Friday, April 30, 2010
I've been a little blocked lately but my radar tells me that a tsunami of words are about to violently wash up on shore. I've started doing video vignettes because my life has always been scripted to an extra special soundtrack, (no, not play list...I'm old school) possibly even a double album of musical ditties that take me back to a moment. I'm very interested right now in moments of time that have profoundly affected my persona. Some are special and wonderful while others are a bit sad, even melancholy. I never said this K-Tel special was going to be the ultimate in musical genres, but however good or bad the song may be, they belong to my moments in time.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tonight, Vic and I made our way to Huntington's Book Review to hear Candace Bushnell read from her new young adult novel, The Carrie Diaries. She wasn't what I expected....nothing at all. I've been a fan of Sex and the City since it premiered on HBO over a decade ago, yet I mistakenly thought that Bushnell had a larger than life role in the writing of the shows scripts. I was wrong. She sold the rights to television producer Darren Starr and worked on the original pilot script as a collaboration. The show is based on her New York Observer's now famed column "Sex and the City," which not only attracted Hollywood producer's but the devout readers who found themselves trying to navigate the often confusing dating scene in New York City. Eventually, the writer gave in and decided on a television show rather than a flash in the pan movie that may have gone nowhere. Bushnell's decision may have been questioned at the time but her move was brilliant and helped create one of the most iconic female characters of the modern century. Am I over exaggerating? Not at all, especially to those hearty women who came out to hear a feisty Bushnell describe the back story of Carrie Bradshaw, a clique-less high school burgeoning fashion plate with her eye on New York City.
One thing that Bushnell said tonight, spoke to my heart. She said whatever you are doing, do it well. Good work is always recognized. She also said that writing takes a major commitment and if it isn't there, you won't produce good work. I'm almost there Candace. You may not be Harper Lee, but you created that iconic character, which is what I want to do...what I am destined to do. I can hear her voice, I just need find mine.
Off to bed to read more about Carrie Bradshaw and get a master class on how to build a character.
Friday, April 16, 2010
I suppose we all head down this road at some point in our lives, yet we are sorely unprepared for the dreaded mid-life crisis. I choke on my own spit to admit that I am a very young 43 and haven't fallen into the multitude of monetary trappings that engulf most Gen X'ers. I'm still searching for something but I'm not quite sure what that "something" really is or if it even exits. I think I must have been born under an odd, out of place star, that guides me into strange and often confusing places and events. My life has never been boring although I have fallen into ruts and secretly embrace tiny bouts of depression from time to time. Currently, I'm in a state of flux mostly due to my foolish weight gain as a result of my bereft year and of course career issues. It is not my lot in life to push papers and wear suits. I'm the antithesis of corporate. I despise corporate. I'm the product of a working class family with huge aspirations for myself but none of them included the trappings of following "company policy." I can be pragmatic when needed but for the most part, I'm a dreamer, a writer, a lover and a friend. A few weeks ago, I allowed a stick in a suit to intimidate me and exercise her perfect drawl in the language of condescension. She blocked me from tea, looked me up and down and judged me. So I look like a hippie professor or a funky chick from the city but by no means am I a leper. I was off my game that day. It blind sided me to be honest. I was devastated for a moment but then I realized what kind of person she must be. Insecure, pathetic and a follower would clearly define this woman. It's sad but hey, it's Long Island. People here look through you and once they surmise they've no use for you, they move on to the next victim. I'm better than that. If there is one thing I've learned in 15 years of helping others, it's compassion. It doesn't cost a thing to smile or help a stranger. Everyone is so caught up in their own minutia that they can't see past it. When did the helper become the punisher? Isn't that one conundrum we'd all like to figure out.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I tried to do the right thing but how come they didn't? They're the ones who are supposed to know better yet they chose to think about their own asses first rather than what was better for the greater good. Maybe Timothy Leary, in all his infinite acid laced wisdom, had the right idea to drop out. It's hard being part of something you just don't believe in any longer. I read a quote at the end of some ones email today and it said something about not doing things for the money but to save your soul. I used to dream about being a hippie poet on the beach in Malibu, smoking 12o's and waxing about existential thoughts. I spent most of my summer's barefoot in Cape May nursing chapped lips from kissing random guys in bars and further destroying my fragile liver with any libation that rocked my world. Dollar 'Rocks at the King Eddie has been traded up for $10 glasses of Shiraz at the Brown Room. I sip rather than glug. I nibble at the snack treats rather than inhale the stale Pepperidge Farms pretzel mix at the Chalfonte that I used to think was gourmet! I was a poser of sorts back then trying to balance everyday life with the endless rantings in my head. Is that the life of a writer? Do we hear voices? I remember everything and everyone from my past. I remember distinct conversations that still haunt me. What am I supposed to do with this information? For God's sake, I still remember the damn department codes from Caldor and secretly kept and old wannabee boyfriends name tag. I have it in a box on my dresser. I thought he was the love of my love but all it was...was a whole lot of nothing. Unrequited love sucks. Once you really fall in love, you can tell the difference in a million different ways. After almost 15 years of marriage, I'm just so excited that I get to spend everyday of my life with my best friend and lover. All those other asses that used and abused me, can piss off. Am I still bitter...hmmm...good question. All I know is that you have to go through all the a-holes to get to the good stuff...and boy, I got me some really good stuff! Maybe I'll throw that name tag out. I just don't want it anymore. I think a YaYa Sisterhood ceremony is in order! Any takers?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
FLASHBACK: (circa 1987) I was at Quintessence in Albany with Michael, drinking "Sex on the Beach" mixers when "Vogue" came on the sound system. I had a few heavily poured cocktails and was dying to dance a little. As I headed towards the 4x4 dance floor, I saw this toolish guy "voguing" to the song as if he was Madonna himself. I walked right up to him, big hair and all, and did a little dance-off myself, letting the liquor do the work, but he wreaked so badly of Drakkar Noir, it forced me to exit stage left...beauty's where find it!