Reality By Appointment

Hulking under huge instruments, the cameramen moved like awkward aliens with no social boundaries. They shifted their focus rapidly without regard to personal space, blinding their subjects with large lights. Every time they approached, I attempted to shrink my 5’2” frame into something even smaller. I tried to be as uninteresting as possible. But most of the party guests were speaking loudly, exaggerating their reactions and even seemed to laugh harder – an odd sound to hear at a small charity benefit.

A Letter From 2,800 Miles Away

Ten years ago, I had been living in Los Angeles for just two years.
I wrote the following a few days after September 11, 2001. 

***

Dear Grandma New York,

I wish I was with you now.  I wish I could sit with you and hold your hand as you slowly recuperate. I’m jealous of the rest of the family who was – thankfully – there after it happened. And I am glad that they are there to comfort you as the doctors diligently repair your wounds.  But I am so far away, Grandma.  I can’t hug you and hold hands with all the people who line your bedside. Instead, I have to send my heart from here.

Please Read With Your Eyes Closed

“Turn around.”

It was the ninth false start I had with my student, Julie, for this one-minute drama exercise. After 20 classes with her, I was familiar with her delay tactics. After standing in place for a half a breath, she’d walk to a corner of the room. I’d gently coax her back. She’d hide her face; I’d convince her to drop her hands. She’d spin in circles, I’d get her to stop…all of this took longer than the exercise itself, if she would just get to it.

College Reunions & Problem Buckets

I won’t be traveling 3,000 miles to Saratoga Springs this month to tempt nostalgia at my 20-year college reunion. To think I graduated two decades ago is as perplexing as the fact that skinny jeans and boyfriend blazers with rolled up cuffs are considered fashion-forward again.

Since I won’t be visiting my renovated alma mater, I’ll miss out on clinking martini glasses while reminiscing with former classmates about how much Coors Light out of a keg tasted like stale urine.

The Erroneous Errors of Eros: A Modern Day Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a man and a woman who fell madly in love. Although nothing was ever perfect, not even them, they decided to stay together anyway. Their good qualities outweighed the flaws and that was reason enough to spend the rest of their lives together. Man and woman. Male and female. The way it was meant to be, just like all the movies, TV shows, books and their friends said it was.

One day, they met a homosexual couple and called them an abomination of nature.

An Open Letter To The Goddesses

Dear Natalie and Rachel,

Please be careful. The Mayor Of Sober Valley Lodge may be entertaining and exciting.  He may satisfy your every need in bed before you have coffee in the morning. He may provide a much better lifestyle than the one you had when you were riding the bus to your eight-dollar an hour job. Perhaps he’s even clean now. But please don’t fool yourselves into believing that this self-proclaimed “Warlock” doesn’t abuse women. He does. Despite the fact that the media glosses over his history of domestic violence, it paints a grim picture for the women in his life. Pay attention, Ladies; you could be next.

Temporary Asshole

I told someone off yesterday. Someone I care about and want to keep in my life. But I had been complaining about this person for days and I finally couldn’t take it any longer. I sat down and let my fingers fly on my keyboard. I type 70 words per minute; I was surprised I didn’t start a small fire.

Don’t Blame The Road Runner

The Tazmanian Devil cannot stop child abuse. Neither can Fred Flintstone, Bugs Bunny, Bulwinkle, Calvin nor Hobbes. Not even Wonder Woman can stop child abuse.

Last week a well-intentioned trend made it’s way through Facebook. This was the suggestion:

Change your FB profile picture to a cartoon from your childhood. The goal is to not see a human face on FB til Monday, December 6th. Remember your childhood and join the fight against child abuse. Copy & paste to your status to invite your friends to do the same.

Five Foot Two And Still Sane

Right in the middle of the Rally To Restore Sanity, I wanted to tell someone off.

We had gotten to the mall two hours early to ensure a decent spot and settled near the beginning of the middle (insert political joke here) where the Jumbotrons were in view for anyone over 5’6”.  D.C. (my boyfriend, not the city) could see the screens clearly, but I spent much of the 3 hours either on my toes or wavering from right to left (insert flip-flopping joke here) to catch the ever-shifting sweet spot between people that gave me a hand’s width view of either screen.

To The Girl I Didn’t Really Know

I’m seventeen and about to do something I’ve never done before.

I’m not a mean kid. I don’t do things just to hurt other kids. I’m the student that always goes to class; when I do miss class, it’s because a friend is in a crisis. I have friends, but I’m not one of the popular crowd. I’m surprised when a boy shows any interest in me. I began to find my voice in acting class, but still know that in the social hierarchy of high school students from 1 to 10 (10 being the most popular), I’m probably a five. Maybe a six.