VOTE FOR LAURA BUCKNER TO BE THE NEXT OPRAH!
http://myown.oprah.com/audition/index.html?request=video_details&response_id=17138&promo_id=1
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Does anyone offer teach Laura how to be sexy classes?
Last night I was cock-tailing for the AOL holiday party at the New York Stock Exchange. The front door had long, red carpets for the celebrities to walk down, and the line of paparazzi taking pictures. When it came seven o'clock, the camera lights illuminated the whole front entrance, as each important face walked through the door. I made sure to pass out drinks towards the entrance, in order to snag some eye contact and potential conversation with the elite of NYC.
My first victim was Brendan Fraser, asking me if that was water, and me telling him it was vodka. I knew what he really meant, " Can I take you on a date and make you famous?" I responded with my independent eyes, " No Mr. Fraser, I can't just use you for your money and fame, I want to be poor and I like having nobody know who I am." Actually, I am lying, our eyes were having so many conversations, I couldn't keep up. I hate when my eyes speak faster than my lips.
Then, I see these gorgeous pair of teeth walk towards me. They are white, glistening from the lights. I am suddenly blinded by the gorgeous pearly whites, but I still manage to offer them a cocktail. He says no thank you, and it is then and there, that I realize that this man is winking at me. It was a full of confidence wink. And this confident winker is P.Diddy formerly known as Puff Daddy. I tell him that his speech that he just made was beautiful, but I don't think he heard the last part of the sentence. It's hard to hear when you are walking away.
I tell the gentleman beside me, P.Diddy doesn't listen to me the way he use to. I think the gentlemen beside is also hired staff, and they will laugh at my wittiness, but no. No they are not hired staff, and no they were confused by my statement. I try and explain that I don't really know P.Diddy, etc, but the thing about a joke is if you have to explain it gets more and more painful. But, our conversation is luckily saved by an interruption by P.Diddy.
Turns out, I am talking to Jace the Great, which is a member of Bill Cosby's new rap group. He starts telling me how hard it is for an artist, I start telling him my sob story about not becoming famous in the five months I’ve been in NYC. He tells me, " There were days when I didn't think my life was going anywhere, but I would still rap. If you want to act, you have to make it an everyday thing, and ALWAYS do it. Don't stop doing it." He then told me, if I ever needed any advice to feel free to talk to him. I went on to tell him, if he ever wanted to turn my story into a rap song, just let me know.
However, I don't know if he wanted me to send mind messages to him or what. He didn't give me his contact information. But, regardless, Jace the Great, enjoyed my company and wished me the best of luck.
I ended the night feeling rather envious of the rich and famous. Dreaming of the day I would walk down the aisle of cameras, giving young people hope.
Suddenly, my daydream is interrupted by the vibration of my phone. It is the Executive Producer I've been working for. He asks me if I'd like to audition for the sexy vamp spokesmodel for Fuse TV. I tell him I can fit him in tomorrow at 11...he tells me to really "vamp it up"....
I wear my best lady gaga outfit, and prance on in there. I listen to hard core rap, to really get in touch with my sexy side. I walk into this room that is all white, and they tell me to walk with music and look side to side. I feel goofy, finding myself wanting to go into my 14 year old self, that makes it into a joke. But, I try and focus. I act like a tiger searching for prey. Perhaps, my catwalk was too much. I'll try again, now I'm like a flamingo resting in a pond, hopping down the aisle. Again, maybe this isn't sexy. I'm running out of animals, time and inspiration. I produce the last thing I have left to produce, a wolf lurking in a dark forest. Every man is driven crazy with desire when it comes to the wolf walk. When I get done, the casting director says to me, " Ok, that was good, now let's try to do it with confidence." Telling someone to do something with confidence is the equivalent of telling someone to not smell something because it stinks. Inevitably that person will be like, eww let me smell. And, nobody has ever in their life looked at a wolf and been like that's an insecure wolf. So, either I wasn't the wolf I imagined, or she's lying. I decide to just drop the wolf choice, and return to tiger in a cage. Before leaving, I pick up my pride that I accidently dropped on the floor.
I call my cheerleader, aka mom, and she tells me, " This seems to be coming up a lot, do you think you could find some classes that teach sexy."
Interesting. Very Interesting. I am now going to pay someone to teach me how to be sexy, and I am wondering if this is insulting or if it is like piano lessons. I was going to call my "friend" and ask him about my sexiness, but really someone can't know your ability unless you show them. He thinks I'm sexy when I'm reading a book, but I don't think I could bring a book on set.
Plus, nobody can know who you are or what you are capable of, only you know that. So, really we just look to other people's opinions to tell us what we already know about ourselves. Because we want affirmation in what we believe to already be true.
I had a spiritual mentor tell me one time how important fellowship is within a church. It is important to pray and have your intimate individual relationship with God, but it is also important to surround yourself with people that have the same beliefs as your own. I think this is true not only with your relationship to God, but with your relationship with yourself. It's important to have people that believe and see yourself as you see yourself.
Moral of the story: I'm looking for people to tell me I'm sexy.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Just call me Lassie....
After a long day's work, all you want is to sit down to a nice comforting meal. I live across the street from my grocery store, so in the evenings, I'll usually run in and get the essentials. I use to walk through the grocery check out line with an arm full of organic treats and kashi snacks. You know you're financially stable, when your grocery cart is full of fresh veggies, fresh hand cut fish filets, delicate pieces of fruit to dip in greek yogurt...a nice bottle of wine. ( Maybe a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery)....nice herbal teas, flavored coffee creamer.
Anyways, I was perusing the grocery store, enviously starring into other people's carts. I opened my wallet, just to make sure I still had my three dollars in quarters. So many choices, will I have ramen noodles, a can of tuna, or some vegetarian baked beans, or dog food? I am not going to lie, canned filet mignon does sound tasty. I put the beans in my basket, but secretly I was gazing and longing for the dog food.
This is when I realized, I have hit a new low. I am fantasizing about the taste of the sauce that glazes dog meat that is squeezed into a can. I decided to get myself under control, I will not eat dog meat. I grab the canned beans and left in a furious wind of hunger. The whole way to the exit door, the divine dog meat tempting and arousing my taste-buds.
I go to the gym to distract my hunger pains. I imagine myself on the side of the street with a sign that reads, " feed me" and people throw dog food at me, they think they are insulting me, but on the inside I am smiling. I smile because I am so happy to have meal, so happy that someone cared.
While I am running my little hungry body to starvation, I look up at the TV screen. It's the same dog food appearing in a commercial! It looks so tastey, the way it lays in that dog bowl. The way veggies are all mixed in with the meat. I am jealous of this dog. Not only does this dog have my acting career in commercial work, he is eating all the food he wants. He didn't do anything, except he was born a dog. I went to college to do what this damn dog is doing. And, the dog is eating better than me.
I didn't know rather to cry or laugh that I was jealous of lassie. I wonder if that dog has headshots, or a reel that he worked on forever. NO, cause that's silly. Nobody expects a dog to do work, all they need to do is show up.
If I was born a dog, I'd be the best dog ever. I'd let you love on me whenever you wanted. I'd eat and eat, and I'd always greet you when you came home with a smile. Not to mention, I'd make sure I was in every commercial. YOu would try and play fetch, and I would run to the studio instead. I would act all confused, how lost puppies do. But, I would know exactly where I was and what was going to happen next. I would accidently run into the studio. Accidently throw myself in front of the rolling camera, and hello new and improved lassie.
But instead I was created to be this girl that looks like every other ingenue, except the other ones can sing. And, the other one apparently can find survival jobs. Oh, the dogs and the actresses with their good food and commercial work.
I will be that dog one day, I know it!
Anyways, I was perusing the grocery store, enviously starring into other people's carts. I opened my wallet, just to make sure I still had my three dollars in quarters. So many choices, will I have ramen noodles, a can of tuna, or some vegetarian baked beans, or dog food? I am not going to lie, canned filet mignon does sound tasty. I put the beans in my basket, but secretly I was gazing and longing for the dog food.
This is when I realized, I have hit a new low. I am fantasizing about the taste of the sauce that glazes dog meat that is squeezed into a can. I decided to get myself under control, I will not eat dog meat. I grab the canned beans and left in a furious wind of hunger. The whole way to the exit door, the divine dog meat tempting and arousing my taste-buds.
I go to the gym to distract my hunger pains. I imagine myself on the side of the street with a sign that reads, " feed me" and people throw dog food at me, they think they are insulting me, but on the inside I am smiling. I smile because I am so happy to have meal, so happy that someone cared.
While I am running my little hungry body to starvation, I look up at the TV screen. It's the same dog food appearing in a commercial! It looks so tastey, the way it lays in that dog bowl. The way veggies are all mixed in with the meat. I am jealous of this dog. Not only does this dog have my acting career in commercial work, he is eating all the food he wants. He didn't do anything, except he was born a dog. I went to college to do what this damn dog is doing. And, the dog is eating better than me.
I didn't know rather to cry or laugh that I was jealous of lassie. I wonder if that dog has headshots, or a reel that he worked on forever. NO, cause that's silly. Nobody expects a dog to do work, all they need to do is show up.
If I was born a dog, I'd be the best dog ever. I'd let you love on me whenever you wanted. I'd eat and eat, and I'd always greet you when you came home with a smile. Not to mention, I'd make sure I was in every commercial. YOu would try and play fetch, and I would run to the studio instead. I would act all confused, how lost puppies do. But, I would know exactly where I was and what was going to happen next. I would accidently run into the studio. Accidently throw myself in front of the rolling camera, and hello new and improved lassie.
But instead I was created to be this girl that looks like every other ingenue, except the other ones can sing. And, the other one apparently can find survival jobs. Oh, the dogs and the actresses with their good food and commercial work.
I will be that dog one day, I know it!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Hair Nets aren't good for your self-esteem.
So, this upcoming story, is a story I am ashamed to tell. It is a story that happened a couple of weeks ago....
I want to add a disclaimer that, post this horror story, I was production coordinator for Katie Couric, and worked personally with her. By worked personally with her, I mean I watched her from a distance, and smiled at her when she looked my way. I even offered her a chip out of my favorite sun dried tomato sun chip bag. Then talked to her before and after the shoot, posed for pictures, discussed colon cancer.....
Ok, so now that i have earned your respect, and we both understand that I am a big deal, I feel I can continue with this story.
It was a sunny day full of promise. I was finally going to be seen as something other than a retarded waitress, that occasionally got your order right. I was going to be a tradeshow model for an up and coming multi millionaire dollar company. My ego was stroked, every time I told the story, to my peers, of what I had planned for the upcoming week for income. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I was going to be paid to be beautiful. I didn't know if hair and make up was provided, but that was okay. Because, they saw something in me, and maybe they thought my natural beauty would suffice.
The night before the big day, I laid out my outfit. You can never be too prepared when opportunity is knocking at your door ( Thank You John Shearin). I had my hair conditioned, with the good stuff, so it felt like mr. snuggles teddy bear on your finger tips. My make up, was flawless, laying out for a morning of application. My outfit, was ironed. Ok, that was a lie, but it was wrinkle free nonetheless.
They tell me to ride the subway to the hotel. To most, this would've been a red flag. I'm pretty sure Heidi Klum gets to ride a limo to her events, why do I get the subway? But, it's all a lesson in patience, so I remind myself, it's all baby steps.
I arrive at what I think will be a red carpet five star hotel, and to my surprise it is not. Instead it is a Marriot three star. I look around and see no one, not even a red carpet is lurking around in the distance. I ask the desk receptionist, where I should set up, she rolls her eyes at me and sends me to the basement. Again, Red flag number I lost count. And, I'll excuse the fact she doesn't know who I am yet. So me and my optimism take the stairs into a dark basement.
I see two older ladies sitting at the desk. Behind them is a mountain of hair nets. That's strange, the hairstylist got replaced by a hair net. It must be an event where they are making cafeteria lady the new thing. I keep seeing fashion shows like these in magazines, where they put them in homeless resembling clothes. She then proceeds to tell me to place this name tag on my shirt, where I write in permanent marker my name. I ask her, " Won't this mess up my outfit?" She laughs, and tells me it's just a sticker. RED FLAG!!! She then tells me to put my hair in a pony tail and hands me a hair net. I ask her in my sweetest southern tone, " Excuse me, but is this hair-net really nesscessary?" She aggressively attacks me with a, " OUR CLIENT REQUIRES IT!" Ok, so I'm wearing the hair net, no prob bob.
She tells me to go wait in the van. I go to the van. Where a gentleman picks me up. He tells me all about New York, and I immediately decide he should be my surrogate grandfather. He then takes me to the corner, and tells me to have fun. I assure him I will.
It was in this moment, I realize there is no fun to be had. I realize I have been lied to, deceived, and I have just been dropped off at a costco in the bronx. I am not a model. More importantly this is not a tradeshow. I try and chase grandaddy down, let me back into the van, let me rip this hair net off my head.
But, instead, granddad didn't see me. I now have no choice but to hand out food samples at Costco. Anyone that applies gets this job, I'm not special. And this damn hair net itches.
I decide to make the best of it, and make friends with one of the girls. On our break, us and our hairnets get a costco hotdog. But, when we get to the break room, she sits on the opposite side. I thought that was depressing in itself, but I was like story of my life. But, then, she starts staring at me. I smile and look down. She sat across the room staring at me the entire 30 minutes. So me and hairnet got creepers starring at us, while I sit in the breakroom of costco which is in the bronx. This is not how I envisioned this evening to unfold. Infact, this isn't really how I envisioned my life to unfold.
But, I keep my head up, because tomorrow I will be a back up dancer for Timbaland's new music video. Long story short, I get to the shoot, and they are SOOOO excited I am there, could I please run food over to dressing rooms. I politely ask when I should get ready, and they say, mumble. The answer to my question soon revealed to me that it was never. I wasn't going to be a tradeshow model, and I sure as hell wasn't going to be a backup dancer.
All I'm saying is my undergraduate training did not prepare me for hair net wearing and food delivery.
PS. Momma, I hope your still proud.
I want to add a disclaimer that, post this horror story, I was production coordinator for Katie Couric, and worked personally with her. By worked personally with her, I mean I watched her from a distance, and smiled at her when she looked my way. I even offered her a chip out of my favorite sun dried tomato sun chip bag. Then talked to her before and after the shoot, posed for pictures, discussed colon cancer.....
Ok, so now that i have earned your respect, and we both understand that I am a big deal, I feel I can continue with this story.
It was a sunny day full of promise. I was finally going to be seen as something other than a retarded waitress, that occasionally got your order right. I was going to be a tradeshow model for an up and coming multi millionaire dollar company. My ego was stroked, every time I told the story, to my peers, of what I had planned for the upcoming week for income. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I was going to be paid to be beautiful. I didn't know if hair and make up was provided, but that was okay. Because, they saw something in me, and maybe they thought my natural beauty would suffice.
The night before the big day, I laid out my outfit. You can never be too prepared when opportunity is knocking at your door ( Thank You John Shearin). I had my hair conditioned, with the good stuff, so it felt like mr. snuggles teddy bear on your finger tips. My make up, was flawless, laying out for a morning of application. My outfit, was ironed. Ok, that was a lie, but it was wrinkle free nonetheless.
They tell me to ride the subway to the hotel. To most, this would've been a red flag. I'm pretty sure Heidi Klum gets to ride a limo to her events, why do I get the subway? But, it's all a lesson in patience, so I remind myself, it's all baby steps.
I arrive at what I think will be a red carpet five star hotel, and to my surprise it is not. Instead it is a Marriot three star. I look around and see no one, not even a red carpet is lurking around in the distance. I ask the desk receptionist, where I should set up, she rolls her eyes at me and sends me to the basement. Again, Red flag number I lost count. And, I'll excuse the fact she doesn't know who I am yet. So me and my optimism take the stairs into a dark basement.
I see two older ladies sitting at the desk. Behind them is a mountain of hair nets. That's strange, the hairstylist got replaced by a hair net. It must be an event where they are making cafeteria lady the new thing. I keep seeing fashion shows like these in magazines, where they put them in homeless resembling clothes. She then proceeds to tell me to place this name tag on my shirt, where I write in permanent marker my name. I ask her, " Won't this mess up my outfit?" She laughs, and tells me it's just a sticker. RED FLAG!!! She then tells me to put my hair in a pony tail and hands me a hair net. I ask her in my sweetest southern tone, " Excuse me, but is this hair-net really nesscessary?" She aggressively attacks me with a, " OUR CLIENT REQUIRES IT!" Ok, so I'm wearing the hair net, no prob bob.
She tells me to go wait in the van. I go to the van. Where a gentleman picks me up. He tells me all about New York, and I immediately decide he should be my surrogate grandfather. He then takes me to the corner, and tells me to have fun. I assure him I will.
It was in this moment, I realize there is no fun to be had. I realize I have been lied to, deceived, and I have just been dropped off at a costco in the bronx. I am not a model. More importantly this is not a tradeshow. I try and chase grandaddy down, let me back into the van, let me rip this hair net off my head.
But, instead, granddad didn't see me. I now have no choice but to hand out food samples at Costco. Anyone that applies gets this job, I'm not special. And this damn hair net itches.
I decide to make the best of it, and make friends with one of the girls. On our break, us and our hairnets get a costco hotdog. But, when we get to the break room, she sits on the opposite side. I thought that was depressing in itself, but I was like story of my life. But, then, she starts staring at me. I smile and look down. She sat across the room staring at me the entire 30 minutes. So me and hairnet got creepers starring at us, while I sit in the breakroom of costco which is in the bronx. This is not how I envisioned this evening to unfold. Infact, this isn't really how I envisioned my life to unfold.
But, I keep my head up, because tomorrow I will be a back up dancer for Timbaland's new music video. Long story short, I get to the shoot, and they are SOOOO excited I am there, could I please run food over to dressing rooms. I politely ask when I should get ready, and they say, mumble. The answer to my question soon revealed to me that it was never. I wasn't going to be a tradeshow model, and I sure as hell wasn't going to be a backup dancer.
All I'm saying is my undergraduate training did not prepare me for hair net wearing and food delivery.
PS. Momma, I hope your still proud.
Friday, November 13, 2009
When did you give up on living?
Life is made up of hope. Nothing exists or will exist without it. Your hope turns into a belief and your belief is what makes everything real. So, I walk these dark at five in the evening streets. This is a side note, but I have lived twenty four years and have never experience it being dark a quarter till five. I can't help but blame this on being a New York thing. And, while we are on the subject, I do not like darkness. I don't like sitting in it, I don't like feeling it. The only thing the dark is good for is sleeping. And, I don't want to walk through my day feeling like it's bed time. So, sun, please come back into my life.
Anyways, I am walking along these dark cold streets. Reminds me, I don't like cold either. It's not becoming on me. I have to bundle up in six layers, and womble around. I don't like to womble. And, I have to wrap my scarf around my head like I represent the Muslim faith. People look at me, and I wonder sometimes if I'm going to be attacked, but I do plan on explaining that I have very delicate skin that can't with stand such intense temperatures. Therefor, I do wrap this thing around my head and face, as not to represent or mock their faith, put purely for survival purposes. I mean, I don't mean to sound high maintenance, but I do wish they would supply personal heaters for walking time. It's just not right to have to be so cold all the time.
So I'm walking down the dark and cold street. Another day of trying to be a discovered actress or discovered something. I give up everything for this damn art form. I give up my money, my lifestyle. I eat damn canned food for my art. I mean why can't Broadway be on the virgin islands, or somewhere warm and pleasant. But, no such luck there either.
So, another disappointing day on the train ride of life. I climb into this familiar subway, that use to be a foreign concept, but now is a daily routine. And I sit next to the new crazy of the day. At first glance, she looks like me and you. She has a coach purse that looks real. The only thing suspicious on her is her eyeshadow. It is applied rather thick, and by that, I mean it looks like she did paint by numbers. The black was really thick in her creases, and the white was really thick. Words don't explain the application of this eyeshadow. I just thought, " Oh, wish I could give her a make over." Then I continue starring at everyone else on the train.
Suddenly, I see her litter. She was on her fourth little debbie cup cake honey bun, and she throws the wrapper under her seat! I told her with my eyes to pick up that wrapper, or I would snap, but instead she throws down another one! I didn't have anything on me to retaliate with, so it turned out it was her lucky day. I do want to say though, I would loved to have had a handy portable trash can in my purse, I would've lightly tossed it toward her head. Maybe an aggressive tossed toward her head, depending on my mood, but I wouldn't of wanted the trash can to hurt her, just a thump to teach her.
But, then in mid day dream, I notice she has passed out. I realize this woman is littering because she is drunk and couldn't hold it in her limp hands any longer. She then finds the strength to open her zest crackers, but through opening them she passes out again. The battle continues, of her fighting for the crackers and her sleeping. The final attempt, she managed to get the crackers, by bringing her mouth to her hand, instead of vice versa. I was glad to see her win the cracker fight, I was about to tell the poor thing to just sit there and I'll feed her. I felt bad for her bread crumbed cheeks.
At what point did she decide that that was who she wanted to be when she grew up?
The thing I hate about this story, is it wasn't funny. It was real. It was real and it was sad and it's everywhere. There are hers on every street corner and it's all her fault. I don't know what went wrong. But, at some point she decided to stop fighting. She decided to not have hope. And the scariest part of that, is I have had those moments too where I'd like to give up. She is in all of us. We all have power, it may come easier to others, but we all have it.
This is going to sound like an awful segue, but a lot of times I confuse talent with power. More and more, I think talent doesn't exists, just like power doesn't exists, both are created.
Some people are more inclined to be powerful in certain areas. And, while it is important both professionally and relationally to listen to your inclinations, it's also important to not be defined by them. Really, the most powerful thing against us and for us, is our belief. If we give in to thinking we have lost our power, that is when the pieces fall, and we are left with zest cracker crumbs all over our cheeks. We are left with girls that don't know us, but when they grow up, they point you out of the crowd as the person they don't want to be.
I don't want to be her. I don't want her to be her. I don't want to see anyone lose hope. I don't want to see anyone not fight for what they want.
Moral of the Story: We can't let each other lose hope in our power of choice.
Because we can't afford to have people not follow through with their calling in life. We can't let people just live and take up space. It's not fair to them or us. What would the world be like if everyone made a goal of giving someone hope each day.
I know I live in fairyland, but I do think that's a nice thought.
Anyways, I am walking along these dark cold streets. Reminds me, I don't like cold either. It's not becoming on me. I have to bundle up in six layers, and womble around. I don't like to womble. And, I have to wrap my scarf around my head like I represent the Muslim faith. People look at me, and I wonder sometimes if I'm going to be attacked, but I do plan on explaining that I have very delicate skin that can't with stand such intense temperatures. Therefor, I do wrap this thing around my head and face, as not to represent or mock their faith, put purely for survival purposes. I mean, I don't mean to sound high maintenance, but I do wish they would supply personal heaters for walking time. It's just not right to have to be so cold all the time.
So I'm walking down the dark and cold street. Another day of trying to be a discovered actress or discovered something. I give up everything for this damn art form. I give up my money, my lifestyle. I eat damn canned food for my art. I mean why can't Broadway be on the virgin islands, or somewhere warm and pleasant. But, no such luck there either.
So, another disappointing day on the train ride of life. I climb into this familiar subway, that use to be a foreign concept, but now is a daily routine. And I sit next to the new crazy of the day. At first glance, she looks like me and you. She has a coach purse that looks real. The only thing suspicious on her is her eyeshadow. It is applied rather thick, and by that, I mean it looks like she did paint by numbers. The black was really thick in her creases, and the white was really thick. Words don't explain the application of this eyeshadow. I just thought, " Oh, wish I could give her a make over." Then I continue starring at everyone else on the train.
Suddenly, I see her litter. She was on her fourth little debbie cup cake honey bun, and she throws the wrapper under her seat! I told her with my eyes to pick up that wrapper, or I would snap, but instead she throws down another one! I didn't have anything on me to retaliate with, so it turned out it was her lucky day. I do want to say though, I would loved to have had a handy portable trash can in my purse, I would've lightly tossed it toward her head. Maybe an aggressive tossed toward her head, depending on my mood, but I wouldn't of wanted the trash can to hurt her, just a thump to teach her.
But, then in mid day dream, I notice she has passed out. I realize this woman is littering because she is drunk and couldn't hold it in her limp hands any longer. She then finds the strength to open her zest crackers, but through opening them she passes out again. The battle continues, of her fighting for the crackers and her sleeping. The final attempt, she managed to get the crackers, by bringing her mouth to her hand, instead of vice versa. I was glad to see her win the cracker fight, I was about to tell the poor thing to just sit there and I'll feed her. I felt bad for her bread crumbed cheeks.
At what point did she decide that that was who she wanted to be when she grew up?
The thing I hate about this story, is it wasn't funny. It was real. It was real and it was sad and it's everywhere. There are hers on every street corner and it's all her fault. I don't know what went wrong. But, at some point she decided to stop fighting. She decided to not have hope. And the scariest part of that, is I have had those moments too where I'd like to give up. She is in all of us. We all have power, it may come easier to others, but we all have it.
This is going to sound like an awful segue, but a lot of times I confuse talent with power. More and more, I think talent doesn't exists, just like power doesn't exists, both are created.
Some people are more inclined to be powerful in certain areas. And, while it is important both professionally and relationally to listen to your inclinations, it's also important to not be defined by them. Really, the most powerful thing against us and for us, is our belief. If we give in to thinking we have lost our power, that is when the pieces fall, and we are left with zest cracker crumbs all over our cheeks. We are left with girls that don't know us, but when they grow up, they point you out of the crowd as the person they don't want to be.
I don't want to be her. I don't want her to be her. I don't want to see anyone lose hope. I don't want to see anyone not fight for what they want.
Moral of the Story: We can't let each other lose hope in our power of choice.
Because we can't afford to have people not follow through with their calling in life. We can't let people just live and take up space. It's not fair to them or us. What would the world be like if everyone made a goal of giving someone hope each day.
I know I live in fairyland, but I do think that's a nice thought.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Turkey Killer
It's funny that people move to New York City to be heard and seen. You could bark in front of a New Yorker, you could bark and run circles and be naked, and they wouldn't flinch. They are use to the attention whores , the crazies, the penny hunters.
However, as performers and musicians, we still reside here, because to be seen here is an accomplishment. We love the chase, we love to create something that will grab your attention in a way that nobody or anything else has. The chase forces us to act in creative ways, because nobody is going to hand out anything here just because you have a pretty picture. So, if someone see's something in you, it's because you put it in there face, and made it appear to be something that would benefit them.
So, in the privacy of his own home, he decided that the world didn't need another headshot submission, that perhaps what they needed was a good laugh. Perhaps, the good laugh would get him farther than his pretty head shot or on point monologue. He knew he could rap, he knew he could make people laugh. So, he decided to marry the two and make a funny rap video. He decided that he would during this 2009 holiday season, claim his title as THE TURKEY KILLER.
Now, what is admirable about this little character of a man, is normally people would throw this idea out there and never do anything with it. But he wrote the rap song, he produced the song, he found a sound engineer, he hired a media production group... all in good faith that it would make you laugh.
Even if you don't laugh, which I don't know how you can't laugh at some good wholesome turkey killing.Or, a woman trying to seduce a man with cranberry dressing or seductively eating a chunky piece turkey breast.But, my favorite part is creepy mc creepers singing the opening song, and then randomly standing in the background waiting to attack any turkey with her guitar. And, just so you know, she is actually a gorgeous girl, which just goes to show what some make up and acting can do. Regardless, it's funny and it is respectable that someone would dream up the idea, and follow through with it.
So watch it, buy it on itunes, but mostly enjoy it. Because, the dude worked hard for it and put a lot of faith into it. For that anyone should buy the album!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZyLEq_kOIY
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Sir Boogie PICK-A-LOT
Today, on subway adventures, we have a special guest " Sir Boogie-pick -a -lot" joining us today. Upon first meeting sir pick a lot, I thought it might me a short pick. Maybe a little quick tug of war, while no one was looking. But, no, no such luck.
I enter the subway, looking around for a seat. Lucky for me there was one available next to a strapping young man. This young man wore designer lables. He looked around my age, however the mixture of gray in his hair made me wonder if maybe he was an older man trapped in a younger man's body.
I cozy on up in my seat, pull out my newest subway read, and take a deep breath. Aw what a peaceful train ride this is going to be, I assured myself.
Right then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the same strapping young man is violently picking his nose. As he starts his marathon gold dig, I quickly look at him, in order to make sure he catches the terror in my eye.
Now, it is one thing to pick your nose in the privacy of your own home, but in such close vicinity to me and my seat, is just unheard of and rude. I quickly gather my things and move to another seat, letting him know I do not approve of his behavior. When I move he stops picking, and I triumph, for I have made booger picker stop his cruel behaviors.
Aw, now it's back to me and my book. Until, again I am interrupted, because his arm quickly moves from nose, to lap, to now hair. He is playing with his hair, without wiping off the booger residue.
Now boogie hair is really a whole other story. Does he not know there are kids around. More importantly does he not know I am around. I want to scream stop, as he rotates from picking and petting his head. He teases me, I think he is finally done with this sick routine. GET HAND OUT OF NOSE! I mean I'm right here. Then she enters....
When I say she, I mean Heidi Klum herself. I mean this tall beautiful blonde that has everything put together, from the big bag to the tights to the slight heel on her tall boots. Her hair is perfect and she has her ipod in, she's probably listening to Chopin or Bach...She's just a well groomed girl. I bet she plans things and follows through with her plans. Aside from my personal girl crush on this woman, I realize this is the real test...
Will Sir boogie picker stop, when America's next Top Model is sitting right in front of him?
He makes eye contact with her. He too, notices her boots and well groomed everything. He nervously twirls his hair, there is still no insertion of hand to nose. Model Heidi isn't aware where that hand has been, to her he looks normal. Little does she know, that I know, we have a booger picker on our hands. No need to worry Model Klum, I'm already working on saving the world from yet another disastrous pick fest.
He actually looks really stressed out, that's probably why poor baby has gray hair to begin with. OH.... The booger picking is his nervous tick. Record time, it has now been five minutes and there has still been no hand to nose intercourse. I'm slightly insulted that he controlled his booger picking nervous tick with her, but with me it was full force, both hands in nose, non stop pick-a-thon.
I want to ask him, being insulted, why he stopped for her and not me? Story of my life. I'm the girl who dates the booger picker, because I realize that it's a nervous tick and love him for it anyways. Then, he dumps me. But, for the next girl, he wouldn't dare pick his nose in front of her and she tells everyone that not once in her life has she seen his hand in his nose. She doesn't even see him ever use tissue, because he doesn't have booger issues with her.
I want to tell him, excuse me, I'm worth it. I deserve to have you use tissue. I deserve for you to not have booger issues while I am around. I decide that I will not verbalize this, but he will know with my eyes, that I will not continue this subway ride with him and be the girl that understands that it is just a nervous tick. And, if I have to, I will get out at an earlier stop and walk 1.2 miles more, if it means I have made my self liberated point.
Of course he got off before I could prove my point. I never get the last word. I didn't change him. What did I do wrong? Was it the smell of work clothes, the coffee stains on my shirt? Was it the uncombed hair, the pen and paper that watched his every moved and analyzed it?
It's not me, it's him. Not every story has a moral, so sometimes we create our own morals, as to not make it a pointless adventure. The moral of booger picker train ride, maybe you should put yourself together before entering the world. We teach people what our standard of living is...If I let my flaws hang out, then it allows other people to let their flaws hang out. And, some flaws shouldn't hang out upon first encounter. In fact most flaws shouldn't come out until you are a long long way down the subway road of life.
I enter the subway, looking around for a seat. Lucky for me there was one available next to a strapping young man. This young man wore designer lables. He looked around my age, however the mixture of gray in his hair made me wonder if maybe he was an older man trapped in a younger man's body.
I cozy on up in my seat, pull out my newest subway read, and take a deep breath. Aw what a peaceful train ride this is going to be, I assured myself.
Right then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the same strapping young man is violently picking his nose. As he starts his marathon gold dig, I quickly look at him, in order to make sure he catches the terror in my eye.
Now, it is one thing to pick your nose in the privacy of your own home, but in such close vicinity to me and my seat, is just unheard of and rude. I quickly gather my things and move to another seat, letting him know I do not approve of his behavior. When I move he stops picking, and I triumph, for I have made booger picker stop his cruel behaviors.
Aw, now it's back to me and my book. Until, again I am interrupted, because his arm quickly moves from nose, to lap, to now hair. He is playing with his hair, without wiping off the booger residue.
Now boogie hair is really a whole other story. Does he not know there are kids around. More importantly does he not know I am around. I want to scream stop, as he rotates from picking and petting his head. He teases me, I think he is finally done with this sick routine. GET HAND OUT OF NOSE! I mean I'm right here. Then she enters....
When I say she, I mean Heidi Klum herself. I mean this tall beautiful blonde that has everything put together, from the big bag to the tights to the slight heel on her tall boots. Her hair is perfect and she has her ipod in, she's probably listening to Chopin or Bach...She's just a well groomed girl. I bet she plans things and follows through with her plans. Aside from my personal girl crush on this woman, I realize this is the real test...
Will Sir boogie picker stop, when America's next Top Model is sitting right in front of him?
He makes eye contact with her. He too, notices her boots and well groomed everything. He nervously twirls his hair, there is still no insertion of hand to nose. Model Heidi isn't aware where that hand has been, to her he looks normal. Little does she know, that I know, we have a booger picker on our hands. No need to worry Model Klum, I'm already working on saving the world from yet another disastrous pick fest.
He actually looks really stressed out, that's probably why poor baby has gray hair to begin with. OH.... The booger picking is his nervous tick. Record time, it has now been five minutes and there has still been no hand to nose intercourse. I'm slightly insulted that he controlled his booger picking nervous tick with her, but with me it was full force, both hands in nose, non stop pick-a-thon.
I want to ask him, being insulted, why he stopped for her and not me? Story of my life. I'm the girl who dates the booger picker, because I realize that it's a nervous tick and love him for it anyways. Then, he dumps me. But, for the next girl, he wouldn't dare pick his nose in front of her and she tells everyone that not once in her life has she seen his hand in his nose. She doesn't even see him ever use tissue, because he doesn't have booger issues with her.
I want to tell him, excuse me, I'm worth it. I deserve to have you use tissue. I deserve for you to not have booger issues while I am around. I decide that I will not verbalize this, but he will know with my eyes, that I will not continue this subway ride with him and be the girl that understands that it is just a nervous tick. And, if I have to, I will get out at an earlier stop and walk 1.2 miles more, if it means I have made my self liberated point.
Of course he got off before I could prove my point. I never get the last word. I didn't change him. What did I do wrong? Was it the smell of work clothes, the coffee stains on my shirt? Was it the uncombed hair, the pen and paper that watched his every moved and analyzed it?
It's not me, it's him. Not every story has a moral, so sometimes we create our own morals, as to not make it a pointless adventure. The moral of booger picker train ride, maybe you should put yourself together before entering the world. We teach people what our standard of living is...If I let my flaws hang out, then it allows other people to let their flaws hang out. And, some flaws shouldn't hang out upon first encounter. In fact most flaws shouldn't come out until you are a long long way down the subway road of life.
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