It feels so far, far away. Like maybe it all happened in a dream or a movie. But not a movie that I wrote and starred in. Just one I happen to have watched, on a loop, for several years. God, I miss that movie.
A nationally syndicated dating game show called BZZZ! (it just enjoyed a re-airing in Feb 2020 on BuzzrTV!)
Having my own TV show was a lifelong dream come true. I told E! Entertainment News in a segment, “All I ever wanted was a dog and my own TV show. Now I have both!” I was…
It was a snowy day in Cleveland. I sat alone in my much-too-large-for-only-one-person-apartment, wondering. Wondering entirely-too-intensely-about-everything-I-could-think-of. Has anyone ever died from eating non-cooked Toll House cookie dough? How long would it take to save up enough lint to make a sweater? Would George Clooney like me? If my neighbor started secretly feeding my cat Fancy Feast would Ms. Fluffypants desert me for the better meal? If I had a significant other in my life would I be boring him to tears with my ponderings?
I hear a knock at the door. I race over to the peephole and…
She's about as supportive as a two-legged chair. She was probably the kind of kid who would burn your term paper if it was better than hers. And it most likely was. She writes about love and acceptance but can't accept the fact that she lives a judgy, loveless life.
She has three “close” female friends who go to public restrooms together and stab each other in the back as soon as one of them closes the stall door.
I vent to my friend, Marcus, over matzo ball soup at Jerry’s Deli in the Valley.
I need a new writing…
I bow to the wind that tickles my face,
the covers that keep me warm,
the earth that holds me up.
I bow to the bird’s song that lulls me,
the tree that shades me,
the gravity that keeps me from floating away.
I bow to the death of my mother,
the pain in my back,
the sorrow of days gone by.
I bow to uncertainty,
I bow to fear.
I bow to loss.
I bow to my body; my legs, my heart, my mind… for taking me to all the places I need to go. I bow to my…
But, I’m on the guest list! They scream while throwing out names that they just heard the guy next to them say. We are awaiting approval from the cocky, well-dressed bouncer at the door. The guy I’m with pretends not to care if we get in. It’s a first date and he’s making like he doesn’t really want to get into this VIP club in Beverly Hills. He makes like he could care less if they lift the velvet rope and allow us regular folx to enter the plastic people haven. Even though, he’s the one who brought us here.
A Letter from filmmaker, Henry Jaglom
If you read my interview with the legendary indie filmmaker, Henry Jaglom, then you’ll remember we became friends, quarantine e-pals, and exchanged many, many, many emails back and forth in 2020 during the lock down.
Here it is for a refresher:
I thought fellow film lovers and curious minds would enjoy reading it so I asked Henry if I could post it. …
Why do you write what you write?
“Let me live, love, and say it well in good sentences.”
— Sylvia Plath
Well, I was at a film panel in Hollywood a few years ago listening to a producer talk about how he takes his daughter out to dinner once a week just for one on one time with her. I remember thinking that was so sweet. It’s such a good way for his daughter to feel special and seen by her dad. Then I couldn’t hear anything else he said because my writerly brain kidnapped my thoguths and started asking…
Robert and Susan leave their not-so-great-way-over-priced-but-in-the-right-zip-code abode and hurry into their much-too-flashy-no-matter-how-you-justify-it Mercedes Benz and speed their way through Beverly Glen to their horrid destination.
Susan stares out the window while Robert futzes with the radio dial. Where’s the big band station? Susan has her gaze out the window, lost in thought. Robert repeats, Which one is the big band station, Susan? Susan?
Not turning her head away from the passing trees she says, The flower shop across the street from us is hiring.
Honey, we discussed this, you don’t need a job. …
Anne Beatts (February 25, 1947–April 7, 2021)
a life of action
visions come in flashes
I was in an awe of your past
the company you had kept
you, the writer
you, the observer
you, the participant
you, in the thick of it
you made a life — from laughs
and you had the balls
to be a woman while doing it
yes, I was in awe of your past
and then I was gifted with your presence
in the present
I pitch a sketch and you scrunch up your face and say…