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Category Archives: Memories
Why the Long Face?
I hate clowns.
There I said it. To those who are clowns, are in love with a clown, or participate in various clown-support groups, you have my apologies. But I really, Really, REALLY hate clowns.
It is the one bigotry that I allow myself because you see, I don’t discriminate amongst clowns. I lump them in one group. Well, that isn’t 100% true. I am speaking of painted clowns. If you are just a clumsy guy prat-falling in too big pants, I don’t hate you. But if you are smearing white grease paint all over and placing a big red nose on — well, then I hate you. It matters not whether you are a sad clown or a happy clown. I really, Really, REALLY hate you. (Did I already say that? Well, it bears saying again!)
So why the animosity, Traci? Can’t a grown man wear exaggerated make-up in peace? We’re only trying to make you smile after all.
Because you scare the s@*t out of me! I have been scared of clowns for as long as I can remember. It started with a Jack-in-the Box. Why do we give those evil toys to children? I would wind it and wind it hearing that “prickling of thumbs” music get faster and faster waiting in fear and in anticipation for that God-forsaken blue polka-dot adorned clown to pop right out at me. I screamed every time.
Now that doesn’t seem worthy of such depth of animosity, Traci.
Well, blame “Fantasy Island”. When I was about seven, my parents went out on a Saturday night — crazy, I know! — and they left us with our wonderful long-term babysitter. Being Saturday night, we had an evening of Easy-Bake cakes and ABC television in the plan.
Now for those of you who are too young to remember, Saturday nights use to represent “Must-See” tv, not the stopping place before cancellation. And ABC was the place. “The Love Boat” at 8:00 and “Fantasy Island” at 9:00. My brothers had to go to bed at 8:00 but I was allowed to stay up and watch “The Love Boat” and occasionally, I could convince the babysitter to let me stay up just a little longer for Mr. Roarke and his famous plane.
Well, this night’s episode centered around a young woman who had a recurring nightmare of a fire in her childhood home. In the dream, she would come downstairs to find herself encircled in flames and her toys alive and screaming in the flames. (Or at least this is how I remember it!) At the center of these toys, was the very Jack-in-the-Box from my home laughing maniacally. I can still remember it. It was like the spawn of Satan.
Well, I lost it. I became hysterical and as this was 1978, there were no cell phones, my babysitter could simply wait and do her best to calm me until my parents came home. I was still wide awake rocking myself like someone suffering from PTSD when they finally arrived. I woke up screaming night after night with the same nightmare for which the young woman had sought the magical Montalban touch. But there was no Island for me to seek refuge, After that, there was no “Fantasy Island”, period. There was a complete ban.
But that was not the end of the evil clowns. Several years later, a little film named “Poltergeist” came to town. And if “Fantasy Island” wasn’t enough to put me off the Bozo set, that film proved that clowns were surely minions from Hell itself. I saw that film at age 11 and trust me, the move from small to large screen was not an improvement.
This clown had long arms that could reach out from under a bed (another sore spot) and pull a child down into the world of ghosts, chattering skeletons, and swirling pink oblivion. It’s perpetual painted smile and pull-string laugh only made it worse. And the nightmares returned as bad as as age seven’s red-nosed laced screamers.
Add to this the unnatural desire to stuff as many clowns possible into a Volkswagen (an affront to this claustrophobic), John Wayne Gacey, and Stephen King’s unnatural vision into my fears (e.g. “It”) and I really, Really, REALLY hate clowns!
Do you have something that sets you off, makes your skin crawl, or basically scares the s@*t out of you?
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Reality Bites???
I loved the 1990′s. Naturally fair skinned, I reveled in the pasty powder and burgundy lips. I loved Mary Janes, Doc Martens, and baby-doll dresses. I could totally rock a spandex dress with a flannel shirt. And I could bend over in the shortest of tops and never provided anyone with a plumber style flash. (Please come back high-waisted pants!) I still can’t resist choker-style necklaces and should Pearl Jam’s “Black” come on the radio, I still crank it up and sing at the top of my lungs (At least the words that I can discern. Twenty years later and I still have trouble understanding Eddie Vedder.)
So what is inspiring this trip down Memory Lane, Traci?
Last night, I watched the 1994 Gen X classic “Reality Bites”. The film starred Ethan Hawke and Winona Ryder. And oh, how I wanted to be Winona Ryder. Remember this is pre-shoplifting meltdown Winona. This is “left Johnny Depp heartbroken” Winona. And for those in the younger set, I will repeat that — yes, she left Johnny Depp. She had great hair and played early twenties angst better than anyone.
And the film was cool. Witty banter played by beautiful actors who were at their prime. Ben Stiller’s cynical, ironic humor making a definitive statement on those of us coming into our own in the mid-90s. But more than that, the film took place in Houston — my home town. And it was the first thing to come out of Hollywood that at all reflected my life.
There were no honky-tonks or cowboy hats. They were urban kids like any other in any city. Bars and diners, roller blades, and skateboards. Smoking was still allowed everywhere and sadly, still cool. Bottled beer was the drink of choice at night and pre-Starbucks coffee during the day. Squeeze and “My Sharona” creating the soundtrack of our lives.
As cynical as the time was, I was so optimistic. I was full of vim and vigor ready to take on the world. And watching the movie last night took me back to that young woman. She is still in here. No more spandex and baby-doll dresses, but I still have my pastel-flowered Doc Martens which I dust off occasionally and I still sport a choker every now and then (don’t tell Tim Gunn). So if I can drop a few fashion bombs on behalf of that 23-year old girl, maybe I can borrow some of her enthusiasm and belief in the future for myself.
I am not the person that I thought I would become back in 1994. But that doesn’t mean that I am not the person I was meant to become. Reconciling those two things has been at the heart of this journey. Some days I feel so close to that goal and sometimes I feel like I have just started. Last week I felt pretty far away, last night I felt pretty close. When I’ll get there, I do not know. It’s frustrating. I am a results-oriented, forward trajectory girl. But I am not giving up. I am pulling myself up by my boot-straps. And if those boots happen to be Doc Martens, well all the better!
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Don’t Leave Me This Way
I have a confession. I watch Oprah religiously. I have watched it almost all of its 25 years. Now in the age of DVRs, it is not appointment TV anymore, but I see it all. So what am I going to do now?
Those of you who follow the Daytime Queen know that she has been closing down her show with a series of all-time favorites, follow-ups, etc. And boy, have I gone down Memory Lane. We have revisited Mattie, the beautiful boy that introduced us to Heart Songs. I could have put Noah back in business with the tears.
In fact, there were a lot of crying moments. The woman who barely survived the fiery car crash. The mother who finally moved on after her daughter was murdered. The little girl who grew up watching videos her mother made once she knew she was dying. Lots of tears. Lots of inspiration.
I eat this stuff up like chocolate chip cookies precisely two minutes out of the oven with a side of milk. It is something of a drug. It provides a bit of catharsis as I temporarily live through their stories.
Oprah is not a great celebrity interviewer. There I said it. I know that it is against the law in most if the world to suggest that she is not the greatest talk show host ever but that is not her forte. Leave that to Barbara Walters. What she does do right is the heartstrings story. Give her a Don Quixote that caught his windmill and she will change your life. Give her a project to stand behind and she will change the world. Give her a celebrity and prepare to go to sleep or go vomit. Or both — hopefully vomiting before sleeping. Just sayin’.
And Ms. Oprah is the queen of the mixed message. One day she tells me that I should be authentic and not focus on things and the next day, she shares her Favorite Things. She’ll share a story spotlighting how a woman has survived some terrible disfigurement and how her inner beauty has triumphed. A week later, she’ll do a make-over. She’ll tell us mothers that we should let go and stop trying to do it all and then she will have Martha Stewart teaching the proper way to fold a fitted sheet. Really? Really, is there a proper way to fold a fitted sheet? Evidently, the answer is yes.
You want a clue into my warped psyche? See above.
And yet, I will miss my life lessons, folding instructions, and tips on wearing the correct bra. 4:00 pm will never be the same.
Three shows more and I am on my own. It seemed appropriate to turn to Dusty Springfield because I just don’t know what I’ll do with myself.
I just don’t know what to do with myself
Don’t know just what to do with myself
I’m so used to doing everything with you
Planning everything for two
And now that we’re through
I just don’t know what to do with my time
I’m so lonesome for you, it’s a crime
Going to a movie only makes me sad
Parties make me feel as bad
When I’m not with you, I just don’t know what to do
Like a summer rose needs the sun and rain
I need your sweet love to beat all the pain
I just don’t know what to do with myself
I just don’t know what to do with myself
Baby, if your new love ever turns you down
Come back, I will be around
Just waiting for you, I don’t know what else to do
So, will you miss Ms. O? What will you do with yourself?
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A Break in Star Programming
Today, I had planned a post about personalities and about my recent foray back into acting last week, but the events of the last 24 hours have derailed that plan.
Those of you who have followed me for a while probably know that 9/11 played an enormous role in shaping the clay that is my life now. Much like Voldemort at Hogwarts, I will not speak his name. Though not out of fear but because I have zero desire to give one more moment of energy or time to him. But last night’s events do make me reflect on that horrible morning.
There may not be more to be said that hasn’t been said. It was a day that changed the world. It was a day that changed me. The morning had been stunning. A crisp, clear sunny day — still warm but with that hint of the Fall to come. In other words, a perfect New York day. I was excited because I had been called in to work on a film. And then… And then.
Evil comes in many packages. No people, no religion, no country holds the patent on it. It has existed throughout all times in all places. There is no single face of evil but his will always stand alongside other monsters of history.
So, I’m not sure how one should feel at a time like this. Relief? Vengeance? Disappointment? Jubilance? All of the above? For me, I am feeling a quiet resolution. I had long since disallowed this modern day Dracula to suck life from me. And yet, I am not immune to this development.
In the end, I think the best thing I can do, is appreciate that unlike many, I am here to note the event. I am here to hug the children whose very existence is in part in response to that day which will live in modern infamy. So I’ll state it loudly, “I am here!” That may be the very best answer. As Elton John once sang, “…I’m still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.”
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Posted in 9/11, Gratitude, Memories, Military, Tragedy
Tagged Grateful Heart, Loss, My Life
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