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.