day six: don't let go

On Sunday (day six), I went to watch Gravity on IMAX 3D.  It was good - I would give it an B+ or A-.  The visuals were awe-inspiring.  While watching it, you just take it for granted it that you ARE in outer space.  I didn't even question that, wait, you can't really film in outer space - can you?  But then as impressed as I was, I was oddly not swept away by the movie.  It wasn't that I didn't care - I love Sandra Bullock - always have, and I did root for her.  But yet, I didn't get that feeling that I kept waiting for - to tell me that man, I love this movie.  I usually get that feeling when I am touched somehow, and Gravity, even with Sandra Bullock's sad mom story, didn't really touch me.  It had all the elements (an individual with a broken heart fighting the odds to survive AND to be reborn, to both let go (of the past) and not let go (of life and the future)), so it should have touched me but somehow it didn't.  My heart didn't sing.  So in the end I was more in awe than in love.  Anyways, it's still a must watch on IMAX 3D.  (But do watch it on bargain matinee because normal IMAX 3D prices are ridiculous; people who are forced to take off days without pay cannot afford to pay full price.)

Check out these awesome alternate Gravity movie posters here.   

day five: my open letter to miley

Dear Miley:

This is my open letter to you, to implore you to use your twerking powers to get me back to work.  I am so tired of eating instant ramen for lunch for fear of not knowing how long this will last.  I haven't bought anything online this whole week.  I even began cleaning my house as a means of distraction.  Yesterday, I steamed mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors.  I then watched youtube videos of old school hip hop like Doug E. Fresh and the whole Roxanne's war thingy.  Man, that's good stuff.  I think I actually like The Real Roxanne the best.  I wish it were the 80's now - it's been a while since I heard a good "Yo mama's so fat" joke.  After I was done reliving my old beatboxing days, I re-arranged my thimble collection - from chronological to country of origin.  Yeah, I was driving myself batty, especially when I couldn't remember whether this one thimble came from Denmark or Finland - those Scandinavian countries always trip me up.  Yesterday night though I did break down and went out to dinner at Armadillo Willy's and spent $20.  I had baby back ribs with chipotle BBQ sauce, corn salad, and cornbread muffin with cinnamon butter, but every bite came with overwhelming guilt.  I should have spread out that meal, into three. What if my money doesn't last me?  What if I have to pawn my thimbles?  I dunno - it was just maddening.  It's not all bad news though.  Yesterday just like an angel sent from heaven, Amazon Local  sent me a promotional postcard with a $10 off discount code.  I can use this to buy a local restaurant coupon.  For example, I can buy a $12 coupon to redeem for $25 worth of food at La Salsa, so my outlay will only be $2.  Yeah, Amazon is so amazing that it knows these are times of need for me.  Thank you Amazon.  You are a good friend.  Thank you for the support and understanding. When times get better, I will go back to my regular shopping habits and be a good friend back again.

Anyways, getting back to topic: please, Miley, use your twerking powers for good and not evil (like making fun of poor crazy Aunt Sinead and her mental illness - she means well; she's just like one of those crazy aunts at Thanksgiving table who keeps rambling on after everyone has stopped listening).  Nobody understands the power of twerking and riding naked on a wrecking ball more than you (though I hope you did disinfect that ball first - you never know where construction machinery has been).  I mean, you did mastermind this whole career move, and now you are the biggest, most talked-about celebrity in the world (aside from that crazy Kiwi - Lorde - whose damn song Royals is cock-blocking you at #1 on the iTunes charts; seriously how the hell do you even pronounce Lorde - is it Lord or Lordy? - and what is up with the buttoned up shirts she wears? - eww).  But as your other aunt, Auntie Madonna, says as part of her secretprojectrevolution (yup all one word), art can change the world.  You should use your art to make change. You can change the world with your omnipotent twerking and your almighty tongue and your giant masturbating foam finger.  Exactly how, I am not so sure.  The other night, Auntie Madonna and Anderson Cooper in an interview quoted some dude named James Baldwin saying that "Only the artist can truly see and describe the human condition."  It's all a little above my head - I am just a common man.  You, on the other hand, ARE an Artist, and a strategist.  Whatever you need to do, I believe in you.  Aunt Sinead may not understand - she still thinks a shaved head and a soulful four-minute stare into the camera will get you attention.  Lady, the 1990's have long gone the way of Beanie Babies.  Now you have to do soulful stare sans clothes.  Aunt Sinead's got it wrong.  It's not about prostitution; it's about baring yourself literally and metaphorically.  But you know better, and you can't stop.  So show the world - it's your party and you can do what you want.  It's your party and you can say what you want.

Take a wrecking ball to this deadlock.  My thimble collection begs of you.

By the way, I hope you can see my jinx on Thor's brother is working just fine - Paranoia was dunzo before you can even say "Why is Gary Oldman in this?"  Just saying - you might owe me one.

Sincerely,
An instant ramen eater

day four: like a truth

This was released on the internet yesterday.  This is a Madonna essay that will appear on the new Harper's Bazaar.  It's a good read.  It reminds me of the journey of this woman's life - how a girl from Michigan who went to New York with $35 in her pocket became a superstar.  It wasn't an easy ride for sure.  There were a lot of lean and mean years in New York.  Imagine if she had given up and gone home at any point during those years.  This girl is tough, and she wanted it bad.  And she did it.  She, of all the megastars out there now, is truly a self-made woman.

TRUTH OR DARE?

That is a catchphrase that's often associated with me. I made a documentary film with this title, and it has stuck to me like flypaper ever since. It's a fun game to play if you're in the mood to take risks, and usually I am. However, you have to play with a clever group of people. Otherwise you'll find yourself French-kissing everyone in the room or giving blow jobs to Evian bottles!

People usually choose "truth" when it's their turn because you can tell a lie about yourself and no one will be the wiser, but when you are dared to do something, you have to actually do it. And doing something daring is a rather scary proposition for most people. Yet for some strange reason, it has become my raison d'être.

If I can't be daring in my work or the way I live my life, then I don't really see the point of being on this planet.

That may sound rather extremist, but growing up in a suburb in the Midwest was all I needed to understand that the world was divided into two categories: people who followed the status quo and played it safe, and people who threw convention out the window and danced to the beat of a different drum. I hurled myself into the second category, and soon discovered that being a rebel and not conforming doesn't make you very popular. In fact, it does the opposite. You are viewed as a suspicious character. A troublemaker. Someone dangerous.

When you're 15, this can feel a little uncomfortable. Teenagers want to fit in on one hand and be rebellious on the other. Drinking beer and smoking weed in the parking lot of my high school was not my idea of being rebellious, because that's what everybody did. And I never wanted to do what everybody did. I thought it was cooler to not shave my legs or under my arms. I mean, why did God give us hair there anyways? Why didn't guys have to shave there? Why was it accepted in Europe but not in America? No one could answer my questions in a satisfactory manner, so I pushed the envelope even further. I refused to wear makeup and tied scarves around my head like a Russian peasant. I did the opposite of what all the other girls were doing, and I turned myself into a real man repeller. I dared people to like me and my nonconformity.

That didn't go very well. Most people thought I was strange. I didn't have many friends; I might not have had any friends. But it all turned out good in the end, because when you aren't popular and you don't have a social life, it gives you more time to focus on your future. And for me, that was going to New York to become a REAL artist. To be able to express myself in a city of nonconformists. To revel and shimmy and shake in a world and be surrounded by daring people.

New York wasn't everything I thought it would be. It did not welcome me with open arms. The first year, I was held up at gunpoint. Raped on the roof of a building I was dragged up to with a knife in my back, and had my apartment broken into three times. I don't know why; I had nothing of value after they took my radio the first time.

The tall buildings and the massive scale of New York took my breath away. The sizzling-hot sidewalks and the noise of the traffic and the electricity of the people rushing by me on the streets was a shock to my neurotransmitters. I felt like I had plugged into another universe. I felt like a warrior plunging my way through the crowds to survive. Blood pumping through my veins, I was poised for survival. I felt alive.

But I was also scared shitless and freaked out by the smell of piss and vomit everywhere, especially in the entryway of my third-floor walk-up.

And all the homeless people on the street. This wasn't anything I prepared for in Rochester, Michigan. Trying to be a professional dancer, paying my rent by posing nude for art classes, staring at people staring at me naked. Daring them to think of me as anything but a form they were trying to capture with their pencils and charcoal. I was defiant. Hell-bent on surviving. On making it. But it was hard and it was lonely, and I had to dare myself every day to keep going. Sometimes I would play the victim and cry in my shoe box of a bedroom with a window that faced a wall, watching the pigeons shit on my windowsill. And I wondered if it was all worth it, but then I would pull myself together and look at a postcard of Frida Kahlo taped to my wall, and the sight of her mustache consoled me. Because she was an artist who didn't care what people thought. I admired her. She was daring. People gave her a hard time. Life gave her a hard time. If she could do it, then so could I.

When you're 25, it's a little bit easier to be daring, especially if you are a pop star, because eccentric behavior is expected from you. By then I was shaving under my arms, but I was also wearing as many crucifixes around my neck as I could carry, and telling people in interviews that I did it because I thought Jesus was sexy. Well, he was sexy to me, but I also said it to be provocative. I have a funny relationship with religion. I'm a big believer in ritualistic behavior as long as it doesn't hurt anybody. But I'm not a big fan of rules. And yet we cannot live in a world without order. But for me, there is a difference between rules and order. Rules people follow without question. Order is what happens when words and actions bring people together, not tear them apart. Yes, I like to provoke; it's in my DNA. But nine times out of 10, there's a reason for it.

At 35, I was divorced and looking for love in all the wrong places. I decided that I needed to be more than a girl with gold teeth and gangster boyfriends. More than a sexual provocateur imploring girls not to go for second-best baby. I began to search for meaning and a real sense of purpose in life. I wanted to be a mother, but I realized that just because I was a freedom fighter didn't mean I was qualified to raise a child. I decided I needed to have a spiritual life. That's when I discovered Kabbalah.

They say that when the student is ready, the teacher appears, and I'm afraid that cliché applied to me as well. That was the next daring period of my life. In the beginning I sat at the back of the classroom. I was usually the only female. Everyone looked very serious. Most of the men wore suits and kippahs. No one noticed me and no one seemed to care, and that suited me just fine. What the teacher was saying blew my mind. Resonated with me. Inspired me. We were talking about God and heaven and hell, but I didn't feel like religious dogma was being shoved down my throat. I was learning about science and quantum physics. I was reading Aramaic. I was studying history. I was introduced to an ancient wisdom that I could apply to my life in a practical way. And for once, questions and debate were encouraged. This was my kind of place.

When the world discovered I was studying Kabbalah, I was accused of joining a cult. I was accused of being brainwashed. Of giving away all my money. I was accused of all sorts of crazy things. If I became a Buddhist—put an altar in my house and started chanting "Nam-myoho-renge-kyo"—no one would have bothered me at all. I mean no disrespect to Buddhists, but Kabbalah really freaked people out. It still does. Now, you would think that studying the mystical interpretation of the Old Testament and trying to understand the secrets of the universe was a harmless thing to do. I wasn't hurting anybody. Just going to class, taking notes in my spiral notebook, contemplating my future. I was actually trying to become a better person.

For some reason, that made people nervous. It made people mad. Was I doing something dangerous? It forced me to ask myself, Is trying to have a relationship with God daring? Maybe it is.

When I was 45, I was married again, with two children and living in England. I consider moving to a foreign country to be a very daring act. It wasn't easy for me. Just because we speak the same language doesn't mean we speak the same language. I didn't understand that there was still a class system. I didn't understand pub culture. I didn't understand that being openly ambitious was frowned upon. Once again I felt alone. But I stuck it out and I found my way, and I grew to love English wit, Georgian architecture, sticky toffee pudding, and the English countryside. There is nothing more beautiful than the English countryside.

Then I decided that I had an embarrassment of riches and that there were too many children in the world without parents or families to love them. I applied to an international adoption agency and went through all the bureaucracy, testing, and waiting that everyone else goes through when they adopt. As fate would have it, in the middle of this process a woman reached out to me from a small country in Africa called Malawi, and told me about the millions of children orphaned by AIDS. Before you could say "Zikomo Kwambiri," I was in the airport in Lilongwe heading to an orphanage in Mchinji, where I met my son David. And that was the beginning of another daring chapter of my life. I didn't know that trying to adopt a child was going to land me in another shit storm. But it did. I was accused of kidnapping, child trafficking, using my celebrity muscle to jump ahead in the line, bribing government officials, witchcraft, you name it. Certainly I had done something illegal!

This was an eye-opening experience. A real low point in my life. I could get my head around people giving me a hard time for simulating masturbation onstage or publishing my Sex book, even kissing Britney Spears at an awards show, but trying to save a child's life was not something I thought I would be punished for. Friends tried to cheer me up by telling me to think of it all as labor pains that we all have to go through when we give birth. This was vaguely comforting. In any case, I got through it. I survived.

When I adopted Mercy James, I put my armor on. I tried to be more prepared. I braced myself. This time I was accused by a female Malawian judge that because I was divorced, I was an unfit mother. I fought the supreme court and I won. It took almost another year and many lawyers. I still got the shit kicked out of me, but it didn't hurt as much. And looking back, I do not regret one moment of the fight.

One of the many things I learned from all of this: If you aren't willing to fight for what you believe in, then don't even enter the ring.

Ten years later, here I am, divorced and living in New York. I have been blessed with four amazing children. I try to teach them to think outside the box. To be daring. To choose to do things because they are the right thing to do, not because everybody else is doing them. I have started making films, which is probably the most challenging and rewarding thing I have ever done. I am building schools for girls in Islamic countries and studying the Qur'an. I think it is important to study all the holy books. As my friend Yaman always tells me, a good Muslim is a good Jew, and a good Jew is a good Christian, and so forth. I couldn't agree more. To some people this is a very daring thought.

As life goes on (and thank goodness it has), the idea of being daring has become the norm for me. Of course, this is all about perception because asking questions, challenging people's ideas and belief systems, and defending those who don't have a voice have become a part of my everyday life. In my book, it is normal.

In my book, everyone is doing something daring. Please open this book. I dare you.

day three: afghangstas paradise

Since I am sure I can only write so much about cleaning my stove/sink and getting oil change on my Honda and going to Walgreens to pick up photos and prescriptions (that was a quick summary of unpaid vacation day three), I decided to write instead about my favorite show.   

Amazing Race (23!!!) is back.  For me, it's the fastest hour on tv.  I just love watching this show.  So one team - the boring father/daughter team - is already gone.  After only one week's impression, here is my wish list on how the teams will do:


10. Leo and Jamal (the Afghan-imals - the requisite annoying team) - The animal calls or whatever they are have got to stop!!!  And what the heck is a Afghan-imal?  That's not a thing.  (And why do they have African American first names?) 


9. Jason and Amy (the snowplow company owner and girlfriend - the requisite boring dating couple) - Totally forgettable.  Everytime they are shown, I have to remind myself who they are.


8. Nicky and Kim (the baseball wives - the requisite athlete spouses) - I cannot tell them apart from each other. 


7. Ally and Ashley (the LA Kings Ice Crew girls - the requisite high-maintenance blonde bimbos) - Extra points for keeping their makeup and hair so perfect raising around the world.  P.S. I cannot tell them apart from each other.


6. Chester and Ephraim (the ex-football players - the requisite black team) - Kinda likable/jovial but least likely to do well in swimming challenges.


5. Rowan and Shane (the theatre guys - the requisite gays) - The bigger one remind me of Cam on Modern Family.


4. Brandon and Adam (the beard lovers/requisite counter-culture weirdos) - Hot tubbing in the woods all the way!


3. Travis and Nicole (the married ER docs - the other requisite black team or the requisite competent, smart, level-headed couple) - I like how cool, calm and collected she comes across.  Seemingly the team to beat but then they misread the clue to first pit stop and incurred a 30 minute penalty which cost them first place.


2. Tim and Marie (the fitness trainer and her sports marketing ex boyfriend - the requisite super-competitive, hot-headed, bickering couple) - Oh the drama they will cause!  Yes, she WILL be annoying.


1. Tim and Danny (the oil field workers - the requisite working class guys) -Actually they don't seem all that competitive, but I am a sucker for working class guys who's got sick family members at home.  Go oil field workers!
  

day two: expresso shot the sheriff

Woke up at usual time (5am) and, because I am an addict, ordered five package opening knives/scissor thingies from Home Depot because they are discounted to $1 each.  Got email cancellation for three units but pickup notice for remaining two.  Blogged about yesterday - day one of no work (how meta of me - blogging about blogging).  Made plain oatmeal - it's what I eat about four days a week now for breakfast. Trust me - oatmeal does help lower cholesterol, but you don't want to eat those sweetened loaded oatmeals every morning.  Then I showered and pick up LL to go shopping at Grocery Outlet.  It was my first trip there, and I think I found my new go-to store.  I bought Tarte Asian Yogurt for $.50, Quaker's Real Medleys oatmeal cups for $.33, cantaloupes for $.50, and a pork loin for $3.  And they had this Bob Marley bottled coffee for $.50 - it's called One Drop.  I kept thinking of other Marley inspired coffee names - like No Coffee No Cry, Expresso Shot The Sheriff, and Stir It Up (no change necessary - I guess).  After Grocery Outlet, went to Costco for $1.50 hot dog lunch and then off to Home Depot to pick up my items.  The knives/scissors looked like they were returns.  The packagings were barely intact, and the items were used and dirty.  But I decided to keep them anyways, because they were only a buck each.  I came home and spent a few hours in the afternoon in the yard pruning the lemon tree.  It was due for a good trimming.  I started off kinda careful but after a little while just went for it.  After dinner, I watched Survivor, The Chew (recorded from earlier in the day), Rebel Wilson's Super Fun Night (I like it - funny enough and she and her gang are kinda endearing), and Top Chef.  And that was it - day two done.  Tomorrow is another day in testing my self control.  

big tasty

(insert your own beatboxing)
My name is Barry
but they call me Big Tasty
I am the number one rapper
in the U.S.-asty
My rhymes are fresh
my flow is hasty
You'll be eatin up my words
like a fresh baked pastry
When I say Big
you say Tasty...

from the Goldbergs

day one: motorcycle gang diaries

Day one of forced unpaid vacation:  Went into work for two hours.  Came back home, felt too guilty about doing anything, fought urges (successfully) to buy X-Files complete series dvd set that is on sale as Amazon deal of the day, went to Walgreens to load commuter card, went to Eggettes using a $5 gift certificate I had in my wallet and ate eggette and iced lychee Thai tea for lunch (net out of pocket - a quarter), came home and got hungry again so made instant ramen by mid-afternoon, lounged around til dinner, then watched The O.C. s1, ep2 on dvd, Judge Judy (I love it when she flippantly says to the plantiff, So what do you want?), Agents of Shield (still feels more like Avengers-Whedon than Buffy- or Firefly-Whedon - translation:  not as good), The Goldbergs (love it - it's hilarious) and was going to watch Trophy Wife but then fell asleep.

Oh in between somewhere in there, I listened to the free iTunes stream of Miley Cyrus' new album Bangerz.  (I know, but I actually like Wrecking Ball the song - avoiding the video due to fear of blindness or at least some kind of venereal disease from watching).  I also watched the video of the incident with the Range Rover and the motorcycle gang that occurred in NY over the weekend - craziness.  I wonder what I will do if I get surrounded by a motorcycle gang inside my Range Rover.  I will probably activate the poison spray feature.