Glo Blog

Okay- so here we go.  My dance with the pro-life profiteers. My side step with pop culture.  My soap box moment.  I usually keep my mouth shut about extreme religion, money and sex.  No, really. I do. Opponents don’t listen anyway.   But I am dusting off the tree stump to take a stand about a fast rising media trend-which, in my opinion, is on the brink of a baby catastrophe:  Idolizing teen pregnancy.  Thank you cool hip MTV for following the life of several oops, I got pregnant teen girls. And in the midst of showcasing”popular girl” “pretty girl”  and “party girl”-all preggers and uncertain about life after baby-unless of course, MTV gives them the option to be featured on teen mom-there was not much mention of the biggest casualty.  The babies of teen moms.  The future does not look so bright for any of them. Unless of course, they all have a deal with MTV for when they turn 9 or 10 and end up on a reality show of their own:  “I was a teen mom’s baby and look at me now”.  MTV seems to be creating a really scarey sub(pop) culture among teen girls:  “Should I get pregnant and then submit myself to the show-in the hopes I will finally get the attention I have been wanting my whole life”……cause, God knows, having a baby-raising a child at 16 was not the kind of attention I was looking for.  Quick, bring in Dr. Drew and analyze that.  In fact, I think I saw Dr. Drew, tan and fit- almost smirk when he had to ask the panel of teen moms how life has changed- since they

1. Got pregnant

2. Dropped out of school

3. Broke up with baby daddy

4. Went on welfare

5. Got pregnant again with different baby daddy

Each had gotten a “teen mom” make-over-but not one had gotten a life make-over…or do over.  How can they at 17?   And what will happen-when stakes get really high and teen mom remains unemployed mom, and pregnant again teen mom without a baby daddy mom?  Is MTV gonna pitch in to help?  Probably not since season two is underway and all the attention will be on the new  batch of 16 and pregnant about to bust with a baby.  Will the prolife pros step in and help?  Probably not-since they are just happy a baby was born, forget about the circumstances and what lies ahead for that babyteenmoma…….I  mean, really?  This is a good life for a baby?  I’ve not known any teen mom who could handle the situation.  Sorry. Not one. I see the results daily of children who were raised-well, sort of, by a teen mom.  Teen mom is rarely still in the picture-and if so, by a thread and a whole team of other people who are raising the child.  In truth, the system raises these children. It is not pretty.  The children are not well adjusted and each has the internal scars to show for it.

  I recently attended a memorial service. The service was held in a non religious venue-which did not bother me in the least. I did not know the young man who died,tragically, and too young I might add. I was there to be supportive of the younger sister and to pay my respects.  In fact, I did not know much of the family history-there had been a divorce early on-but from what I knew, life went on as it does when parents divorce and families part. There were displays of pictures set up all around the room-showing a happy boy, the same grin and bright eyes, the same look on his face from toddler times right up to the last photo taken of him only two weeks earlier.  Family photos of the siblings, in happier times, celebrating holidays, milestones and independence. As people gathered in the small space upstairs and then filled in the overflow downstairs, it was obvious the young man lived a life filled with friends, each one making an angry, puffy eyed, tearfilled entrance- twenty somethings,many with bare-feet, layers of sustainable living wear,tattoos, piercings, mohawks, and non vocal signs of solidarity. Obviously, he had found his own family, and was making a life that was unique to who he was. And then there were the others, extended family, I guessed, entering all pulled together and somber-wearing the proper clothing one was expected to wear on a day of remembering the dead.  There was a wave of tension-not the weary kind we all feel when  we gather and remember someone no longer with us;but there was also the funk of a family that had been broken for a long time….and there in the front row, mom and dad, distanced even now by their other children.  And then the service began.  It began with a friend, playing the guitar that had belonged to the deceased. The song was an angry series of wails and moans-off pitch and unmelodious- a coda to what was about to be unleashed on us all sitting there, being respectful-and about to witness, not a memorial but an airing of dirty family laundry. 

The opening line-the very first words uttered defined the young man as a victim of divorce, who had his heart shattered at the age of 4 and had been searching for happiness his whole (young) life.  I was taken aback. We heard tales of his violence, his truancy, his drug abuse, attempted suicides, his ill at ease with society and all it stands for, his lack of respect for authority,his ability to be non judgemental of others, except those he seemed to disapprove of for whatever his reasons were, his love of video games, punk rock and anything that defied rules and regulation.  We heard how hard he tried.We learned of his disappointments and his struggles, his ability to make others happy-and how maybe he had finally found his own.  And then his source of new found happiness got up to speak, her newly shaved head a display at how “fucked up” this all was, her raw anger, raging out with fists pumped, bare fee stomping on the floor, her quest to squelch her own anger and clean up all his broken glass, her resolve to make sense of it all.  So many tears, bitter acid tears of a family and friends so torn.  It made me sad-to the core sad to watch this all unfold-what once must have hung so neatly on the line-now flapping all around in a wind storm. It was tragic.  Sadly tragic.  Here I sat watching the young life of a man I did not know, come even more unraveled after his death. Not once during the almost two hours of a life recapped, did I hear anyone say “I am sorry for your loss”, or even, ”I am sorry.”  There was not one prayer of the religious kind( not that I expected it given the location) but  not even a silent moment of healing, a thought or two for a life cut short, a wish for peace.  As the service ended and people poured out from all over, sobs ending and beginning again, I made my way to the sister, hugged her close and left-not knowing what to say. As I walked away and looked back, I swear I could almost see a cloud of misery hanging over the reception area, so beautifully adorned with white table cloths, fresh flowers and more photos of the young man hanging out, airing out.

I drove home, not sure of what I had witnessed-and very uncomfortable with what I had.  Through out the week, thoughts, expressions, comments I observed have been flailing in the breezes of my own mind.  While I am all for honesty and accountability and certainly for people to find ways to make amends, I am quite sure, airing out the dirty family laundry at a memorial service is not a wash I’d like to repeat.

Sarah Palin VS Octuplet spewing new mom

Jessica Simpson VS. Anyone…….y’all. And stop calling her fat.

CEO of Wells Fargo or (Fill in the blank of any uber bank we just bailed out) VS A room full of people who have lost everything. And let’s put Bernie whatshisname in there too for good measure.

Any “star” from the 80′s pleading for a “kick-start” to their career by starring on a reality show and shaming themselves back into therapy VS.  Any actor out of NYU waiting tables.  Still.

Nancy Grace VS Anyone.  Just anyone at all.  She does not give a shit who she confronts or what she says to them.  In the name of justice.  And her twins.

The Fall River Policeman VS All the parents( myself included) attending the soccer game, he ticketed last Saturday morning in the course of one hour- at the Omniplex.  I refuse to pay the ticket just on principal alone.

East Rd VS. All the idiots who continue to push 80 rounding the curve heading towards Four Corners. Accident number 6 last night in the same 25 foot stretch of road.  Kid ran right into a parked Cox Communications truck.  It was snowing.  He was going at least 60.  It’s 35mph.  35!

And while we are on idiots:  That very strange man in the very loud Stephen Kind looking big blue truck who tries to run over people.  He guns it starting at Grays Ice Cream and does not stop until he gets to Lake Rd.   VS The village. They say he is missing. They want him back.  They can have him.

This is why I am growing more weary of people who make the business of publicity a feeding ground.

The octuplet spewing female has hired a publicist.  She wants $2 million to “tell her story”…….is that all it takes to make $2 mill?  Quick, get the eggs and the baster. I AM IN.

I am totally stealing this line from someone far craftier than I- but feel it best represents the hideousness of it all:

“Look lady it’s a vagina-not a clown car.”

 This is me. 

Don’t you love the mornings that begin with vomit in three different places and that’s just from the cat?  And one of those places is dead center in the middle of your desk?

 I am beginning to really question parents who run onto the indoor soccer field at 9:30 on a Saturday morning to yell at their 7 year old child for missing the goal.  And it’s not just the dad.  I’ve seen a ca-razy mom do the same thing.  It’s recreational soccer people.  Get another hobby and STOP YELLING AT YOUR CHILD!!!  

I am beyond pissed off at people who feel they are entitled to whatever they want but they don’t want to work for it.  Most of these people sit on their ass and wait for the check to arrive in the mail-and then go spend it all on cheap crap they think they need…..I know people who make more off the government,doing nothing but watching Jerry Springer and drinking a Big Gulp-than I do going to work every day.  These are the same people who rip a stove out of the wall to scrap for cash and then wonder who is going to get them a new stove. And these people keep having children. And they see nothing wrong with a 22 year old having her second child-when she can’t afford the first- or the 19 year old who just had his fourth-with yet, another girlfriend. I am beyond being sympathetic to these people.  And I am a very sympathetic individual.  But enough is enough.  Get off your ass and work and stop having children.

Real Housewives.  I watch it.  It is like a bad accident and I can’t turn away from it. I watch it with true disgust and amusement. I Tivo to watch when I know I can’t stay awake.  BRAVO has gotten my attention.  Damn it. These women can not be real.  How did Bravo cast these collective groups of desperate women hanging on to something someone in TV Land invented.  Please tell me BRAVO sent out a wide casting call to find idiotic women willing to sell themselves short and appear so vain and unfunny. Or worse, forced funny.  Was it all for money?  What was the trade off ,to trade in your very being- or is this your very being on display?  Please tell me no.  Are there more of you like this out there and you all just represent this subgroup of women who have always secreatly wanted to be Alexis or Crystal?  They have got to have a script they are following-please tell me- carefully crafted that makes them appear so very shallow and surreal. Yes, I know this is the new brand of “star”-but trust me when I tell you- if there is a camera rolling, there is a craft service table, make-up and hair close by for close-ups, everyone’s agent re-negociating original negociations, someone counting the money, someone selling airtime and someone keeping the camera rolling.  This is show business.  The new show business…. which makes me hate this business even more than I do at this moment in time.  I know we are in trouble when a student says to me she wants to be a reality star. Forget formal training.  Who needs it anyway?  Yes, I know it is all about ratings and getting people to tune in- to watch the drama unfold-all dressed in silicone and prepaid outfits….and has anyone else noticed how much they drink in each episode?  God knows they must have to to quiet the teeny tiny voice buried inside that is begging them to getout now before they further damage whatever level of self respect is left. 

Would I do it, you ask?   No.  A very solid no.  And the truth of the matter is BRAVO would find my housewife life- or any of the other real, real housewives I know too terribly real and uninteresting to document.  Who really wants to watch us in our real, real lives-minus the liquid lunches, Botox appointments, PTO meetings, getting from here to there for soccer games, groceries, school, work and anything else that is so very crucial to our beings-but so very unglamourous. I mean, I do know some Bravo real housewives right here in this very town where I live-but we all laugh at them-or worse, feel sorry for them because we know how miserable these women are and we know it is all they can do to maintain.  I have personally felt the wrath of one-it was not pretty-or worse- it was pathetically sad. She doesn’t like me-she has made that clear.  I don’t dislike her-but I can’t stand to be in the same room with her without wanting to either shake her out of her unreal or worse, laugh out loud at her demands for attention. I have heard she’s real fun at parties.

 I’d take all the women I know who are real housewives and put them up against those Orange County bitches any day.  Let’s see them stack wood, work, tend to our husbands without shaming them, worry about real life, desperately care about our children and their well-being-all this without a single camera rolling or taking a mid afternoon break for a cocktail.   Wait, maybe a cocktail-and for sure a glass of wine-but not at 1pm.  Bring it on OC…and get real.  Really, real.

“And So It Goes” will be a weekly post to bitch about the things that are making me scream.  Feel free to send me your contributions and I will post them as well.

“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. Turn and face the strange….ch-ch-ch-changes”  Remember that song?  It was an all skate song.  Every Friday night.  Funny how my life seems life a never ending Davied Bowie song- still.

I think it is fair to say the strange is upon me.  Swathed in it I am.  But then again, from very early on in my young bell bottomed Apple Chill hippie days-I walked always in the direction of strange.  As if, we had made a pact-us two,that, throughout this life- we would be side by side.  God forbid I rest at the pitstop of comfort or ease.  No, it was not to be.  Ever.  There is no before or after.  There just is not.  There is just the ongoing of change-the incoming of strange. And it all takes as much time as it takes.  No sooner.  No later.  I reflect on this many times when I am trying to once again, figure it all out and come up with an answer.  But no.  Then I make peace with it all- well sort of-but sometimes, no-and realize I would never have been happy any other way.  I would never have the stories and true encounters that shape and mold, bend and break-without choosing the path of strange.  Not that I had a choice.  For me, when nothing is happening-something is happening.  Always.  Though I never really know it until I am on the other side.

I don’t know when to stop.  It is a fault, I know.  But because of this, I have been able to allow change for others-and through that some kind of change for myself.  I think.  The other day I received some pictures in the mail.  They were taken the August after I graduated from high school.  I was with one of my brothers in another country-surrounded by heritage and ancestors.  I looked through them all-and remember still to this day, the feelings I had that summer.  Preparing to go off to a very prestigious womens college ( I was terrified), ready to leave home ( I was elated), and yet, there I was free spirited on the back of a moped-tan and waving.  Wanting so much to be different and “European” and be damned…..or vice a versa.  I was so young.  My brother was so young and awkward.  Gangly and full of adolescent angst himself.  I had not one clue as to the where or what of me was to be.  That girl in that picture was so many life times ago and so much has happened( as one would hope) since then.  That August.

That feeling is with me still at times.  Even now.  To be different and be damned-forget the European-but not so much angst anymore.  Just restlessness…with all the other layers grown over and over again through time.  Add to that the change that only motherhood, marriage, death and disappointment can bring…and here I am.  Not angry.  Not ashamed.  Not embarrassed- or incomplete.  Just still feeling my change-my strange.

It’s cold.  Just damn cold.  The last remaining buds from anything left in my garden are giving way to the chilly blast of wind- little seed pods blown somewhere else.  I have not the initiative to go out and rake or stay in and fold clothes,or for that matter, grocery shop, clean house or even think about looking for work.  I am fine busying myself with stupid little tasks that make me feel like I am getting something done-but really, I am just moving things around-either to be thrown away or moved to another pile of memories. Give me a plastic bin and a Sharpie and I’ll organize stuff-throw out most of it and categorize the rest.  Then move it around for years.

I am stuck.  It’s the week after the week after…. the exact time when one thing is over and everything else gets back to normal-whatever that is. I am restless and edgy.  I have never minded good-byes-or the end of things that were…..I am not a look back over your shoulder for one more glance kind of gal.  I savor the time and use it to the fullest.  When it is time to go-I go.  This is not to say it is always easy and I will confess to crying while not looking back-and certainly in the comfort of my own space-I have shed a tear or ten-or more-at all the goodbyes….but as a rule- I think a goodbye is a sure way to say hello to something else along the way. There is, however an exception:

When I leave my mother now, I never know if it will be the last time I see her-so those goodbyes are hardest of all.  She is damn determined to go before her mind does and I am damn determined to make sure all her remaining days- however many there are- are filled with what she defines as quality.  Two freight trains with unspeakable amounts of determination……and she can not figure out where I got this from?!…..

My mom.  Her abundant sunshine despite the weather. Her abundant sunshine always.  I have ever only heard her cry-that soul-deep, sobbing kind of cry twice.  I will never forget that sound. Those times she let it all out.  Even in the midst of family dysfunction at it’s finest, she remained determined to protect the family and act as if.  Even in the midst of her current poor health-she is acting as if.  Reformulation at it’s finest.  She is fond of saying “I survived damn near everything”- and truth is, she has.

Every family has dysfunction, she would say.  Even as she swept more lies under the rug and wiped off those enormous rose colored sun glasses. She knew on some level, for many years-and she chose to not know.

yes, mom, I know.  But…………

then I would list all the things that, to me, clearly define blue ribbon winning dsyfunction( as if any family would want to win that prize) and she would say

what is normal Gloria?  Dysfunction is the new normal

Tell that to the Murdoch empire.

Actually, really, some of us, turned out ok.  We are thriving despite the fall out-though, clearly, there are  cracks in our individual sidewalks. 

Don't fall in...

Here is the biggest heartache in this particular transition with my mom.  It is not seeing her decline-it is not knowing she is terrified, it is not seeing the vacancy that comes and goes-but more often stays longer in her eyes.  It is hearing her grieve for the what if’s.  It is hearing snippets of stories I probably should not-and realizing the anger she swallowed.  Big gulps.   It is being frustrated she did not entitle herself to get angry like she should have- It is knowing somewhere in her being she is aware, her family will never be together again in the way she had always hoped.  No family barbeque’s, outings or Christmas mornings.  Those days are over.  In fact, the last time all her children were together was in a courtroom-petitioning for her further protection against a sibling and his own family.  Cold hard truths on the table, exploitations noted and any further attempts at stealing from or swindling stopped, once and for all.  Mom, having to hear all of this, knowing the bitter truth and yet, smiling, that smile she smiles, because, for the first time in a long time, all her children, all adults now, were in the same room.  Never mind the circumstance.

Have a seat. Get comfy.  Take over the whole room. Go on. Stay for a while. It’s been years.  No one will notice you or comment on your appearance, on how you ended up here, who had the nerve, the very nerve, to invite you anyway?…( were you even invited?)  How long are you planning on staying? If you are lucky,I will arrive at just the right time and make mention of you being here.  I will say the wrong thing at the right time…or vice versa. I will comment on the obvious. Loudly. It will be the first thing out of my mouth.   I will ask you all kinds of questions and expect detailed answers. I might even challenge your answers.  I will, without question, make judgements and offer up options on how to best deal with your presense. Your big being.  I will not ignore you, though others will wish( please Gloria, please, just shut-up) I would.   We will go head to head and toe to toe.  Make nice with that elephant. Gloria, make nice with that elephant ! After time, you will not even notice the elephant here. There. Right there.  From time to time, someone( could you?,Gloria, please?) will clean up after it-feed it, offer up a beverage, entertain it…..

You will begin to notice how others react to you, Mr. Elephant. ( or is it Ms.?) Or not.  You will wonder why no one else is saying anything.(Shhhhhhhhhhh, don’t, for God’s sake make it mad, Gloria  )Doesn’t anybody want to know? Isn’t anybody just a little curious?

Wait.  Where is everybody going?  Wait.  Wait one minute.  Everybody breathe.  Everybody just wait a fucking minute!!! You there in the corner.  Turn around. Say hello.  Meet and greet.  You?  This is an elephant.  E-l-e-p-h-a-n-t.  This is not a zebra. or a monkey…or anything else you wish would take it’s place. Hey, put the bottle down.  An elephant is an elephant-no matter how blurry your vision.  AND YOU?!  It is not the devil-this is not a war for God to fight.  This one’s for you.  Put the Bible down and just deal with the elephant.  And you.  You.  This is your family. Are you the one who invited this elephant?  For whatever reason.  Please.   Please.  Is anyone besides me interested in how the damn elephant is feeling?  Just a little interested in how and why?   Why?  Why not?   WHY NOT?

Hello?

Hello???! HELLOOOOOO?

(dead silence)

It is only me and the elephant.

Great.

It’s going to be a long night.

It recently came to my attention a woman by the name of Nina( the name has been changed to protect the guilty and to preserve some sort of decency-mine-not hers-) is billing herself as a “Divorce Coach”…..and is teaching “Divorce Seminars” down the New Jersey way-to help other women avoid the pitfalls of divorce since she “suffered”so much. Claiming she, now-a single parent, was the victim of a horrible divorce-that she was “married to a sociopath”- and to this day feels it is her duty to warn other women;To teach other women the ways and means of surviving a “brutal” divorce. TO ALL YOU WOMEN WHO HAVE PAID THIS WOMAN MONEY-Find your own inner voice and DEMAND IT BACK. You have been duped. She is a fraud.

Here is the real Nina- you might even recognize her. Had my mother not been such a forgiving soul-E…..ummmmm..Nina would be sporting a jumpsuit in a bright shade of orange serving out deserved time on Federal charges…..but my mom, being the real victim-decided not to pursue any legal action. My mother somehow managed to maintain a level of grace and dignity through her own run in with this “divorce coach” . Let’s review:

Nina is the exact kind of woman she warns those she coaches to avoid..and what to “look for first” when a divorce is hovering. Perhaps this is why she knows so much about the ins and outs on how to survive a divorce.-how to “gain financial success”..because she was once the motivating gas on a hell of a fire…she stood back, lit the match, watched it burn, surveyed the damage and counted her money all the way to the bank.

Yes, I know divorce happens. What two people decide to do with their tail-spining end of a marriage is up to them- whatever reasons my parents 33 year marriage came to an end is between them both- as it should have been. BUT my father was having an affair with Nina- who was younger than three of his children and 34 years younger than him……she clearly was in for the money -had a history of going after wealthy men- taking what she could and then moving on ( what does her mother think of her daughter? parading her poontang all over the greater Triboro Area at such a young age????)….she gave no concern to anything or anyone other than keeping her eye on the financial prize. To those of you seeking her advice think about these things before you dump any more money into her slimy, fat palm.

She convinced my father( yes, he too is to blame-another blog on another day) to lock my mother out of the home she raised her family in while she was out for her ritual morning walk….her purse was left on the door step- in a matter of one hour all the locks had been changed. My mother never stepped foot in the house again. Never got her personal items. Nothing. She was not allowed back in her own home. No change of clothes, nothing. My mother raised her children in that house- grew a garden-lived a life.

Nina forged my mothers signature on several documents and bank notes so she and my father could sell off assets and hide them. In fact, we would often hear how “brilliant” this individual was and how “in charge” she was of finances.

She convinced my father to have all of us remove all personal items from the”marital home” in 30 days or else they would be destroyed. Three of us could not make it back to the home- a security guard was posted by the door and all items were thrown into a dumpster. I have nothing from my childhood to show my own child..because Nina( who was still having the affair with my father) did not want to “look at our things” when she came to visit…….before my parents were divorced- she had the house gutted and renovated. It looked like the inside of a Bloomingdales…..the home furnishing department.

And to show Nina’s side for dramatic flair- she thought it would be really fun to have my mothers divorce papers served at the home of her sister-while we were all there attending her daughters wedding.

At a Christmas party with friends and family in attendance- she got quite intoxicated, went up stairs and minutes later came downstairs with an extremely large dildo-and began playing with it. She thought she was being cute.

After my parents divorce -which was brutal- thanks to Nina’s input-and soon after Nina married my father-and then a year later divorced him- she would call my mother and act as if they were best friends-wanted to share secrets-promised to tell mom where all the money was hidden. Nina wanted to be friends since they were, after all, married to the same man gigglegiggle laughlaugh……..she even had the nerve to extend an olive branch to have us meet our half brother the child she had with my father. To date, I never have and do not have any notion of any kind to do so.

Recently while going through boxes in my mothers garage I came across court documents. It appears Nina’s divorce from my father was not all that abnormal. She was demanding all the money( from a year of marriage)-demanding all the assets and “joint property”-and basically , as they say down south, “show’in her behind” in a court of law. At one point the judge ordered her to undergo a psych evaluation. The evaluation indicated Nina was”suffering” from a severe narcissistic personality disorder. My father had the same diagnosis from his own court ordered evaluation. It is a wonder they did not kill each other along the way. There has to be a joke in there somewhere: How many narcissistic personalities does it take to________(fill in the blank).

This was years ago. Still, at times when I go to find something to share from my childhood with my child-and realize it is gone there is a hint of anger. When I look over the years of damage beyond repair-when I note the hurt one (two?) individual was willing to risk- not for love- but for financial gain-there is a twinge of “but why?”. That’s it. And now, as I watch my mother go through bitter life changes of her own-and hear snippets of her own unresolved hurt and anger- I fully understand divorce would have been inevitable and there is no way they could have remained married. However, I cringe at the thought this pig of a woman, Nina, is still profiting off the loss of our mother. There has to be a special place in the deep dark cracks of hell reserved for those who profit off other’s loss.

It is personal. It is still chalk full of question marks even as an adult. I have my own life so full of wonderful pathways and byways-but still, I feel a teeny tiny bit of loss for us all. More so, this is a battle cry against someone who is clearly (still) making money off something that caused my mother -and our entire extended family- a great deal of pain. But this is nothing new-look at Edwards and that whole unraveling of pain and profit.

Nina is the only one who gained from her actions. From what I can tell-she suffers little- she got what she wanted-received a sizeable settlement, and has never looked back. Odds are she is omitting this segment from the opening remarks as she struts up to the microphone, warms up her attentive audience filled with revenge and desparation-these women who want to know how to get even- these women who paid good money to hear from someone who has been through so much pain.

You wanna give her your money? Go right ahead.

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I left New York because I could not play the game anymore.  It was too much work to keep up the agenda that I knew would lead to disappointment.  I have been in this crazy world of show business for a long time.  I have opened my own one woman show in Las Vegas as a pre show for Don Rickles, sang with Tom Jones, yes, that pussycat guy, performed at Radio City, been in Pine Valley, Landview, upstate, down river, off off Broadway, thisclose to Broadway, had cocktails with Julia….yes, her….flew to Hollywood,  worked on set, off sides, have gotten  thephonecall-and waited by the phone when I knew it would not ring,have had my own trailer, been in rooms where I knew I needed to get  out of-in a hurry- and have been left out of rooms where I had hoped to be invited. I have been on the list-and left off even more. 

I got out of the business, then got back in-thinking maybe, it had changed.  But it has not.  Somehow,I have managed to work in every capacity of show business without sacrificing my character-and without giving too much of myself away. There have been some soulless casualties-I confess.  I have had a reasonable amount of success. I am not looking to replace a parent-or a lost childhood. I am not searching for love and acceptance above any beyond the normal day to day existance of love and acceptance.   I love what I do because of the people I get to play and the stories I get to tell. I am not interested in people hopping to get ahead.  Maybe that is why I am still here.  Maybe that is why I can’t tolerate the sometimes extremely cruel things I have seen happen to other people who are willing to accept certain conditions in order to make it.

 I always go back to theater-because it is where I started-it is what I know best in my bones.  There are no surprises.  There are honest mistakes made-live.  There are souls exposed in the most beautiful of light.

I did not have connections or a trust fund.  I worked  (sometimes 3 jobs)to pay for classes and to pay the rent.  There were times when my father helped out-but he kept a running tab of what I owed-and I chose to take on another job instead of signing a promissory note.  Yes, my father had a promissory note drawn up that totaled all I owed since college.  I refused to sign it.  But that’s another blog.

I did not get my MFA in theater arts or attend an Ivy league school…someone actually asked me the other night where I did my graduate study…….I wanted to say …:”ahhhhhh 57th and 7th…..?  83rd and Columbus?  44th and Broadway- the lower east side?…..late nights and endless rehearsals?”   20 years of working and creating my own work is where buddy.  I did not need to sit in a class until I tasted the imaginary orange.  I have tasted the orange.  As if a graduate degree is a guarantee for getting ahead in show business.  I don’t want to push and claw.  The times I did, I felt like I was going to throw up on the subway ride home.  I could not handle the cocktail parties where I was expected to say the right things and do the right things in order to impress someone.  AND NO, I would not be going back to any one’s hotel room for a nightcap, or to hear a demo, or to see a clip, or to………..

Last night, at a little gala prior to a show opening, I saw a hint of that old way of working a room-manipulating a person, checking off items on a hidden agenda.Someone else putting ego first-and feelings last.   It caught me off guard. And then it pissed me off-because I bought into and it affected the way I played the hour- my precious limited hour- I had on stage.  It affected my performance.  I gave my power away to some one’s snide off handed, skillfully planted and well thought out comment.  I forgot to remember how it works.

My Vegas gig ended early.  After I opened and had gotten a decent review in Variety, I was approached by the owner of the hotel who wanted me to “look at his running shoes”  He knocked on my door, late at night, with nothing on but a robe. He was in his late 50′s.   He was holding a box and in the box was a brand new pair of running shoes.( really…this was wayyyyyyyyy before Justin Timberlake and his box) He ( this man and his box) went on to say, he noticed I had gotten up nearly every morning and had gone for a run-he said he noticed the strength of my legs and the sweat on my shirt……could I, would I, advise him on his choice of running shoes?  He kept the conversation on the topic of running-but we both knew it had nothing to do with running. I was 25.  I was very green and Las Vegas was a whole new world for me-but I knew he could give a shit about the shoes,my sweat or running for that matter.  He sat on the bed, his robe opened , he confessed he was a “hedonist” and that he could make things very good for me in Las Vegas if I was willing to “go running with him”.  I was scared.  I did not think he was going to hurt me but at the same time I knew what was being presented.  I told him I wasn’t interested.  I told him no.  I told him to get out of my room or I would call security.  He asked me if I knew what I was saying.  I said yes.  He still sat on the bed-holding that stupid ass box of running shoes.  “Get out!”, I said and moved towards the door.  He said something to the effect that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life…. ”you’re such a little girl”, he said.  ” I thought you were a big girl”  I WAS 25. I was by myself.  He left.  I was shaking.  I called Joe, the man who had helped create the show I was performing. Joe, who had been in the business forever, and crafted many award winning Broadway shows.  Joe who was kind hearted and brilliant( it can happen).  Joe, who became my friend in a very harsh world.  Joe, who told me to simply stand and sing and that would be enough.  It was.  He assured me I had done the right thing-and then told me to pack my bags.  He was sure things were going to change.  Sure enough, the next morning, I was notified my contract was being cancelled (Mary Hart and her million dollar legs replaced me) and I was left on my own.  I had to be out of my room by 11am, my car had to be turned in and all of the items that were given to me for the show had to be returned.  I was on a plane back to North Carolina the next day.  I never went back to Las Vegas.  I have no idea what sleeping with Mr. Golden Nugget would have gotten me.  I was not willing to massage any thing or any one at the cost of my own being.  Even back then I was not willing to sacrifice my character.  That remains intact. 

Last night was not that extreme.  I flubbed a line.  I recovered and the show went on to be a wonderful piece of ensemble work.  I was not mad that I flubbed the line- I was mad that I allowed someone to cause me to leave my mind for just a moment…..

There is no doubt in my mind this person with said comment will achieve great things in her path ahead.  There will be moments of great success-I can see it already forming.  I just wonder about the costs-and will it even matter.

When I first moved to New York- two years after the Las Vegas incident- my mother sent me a refridgerator magnet with a quote.  I still have the magnet-it says: Fame is a vapor. Popularity an accident, riches take wings. Only one thing endures and that is character. 

 I will add to that:

kindness is in our power-even when fondness is not.