In the Hollyworld, where I spend a good chunk of my time, and presumably in the world at large these days, no one gets by being one thing and one thing only.  Whether for financial survival or greater fulfillment, it seems we have fragmented our existence to satisfy the answer to that question.  And perhaps it’s the case everywhere, but I can’t remember the last time I asked someone in this funny little land what they did for a living and received a single, no-slash answer…  The most common of these is the ubiquitous actor/waiter, and there’s a different combination for every person asked.  The following are arguably the most popular, and you can generally interchange them like paper doll clothes:  actor/singer/dancer/waiter/bartender/writer/artist/host/ producer/indie filmmaker/deejay/personal assistant/blogger/et al.

The amusement I get from my own anecdotes about auditions and castings may not translate and may not resonate every time, but occasionally there is a write-worthy moment, and today provided one of them. 

On one of the casting websites which enables actors to submit themselves for roles, be they commercial, film (usually small budget or student) or internet webseries, the posters of said roles generally offer a short breakdown of what they are looking for; sometimes it’s based on looks, other times special abilities, and sometimes it’s just ridiculous.  For another curious example, today’s offerings included a request for an underwater Jennifer Garner hair-double.  Yep.  Here’s what the job would look like for the right actress whose hair will be chosen to float underwater during a Neutrogena hair product commercial: 

“Talent will be shooting underwater taking breaths from a hookah rig or scuba tank between takes. She will probably be underwater for 20 minutes at a time. Scuba certification is amazing, so is [sic]synchronized swimmers, hardcore snorklers, or anyone with a freakish lung capacity, no fear of being underwater and a winning attitude.”

For the lucky chosen strands, the buyout for said work is $3500. 

What may be even more ridiculous is that at first glance, that hardly gave me pause.  Perhaps in part because, as a blonde, I’d never be considered for the spot.  But I digress… no, what caught my eye and made me laugh today was what I can only say is the best slash/slash description I’ve ever seen — drum-roll please… 

Guitarist/Singer/Princess  

Wow.  Hello!  Dream job!!  This sounds like something I wanted to be when I was five…  In fact, when I was five, I told my mom I wanted to be a dancer, a singer, a mom, an actress, a nurse, and a veterinarian (and that’s just what I remember).  She asked me how I might accomplish all that, and I told her, sincerely, that I would be each of those things one day per week.  Ta-da!  Problem solved.  Little did either of us know, but that was probably the precursor to my current slash/slash existence.   To be honest, I don’t even know how best to answer that infamously loaded question when people ask.  That hesitation in my voice before I answer?  That’s me determining which slashes I’m going to respond with…  That’s me thinking “How much do you want to know?”  “How likely are you to judge me by my answer?”  And, “How many follow-up questions do I feel like fielding?” 

Back to our heroine, though… Now, guitarist/singer/princess is a lot to ask for in a performer…  I mean, royalty with real, marketable talent?  Reading the description, the desired range gets even more demanding:  “Prefer someone who also knows how to do kids parties already, i.e. face painting, making balloon animals, etc.”  Ok, so clearly there’s a context for the request, but nevertheless, it’s just not something you see every day, and it’s not even something I see every day…

10pm.  Monday night.  Looking around the store, I’m aware that it is mostly populated by my kind due to the hour.  It’s really an unconscious observation though, until I’m in the checkout line.  And the only reason there is a line at all is that at that hour, there are only a few aisles open anyway.  The brief line allows for the requisite checking out of other people’s stuff.  We all do it.  You know this. 

I realize I’m neither the first, nor the funniest, to observe human behavior during the checkout process at the neighborhood grocery store.  It’s a fantastic glimpse into our nature, for better and for worse.  I was struck tonight, as I often am, by the contents of my own cart and what they say about me.  There is no question, if one were briefly examining my cart, that I am a single woman who rarely, if ever, cooks. 

Here’s how you’d know:  sliced cheese, sliced bread, sliced turkey, frozen entrees (like, 10 of them), cans of soup (again, 10-ish), apples, blueberries, smallest available container of milk, tea, coffee and ice cream.  Oh, and in case my single status wasn’t abundantly clear from the food contents, a couple of magazines.  Christ, I don’t even slice my own cheese. 

It makes me smile, and occasionally it makes me a little melancholy.  Naturally there are times when I wish I had someone to call from the store to ask what I should pick up for dinner.  Or times when I wish I had a reason to say “no, little Timmy, put that back.”  But mostly, I enjoy the freedom to stroll aimlessly through the aisles randomly selecting things that sound good, or the freedom to run in for two things and run back out, without worrying that someone at home might be forgoing fresh milk or juice because I’m in a hurry and have a chocolate cake craving and need paper towels.  In recent talks with girlfriends we’ve discussed the preeminent need to enjoy these times, these moments, because there’s a good chance we’ll wish to have them back someday.   Even now, I have friends who would do anything for the chance to go to the grocery store alone at 10pm on a Monday night.

Tonight reminded me of a particularly funny cart contents incident a few years back, one which I’ve been known to mention to people when I’m in a particularly self-deprecating mood.  I’ll never forget this one Friday night I stopped by the grocery store on my way home from work .  According to the three items in my cart, I was in for the saddest Friday night a single girl could have.  Here’s the evidence:  pint of Haagen-Dazs ice cream, tampons, Martha Stewart Weddings magazine.  Yep, looked like a real low point.  I remember praying Murphy would take pity on me and not let some attractive guy saddle up behind me in line, take one look and high-tail it.  The funny thing is I remember giggling in that moment, because I was actually looking forward to a fantastic evening entertaining myself and I wasn’t the least bit aware of what it might look like until the items were placed on the conveyor and the sum of their parts looked somewhat depressing.

2009 is upon us, and I find myself and my two closest girlfriends all single for the first time in 10 years.  The other day, one of them said to me that she felt a little remorse because over the last few months, she’d been looking at her girlfriends as a distraction from her upheaved love life, and she felt as though that perspective prevented us from reveling in and enjoying the moments for what they are, rather than distracting us from what they are not.   I suppose that is the mindset I’d like to take with me into the new year — trying to enjoy people, moments and circumstances as they are, instead of using them as distractions from what is not.

Once upon a time three years ago, I briefly dated a professional sailor.  Once you’ve stopped snickering, read on…  and banish the image of a young Navy man in uniform.  This guy was hired to race sailboats, big expensive ones, in high-profile races around the world, and was the oldest little boy I’ve ever met.  I had these romantic ideas about where a relationship with him might take me.  In the end, it went nowhere…

At one point, he told me about a World Cup race in which he had come down with some kind of life-threatening obstruction.  Due to some storm off the coast of New Zealand or somewhere, they couldn’t get him off the boat for several days — he was eventually air-lifted in a daring coast guard type maneuver (of which he had no recollection whatsoever), and obviously made a full recovery, but he described the whole experience as having “gone pear-shaped.”

     

When those words came out of his mouth, I was stunned.  It was an expression I don’t think I’d ever heard before, but it’s meaning was nevertheless immediately clear, and immediately offensive, as a pear-shaped Vagina-American.  I mean, it was laughably offensive — not a flog him over the head with my thighmaster kind of moment. 

But it turns out the expression may be utterly wrong…  A situation which has gone pear-shaped traditionally implies a negative connotation, but according to a study released last November, being pear-shaped may actually be a good thing. 

It’s a new dawn, people, and from now on, I will be doing my best to view my hips as “privileged stores of neurodevelopmental resources.”   Apparently the junk in the trunk isn’t junk… it’s omega 3’s – and they’re good for brain development.  Potentially in the woman who has the junk, and quite certainly in the offspring of that woman.  So baby’s got back and brains. 

The original study was published in the journal of Evolution and Human Behavior.  As described in the coverage on ABC: 

“Controlling for other correlates of cognitive ability, women with lower WHRs and their children have significantly higher cognitive test scores,” the study authors note in the article.

And obviously, if Fox News picked up the story, it must be true.

I encourage you to check out the study, and mate accordingly…

Ok, this was hilarious…

http://politsk.blogspot.com/2008/09/sarah_13.html

Allow me to introduce myself… I am Charcoal Sniper Palin.

Please forgive the simple link to this person’s blog, but I thought this was worth sharing.  So funny.

Enjoy!

Someone I know just asked me why he can’t stop blogging about Sarah Palin.  It really does seem like a virus that’s going around the blogosphere…  and I can’t say I haven’t had a case of it myself.  In fact, here I am coming down with symptoms.  Sometimes I have to sit on my itchy hands to keep from writing something about her…

The TIME article about Alaskonomics sent me off on a tizzy earlier today, as did the cover of today’s LA Times with the photo of Palin supporters lofting their ridiculous Rosie the Riveter Redux signs in the air as though she were some kind of champion for the rights of women.  Absurd!  My greatest fear is that all this attention around her, even the appropriately negative attention, is going to bolster GOP support.  That this white noise of the blogosphere is going to devolve into the kind of thick, gray, choking smoke our current administration has been belching out throughout the last eight years. 

The worst part is, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I feel better.  Apparently, I, too need some kind of support group.  Perhaps that would just further contribute to the problem…  I did find a doll I can stick pins into whenever I feel a touch of the virus coming on…

After a fair amount of yelling at my tv last night, and one fit of giggles over the Piper Palin baby-grooming moment, I thought I would turn an amused eye towards my neglected blog…

I was uninspired though.  I didn’t want to drone on about the convention — frankly I’ve had about as much as I can handle of it for now — all set, thanks.  So I spent the next couple of hours insomniacally (?) surfing.

I eventually made my way to the online dating website where I have an even more neglected page.  Say what you will, online dating is great fodder for entertainment and endless conversations about relationships.  I could even call it research for the blog, if this blog were going even remotely in the direction of where I initially thought it would when I started it.  I can’t say I’ve been on many dates which have come courtesy of the world wide interweb over the years, but the few I have been on have seemed less painful than some derived from more ‘organic’ methods. 

Opening my inbox mailbag last night, I found a message… same title as this posting, same all caps style.  This was the body of the message:  “LET ME TAKE YOU TO DINNER.”  

Oh, where to begin?  This is the part when my married friends breathe a sigh of relief and think ”oh, thank god.”  I think my favorite part is the steakhouse/seafood part.  Although, really the entire title itself is pretty hysterical.  On so many levels.  But the steakhouse ’slash’ seafood is outstanding.  In case I wouldn’t be interested if it were just steak alone, perhaps?  “Oh, but he did mention seafood… hmm… well, that changes things…”  So after recovering from my second giggle fit of the evening, I started to wonder if that email was this particular guy’s best trick play, or just a blanket offensive strategy that he’s figuring nets him maximum coverage with minimal investment?  Do women respond more or less favorably depending on which restaurant he suggests?  Perhaps he’s doing research of his own.  Does he look at each prospective date and decide which joint to suggest?  Hmm… this one looks vegan — better title it “REAL FOOD DAILY” or “LEAF.”  I think I answered my own question on that one…  his profile mentioned RUTHS CHRIS somewhere in a list of favorite things to do.  This guy is obsessed with both the restaurant and constant capitalization.  People who insist upon using all caps – that’s going to have to be reserved for another post.  There’s just too much psychology there.  And apparently it’s a hot button issue for me since it’s the second time I’ve mentioned it.          

Time out for just a second and please forgive the ADD moment — but Colbert has Adam Brickley, the blogger who “discovered” Sarah Palin in early 2007 on his show right now.  Hold for my next fit of giggles.  Again, on so many levels…  Quite the talent scout, this one.   Sorry I don’t have the youtube link for the interview, but I just looked and don’t see it up yet.  Wow, this one’s a character…  Guaranteed Brickley’s sporting the “hottest vp from the coldest state” button which were all over the convention last night (ugh)… or else he went to Minneapolis to visit the same bathroom stall as Larry Craig…  I’m not quite sure.  Either way, he’s super-excited to be a Republican.

Looks like politics just hijacked this posting as well, and my attention span for the evening.  Needless to say, I failed to make a love connection last night — either with the Republicans or with RUTHS CHRIS.  Sorry for all the yelling.

What a difference a day makes, huh?  From last night’s kool-aid high to this morning’s GOP bombshell (pun potentially intended), Governor Sarah Palin has stunned us all.

Perhaps McCain has realized that the next four years, or eight, for that matter, are going to be such an uphill battle, that he has taken it upon himself to fall on the sword…

I’m not ready to weigh in just yet on this pick.  I don’t think we know enough about this woman to rule her out as a possible threat – if for no other reason, because we have seen poor judgement exercised by the masses before when presented with someone who is folksy and homespun instead of reasoned and qualified.  

Yes, McCain’s pick seems patronizingly transparent.  He’s done a hideous job of pandering at its lowest.  One thing I can be certain of is that for the PUMA’s, the most pathetic thing they could do would be to fall into the trap laid before them by the McCain campaign.

I do hope to see Joe Biden wipe the floor with Sarah Palin, and I do hope this is the best birthday gift McCain could have given us, but I’m not sure I trust the general population outside the blue archipelago…

After shotgunning a healthy dose of the DNC kool-aid tonight, I am having a drunk-on-Obama moment…  and once again, I wax political.

Whenever I hear new parents say that you just can’t imagine what love is or what life is like until you have a child of your own, as one without offspring, I always think “really?”, ”how can you be sure?”, or ”what if it doesn’t feel that way to me?” – and then I smile, nod and acknowledge that I suppose it must be true, because, really, what is anyone supposed to say to that? 

But I actually had a moment tonight, watching the video which aired before Obama’s speech, when I experienced a genuine glimpse of what it must feel like to want your children’s dreams to be so big, and so grand that they are without limits of any kind.  It was a visceral reaction — one that felt like a little individual groundswell.  

That groundswell, I think, was both individual and personal, but it was also collective and much, much bigger than my own tiny moment of awareness.  

It is these moments which we must cherish as individuals and as a country, because they don’t happen enough.  Those moments when we feel proud, when we really do have hope, when we believe that it is perhaps alright, if only for one night, to allow our dreams to be a little bigger and a little grander than reason or history tells us we should.   

When that beautiful family walked out on that stage in front of the world I felt so proud.  This should be our next First Family.  We cannot turn back and we cannot turn our backs on the history and the promise of this moment.

Once again I find myself blogging political — I said I’d try not to, but damn it, it’s tough to do.  I’m certain to have thoughts on tonight’s DNC speeches as well, but first, I have to go back to last night, because it seems too many people have already let it go. 

Harry Reid had probably the best speech – or one of the best at least – i’ve heard yet – reasoned, wise and on point.

…And it seemed like no one was paying attention. Yeah, he’s probably not going to win any charisma contests. He seems like the nerdy guy you invite to every party you have because he’s smarter than anyone else you know and he makes you look good for being his friend, even though sometimes you don’t understand half of what he’s talking about.

But the content of his message was perhaps more damaging to the McCain train than any preceding or following it. He talked about the snake oil remedies of John McCain’s policies.  Unfortunately I think his delivery was disingenuously gentle, even when his words were not. The background noise on c-span gave off the impression that he didn’t have the crowd’s attention, which sadly meant he wouldn’t have the viewer’s either. Perhaps it was another technical screw up like the lousy camera work when Obama introduced the Girardeau family the other night. It bothered me – I felt like the one student in the lecture who’s trying to hear what the professor is saying and trying to show that not every student is a rude asshole.

I don’t know, I hope you saw it. I think it would have bothered you too. I almost wish someone else had delivered it for him more effectively and during prime time.

Into the four-legged category falls this video:

More on this later…  I feel like I should go walk my dogs.