Positively Hollywood!

My hair is so fine.  Not like “Mmmm Mmmmm girl, you’re hair is soooo fine!” but like hair you would clip back with a Tinkerbell barrette on a 5 year old.  It has always been that way so I’m not suffering some identity crisis like someone who suddenly loses their nice hair.  My Mom, Sister, and Aunt all have the same unmanageable hair which, with time, we have all learned to cope with in our own way.

I worked on set for 15 hours on Sunday with 20 rambunctious and sugar filled child actors, 25 chattering stage parents and 15 or so overtired hard working crew members.  I stood patiently most of the day following direction and practicing non-reactiveness in an effort to anchor peace into the chaos.  Surprisingly my hair held up pretty well.

When Monday came at long last, it felt a lot like a Sunday to me.  As the lazy morning turned into afternoon, I invited my friend Yvonne, who lives down the hall, over for a late brunch.  Making waffles just feels like something that only happens on Sunday.  I was sitting at my 50′s style burgundy diner booth clicking around on my MacBook when the doorbell rang and the door opened.

Yvonne’s hair is fine, like mine as described earlier, mostly one length just below her shoulders and a natural shade of dark brown.  She doesn’t like to fuss with it too much, so it’s usually not styled but just kinda hanging out.   Yvonne is a comedian and I have already asked for permission to be very candid in my blog. Follow this link to check her out. She actually doesn’t like to wash or even brush her hair on days she doesn’t work. Yvonne also likes to wear very “colorful” outfits that often don’t match and that she brags she got for free or at some thrift store on clearance. She refers to her style as “Hobo Chic”

She has explained that her “eclectic” style is mostly for comedic effect and I have come to respect her choice not to buy into the importance of looking hot, or well put together.  I actually once nominated her for one of those “My friend really shouldn’t be wearing that” shows and she was excitedly on board.  She has a beautiful face and a smokin’ body, so when she cares to she could pass as a movie star.  It is challenging to support her irreverence because I think that in Hollywood she could go far with her talent and good looks.

Entering my kitchen yesterday, she suddenly had long, shaggy beautiful thick rock stair hair with red highlights and wispy sexy bangs.  ”Oh my God, your hair!”  I exclaimed.  She looked like a bomb shell and she wasn’t even wearing makeup.  ”I hate it.” she said matter of factly.  ”The show made me do it.”

Right now she is filming a reality pilot about her addiction to relationships and the producers must not have been a fan of her oily, fine hair.  The show producers recognized that with different hair, she would magically transform into a girl who would turn almost any head in passing, so they rejected her natural hair.  Instead of filming her as she is, they paid a stylist to make her more appealing for TV by sewing in long extensions for 7 hours, adding colorful highlights and chopping in some sexy bangs.  Ironic considering that the whole intent of the show is to help Yvonnne heal on a deep emotional level.  No harm in making her at least look better in the process, right?

I sat looking in awe at my transformed friend and how amazing and hot she looked and thought about how any guy in the world would ask her out and how even if she wasn’t that funny people would probably come to see her do stand up comedy.

“It’s not me.” she said in a defeated tone, “I feel like a stupid poser who’s trying to hard.  I like MY hair.  I like being natural.  I’m taking it out when the show is over.”  It took all of my discipline and patience to accept that my friend hates her fake hair.  I even found myself trying to convince her that it IS her.  Why should I care if she hates it? Why should I care if she doesn’t see the benefit it might bring her?  Why was I resisting her response to this hair?  Have I lived in Hollywood too long?  Have I bought into an industry’s continuing attempts to make everyone on TV look perfectly maintained or do I just want my friend to look hot?  Maybe I think she will be happier this way, I would be happy if my hair looked like that.  Wouldn’t I?   Am I another part in the factory that produces mass amounts of self conscious self loathing teenage girls and replaces their natural sense of self with a desire to achieve unnatural perfection?

I just want to look my best.  I want to have beautiful thick hair, full eye lashes, wrinkle free skin, a skinny waist, and a firm butt just like everyone else.  Yvonne hardly ever wears makeup and I often see her leaving the apartment on her way to a party without having put much thought into it.  She thinks it’s hilarious how differently men and woman respond to her when she is very well put together.  ”I want people to like me for me.”  she said.

This blog is meant to celebrate her. Why do we care so much about image anyway?

How are we ever supposed to know ourselves and how is anyone supposed to really know us?   I know Yvonne and she’s a pretty amazing woman with or without $700 of fake hair.

I hope that we can all learn to accept our natural beauty, the beauty in each other, and take the beautiful images we see in the media with a grain of salt.  In that picture to the right I have about $700 worth of extensions and it has been photo-shopped to minimize my wrinkles.  I also cropped out my wide hips.  Smoke and mirrors

Be Silly.  Have Fun.

Hollywood

The name Marathon comes from the legend of Pheidippides, a Greek messenger. The legend states that he was sent from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens to announce that the Persians had been defeated in the Battle of Marathon (in which he had just fought),^[3] which took place in August or September, 490 BC.^[4] It is said that he ran the entire distance without stopping and burst into the assembly, exclaiming “Νενικήκαμεν” (Nenikékamen, ‘We have won.’) before collapsing and dying.
Wikipedia

It’s 6:30am on a Sunday.  I am dressed like a young mom and ready to drive to Cypress, CA where I will be throwing a pretend birthday party for a group of child actors for a Party City industrial film.  Thank goodness I checked my email before booking it out the door since I was notified after going to bed that my call time was pushed back an hour to 8:30am.  No one is awake at this hour, at least not in the company I keep, so I’m doing the social media rounds, tweeting, facebooking, emailing, and now blogging.   As I surf around on various sites updating sleeping followers I am reminded in my friend Lyle’s tweet that today is the LA Marathon.

I am jealous.   I imagine standing cold and tired at a Metro Station buzzing with energy as  runners spill in and out of the subway doors each with their number pinned to their chest.  I imagine meeting my running group and making our way to start line, stretching and preparing my mind for hours of jogging down Los Angeles city streets!  I know that most people won’t have that same reaction, but I have run in 2 marathons, Honolulu and Los Angeles, and I had a most positive experience with both.  Many people think running a Marathon is something that motivated super people do, but I assure you that out of the thousands that gather before sunrise chilly and nervous with anticipation, most of them are not star athletes, but regular people, just like you and me.

Many people have placed “run in a Marathon” on their bucket list.  If this is you, I encourage you to sign up with a charity and run with a purpose!  I chose AIDS Project Los Angeles, after some research, and raised money for the organization in exchange for training an support.

Running with a charity is so rewarding.  There are leaders and coaches that help you fund raise, find shoes, tackle the challenges of aches and pains, and provide group “long runs” on weekends, so the most treacherous training days (18 and 20 mile runs for instance) are more of a social gathering and celebration of success, than a dreaded and feared necessity.

I’m not one of those people who needs to run every marathon or improve my time, or even ever run another one.  Not being pressed for time (I never care too much how long it will take to finish) makes trekking almost 27 miles through any city more of an invigorating challenge than anything else.  Of course I love to walk and try to walk most places if  have the time.  I think walking and running around on foot is a primitive way to connect to the neighborhood you live in.  There is something very old and wise about both walking and running.

Of course, as stated above by Wikipedia, the original marathon run was just one guy trying to deliver some good news after which he dropped dead from who knows what.   Imagine if every time you had something to tell someone across town you had to run or walk there!  I’m hard pressed to even get out of Hollywood for anything these days and I have a really comfortable Jetta that is temperature controlled and has my favorite music in it.

This morning I am thankful for the conveniences that modern technology has afforded me.  I am feeling very blessed to be able to travel to Cypress, CA (30 miles from Hollywood) in about 40 minutes in comfort and without too much threat of harm.   If there is traffic I will just imagine those thousands of achy motivated super people making their way around LA on foot.   And when I arrive I will think of Pheidippides who didn’t have the luxury of delivering his message with such ease and subsequently paid his life to simply share some good news with his community.

The picture there is me on the training day where I ran 26 miles for APLA.  See how happy I am?  I encourage you to challenge yourself to do things that scare you and also things that you don’t think you can do.  You may find out that YOU are a Motivated Super Human!  I truly believe we all are

Love and Light,

Hollywood

I sat down today to write about being ethnically ambiguous.  That is what I am considered to be as an actor and what roles I am submitted to play.   I sat in the waiting room today at an audition surrounded by other dark-ish ethnically hard to place actors who were paired together as husband and wife.

I struck up a conversation with a girl who I thought looked Hispanic, and an guy who was pretty obviously African American.  The girl said she was once instructed to “get a tan” in order to book a role in West Side Story because she wasn’t dark enough to pull off Puerto Rican.  The guy chimed in that he isn’t “black enough” for most of the roles he goes out for.  “Everyone thinks I’m Jewish,” I interjected, to which they both nodded in agreement, “or Italian.” I concluded, to which they also gave the nod of approval.  I am neither Jewish nor Italian.   I can play both on TV, however, as well as a mom and a bitch and a bunch of other things that I’m not,  and in this industry that’s really the only thing that matters.

That being the extent of my inspiration on the ethnically ambiguous, I moved my computer to the bedroom, climbed upon my raised day bed, clicked the remote, and turned the channel to ABC.

“People don’t know what to do”  Oprah compassionately expressed to a man in a soldier’s uniform and the concerned woman by his side.  The soldier had a large scar across his shaved head and each of his eyes pointed in a different direction as if he was unable to focus.  The topic of the show: The Bravest Families in America  I visited the Oprah website to get up to speed.  “While serving with the National Guard in 2005, Corey and his outfit were hit by a roadside bomb. Three men were killed and Corey was gravely wounded. Doctors initially told Jenny that Corey wasn’t going to make it, but miraculously, Corey survived.”

“I heard that you celebrate the day he was hit?” Oprah cautiously inquired.  The wife responded with a smile that yes, they do indeed celebrate it and refer to it as “Alive Day.”  The other 3 people hit that day all died, and Cory, although blind and suffering from major irreversible brain damage,  was alive.  Cory’s wife stated that “Soldiers move on.  It’s what they do.” Cory and his wife and their children appeared to be doing just that in the best way they knew how.   I now had tears in my eyes.  I thought of my brother who served a year in Iraq and the friend of his who lost his legs in a road side bomb, and his other friends who lost much more than that and about their families.   I thought about my sister who is a Navy pilot and about the friends she has lost and about their families.

Then I thought about a man interviewed on KCRW this morning in Japan who lost his house and his boat and his lively hood and all his belongings but who was laughing and smiling.  “We all lived” he happily stated, referring to his family and friends.  “There are more important things to think about than what was lost.”

Is whether or not I look Jewish or Italian or like a Mom or if I write my blog or if you read it even important at all?  Now that I’m thinking about global issues it all seems pretty inconsequential.  Is it narrow of me to write daily and not mention the enormous catastrophes happening around the world.   I searched my conscience.

I don’t think the point of allowing ourselves to connect to the stories we hear is to then belittle the things that mean something to us.   I’m assuming that if you are reading this,  you weren’t blinded in Iraq by a roadside bomb and that all of your life’s belongings weren’t lost in the Tsunami.  Even if they were, you are here now.  If you are here with me now, then today is “Alive Day” for both of us and THAT is worth celebrating!   It is also worth spending the precious time we have with purpose and positivity.   After all, there are more important things to think about than what has been lost.

I hope that you take it all in with a light heart, give what you can, stay positive, and pass a smile along to someone you encounter today.   I’ll do my best to do the same

Love and Light,

Hollywood

That’s my cat O’Joe who brings me great joy.

Reality is the state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they may appear or may be thought to be.^[1] In its widest definition, reality includes everything that is and has been, whether or not it is observable or comprehensible.
-Wikipedia

*Don’t like to read?  Scroll to the bottom of this blog to see my Video Blog link.

I can see directly into the window of the apartment across the street.  There is a blue canvas hanging on the white wall across from the bed.  Burgundy curtains in the adjacent room are pulled slightly open relieving a splash of red on a canvas against the wall.  The brunette that lives there just walked from one room to the next fully clothed.

I’m sitting on my bed at window level.  My curtains are drawn, the lights are on, O’Joe (my Tonkinese cat) rests upon my arm, and Brad Womack is rambling on about love from the 15 year old tube television that rests atop an aged teal dresser once owned by my Grandmother.  Reality.

Brad’s challenge is tougher than mine.  All I have to do is think of something interesting or clever to write about and make sure I convey it in a way that keeps your interest for the time being.  Hopefully I inspire you to visit my blog again, perhaps bookmark it, or share it.  Brad Womack has to ask a woman that he has never known in realty to marry him, lest he come off as arrogant, bi-polar, gay, or whatever other perceived reality onlookers will derive from his estranged behavior.

An interesting trick of reality TV editing, if you watch attentively, is that before and after every segment a good deal of time is spent going back over what you just witnessed and teasing you with an exciting revelation you are about to watch next.  “What you just saw was so incredibly engaging and it means that you are privy to information that will now change everything you ever thought you knew”  and then, “Next up you will witness the most incredible, surprising exciting stuff, as seen in this teaser clip, but in slightly longer clips that will reveal only slightly more information. Stay tuned!”   This is a trick also used on entertainment news shows like TMZ and Entertainment Tonight.   Have you ever noticed it?

This method of stringing us along is something we do to ourselves all day anyway.   It’s the human condition, really, and the kind of thinking that prevents us from living in the moment.  I spend a good portion of my day reflecting upon events from the past.  “That audition I had today went pretty well.  I wonder if I looked scared instead of excited.  I should have made sure not to do my scared face.  I look kinda constipated when I do that face.  Oh no!  I hope I didn’t look constipated.  Maybe that’s why the casting director was short with me. There were so many things I would have done better if I would have known then what I know now.” Although my mind tends to project into the future even more often.  “I wonder if I will book that job.  That would be so great.  I could pay off my Mac and get a camera.  That would be cool.   I could make a web series with a camera.  If I had a successful web series I bet I would get more auditions.  Auditions….I have an audition  tomorrow.  I should work out.  What can I eat.  How much did I eat today?  I’ll do better tomorrow.   Tomorrow I’ll do everything the way I’m supposed to.”

The girl across the street just closed her curtains.  Lights flicker in the Hollywood Hills and the reflection of the TV appears hovering in the window.  Brad just chose a wife (although he already did months ago) and Chantal is riding off in a limo with makeup streaming down her face not yet able to grasp what just happened to her.  I am eating leftovers from my Groupon dinner.

Getting back to the moment.  Again and again and again.  Straying away and getting back to the moment.  Reality.  Typing words on a computer is what grounds me in reality these days.  I hope that taking a moment out of your busy day to connect to my words does the same for you.

Finally, at the after the final rose ceremony show where Emily and Brad are reunited it was revealed  that Emily has been struggling quite a bit with their relationship since the airing of The Bachelor and her experience watching her “fairytale” romance unfold on the show.  When questioned about it she replied, “I guess I’m just trying to decipher between reality TV and MY reality.”

May you be present with a light heart

Hollywood

PS.  My friend suggested I do a V-Log and here is the silliness that ensued:

I was on the phone today with Apple in a 5 hour long process of trying to purchase a Refurbished MacBook Pro.  I have been told by many very trustworthy sources that refurbished Macs are just like new ones if purchased from the trusted Apple Store. Besides, the one in my shopping cart actually had more GHz  so it may actually even be better than a new one.  That’s what Britney Spears on Apple live-chat told me she thought.  I referred to her like that because that’s who I envisioned every time the live-chat status told me “Britney S is typing”

Ironically, the purchase never went through.  Three high tech customer service representatives and hours of live chat with Britney S could not figure out how to make their new system facilitate the 0% financing for 1 year option on my order.   And so Apple lost my business, at least for now.

Then I went out to dinner with a friend.  Upon entering the large wooden doors we were instructed to wait and that we would be seated shortly.  Apparently everyone in Hollywood was also taking advantage of their soon to expire $30 Groupon and at 8pm on a Sunday night, the Korean BBQ place that was supposed to close at 9 sizzled with beef and conversation .  We sat at the bar restlessly waiting next to 4 other groups until 45 minutes had passed.  At last we were lead to our table at which time my friend decided that since we couldn’t both use our Groupons (they have a 1 coupon per table limit) it wasn’t worth it to stay.

He wanted his Groupon all to himself so he could order $30 of food.  Furthermore, an hour had passed and he had plans to entertain a lady friend.  As he walked away from the deal I was left to eat and redeem alone.  Being left alone at a restaurant straddles embarrassment and liberation.   It did offer me an opportunity to eavesdrop on everything that the party of 4 at our large shared table had to say.

The woman, who manages properties in Hollywood and rents a studio for rehearsals (she didn’t say what she was rehearsing) said that she just bought a refurbished Mac something something and was thrilled with how much she saved.   “Interesting,” I pondered “I bet that’s a sign that I should buy that refurbished Mac.”  Then she went on a tangent about how she used a Groupon once for a restaurant that charged $12 for a plate of olives.  One of the other guests, Richard, agreed that that was ridiculous and unacceptable and went on and on about how overpriced everything is everywhere really.  They all got excitedly on board that conversation which began to erupt just as the check arrived.  I then witnessed them dissecting the bill like scientist down to the penny taking into account the $30 Groupon and how much Bob owed Richard and who paid the $10 for valet and finally resolving with the server anxiously interjecting “Are you ready with that?”

Under the intense pressure now applied by the restaurant closing they prematurely sent the waiter away with their payment.  They spent the next 15 minutes splitting up the bill verbally now taking into account that the Groupon only costs $15 when you pay for it, so someone had actually underpaid and he was now to give each of the others $2.

Now, I don’t make a ton of money so I’m pretty frugal.  But, I began to wonder, I’m not THAT bad…am I?

As my table mates got up and left, the waiters and other staff members bustled about cleaning off tables and closing up remaining checks.  I slurped up one last taste of my rich dumpling soup out of the to-go container it was now in and asked for my check.

The check arrived and it was $35 minus my Groupon of $30  plus tax=$5.49 plus a $7 tip for a total of $12.49.  “That’s a good deal for a yummy dinner” I thought as I thanked the owner and waiter and began to walk home.  As plugged along down the empty Hollywood sidewalks I began to think, “OH, I forgot that I already paid $15 for that Groupon.  That means that I almost paid $30 for dinner.  I never pay $30 for dinner.  I didn’t even eat that much!”  It didn’t seem to be that great of a deal once I started thinking about it.  If I had gone without a Groupon I would have only gotten the soup plus tax and tip which would have been only $14.

I ordered enough food for 2 people.  I had to in order to spend the total of my Groupon.  If I had invited someone else I would have only spent $6 if we split the bill.  But wait, if I had invited someone else that means THEY would be taking advantage of MY Groupon.  Well, I suppose I could deduct the $15 I already paid from what I owed on the bill and then I wouldn’t have paid anything.  Now that would have been a better deal for me!  I would actually be owed money.  Lets see: $12.49 total bill and I already paid $15.  Yep! My imaginary dinner companion would have owed me $2.

And there’s my answer.  Yes, I am those people.  The Groupon mentality has one common denominator: Saving.  The real question: is saving $15 worth doing all that math?

Bon appetit

Hollywood

Be Silly.  Have Fun.

I just made a really bad dinner.  Honestly.  I feel like tossing it down the sink.  Ironically, I was going to blog about the recipe, which I slightly modified,  and include pictures.  Maybe the lesson is don’t modify a recipe until you’ve made it as instructed first.  This was all inspired by my friend Ben Mandelker’s “B-Side Blog”.  He makes blogging seem so effortless.  He blogs about his dinner and about how he has never had a shamrock shake and about various happenings in pop culture and what’s going on around town.   Simple right?  A blog.

But what if all I have to write about right now is my crappy dinner?  And why should I try to make my life look perfect or more interesting or better just because I blog about it.  As a matter of fact, I’m going to go take a picture of my crappy dinner and post it.

There it is.  My crappy dinner.  Actually it doesn’t look as bad in the picture, but I assure you, it was flavorless and funky and I think the vegetables I used were old and the peanut butter may have been expired.  Bad.

I have, however, committed to blogging daily, as instructed by Ben.  His success does warrant adhering to his advice.  “Oh my God!” he said to me “You will be totally addicted to it!”   Great.   An addiction.  Just what the doctor ordered.

I have this theory, or mantra or whatever that I call “Every Day or Never”  It goes like this: Certain things in life you have to do daily, like brush your teeth, for instance.  Other things you probably should do daily but don’t always have time for, like experiment with a new recipe for dinner, for instance.

Then there are those tasks that in your mind you always promise yourself you will begin to do daily some day.  Maybe “Monday” or “tomorrow.” Like work out, eat better, or start a blog for instance.  Well, for those hard to do tasks that I promise myself daily that I will begin to do some day, I apply my mantra.  “Every day or never!”  Basically, I strive every day to do these things because I realize that if I don’t do them every day I will fall out of the habit and all of the efforts of my mind can not will my body to follow so the missions that I should be accomplishing daily that make me feel better anyway go right down the drain like my crappy Pad Tai dinner.

What if I don’t get to one of my “Every day or never” duties?  Well, it’s alright, because in the “Every day or never” mindset I tend to get right back to it the next day.   And so I sat down tonight with nothing to blog about except my lack of cooking skills and out of it came the inspiration to share my mantra with you.

The moral of my after dinner story is that if you honestly try to do something “Ever day or never” you might be surprised how often you actually do it.  And the bigger lesson is, when you REALLY don’t feel like doing it….DO IT ANYWAY!   I did just now and I’m on track and I feel much better

Now I’m gonna go get something to eat!  Off I go…

Hollywood

Be Silly.  Have Fun.

The County of New York is the most densely populated county in the United States, and one of the most densely populated areas in the world, with a 2008 population of 1,634,795[2] living in a land area of 22.96 square miles
Wikipedia

When you meet someone new in Los Angeles one of the first things they are almost guaranteed to ask you is, “Where are you from?”  I am always a bit slow in responding to which people say, “Well, where were you born” I was born in MN and my parents moved when I was 9 months old, so I’m not from there really.  They moved to Chicago where I lived for 2 years, to Cleveland for 7 years,  then to TX for 10 years.  Then, on my own, I lived in Santa Fe for 1 year, Ohio for 4 years,  NH for 4 months, then I traveled around and THEN I moved Hollywood.

When I travel it’s easy!   My consistent reply is always “Hollywood, California.”  This is, after all, where I have lived for over 14 years, more than any of those other place I lived that never felt like home anyway.

This story is about a warm fall day when I was asked, “Where are you from?”  while celebrating fashion week in the west village.   My response, of course, was “Hollywood California” to which I was then told “HONEY! You are in NEW YORK CITY! You DO NOT need to say California. Everyone knows where Hollywood is girl!”

“But there is also a Hollywood in Florida” I softly replied.

“Florida????? Girl, please!” was his firm response.

At any given moment there are hundreds of thousands of people walking the streets of Manhattan both residents and tourists alike.  That night I went to visit a friend at work.    The restaurant he works at sits upon the cobblestone streets of the historic and recently renovated meat packing district.  He was still busy and it was my last night in town so  I wondered away down the street hoping to find a sweet shop still open.

I was alone. The shops were closed. There was barely a taxi in sight.  This was not a typical night in New York.  Then I noticed a  couple acrossed the street dressed in plane clothing, looking up at street signs and seeming a bit confused. They were not locals.  They crossed the street and approached me.  The man asked “Do you know where the meat packing district is?”

“It’s actually here…I mean, you are kind of walking away from it, but it is back there where the cobble stone streets are.” As I spoke the woman sized me up..my blue ruffled dress, Madonna lace gloves, the small tobacco box that I carried as a purse. She said, “Oh my gosh I love your style! My daughter would just love your outfit! Where did you get that box?”

I told them about the flea market in Brooklyn built into an old bank vault that I had visited earlier that week and how I found such joy in shopping in New York and how I wish I had visited that shop from Sex and the City while I was there but couldn’t find the time and how I really couldn’t understand why nothing was open and that I just wanted to eat something sweet before meeting my friend.

She stared at me for a moment.  “Where are you from?” she asked.

For the first time I paused and responded simply “Hollywood”

“Oh My God!” She shouted as they both became noticeably excited, “Hollywood Florida?!!!”

“No” I chuckled “Hollywood, California”

“Oh my gosh! We are from Hollywood Florida! Isn’t that something?”

And I thought…in a city with a population of millions, on a Sunday night on a now quiet street on the last night of my trip and at the last moment I will most likely be asked “Where are you from” YES…indeed, that IS something.

What exactly is up for interpretation, but something indeed.

Hollywood

PS. May all of your dreams come true

me on that day

–adjective 1. existing in or formed by nature
Dictionary.com

I walked in and signed my name on a white sheet of paper attached to a clip board.   The girl behind the desk looked me in the eye, smiled, and said, “Hi! How are you?  Do you have any bank conflicts?”  She was happier than most casting assistants.  Enthusiastic?  I wouldn’t go that far, but she was warm , friendly and relaxed.  “Hmm,” I thought, “maybe she’s new.”

She handed me a dry erase board with my name, height, agency name and number.  I was lead into another room and instructed to stand on my mark (a piece of tape on the floor) smile naturally with no teeth holding the dry erase board at chest level.  I was instructed to “Just act natural.”

Behind the photographer who snapped away as I attempted not to act but to be natural, a team of clients sat at a table in the back of the room staring at me, at their computers, at their cell phones, at each other, until my last image was grabbed and I was dismissed.  As I left the room the casting director said, “All of your actor training comes down to that doesn’t it?”

“Is that true” I thought?  “Does all of my training come down to that…all of my training and my college degree and my years hustling and all of my life experience and all of my sweat and tears and laughter and blood and frustration and celebration and positivity and defeat and time and energy and thought and practice and…..does ALL of it come down to that?  Just act natural?”

What does that mean anyway?  If I’m acting natural is that acting?  Furthermore, why is it such a challenge to act natural?  Isn’t it supposed to be my natural state of being to be natural?  This doesn’t just apply to actors either.  In the workplace, at the super market, at the gym, out at the bars…isn’t it a better world if everyone is just acting natural?   It didn’t seem like a challenge for the casting assistant who signed me in.  Why was it so easy for her to act natural?

I forgot to mention that while I was signing in there was a baby left untended by his mother (who was there to audition) running down the hallway with a pen in each hand.  The casting director grabbed the baby and began to scream “Who’s kid is this? He’s running down the hall with these pens…WHERE IS HIS MOTHER?” Until at last he reunited the child with his confused actress Mom who was excused from the casting.  There was a lot going on and still the assistant naturally welcomed me and asked me to sign in.

I think that the key to booking work as an actor and one of the keys to success in life and to happiness and freedom is maybe that simple.  Life is good when you figure out your natural balance in the world and exist in that place.   Everything is at peace when you make peace with what is around you.  No amount of naked unattended babies running with loaded pens could shake that casting assistants natural balance.  As a result, my experience there was improved.  Because I had a good experience I took that positivity with me throughout my day.

Imagine if everyone found a natural state of inner peace and calmly went about life with intention and positivity.  Imagine if we all stopped the incessant thinking in our minds and actually tapped into what is naturally happening around us.

Another way to put it is “Just be yourself!” Motherly advice that seems to translate into every facet of life.   I guess it’s time to put some effort into finding out who we are so we can get back to just being ourselves and just acting naturaly.

For me, running always seems to get me there.  Off I go….

Hollywood

PS. Be Silly. Have Fun!

the system of principles, procedures and terms related to naming – which is the assigning of a word or phrase to a particular object or property.
-Wikipedia

Thank goodness my Mom gave me the middle name Ashleigh.  I rejected my first name (which I won’t mention) as early as I understood that that’s what people were going to be calling me for all of my time on Earth.  I later found out that my first name was one of my Dad’s high school sweethearts, so I never feel guilty for whatever suffering I caused in renouncing it.  For a while I made everyone call me “Kimberly” which my Mother explained was just confusing and selfish.  She suggested I go by my middle name, Ashleigh.   “Ashleigh” I told her “that’s pretty” I quickly stopped responding to Kimberly and strictly only responded to “Ashleigh” or “Ash” I kept the initial from my discarded first name and combined that with my Dad’s last name and  “C. Ashleigh Caldwell” became my name.

Four years ago I answered an add on Craiglist seeking a ride share to an art festival north of Reno, NV.   He was leaving the next day and for the first time in my life I was actually packed early and ready to go.  Without giving it too much thought, I agreed, showed up at his apartment, and then spent over 24 hours sweating off the summer heat in the passenger seat of his borrowed 1970′s Dodge RV which he referred to as “The Cosmic Bee.”   Spending that much time with a stranger sometimes results in “what was I thinking” but it was obvious, at least to me, that this is a man who seemed to understand me or at the very least seemed charmed by my endless stories and attempts to keep him entertained on our long journey.

When we arrived at the festival, he began referring to me as “Hollywood.”  He had, after all, just heard my whole life story and all of my experiences living in Hollywood for over 10 years.  Maybe he knew better than Mom and Dad just what I should respond to.  It felt fitting to me…I mean, I live in Hollywood.  I manage an artist community in the center of Hollywood.   I work in Hollywood.  I LOVE Hollywood.

He introduced me to new arrivals as such and he insisted that I camp with him and his friends.  We spent a subsequent 12  days together and another 24 hour drive home.  Ashleigh slowly faded away with the desert sun and was replaced by “Hollywood”

At an art festival where people go by names like “Ramona Mayhem”  “Admiral Pain Joy” and “Captain Nice Guy” the name “Hollywood” was never questioned and so I met and befriended 50 or so friends who knew me only as such.

Back here in Hollywood away from the dizzying heat of the Nevada desert my new name was rejected by a few, but at the end of the day enough people felt that it’s tongue and cheekiness fit me.  So now I respond to many names: “C” “Ashleigh” “Ash” “C. Ashleigh” “Hollywood” and now a shortened version of my nickname, “Holly”

No matter what you choose to call me, I’m glad you are here and I look forward to sharing my stories and life experiences with you.   Now it’s time to be silly and have some fun!  Off we go…

Hollywood

Picture of me at said art festival running my “Free Store”