Un-Freaking-Believable.

Thanks to John Sibley - when he posted this, the post title was 'Democracy In Action'. Seriously. I couldn't say it better.

I'm In Love

Thanks to George for introducing me to this brilliant comedian. I was DYING LAUGHING during this video I found today - because he perfectly describes my life. Up until the part when he starts talking about putting a foot in the tub - nothing after that really applies to me, but it's still hysterical.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Courtesy of the BBC:

Stowaway

When Tanya Andrews returned from a recent family holiday in Costa Rica, she had no idea she had brought back a gruesome souvenir.
A month later she developed an extremely painful lump on her head.

At first, she thought she had an abscess, but then it wriggled.

At the Hospital for Tropical Diseases they recognised the problem straight away - it was the living maggot larva of a botfly.

While Tanya was enjoying her holiday a mosquito had delivered a tiny botfly egg onto the surface of her scalp.

The egg hatched into a maggot and burrowed deep inside. Incredibly, this happens to thousands of people every year.

As we travel to ever more exotic holiday destinations, we are at the mercy of a whole range of bizarre parasites just waiting to colonise us.


Strange nosebleeds

Soon after travel writer, Broughton Coburn, returned from Nepal he began to experience regular, inexplicable nosebleeds.

They continued for three weeks until an embarrassing encounter in a teashop made him realise that something was seriously wrong.

As he was being served, the waiter took one look at him and fled in horror.

Broughton chased him down the street urging him to tell him what was wrong. But the boy would only point, wordlessly, at his nose.

Broughton returned home and sat in trepidation in front of a mirror.

His patience was rewarded when a brown worm-like creature emerged from his right nostril and looked around.

"I swear it had two beady eyes on it. And it came out two or three inches, looked around and then retracted. I thought it was a dream, a vision of some sort."

In shock, Broughton rushed off to his doctor who tried to remove the mysterious creature.

But it wasn't going to give up its home easily.

"He had this thing pulled out eight or ten inches and I'm looking at it cross-eyed down the end of my nose, and he's looking at it, he has a look of absolute horror on his face. And the thing came off. And there was this leech."

Broughton had been invaded by an aquatic leech. It made its move while he was drinking from a mountain stream.

These thirsty bloodsuckers can drink three times their bodyweight at each feed and inject an anaesthetic so their victim feels nothing.


Welcome visitor

As part of a University of Salford experiment to develop a diagnostic test for beef tapeworm, biologist Mike Leahy volunteered to grow this gruesome parasite inside his own gut.

Mike swallowed the immature tapeworm cyst with a glass of red wine and the worm started to grow at an initial rate of four centimetres a week.

Twelve weeks later he had to call a halt to the unusual experiment because he was getting married!

After a dose of anti-worm pill Mike passed out an intact tapeworm three metres long.

Disgusted? Well according to Dr Val Curtis, an expert on hygiene, this reaction is a natural survival mechanism.

"In the same way that you have an immune system which helps to protect you from parasites we also have a behavioural system.

"When you feel the emotion of disgust it is a driver of your behaviour to make you keep away from or drop the thing that might be about to make you sick."

And, it seems, we need all the protection we can get. Every living thing has at least one parasite and many creatures, including humans, have far more.

In fact, parasites make up the majority of species on Earth.


Bodysnatchers was transmitted on BBC One on Wednesday, 26 November, 2003.

Grow Yourself A Penis

I'm serious. Check it out. Mr. Bobbit would've LOVED this... though I hear he's doing all right now.

And I'm sorry.... but I couldn't help it. That article put me in a situation wherein there was nothing I could do except google "rabbit penis". And this is what I found:



I know. I have a problem. It's called 'Curiosity'.

And then THAT happened.

Well. It's been, um, a little while since I've posted. And my last post was pretty bleak, I know. But something kind of incredible happened as a result. There was this beautiful outpouring of love. And remarkably, not just from those of you who read my scribblings, either. I got phone calls from people I haven't heard from in months. People who don't even know I write this thing, so had no chance to read my self-loathing rant, but had called simply because I was on their mind. It made my little blackened heart grow red and warm and fuzzy again.

And once I started opening up, really speaking honestly to the people I care about, all my misery and anxiety started melting away. So I just want to say THANK YOU to George, 'cita, Dopey, Schmadam, 2-9, D, C, J and J for the phone calls and the incredibly sage advice and the reminder that not only am I not alone, but I'm actually lovable.

Also, thank you Poompy, for reminding me how important it is that I take care of my body - he encouraged me to start taking yoga classes again, something I love almost as much as my art, but that I had let slip away from me these last four months because of time and money. He helped me find an affordable studio just four blocks from our apartment and though it isn't my beloved Golden Bridge, it's pretty frickin cool. I wasn't 15 minutes into my first yoga class this week before I was suddenly falling in love with my body. And when I love my body - it's intricate workings, the strength of my limbs, the flexibility and suppleness of my muscles and tendons - I can't help but to begin to love all of me. Even the inside junk.

So. Nearly a month of gloominess is under my belt and I'm pretty ready to shake it off and start laughing again. But I would like to share some of the wonderful and wise advice I received while I was in the Pit of Despair last week.


From George:
"Its a good thing that you are miserable. that's half the reason you're in new york. consider that you didn't go to new york to be happy. you went to new york to be uncomfortable and to struggle and to claw and scratch and writhe around. all of this that you are going through right now is designed to put the fight in you, to make you stand up and scream and holler what you want and what you believe in. to stop being a pushover and start being a fucking hardened champion who earned every bit of everything you will get in your life. Without your struggle your future means nothing."

That made me cry - in a good way. Because I knew he is right.
Then he said:

"stop doing the same shit you always do it doesn't work. don't be the person who keeps pushing the red button and getting shocked and then pushes the red button again cause its all they know. start taking new approaches to your life and to your auditions and to the way you look at money and life etc. Think about the thing in your head that says "wouldn't it be crazy if I..." but then you decide not do to and go back to doing it the typical way. go into the next audition in a fucking clown suit and shoot ping pong balls out of your ass cause that's what you gotta do. doing the same thing you always do will get you the same thing you always got. and for the love of god, stop pretending to be perfect, its the fact that you aren't perfect, that you wake up sometimes hating the world and hating everyone that you know, that makes you human and makes you worthy of being loved."

That made me cry too. Again, in a good way. I am going to give George the BIGGEST hug the next time I see him.

Then, one of my beloved mentors sent the below quote in an email to all his former students and friends and it shocked me how perfect it was for my immediate situation...

ELIZABETH KUBLER-ROSS, 1926-2004:
"You will not grow if you sit in a beautiful flower
garden, but you will grow if you are sick, in pain,
experience losses, and if you do not put your head in
the sand, but take the pain and learn to accept it,
not as a curse or a punishment but as a gift to you
with a very, very specific purpose."

And from my sweetest Dopey, though I'm not sure who originally said it, can you tell me, Dopey?

"I am not my mistakes. I can't do this alone or pretend any more. The illusion of comfort in denial or sacrifice is no longer mine. There is no shame in my suffering - no healing in silent self-torment. It is here at the surreal crossroads of the "soul search" where dawning truth meets the anguish of overwhelming resistance in mind over matter that I can finally wake up, change my mind, let go of what no longer works or own my losses or choices. I am empowered by intense acknowledgment or epiphany and my virtue is gratitude or relief in recognition."

So. To each of you - Thank you for standing by me in what proved to be a very cold and dark hour. I LOVE YOU.

Welcome to New York, folks!

You should come visit. Really. Because cool things happen to people in my neighborhood. That's right, kids. My neighborhood.

Because I'm Not Scared Enough

This happened on the very train that I ride EVERY SINGLE day. Awesome.

Square

Last week I auditioned for the role of a 19 year old street-walker. When I originally saw the audition post, I thought to myself, "Hey! That's totally me! I'd make a great street-walker!" Because I thought a street-walker was just, you know, a hard-core rocker chick who's run away from home or something. I never ran away from home, but I did go through a hard-core rocker chick phase. Remember? I call it my Black Period. You don't remember? Come on, we all remember the days of the shaved head and spiked dog collar, right? Back when my wardrobe consisted exclusively of ripped fishnet and vinyl? Remember that? No? Well, here's a little photo reminder:

The night before the audition, Poompy informs me that a street-walker is not a hard-core rocker chick, but in fact, a prostitute. But since I've never been a prostitute, and have no interest in dressing like one, I decide to ignore him and stick with my original idea of what I think a street-walker is. You know, the kind of girl you'd see cadging change on 3rd St. Promenade (Santa Monica, CA, folks.) Besides, I think to myself, since I'm such a little rocker chick myself, it'll be easy to find an outfit!

The next morning, I'm getting ready for my audition and I'm feeling fairly confident* when I suddenly realize I have nothing to wear. Now, this is not the Nothing To Wear realization that comes after trying on 17 outfits before I stomp my foot and whine out for the world's pity, "I have nothing to weeeeeeeear!!!". This is the Nothing To Wear when I actually do not own anything appropriate for the event in question. I've managed to scrounge up an old vinyl mini-skirt, but the only fishnets I can find are brand-new and from Victoria's Secret and I am so not about to rip holes in them. I found a black t-shirt, but where on earth is my spiked dog collar? And the worst part? The girl who once owned thirteen pairs of heavy, steel-toe, rock and roll, motherf$#@ing Ass Kicking boots now owns none.

And it suddenly occurs to me. I've become a total square. I'm digging through my closet and there's nothing but dresses! And skirts! Gone are the ripped fishnets, the vinyl pants, the studded belts and home-made t-shirts with such witty phrases as "Fuck Bush" scrawled in sharpie across the front. I'm surrounded by pinks and floral patterns and gauzy, girly thingies. My shoes are all ballet flats. I have twenty pairs** of ballet flats and not a single pair of boots. And I'm suddenly horrified.

Since I obviously have no business doing so, I decide not to go to the audition after all.

Two minutes later I'm breathing normally again and pulling on my most tattered jeans (which actually aren't tattered at all), my red chuck taylors and my ratty old sweatshirt which, if you look closely, still reads "I'd rather be dead" across the front in faded Sharpie. I pull my (girly, shiny, blond) hair into a very messy ponytail and smear on a ton of black eyeliner and briefly consider painting my nails black before I decide I don't have time, and I'm out the door. I've decided it would be better to show up for the audition looking like a homeless teen runaway, than not go at all just because somewhere inside of me that little rocker chick has been buried beneath a pile of pink dresses.

Now, a couple of interesting things happen. On the one hand, there is a little voice in my head laughing at what a square I've become and telling me that 1) I have absolutely no right going to an audition for a 19 year old street-walker 2) I'm about to make a terrible fool of myself and 3) I am much better off auditioning for pretty blond girl-next-door types. On the other hand, I can't help but notice how damn comfortable I am walking down the street in my chucks and tattered hoodie, my eyes haloed in black. Not just that I'm comfortable, but that if feels really good to be wearing what I used to consider my "uniform". I expected this girl with the collection of pink dresses to feel like a poseur walking down the street dressed like a hooligan. But instead I just feel like myself.

When I arrive at the audition, it is clear that I stick out like a sore thumb. But not because I'm too square. Quite the opposite, actually. Every single other girl auditioning for the same role is wearing a pretty, flowy sundress with color-coordinated cork wedges. They've all got their hair perfectly coiffed and their makeup applied flawlessly. I look like a drowning puppy in comparison. I notice one girl who has made an attempt to dress for the role, but it's obvious she bought her outfit at Hot Topic the night before and she just looks ridiculous. I, on the other hand, look like a genuine homeless hooligan.

I take some comfort in the fact that, despite my apparent square-ish ways, I still managed to be the most genuine hard-ass chick at the audition. I suppose that's just it. It isn't the clothes that make us who we are. It's the way we feel in them. Or something. Fuck it. I don't know. I'm gonna go paint my nails black and put on some more eyeliner while I prance around in a dress and ballet flats. I might be a square, but I look damn good when I wear too much eyeliner.

*I haven't been able to bring myself to go to an audition since I didn't get that last job. Remember? I've been in sort of a grieving period and I've been too depressed to go out. PLEASE refrain from lecturing me on how I'm only hurting myself and I'm being self-defeating and blah blah blah. Trust me, I've been lecturing myself enough for all of us. But hey! I scraped myself together for one audition last week! And I didn't bare my ass to the playwright or trip and fall on my face, so Rock and Roll, right?.

**Serious exaggeration.

The Age of Aquarius

My mama sent me my LAWeekly horoscope for this week. It's so fabulous that I wanted to make sure to remember it and I figured the best way to remember it would be to post it in my blog. So here it is:

'You may already sense that you're headed for an artistic breakthrough. Thank energetic Mars in your Gemini house of recreation and creative risk-taking for sending supportive vibes to inspirational, impressionable Neptune in your sign. During this particular trine aspect, the first in two years, you might discover that envisioning your goal can really help you achieve it. I'm not suggesting you daydream the hours away, simply that you work out the steps that'll take you where you want to be.'

Rock and Roll.