio, especially at the local level, and I always will. I'm shocked that more people can't get behind the idea, but I think some people just have it out for me. And I totally don't care. A few years back, internet flaming and personal attacks would have upset me. Now, I could not care less. I want Portland to have a great radio station that represents everything that makes this city the amazing place it is. Why some people can't get behind that is beyond me. Maybe those people eat the same dinner every night and wear the same clothes every day and don't have any real opinions because they're fine with being force-fed mediocrity, but that's not how I roll. And until there IS such a station, I'm not going to shut up about it. Deal with THAT.
I was lucky enough to host the Women in Film-PDX 1st Annual Holiday Party Thursday night at the Hotel deLuxe. It was fantastic to connect with so many talented women. And they've secured me as their standing emcee for all of their events, which is an incredible honor for me.
This week, I'll be seeing Everclear and reviewing the show for Oregon Music News. Sunday, I'm seeing Them Crooked Vultures at the Roseland. If I haven't passed out from sheer rock and roll awesomeness, I'll review that show as well.
The kids are great and delicious. Jack is currently obsessed with learning the acoustic guitar and has already mastered the intros to "Day Tripper" and "I Feel Fine". Both of the boys want to listen to the Beatles exclusively, and the Beatles Rock Band is getting quite the workout on the ol XBox.
Wednesday is Kelly's birthday. Since last Tuesday, he's been producing the morning show on The Buzz (105.1), so he's been getting up at 3:30am (and not waking me, because he rules like that). If you're so inclined, tune in. Anytime you hear anything pre-recorded or any kind of cool edited bit, know that my man is the one who done it.
So that's the rosy stuff. The not-so-rosy is that I'm no closer to a permanent job than I was six months ago, and money worries plague me at all times. I try to force them to the back of my mind, but they manage to work their way to the front, usually around the time I'm attempting to fall asleep. That's always fun. But I do have a new agent, and even though I haven't landed a VO gig yet, they still send me more auditions than my old agent. With all the on camera stuff coming in to Portland, I might even try to do some actual acting. I'm open to anything that would help keep us in our house another month.
I have so much love in my life, from my boys to my family and the wonderful network of friends I have here. Now, to just make some serious money. Please, please, good spirits, time to end this long long long period of Total Suck and move into Much Better Now, Thanks.
Getting All Reflective and Whatnot
I've been out of work now for four months now. I'm not any closer to getting a new job today than I was when I was laid off. I've had a couple of articles printed in The Oregonian and one voiceover job since May. And of course I'm freaking out about money. But this isn't a pity party where I get all boo-hooey.
Here's the thing: I need to chill on myself. I haven't allowed myself to relax or anything in the last four months. I haven't cut myself any slack or given myself any pep talks or told myself things are sure to get better. Instead, I have worried myself nearly into a ulcer. I have mentally beaten myself up more times than I can count. I have blamed myself and bargained with whatever being exists to fix this all and make it better.
Yeah, I'm not doing that anymore. That shit stops now. I didn't do anything wrong. Therefore, I have to stop punishing myself.
From now on, I'm going to sit back and allow things to come without trying to force them to happen. I'm going to stop waking up with knots in my stomach just because I am not going to work. There will be no more trying to mentally solve every ill in my life as I try to fall asleep at night. I will no longer visualize myself living in my car and image myself on a nice beach somewhere instead. If I feel like hiding from the world for a day with a crappy chick flick and a bag of Baked Lay's, I'm gonna (actually, I kinda already did). If I want to see a movie all by myself instead of working on the YA novel I've got cooking (which is actually going well), I will do it. It's okay for me to care of my mental health, because I sure as hell am gonna need it.
I lost my job. It's happening all over. I'm not unique. I'm like anyone else: scared and worried and certain that a career of waiting tables is just around the corner. But I can't let that be my every waking thought anymore; I'll make myself sick (which would be really bad, because I don't have health insurance at the moment....). Taking care of myself means I'll be able to take care of everything else. And the karmic clustereff that is my life might just smooth itself out, as long as I can remember to accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative.
Or, to quote from a completely different kind of song: It's no surprise to me, I am my own worst enemy. But I need to be my own best friend.
Here's the thing: I need to chill on myself. I haven't allowed myself to relax or anything in the last four months. I haven't cut myself any slack or given myself any pep talks or told myself things are sure to get better. Instead, I have worried myself nearly into a ulcer. I have mentally beaten myself up more times than I can count. I have blamed myself and bargained with whatever being exists to fix this all and make it better.
Yeah, I'm not doing that anymore. That shit stops now. I didn't do anything wrong. Therefore, I have to stop punishing myself.
From now on, I'm going to sit back and allow things to come without trying to force them to happen. I'm going to stop waking up with knots in my stomach just because I am not going to work. There will be no more trying to mentally solve every ill in my life as I try to fall asleep at night. I will no longer visualize myself living in my car and image myself on a nice beach somewhere instead. If I feel like hiding from the world for a day with a crappy chick flick and a bag of Baked Lay's, I'm gonna (actually, I kinda already did). If I want to see a movie all by myself instead of working on the YA novel I've got cooking (which is actually going well), I will do it. It's okay for me to care of my mental health, because I sure as hell am gonna need it.
I lost my job. It's happening all over. I'm not unique. I'm like anyone else: scared and worried and certain that a career of waiting tables is just around the corner. But I can't let that be my every waking thought anymore; I'll make myself sick (which would be really bad, because I don't have health insurance at the moment....). Taking care of myself means I'll be able to take care of everything else. And the karmic clustereff that is my life might just smooth itself out, as long as I can remember to accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative.
Or, to quote from a completely different kind of song: It's no surprise to me, I am my own worst enemy. But I need to be my own best friend.
