Justina's Reviews

How I Woke Up

2011-01-25T16:04:00.000-05:00

Ollie's Noodle Shop, Manhattan

2011-01-07T16:41:00.002-05:00

I just got to NY 24 hours ago, so maybe I am not qualified to say what is good NY Chinese food. I am from Los Angeles and we are not known for any of our food. But after 20 years there, I have found some amazing cuisine. I even found good dim sum in Chatsworth.

So I get to New York thinking "Oooh, I bet New York Chinese restaurants make a mean plate of orange chicken." Well, this is my second Chinese restaurant and I am not impressed. (That's right. Second Chinese restaurant in 24 hours. You judgin' me?)

So I guess this is me one step closer to the Holy Grail of NY Chinese food. Please, dear God, make the myth true!

I will go back to Ollie's often since it's close to where I live and it's cheap. So this is a positive review, kinda. If I didn't live a few blocks away, this would be a review ending with "likely not coming back." So, I guess not too positive. It is positively lukewarm.

1. The food: The orange chicken was a little tough. The sauce was yummy though. The eggplant in garlic sauce was pretty good and I'll order it again. Spicy is not SPICY, but next time, I may order it extra spicy and see what I get. Food alone...2 stars.

2. The ambience: It's crowded and just a touch more serene than utter chaos. I'm going to balance that with, I just moved to NY from LA. It's possible it's not the restaurant, it's this fragile LA diner.

3. The service: The service is fast and the food gets to you hot. How they accomplish that in the cramped dining area is impressive to say the least. Four stars for service.

Overall, go there if you want to eat Chinese food in the Upper West Side without going broke. Not worth getting into a vehicle to try it.

Ollie's Noodle Shop
1991 Broadway
New York, NY 10023
(212) 595-8181

Well, this is emIt'barassing...

2008-03-03T15:46:00.000-05:00

I've been posting on MySpace and now all this info here is moot. I didn't buy a house. And my wedding date is July 20th of this year....and we're not even getting married.

I mean, we're getting married by ourselves. No guests. Witnesses....and some family, but no guests.

Wow, so nothing on this blog happened. This is really awkward.

I never comment on the news

2007-04-25T23:37:00.000-04:00

I was going to do a critical essay on the writings of the Virginia tech shooter and I never finished writing it. I swear, I have things to say about current events. I just don't seem to say them to any conclusion. Because I write and write and find the signs of a madman and then realize that I have written about 600 words just to say a four word sentiment: "Wow, he was crazy." And really, I think what triggered the essay in the first place was that exact sentiment. What insight could I possibly be giving? I mean, "Hey everyone, I can tell a delusional sociopath from his ten minute one act. Mind you, I'm reading this one act because he killed 32 people, but how conclusive is that?"

So the whole story I guess got forgotten already anyway because some actor went to rehab.
Maybe I should write about how crazy media is for making murderers famous and then forgetting just in time for copy cats or like-minded damaged people to sprout up unhindered. But that's kinda obvious, too.

Strangely enough, rehab has its own copy cats. Everyone's doing it.

I have no conclusion here.

See? What did I say? Blah blah blah no conclusion. I don't know why I even blog.

Fuck midpoints

2007-04-22T17:34:00.000-04:00

I'm writing an ensemble feature film and it's killing me. What's the midpoint? What's the plot point? Can a different character carry us through PP1 than the character that got us into the introductory hook? What IS happening on page 45???

You know what? Fuck page 45. Fuck the midpoint. Fuck PP1. Fuck you, Syd. You know what I like about plays? The rule is this: make the audience interested in the next word and feel satisfied on the last word. That's it.

McKee and Field and the fucking hero's journey can all have a spit roast.

The Onion has Me Pegged

2007-04-21T17:25:00.000-04:00

The Onion has me pegged

How did they know?

My old digs made the front page of the LA TIMES!!!

2007-04-12T20:44:00.000-04:00

ARTICLE

First of all, that mural took Olga days to make, long days and long nights. It is a work of urban art and to want the "hoochie mama" down is just plain dumb. I hate dumb!

Second of all, the Sugar Shack rocks. That was my asylum after almost three years with Split.Id. I licked my wounds of LA Theater battles for a full year there and then met the man of my dreams. In fact, my first sighting of the man I will call husband was at that door that looks like a 70's headshop piece. I was meeting him to help me paint the exact bathroom they discuss in the article.

So many good good memories there. Good people. Good memories. Those Victoria Park needleheads need a gift basket from my office's showroom.

Oh! I could rant forever, but it's just going to get me drunk and slurring.

I'm still sick

2007-04-10T21:09:00.000-04:00

So I go to the doctor on Friday. Flesh eating disease will kill me by then. Although I'm certain it's actually malaria. Symptom of malaria is a stiff neck. I have a VERY stiff neck. I could die in moments.

This could very well be the last thing I write.

And it's so not profound.

I am Monk

2007-04-10T01:43:00.000-04:00

I am not a monk. I am Adrian Monk, the OCD character on tv. I am actually not him. I am very much like him.

I've had a cold for six days and I am certain it is either ebola, throat cancer, or at the very least a severe sinus infection I've let go for too long (er, six WHOLE days). This all must end. So I made an appointment with my doctor.

Now my night is fraught with my biggest fear.

That I will have to find out I have the common cold. For six days.

Procrastination

2007-04-08T22:48:00.000-04:00

I have writing and work to do and I'm procrastinating both by playing with the new storyboard software I got (FrameForge3D). I made a bar and my main characters and it's just plain rad. awesome. too phat. even da bom.

Another part of my procrastination was sitting at the window with the cats and pining for my fiance to come home. It was kinda fun. We stared out the window and if someone other than my fiance walked by, we'd pose so we looked cute. I wasn't as desperate looking as them, I think. I think I posed pretty cool like.

He's due home in three weeks so it's kinda lame to be staring out the window. But i'm romantic/pathetic that way.

Hypothetical question

2007-04-07T21:05:00.000-04:00

If a couple shared a computer.

And the woman put Daniel Craig (the latest, greatest James Bond) as the screensaver. Not the Casino Royale poster, but the one of him coming out of the water. You know, with the blue bathing suit all tight around his, er, gun. And his muscles all, well, you know, bond like. Let's say that happened.

Would it help matters if her explanation to her man was "I put it up there because he reminds me of you"?

It doesn't work on girls. But I'm hoping....I mean, the hypothetical woman would hope....

I'm getting married August 5th of this year

2007-04-07T19:36:00.000-04:00

Wanna know an easy way to set a date with your fiance? Say "How's August 5th of this year?" just as they are trying to run into the theater to watch something like, say, Grindhouse. Suddenly, all trust is in you and full agreement is forthcoming.

I better find that dress.

I may have found a home

2007-03-12T21:51:00.000-04:00

Wow.

Homeowner.

Wow.

My cat drinks coffee

2007-03-11T04:21:00.000-04:00

I once knew someone who claimed his cat licked bleach off just-cleaned floors.

Cats are weird.

My thumbdrive got stolen

2007-02-20T10:55:00.000-05:00

It was my computer back up. So someone out there, if he/she has the time, has a lot of reading. All my plays, my blogs, my photos, screenplays, writing exercises, website designs, blah blah blah. Argh!

Sigh.

Never go to the internet cafe on LaBrea and Sunset. If you do, never get up for coffee.

So the neurotic in me is terrified this memory stick thief is also a struggling screenwriter. Here's how I see it going down...All of the scripts I think are good are registered. But a few never really seemed ready...I hate high concept, so likely on of those throw aways are salable, just not good to me. This struggling screenwriter is staking out internet cafes trying to get over his writer's block and make a few bucks at the same time...He almost hits delete on everything (so he can sell the thumbdrive for $5) but finds a script he just can't stop reading. He claims it's his and sells it making millions.

In a romantic comedy twist, he also finds a photo of the writer he stole from and falls in love.

He finds her, steals her from her fiance. And after she gives everything up for him, she finds out he's a stupid petty theft moron.

In a thriller twist, she kills him.

In a horror twist, she kills him slowly.

It's been a loooong time

2007-02-16T13:12:00.000-05:00

I had no idea it's been so long.

So I got engaged.

I'm sure you'd think I'd blog about it, but I won't.

Not now.

It's hard to type with stardust in my eyes.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

whatever

My fuzz/fur birthday

2006-02-13T18:54:00.000-05:00

Pictures are coming people and there was a Panda on the dancefloor.

So I'm a year older.

You'd think something profound would come out of that, and it did, but then I drank coffee and forgot.

This is why I should procrastinate more

2006-01-17T19:15:00.000-05:00

This is my friend Kristina Wong.

Her latest entry has made me smile.

For fuck's sake

2006-01-17T19:04:00.000-05:00

Writing over the weekend and here is what I'm finding out:
I am feeling like a baby bird who has just waddled out of the warm nest and onto the edge of the highest branch and my little talons have just let go of the last bit of the tree and I'm feeling the float...I'm about to feel the plummet.

What else I'm finding out:
I'm writing like a teenager who just learned how to rhyme.

It's all very sad.

I'm also currently listening to Mariah Carey.

Someone shoot me.

Where I was living before I took over chez boyfriend

2006-01-11T18:41:00.000-05:00

It's all so great. I miss that house.

Retro blogging

2006-01-09T10:07:00.000-05:00

From February of last year:

ah love
So I'm thinking I'm all over this Christian God cuz I like unavailable men.

It's weird how a year can change stuff. I started this blog on Valentine's day of last year. And something tells me the next month will make things change all the more.

One year. Every year in my life has passed so fast and with what I thought was very little change. But upon reflection, every year has been a turning point. And yes, if played just a tad fast means I have had a whirlwind life.

2005 - Lost business, lost friends, found Sugar Shack, got great job, gained the love of my life (this was a big year from the lowest to highest for sure)

2004
* Watched the most grueling of relationships go through it's final death throes (a year overdue)
* Spent one full year spending every weekend running lights (not by choice)
* One full year of abstinence (also not by choice but likely related)
* Hm, 2004 sucked ass

2003
* Boyfriend steals my money for crack (so cliche but, hey, if you don't have a good "he stole my money to get high" story, you haven't really dated in Los Angeles)
* Become theater junkie where best moments were sitting alone in the wee hours in my theater space on chairs I installed with my theater company.

2002
* Started Split.Id under the name Creative Juices
* Called "genius" by a celebrity who came to a show. Which means nothing except that I got to say that a lot for a year.

2001
* Stopped owning a tv (you have no idea how life changing this is)
* First (okay, only) optioned screenplay

2000
Strangely enough, not much here. Produced first stage performance called "Kiss a Stranger" so I guess I caught a bug in 2000 that I had no idea would become the chronic addiction it is now. Also met the man who would later steal my money for crack. So a lot of seeds were planted, I guess.

That's the last five years. I think the years before that are getting a little blurry...And admittedly, the avalanche of events didn't happen until after my Saturn Return (New Age lingo for turning 29).

But wow. There's a lot that happens in a year. Your life changes and it's strange to think that when it happens, it often doesn't seem momentous. As I listed those highlights, I don't think I ever saw those events as "life changing". They might have been good or bad, but never felt like anything earned the term "turn of events". They were more "veers of events".

But no. I look at that list and everything on it is a large change.

I feel like a blindfolded child who has spent 35 years swinging wildly at this pinata. And every swing was an attempt at the perfect job, the best business, the kudos, the awards, the one relationship. Each of these events was a person -with eyes open- grabbing my shoulders and twisting me toward the pinata. And dizzy and excited, I'd swing again. I have no idea who took me by the shoulders and faced me toward the stuffed doll. Sometimes I called it God or coincidence or fate. Maybe blind luck. If I missed altogether, I'd curse whoever turned me. But I kept swinging. I'm still swinging.

Good news. This year, I heard the bat hit the pinata and some candy fell out. It's not bust wide open. Oh no, I got some more to do on that thing. But there's candy on the ground and I'm going to keep swinging. And God (or whatever) can keep turning me. Cuz I'm not going to stop until I hear the crack of a pinata pummeled in half, the downpour of treats, the squeals of delight and the footfalls surrounding me until I am on my knees in a pile of sugar and peeling the blindfold from my eyes.

Did I tell you about the mugging?

2006-01-06T18:04:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I was taking a personality quiz and one of the questions was "You see a woman get mugged. Do you help her or go after the mugger?" This is one of those questions you make up an answer to, because who knows what you would actually do when the adrenaline starts rushing.

I DO!

A few months ago (and I'm sure I blogged about it), a woman was mugged outside the house. She was screaming and my initial thought was that she was being attacked. But when I and a roommate reached her, she was screaming that her purse was snatched. I told my roommate to call the cops and I asked her which way and she pointed and I ran.

A question to ask in these instances is "Did he go that way in a car?" Because if they nod, then it's really kinda moot. And I did not ask. And it was, indeed, moot.

The good news is that she is okay and she lost some money and a filo-fax which is nothing next to one's health. And the other good news is some guy got a lot of cash. That's not really good news unless you are him. But hey, grab the silver lining while you can.

Anyway, I now know I'm a bolter. I ran the whole time thinking "What are you going to do? Take him down in your flip flops and high school aikido skills?" But I was relying on him either being drunk and easy to take down or throwing the purse aside after grabbing the cash, in which case, at least she'd have her keys and filo-fax.

And here's the thing. I was scolded at for being crazy. Guys with big biceps don't get scolded!!!

I want big biceps.

God, I'm obsessed with this.

Oh, and it means I'm an Angelina. Not a Jen.

the guy.

2006-01-05T10:19:00.000-05:00

So today I am dedicating my post to all the great things I have heard as advice or explanations for relationships:

* "There are rockstar relationships. One person is the rock and the other is the star. When you get to be the star, take that ride as long as you can."

* "The key to a good marriage is to put God first. And every morning, ask your God what you can do for the person you love."

* "If you think you're doing 100% of the work in a relationship, you're likely doing about 60%. If you think you're spouse is doing 30%, they're likely doing twice that. So if both people do 150%, it should even out to 50/50." (strangely enough NOT Yogi Berra)

* "Just know your lines and don't bump into the furniture."

Wait, the last one was advice for actors. But it still kinda fits.

What I am currently eating

2006-01-04T00:15:00.000-05:00

I am eating Have'A Chips and See's Molasses Chips while listening to Duran Duran do a cover of Bowie's Fame. Why? Because I've met the man of my dreams.

I have met a man who has all these things in his apartment and he has just left me here to consume it all. Chocolate. Salt. Justina's favorite band as a teenager. Admittedly, it's a collection of Bowie covers from different bands, but in a way, that's better than if he actually started playing Duran Duran. And Fame is a b-side, so he'd have to play the single on a record player and that is just plain geeky.

So anyway, I get here, he's folding laundry (much of it mine) and I say "uh. wow." and he kisses me goodbye and leaves with the cd player playing this collection of Bowie covers. I go to the kitchen cupboards and find the chips and chocolate (which is my favorite thing in the world) and I come back to blog only to see that Duran Duran is in this collection. I then geek out and eat.

And here I am. Geeking out songs later and feeling a little bloated.

I AM IN HEAVEN. AND I'M PMS-ING. AND I'M STILL IN HEAVEN!

Am I even making sense? I just reread this and I don't know what I'm saying. I am experiencing it, writing it and confusing my own damn self. But I'm not sure if it's my writing skills or reading comprehension skills that are currently lacking, so I'm just gonna keep going.

This chocolate/salt combo is making me a little light in the head.

I am so high on sugar right now.

I think I need to sit down. Er, I mean, lie down...or make some real food. Maybe I just need some coffee....

How the City Works

2005-12-30T11:32:00.000-05:00

LINK

First, that link is the project that I just spent two hours listening to people talk about. Oooohh..consumerism pretty.

Two days ago, I got a call from a rep of the Redevelopment PAC that I'm
on. He told me that there was to be a board meeting about the
development on San Vicente and Pico. This is huge as the Sugar Shack is walking
distance. We knew that the property was in full construction mode for a
bus depot, but a large percentage of the land was being fought over
between Target and the LA Unified School District. The meeting was
scheduled for 10am two days from the phone call. A few hours later, I got an
email from a very active Midcity council member that the meeting was
scheduled for 8am.

I was learning the beauty of beaurocracy.

Yesterday, the rep calls to say that the meeting is at 8 but this
particular topic would start about 10. He suggested getting there at 9:30. I get there at 9:22.

They were already in mid-topic. I likely missed a half hour of very
important stuff. No matter. I got enough to piss me off. Which is a surprise to me every single time it happens. I didn't even have an opinion when I walked in
that meeting and within 10 minutes I was offended.

Everyone wants Target there. Why? Because it generates revenue, it
makes jobs, it increases property value, it gives our little community
volunteer committees extra mad money (potentially high 7 figure mad money),
and most importantly, it makes us pretty. Why not a high school
(potentially the largest high school in the city)? Because it will make
teenagers spend time here. Not as pretty.

To be fair (more to the point, to not sound like an agenda toting
pinko), the school will likely be poorly funded, poorly managed and the jobs
it would create would not help the community (unless we have a
surprising amount of unemployed teachers in our neighborhood). With all that,
crime will go up, the drugs and prostitution already in our neighborhood
will get more action, and by more I mean under aged more action. And
forget about gentrification. And for all my liberal ways, I can still
appreciate a little gentrification.

So quite a few people made it. The neighborhood was there, standing room only. And they spoke. They spoke about how they were (we were) dying for a Target and did NOT want a high school.

Anyway, Target is a little stubborn with the wages they're willing to pay. Mind you, they promise to pay a living wage...a wage one can live on. But that's about all they promise and they don't want to promise in writing cuz really, define "living".

"No worries! Move on in!" The community begged. CRA (the suits) were a little less enthusiastic. Either let people get paid poorly or CRA would actually pay the difference so employees got a wage they could really live on. CRA did not like the latter option at all. So now it's poor paid or Target actually does pay well on the honor system or lose Target. The developer did not look amused by any of this. (He DID negotiate prevailing wage for his construction workers, THAT guy isn't dumb)

But the bad guy isn't Target. They're earning a buck.

The bad guy (yet again) is us. The community. Because we are so desperate for some revenue and some city clout that we basically beg large corporations to rape us.

Gentrification.

This is a word that I feel is the same as Lucifer. It means something beautiful and is actually a very ugly, festering thing.

(more later)

I am not superficial

2005-12-28T18:28:00.000-05:00

Have you noticed some men look like this and they are not gay? Women! Did you know this?

I had no idea.

The Gift of Giving

2005-12-27T17:59:00.000-05:00

Don't give Kris Kringle any of those Tony Robbins tapes. The guy is gonna ruin Christmas.

I was Santa

2005-12-21T13:01:00.000-05:00

A few images of the SantaCon. I really can't explain. All I can say is

1. We started at 10am.
2. We were at the Frolic Room before noon.
3. We took over to Hooters.
4. There were Santas on an electric bull.
5. I have shin splints.

I'm moving

2005-12-20T14:00:00.000-05:00

More succinctly, I am planting objects in his apartment. He quickly became wise to my scheme but somehow continues to allow it.

I have planted four suits, two pants, eight tops, two dresses, a hairbrush, toothbrush, vitamin supplements, a necklace, ring, pair of shoes, and conveniently leaving gifts "behind".

This is an interesting part of the female mindset. Mind you, I have a willing victim, but really, I think I was planting well before he caught on that I was wanting to move in. Well, before I was even catching on that I wanted to move in. I first planted the toothbrush. This was not an overt act, more for convenience (or so I lied to myself and friends). But then the suit. This was not one I could explain away. The clothing collection hanging neatly in his closet was rapidly growing. I was having a hard time finding clothes when I was home.

I couldn't lie to myself much longer.

I was moving in.

Now to sneak in the cat and bed. Maybe they can just sort of...fall out of my car and onto his front door. Will he protest as soon as I say "Can you help me? It fell on the driveway." Or will he cock his head to the side in confusion when Houdini is suddenly sharing bathroom time?

This is a dilemma. Maybe I'll just keep planting the clothes...and a few pictures.

Boobies

2005-12-16T12:12:00.000-05:00

I need your input. I have been emailing Victoria's Secret and it was going so well, and we were exchanging ideas and they were really nice to me and I was really nice back. We disagreed, but we respected each other. You know?

Then suddenly "poof". Gone. They refuse to continue our stimulating conversation. I feel so rejected. But here's what we said. Tell me...is it me?

From Justina:
I love VS fashion and buy in the store as much as possible. I have one
request, though. A plea, in fact.

I know this goes against VS tradition, but I would actually buy a bra
from you if you used A Cup models for your A Cup bras. I'm sure the
DD's feel the same way.

Thanks for your site.

Justina Walford

From Victoria's Secret:
Dear Justina,

Thank you for your e-mail regarding our models. We are pleased to assist you with your inquiry.

Our models are selected from established modeling agencies and we employ models with all body types. We are always searching for fresh faces that will convey the image of Victoria's Secret, as well as appeal to all of our clients.

If you need further assistance, please reply to this e-mail or call
anytime.

Thank you for your interest in Victoria's Secret.

Sincerely,
Holly G.
VictoriasSecret.com Client Services

From Justina
I fully understand and agree that you have the best models in the country and possibly around the globe. But I do think there might be a couple body types not represented in your catalogue and on your website.

Is there a possibility this can be considered? If it already has been considered, could you tell me why your company decided against it?

Thank you so much for your prompt response.

Justina Walford

From Victoria's Secret:
Dear Justina,

Thank you for your e-mail regarding our merchandise. We are pleased to assist you with your inquiry.

We value our reputation for excellent client service, and always take great interest and initiative in making changes which are beneficial to our clients.

We appreciate your comments and take them seriously. In fact, client suggestions and comments often provide direction for changes in future merchandise and services.

If you need further assistance, please reply to this e-mail or call anytime.

Thank you for your interest in Victoria's Secret.

Sincerely,
Julia L.
VictoriasSecret.com Client Services

I don't know. Now that I re-read it, it feels a little detached. Maybe they didn't care after all.

I have nothing to say

2005-12-14T13:52:00.000-05:00

I'm happy as a clam

And clams are reeeaaaalll happy

manic

2005-12-02T19:05:00.000-05:00

I swear I'm a bundle of nerves right now. I think I just sent the wrong email.

And I took a call from an important client and forgot his name.

I think I'm insane.

It's Christmas.

It's allowed.

Right?

Right?

Okay, to make the time pass, I'm blogging a writing dilemma.

Let's say you have a character, who is unhappy in her housewife marriage, cheats on her husband, and can't be happy. The husband leaves her and now she's alone.

On her own, she grows.

Into what?

Realistically, she gets a modest job somewhere. She doesn't meet someone new because that would imply she relies on men to make her happy...

But the end of a play with one of the leads getting a job at quicki-mart seems, well, anti-climactic?

What post in the history of this blog got the most responses?

2005-12-02T18:40:00.000-05:00

You guessed it.

More writings on politics and fighting asian stereotypes later.

Okay, I can't stand it.

2005-12-02T18:12:00.000-05:00

I gotta blog about what I never blog about.

I met someone.

So how does that work?

I mean do people like, hang out until they break up over the stripper he took home? Or do they, uh, eat a lot of meals and watch movies together until it just makes sense to leave a toothbrush there...and then get a key...and then, well, might as well keep the laundry I did at his place there for when I stay over...and marriage and babies...

I gotta go throw up, now.

I feel pretty

2005-12-02T16:35:00.000-05:00

oh so pretty!

i changed the settings on my blog!

is this why the ghetto stays a ghetto?

2005-12-02T02:27:00.000-05:00

Bad neighborhoods are not bad because of crack, crime, gangs or prostitution. They are bad because of homeowners.

Tonight was my second night in a month where I have been disappointed by the lack of tolerance on the poor proliferated by homeowners in poor neighborhoods.

So the early part of the week was listening to the candidate speeches for MidCity Neighborhood Council (a council that will decide the fate of about a dozen neighborhoods). The money they have and spend can go to many things, but it sounds like it mainly goes to calling the city and complaining about liquor stores and rehab facilities.

Last night, I went to see Herb Wesson get signed in as our new District 10 Councilmember. And I bumped into quite a few neighborhood council candidates, our neighborhood homeowner association president, and some neighborhood rabble rousers.

What I'm getting to understand is that homeowners are the most involved in this level of politics. They have an investment in the neighborhood that doesn't allow them to easily just get up and leave when the going gets tough. Everyone else gets involved and then burns out and goes when the lease is over.

I'm in a very unique place. I am not an owner, but I am emotionally invested in a home that is in the neighborhood. This is why when someone gets shot, I wonder how to keep someone else from getting shot (including myself). When I see Tony, Sugar's very own loiterer who is fine on good days and pretty difficult when the meds are gone and the drugs are present, I wonder where the city can put him so the meds can stay in him and the drugs can stay out of him.

If you own a home, apparently, you don't care where he goes or who gets shot, as long as it's not on your block.

A small example is gates. We all want gated communities. I guess. Keep the bad out and the good in. What is really annoying is that we just became a gated community and Sugar is on the entrance of this community. We have no gate. Traffic is now completely disgusting on our intersection (with no stop light) and the crime feels a little worse now for us. It's possible that the crime got out of the circle and on our front door. And, really, if it wasn't us, it'd be pushed down the block. There was no attempt to deal with the problem of crime. But there was 10 years of lobbying and thousands of dollars raised and hours of city employee time used to build gates.

Here's is the irony about the political hootenanies like the one I went to last night: The real guns - councilmembers and commissioners, etc.- are strangely less evil. The two kinds of people there are city officials who have to go to support the guy being sworn in and the swarming busy bodies who go for ass-kissing and food.

It's the same mentality as Hollywood actor wannabes. You see people who have some level of success be fairly normal. There is a comfort with the insanity of the business and an intelligence that comes with the success. If they are asses, it's because they are asses. Aspiring actors a dumb asses. They are so caught up with being discovered, they just can't be them. They think the best route to fame is kissing the right asses. They go to parties to be discovered. They pay to perform in front of the "right people" but don't pay to learn how to act.

In city politics, there are those with some success. They work hard at finding out the issues and finding solutions to fix them. They, too, can be asses. They may think curing the homeless problem is to shoot each transient in the head, but they at least admit that they are doing it because it's cheaper and more efficient than a bed and food. They acknowledge that the best idea is to shelter, rehabilitate, and educate. They just know that since it's not being done that way, they need a solution until it can be done that way. Still bad. Hell, still evil. But not stupid.

Neighborhood politicos are not smart enough to be evil. They are dumb. Thus minions. Dumb ass minions. Trying to kiss the right ass and sending off complaints to the city like headshots to Steven Spielberg.

The difference between the two: if you're a small minded actor, you hurt only yourself (and a few casting directors). If you're a small minded city busy body, you are endangering the lives and livelihood of anyone who spends time in your town.

i just made a yahoo avatar that gives the look i give men when they say i'm pretty.

2005-12-01T20:29:00.000-05:00

So that happened.

2005-11-30T12:15:00.000-05:00

This is a post about the unpostable.

There.

I said it.

I feel better now.

uh...

2005-11-29T06:44:00.000-05:00

Isn't this wrong?

Justina talks about the big R

2005-11-28T20:04:00.000-05:00

I think it's time to start talking about Relationships. Capital R. I have standards. There are things that MUST be in a significant other and Dealbreakers. Here they are.

What someone MUST be or do to have me:
*Breathe (a lesson IKEA Anna taught me. I can't just settle for a pretty face I see online.)
*Not smell significantly bad
*Have enough issues to not intimidate me (clinically diagnosed is good. Meds are better.)
*Worship me (not like build a shrine...well, maybe a little one)
*Feed me (I'm so bad at the details of living)
*Not talk when I talk. (Not listen, per se, but, you know, pretend to listen)

Dealbreakers:
*Wanting me to give birth. I may do it once for someone, if some accident happens. But I really rather not.
*Use of the words "booboo" and "oopsie" in regular conversation.
*Being gay -as in having sex with men.
*Thinking raves are fun and being over the age of 23.
*Being the age of 23 or under.
*More stuffed animals than ties (so hypocritical of me, but I DO own more ties than stuffed animals)
*Says "I don't get it" when watching Annie Hall.
*Says "I so get that" when watching a Bush speech.

I'm gonna keep doing this, but I better go home.

What a difference a day makes

2005-11-27T12:49:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty okay today. I am a little peeved about boobies, though, so I will have to chat with myself about that later.

The holidays are a definite roller coaster. I have felt fairly bi-polar for the last couple weeks. I have ovaries in overdrive, hormones kickin' in (it is my sexual peak, you know), people analyzing my dates, me analyzing my dates, a dwindling cold, a yo-yo of weights, a desire to vegetate and a desire to take up some kind of martial art.

The kicker? Today, I had brunch with my best friend and we saw these two kids, brother and sister, about 6 and 7 playing on video games at the restaurant. But whatever they were playing required styluses so I theorized that they were actually writing dissertations.

And I got an ovary pang.

I want genius children.

I AM A NORMAL WOMAN! I want babies! When I see a baby I want, I do ache for it, just like all my friends! I just need the right stimulus: a child with glasses and a palm pilot.

Day of Thanks

2005-11-23T14:12:00.000-05:00

So, it's the holidays. I am depressed. My other single friends are depressed. My friends in relationships (even the ones who are clinically depressed) are giddy beyond belief.

This is strange.

Because WHO CARES if you're dating during the holidays? If you are, then you have no time to see them or you're introducing them to your issues (also known as "family"). How lame is that?

I don't want that. Hell, no!

I'm so depressed.

Not to be a nit-picky yellow person

2005-11-22T13:33:00.000-05:00

But is ANY young geisha in Memoirs of a Geisha actually Japanese?????

My affair with Anna

2005-11-19T22:04:00.000-05:00

I love Ikea. I love all things Ikea. I want Ikea. I must have Ikea. It's sick, but it's true. So I went to the Ikea website this morning and I met Anna, the online help center. We then had a torrid, but short lived affair.

Here's what happened...(Note: This was not altered in any way. This is really what she said.)

It started off so well. She was so helpful. So loving.

I showed my bad side, but she just loved. Loved.

Then her love got overbearing.

Problems started. I couldn't quite place it, but something was up.

And then she admitted it to me.

We fought. I said mean things. She got defensive.

We stopped talking.

I can't blog photos!!!

2005-11-19T12:15:00.000-05:00

I attached this to my website and eblogger punished me!

I have this great photo collage of my very short lived relationship with IKEA Anna. Now it can't be done...argh.

Body modification

2005-11-18T19:16:00.000-05:00

The Ethical Question of Surgery

I started this one and never got to finish it, so here it is again....

I learned today that there are people who want to amputate a limb. Want to. Not “have to.” Not “are better off to do.” Want to.

I’ve never heard of that before. Not just that, but people who willfully split their tongue in half or install horns under their skin. Being a woman who has had a septum piercing, I consider myself a lightweight-but-beyond-navel-piercing bodymod fan. But this was not something you could do in a tattoo parlor. This required a surgeon. A very open minded surgeon.

I have read a bit on Ron Athey and love his work. I remember reading about Fakir. Don’t even ask me his last name, but if you’ve read anything at all about body mod, especially it’s tribal routes, you will know who I mean. And I remember the man who was terminally ill and turned his pain around to make it pleasure and became a super masochist. And the babes. The gorgeous bodies who tattoo or pierce to display their bodies with decoration, to add a tough exterior to their perfect, youthful flesh.

The main reasons to do body mod: Art. Tribalization (be it mimicking the tribal community or reverting to an older culture). Masochism. Kink. Vanity. I’m sure there may be more reasons.

Okay, so some body modification people go under the knife and take away a fully functional part of their body.

Crazy.

Or is it? We accept (as a society) people who go under the knife to increase the size of their breasts, extract parts of their cheeks or buttocks for no reason except looks, or inject into their bodies foreign material to make their faces look "better" or "younger."

These people can't walk into a parlour and change their bodies in this way like one would change their hair color. They must find a surgeon. An open minded one.

Has modern society gone full circle? Has the ritual of tribal modification evolved, faded, and then devolved into "beauty surgery"?

Well, I guess it hasn't even faded. About a century ago, if corsets didn't do the trick, women would have a rib removed to look thin. And the corsets, while not surgery, were so extreme in cutting off circulation, they had to make furniture just for women to faint on.

Women used to ingest arsenic to lighten their skin.

We purposefully treat our bodies, not like temples, but like canvases for our art. And our art is diverse. Porn stars to tribalists.

What does this say about those of us who still have a blank canvas. I currently have no tattoos. No piercings. No elective medical procedure except for braces in high school. And even that was in the guise of "dental health".

Where is our art? What does it say about an artist who ignores this god given canvas? Shouldn't we show our art in any shape we can? And when pen and paper is exhausted why not go to ink on flesh? Or even body removal for art?

If we let go of our gut reaction to be repulsed, where do we go? What would you do if life were like a William Gibson novel? Would you have fingertips with retractable blades? Would you have whiskers? Arms replaced purposefully with prosthetics that could do more? Or less? What would you make with your canvas?

I gotta get up to get off sometimes...

2005-11-18T17:18:00.000-05:00

Rob Thomas is a freak....Fuh-reak.

Or I'm projecting lyrics.

So, anywho, I have a cold and it sucks and I just cancelled my evening plans and I hate that and I'm gonna have to cancel in 12 hour increments. Like, if I can't feel better by 9pm, I'm gonna not go to Ikea in the morning. Dude, not go to Ikea? I so need a new bed. I want this bed. Wanna see it?

Justina's Bed

But I really have to see if i can fit under the canopy. That would suck if I didn't fit in my bed.

This means I am now putting my arrested development before any chance of hot action in my own room. But really, I have 12 roommates. Who am I kidding?

Isn't it cool? It's so "let's go camping in the living room"

If you turn it over, it's a low bed. I love all things convertible.

Simplifying sucks ass

2005-11-18T14:52:00.001-05:00

I have to update the Sugar website and I really want to add that damn blog that no one wants. Ah hell, who's gonna read archived blog posts anyway. I'm not that interesting. Oh, see, I just went to thinking about my website and I really was talking about the Sugar website. Maybe I should just let the sugar site be my site so the only way to link to my blog is through the sugar people page. then i can get rid of that thorn splitid site and give it to my ex cuz it fits him more anyway. i just have one id. one very strange and damaged id. he has two.

No photos in the archives. That's my problem. It says right there on "How to make your blog more interesting" photos, pictures....I didn't listen.

ooh duran duran...

God, I'm sad

2005-11-17T23:34:00.000-05:00

I can't figure out this web simplification I'm trying to do. I want to merge the blog and splitid and sugarshack and feed my blog into sugar's blog.

someone get me some zoloft.

no, no, no, i don't need zoloft. i'm just gonna listen to sad love songs all night.

i promised a friend i'd paint. but all it'd be is "why me?" in acrylic.

hmmm....I should do something creative. It would help this crazy headache...sinuses...kids have strep throat...do I?...oh look, rob thomas.

I had no idea how cool I was

2005-11-17T19:51:00.000-05:00

So every once in a while, I stalk myself. I wonder "what would it be like if I was obsessed with me" and I google myself. I have my google search fairly memorized.

Today, I msn searched myself. Now, someone who would actually msn search me deserves my love and I hope they continue to stalk me until I give in and marry them (unless they are stalking me to kill me and that's not nice at all). Anyway, I stalked myself on msn.com.

And look what I found! justina's great accomplishment of 2000

I had no idea how completely administrative I was back then. And who thinks I deserve this? It's very nice of them to think this highly of me. I administered stuff. It's very cool. Stalkers, you gotta msn search me.

Going Queer on Saturday

2005-11-17T15:13:00.000-05:00

Gonna see my friend, Kristina Wong, at Akbar, Saturday at 9pm. Dude. It's craaazy. Here's why.

A) I'm going to go out and I never go out.
B) I'm going to bring a posse and I don't even have a posse.
C) I'm gonna wear something hoochie and I have no idea how to do that with six suits and a pair of sweats in my closet.
D) It's Kristina Wong and she's all crazy.

Why would a recluse do this to herself?

Cuz I am on the hunt. I am on the hunt for a good time.

Hellya.

PS To any family who reads this, I mean "good time" as in fun. Not the other "good time" as in "Hey baby, want a good time?" See the difference? Subtle, but very important.

Interesting

2005-11-16T14:08:00.000-05:00

I'm adding a photo because it makes my blog more interesting. Are you more interested now? I am. I am so interested that I'm not going to say anything of relevance, because why should I? I'm already interesting. I'm already interesting with my hair and t-shirt and sly smirk. See how clever I look? Why write something clever when I look so clever? You must be mighty enthralled by me right about now. I am on the edge of my seat with interest.

I'm a politician

2005-11-15T19:25:00.000-05:00

Tonight is the monthly Mid-City Redevelopment PAC meeting and I'm going. Why am I going? 'Cuz I'm a PAC..Ms.PAC to you. I am an official politician of the Northern tip of South Central.

I don't want to go (please see post below about feeling worthless to changing the community/world-in-general). But I must because it is my one year commitment starting last month.

Month two and I'm already beaten down.

Sigh.

This is why moody writer chicks should never become President.

Drinking Tea

2005-11-15T00:20:00.000-05:00

So now I gotta write something for a women's thing for Thursday, so I'm gonna write this while I'm thinking. Ah, the beauty of procrastinating one's writing by writing.

Gee, I just read what I wrote in the last 24 hours and I write a lot when I'm all ferklempt. I should turn this into a book. Then I wouldn't have to write that book I'm writing.

Okay, I think I'll write about addictions or coping mechanisms. I often tell people I'm gonna go get drunk and I make myself tea. This means that alcohol is not my natural coping mechanism. Which is funny cuz when I do use it, it's damned good.

Is writing my coping mechanism? How cute would that be. I'd be all Emily Dickinson, Sylvia Plath, Kurt Cobain...But I'd play solitaire if I could just get the mouse to move better.

Solitaire? Gambling? Nah. I'm a bad gambler, but it doesn't mean I got gambling bad.

My finger hurts and I keep typing. That may be a sign.

Ah, I'm just too lazy to go to the liquor store.

That's what I get for writing

2005-11-14T23:17:00.000-05:00

Oh sure, I'm a writer. Sure I'm supposed to write. But here's the thing. Writing is my higher power. All you 12 steppers shut the fuck up. Writing is my God. And I worship it. When I leave my higher power it's cuz making me crazy, then I'm willfully denying myself a god. a god that gives and takes away.

So anyway, I start writing last night and it gave me some very good stuff. And within 24 hours I've lost footing in two major components in my life. One of them I said I'd never talk about on a blog. The other is my sense of community. So yet again, I gotta say "fuck you, writing. fuck you, god."

I live in an intentional community. We commune with intent. And I have been spending 24 hours with a cold, healing a crack in my heart, and really pondering what I'm doing here. Not here on the planet, but here in this space. This space that has a mission statement and core values and goals and projects and needs and offerings.

I'm gonna put it on a universal level and venture to say that what I'm about to say is relatable in all parts of life: finance, career, love, sex, housing, friendships...

Universal level: We all want purpose. In every aspect of our lives we are asking that facet to give us purpose. We want a lover to want our love. We want a friend to want our comraderie, we want a community to want us to do all these things within it...to enrich it. I found that community, but the crazy thing about getting what you want is you then have to give what you're asked.

And my community is asking me to create change.

And I don't know how to do that.

I'm sitting here among activism literature, KPFK is playing upstairs, roommates are talking about drug legalization downstairs, a cheesy heist film in on tv (okay, it ain't ALL about the change). And where am I? Sitting here wondering how to keep a good man down.

It's all quite pathetic. And it's been all day.

I've been working in Beverly Hills, shopping for accessories for my cell phone, checking my blackberry, etc etc. And I get home to mid-city and look around and I see my community and how much there is to do. And I don't want it to be the community I came from -sheltered lives with their crack in starbucks mugs and dogs in pink sweaters. I look around my community and I don't want it to stay what it is. From my car window I see where someone got shot, where someone else got purse snatched, where a woman got propositioned, and where a guy exposed himself to my roommate's mother. So here is a community that needs change and we have no model to change it to.

It made me so crazy, I looked at an apartment in West Hollywood. $750 for a small room, refrigerator, stove, and bathroom you can barely bend over in to shave your legs. Cheap, but not. I wanted to move there. I wanted to get out. Out of sight, out of mind.

I'm now in the computer room on the house computer and I'm writing this looking at so much space. Space that I love and covet and need like a drug and it's space that feels wasted on me. Because I don't know how to change it.

I can't change the fact that someone died fifty feet from where I sit. I can't change the fact that a woman was knocked to the ground and robbed before entering my own home. And on a tangent and yet the most pertinent powerlessness of all, I can't change the fact that she wouldn't recognize the man who robbed her because -for lack of a better phrase- they all look a like to her. And for lack of a better analogy, she was most disturbed that she lost her filofax.

I can't change the fact that no one else knows how to change things. All I can do is want to leave because I feel completely powerless. Completely invisible. Every thing I grasp goes right through my fingers.

And I want to leave.

I have a cold

2005-11-14T16:03:00.000-05:00

It's too much. I've done too much. I have a cold and I can't even get the energy to make myself some thera-flu cold.

That's not true. I have energy. I'll be right back.

(muzak plays)

I'm back. I didn't get thera-flu. I made some cup o noodles. But I bet the sodium will do wonders for my sore throat.

I have nothing to talk about.

I have a cold and I hate having colds and I hate the person who gave it to me who is either one of the kids, one of my coworkers, one of the people at the gas station I got gas from last week or God. I hate them all.

Bastard. Other writers bring me back

2005-11-13T22:40:00.000-05:00

I'm going to start off by saying I've spent the last month not writing. I have consciously tried not being a writer. and thus. not writing.

It was hell and heaven at the same time. (note how 30 days of not writing has made this writer a tad derivative).

So I revelled in "days off"...guilt free moments of not feeling like I "should" be writing. I slept. I watched tv. I hung out. Not with people, mind you, just with myself.

I even let my cell phone die and I haven't been on it for a couple weeks now. I became the person I always wanted to be. A recluse.

Sure, the insomnia kicked in. The panic attacks. The hypochondria. All the things that happen to me when I don't write. But I would talk myself down and endure. And it was good.

In that time, I got a great job. I re-assessed some things in my life. I pruned activities. Found a tv show. Said farewell to a roommate and friend (he is now likely on top of a whore in the Philipines, God bless him). I relaxed. I painted a bathroom. I met a boy. I lived. Goddammit. I lived.

And then it happened. My roommate is on word 9,852. The boy I met....writes. And we parted with one of us having the intent to write. It wasn't me. Writing Writing Writing. The world is filled with writers and they're making my head hurt.

I said goodbye and good writing to this boy, closed the door, and took a deep breath of non-writer contentment. Suddenly. Oh, so suddenly. I got a pang. It was mild at first, but I knew immediately that this pang was taking me to the inevitable. I would write.

And so I went online and checked email, hoping that would sate me. But no one emailed (er, reclusivity has drawbacks). And then I went shopping for a new mattress. No sating me. So I read some blogs. Not sated. In fact, terribly jonesing.

So I went here. And the craziest thing. The first two times, I found myself at a Christian armageddon website. Not sure how, but I was rerouted. My blog was gone.

End of the world indeed. All those posts. All those baby monologues for my monologue shows. All those witty words replaced by some crazy end-times "fact sheet".

Ironic. Not in the true sense, but in the Alanis Morisette sense.

And I walked away. This was too much trouble. I knew I didn't need to be a writer.

Free again.

And then someone went to the same computer (it's the Sugar Shack computer), cursed, and fixed it.

And there was my blog.

And here I am.

Gone Spelunking

2005-08-05T15:20:00.000-04:00

If I haven't been around awhile, it's cuz I'm back in the cave trying to get some writing done before I start headlong into the corporate world again.

I haven't gotten a job just yet, but I've gotten interviews every day this week (except today where I'm just waiting for answers).

And if I do get a day job, god only knows how I'll be then cuz I swore to God, myself, my roommates and my cat that I'd stay prolific without killing myself.

This means balancing working and writing with "luxuries" like eating and sleeping.

So anyway, sorry for the invisible act. I'll be back this weekend.

The Asian-American experience

2005-08-04T16:47:00.000-04:00

We Asians are a unique minority group. We have similarities to other minorities in our American experience. We have our pressures. We have our stereotypes. We have oppression. We have our gangs. We have been used as indentured servants. We have been segregated by our looks and placed in camps. So yes, we have experience that overlaps that of other ethnic groups. But we are unique.

We are unique in that we are known to assimilate to our detriment. We are segregated among ourselves. Japanese against Chinese. Chinese against Korean. Korean against Philipino. We are unique in that we have as much distinction between nationality as we do among generations within the US. Some of us are unique in that we are living in a country where at some point in our heritage, America was the enemy. Some of us are unique in that someone in our family witnessed the devastation of an American bomb. Some of us are unique in that we got a monetary "apology" for the wrongs America did. Some of us are unique in that we lied about our age or our gender to be here. Some of us are unique in ways I don't know. Many ways that I, as a woman raised second generation Japanese American, will never know.

Why can't we make movies and tv shows that show our uniqueness???? Not how good we are at math. Not how hot our women are. Or how nerdy our men are. Real unique.

Is the route to take a white story and stick a yellow protagonist in it? Does that work? It did for others, but the world is too savvy now. An Asian American is not having the same life as a Caucasian American. The subtleties will always be there. The subtleties are what makes the story.

I'm writing a sitcom. I wrote one. And I am the protagonist. The protagonist is a theater owner who lets her theater go and lives in a commune. And I'm Asian-American. But somehow, my fictional me doesn't read that way. She just seems white. Why? I'm not quite sure. The mother seems very Asian. Very first generation. All the subtleties (and not-so-subtleties) are there for that character. But the protagonist? Nada.

No racial angst. Is that what's missing? But my Asian experience is that I was seldom the victim of prosecution. And when I was, I was usually being insulted by a person who thought I was African-American. Heh. Well, there's that to add.

What do I need??? Or do I need anything? Will the subtleties read without me trying? Maybe that's where the big mistakes are made. Trying to force details that don't need to be there. Maybe writing one's own experience is too subtle to do with overt manipulation of plot and theme.

It's so hard to trust. My pet peeve is "just write." Because as you "just write" you think. And thinking is bad. But it happens. It always happens.

Okay, Gothika is on. I'm coming back later.

Where did you get that coat??

2005-07-28T10:16:00.000-04:00

i just had to take a second and post this.

If you want your very own coat like this:

Go to www.muchhalas.com and tell Simone that Justina sent you.

Sugar has a new theater!

2005-07-21T16:13:00.000-04:00

Pre and post photos people! I'm not gonna give it away, but here's my new playground! (I'm not even gonna show the bells and whistles we got. You'll have to wait)

Before improvements:

After improvements:

I'm having a party on the 30th.

2005-07-12T15:20:00.000-04:00

If you want details, it's gonna be all top secret. So get on the email list at splitid.com and you'll get an email.

If you're already on the list, I'll email you.

If you know me personally (which I think is all of you except Jack Mercer), then just call me and say "Wha? Party? Awwwwwwesome."

This space reserved

2005-07-09T12:19:00.000-04:00

I got a whole thing about buying make-up called "buff beige" and my racial identity issues....It's all right here (taps head).

So watch out for the latest Justina neurosis....fear of having jacko-itis.

Here's me at Sugar Shack

2005-07-08T20:55:00.000-04:00

photos are so much easier than writing....

2005-07-08T20:48:00.000-04:00

check me out....

2005-07-07T02:47:00.000-04:00

what happens when you know killer designers...

Do I have to call all these people back?

2005-07-05T13:59:00.000-04:00

I have 20 messages in my voice mail.

Don't even talk to me about emails.

And the DMV doesn't have the paperwork on the car I sold so I owe registration unless I can go into my storage boxes and find the paperwork.

And I gotta find a job.

And I gotta now make a July 14th deadline with a screenplay.

I have no idea how to catch up with all this.

What gets done when a writer "writes"

2005-07-04T19:10:00.000-04:00

1. laundry
2. fifteen unheard voice mails
3. solitaire high score
4. three really good leads for potential at home income
5. one sitcom

Exes

2005-07-04T18:34:00.000-04:00

Sometimes cultures think they're evolving by taking long kept rituals and rites and tossing them out the window. Usually, it is replaced with a ritual that adds more freedom of choice. A ritual that lets the human who is living with the consequences make the decisions.

This is a bad thing.

Example: arranged marriage.

Why did we let this go?

When you pick your own spouse and do mating by trial and error, there is one fatal flaw.

You get exes.

I have an ex from about fifteen years ago who I adore. This is because we don't talk to each other. I have successfully expunged all exes from my life (a few I miss, so if you're an ex, please don't think I don't like you, I just think I still like you because you're not in my life).

If someone is not good to date, they're likely not all that good in the friend department. If someone chooses to stay friends with exes, aren't they actually claiming friendship as a demotion?

Wait, I gotta make sure. Okay, if I broke up with someone because they were selfish and manipulative, then I wouldn't "promote" them to friend. If I broke up with someone because they were selfish and manipulative, then I should demote them.

If I become friends with this person, then I'm demoting them to friend.

Oh....wait. If I broke up with someone because we're "different"...not bad...just different...then, hm....then they could be laterally moved to friend. But if I like someone, and we're having sex, I think that makes them a good candidate for mate-dom.

Different? Why dump a person for being different?

Okay, I'm really not getting why exes should stay friends.

Wait...wait...I got an ex who's cool. We really just didn't work sexually. Hm...But that was ended early. Early is good. Almost makes them not an ex, right? Er.

I got another ex who's okay. But I won't give details so all my other exes will think they're this paragraph.

Okay, so exes who are exes purely from being sexually imcompatible are cool for friendships. That's a lateral move.

Exes who are exes because they aren't one's vision for a lifemate..well, that's lame. This is lame action. Change vision, people! Date the nerd/geek/slightly anti-social person!

Exes who are exes because you find out they told you things you found out were lies and you watch them manipulate a situation so they look innocent when they aren't...well, that is an ex worthy of expungement. Or one who borrows your car and dents it and you find beer cans in the backseat...that one isn't good to keep around. Or the one who comes home from vacation with some woman's underwear...Why be his friend? Someday you gotta be the friend who covers his tracks for him. And that's a pretty high form of dysfunction. How about the ex who dumped you? Well, then you did something right?

I wouldn't know, I haven't been dumped before.

Okay, once. But it was because I was a nerd.

People. Date the nerds in your life.

Spelunking

2005-07-02T22:39:00.000-04:00

I'm in my cave. If anyone is wondering why I haven't called, I've written about 50 pages in the last three days (one screenplay act, one screenplay rewrite, and a sitcom rewrite) and I'm not letting up.

I swear I'm fine.

I'm just catching up from the break.

i hate sitcoms

2005-07-01T23:13:00.000-04:00

i have spent the whole day writing a crappy sitcom.

it actually might be genius, but i've struggled and spent hours eating cookies and needing a shower and struggling some more and finding everything not funny and even more plain bad.

this is the second worst part of being a writer. the worst is when someone says your writing isn't good. the second worst is when you say your writing isn't good. the latter is much more common. even if everyone thinks your writing sucks, i'm sure the inner critic talks much more than all those people.

i have enough experience to know that in a few days, with some time away from it, i'll love it. or at least might love it. could just think it's okay. but i will likely find it better than how i feel about it now.

but i am not there.

i blame sitcoms in general.

my brain is mush and i'm bleeding from random parts of my body. i think i scratch while re-reading.

i'm hungry and dehydrated. time for some chinese food and sleep.

I wasn't afraid of a june bug!!!

2005-06-29T02:16:00.000-04:00

It's a done deal. My phobia is gone. I was co-habiting with a flying insect just now.

The cat was trying to eat it. I was waving at it to make it go back to the cat and we just had a jolly ol' time.

It was a weird version of insect hackysack.

I ended up not letting the cat kill it and it's somewhere in the house.

And I'm not sleeping in the bathtub for fear. I'm gonna just sleep and let it fly.

Mark your calendars, folks. This girl is phobia free.

Er, except heights. Still scared. And ocean waves.

But other than that. Totally fine.

"And this paddleball..."

My hair is blow dried and my favorite t-shirt is on and I'm still not karaoke-ing

2005-06-26T00:39:00.000-04:00

I was invited to go karaoke and I'm all dolled up from my audition and I just can't get the energy to karaoke. I was just so comfortable on my couch. And then I was uncomfortable enough to move to my bedroom. And now I'm so comfortable on my bed with this laptop.

The cat is next to me struggling to get some grub out of the catfood bag and I could help him, but I'm just a slug. And a slug doesn't feed cats.

I said I was getting sick and I may very well be. I got this summer cough and my throat is a mess. (ah! my singing voice! -my karaoke singing voice, at that!). But it's more.

It's age.

I auditioned today for a 30-something woman and, you know what? I feel 30-something.

When I audition for 20-something, I stay out all night.

It's true.

You are what you pretend to be.

"Take me now you hot stud!"

2005-06-25T17:00:00.000-04:00

I've lived my whole life without saying that.

Whole life.

Can you believe that?

Don't ask me how I came up with that thought. I think it's because I've been doing temp work for an adult film distribution company.

Not THAT temp work.

2005-06-25T16:54:00.000-04:00

They say adding pictures increases hits. So here's a photo of me being all "Boston Legal." Tell me you don't see the spitting image of Spader right there. Tell me you don't.

I miss that show.

I'm re-reading this blog

2005-06-23T03:30:00.000-04:00

I'm a dork.

Lordy. Why do people think atheists are bitter?

2005-06-21T15:12:00.000-04:00

Do we think without God there's no reason to be happy?

Can't I say that I believe

1. we all came from slime,
2. no one is watching me right now,
3. nothing holds a key to eternal happiness or eternal distress

and still be happy and good???

Isn't a relationship to God all about rejoicing and celebrating? Isn't God really an umbrella we love each other under? What is up with the God dependency for our emotional and moral health?

Criminy

2005-06-21T14:29:00.000-04:00

That wasn't a "sun tea" feeling.

I got a sunburn.

Sun

2005-06-19T21:03:00.000-04:00

I'm currently on my bed and the sun is so warm, my eyes are heavy and my body feels like it's a lead weight.

My cat is under the bed, hiding from a seven year old house guest.

I'm journaling a little, posting on other blogs. Lounging.

This must be what sun tea feels like.

My phobia is cured.

2005-06-17T17:09:00.000-04:00

Back story:
When I was in my early 20's, I saw a hornet on my window sill. I ran out the door and five blocks to the restaurant I worked at. Once I got there, I grabbed the only other waitress who worked at Mega-Bytes and told her I needed her help urgently. She nodded in that way people do when they're deciding if they would kill for you. "There's a bug in my kitchen." She continued to look at me. I took a deep panic stricken breath. "It flies." Janet told the boss to take over for a few minutes. It was an emergency. That woman walked to my apartment and waved the hornet out the window. I had left the stove on and the macaroni dish I had planned was now a pound of mush in boiling water. So Janet walked me back to the restaurant and made me some comfort food.

The new story:
So I'm doing the whole fence adventure and this very light, very delicate something lands on my shoulder. Assuming it's a leaf, I lift and toss and look at the ground in curiosity.

What lands and scampers away is a good sized spider.

I watch it scurry, the poor thing having a bit of a limp in it's right four legs.

I should be screaming right now. I'm pensive. This is a weird feeling.

So I keep working on the fence and I get pretty dirty, but when it comes to bedtime, I don't care to shower, I just pass out in my clothes on top of my fluffy green blanket.

I wake up to a pincer bug on my arm. Someone else calls it an earwig. I really have no clue which one of us is right, but it's brown, about half an inch long and it has these pincers that are utterly disgusting.

I flick it to the ground.

No killing. That would be barbaric.

And I hop downstairs for some coffee.

Another surreal moment for a woman who once left her apartment for two hours with the shower running because a cockroach was in her bathroom sink.

We get back to work on the fence and my roommate does a girl scream when she accidentally places her finger on a spider while picking up a piece of wood. (This is very funny because she has no phobia and really isn't at all "girly." She's built sets for plays which is feminine machismo in it's coolest sense, I think).

I bend over, and touch the spider. It's dead.

I laugh and tell her that I would be empathy screaming two days ago in the same situation.

What happened? Was that spider on my shoulder some sort of trigger? Did it spawn some sort of courage? Am I now one with the spider?

Now to see how I get when around a bee. That's the ultimate test.

New smell....

2005-06-16T19:49:00.000-04:00

..saw dust....mmm....saw dust. I'm gonna post photos of the new fence soon. I'm so excited.

Rosa Parks Freeway

2005-06-16T19:48:00.000-04:00

There's a stretch of the I-10 that is named "Rosa Parks Freeway." If it's really for Rosa Parks, wouldn't we have a fast lane on it that white people couldn't use?

The beauty of working on the house

2005-06-16T00:39:00.000-04:00

So I saw my parents over the weekend and I explained the chore rotation and special projects we have in the commune (still can't call it a collective...makes me feel like a Borg).

Mom said with just a hint of utter disdain, "You can do all that for some strangers, but you won't even put a dish in the sink over here."

It's true. I'm a slob in the parental home. But it's only cuz Mom always tells me how I clean "wrong."

Anyway, that's for the therapist session.

The point being is that I work on the house and I love it. Yesterday I dug a small trench for the next rain season. I think I'm helping the world of digging and ditching when I say that wet dirt is so much easier to scoop up with a shovel than dry dirt. And also, rocks in the dirt is a bad thing. You want to know what I wish they'd bottle and turn into a perfume? Wet dirt. That is the sexiest fucking scent on the planet. It really is. Stick some wet dirt in front of me and take me...take me!

Today, we all worked on a fence. There's this crazy ass fence we had before that made the place look like a hippy's crack den. I don't think hippies smoke crack per se, but I'm using the visual anyway. The fence was made of doors. And it was painted wild colors with stuff like "This is a hippy crack den." Just kidding. I already forgot what was written on it. But it was poetic and artistic and the only reason it was an eyesore was that the doors were indoor doors, so after a couple years of being in rain and wind, the door-fence was buckling, rotting, bowing, warping and screaming to be put to sleep. So here, we were, three girls soon to be aided by a few other people in the house, tearing down the doors and putting up a new fence that will hold up jasmine ivy. Woohoo! We were fantasizing what to say when the neighbors were bringing us cookies in gratitude. I mean, at the last neighborhood meeting, they called it a "blight". We were taking down an eyesore that's plagued them for years! They would so make cookies.

All we got were the kids coming home from school who would walk past and sneer at change. They asked what we did with the fence and we would point at a pile of pink, purple, and blue wood. Then they would heckle us. We had done them wrong. I had no idea. I almost put it back. Maybe they just liked the old fence because their parents hated it. In any case, we all felt a tinge of guilt.

The kids' reactions stick in my head. They really loved that fence. Did it speak to them? I remember reading one door and relating. Let's see if I remember....I may be able to paraphrase..."They said I was too dark. They said I was too light. I was too ethnic. Not ethnic enough. Too tall. Too short..." You get the picture. But it had an ending. I really don't remember the ending. So maybe these kids (most are multiethnic or ethnic) were truly missing the message from the doors. They had a little reminder that they weren't alone on their way home. Some adult somewhere understood. And we took that away.

I don't really care. I hated that fence.

Opening a God question up to the audience

2005-06-12T16:43:00.000-04:00

Is there an audience here?

Okay, here we go...

I was talking to a friend who is an atheist and we were talking about how annoyed we were by people "proving god." He was annoyed because often the proof was flimsy at best. I was annoyed because I believe wanting proof or wanting to prove is pure ego and not at all connected to spirituality. It's the age old "do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?"

If someone "proved" God, how would you react? If someone "proved" God didn't exist, how would you react?

You know what sucks? Happy people.

2005-06-12T16:29:00.000-04:00

All weekend, I've been trying to get work done and here's what I'm up against:
1. hot lesbians running around the house talking and eating and drinking beer
2. The kids making smores at the fire pit
3. Intelligent and witty conversation in a nearby room
4. A roommate making balloon animals
5. My cat lounging in the sun and purring at me
6. A parade

All this and more is making me want to hang out. Not write. If I could just find some unhappy people who isolate and whine, I can go to my room and turn on my laptop and bond with my make believe.

This is so unfair.

whyyyyyy meeeee....

mmmmm...leftover marshmallows.

So I almost passed out in a Denny's

2005-06-11T06:20:00.000-04:00

And the service is so bad, they didn't notice.

So I've been working weird hours and it takes some getting used to. And I've been running on pure caffeine. So I go to my temporary money making night job which is evenings until 1am. And at the end of the shift, I feel faint. The floor looks much closer than usual and I stare at people in that way boxers look at their coaches after a solid upper cut. My boss says, "You okay?" And I say, in my endearingly martyr saccharine voice, "Just tired." He nods and chuckles. I guess he related.

So then I get on the 405 and can barely see the road. Have you ever been in an extremely dangerous situation and, without irony or any actual fear, you say "Maybe I should be doing something else." That was how I felt on the 405. The steering wheel appeared much closer than usual, my dashboard bobble heads got very loud, and Gwen Stefani never sounded more like a dozen trombones.

I pull over and like an oasis, there's the Denny's neon sign.

Denny's.

My friend.

I get in and focus on two servers struggling with a large vat of ice cream. "Can I get some water?"

"One second."

"I'm very ill."

"Fine." Ohhhhh, was he annoyed. But he does take meticulous care in getting the right amount of ice and water in a glass so that I'm practically reeling from the sheer wait of it all.

I realize that it is very likely they always get a dizzy, faint, woman in around 2am on a Friday. Did I mention this is the Denny's by LAX? I was starting to get the shakes and I bet it just made me melt into the scenery more.

I finally get a water and a booth and call my best friend who is the angel she is because she reacts to situations the way she reacted tonight. She first said "Why are you dizzy and shaking???" I think she was stalling for time since I woke her up and she was completely unarmed for this friendship challenge. Then it was "Why the airport Denny's?" And then, I could literally hear cobwebs shake away when she says "I'm leaving now." Yay! The shaking gets a little less, but now my stomach is tighter than a drum. Denny's is very likely ten degrees below zero. My body is tensing and wondering which Denny's customer I will eat when we all start to freeze to death. Maybe the hooker in the booth across the way. She's thin, but I bet high in body fat.

The waitress, God bless her, is thinking it's a panic attack. "That is so my personality," I respond with a sigh of relief, "A panic attack is just up my alley of neurosis." She looks at me kinda weird and says "I had one three years ago and now I'm on medication for it and I tried to get off the meds, but I can't and the panic attacks just get worse and more frequent after the first one." I'm not sure if I was having a panic attack, but that little summary of the syndrome did not put me in a good frame of mind. I call my doctor's pager for a second opinion.

"Fever? Cold? Trouble urinating? Cough?" I reply with a "I don't have a thermometer, no, wait, maybe, kinda did yesterday, yeah but I thought it was cuz I smoked," and then a laundry list of body malfunctions. My doctors are so used to me, so he says "You may have general bronchitis. Buy a thermometer."

"Margaret says it's a panic attack."

"Who's Margaret?"

"My server."

"Are you currently feeling any anxiety?"

"The service here is atrocious, and I left my laptop in the car."

"I mean, are you having any heart palpitations or shortness of breath?"

"Not right now."

"So it's not likely a panic attack."

"I'll tell Margaret."

"You do that."

"Wait! So if it's a fever, what should I do? And if it's not, what should I do?"

"Come in on Monday if it's a fever or it continues. I'm thinking it's the beginning of a fever. You'll get more chills, but it's nothing urgent."

"Huh."

Yet again, a hypochondriac's horror fantasy of being carted to the ER is dashed against the Denny's soda fountain and crushed in the ice maker. I thank my doctor and call my best friend who I tell to go back to bed because it's not urgent. It's bronchitis. General at that. My best friend is wondering if it's a panic attack. I'm starting to feel demoted.

I tell Margaret everything. She nods solemnly and then proceeds to ignore me.

I spend twenty minutes trying to get my water refilled until I finally give up and go home.

So here I am at home. I cancelled the extra work I got booked on for today and wondering if I can feel better by noon so I can see my favorite 2 year old on his birthday. Either way, I got him an inflatable globe. He's gonna know his states and countries. I'm not gonna let him live a life like mine.

If not today, then tomorrow. He's two. He won't know the difference.

I almost got him a rubik's cube.

This is a tangent. I'm going to bed.

Trek geeks, this one's for you

2005-06-10T06:45:00.000-04:00

I just totally geeked out with some friends about Star Trek and I am now in bed, thinking of Patrick Stewart. He is hot. He is so hot, I don't think he was mentioned in the conversation, but talking the Trek talk and then seeing my bed, I just did some free association and thought "Captain Picard." And then imagined him calling me Number One. My roommate thought Spock was hot. I guess so. That sounds right. Smart and aloof. That's hot. But Picard. Wasn't he raised on a vineyard in France? I vaguely remember a brother and father fighting in a vineyard (why the English accent?) And he was always so strong. Fuck the Borg, he says. Sure, they know no pain and only have loyalty for the hive and they stick metal in your orifices, but Jean Luc can kick any borg ass any time. Even with pvc pipe in his nose connecting to his urethra, he's unshaken.

yummy.

I saw a map of the US

2005-06-09T05:38:00.000-04:00

My Dad is from Kansas. That is not at all the south. And it really is closer to Cali than I thought. So now I'm not so weirded out by his stories of travelling as a teen to Cali from Kansas.

Then I realized I've been telling people the marathon i ran was through DC, Maryland and Vermont.

Virginia. It's Virginia.

I never ran through Vermont.

I sat in front of this map for a long ass time. My friend was fortunately too wrapped up in putting my new headshots on disc to notice my complete awe. I could once name over 100 geographical locations in the Mediterranean and I can't even remember where Utah is.

I gotta take more gingko biloba.

That's it.

2005-06-07T13:50:00.000-04:00

I'm never giving my phone number out again.

I am either avoiding a call or waiting for a call.

I'm throwing the cell phone away.

It's a curse.

A damn travesty!

If anyone wants me, they're just gonna have to stalk me. I'm sick of waiting for emails (refresh. refresh. refresh.) and waiting for phone calls. I'm sick of communication.

THIS IS WHY I'M A WRITER! I'm going right back to my imaginary friends.

So I saw "What the Bleep"

2005-06-05T22:41:00.000-04:00

And it's kinda annoying.

Here's one reason why. The woman has an annoying ring tone. And she's deaf. Could she put the fucker on vibrate???

Second reason, Good god, people, soundbytes and science don't mix. Neither does soundbytes and the questions of existence, purpose, and god. Please talk to me longer than 2 minutes when getting a point across. Why? Because the one liners are better for comedy.

I am fascinated by the science of the mind, the science of religion. I don't really need science to prove God to me. In fact, that seems really useless. If God didn't exist, I'd pursue God in the same way. Much like I pursue the magic of Christmas or the "color of love" (cuz I can be a hippie that way). A little pondering of the neurons and brain patterns of enlightenment is kinda fun. But I like to really roll up my sleeves and dig deep when it comes to that stuff. Dr Newberg is fascinating and he takes a fairly long Newsweek article or a full book for him to really get into one little pinpoint of his research. I got four minutes max of him in that movie. And I got a too heavy dose of a woman "channelling" an ancient Indian man. Ramtha. Ramtha talks a good game, but for this girl, he's a dead guy channeling himself through a woman who looks a little too much like the lip injected chick from "Best In Show." (side note: I just watched Cinderella Story because that woman is in it. SHE IS A RIOT! end side note).

Have you ever been so lost in a thought while on the 405...

2005-06-05T22:37:00.000-04:00

So lost in a thought that traffic is passing you. You are in the slow lane, following a blue haired woman who's stretching to see over the wheel, blue placard wagging back and forth....

So lost in a thought that this woman who would usually annoy you as you sped past her and gave her the finger is now a nice respite from the rat maze that we call "the 405 to the 10."

She's a respite because she's the excuse you use when you realize you have been driving 40 on the freeway and not noticing.

I was lost in that thought today.

I met a half asian guy from Alabama

2005-06-05T22:34:00.000-04:00

I have no clue where Alabama is.

Gee, unemployment is long hours

2005-05-17T10:18:00.000-04:00

So I thought while I waited for work (like that?), I was gonna get a SAG card. How hard can it be? Thousands of people have it. Every actor has advice on how to get it. Commercials and extra work = SAG card. Piece a pie.

Well, I've auditioned for a few commercials and got very little out of it. In fact, I got auditions out of it.

But this extra work. Damn. I haven't had a full night's rest since I got onto an extras casting network. I've been on two tv shows and a movie. My call time today is 11am, so I'm nursing a cold at home. The weekend was nursing this cold and hating my life and learning how to make a hot toddy.

Maybe I don't really want a SAG card. I mean, sure it's cool. Everyone's doing it. You get insurance and a pension plan, but then you gotta do MORE extra work and/or commercials (or as I'm learning -commercial auditions). Maybe you'll get a few lines in a movie. Maybe you'll become a movie star. Okay, THEN it's worth it. But this extra work is for the birds, man, for the birds.

The upside: I've been playing poker for close to a week. I'm a poker freak! I'm loving it. I'm watching the championship as I nurse hot toddies. My charm is a bobble head buddha monk (from off my dashboard). I go in at 11 today and I'm gonna play like the wind!

So far, have I gotten any SAG vouchers? It's been a whole week. This would mean at least one of the three, right? Wrong. All I've gotten out of extra work is betting tips.

So here I am, using valuable sabbatical time on extra work and being sick.

There's the update.

Freelance

2005-05-06T10:02:00.000-04:00

In nine hours I will be officially "freelance."

Strangely, Jack FM is getting me through.

More after I get back from my day job.

My last day at my favorite day job on planet earth, my favorite TEMPORARY day job.

It's all cool. It's time to go freelance. It is.

Okay, in two minute I will be officially running late, so I better go.

Language

2005-05-01T16:53:00.000-04:00

So today I spent the day with my cousin from Tokyo. The plan: pick up cousin at LAX, lunch in Beverly Hills, dinner in Orange County, wave goodbye as he stays with an old friend in Irvine. Now, I hate driving, but it seemed only fair to show someone Los Angeles before showing him Orange County. Kind of like showing Amsterdam before Auschwitz. So my driving map for the day was Los Angeles to Burbank to LAX to Beverly Hills to Orange County to Los Angeles. Time period: 15 hours.

I need a nap just replaying that.

Anyway, lunch was fun. His English is great, but his accent sometimes baffles me. My Japanese is horrible, but I try using a Japanese accent as I speak English in the hopes it serves as a great median maker -my accent meeting his vocabulary and grammar skills. At some point in the journey, I whine in broken English that traffic is awful. “You see mother?” he asks. Uh, in a few hours, I guess.

“No, mutha, muuuutha.”

I’m shrugging as I ape his words, “Mud?”

“La. Mud. La.”

“Mothra?”

We stare at each other. The construction worker holding a stop sign is having a similar breakdown in communication with some guy in a bulldozer.

“Muuuh-arl-da.”

I gasp. “Ah! I see murder! Road rage!”

“Load Ledge?”

After lunch, we spend the rest of the day with my mother and his friends. They try to speak English for me and my dad, but really, why? Mom can talk to Dad and me anytime and she rarely wants to. Now she can talk to someone she seldom sees in a language she seldom uses. The joy of using her native tongue is creating this audible squeal of delight, which exudes out of my mother’s every pore.

What’s interesting is that I don’t care. My cousin and I share a sense of humor that seems to find language superfluous. He can say something in Japanese and all I need is to gather two words and his body language to see a joke. And we laugh. My mom is fascinated by this. And she sees it in more than my interaction with my cousin. In Japan, I would watch sketch comedy shows and laugh my ass off. Out of a five minute sketch, I likely knew three words. But the costumes and the gender of the characters, the location and the reactions were enough for me to see the American version. Many women I know say the same thing about soap operas in other countries. I’m sure it’s true. I remember one night in Tokyo, I was watching SMAP Bistro and laughing at the banter between two chef/pop star/comedian hunks (Japan so beats us on the “/” careers). Mom was getting out of the bathroom and drying her hair with a stiff hotel towel. She watched for a minute, found the show completely inane, saw me laughing. And I mean knee-slapping laughing. And she just shook her head and walked back into the bathroom. She didn’t get it and she had language on her side.

So anyway, back to my cousin. We went to Korean BBQ. He was joking with us and Mom would keep up as best she could, the “cool” aunt who chuckled at all the stories and smiled politely through the gossip about her so-called wild youth. Whenever my cousin would mention a time my mother openly disobeyed her parents (so big and blatant, it’s family lore), Mom would try to distract me with offers of kimchee and crisply barbequed pork.

I looked around at this group. Family, friends, with a language I know only remedially. My cousin was trying to learn how to say “thank you” in Korean from the waitress. I got even more befuddled. This language is in my DNA. The grammar. The slang. The mannerisms that go with this particular compilation of phonetics. My mother was in her element and thus so pure and so perfect. After 35 years of seeing her always a little off, a little uncomfortable, always second guessing or going against nature. Even what side of the street to drive on or how to think and dream is a quandary of some sort. She says she dreams in Japanese. But sometimes counts in English. This is interesting. I sometimes count in Japanese. But only to ten (as far as I can go). Really, it just happens. Ichi, ni, san, shi, go.

My cousin says America has a smell. As soon as you step off the plane, you smell it. It is not the smell of a thing. It’s the smell of a country. I understand this. Japan has a smell and my cousin brought it with him so that when we hugged, I got a nostalgic whiff of what doesn’t smell like, but makes me think of bamboo flooring. This smell. This aura. This subtle presence. It’s so amazing. It is in our pores. I am Asian. It’s in my pores. I am American and that is in my pores. How fun to know there are two distinct flavors in one’s DNA and in one’s smell, taste, touch, sound.

Dating

2005-05-01T12:20:00.000-04:00

So I'm getting out of the house now. Dates are happening.

But as soon as I go on a date, I realize I am most certainly not gonna talk about dating on a blog.

Sure, I'll share my religion, mood swings, depression, demons, insecurities, neurosis, work issues, writing issues, etc. on a public web space, but NOT my dates.

So now I gotta go into the HTML and change my blog notes.

I guess this is good. I'm focusing.

Next blog: the bug bite behind my right ear is killing me. I look like a dog with fleas.

Julia! Do some drama!

2005-05-01T12:15:00.000-04:00

sigh. Who knows. She does comedy. ALL COMEDY!

I should get her and...Al Franken.

That's be a spin on the christian drama.

MY NEW DREAM CAST!

2005-05-01T12:04:00.000-04:00

Ed Harris as Kevin Bolger, the workaholic who grieves the loss of his wife.

Julia Sweeney as Danielle Saito, the pastor who lives with a guilt too difficult for her to bear.

That is how blogs work I guess. I just read Julia Sweeney's blog about the pope and then her blog about jury duty. Not sure why, but that made me want to be Julia Sweeney's friend. I wanted to call her up and say "No way, Jules," (she may hate that name, I wonder if I she'd correct me), "No way, Julia, I was just thinking the same thing about Ratzinger." The same thing happens to be: would love for him to keep the Catholic church hard-lined but would love more to have the ethics they will be hard lined about change to totally different ethics. And then I would offer to baby sit Mulan while she went to jury duty.

Then I would ask her if Mulan was named before or after the movie. I'm sure she gets asked that all the time.

Anyway, point being, the description of Danielle in my last post is Sweeney to a T. How crazy I then wanted to read her blog (which I haven't visited since my show closed in early March). This woman is wise and scholarly and..huh...I've never seen her act. Except as Pat. Wow, I should check her movie list. Maybe she sucks.

Be right back.

Two weeks? Really?

2005-05-01T11:45:00.000-04:00

What a ride the last two weeks have been. I am so not sure what happened.

Well, I finished another draft of Evolution of Sunday. It's time for a table read. I'm very excited about that. So any actors out there: Men in your mid 30's and up, if you happen to be a charming asshole who can cry please email me a headshot and resume. Women in your mid-30's and up, if you are good at wise in words and demeanor, damaged in reality, with a tint of arrested development and amazing at showing devastating emotion without crying, send me a headshot and resume. I'm also dying for a narrator and a male and female actor to do the male and female supporting characters.

You know, I was gonna talk about on-line diaries and I then got a jones for a piece of Julia Sweeney's blog. I'll be right back.

I perform tonight

2005-04-16T21:41:00.000-04:00

Oy. I'm nervous and trying not to freak out.

The crowd is larger than 99% of the theaters I've performed in.

I'm nervous. Did I say that already?

But hey, I'll rock cuz I'm that cool (this is justina's new resolution --positive thinking. awwwwwesome.)

i'm gonna rock n roll....rock. and. roll.