I don’t think I am quite ready yet for a dog, or a baby, or a dogbaby. Case in point: I’m pretty sure that one of my tiny cactuses which only requires WATER ONCE A WEEK AND APATHY TO LIVE is slowly dying, but – when I am ready for a dog — I think I choose a chocolate brown pomeranian. I always assumed I’d want a big ol’ lab dog that one can use as a pillow, that your children can ride around on like a horse, but I’ve met a few of these little guys lately and they have just melted me. They are fluffy and curious and non-yippy. Maybe I’ll even get the dog and a baby at the same time, so I can confuse them, divide love between them, take the kid out to pee, teach the dog the alphabet, force ALL of us into matching sweaters. BE AFRAID, DOG / BABY / DOGBABY! BE VERY AFRAIIIDDDD!
Ever since moving to LA, I drive by you regularly, as you head into your strange and massive blue sanctuary on Sunset. I have not given much thought to you, besides, there go the Scientologists! and geez, it’s hot out, I am very happy I am not also wearing those weird corporate pants. Occasionally, when stuck at a red light right by your main intersection, where you move through the crosswalk with colleagues, looking calm and content — I have thought a hair deeper: How can you follow a ‘religion’ that was constructed by a clearly insane Sci Fi writer and what are you getting out of this and What what is it exactly that you believe? and are all the rumors true? and is Tom Cruise your best friend or just, like, your regular friend?
Like the rest of most America, I watched the HBO Doc on you last night, Going Clear, and so I am now an expert on the ins and outs of your religion, as, you know, Documentaries give us honorary doctorates and degrees. I learned, for one, that you are told to not read anything that the internet has to say about Scientology, so you are not reading this. I also learned that your ‘church’ (deemed so for tax purposes) is steeped in history of insanity and abuse and harassment and blackmail and greed and crazily inflated egos. I have since learned that your leader has five dogs and he dresses each of them in little matching uniforms and demands that they be saluted at.
I also know that ultimately, people want to believe in something. Have faith in something. I get that. I get that you are told that Scientology will make your life better, and that you want this to be true. Believe what you want. But. Do you not let yourself be abused. Do not get all of your truth from one source. Do not disengage from people who love you just because they ask questions. A true leader of a faith-based organization should encourage questions. If he doesn’t, he is not a leader, he is not guiding you, he is controlling you. L. Ron Hubbard HIMSELF ONCE SAID: “To keep a person on the Scientology path, feed him a mystery sandwich.” Dear Scientologists: There are so many other kinds of sandwiches. SOME EVEN HAVE ANSWERS IN THEM.
Morrison pointed out last night that I’m a pretty quintessential white girl, in terms of my preferences. I was like I don’t even know what you mean even and continued to monologue about how much I love white wine and jean shorts. It’s like I literally don’t even know what he means TAKES SELFIE WITH SALAD WHILE SPORTING SUN DRESS.
As previously noted, I used to draw calendars for my grandparents, and this year, I’m rolling said drawings out, Month by Month. I don’t know what became of the beginning of this month. Perhaps I was in Spain? But I forgotted to post them. And so, here they are: a charming array of Easter, whimsy, outdoor activities, leprechauns; ultimately, an homage to how I could not draw limbs that bend, like not even a little bit, not at all.
In Sign Language, you get a name sign, so that your name doesn’t have to be finger spelled every time someone refers to you or you refer to yourself. I have been secretly longing for one since I started working on SAB, but you can’t just bestow one upon yourself. A deaf person must give it to you. We’ve got an awesome deaf writer in the room with us this week, and yesterday, to my EXTREME DELIGHT, she did just that. It’s nothin fancy but I am quite pleased with it. It’s the letter B, tapped quickly against the left side of the face. But I was warned: the sign is disturbingly close to those of Bitch (top left) in which you take the sign for Bekah name sign and sort of bitchily tap it against the front of your face, and Beer (bottom left) in which you take the Bekah name sign and just sort of drunkenly drag it across your face. CAREFUL, THERE!
Do not ever visit my blog for strong, unwavering opinions on any given issue. I am always of two minds. It’s just how my brain works. And so today, on I Look at Life from Both Sides, Now: The ongoing debate over actor compensation for 99 seat theaters in LA.
Basically, actors in LA (and also, kind of everywhere) are not getting compensated for doing plays. At CTG, the Geffen, the larger spaces, they most certainly are — but in most cases, with the 99 seat or smaller theaters — actors are receiving 7 to 15 dollars a performance, and no $ for rehearsal whatsoever. Equity is trying to mandate minimum wage payment for actors, for rehearsal and performance. Case closed, right? Of course people should be paid. Of course, of course, of course. I see that side of it. Absolutely. Theater artists are sometimes parents and have mortgages and student loans and should be paid.
These smaller theaters companies have no money.
Theater. Has. Barely. Any. Money.
If these smaller companies were to pay their actors as mandated, they would go from doing, say, five shows a year, to one show a year. Gone would be the days of doing a kickstarter and putting a show up for 3K. On the one hand — maybe this would improve the QUALITY of theater in LA. Less is more. I hear that.
But on the other hand — there go hundreds of opportunities for actors, playwrights and directors. There’s also the fact that actors are currently PROTESTING this movement. They are PROTESTING a movement that would get them paid — because they want the opportunities. They’d rather do the play and not get paid. That’s how badly they want to do the work. And this incredible. I’ve thought it many times, and perhaps even said it here — if you start a career in the theater, and expect to make a living, you are looney tunes. Few people actually do make a living making plays. Gone are those days. Theater is not a career, it is a passion, a mode of self-expression. I have occasionally made a living, but I never expected it, as it is inconsistent. It is up to the theater artist to supplement their passion, their mode of self expression, with teaching / tv / film / marrying a lawyer / perhaps being a lawyer / dog walking / accounting / foot fetish parties. We know this.
In summation, I see both the good and the harm that the new rule could do. But ultimately — I’m just really inspired. In what other industry would the workers protest getting compensated? We are crazy. We like to play dress up and play-fight with each other and write out scenes in which we scream the things that we wish we had the bravery to scream in real life. We love plays, and we will make them, we will continue to make them, paid or not.
Why do I do this to myself? A plane crashed in the French Alps earlier today, flying from Barcelona to Dusseldorf. So far, it seems to have crashed for no reason. It reaches its cruising altitude, then just — sank. The fact that I was just there made me instantly internalize and personalize it. The fact that little brother Dan is currently in Spain, traveling to various parts of Europe, made me do so even MORE. (Note: Dan just texted me back. Not on the plane. Thank God.) WHY do I do this to myself? Why, whenever there’s a plane crash, do I feel like I must know everything about it? Even now, when actually flying, I feel like I’m on other side of whatever irrational worry I got so wrapped up in? I still obsess. I read. I put myself on the plane, and wonder and feel and crash with it. Is it to remind myself that I can? That I still could? Why do I feel like I MUST remember this?
My mom left real early this morning, and I learned something new (?) about myself. Things I can’t handle before I’ve had coffee:
- questions that contain feelings
- feelings that contain questions
- Other people
LOVE YOU MOM! SORRY ABOUT THAT TIME I YELLED AT YOU! IT WASN’T MEEEEEEEEEEE!
Took Mom on down to Disneyland for her bday! She went when she was five years old and hadn’t been back since ,but it CERTAINLY came back to her.
- A day-long Mary Poppins sing along that we initiated that no one joined in
-When Mickey Mouse HIMSELF told her Happy Birthday and she dern near cried
-Space Mountain Scaredfaces
- That time I invented Carouselfie