Activity Partner

Fresh out of a long relationship, I was at Chateau Marmont with my friend Cookie when we met Mark at the bar. Mark and his friend Jorge invited us to join them for a drink. We chatted with them about whether we should all move to Sweden as soon as possible to take advantage of their socialized medicine, or move to Central Asia and try to solve that ongoing 4000 year old crisis. (Okay maybe it was Brittany Spears’ latest meltdown, the Octomom and Michael Jackson’s newly announced tour.) By 1:00am we had said our goodbyes and exchanged numbers on Marmont matchbooks.

A few days later, Mark called. “We already sort of had half a date when Jorge and I met you. How about we make it an official real date?”

We went to The Red Lion Tavern in Silver Lake, and while inhaling some hearty brats and a couple pitchers of Hefewizen, Mark must have uttered the name “Carla” more times than I could count. From what I could glean, this Carla person sounded an awful lot like a girlfriend. To get to the bottom of things, I asked a couple of questions worthy of Dr. House:

A. How often do you see Carla?

B. What do you two do when you get together?

C. Are you fucking her?

He answered, “Oh, we get together three to four times a week. We go to the movies, grab dinner, sometimes we just hang out…and of course we’re fucking.”

Yeah, my B.S. radar was in the red, too.

I thought it rather odd to be out on what appeared to be a date - after all

A. We met at bar

B. He asked me out

C. He picked me up at my place

D. He insisted on paying for dinner

E. (All of the Above) = DATE

Yet this guy had what anyone would consider a girlfriend. But when I suggested that Carla was, in fact…(I’ll whisper) his “girlfriend”, he laughed and shook his head and said, “ No, no, she is my… Activity Partner.”

Needless to say, that was our first and a half and last date. Whether he knew it or not, Mark had a girlfriend and I moved on.

The next time I saw him was three months later. We ran into each other in Beverly Hills, where I had just come from a self-help seminar called “How to Make Other People Rich By Going To Their Seminars” (well that’s what they should have called it, because the only one getting rich that day was the seminar swami). Mark had just come from a preparatory class for the GMAT.

He asked if I was seeing anyone new, and when I said yes, he told me he had similar news: He had a girlfriend. “Carla?” I blurted out.

He looked at me like I was psychic. “Yeah - how did you know?”

“How do I know? Mark, I’m the one who told you she was your girlfriend, three months ago!”

Two weeks later, I found myself in a situation not so different with my anyone new. We’d met last December, and by February we had gotten around to one of those conversations, and while making a point, he said something that struck me as strange. “Look, it would be different if we were dating….”

Huh? I thought we were dating! In three months, we had spent a lot of time together, I had introduced him to my friends, my family – what the hell were we doing if not dating?

So, here’s the question – Why are these men completely comfortable being in a relationship, but denying that it is one? How on earth would Mark and Carla’s time, together or me in my new, uh, unlationship, look any different if these men were to admit that they were “in” relationships?

Does the label change what it is? And if you don’t label it, does that change what it is? Especially since Mark and Carla were already together, and today, the guy I’m with admits that we are together as well.

The postscript is that Carla and Mark were together for about a year, but as fate/cupid/karma/Carla would have it – they didn’t last. It’s too bad, I really liked Carla, and Mark has turned out to be a good friend. I wish them both the very best, and hope that next time Mark does not need another woman to tell him that the person he sees multiple times a week for more than sex and “activities” is indeed… a girlfriend.

The Ex Files

Recently a friend of mine ended a long term relationship. In an attempt to console her I pointed out that eventually (once the sadness subsides) that they would most likely transition into having a healthy platonic friendship. She immediately killed that ray of hope by saying, "The past is the past and it should stay there."

Why?

I thought to myself, why burn the bridge to your past for no reason? She became more positional telling me how odd she felt it was that I maintained friendships with many of my exes and how she thought it was an exercise in futility.

Until she brought it to my attention, I never really considered how many past boyfriends I'm still in contact with. As I went down the list of serious relationships to regrettable flings, I realized that I do in fact have friendships with the majority of these men.

I started to think about this.

The time shared with someone you are intimate with tends to be deep. If you thought enough of someone to share quality time (holidays, birthdays, family get-togethers, social occasions big and small) it seems awfully dismissive to cut all ties because you no longer have a romantic future. This person was above all your friend.

Now they are a bridge to your past, a link to people and experiences that are gone. Isn't this worth something?

Who knows... maybe my friend is right, maybe I should arbitrarily throw all these memories away for no other reason then spite.

Well, come to think of it there's that one guy, the closet arsonist, I suppose I could lose that one.

Stop 'ooking at me

When I was seven and a half and my brother was three and learning to speak, he struggled with a speech impediment brought on by some difficulties he was having with his hearing.

The details are hazy but what I do remember, clear as day, was that he had a lot of trouble pronouncing the letter “L”. My parents took the advice of his speech therapist and practiced repetitive “L” centric sentences such as, “Lex Luthor lurked by the lake to launch his laser at Luke and Leia.” As his older sister I participated in these diction drills especially on long car trips where we would pass the time inventing “L” heavy phrases. Since I sat next to him in the back of my parents Chrysler Aerostar Minivan™, I would often gaze in his general direction while he ran through these exercises. At some point he assumed I was the enemy, and took offense to this, although no offense was intended. He would cry out, “Stop ‘ooking at me!” This unfortunately made the situation worse by making me giggle.

Today I live in a duplex next door to my brother and sister-in-law; they are expecting a baby boy in June. This will be the first grandchild in the family (my parents now divorced and remarried) and needless to say they’re thrilled.

Over the years the relationship with my brother has become strained. Although we see each other on a regular basis at our parents’ homes and in passing, there is a clear and unspoken rift. As an adult I have had several serious relationships and my brother has taken little to no interest in getting to know the men I was involved with, and on many occasions he was barely even cordial. He seems to relish the idea of talking down to me in front of friends and family and recently after one of these public displays, a close friend said to me in private, “You must have been a terrible big sister. He hates you.” Whatever the issue (big or small) all attempts to work things out always come to a fleeting, temporary resolution. His dissatisfaction with me rears its head with great vitriol whenever the next issue inevitably arises.

I don’t understand the problem.

I have always loved my brother and I have always wanted the best for him. I recognize that family relationships are flawed (God knows I have plenty) and that you have to accept people the way they are and not the way you want them to be. However, I have come to the point where I am no longer comfortable allowing myself to be belittled by him. This unspoken disconnect has gone on long enough and now I am speaking.

Yesterday, I called my brother and asked him for a sit down. I want to bring these issues to his attention. I want to let him know that his anger towards me hurts. And for our relationship to continue and grow we need to sort things out. There is a new life being born and I want to be a part of this child’s world and feel comfortable knowing that when I leave the room that I am valued and not casually disrespected.

I think back to those times in my parents’ minivan driving along some stretch of highway next to my baby brother who assumed I was looking at him with judgment when I was only along for the ride. Today I feel as though all he does is look at me with that same disapproving gaze. My worst self wants to grab him by the collar and shout in his face, “Stop ‘ooking at me!”

But really all I want to do is give him a hug and tell him that I love him… and hear it back.

The Steamy Streamys

You know you’ve arrived in Hollywood when your field of entertainment has been memorialized with a cheesy awards show. Such is the case with the Streamys, the first ever award show celebrating web content.

On March 27th 2009 I went to the first ever Streamys at the Wadsworth Theatre in Westwood.

First off, what’s with that name? My friend Robert just had to point out that the “Streamys” sounded like something you get a bad case of in Mexico. This remained fresh in my mind when the first person received the Streamy and slipped up by calling it a “Steamy”, and then called it a “Steamy Streamy” and almost every recipient thereafter repeated this unfortunate phrase when giving their acceptance speech. This doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

Secondly, this is a hip, cutting edge new medium so why the poorly written, awkward banter between presenters? Add the overbearing announcer voice, the kind that you typically hear selling Flowbies and Ginsu knives, and you have to wonder what the hell were they thinking?

Despite these kitschy flaws, the show was entertaining, especially when Lisa Kudrow took the stage and noticeably veered off script improving her way to the best laughs of the night.

Thirdly, in spite of the red carpet glamour, CNN coverage and a packed house apparently there was a problem streaming the Streamys. A show celebrating original online content for some reason had problems getting online. This technical hiccup resulted in an hour delay until they could get their stream on.

Lastly, the very exclusive after-party at a nearby hotel had a cash bar and no food. Haven’t these hipsters ever heard of a Ralphs? Costco? No… ? It was now 11:30 and we had all arrived at the Wadsworth at 6:30, so needless to say the main topic of conversation was hunger. We were starving. Fortunately one of the show creators from Strike.TV, Kris Hackel, volunteered to order some pizzas. I suggested this to her and she immediately pulled out her credit card and placed the order. Papa John’s arrived and literally saved the night. The price of that pizza order cost more than most of the shows that had been nominated.

I was there to support the show I cast With The Angels. The show’s writer/director Mary Feuer had been nominated for Best Writing and Directing for a Dramatic Series. It’s the little show that could, a fish out of water story about a Midwestern Christian girl coming to the City of Angels and trying to find her way. Inexplicably the show found itself in competition with the network powerhouse Battlestar Gallactica and Joss Whedon’s hit Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog. Needless to say it didn’t stand a chance. Not because of quality but simply because of brand. This is more or less the way the evening played out.

In this regard as much as new media was being celebrated it appeared more like old Hollywood politics were in play. But who am I to complain, at least the must-maligned world of web television finally got rescued from the gutter and has been elevated to the curb. We are not quite on Main Street but give us a few years, and perhaps we will get there.

I Want, I Need, I’ve Got To Have

12 years old and in the middle of a rant - my mother asked if I could form a sentence that did not include the following, “I want, I need, I’ve got to have”.

At 12 - I wanted Shawn Kroop to be my boyfriend, I needed a ride to the Sherman Oaks Galleria and like every other student in the 7th grade at Cal Prep, I had to own a pair of Guess jeans, which I had to pay for out of my allowance because of my parents reluctance to understand the cost of “cool” (which by the way was $100).

Last year, at 35 - I found myself head over heels in a new relationship where everything was on target. Good communication, thoughtful and insightful conversations, he was sensitive but not overly, my parents liked him, his parents liked me, we liked each other’s friends, things were good in and out of the bedroom, for all intents and purposes it was a healthy relationship.

In the beginning we saw each other a lot and usually spent most of the weekend together. Cut to two months later, we seemed to be spending less time together. Everything else in the relationship seemed to be as solid as it had always been, although our full weekends together had dwindled to Saturday nights and early Sunday mornings with maybe one other day during week. The emails and phone calls seemed to die down as well. Maybe that’s natural after the “honeymoon period”, but still… so suddenly?

Aside from this issue I felt happy and when we were together we always had a great time. No matter how many conversations we had about this subject, at the end of the day, he required less time and I required more. That’s just the way I am built.

In the throes of our breakup he said something about my stubbornness, my obstinance. It sounded familiar, maybe a little too familiar… like my mother’s refrain so long ago - I want, I need, I’ve got to have.

Sundanceland

Walking down Main Street in Park City, my friend Cookie pointed out that Sundance is like Disneyland except the celebrities are the rides.

Having been to only the more laid-back Telluride Festival, I wasn’t quite prepared for the complete transplant of a microcosm of the elitist LA movie biz transplanted to the snowy hills of Utah. Despite its high profile pedigree what I thought I was in for was a larger scaled version of what I had experienced in Colorado: Familiar faces free to walk down the street without being hounded, a ticket actually assuring me a seat in a theatre, restaurants and bars without velvet ropes and exorbitant cover charges, small and necessary conveniences available without having to take a $12.00 cab ride to buy tampons. In Telluride, there was a cohesive feeling between the film festival and the town, with a sense of community, it felt like summer camp for film lovers.

At Sundance there is a rigid and noticeable class difference between the Hollywood insiders (which, as a casting director, I have always considered myself somewhat a part of) and the locals who are treated like bumpkins. That Utah mountain air is very rarefied, indeed.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s great once you pierce the five layers of assistants, festival guardians, thuggish bouncers and unnecessary red tape to get to the people who we had all traveled there to see and to the screenings you came for in the first place.

My fondest memories from Sundance are of spending time with the people that actually made the films. At the after party for Shrinks, I saw Kevin Spacey and couldn't help but ask him about working with the legendary Burt Lancaster in Rocket Gibraltar, which I had seen when I was a kid. After politely tolerating a slew of backslappers asking him for his autograph and giving him the generic compliment, "I like your work", he was thrilled that someone asked him about something different and immediately launched into a dead-on Lancaster impression which had everyone laughing hysterically.

Another night, while trying to get into the exclusive Tao, 3:10 to Yuma actor Ben Foster, seeing that I had been rebuffed by the stone-faced security guard, claimed that I was with his party even though we had barely met. Thanks, Ben!

If you have sharp elbows, a take-no-prisoners attitude and are up to the challenge of circumventing the system, you can get the full Sundance experience. But if you’re not up for the Hollywood theme park, might I suggest Disneyland: The rides are the rides.

New Media, Same Hollywood

In early 2008, during the Writers Strike, my dad took me to a meeting at the WGA theater in Beverly Hills. A new online network was being formed called StrikeTV. My dad decided to develop a show for this network and wanted me to not only cast it but to be an associate producer!

One of the episodes called for “2 hot girls in bathing suits”. It was a mock porn. Anyway, believe it or not I had trouble finding two girls that looked good in bathing suits that could also act. On audition day, I found two but they were both blondes and it was originally suggested that I find two girls with completely different looks.

A family friend, also an actress who appears in another episode of our show, recommended a young Canadian actress, a brunette. She sent me her pictures, resume and some links to some of her work. She looked like she would be perfect next to the girl I had already chosen. I sent her the script and she called me and said she was in!

Day of the shoot: Two hours after call time, she has yet to show up. My father had assembled a top notch crew, but time was a luxury we didn’t have with six episodes being shot in one weekend. With the clock ticking, I call her and she says, “I just can’t do this, I didn’t come to Los Angeles to do porn.”

I did my very best to explain to this girl that it was not actually porn, it was a faux porn. a spoof, a send-up. I said, “My father is here directing this, do you think he would have me here while shooting a porn! My dad has written huge Hollywood blockbuster movies, he doesn’t do porn!”

She seemed to understand and calmed down a bit and agreed to come. Another two hours passed by and still a no-show. I called her once again, this time she told me that her manager was against it and she just could not do it, then she begged me not to hold it against her and to keep her in mind for future projects. Because THAT was going to happen!

Luckily the other actress that I had auditioned was available and drove over immediately and saved the day.

I guess some things in Hollywood don’t change, strike, or no strike, big production, little production, what can go wrong usually does.

The Kid in that Commerical

Growing up in L.A., the daughter of parents in (as much as I hate this expression) “The Biz”, naturally I wanted in. From as far back as I can remember I wanted to act and had plenty of opportunities to do so growing up in this town.

When I was 7, my mom and I went to visit my dad on the set of one of the TV shows he was working on. The casting director suggested that I audition for a role she thought I would be perfect for. I went up against some seasoned 7 year olds (that’s right, kids that had been working for years, including the little tap dancing girl that was in all the Tang commercials). I booked the part (tap dancing Tang girl ended up as my understudy) and from that point on I was certain that I wanted to be an actor. My parents did not encourage me to pursue this career. They had their concerns. Nonetheless, they allowed me to pursue it on occasion.

By the time I was in college, still thinking I wanted to be an actor. I signed up for a course called Acting For The Camera. Literally within the first 15 minutes of class I saw myself on camera and that was it, my dreams were forever crushed. As an adult I had way too much self-awareness to even feel remotely comfortable anymore.

So, where do you go from here? Well, hell - managing actors!
I starting working for a small, start-up management company and I really liked it for a while. With all the acting classes I had taken throughout my childhood and with my love of it all, I could certainly recognize and scout talent.

The only problem was that nobody had heard of our little company and my best client was a former sitcom star, whose latest role was that of an alcoholic. When she wasn’t hung over and could rise to the occasion and book the job it was profitable, but more often then not, it was a disaster.

One afternoon while on a lunch break I met my friend Leni for a quick shopping trip at a local thrift store. We saw Drew Barrymore buying bags and bags of stuff. When I returned to the office I mentioned it to my boss and she said, “I hope you gave her your card, she doesn’t have a manager you know? “ I thought, ummm she has CAA and her own production company, why would she need us? Yeah, I was pretty much over that company from that point on, finished up the contract I had signed and got out as fast as I could.

Where to now? Casting! Paycheck every week (when working) whether or not the actor booked the job. Casting is what I have been doing since 2002. I love it!

Urban Camping

So, I actually enjoy camping. Well at least I did when I was a kid and into my early 20’s (that was the last time I camped). These days I may feel differently now that I have the most comfortable bed on the planet and go to Dr. Ken Gee Ehrlich the most amazing Chiropractor in the world. I am not sure how my body would take it, but if I took an air mattress and had running water nearby (always a requirement) I might still be up for a camping trip.

But camping in my apartment - every day? Now that is another story all together! The thing is, I bought a refrigerator from Sears a few years back and it has been nothing but trouble. It has stopped working over 17 times and Sears sunk over $3,500 in parts, which includes 6 compressors, and who knows about the cost of labor.

Finally, just before the New Years, Sears approved a replacement. It took lucky number 17 repairman to decide that it was not worth it for them to keep replacing parts. What is truly amazing is that I have actually grown accustomed to not having a refrigerator! I know how to survive on fresh fruits, vegetables and “just add water” foods.

Last spring, Josh (my ex-boyfriend) banished my microwave claiming that it caused cancer. And when the weather changed a few weeks back and I tried to put the heat on it failed to work. The gas company came out and turned off the gas, as it was a hazard to my health. I am waiting on my landlord to get someone out to repair it.

Basically, I have been camping in my own home.

If the water stops working I am heading into the yard, at least there I have a fire pit and a fountain.