Jillibee'sness

Weighty issues on TV (and in my head)

This week on TV I watched Star Jones, Marie Osmond and Valerie Bertinelli on Oprah talking about the heart aches and victories in their battle with weight. They all seem to be in remission for the time being. 

Star risked her life getting her stomach cut open and sewn shut. She was remorseful about not telling the world about it nor sharing with the world how hard her life had been before.  Apparently the world had a right to all her deepest feelings.  Today she is feeling free to let the world in on those secrets that for some reason weight loss has given her the freedom to feel secure enough to share and because she is skinny now; people care enough to listen to.

Marie Osmond talked of the pain of being "that fat sister" of the talented Osmonds and being told to lose weight at 110lbs, so she starved to weigh 93. Now she is FREE at last and thanks to pre-packaged foods (and I suspect an endorsement) by Nutri-System, all that is behind her. Horrified at her Dancing with the Stars weight of 160-170 she has starved herself to a comfortable size 2-4. Thank goodness she is free from the pressure she felt to be thin when she was younger. (Can you see my tongue in my cheek?)

Valerie (I've always liked her) has a smoking body and is a star again in her bikini, thanks to Jenny Craig. Or is Jenny Craig the star again thanks to Valerie?  Or was it Kirstie Alley?  Hey what happened to Kirstie Alley?  Tabloids don't show her looking so good and since she is invisible again I fear they may be true.  Do people get to make fun of her again (though some never stopped)?  Should they have gotten to in the first place?  Weight, wasn't this supposed to be about Valerie?  What if SHE gains the weight back, will she go away again?

As I listened to the heartache and horrors of being a fat woman in Hollywood and the shame they felt in letting themselves become "THAT" (With all the tolerance preached on Oprah, Fat is still the "THAT" we don't ever want to become); I saw Oprah's shame and empathic pain. I felt my own, and remembered to feel bad about myself again. (Phew! I'd almost forgotten! And good thing too, I'm about to take some risks and have some fun. Wouldn't want to forget to pack this baggage to take along!)

I am about to go to Hollywood for my annual ASCAP conference. It is not all about me by any stretch, but I want to put my best foot forward as I meet and mingle with others in this industry, so I can be taking seriously as a pro. creator and not be dismissed as a pro-creator.  That means I really should take off some years and leave half of me at home.  In the previous years, I have had a budget for new clothes. (If you can't be thin or young, you'd better be rich). This year I feel older, poorer and fatter. I hate when that happens!  (As if I could ever feel young rich or thin enough!)

I wish I did not feel this pressure to change in order to be taken seriously.  Perhaps you think it is all in my head.  It is. Story after story of outrageous, out of context comments about how much better I would look and how much more successful I would be - thinner, are stored in my head from my very earliest days in this "business" up until last year. (I have always fluxuated between a size 12-18. Even at my heaviest I'm not Gilbert Grape's mother or anything. I'm just MOMish). (The mere fact I felt compelled to type that shows how bad I have this social disease about size BTW)!   Don't get me wrong, I want to change me, sure I do! I'll take that pill or drink from that fountain if they discover it.  But in the meantime, I need to call a spade a spade; and fat women are the new "black"; as in "African American" - who have been under represented or misrepresented for years.  It is ok to discriminate against fat women because they are invisible and trying to keep it hush hush. Well I'm going to have a hard time being quiet (at any weight) and don't like being ignored. (Can you TELL?)

In other words, since I can't do anything about myself at the moment, I think I will take on the industry standard that makes me feel like I should.  WHY is it so bad for a woman to be fat in Hollywood?  Art immitates life and the truth is, many of us women living life are fat.  Why is it THE THING you can not show in any meaningful way on television (unless it is a show about losing weight or dying from not losing weight?  Why are fat women so despised, ignored or ridiculed?  Is it because it is believed to be their fault?  Is it a kind of moral stand against self-destructive behavior?  Wait, this is Hollywood, who made "re-hab" a household word and one of the seasons in the life of a successful star.  I just don't know why women have a moral obligation to be thin and young in order to be depicted on television except sitting on Oprah or some other show talking about how they need help shedding the pounds or need applause for having shed them.

I'm happy for these women who appeared on Oprah.  I am happy for any woman who can shuffle off this mortal coil that makes life eaiser and longevity more likely.  Hollywood is tough. These three invisible women revived their careers by shrinking back to a size we can recognize!  (Though they can't lose age, so I fear it's a temporary fix.  But that is for another blog).

In contrast to the Oprah show, and the self-conscious feelings it evoked in me; Friday morning I saw Jack Black dancing on "Yo Gabba Gabba". At one point he was in a skin tight, bright orange jumpsuit. My kids and I were delighted by his giant bouncy belly. He was the picture of plump. And we loved him. I could sit here and come up with a dozen fat and aging men who have big bodies and big careers, and often star in movies where they "get the girl" (a thin and beautiful younger woman).  Why is it ok for men to age and put on weight but not women?  Is it because even if they have a lot of weight on them they refuse to BE it?  I mean, really, is that all we women can talk about? (And trust me, I KNOW I have a monotonous fat loop playing on my "I-BOD" so I am NOT casting stones!) 

Oh never mind. It is much too complex for me to unravel now. I'm too busy thinking about my upcoming weekend transition from motherhood to Hollywood to worry any more about the things I can not control. I have only 2 weeks to plan my outfits and activities and since that is not enough time to lose all the weight or age I would want to lose to be PERFECT, I am going to have to find something else to focus on.  Based on what I saw from the heavy hitters this week though, given the choice between the apologetic formerly fat Oprah guests and jumping Jack Black,  I think I will look for a bright orange, skin tight jumpsuit.  Life is short, I refuse to let anybody (even MY body) keep me from dancing.

Uh OH!

I meant no offense in my White Rage posts.  I especially meant no slur or slam to any race creed color or religion..or car model for that matter.  I was merely taking my experience of road rage and poor behavior and redeeming it in a pie in my face rhyming way.  I received a comment that unsettled me.  I do not want to inspire any kind of rage.  That was the point.  I let someone's big car angry horn inspire my angry middle finger which inspired her out of control behavior.  I fight fire with marshmallows so I ignored her, played show tunes and blogged.  Victimless crime I thought.  If I am mistaken I will take these posts down.  Sigh.  People are very tense at the moment.  My goal is to make people laugh and hopefully think about serious things in a lighter way.  That is how I cope with these things personally.  I do it publicly cause I have been encouraged to do so...and also because I figure if it helps me it will help others.  If it gets creepy I will stop.  The last comment got a little creepy for me.  Pure unadulterated racism which I unpublished. If my work inspires that then I will unpublish it as well.  It was meant to be a pie in my own face only.  If you read the comment that I unpublished it is not from someone I know or would like to know.  It was mean and hateful.  Sorry.  That is not my intention or way of life!  Honest feedback welcome.  Did I go too far this time?  (Please be nice though, I am thin skinned).

Notes on White Rage

This is an actual account of a trip to the grocery store today.  This aging Barbie in the bullying white truck who would not let me turn into the grocery store and then laid on the horn and followed me when I had the audacity to do so, is a real person (with fake parts).  I did drive around the parking lot with her following me (after me having waved at her with my finger when she laid on the horn and accelerated instead of allowing me to make the turn).  She approached my car and angrily "invited" me to discuss the matter in front of my children, but I chose instead to turn on the CD player and ignore her.  Beautifully and ironically the song on the CD was from the musical "Wicked".  She left disappointed not to have engaged in a fight and completely missed the humor of the moment. 

I was a bit shaken and the kids were a bit rattled.  I hated that.  I was telling a friend of this experience when she relayed her own.

Two nights ago she and her husband went to dinner in a very nice town.  They were trying to turn into a parking spot but had come a little close to the spot and needed to back up and try again.  A woman with a nice car refused to back up.  They motioned to her so she would know their intentions.  Nothing. The wife got out of the car and asked her to back up.  No response.  The wife began to insist she back up while many people were watching.  Nothing.  The husband and wife drove off and let the woman have their spot.

I know none of this will make the headlines, but I fear this is a sign of the times in suburbia.  It will be interesting to see if we can all keep it together and play nice while our toys are being taken away from us or if there will be more of this kind of thing in the coming months.

I for one will do my part. I intend to engage in only acts of passive (aggressive) resistance in rhyme.  If I am pushed too far, I may be forced to start expressing some of this in song!  So DON'T PUSH ME!!! Musical theater happens, and it's NOT pretty!

White RAGE

Here's how we roll
Here's how we see it
It might sound droll
But it feels like shee-it

Driving in my mini-van
driving in my hood
Going shopping is the plan
oh yeah, I shop so good

Whoop there it is
a big ol white suburban
all up on my biz
like Aladdin's tiny turban

Laying on the horn
make me want to holla "STOP"
don't wanna be like porn
but I flipped the BEE-ATCH off

Next thing that I know
She guns a motha down
with all my kids in tow
she follows me around

Gets outta her car
like an angry ol Barbie
she takes this thing too far
starts to cuss and hollar me

I cranks up some show tunes
till she just storms off frustrated
Wicked soundtrack "boom boom boom"
that beatch just menstru-ated

I know I could do bettah
the finger should not fly
but the moment that I met her
with her anger and her "why"

I knew that I had seen
a case of white hot house wife rage
like a smutty magazine
with a wrinkled dirty page

I know this angry chick
with her angry ugly curse
Is feeling kinda sick
cause her shoes don't match her purse

I know this big old truck
that she drove up on my van
ain't paying for itself
so she's doing what she can

Like my classy middle finger
hope this chick can introspect
and not let this anger linger
till the next intersect

I know my kids are proud
that their mama did not pop her
her angry words were loud
my quiet finger flew on topper

I know they think she's crazy
and just came out of nowhere
Truth is I was lazy
with just one finger in the air

don't think I shoulda done it
but it's not the worst of crimes
this middle finger she-it's
just a sign of the times!

These times they are so tryin'
brings the worst out of us all
so before your finger's flyin'
gotta give the Lord a call

If you don't you might just find
an angry Barbie at your window
out of her frickin mind
and putting on a van show

Children are our future
(though we've spent it all today)
next time I think I'll toot her
and drive peacefully away

Nothing's worth the effort
Nothing's worth the strain
Nobody needs to get  hurt
we just need to keep prayin'

Things will turn around
they always seem to do
don't let the money get you down
and make you say "screw you"

We're in this thing together
Barbie, work to keep your head
make friends with things like pleather
and shop at Ross instead

We all must do out best
to restrain our fingers and our rage
we may not all be well dressed
but we should all act our age

The children we are robbing
will have rage of their own
let them see me bargain shopping
and not picking any bone

with an angry aging Barbie
or a tired weary Ken
let my conduct and my car be
4 tired, steery, cheery - zen

The house on Main street

It is ironic that I am typing this with my thumbs on my tiny blackberry keyboard instead of my big mini laptop or my bigger computer. It is all about size and space with me these days (and this time it is not about my weight!) Size does not matter unless you have been used to bigger and might have to go smaller, which is exactly what I am vexed by today. I have not blogged in a while. I guess it is because I have exactly the same stuff to say that I said the last time I blogged. We are still in the "now-you-have-it, now-you-don't" test of wills we like to call "are we going to have to move in a month?" We have been playing this game for a year. But thanks to the economy and the timing of the paperwork it is suddenly our turn to make a move (either figuratively or literally) and we are not as sure we can win as we were when we sat down to play this game. Here we sit in our roomy enough house discussing the options. We will be downsizing in one way or another but do we want to be in a big house not able to afford to go anywhere or do anything fun or do we get a small house we can afford to run away from? Of course I am picking this time to pull my head out of the sand and look at the world, the economy, the political discussion about eliminating tax credits for home buyers, and the real possibility of lay offs at my husband's (and just about every other person's) job. The real and present danger of it all that makes me want to stay home in bed is the thing scaring me away from buying any home to put my bed in. I just want to go home! I am enormously blessed to have both people alive and well who taught me what a home is. My parents are across the country from my husband's job. Deciding whether to even visit them for the summer is an impossible dream if we buy this house or one similar. If we were to move there, then my mostly grown son would be the one living on the other side of the continent. It seems cruel to have to make these kind of decisions. I am usually good at trusting God for these things but I am also usually better at hearing from Him. So for now I am waiting with my hand poised over my game piece waiting for a signal to make my move and clarity to know where to move it, while fighting the urge to just quit. Maybe I will throw a fit, turn over the dining room table (where these grown up games are played) and just take all my stuff and go home! (Ironically, I would have already done so, if I could just figure out where that home should be!)

What's the use?

As I begin the process of merging my life as a mother/artist and positioning myself for future employment, I am updating the information on my social networking sites - Plaxo and Linked In.  I joined these sites because it is the business thing to do and well, because I was invited.  However, Facebook is the only one I love and understand.  Facebook is for friends, and a place to let it all hang out with all the people you wish you had more time to hang out with.  The other two sites are professional networking agents to enhance the ability to be more of a professional.  As one who is pretty transparent in general, I have found the duplicity of a professional/personal identity challenging - even back in the day before every thought a person had was written down and sent into cyber space for God and every other user to read (God prefers "Windows", by the way).

When I first started blogging, I was very private about it.  I did not allow just anyone to read it.  I now open it up to God and just about everybody.  I am not sure I should be so public with this blog. My attempts to be personal enough to be relevant and authentic, yet cryptic enough to maintain a healthy boundary, are feeble at best.  I must at the end of the day, just claim poetic license (whatever that means) or Popeyetic license - "I yam what I yam!" (At least at the moment I am blogging I yam what I yam.  I am not sure I still Yam what I Ywas!)

The good jobs I have gotten and loved have come to me warts and all from people who want warty people.  I suppose with this degree of self disclosure, I will not want to run for public office or school administrator or any other high profile office of responsibility; but really, is that something I should bemoan?   The office I seek, of "writer, mother, artist, friend" is one best held by people who are fearless about looking at their human failings and generous in sharing and celebrating the lessons they have learned in this petri dish called life.  That I have sought to do with this blog and feel I have done faithfully for a number of years.

So, whoever you are, reading this entry or the slumpy one that preceded it, or any of the ones preceding for that matter; I hope you find something useful or amusing to you and not judge me as a useful person based on my musings useful or not.

 

Better than nothing?

I don't feel particularly clever today nor very interesting.  I know that is not a compelling bit of advertising in the first sentence to hook you in and invite you to read more.  Perhaps you shouldn't.  I just read a blog by my friend Andrew Anker reminding me of the phrase "Dead cat bounce"  referring to the trend of the market to bounce up in a false recovery before slumping back down again.  I would like to write that rag (and it is now copyrighted so you can't do it).  At any rate, I feel like I can identify with that phrase.

Today it seems that buying this house is an unlikely dream.  The sad thing is, the short sale seems to be progressing nicely, our portfolio on the other hand is not.  My adventure with Celebrex love/hate relationship came to a screeching halt with a severe allergic reaction at Christmas which left me with a screwed up stomach and the same back pain that led me to take it in the first place.  So this month is all about lifting up my hood to figure out what the engine is doing.  I wish I could get a trade in on a newer model.

I am still enjoying facebook and have done some great writing on the side, but today I just feel like a dead cat looking for her bounce.  In times like these my husband likes to point out all the horrors in the world and in the lives of our friends and say "It could be much worse!"  That makes me feel ungrateful AND slumpy. Who would cheer someone up by telling them all the bad things in the world?  But he's right, I am lucky.  I look around at all the things I have to be thankful for and there are a gazillion.  The Bay area is gorgeous this time of year and my kids are gorgeous every day. My husband has a job.  My kids are healthy, my parents are wonderful.  And I, am slumpy anyway.  I think it is almost worse that there is so much good fortune...cause in a slumpy mood the logical next thought is, "it can only go downhill from here".  At least if life were slumpy I could generate sympathy for my slumpy state of affairs and my needless slump would go undetected or be validated.  Sigh.  Slump. 

Sure, there have been some bummers lately, but I wonder if this slump is really about the house and the economy and my health or if maybe some slump virus climbs in my brain at this time of year and makes me feel sorry for myself.  Maybe it is a precursor to the Spring Cleaning bug.  Perhaps this is the dark before the dawn or the cloud before the lining.  I feel an itch to do something shiny and exciting and have not signed on to my next creative gig yet.  Perhaps I am just dormant or germinating.  A slump by any other name still feels just as slumpy.

Whatever the cause, I would color myself slumpy and call it a day..except that it is early in this day, the sun is out, the kids are snugly and the day is mine to do with what I want.  So I am going to bounce my dead cat self down the stairs, which for now are still MINE, and make the most out of the blessings I am taking for granted.  I know this is not an inspired blog, but is it better than nothing?

Who are you wearing?

For the first time in years, I watched the Oscars tonight from start to finish, including the pre-show. I was tremendously amused by the question, on everyone's mind apparently, because they just kept asking, "Who are you wearing?"  I think that is a question we should all be asking ourselves.

There was a time when I watched these Oscars religiously as a disciple, carefully studying for the day when I would walk those steps and make those speeches.  I was not hungering for the red carpet or the fame, but for the same thing for which I still hunger today - the chance to be a part of that group of people who use their whole brain for a living: the creators and contributors to the BIG ART of our time. I wanted to use all that God gave me in service to the BIG STORIES of our people and our time.  Yet, when I began to explore this world a little, I discovered that much of what is required is a god forsaken compromise of the best things I felt led to say, and most of what I really was.  That and, well, the shoes.

With all that I love, I think most of what I hate about the world of entertainment can be found on the red carpet.  Man after man struts up in who cares what suit/age/weight and is applauded.  Woman after woman teeters precariously on the edge of a pin heel, strapped and starched and laced and beaded, to be evaluated critically by a bunch of fashion fruity snipe hounds.  If I were one of those beautiful women who had spent weeks of her life preparing for this big event in a breath defying dress, only to be torn to shreds and stylistically de-frocked like Cinderella at 12:01, I doubt I would have the charity left in me to create another thing.  I would spend the rest of my days like the Phantom of the Kodak Theater.

That's another thing I know now, that I did not know then.  I have been at the Kodak theater lots of times.  I have stayed in that hotel.  I remember it as the place with the confusing elevator and the parking lot where I lost my car and got rescued by a handsome security guard.  I remember it as the place with the good pretzels.  It was not glittering and tempting when I was there.  We were in the green room with all the pictures and on the stage with all the memories.  It was just sort of interesting, not life changing or affirming.  Mostly I was sort of surprised about how much smaller it was in real life than it appears on T.V.

Which is another thing I struggle to accept about the Oscars.  There is no acceptance of women who look as though they have consumed Oscar Meyers.  (We are NOT what we eat, apparently).  This year even the writers were thin!  Queen Latifah, the token fat woman, is hardly rolling down the carpet.  Objects on TV appear much smaller than they are in real life. 

And what of the talent?  Why, oh why, oh why, with so many singers in the world, would they hand all that music to a handsome man who can not sing or keep track of the complex melodies of a gifted composer?  Why, oh why, oh why, with all the comedians out there, were we forced to hear the pinched attempts at wit by the very handsome and loveable Hugh Jackman? I love his charm, and I wanted him to succeed so I suppose that means he succeeded.  I am sure everyone else will say how wonderful he was.  But I am here to testify that I have heard many obscure singers and comedians who could sing and dance and joke circles around that guy!  But well, it was like having one of your cute uncles/cousins show off at a family reunion.  He is OURS, America, let's love him...only wait, he is not ours.  It seems "ours" is not so "ours" any more.  And that is another thing that I noticed...the Great American Melting Pot is simmering away.  I like it.  The fight for acceptance and diversion is on full throttle.  Now, if we could just include more fat and old and handicapped people I would just say, "vive le difference" and call it a day.

It is good to see what Hollywood thinks and to see what they think we should think.  I am glad I am mature enough to know that it is not necessarily what I think, or think I should think. I remember a time before I knew how the Academy worked when I felt those awards were the marker of truth and justice in all things creative.  I am glad I know better now.  So when I think about the Oscars and ponder the question, "who am I wearing?" I will probably come up with an answer closer to the truth than anyone on that carpet today.  I am wearing a misshapen, older version of who I consider the real me - but it's comfortable and well, realistic.  For all my faults and frustrations, I like being able to answer that question with my own name. Nobody gave me this gown, nobody will take this gown at midnight, and my fans and detractors have been forced to love or loathe the me I am, not the one I play on TV. 

Sour grapes?  Yes, I eat those too. If the shoe fits I will wear it boldly (as long as it has a supportive heel), but it feels more like a look to what might have been with the maturity to take in the whole picture.  Yes, I could have had a V8, (as the commercial goes) but I am allergic to tomatoes.  So I guess that is the part they never tell you on television...and until I make friends with V8 and celery I need not apply.

A couple of reasons I love children's theater

If you are my friend on facebook you already read this one!  If you are not, see what you are missing?  (the addiction continues....I LOVE facebook!)

Conversation with a 6 year old actress:

Director: "Animal Number one, do you know your cue lines?"

Animal Number 1: "No. I just wait till everyone is quiet for a long time and then I know it's my turn to say my line"

Conversation with a 15 year old actress:

Jill: "Hey, we missed you at the dress rehearsal!"

Teen: "Yeah, well, I thought we did not have rehearsal...then when I remembered we had it, I had already made plans to go to the mall with my friends. I couldn't just bail on them!"

11 year old after having missed her cue in the final dress rehearsal: "Well, I was on the phone".

Ain't no small stuff being sweated by these small thespians!!

too much of a pooh thing

I have been over involved in my daughter's production of Winnie the Pooh.  She WAS Winnie the Pooh, and she got this lead without my being a part of the decision making for a change.  It was a goal of hers to be cast in something I did not direct (not sure how to take that).  She was wonderful and knew everyone's lines and did a great job without me. 

This was the play where I was going to only be a mom. It started out very well.  I drove her there and picked her up.  Some times I even had a friend carpooh her.  And then somewhere in the final hours I ended up with my name on the program more than any other family.  I never saw it coming, I don't even know when it happened.

As publicity staff I spent hours on line advertising and putting up posters (Sophie did some of the art work on the poster, by the way) and passing out invitations.  I was back stage assistant and even ran a whole show all by myself on stage left (a new experience for me).  I was the vocal coach.  I did some make up and put on a wig. My husband worked in the boys' dressing room one show. I gave Sophie some last minute pointers with her lines, and if this show had gone on much longer I suspect I would have been in the lighting booth and played the role of every single audience member! 

I swear I was not trying to do so much.  In fact, I thought I was trying NOT to.  But I did anyway.  It was not until I saw the program that I even realized I had done it. I was busy beating myself up for not getting an article in the paper soon enough (good thing I didn't - we sold out all the shows).  In dissecting this phenomenon with a friend of mine I said that it feels like I am sitting in a room with a bunch of people who are saying, "Now what is 2+2?  Is it 5? 19?  47?" and I, not being able to stand the tension of them struggling to solve this problem, just blurt out "4!  It's 4!"   I receive thunderous applause for having the solution.  I feel gratified for knowing the solution.  It is easy and I can do it without much effort.  However, after a while of solving 2+2 every time I come across it, I realize I have spent all my time solving this same easy problem for everyone who asks, in several disconnected ways that have nothing to do with my goals or desires, and I am tired and have nothing personal to show for it.   I still want to give, but I want to give more wisely and stretch myself in ways I need to and want to grow.  If I hadn't been adding like an accountant with her head cut off, who knows - maybe I could balance the state budget with these skills?!..or at least balance my own check book! (Those of you who know me, know this is strictly a metaphor.  I don't really do math!)

So while I am arrogantly solving everyone's equation, my own problems are going unsolved.  Today, for instance, I came up for air and noticed my poor rabbit is not feeling so well.  I got him out of the cage to get a little exercise in the yard.  It was a beautiful sunny day. I knew the exercise and the grass would do him good. He probably knew it too, but Instead of running free and venturing into greener pastures, he kept returning to the mountain of poop under his father's cage!   No matter how many times I took him off and put him in the middle of the yard, he kept returning to the mountain of poo. WHY DO WE DO THAT?!

As I prepare to launch a community service performance of Pooh in 2 weeks, without the help of the director this time, I am reminded of that rabbit and his inability to pull himself away from the allure of Pooh!  It reminds me of a proverb (you look it up, I am too tired): "as a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool returns to his folly"

Maybe that is a little harsh.  I am happy to help. I was happy to help. I ENJOYED MYSELF (I almost always do, that's the problem).  I am happy to support my kids to be successful and happy. I don't want to cheapen the experience by complaining.  I am not really lumping this Pooh into the same pile of poo my rabbit is refusing to leave, but I am challenged by this revelation to push myself off of what is comfortable and easy and strain toward a healthier life style and greener pastures on that proverbial other side of the fence.  I want to learn from this experience so that the next time I find myself tempted to answer someone's question: "what is 2+2?"; I will have the self control to respond, "You solve it.  I have my own Pooh to deal with."