Thank You's, The Trappings of Fame, The Osbournes, The Annual Colleague Valentine Charity Fashion Luncheon, Monique Lhuillier, Mom, Dad, The West Wing and Lucky Cats.
Thank you all so very much for your support and your unbelievably kind and generous response to my last post. I so appreciate it and frankly I'm overwhelmed! I never expected this kind of response, but then again I never do. I wanted to respond to your comments and write back to all of you but couldn't because I received over a hundred comments and whenever I would try to write back to someone Live Journal would tell me that it thought I was a spam robot, whatever that means. I think I know what that means.
I haven't heard back from the Sharon Osbourne show but that may not mean anything and I'm a big believer in destiny. I believe that things happen as they are meant to, so if I'm meant to get my body tucked, tightened, and lifted via a TV makeover show then that will happen and if not so be it. I would so love to be on her show though, because I so dig Ms. Sharon and I love her and her sweet family so very much, in as much as I could love a family I've only met in passing and don't really know.
I read something somewhere about a woman running into Jennifer Aniston in a bathroom and telling her how much she loved her. Apparently Jennifer said, "How can you love me? You don't even know me." That seems so sad to me, so hurtful towards this little yearning fan, and yet I can understand in a way why Mrs. Pitt would respond like that. It's such a weird dance -- the whole fame thing. I know that it can get really weird and overwhelming, that the price of fame is high, and yet so many of us long for it, spend our lives in pursuit of it. I understand how celebrated folks might just want to be left alone, not want to have their every private moment dissected and scrutinized, to constantly be either adored or criticized and judged, to have their private tribulations broadcast all over the world, to never be allowed to have any privacy, to be demanded of and adored by people who you feel can't possibly know you.
I also know that there is often this element of fraud that accompanies fame, that even Meryl Streep wonders why other actors admire her so much. I imagine someone who suddenly finds themselves splashed across magazines and on tabloids might wonder, "How can all of this be happening to me? I'm special but I'm not that special. I'm going to be found out. Maybe the tide will turn and they'll be tearing me down next." It can happen like that, we do it all the time. We pick someone to adore, we project all kinds of impossible unrealistic things onto them and when they turn out to be fallible human beings we turn on them. Look at Janet Jackson, who cares about her poor boob. Look at Brittney, Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow, hell look at anyone famous.
I guess I'm just expounding on all of this because I'm not used to being on the insecure fannish side of fame. I don't want to be that girl in the bathroom longing for Jennifer Aniston to look my way. I don't want to be the me who wants to be adopted by the Osbournes because their lives seem so damned cool and I'm lonely; an abandoned adoptee yearning for family. I don't like that I want Sharon to share a tiny fraction of her affection pie with me, that I fantasize about having her for a Mom, (which is highly unlikely considering that she's too young and I'm too old, but sheesh who wouldn't want her for a Mom?), or a sister or a friend, not because it's completely unlikely and silly but because it puts me in this weird position of need and I hate being seen as fannish or God forbid stalkerish.
I'm accustomed to the sight of friends zooming past me on their way to fame. Hell, I can't turn on the TV or go to a movie without seeing someone I went to school with and I live in LA where you can't throw a pebble without hitting Meg Ryan or Michelle Pfeiffer. I'm accustomed to affecting an air of nonchalance. I'm a professional working actor, (well, I used to be before my many recent troubles and I will be again), accustomed to being around famous people and pretending not to care, but when it comes to the Osbournes I'm just whacked. I know they're just like everyone else but with a tad more money and a hell of a lot more access.
I think that the relatively new phenomenon of reality television, television that blurs the line between performance and reality, the proliferation of celebrity fashion and style fed magazines, celebrity focused entertainment related programming, red carpet events, award shows, the E channel, and the churning grinding wheels of the vast Hollywood publicity machine have a lot to do with our getting confused and thinking we actually know these people more than we really do. I know it isn't real, that we don't really know them, but at the same time I think that people can come to love celebrities without having to know them personally and I think it's okay, especially when those celebrities put themselves out there a lot. I think it's totally appropriate and reasonable to say, "I love Oprah," without knowing her personally. We know enough about how decent, kind and generous she is, we watch her show and buy her magazine, we stand behind her and support her so why can't we love her?
Seeing someone on television daily, seeing their images on the cover of the magazines that lie on the floor of our bathrooms every time we go in there to pee, listening to their voices, reading the things they may have said, the things they might or might not have done, all of this can have a definite emotional impact on us and I guess what I'm trying to say or work out here is that it's fine, not Fucked up Insecure and Neurotic and Emotional fine, but just plain old fine, fine. It's fine for me to love Sharon and wish her well, it's fine for me to worry about them when I read that Ozzy's been in a bad accident, what's not fine is for me to have expectations or wounded feelings if she doesn't have me over to tea. I think that's all I was trying to say, that it gets confusing when you run into your favorite celebrities at the market or get a shot at being on their show, but that as long as you can let it go like a wish written on the back of a leaf set adrift in a stream, then it's all good.
I bought the first season DVD set of The West Wing and have been watching it pretty much non stop since yesterday, well, whenever I'm home and sitting here pricing thing to put in my case at the Santa Monica Wertz Bros. antique mall. God I love this show. It's just so well meaning and fine and it's politics are so right on, it's everything that I hold dear about being American. I just finished watching the Christmas episode where Toby orders an honor guard funeral for a homeless marine who died wearing his coat. Seeing this beautiful funeral, the folding of the flag and passing it to the next of kin reminded me of how sad I was that my Dad's funeral home didn't get it together in time to have the flag there for my Dad's funeral, they never got the paperwork, Dad's discharge papers from WW2 that I had sent them and refused to drape his coffin with a flag without them. We didn't order flowers for the coffin because it was meant to be covered with a flag and it was just so wrong.
So due to the idealism and right mindedness of this show, the memory of my Dad and the feeling that I let him down, I was sitting here crying, still am, and my sweet cat Sparkle, who is finally home from the hospital, (we don't know what happened to him, something to do with his liver), and doesn't like it when I cry, was standing on my thigh, shifting his weight from one paw to another, meowing and reaching up to pat my face as if to comfort me. Oh God how I love this cat! Anyone who can't see the extreme intelligence and sensitivity of animals should be taken out and ... well, educated. I would have said, force fed worms, but that would have been cruel to worms, and I might have said flogged, but that would have been too aggressive for my Billy-Jack-watching, pacifistic, saggy, weight-losing ass.
I'm going with my Mom to her annual Colleague Valentine's fashion show luncheon tomorrow. We used to put on the most amazing rummage sale that took over the entire Santa Monica Civic auditorium and my Mom was in charge of the household departmen which meant that I ran it pretty much for a good dozen years or so. Oh man those were the days, but the luncheon wound up raising more money so the original sale was scrapped. This year's designer is Monique Lhuillier which means lots and lots of gowns, should be pretty.
I've been bowing out the last few years because frankly I felt too fat and uncomfortable and it was just too much of an effort to try to dress up and find a way to fit in. It was too exhausting trying to live up to the scrutiny of my Mom and some of her more critical friends. But now I've got a brand new pink tweed St. John's Knits jacket and some Ferragamo shoes and I think I can go without embarrassing my Mother too much. I might even be able to blend in, the ultimate trick in Mom's book, to fit in and look presentable without calling too much attention to oneself by standing out too much. Funny how I always feel like a secret radical subversive trying to pass for a conservative lady who lunches. There certainly won't be a lot of women with piercings, tattoos and fuschia colored dreads there, which means I won't be dressing up and going as my inner me.
Everything to do with my Mom and her world brings up this kind of confusion and ambivalence for me. I admire some of these women. I believe that the majority of them mean well despite their weird old world attitudes about class and society. Some of them are genuine and kind. They raise money for a good charity, a children's charity, they're honoring a woman I admire, Angelica Huston, whose sister Allegra used to sit next to me in high school in and was my friend for a time. It's just that in some cases I doubt their motives, they don't seem all that charitable when they make stupid, inane, shallow observations about the size of the nose of the woman they're honoring. You see I know what some of these women are like behind the velvet curtain. I've listened to the way they talk while they play bridge and I don't always like it. But then sometimes I do. Sometimes I love them, especially women like Roweena Willis, John McCain's beloved aunt, his mother's twin sister. God, now there's a good woman, when I talk to her on the telephone I mostly listen and I could gladly do this for hours, she's that sweet. I'd vote for her nephew if he ran again, even though he's a Republican, because I know he's more than just a politician, he's a good man.
Well, that's more than enough about politics and fame. I should get going. I just wanted to say thanks as always for your kindness and your support. It means so much more to me than I can ever adequately express to you. I so appreciate every one of your comments. I love you guys so very much!
I'm going to put one of these mechanical lucky Neko pussycats in my case in the antique mall. You know the ones Asian people put in their stores, the cats that look like they're waving at you upside down? I think that if I put one of these in my case it might bring me some good chi, draw in customers and money. Wish me luck. If I'm going to keep sharing and giving my money away and spending it the way I do, I'm going to need to make some.
Oh no Swanky, (or is it Sammy), is shredding the toilet paper roll, pardon me while I put a stop to this... Heh, I take away the toilet paper roll and he starts gnawing on my book. I guess he doesn't like Dean Koontz or horror and mystery fiction.
More importantly though do you think that the fact that I've suddenly become such a tea-a-holic means that I've blown the five hundred plus dollars I just spent having my teeth whitened with a laser? It certainly wasn't a dental whoop party sitting there in that chair with my mouth stretched over some weird plastic appliance for an hour while I worried about the damage any light leakage from the big weird light would do to my eyes if I peeked at it. You do know I'm kidding right? I mean I did have my teeth whitened, but I can rinse my mouth out after I drink tea. I just don't want to... Hey, anything to take my mind off the barbarism of the death penalty, now there's something that makes me feel not so entirely proud about being an American.
Night everybody. XOXOXOXO
PS: Is anyone else as pissed off as I am about KFI being so stupid and obstinate about airing Coast to Coast so late at night that we can't listen to it when we go to sleep anymore? I subscribed to the stream link thing but I can't imagine having to sleep next to my laptop every night. If I could do that I might as well get a webcam and sleep on cam with my pal Anawee.