Heart = Comedy + Drama

ZOELAB DAY 87

Date of Original Post: November 12, 2012

While in LA, Lucas and I had the delightful opportunity to go out to Thai food with a group of good friends and then to a movie. I can’t remember the last time I did that. Dinner and a movie with a group of good friends--what joy! My friends who work in the film and television industry suggested we see Silver Linings Playbook--since I am totally out of the loop, I had not heard of the film, but my friend told me it was directed by David O Russell, (director of Flirting with Disaster, Three Kings, I Heart Huckabees & The Fighter) so I knew it was going to be intense, funny, or zany. It turned out to be all three. 

I can’t remember the last time I saw a film that I adored. It was so funny, so full of heart, so sad and honest. Other films that come to mind that share some of its qualities (besides, of course, Russel’s other films) are Punch Drunk Love (in my opinion the only film by Paul Thomas Anderson that had heart)--another unlikely love story about two characters who experience a lot of pain, and therefore don’t fit so well into normal life, and Secrets and Lies (directed by the British filmmaker Mike Leigh) a highly emotional, dramatic, and manic story created with much improvisation. Perhaps what these films have in common is their raw emotion and their unclassifiable genre. They are truly funny films, because the lead characters are real and odd characters, but at the same time, they are deeply sad and uneasy films, because the characters truly suffer, and their suffering is not taken for granted or prettied up, which is what Hollywood writers and directors usually do with their suffering characters. It is not easy to pull it off--a drama-comedy. I suspect the key to a successful drama-comedy (or dramedy), is focusing on the character’s hearts. Staying close to what the characters want, and then being unbridled in the expression of those wants. Letting the audience in, so that we root so deeply for the characters that we live inside them, feeling along with them by lending them our hearts. When you get down to it, that’s how life really is--it’s both funny and tragic. Technically, a comedy ends in a marriage, and a tragedy ends in a death, but in real life, both comedy and tragedy live side by side. When you live life with a somewhat balanced perspective, you can almost always see both the tragic and the comic in any situation. When I studied and performed improvisation at Pan Theater in Oakland, the director of the theater’s philosophy was that, contrary to common opinion, the best improv is not always funny, it just has to be true. But the truth is, and this is what Del Close (the creator of Second City and the originator of improv technique) wrote about in his book, what’s true also happens to be what’s funny. As improvisers (and as actors in general) we were always encouraged to be honest, and told to never try to be funny. The more honest I was in my improvs, in other words: the more I used my true feelings and actual details from my life, the funnier the improvs would be. 

In Silver Linings Playbook, the main character, Pat, has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, (what used to be referred to as manic depressive) and has just spent 8 months in a mental institution because of a violent incident. I don’t want to give the plot away, as it was so enjoyable for me to watch with out knowing anything about the film ahead of time. Let’s just say it wasn’t hard to empathize with Pat, even if he can be explosive and violent and lacks social grace at times. He was running around with a bleeding, broken heart--and his family and friends stood by him, as they tried, at the same time, mostly unsuccessfully, to keep him out of trouble. When Pat meets Tiffany, time stops, and we fall in love with her before Pat knows what’s going on. Tiffany is also suffering a loss, and her suffering, as well as her natural personality, makes her raw, brutally honest, and terribly funny. It is she who brings dance for its own sake, to Pat as a form of therapy, romance and possible salvation.

I find the emotional honesty, created by either lack of social skills or spiritual urgency, of certain characters with mental illness to be refreshingly exhilarating to witness. There is some part of me that relates to that emotional rawness and romanticizes how freeing it might feel to have no choice but to express the emotional truth inside. Watching people express their craziness (in this case, intense fear, desire, rage) while scary at times, is also strangely comforting to me. They are expressing the truths, no matter how uncomfortable it makes the people around them, that most people try so hard to keep hidden. The two main characters, given a combination of their particular genetic makeup, and life circumstances, are just a little bit too sensitive to live life as most “normal people” do, and yet, “normal people” are really only a few points more self-contained on the same scale of humanity. I guess what I am trying to say is that when people have the courage or lack of control to wear their heart on their sleeve, (weather due to mental illness, being a child, or just being highly sensitive) I feel compelled to protect their hearts. When a movie or a book dares to express this same large-hearted emotional honesty, I want to share it with the world. 

I’d like to add one more note about Silver Linings Playbook--all the performances are brilliant and touching, especially the two leads played by Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence (who is a revelation). The film also features an exceptional performance by Robert DeNiro, who plays Pat’s father. I have never seen Robert DeNiro this vulnerable before.  Russell was somehow able to get through Robert DeNiro’s Robert DeNiro-ness, and helped him to reveal a flawed, sad, and well-meaning father with a violent past.

The illustration above is my tag line for a theme in the film, which you will understand (I hope) if/when you see the film.

By the way, I didn’t end up making that American Apparel order.

Flow on Faith

I’ve been going through a thing. I don’t want to call it a block because it’s not a block, exactly. Block implies to me that you are blank, with no ideas or nowhere to go. What I am experiencing is just a different phase of the creative process. As Lena Dunham’s character Hannah, in Girls says in her unapologetic, yet defensive way, when she is struggling in grad school : “I’m more in a pre-writing phase.”

I am doing research for my story that I am writing. It’s my attempt to make sense of my life up until this point in a way that might teach something about what I have learned about the the path of human development, the spiritual path, the path of the artist. I have written different versions of this story. It was an 8 part blog post. It was a self-revelatory performance art piece in grad school. It’s in the lyrics of my songs, my poetry. It was countless starts of essays and monologues. It was the start of a feature-length script. But none of these quite got at the live wire inside me that needs to be plugged in.

What is the story about? Simple. It’s the story of how I learned to do the things I thought I could not do.

Including, most especially, how to tell my story.

Last month I saw a psychic for the first time. Her name was Althea. She told me that I needed to focus on this writing project, (which will include my songs and will end up as a performance as well as a book or some other art form that hasn’t been invented yet) and that it would be done in two years, and then after that, everything would easily flow out of me. In two years I will be 43. I can wait that long to be plugged into myself. But it will be hard because I tend to be very impatient with the creative process. This is why I teach the creative process—to help me to slow down. To help everyone to slow down. Althea told me what I already knew but absolutely needed to be confirmed by someone who wasn’t me, who didn’t know me, but is gifted in the other kind of knowing. She was. She also said I lived in paradise and that I had finally found peace after many years of suffering. Also true.

And so I see that this is my moment to weave my webs, make my connections, bare my soul. It will be hard. It will be painful. It will challenge me on every level of experience. But I see no choice in the matter. It must be done.

And in the meantime, I am fretting about here, my blog. This space I have created to share my process. To make contact. To check in. To record. To reflect.

I keep wondering how can I keep this up during these times that my words aren’t quite ready to come?  When I don’t have my own words to share. And then I remembered: I can share the words of others. I have been reading & listening voraciously and I love sharing other people’s words when my words are still cooking.

Here is what I have been reading and listening to:

How Should A Person Be? A novel by Sheila Heti
The Art of Asking An audiobook memoir by the artist/musician Amanda Palmer
The Hero Within A Jungian self help book about archetypes and human development by Carol S. Pearson
Handling the Truth a book on writing memoir by Beth Kephart that my dad lent me.
The Life Changing Art of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. A surprisingly inspiring audiobook by a Japanese woman who has made being tidy an art form and has given me new hope for putting my life in order.

Not exactly on purpose, but sort of, I am reading only women writers.

It’s all research. Research for the many ways we can tell our story. Eventually, and possibly quite soon, I will be teaching this to others. This storytelling thing. It’s not a decision. It’s a way of life that I am growing up into. It’s, as Tara Mohr refers to callings, an inner assignment.

Everything I read turns me into a kind of chameleon of voices. I try on different voices which leads me deeper into my own point of view. It is a process of discovering one’s own voice through trying on other's voices. This is what many singers do. There is a whole book about this process called Steal like an Artist by Austin Kleon. I will post quotes from it soon, even if the writer is a man.

What I just learned about chameleons in the terrarium/aquarium basement of the Pittsfield museum where I went last week with my mom and son, is that they are falsely believed to change color in order to hide. But it is not really the reason. They change colors in order to reflect their social intentions or responses to temperature change, in their own reptilian limitations: to express themselves. Trying on others’ voices is my way of figuring out where I stand. It’s the process that happens whether I want it to or not. I am newly embracing my particular processes lately. That is the joy of being an artist—embracing your way of doing things, using instincts to get you where you need to go, and above all, trusting the process.

Something in changed in me about this process of writing recently. I realized that what was missing was my faith. But I had no idea how to get it back. I find faith to be the most important ingredient to art. I lose it and find it constantly. What brought be back to faith this time was a conversation with my husband who, with out training, is a great art coach. I learn a lot from him, rather than the other way around. We decided together that coaching can only be as good as how well you know the other person. Coaching, like therapy, and teaching, and parenting, is a relationship above all else and it must acknowledge the special and unique truths of the individual’s (coachee’s) needs, goals, limitations and gifts.

I started this post thinking I had nothing at all to write. And where do I find myself now? Having written something true about where I am really at. And I will leave you with a quote, as I promised I would deliver one:

This is from A Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell, which I read last summer as primary research for storytelling. I started a few blog posts about it, but never published them. This book is mind-blowingly important for the survival of humanity. I will revisit it over and over. I will share.

“Man in the world of action loses his centering in the principle of eternity if he is anxious for the outcome of his deeds, but resting them and their fruits on the knees of the Living God he is released by them, as a sacrifice, from the bondages of the sea of death. 'Do without attachment the work you have to do… Surrendering all action to Me, with mind intent on the Self, freeing yourself form longing and selfishness, fight—unperturbed by grief.'"

Here, on this blog, I lay the byproducts & fruits of my alchemical experiments, the labor of my gifts, at your knees.

Take them or leave them, either way, destiny is within & without.

On Television: Part Two

ZOELAB DAY 50

It’s a new day. And now, as I write, Emilio, Georgie (4) and Vinnie (6) (another Friday night sleepover) are getting a special Saturday morning treat: they are watching The Muppets. The new one that came out in 2011. I love this film—as a Muppet fan, I find, in its sincere and hearty goofiness, that it stays true to the original Muppet credo. The music, in particular, is great, because it includes both the original classics from the show: Rainbow Connection, The Muppet Show theme song, and then some new tracks written by the wonderful Brett Mackenzie, (another one of my major crushes) who is one half of Flight of the Conchords, “the fourth most popular folk rock parody band in New Zealand” and the television show of the same name.  (I will write more on FOTC later.) Vinnie just grabbed Emilio’s stuffed Ernie toy and asked me if he was a muppet. I thought about if for a moment, and then said: “Yes, in fact, he is a muppet!” When the movie was over, all the boys asked me to draw a picture of their favorite muppet for them. Of course, I do believe your favorite muppet is really the muppet that you most identify with. This is a question I have asked people many times in my life: “which muppet are you?”. Georgie chose “animal,” which is spot on. Vinnie chose “Kermit,” also spot on. And Emilio chose “Walter” (the new muppet character from the film). An interesting choice, that I don’t quite understand. Walter is sort of a bland character, who doesn’t really know what he wants, but he is, in fact, the world’s biggest muppet fan.

So, yesterday I was describing my period of syndicated sitcom serial monogamy. There is one other show that should be mentioned: Will and Grace. Although I found the princessy normalcy of the two title characters a little annoying at times, I do believe Debra Messing, who played Grace, is a great comedienne and is a dead ringer for Lucille Ball. In my opinion, a great comedienne, even if she is naturally beautiful, has to be willing to be both ugly and foolish. Both Lucille Ball and Debra Messing are able and willing to do that. However, the funniest stuff of the show comes from the fabulousness of the two supporting characters: Karen (played by Megan Mullally) and Jack (played by Sean Hayes). Their dancing, their singing, their dramatic entrances are absolute genius. They help us remember that a sitcom (a classic multi-camera one) is not just a television show. It is a live performance in front of an audience. They were magically able to take the utmost in obnoxiousness and turn it into unmitigated charm. Like many of the funniest sitcom characters, they represent the people we don’t want to be, but fear we secretly are. And the best part is, in all their glorified pettiness, they make no apologies for it. Of course it must be mentioned that the show was groundbreaking in its normalizing of gay men.

This period of sitcom watching came to an end around the same time that I quit acting, and decided to pursue my dream of starting a rock band.  Instead of falling asleep to sitcoms every night, I would take out my guitar and write songs until bedtime. The experience of choosing a creative act over a passive act was a very healthy shift for me. In fact, the period of being in a band was one of the three (along with performing improv and ZOELAB) most fulfilling creative endeavors I have engaged in.

It was not until graduate school in San Francisco that I became addicted to television again. Graduate school was an incredibly enriching, but emotionally difficult experience, and I really needed to have an escape in the evenings. I had nicknamed grad school emotional boot camp. We had to be in therapy, talk personally about ourselves in class, and write essays and make art about our personal histories, fears, traumas, while at the same integrating a lot of theory. My escape from having to think about myself became a project that I embarked on with Lucas—watching the entire 5 seasons of Six Feet Under. I had already seen some of the show and knew that I loved it, but we wanted to get through the whole thing. We would receive 3 DVD’s at a time from Netflix. We didn’t want to watch them all at the same time, so we would scatter them through out the year with other shows and movies. We would often not put a DVD on until 11 at night. (That same syndicated time slot). I always had reading to do and papers to write first. Each DVD had 2 or 3 episodes, and even though, when we first put the show on, we would say we are only watching one tonight, we knew were fooling ourselves, because we really knew that there was no way we could resist watching every episode on the disc. Six Feet Under is the only series I am writing about that is not a comedy. It is my favorite dramatic television series of all time. First of all, I love that is about death. And not in a glorified or inhumane way as are so many other popular dramatic series. I think our denial of death (and of aging) is one of the most destructive things about American culture. The process of facing my own mortality has been one of the most enlivening things I have ever done (and am still doing). I love Six Feet Under because it feels real and human. All the characters are so deeply flawed, and all, each in their own way, are trying to find happiness. They are stumbling through the mess of their lives, as we all do. The acting, also, is incredible. Every single actor on the show acts his and her heart out—each is peculiar and funny and sad and selfish all at once. I agree with the critics that the show fell apart a little in the later seasons, and became melodramatic. And I was not a fan of the last episode. But, still, the show deserves much credit for its courageous writing, and its incredible characters.

The Six Feet Under project was actually a painful experience for me. I cared so deeply about the characters that I felt like they were part of my family. I even dreamed about them. If something bad happened to one of the Fishers (and something bad was always happening to one of the Fishers) I was devastated. If something good happened to one of them, I was elated. And I would become enraged at the show for its unbelievably dramatic cliffhangers. But the most painful moment was when the last episode of the DVD ended, and the knowing that I would have to wait a few days before I could watch it again. There was a dark pit of emptiness that followed.

Another show that I must also mention here is Freaks and Geeks. Sadly, Freaks and Geeks did not get the many seasons it deserved. The plug was pulled only after two. I suppose Freaks and Geeks would be most aptly called a dramedy. It had the format of a dramatic series--one hour, one camera, with a filmic production value and serious themes, but it was also incredibly funny. As with all my favorite things in life, this show had major heart. It centered on two groups of high schoolers--the freaks (who were in the upper grades) and the geeks (who were in the lower grades)—and their families. Another example of a show with great characters because of their realness, and their flaws. In this case, the flaws centered around the group you belonged to. I also deeply related to this show, and recognized myself, and people I knew growing up. The cast, was also incredible. The geeks really looked like geeks and the freaks really looked like freaks.

On Television: Part One

ZOELAB DAY 49

I have a confession to make:

The main, if not totally conscious, reason I chose to do this project of blogging 365 days for a year, was to knock myself out of the indelible, lifelong habit of whiling away the evening (the most precious free time of the day, especially for a parent) watching television. We don’t actually have a television in this phase of our lives, but we do have computers where we watch shows that were once on television. This is the habit of western culture at large. Watching TV (in whatever form of screen) before you go to bed. How many of us have spent a lifetime doing this? TV watching is the most addicting habit I know—or at least within the context of the time after dinner, before bed. There have been a few periods of life that I  was able to break this habit, which involved either a creative project that I was really excited about, or lack of access. Please understand, I love television. Well, I love some television. It has provided such pleasure to me for much of my life. At its best, it provides a unique balm to the troubled soul living in an uncertain world.  A kind of home that doesn’t quite belong to you, but gives you the illusion that it does. At different times in my life, I have fallen in love with: The Mary Tyler Moore Show, I Love Lucy, Freaks and Geeks, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Arrested Development, 30 Rock, Flight of the Conchords, The Magic Garden, The Muppet Show, Saturday Night Live, Six Feet Under, Kids in the Hall, Taxi, The Office (yes, the American version), and most recently, Girls.

When I was living in Brooklyn and pursuing my acting/ screenwriting/filmmaking career, I had the habit (as many urbanites do) of going home late after a full and tiring day pursuing my dreams or at least trying to survive in an expensive and energetic city, picking up take out on the way home, and then watching syndicated sitcoms until it was time to go to sleep. This was the period of my life when I was a syndicated sitcom serial monogamist. I went from favorite sitcom to favorite sitcom, based on what was syndicated at the right time: 10:00, 10:30, 11:00, and 11:30 at night. Two hours of time (equivalent to a feature length film.) There were some sitcoms that I thought I’d never watch, because I hated them at first, most especially: Seinfeld and Friends. Friends was extremely popular when I was in college. I didn’t watch any TV while I was in college, except during visits home, and when I lived in China for a semester. I lived in a foreign student dorm (which was really a hotel) and each room had its own television. American syndicated sitcoms were a welcome friend. Anyway, back to Friends. I had a deep disdain for it. Maybe my disdain was on principal because it was so popular. But somehow, when I moved back to New York, and started watching it in its syndicated time slot, its charm warmed its way into my heart.  And then it became one of my ten, and ten thirty favorites. I particularly loved Lisa Kudrow’s portrayal of Phoebe. I suppose I most related to her character. Lisa Kudrow was brilliant and funny in the roll. I loved how her character was almost dumb, but not quite. It was a subtly different take on the ditzy blonde. Phoebe had edge and she was always a little bit surprising. Which reminds me of my personal definition of comedy: the truth delivered in surprising package. Seinfeld I also hated at the beginning. I found Jerry so whiney and his hair so terrible, that I had to turn away. But, the show’s undeniable funniness lured me back in, and I became an ardent fan. I remember watching it on Thursdays during its Prime Time slot and then again, later, and every night, during its syndicated slot. I even tearfully watched the last episode.

There were two other sitcoms I had love affairs with during this phase that were both because the show was great, but also because I had developed an awful crush on the male star of each of them. Those sitcoms were: That 70’s Show, the crush being on: Topher Grace (Eric). Were you thinking it was Ashton Kutcher? I know you weren’t thinking that. Maybe you were thinking it was Danny Masterson? Who definitely was crushable. But no, it was Topher Grace. His boyish charm with just a hint of cockiness, which, somehow, always got teased out of him. It was also his laugh, because when he laughed he seemed like he was breaking character--it felt so real. It is said in the acting world, and I agree with this, that laughing (far more than tears), is the hardest thing to “act”. And the other sitcom? Newsradio. And the crush? Dave Foley. Dave Foley’s character Dave, had a very similar appeal to Topher Grace’s Eric. Actually, now that I think about it, they were very, very similar. In looks, in the boyish charm, with that touch of cockiness that got teased out of him. And in the very sincere laugh where you feel like you are seeing just the person. Hmmm.

This essay will have to be continued over the next day or two. I have a lot more to say on this subject, and I can’t stay up all night writing. After all, I still want to watch a little something before bed.

One more thing. A behind the scene irony:

Just today a video projector and screen came into our possession (how it came into our possession is a story in itself that I will tell at another time). As I write this, Lucas, who has hooked up the projector and screen, is watching Boardwalk Empire. The screen is set up just a few feet away from where I sit, at the painted ivory table (which I use as a background to many ZOELAB images). I can see only the back of the screen. Only just yesterday we received a bunch of shows and movies that we had ordered. Perhaps this is not at all ironic, but rather, writing this is helping me to resist the temptation to melt back into the couch with him to be blissfully entertained by new content in a new form.

Inspiration from Fresh Air: Comedy, Rock-n-Roll & Feminism

Last night I wasn’t feeling well, so I retired early with out doing my post. Today I needed to catch up. (I have been allowing myself the option to sometimes skip my post as long as I catch up the next day. This allows a little space when problems with technology or illness get in the way of blogging.) Instead, I lay on the bed for hours drifting in and out of sleep, listening to downloaded pod casts of fresh air on my ipod. I listened to an interview with Jack Black talking about his new movie directed by Richard Linklater (one of my favorite directors), Louis C.K. and how he brings experiences and emotions from his actual life into his sitcom, which I have never seen, but would like to, Chris Rock, and how his comedy has changed since becoming wealthy, and Jimmy Fallon and his hilarious and spot-on impersonations of Neil Young and Bob Dylan singing covers by musicians of other genres. Then I heard an interview with Caitlin Moran, where she talked about her book How to Be a Woman. I had never heard of her or her book before, but apparently she is a very big deal. She’s a high profile journalist and rock critic from the UK, and talks with a speed, intelligence and humor that is very impressive, and juxtaposes hilariously with her British accent. (Her r’s are not pronounced, and she says the word “very” quite often.) How to Be a Woman is a call to feminism. Or a recall to feminism. She speaks boldly about how feminism gets a bad rap, and that all women are feminists, or should be.

From How to Be a Woman:

“We need to reclaim the word feminism. We need to reclaim the word feminism real bad. When statistics come in saying that only 29% of American women would describe themselves as feminist and only 42% of British women, I used to think: what do you think feminism is, ladies? What part of liberation for women is NOT for you? Is it the freedom to vote? The right not to be owned by the man that you marry? The campaign for equal pay? Vogue by Madonna? Jeans? Did all that stuff just get on your nerves or were you just drunk at the time of survey? These days, however, I am much calmer since I realized that it’s actually technically impossible for a woman to argue against feminism. Without feminism you wouldn’t be allowed to have a debate on a woman’s place in society. You’d be too busy giving birth on the kitchen floor, biting down on a wooden spoon so as not to disturb the men’s card game before going back to hoeing the rutabaga field.“

It was inspiring to be reminded of the importance of feminism. I was suddenly made aware of the fact that the term feminist has gone into the shadows. Of course the issue of abortion is on everyone’s minds right now, and Ms. Moran discusses this issue personally and frankly. However, many of us have become afraid of being seen as feminist, as if a feminist is an ugly, terrifying, man-hating monster who no one wants to look at or listen to. As if there are no longer feminist issues to bring light to. As if female empowerment is not something that needs to be encouraged and embraced.

Empowerment, and women’s empowerment in particular, has been a central issue to me, both in my personal development and in the work I do with people. To me, empowerment means being congruent—-who we are is inside is expressed by how we are. It means being full of oneself. Not in the in the egotistical sense, but rather in the sense of being psychologically present in one’s body. Empowerment means feeling you have the right to be heard and seen. Believing you have the same rights as everyone around you. Women spend a lot of energy protecting men’s egos, but we don’t protect our own. Often we pretend we don’t have an ego, we don’t allow ourselves be ambitious and smart, we tell ourselves not to need or want things, to not feel we deserve to have success beyond our traditional roles, as mothers or wives. Sometimes, a woman’s biggest secret is how powerful she is.

The eventual evolutionary goal is to be egoless, or to no longer be identified with the ego. But the first step is acknowledging and seeing how we are identified with the ego. As women we have a tendency to identify with a negative self image (or ego). So we become less conscious of our egos, more likely to live an inauthentic self. This has been true of me, anyway. This is an aspect of disempowerment. It is a way of disconnecting, turning away from our power, not seeing who we really are; living only as a shell of a person, with no sense of reality or aliveness. I’ve often had the experience of living under this kind of spell, and art or connection to other people is what most often brings me out of it. For me it always comes down to art and love. Loving art, and art-ing love. The two forms of expression that are most empowering for me are (improv) comedy and rock-n-roll. Both expressions require a brazen truth telling. This is congruence in a very active sense. From experience, I know that both rock-n-roll and comedy are boy’s clubs. It takes a strong woman to prevail. It takes a stubborn woman. (See post On Inspiration.) And, believe it or not, it takes letting go of our need to be perfect. There are myths that are still told that women aren’t funny, or women can’t rock. It’s just not true. But a funny, expressive, empowered woman can be a very threatening thing. Certain people have investment in keeping women silent, it keeps their egos in tact.

When I was first introduced to the term feminism as an adolescent, I instantly identified with being a feminist. Just the idea of it was empowering to me. Influenced in high school by Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, I decided that I was a feminist with an androgynous mind--a mind that possesses both feminine and masculine qualities. This brand of feminism holds great empathy for men and the plight of masculine expectation. This kind of feminism recognizes society’s unconscious rejection, not always of women, but of attributes that are associated with femininity (as well as the right side of the brain): intuitiveness, emotion, nurturing, vulnerability, receptivity. The Taoist yin-yang symbol (as well as other spiritual traditions and Jung’s concept of anima/animus) represents how polar opposites, such as shadow and light, that exist in nature are not in opposition to each other, but are interconnected and interdependent, working in harmony with each other--both parts of a whole. A society, such as ours, that only embraces rationality, action, linear thought is out of balance with nature.

During the Jack Black interview, Terry Gross asked him if it’s hard to be overweight in show business, he replied that in general, if you’re not sexy like Brad Pitt, you have to work much harder in order to be likable. In his stand up act, Chris Rock talks about how it feels to be rich and black. He talks about his wealthy neighborhood, and how there are only four black people living there,  and these four black people happen to be among the most famous and talented artists in the world, but all the white people are just average people with regular jobs. When she speaks to Terry Gross, Moran talks about how, as an adolescent, she was overweight and felt she wasn’t attractive enough to become a proper woman, so she decided to work on her personality instead. I believe that this is true in general for women (as well as for anyone with systems of power working against them). We have come to believe if we want to succeed at something we better be pretty fucking good. Better than a man. I say: let us be who we are. Let us embrace all of our qualities and polarities, masculine and feminine, darkness and light, active and passive, emotional and rational. Let us not be the judge of ourselves and hide in the shadows. Let us tell our truths and be heard. Let us go beyond expectation. Let us rock out and be funny.

On Television: Part One

ZOELAB DAY 49

I have a confession to make:

The main, if not totally conscious, reason I chose to do this project of blogging 365 days for a year, was to knock myself out of the indelible, lifelong habit of whiling away the evening (the most precious free time of the day, especially for a parent) watching television. We don’t actually have a television in this phase of our lives, but we do have computers where we watch shows that were once on television. This is the habit of western culture at large. Watching TV (in whatever form of screen) before you go to bed. How many of us have spent a lifetime doing this? TV watching is the most addicting habit I know—or at least within the context of the time after dinner, before bed. There have been a few periods of life that I  was able to break this habit, which involved either a creative project that I was really excited about, or lack of access. Please understand, I love television. Well, I love some television. It has provided such pleasure to me for much of my life. At its best, it provides a unique balm to the troubled soul living in an uncertain world.  A kind of home that doesn’t quite belong to you, but gives you the illusion that it does. At different times in my life, I have fallen in love with: The Mary Tyler Moore Show, I Love Lucy, Freaks and Geeks, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Arrested Development, 30 Rock, Flight of the Conchords, The Magic Garden, The Muppet Show, Saturday Night Live, Six Feet Under, Kids in the Hall, Taxi, The Office (yes, the American version), and most recently, Girls.

When I was living in Brooklyn and pursuing my acting/ screenwriting/filmmaking career, I had the habit (as many urbanites do) of going home late after a full and tiring day pursuing my dreams or at least trying to survive in an expensive and energetic city, picking up take out on the way home, and then watching syndicated sitcoms until it was time to go to sleep. This was the period of my life when I was a syndicated sitcom serial monogamist. I went from favorite sitcom to favorite sitcom, based on what was syndicated at the right time: 10:00, 10:30, 11:00, and 11:30 at night. Two hours of time (equivalent to a feature length film.) There were some sitcoms that I thought I’d never watch, because I hated them at first, most especially: Seinfeld and Friends. Friends was extremely popular when I was in college. I didn’t watch any TV while I was in college, except during visits home, and when I lived in China for a semester. I lived in a foreign student dorm (which was really a hotel) and each room had its own television. American syndicated sitcoms were a welcome friend. Anyway, back to Friends. I had a deep disdain for it. Maybe my disdain was on principal because it was so popular. But somehow, when I moved back to New York, and started watching it in its syndicated time slot, its charm warmed its way into my heart.  And then it became one of my ten, and ten thirty favorites. I particularly loved Lisa Kudrow’s portrayal of Phoebe. I suppose I most related to her character. Lisa Kudrow was brilliant and funny in the roll. I loved how her character was almost dumb, but not quite. It was a subtly different take on the ditzy blonde. Phoebe had edge and she was always a little bit surprising. Which reminds me of my personal definition of comedy: the truth delivered in surprising package. Seinfeld I also hated at the beginning. I found Jerry so whiney and his hair so terrible, that I had to turn away. But, the show’s undeniable funniness lured me back in, and I became an ardent fan. I remember watching it on Thursdays during its Prime Time slot and then again, later, and every night, during its syndicated slot. I even tearfully watched the last episode.

There were two other sitcoms I had love affairs with during this phase that were both because the show was great, but also because I had developed an awful crush on the male star of each of them. Those sitcoms were: That 70’s Show, the crush being on: Topher Grace (Eric). Were you thinking it was Ashton Kutcher? I know you weren’t thinking that. Maybe you were thinking it was Danny Masterson? Who definitely was crushable. But no, it was Topher Grace. His boyish charm with just a hint of cockiness, which, somehow, always got teased out of him. It was also his laugh, because when he laughed he seemed like he was breaking character--it felt so real. It is said in the acting world, and I agree with this, that laughing (far more than tears), is the hardest thing to “act”. And the other sitcom? Newsradio. And the crush? Dave Foley. Dave Foley’s character Dave, had a very similar appeal to Topher Grace’s Eric. Actually, now that I think about it, they were very, very similar. In looks, in the boyish charm, with that touch of cockiness that got teased out of him. And in the very sincere laugh where you feel like you are seeing just the person. Hmmm.

This essay will have to be continued over the next day or two. I have a lot more to say on this subject, and I can’t stay up all night writing. After all, I still want to watch a little something before bed.

One more thing. A behind the scene irony:

Just today a video projector and screen came into our possession (how it came into our possession is a story in itself that I will tell at another time). As I write this, Lucas, who has hooked up the projector and screen, is watching Boardwalk Empire. The screen is set up just a few feet away from where I sit, at the painted ivory table (which I use as a background to many ZOELAB images). I can see only the back of the screen. Only just yesterday we received a bunch of shows and movies that we had ordered. Perhaps this is not at all ironic, but rather, writing this is helping me to resist the temptation to melt back into the couch with him to be blissfully entertained by new content in a new form.