Sleeping Around

...in a good way.
And another good excuse for me being a little......ehhhhhhhhhhh-let's say "busy."

Check out my fresh & direct commerical acting debut, right here.

"Miss Rumphius" Audio/Visual Book!

I apologize for the sudden influx of video-related media (the written word has been put on the back burner for now, because why have words when you can have PICTURES!)

A few weeks ago, I recorded an audio book with Roman Chimienti for his company, The End Audio Productions. The accompanying video has finally been completed thanks to the swift editing skills of Jessica Rondash from Verbatim Studios. 

The book, Miss Rumphius, by Barbara Cooney, is a favorite of Roman's. If you're a frequent visitor, it's no mystery that books (especially those from my kinder days of yore) are my greatest obsession. I can still remember curling up to Cooney's Hattie and the Waves as a little girl. Obviously, I jumped at this opportunity, and I'm so glad I did.

But enough chatter - just sink into your best PJs and security blankie and cuddle your beloved stuffed counterpart as you have a look (or a listen, depending on your mood) to a childhood favorite.

And don't forget to visit The End Audio Productions for more audio books narrated by other great voice over artists. (Like how this sentence assumes I am one of them?)

Well, This Is Awkward

You know that embarrassing feeling you get when you bump into someone that you've been purposely avoiding for a long time? There is that shocking "oh-crap" moment that passes across your face like a shadow, which you struggle to conceal before the other realizes your horror. But they don't need to see your face to know that this is not easy for either of you. You choke back a nervous laugh and paste a smile on....a really big, painful smile. Your body wants to run, but you can't. You're stuck. So your feet do a sort of twiddle dance impatiently as your mind tries to keep up with your mouth, which seems to be spewing utter nonsense. You expound upon the weather...who the eff cares about the weather? God I sound so stupid.

What do you do with your hands? I don't what you do with your hands. Most likely they hang, as dumbfounded as you. Every move betrays you, communicates the discomfort, the shame, the need to be elsewhere. You think of far away places, dark places, underneath covers and behind closed doors. Any place else than where you are at right now. To be rid of the shame.

This is pretty much what writing in this blog feels like right now.
I've tried to avoid you, but I can't. It was bound to happen that I would step right into the universe's trap of facing this fear, of facing you.

You're a clever one, blog. Always the clever one.

Let's hope this is enough to break the ice, so we won't have to speak of this moment ever again.
At least until the next time I avoid you.

Sooo how about them clouds?

Dammit.

Gaga, I Had You All Wrong

I don't normally blog about pop culture. I would be lying if I said I wasn't hip to daily gossip, considering that I gobble it up like buttery, cholesterol-laden popcorn. However, I'm not into pop music, I don't watch TV all that much, and the only things I obsess over are nostalgic paraphernalia from my past.

Yes, celebrities do have a sort of intrigue about them that I cannot ignore, and I do formulate my own opinions of them based on not only what I hear, but from what I observe as a seemingly dispassionate twenty-something.

When Lady Gaga, informally known as Stefani Germanotta, burst onto the scene, I wasn't remotely interested. Her music? Meh - I like some dance and techno, but nothing that's had a frequency on MTV (and if you're assuming that I'm a pretentious hipster because of this, rest assured....my strange interests are quite unclassifiable.) Then there was the fuss with the clothing and the ridiculous music videos and essentially the martyrdom of a pop idol. Again, not my cup of tea, but certainly interesting to peruse images of a half-naked lady in 5 inch heels and tape on her nipples carrying a cup of tea. That's not something you see every day.

However, as in all my opinions of others, I was hesitant to give in to the "Fame Monster," as Gaga so adequately addressed her obsessive following. I respect...
....those who are giving and thankful....
Miss Gaga is very close with her fans.
....who are kind and have firm moral beliefs....
She is an ardent support of LGBT rights.
....who are true creative artists........
Gaga writes her own lyrics, music, and is involved in every aspect of her performance.
....who are still grounded to their roots..... 
She lives still lives in the same NYC apartment and keeps in touch with her parents everyday.
....who are healthy role models......
I don't care if she drinks or does drugs, but I sure am glad the girl still eats her steak.

Well dear lord, you might exclaim, why shouldn't I love Lady Gaga, in all her amazing glory?!
One reason: I respect those who are humble.

Someone who parades around in all her gallantry, covered in meat/lace/nothing at all, commanding those who bow to her with the presence of a queen, all the while proclaiming herself amazing in every aspect of character, is not necessarily humble.

A friend of mine who attended NYU's acting school said they each had a class together a few years ago, pre-fame days. She scoffed at how, on the first day, Ms. Germanotta very simply stated that her voice was superb and proceeded to sing for her new classmates. This didn't surprise me, but it did turn me off. I couldn't imagine being around someone with such arrogance, and I certainly didn't aspire to that attitude, in which someone blazons their talent like a triumphant flag.

But is that really arrogance? A few days ago, while surfing Perez Hilton (don't judge me, you know you do it too), I watched a snippet of Lady Gaga's 60 Minutes special with Anderson Cooper. Pure, dreadful curiosity, was my drive; or was it that a part of me really wanted to like her?

In any case, she said something that has really stuck with me since: "I'm just as delusional now as I was at 18. I was 18, telling everyone around me, I'm gonna be a fucking superstar. And everybody was like, 'Yeah, whatever, she's an egomaniac.' And then...HaHaHa."

This quote, amazingly enough (considering my obvious disdain for arrogance) did not piss me off. In fact, I couldn't stop thinking about what it meant for her, or what it could mean for anybody. Earlier in the clip, she had gotten a little emotional visiting her old apartment and realizing how far she had come. Therein lies the duality of her attitude - she is both solid in her belief that she is good at what she does, yet upon looking back can still appreciate how far that climb was, and what it took to get there.

In that instant, I realized that the reason I hated people who were arrogant, and why I so treasured the self-deprecation of others, is that it's exactly the way I act. I refuse to praise myself, as if it were a sin or weakness to avoid at all costs. Somehow, I have convinced myself that under-estimating my worth and abilities will make others see them more clearly. Perhaps even make them admire my modest attitude. Besides, their approval is what counts, right? I can't get there on my own, can I?

All my life, I have assumed that my desire to appear humble was the most unselfish trait I could have. But in making others responsible for proving my worth, I have been as selfish as one can be. During which time, my experiences in trying to write, make films, socialize, keep relationships and be content, have been incredibly difficult and lonely.

It's quite possible that someone as eccentric and bombastic as Lady Gaga is trying to pass on a very important lesson in emotional health: be proud of the person you are, and confident in where you will go, as it is the truth. There is in fact nothing truer than the love you have for yourself. I believe that it is this passion that allows Stefani Germanotta to be Lady Gaga.

And it is this same passion that I must find in myself, in order to be the writer, creator, the talented Tara that I know (deep, deep, I'm sayin' WAY deep inside) I've always been. And if some people perceive this confidence, this self-awareness that allows one satisfaction, as being domineering and bitchy, then, as Lady Gaga would say, "I'm a bitch."

Lady Gaga, I aspire to be as much of a bitch as you are - the proudest, most energetic, successful and hard-working bitch I can be. You may say I was born that way, but it takes a lot longer to realize that it's okay to be that way - and that it's an integral part of reaching the happiness that all of us deserve.

Honestly, I don't care whether it's all a ruse for publicity, or for the sheer image she may be trying to uphold for her career. In spite of these possibilities, I still think it's a damn good example to set for anyone.

And if you need a tangible metaphor for this steadfast belief in born-that-way beauty; merely gaze upon the nose of Gaga - that wonderful, "silhouetted bump" of an Italian schnoz (much like yours truly) - that has never been altered, regardless of fame. My dear, for all your fellow nosy gals - don't ever change.

....it hasn't right?

‽

FLASHBACK FRIDAY: The Films of 2010, and How I Got There

It occurred to me a few weeks ago, upon finally realizing the end of 2010 and the beginning of a new year, that I have watched a lot of films within 12 months.

As a former film student and production-seeking career girl (I can't really say I'm in film until my paycheck says so - advertising, I'm afraid, does not count), this should not be surprising. Nevertheless, it is.

My taste (and experience) in the art of watching films has transformed exponentially over the last few years of my life. Obviously, my NYU film courses were the first major transition from watching movies purely for entertainment to analysis of the film craft. I had always admired filmmaking from afar, thanks to my mother's long-standing awe of classic films and Simpsons parodies. And there were always the TV movies, childhood movies, and summer blockbusters that one fixates on amidst boring suburban life. These were always, for the most part, from one of the following categories:

• Classics Films before 1970 
• Oscar nominees 
• Movie Premieres on network television 
• Disney 
• Excuses to go to a movie theater 
• Action Flicks 
• Childhood Favorites

I had never seen an art house film (nor were they part of my regular vocabulary), and indie flicks had not yet assumed the norm. My parents and friends didn't know of any, so neither did I. And besides - I was content with my list, entertaining no other possibility for film other than the usual plot-driven, dramatic/comedy/action/thriller I had grown to love and aspired to make. Under no circumstances did this include horror films - why, it took me years just to sit down to watch Jurassic Park without peeing my pants.

Cue the harsh slap-in-the-face that is film school. Some fellow classmates didn't think I had the knowledge for it. Maybe I didn't - but wasn't that the point of learning?

It was humbling to see that the art of film was not so black and white, as it had seemed; there were some films that never made it to the Oscars, but were admirable nonetheless. There were short films that only showed at festivals, B films and C films, films done for art-sake and films done for the hell of it. Some "stories" focused on character development only, while others seemed to be about nothing at all. I finally got to watch some of the breakout and cult films of the first 14 years of my life that I was never privy to, simply because I wasn't considered mature enough to watch them at the time: films like Pulp Fiction, Goodfellas, and Clerks, which was shot less than 10 minutes from my house.

At this point, one can revel in the discovery of so many new realizations, or curse themselves for being the idiot who hadn't come about this knowledge earlier. I fell for the latter, mainly because I was 17, on my own, and full of fun emotional drama.

It's taken since that first year of college to really get the courage to dip my toes into the pool of films I dared not touch before. I have to thank my professors first, and my friends after, for introducing me to them, as I trembled, unworthy. A few of them worked at the old TLA Video on 8th Street before it closed down, and each had their own specialty of favorites within the film world. If I attempted to describe each of their tastes in three words, they would be:

MARK: Brooding, Foreign, Cannes

JAMES: Character, Epic, Journeys

JOSH: Cult, Offbeat, Horror

Though there were many instances of shock and awe throughout my education, one that stands out the most as something that stuck with me quite indefinitely was The Holy Mountain by Alejandro Jodorowsky.

 This is not the type of film I would have gone to on my own - I had never heard of either the director or the title, but apparently it was big enough to be shown at IFC at midnight frequently. They insisted I go, and it being my college years, why the hell not? However, I was not ready for the symbolic imagery barrage with each chanting, triangle-trilled, vibrational-pulsed moment. Quite frankly, it was the strangest film I had ever seen, but I could not look away. And I could not stop thinking about it afterward. I've seen it three times since then, and have even written an entire thesis paper on its subject of religious symbolism. That's more intellectual fodder than Forrest Gump could ever provide.

Watching "Daisies" in Prague had a similar effect; I knew it must be laden with meaning; but even aside from that it was a rhythmic poem that replayed in my mind. And so since then, many fascinating films have crossed my eyes and riddled my eardrums - even, I must admit, horror films. Ryan has done a good job of forcing me to sit through them, and I can't say that I'm not grateful (though I could do without the occasional shocking scare that streaks my hair grey and inflicts possible stomach ulcers.)

The point in all of this, of course, being that traveling, meeting others and experiencing life as a more mature (but let's not get carried away), open-minded individual has given me the chance to really appreciate a film on a deeper level.

That said, I'd still take Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles any day. You can't become too pretentious, you know.

OH, THE FILMS I HAVE WATCHED: 2010

• Labyrinth, Jim Henson (1986) 
• Made in the USA, Jean-Luc Godard (1966) 
• The Short Films of Al Jarnow, Al Jarnow (2010)
• Shutter Island, Martin Scorcese (2010) 
• Suburban Commando, Burt Kennedy (1991)
• District 9, Neil Blomkamp (2009)
• Kamikaze GirlsTetsuya Nakashima (2004) 
• Dolls, Stuart Gordon (1987)
• Day of the Dead, Steve Miner (2008)
• Mr. Booogedy, Oz Scott (1986)
• Hot Tub Time Machine, Steve Pink (2010)
• Iron Man 2, Jon Favreau (2010) 
• Metropolis, Fritz Lang (1927)
• Best Worst Movie: Troll 2, Michael Stephenson (2009)
• Possessed ["Bool-sin-ji-ok"], Lee Yong-ju (2009)
• Tetsuo: The Bullet Man, Shinya Tsukamoto (2009) 
• Brazil, Terry Gilliam (1985)
• The Tenant, Roman Polanksi (1976)
• Diva, Jean-Jacques Beineix (1981)
• Performance, Donald Cammell & Nicolas Roeg (1970)
• Daisies, Vera Chytilová (1966) 
• The Mist, Frank Darabont (2007) 
• Matthew Hopkins: Witchfinder General, Michael Reeves (1968) 
• A Town Called Panic, Stéphane Aubier & Vincent Patar (2009) 
• The Naked Kiss, Samuel Fuller (1964) 
• The Fearless Vampire Killers, Roman Polanski (1967)
• Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, Edgar Wright (2010) 
• It Is Fine! Everything Is Fine!, David Brothers & Crispin Glover (2007)
• I Sell the Dead, Glenn McQuaid (2008)
• Simon: King of the Witches, Bruce Kessler (1971)
• The Skull, Freddie Francis (1975) 
• Enter the Void, Gaspar Noé (2009) 
• The Social Network, David Fincher (2010)
• The Gate, Tibor Takács (1987)
• [REC], Jaume Balagueró & Paco Plaza (2007)
• The Red Shoes, Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger (1948)
• Polyester, John Waters (1981)
• Solaris, Andrey Tarkovskiy (1972) 
• Nosferatu the Vampyre, Werner Herzog (1979)
• Apocalypse Now, Francis Ford Coppola (1979)
• Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, David Lynch (1992)
• The Kingdom ["Riget"], Lars von Trier (TV Series - 1994)
• The Road, John Hillcoat (2009)
• Paris, Texas, Wim Wenders (1984)
• Days of Heaven, Terrence Malick (1978)
• The Exploding Girl, Bradley Rust Grey (2009)
• Four Flies On Grey Velvet, Dario Argento (1971)
• Krull, Peter Yates (1983)
• Summer Wars, Mamoru Hosoda (2009)
• Black Swan, Darren Aronofsky (2010)
• Fritz the Cat, Ralph Bakshi (1972)
• Tentacles, Ovidio G. Assonitis (1977)
• Heavy Metal, Gerald Potterton (1981)
• Innerspace, Joe Dante (1987)

A Valentine Memory

I know this is a day late, but holidays have a habit of hitting me after the fact.

I thought I'd share my first favorite library book with you all, in lieu of Valentine's Day. I mentioned it briefly in my Childhood Book lollapalooza - quite simply, I was obsessed with this book starting at 6 years old, and proceeded to check it out every time I went to the Middletown Public Library until my mom told me to cut it out and look for something more intellectual.

Well, she might not have said that, but it was the gist I got.

"Four Valentines in a Rainstorm," by Felicia Bond (or "The Day It Rained Valentines" as it has now been re-titled - not merely as poetic, but I suppose more obvious for the youngins) was a story about hearts falling from the sky during a rain shower. A little girl decides to pick them up and make valentines for all her animal friends, who for all intensive purposes are fully autonomous citizens of the neighborhood who can in fact receive mail and live in a house.

Why did I love this book so much? Perhaps its small size? (As you may know, I have a thing for miniatures) The phenomenon of teeny rain-hearts? Arts and crafts? Animals with opposable thumbs?

I don't think I'll ever know. But at least I've moved on to more mature reading as of late....

 

.......>ahem<

‽

FLASHBACK FRIDAY: Love & Hammers

How do I count the Ways days? It's odd that football should be the thing to mark this momentus occasion, but it has been 3 years.....

3 years since the last super bowl I blogged about...
3 years since my wisdom teeth were pulled...
3 years since I got the hell outta Queens...
3 years since Ryan and I have been together.

Oh, where to begin? I can hardly believe that I am capable of remembering all those times as if they had been vague fogs of yesterday, but it's true that I do. Yes, I have my writing, my blog, to thank for most of this. However, there is one thing I couldn't forget if I tried (not like I have, but you get the idea)
.....my first date with Ryan.

This is a subject of constant dissension with us, and the reason why we still have yet to mark an official "anniversary." I honestly consider it hogwash - I don't need a day to remember someone who steals the sheets every night and to whom I relay every banal daily activity to with the utmost excitement. But it's nice to have one, I suppose, so that you can prove to each other how long you've had to put up with them.

I don't mean to rude - I'm trying to skirt around the whole lovey-dovey-ness that people whom have the fortunate of having someone to be with often make the mistake of falling into, to the disdain of those around them. I too was once alone, and I don't like the possibility of my being one of those people that unintentionally rubs it in someone's face. I've been hurt too many times to act so impudent - however, it being the time of the year when our economy urges us to spend money in lieu of love (who can complain really, when no matter whether you're single or not, you still get candy and star wars valentines?), I shall momentarily forget this rule and be forthcoming in my telling of my first date with Ryan, some three years ago.

The moral of this story is that good things come when you least expect them. I say this in the beginning in hopes that even the most curmudgeonly of romantic souls will not completely curse me off at the end of this post without taking a bit of hope along with them.
The other moral is that no one means as much to you as yourself, and that takes the longest to figure out - so you might as well start now.

After finishing college, I returned to Triple Threat Television in February of 2008 as producer on the Winona Ryder Biography. I had just moved into my apartment in Elmhurst, Queens and was relieved that there was a job to pay for it. Things hadn't changed much since my last stint there in November, except for the faces: they had recruited all new interns to their Harlem office, and when I walked in they all stared at me with the gaze of startled gazelle.

One of the gazelles had a soul patch - this was Ryan. He didn't look very friendly, but then again, my first impressions of people are usually not very accurate. We were seated squished across from each other at small table with our gigantor powerbooks, forced to exchange occasional awkward glances as we worked. I don't remember much of our interaction other than he liked to show odd video clips (that usually ended with my shaking my head in pity and confusion), and that we grew to bickering almost immediately. That really should have been a tell-tale sign that we were meant to be together.

My legs, being incredibly long, needed lots of room underneath the table. Even in his tight pants, Ryan was somehow able to encroach upon my half of the floor. I berated him constantly for it - most of the time in good spirits, but also because it was really freaking annoying.

We talked a lot - he had come from Ohio and was starting anew here in New York for a career in film. I thought this very admirable for someone who had never been on his own in a strange place. One day, he told me about a bakery that was offering free hot cocoa. FREE and HOT COCOA are the secret words to my Pee-Wee brain, so I immediately wrote down the info on a sticky note and promised to check it out.

Here's something you should know about me if you don't already: I am hopelessly oblivious to attraction. I never once thought why he had asked, assuming it was simply a nice gesture. I went as far as inviting my friend Matt to join in on the free-givings; however, after 30 minutes of trying to find the place, we discovered the bakery was closed. I was mostly upset about missing free hot chocolate.

The next day he apologized profusely, insisting he didn't realize that they had closed so early. I shrugged it off. And it wasn't long before he invited me, along with my other coworkers, to a concert - the one-man-band (or, one-man-with-strange-piano-flute, as I later found out), White Williams, was from Ryan's hometown of Akron. He seemed very insistent on me going; and since I wouldn't be alone, I decided it would be better than spending my night unpacking hoards of boxes.

And it was. First, I chipped my tooth on a bottle of beer. (I figure I had this coming to me, after weeks of sipping teeth-first.) Consider it lucky, I suppose: a metaphor for either the wisdom teeth I would later lose, or the piece of my heart I would soon be sharing.

Second, I got drunk. We had pre-gamed before, so it wasn't surprising. Ryan didn't seem to object, as evidence by this photo taken shortly after.

Third, I danced.
I don't do this unless I am drunk enough to not give a crap what people think. But people don't dance at concerts, especially hipsters (these were 2008 hipsters, so they were even more hardcore.) But apparently - when the DJ is on before the next set, there's smoke machines going, and the spectators clear a giant space for you in the crowd so that they can witness the ridiculous spectacle (or to not get hit by crazy flailing drunken arms, either one) -
I do.

Perhaps at this moment, Ryan was watching my frenzied steps, high heeled sneaker-boots slamming the ground like a toreador on steroids, and thinking "This is the girl for me."

Perhaps not.

I tried to drag him into the empty dance circle that was only me, but understandably, he declined. And what continued was what could only be described as the furious, dream-like stupor of uninhibited expression that is only possible when caring about nothing at all. It was me, in all my odd, slightly spastic glory. And it's possible that this is what brought me closer to finding true love than ever before.

Later, I lay slumped at a column, falling asleep. Ryan came over to introduce me to White Williams, who I groggily shook hands with. He was not amused - but then again, hipsters never are. He spent the rest of the night trying to keep my eyes open - but I was content with feeling the beats through my butt, foggy lights passing over my eyelids. On the train home, we talked about one another - mostly about our families. I expected nothing of that night, but it seemed as if things finally felt right. The next time we saw eachother at work he asked if I wanted to hang out that weekend.....

"Oh, well, I have a lot things to pick up for my new place, but I guess you could come over and help me put up my bookshelf."

"Okay."

It's not a normal occurrence for someone you hardly know to agree to building a piece of furniture for you. Way out in the middle of Queens. On a Sunday.,,,,without there being a motive. Either they want to murder you or go out with you. Or they're gay and have a thing for interior design. I didn't think to wonder what it could be, and a date was the furthest from my mind. After all, who puts up a bookshelf on a first date?

....Apparently, we do.

I met Ryan in the electronics department of Kmart at Astor. I deemed this an acceptable meeting place. He carried my National Liquidators trash can to the subway for the trip back to Queens, making it talk to me in muppet voice as he lifted the lid up and down. This folks, is when the magic started.

He did put my bookshelf up - and we made a good team. I'm sure there's something to be said about getting to know a guy as he's using a hammer - I'll let you be the judge. I never thought I'd end up falling for a guy that day, in that circumstance, but when he asked if I was going to kiss him, I did. And I haven't stopped kissing him since.

..........well, unless I'm eating and breathing, but you get what I mean.

‽

Here We Go Again....

So....this is happening again.

I know as soon as play food even enters my mind, I'm a goner. I don't think I've actually been conscious for the passed two days. I know, it's bad. I need some sort of conditioning experiment to instill horror with the mere thought of plastic in-edibles. But that would just take so much joy out of my life.

Case in point:

I've finally found proof that I'm not making my childhood up: I did, in fact, have Fisher Price waffles-in-a-box.
And of course, their syrup counterpart.
Oh, how I wish I appreciated their whimsical worth back then!

I could be one of those crazies and order it off Ebay, but I'm not crazy enough to pay $30. Hell, some of these "vintage" toys (80's is vintage now apparently, and thus, as am I) go for almost $60 or $70! Totally taking advantage of helpless nostalgics like me - good thing I'm a cheapskate.

However, this is not even the BEST part of my two day binge. I recently found this video on Facebook:

I call this the "Gateway Drug;," since after I watched it, I couldn't stop my obsessive quest for the Japanese toys they call "Popin Cookin" (edible) and "Konapun" (inedible).

Um, this shit is ridiculous, and it leaves me mesmerized. (Check out more here!)

Quite simply, I need one of these sets, and I need them now. I'm convinced they hold the key to my happiness.

‽

Post-Production Update on Short Film

  Check out the official site of my short film, "Cereal for Dinner" 

for the latest news on sound design, 

  PLUS a sneak peek at the theme music!

‽

I Haz a Dream

I know I've been neglecting my blogger-ly duties here for a few days (gimme a break, willya?)

So while you wait for my inspiration to return (or my laziness to recede - both are acceptable in this case), why don't you take a peek inside my dreamscapes?
(You can also access this site from my sidebar feed and the cute little tab on the top right.
Organized much?)

 

Now you know where all that imagination of mine is really hiding!

‽

Iz Be Famous!

Ok, not really. But I got you there for a second, didn't I?

Check out my film blog, Got Film? 

My voice over is on a Pillsbury cinematic commercial.

Cinematic = 

Creepy Sim people in a 3D world trying to sell stuff to test audiences by glorifying products. 

If you've ever wondered what I do well....I produce that shit.

So watch it, listen to my super-cute advertising voice, and go buy some fucking Pillsbury already!

‽

In the Words of George Michael....

Faith. You gotta have it.

Some people confuse faith and religion. Just like they confuse religion and spirituality. They all can exist together, but they can also function independently. I don't have to be religious to have faith - but if that's the case, then what does faith really mean?

Well, I know I don't have much of it. So that's a start. Over the years I have grown more and more pessimistic. Whether this has to do with getting older, dealing with more disappointments and sorrows, or having more responsibilities, I'm not sure. But I could guess that it's all of those things.

You might ask, how is it possible to have hope in a world like this? Where strife is on the daily news, and things have a tendency to suck. A lot. More than often.

Or you might say, having faith is for idiots who aren't in tune with reality - who just want to ignore the inevitable. To maintain a fabricated, lovely world for themselves.

And maybe you have had faith before, and in turn been disappointed. And now you're angry, hurt, and believe that the only way to prepare yourself for the future is by assuming nothing can go right. That way, you don't get hurt.

Well, it took me awhile to realize that even though I might catastrophize every single possibility, even if I assume that things are going to be terrible, even if I try to pretend that it won't occur, if something sucky happens....guess what?
It still fucking sucks.

But now it sucks even more so, because instead of being happy for days, weeks, even months beforehand, not bothering to WORRY or be ANXIOUS about what the future might bring, you were miserable.

So who really wins?

Bottom line is the universe/life/God/Satan/Spaghetti monster/Nature/Essence/Buddha - whatever the hell you want to call it - is gonna do what it's gonna do. Shit happens, and sometimes it doesn't matter how you prepare, how you push back, how angry or happy you get, because it's not going to change the course of nature. Living things die. The weather, moods, jobs, relationships, feelings, and fads change - constantly. You don't get what you want, while some people do. Some of that may be in your power to fix; but when it's not, what choice do you have?

Therein lies my problem. I tend to conveniently forget that there are some things I don't have the power to change. I admit, that's a little egotistical. When you're a child, it's normal for you to be the center of your own universe, as that's all you know. But as a 25 year old woman, I must understand that there are things beyond my control, that have no personal connection to me whatsoever. Yet, I continue to personalize EVERYTHING.

This was particularly my issue this passed year, when a series of awful things seemed to be happening in succession:

• First my email was hacked.
• Then my credit card was stolen.
• My loans increased.
• I had surgery on my appendix.

My first thought was "Why is this happening to me?" ANGER ---> Tears and rage ensued.
My second thought was "Of course this would happen to me." PLAYING VICTIM ---> Depression set in.
My third thought was "What am I doing to do? I can't deal with this." ANXIETY ---> Worry after worry.
And then finally, from my hospital bed, I said, "You win." ---> ACCEPTANCE.

Don't get me wrong; fighting my own feelings of dread while stuck in the hospital with an inflame urethra and bladder bordering on explosion was the biggest obstacle of all. I kept thinking, "I can't get through this. This is going to kill me."

But I'm still here. Somehow, I survived.

I go through this cycle every single day. And I'm still alive - so far.
And I don't think I'm the only one. Never once when I was going through this ordeal, or any other for that matter, did I think to bypass the ANGER and the PLAYING VICTIM and the WORRY to get straight to the ACCEPTANCE: this is what is happening; how can I cope with this now.

For some reason, the universe put me through this. Yes, reality is chaos and there are most likely no Greek gods playing chess with our lives up in the heavens. But I do believe there is a thru-line that connects everyone and everything, and that there is a reason (or a reason to be found) for what we go through. Sometimes the only way to learn something is by getting a slap in the face by old Spaghetti Monster himself.

So, where the hell does faith come in, now that I've gone off on this ridiculously long philosophical tangent?
Keep your shirt on.

I believe that faith is what can keep us all sane during these times when life gets hard. Faith that there is light at the end of the tunnel. That you will survive. And most of all, faith that the universe will lead you in the right direction.

I'm not saying it won't suck. Because sometimes, it will suck majorly. But you will be stronger and happier if you have that faith, rather than the anger, fear and anxiety (which will only serve to feed more negative energy), to guide you through these challenging times.

I like to give myself credit for this Zen-like metaphor I thought up for my guest blog on Cyan Years, to describe this state of paralysis I often find myself in when confronted by challenge (if only I would quit thinking up fucking metaphors and just follow my own damn advice):

You’re holding onto a flimsy branch to avoid being swept away by the fierce rapids of a fast-moving river. Of course you’re afraid to lose your grip – you could be trapped in the current for days, hit a rock, be lost over the threshold of a waterfall. But if you stay clutching the branch, you will never budge from that spot. The only way to move on, the only way to break free, is to let go….and see where the river takes you.

‽

Back, with a Vengeance‽

I sit here on my couch this Sunday evening in a strange, dreamlike stupor, trying to salvage the day after a waking hour of 3pm, sipping groggily on flat Wild Cherry Pepsi. I believe it is time.

I'm finally going to say it, even though I hear my inner critic already chastising me for defying the unwritten "Blogger Code of Ethics." It cries, "No one wants to hear your sap story! Save it for your diary, Wendy whiner."

 To this I say "Fuck you," evil ego, and watch as it slinks away spinelessly into the dark recesses of my mind. It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to, which includes admitting certain truths that I've been neglecting to face.

"It took awhile for me to allow myself to start writing again, because I was afraid."

There, I said it. And so far nothing has exploded or ended in an engulfment of flames. So I guess I'm safe........for now. I apologize if this doesn't seem a sufficiently exciting beginning to a blog entry - in time you will realize that the most recent turn of events have a somewhat cartoonish quality that will test your belief. In short, I can't make this shit up.

For those of you who need a visual aid in order to understand, this is a pretty accurate representation of what I've been dealing with over the past two months:

It is due to this rather unlucky and preposterous chain of events that I have made a few changes in the Unkosher world. However, only as far as my blog is concerned. What used to be "Goy Vey," a title which heralded my Woody Allen-esque views of life in lieu of my very non-Jewish heritage (clever as it was), has now been replaced with something less offensive, less religiously charged, and a lot more arrogant.

"Interrobang" is a word I always thought to be interesting. I remember it popping up in my Google web clips and thinking it was some nerd's idea of an apocalyptic grammar explosion. In a way, I guess it sort of is. The definition, as you can see on the sidebar to the right (for those of you who are too lazy for Dictionary.com) defines "Interrobang" as the combination of both question mark and exclamation point, used to express incredulity and disbelief......loudly.

This little punctuation mark, my friends, is the definition of my life.

To find out why, I invite you to continue reading, as more [incredulous] truths are revealed.

‽

Shameless Self-Promotion....What I Do Best

It's allllll about ME!

MUAHhahahahahahahhaahah!!!!!

(*cough* please love me.) AHEM ^.^;;;; Please don't pay any attention to that small person; she is obviously retarded.

It may be that my creative pool has run dry (as is usually the case when I've had a shitload of work for a long time and then suddenly things are calm ::knock on wood::). Don't get me wrong I have tons of stuff to share (despite the fact that no one gives a damn), I just haven't had the energy or the brain power to squeeze it out. I start entries, then stop them, wondering what my inspiration was in the first place. Then I go back to making lists of the things I should be doing, and this sort of repeats itself in a dizzying, infinite cycle for the next few weeks.

I'm sure I'll get over it.

Meanwhile, allow me to invite you into the universe that seems to ever-revolve around me and my unkosher glory, and listen to my new VO Demo that I've been working on. Some of them are actual demos I've done for work, and others are exercises from a VO class I took back in October (with the wonderful Karen Murray! And since I am also a fan of shamelessly promoting others, please let this woman teach you how to make your voice a star.)



I'm still trying to fine tune things and add some more conversational character pieces, but I'm still open to critiques. This is your one chance to really be brutal on me and not feel like an asshole about it.

I've Created A Monster

You may have noticed that Goy Vey has went under the knife and changed its look from "This-Is-Obviously-a-Blogger-Template" to "This-Is-a-Slightly-Better-Template-That-May-Not-Be-As-Common-and-I've-Obviously-Invested-Some-Time-In."

I was tired of looking at my blog and realizing that it had nothing interesting about it except for my wonderful writing, the pun-tastic title and my big-nosed mug on the left. It needed some personalization, as you can see from my stream-of-consciousness banner. (Think of them as all my personalities if you will, battling it out inside my mind, forcing me to constantly ask...WHAT is my real identity?? WHAT IS IT? ::pants, out of breath::)

I admit it was a little daunting to take on HTML. I've never done it and I really still not sure how. But I'm good at three things: researching, process of elimination, and of course, the copy and paste function.

Now for the exciting part: somehow I figured out how to add links - many links! a menagerie of links! - to my home page so you may be directed to my many other blogs of interest, including my reel (which is really just my works organized in blog posts........sssshh.)

Also, at the top there is the infamous About Me page, as well as some (get ready for this) a link to MORE Links, which breaks it all down for ya, making it easier for those to stalk me.

Check out the links. Use 'em. Wear 'em out.

In the meantime I will be playing catch up on all the posts I should have been writing whilst engaging in some selfish blog beautification.

Oh, Vanity.

Just added a new "About Me" page above!
(I know you guys are just dying to know who this unkosher girl is.)

How's that for a short post.