Final Assignment 2

April 26, 2007
Assignment 2
Writing My Life

Some of my favorite memories were those of this past summer, which I spent in Paris studying modern French theater, and traveling. It was here that I wrote and performed my first play. “Lost Angeles/Paris Trouvee” (trouvee means “found” in English) was based on the experiences of tourists in Paris. The play began in skits concentrating on emotions of anger, frustration, disappointment and even disillusionment of being an American tourist in a very foreign country. As the play progressed, however, the skits became more and more redeeming and positive. They concentrated more on the similarities between the French and American people, rather than cultural discrepancies. The play was almost completely based on my experiences of living in Paris, and being more than a tourist but less than a citizen. Initially, I felt frustrated and the language barrier was almost unbearable considering the fact that I had never been expected to function in a country where most citizens spoke a language other than my own.
The cultural differences were also difficult to deal with. A comedic scene in the play with two American women being verbally harassed by Parisian men on the street reflected what I commonly experienced walking through the streets of the city with my three attractive female friends. The dialogue I wrote accurately echoed the sentiments we often felt. “These French guys are so gross!” says one of the irritated American girls to her friend. It took some time to become accustomed to this behavior, but after a few weeks we realized that French men are simply more aggressive and forward than the typical American. Cultural differences like these made me uncomfortable at first, but then became normal (although still annoying) as the weeks went by. With each passing day, I became more proficient in the French language, culture and quirks. I started to fall in love with the European lifestyle that Parisians exemplify so well. This personal journey and growth was the foundation for the play and what the characters felt, thought and experienced.
One of my favorite professors once told me, “Your art reflects your life,” and gathering from my personal experience, I whole-heartedly believe this to be true. All my life, people, teachers and writing coaches have told me to “write what you know.” Simple enough, right? The theory meaning that your best writing will come from genuine accounts of experiences you’ve had, or aspects of life you know most about. This is what I do, and at my young age I realize there are not many subjects I can claim expertise in, but what I do know, I know well. I can write about myself, my family, my friends, places I’ve been, things that I’ve seen, memories accumulated, and lessons I’ve learned. I write about my life because my life informs my writing.
When it comes to writing characters in my stories or scenes, I tend to have little to no imagination. I think about extremely creative writing genres such as science-fiction or avant garde surrealism and feel a twinge of guilt when I realize how often I’ve shamelessly written myself into a script or story. A short play I wrote last spring, “The Airport,” told the story of a young woman in LAX airport trying to decide between taking a successful job in New York, or staying in Los Angeles. It’s no surprise that at the same time in my life I was trying to decide between going to journalism school at Syracuse University in upstate New York, or USC. Each of the other three characters were based on close friends of mine: the optimistic best friend, the guy who can’t function without being in a two-foot radius of his girlfriend, and the former fling who dropped out of college his senior year. Ironically enough, a few months after the completion of the play, I, following the footsteps of my own, self-titled character, didn’t get on the plane to New York and chose to stay in L.A. As strange as it might sound, instead of my life becoming my art, my art actually became my life.
Writing about my own life is somewhat of a love/hate relationship, I’ve learned. When you’re faced with the task of describing something you’ve done or felt, at times it can seem impossible. How can you describe how you felt the moment your lips touched those of your first love? It’s a memory most of us have, that we will never forget, but once we try to translate that memory into words, it always seems to be inadequate. It is in these circumstances that the written word fails me and doesn’t provide enough sustenance to feed my appetite for accuracy. An assignment in an advanced writing class once prompted me to write about my relationship with my Grandfather who recently passed away. Although emotions were fresh in my heart and mind, the words to describe them escaped me as I struggled to write something honest and eloquent. Being able to remember perfect details of a specific moment in time and lacking the ability to describe it on paper is the most crippling feeling I’ve experienced.
In my opinion, there are two kinds of writers in this world. There are the Arthur Goldens and the Hunter S. Thompsons. Arthur Golden created the believable and realistic “Memoirs of a Geisha” despite the fact that he is a man. While reading the scene where the main character, Sayuri, loses her virginity I could not believe I was reading words, adjectives, verbs that were written by a man. Now unless there’s a big secret that
somebody out there is hiding, Golden will never or has never felt the feelings of a young girl at that moment in her life. How he described it so intimately remains a mystery to me. Then, there is Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalist who combined reporting with fiction. His most well-known novel, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” is the story of a journalist and his attorney’s drug-induced adventures in sin city based upon…well…elaborations and extensions of experiences of Thompson and his attorney’s drug-induced adventures in sin city. As a reader and writer, I highly respect the work of both writers and “Memoirs of a Geisha” and “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” top my list of favorite novels. However, I am much more of a Thompson than I am a Golden because I could never feel comfortable writing a novel from the first-person point of view from someone whose time, lifestyle or gender I would never experience. Although some writers can effectively write this way, I felt that my best and most detailed work is inspired by my own life experiences.
Many times people have asked me what poem, story or paper is the most valuable to me. Without hesitation the answer always is, “My journals.” I’ve kept them for as long as I can remember, even when I couldn’t legibly write and the pink pages of my Hello Kitty diary were covered in crayola pictures of mermaids in stead of words. My collection of journals chronicle my life, and I have no better resource. All I have to do is open one and I’ll know exactly how I felt at age 13, 16, or even four days after my 20th birthday. I used to spend hours writing profiles on characters I was planning to use in plays or short stories including the tiniest details of physical descriptions, important childhood events, or even political views. I found this exercise helpful to better imagine a character but it somehow never felt genuine because the voice was still mine, the words were still my own. When I write about myself, however, the extra background work is not necessary and I feel more natural with my dialogue. If there’s anyone on this earth who I know the intricacies and intimate details of, it’s myself.
I know myself and I have enough experience under my belt to know what my strengths and weaknesses are as a writer. But more importantly, I can say that I know how to honestly distinguish where I’m “good” from where I’m “better.” I’m good at creative writing about characters. But I’m better when I’m writing about something I have had personal experiences with. For example, how could you possibly accurately describe Paris if you haven’t been there? How would one know how it feels to come home to aching feet you’re too scared to rub because they are raw and filthy from walking the cobblestone streets all day long or how could one correctly describe the tiny cracks in the wrinkled paint of the Mona Lisa, or the slightly musty smell of the canvas? Except you can’t exactly tell if the smell is from the painting, or the mass of warm bodies crowding around and gently pushing against your back, in a non-threatening way, as your neck strains to get a closer look. It is for these reasons that I don’t have a problem with my tendency to write about my life. Experiences, emotions and life are what inspire me, and in my opinion, creativity could never survive without inspiration .

Nuclear Goldfish

You know how in families you sometimes get siblings that are complete opposites and every one acts surprised when they learn for the first time they are brother and sister?
Well, that's my family in a nut-shell.
We've got my Mom, my Dad, little brother Zack, and me. Zack and I are polar opposites. We are yin and yang. We don't look or act alike, even a little bit. First of all, I have blonde hair and blue eyes, while Zack is a brunette with a head of the most full, curly hair you've ever seen. His eyes are a dark brown, and he bears rememblance to my mother while I, on the other hand, look more like my fair father.
Physical differences aside, we are two completely different people in terms of personality too. I am the loud, outgoing, "crazy" one who was always causing and getting into trouble. My brother was the quiet, more reserved one, who likes to hang out in groups but is often working alone or playing the guitar.
Now, with all of our differences, you may be thinking "is there ANYTHING they have in common?" The answer to that question, is yes! We do share common interest, one of them being music. We both have a passion for music. Although he is more interesting in the production side of music, and I'm more interested in singing or dancing, we both can appreciate a good song!
I went home for a portion of Spring Break to catch up on some sleep and homework. While I as there, I had the opportunity to hear my brother's band for the first time! Like I mentioned before, he is a little shy, and although he had been a member of Nuclear Goldfish for a while, I had never been in town when they had a show. However, recently Nuclear Goldfish had been spending a lot of time in the studio putting together a full-length CD. When it was finished, Zack was very secretive about the final product. Not even my parents were allowed to hear it. But when I came home and asked him to play it for me, surprisingly he did. And surprisingly, it was a pretty good CD (considering it was their first time in the studio).
I was very proud of him, it looks like my little brother has been stepping of his shell...you never know, he may become a rock star one of these days!
Check out his band, Nuclear Goldfish!

Blog 3. Tim's Show.

Last night, I brought some my roomate, her boyfriend, and a sorority sister to see my friend Tim Fagan perform at Santa Monica Bar and Grille. I had never been to Santa Monica Bar and Grille before, and it's been a long time since I saw Tim so I figured this would be a great opportunity to experience something new and old at the same time. My friends and I entered the cavernous restaurant, which was dimly lit. Each table had candles and the stage was illuminated with yellow light. The crowd was small, but it didn't seem to matter to Tim.
Tim played very well, as he always does. However, I wasn't too happy when he played many cover songs. His own original work is great, so I don't know why he felt compelled to play so many songs written by others. Perhaps it was the intimate crowd, probably full of strangers (besides me and my friends). All I know about guitar is from what I've learned from my talented little brother, but with that limited knowledge I can say that Tim played well. He also kept switching between electric and acoustic (depending on the song) which was nice, but also kept the audience waiting.
When he wasn't rocking out, or switching instruments, Tim was interacting with the audience. He is really great at involving people in his shows by playing silly games with the audience; "name that tune!" and the prize always is a free CD. For such a small crowd, the dumb games works. However, I'd hate to see him try this in front of a large crowd. It would be mayhem! Tim is a very friendly, personable kind of guy and when you have people-skills, why not use them when you can?
Overall, I enjoyed our excursion to Santa Monica Bar and Grille to see Tim. He is a talented man who has come a long way in the few years that I've known him. I think will go far in the music industry. Also, when we talked to him before and after the show, my friends got to know him and now he has at least 3 new fans.

Improv

This semester I am enrolled in Eric Trules' Improv acting class.
I signed up for the class because my roomate, and best friend here at USC was taking it too and I thought it would be a fun thing to do during her last semester (she's a senior). So we signed up, thinking an improvisational acting class would be easy and fun. Little did we know what we were getting into.
Eric Trules is a man with an extensive acting and modern dance career. He has been doing this for many years and apparently, he is quite famous (or infamous) among USC students because many students who enroll in his class were reffered by a friend. I had no idea so many people had heard things about this class, and was surprised to see that many other students in my class had.
After the first day of class, it became very clear that this class was not going to be what we expected. Instead of verbal improv, Trules made it clear that this class was going to be focusing on a more physical-reaction improvisation. Immediately I wanted to drop the class and pick up another elective. However, I decided to stick it out because there would be no final, and I wanted to take a class with my roomate.
This class might be the most difficult thing I've done in college (and believe me, I've overcome some OBSTACLES). Every day I come out of class, telling my friends that today we "acted like dogs" or "connected our bodies like a machine" or "made-love to the wall" and they look at me like I'm crazy! Not that it really matters, but I guess I have to say that I agree with them. I think it's crazy too.
Maybe I'm saying this because I'm a commercial actress (more than anything), but I really don't understand the method to the madness. I can't connect with it, even though I try each week in class.
Trules keeps asking us in class if we've reached any epiphanys about improv, acting, or life this semester. I can't say that I have, but I'm hoping that at the end of the semester I can look back on what I did and be grateful for taking the chance to run around a classroom pretending to be a 5-year-old who has to pee really bad!

Hunter S. Thompson

The more I work on my Assigment 3 paper, the more enamored I become with Hunter S. Thompson. He was such an interesting person, with a very unique life. Ultimately it is my goal to write more like him. I wish I could do it in my journalism classes here, but USC's school of journalism is more of a finesse school. Learning about Thompson makes me wish I had more freedom, or at least took some creative writing classes.
Right now, as I write this paper, I am struggling with the question; "Is journalism art?" I can't decide. I guess it depends on how you look at it, but what Hunter S. Thompson did will probably always be remembered as art. And for that, I respect him. He inspires me to be more creative with my writing, which is not often commonplace in the broadcast journalism world.

Famous Thompson quotes:

"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me."

"If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism."

"If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you're going to be locked up."

"Publishers are notoriously slothful about numbers, unless they're attached to dollar signs - unlike journalists, quarterbacks, and felony criminal defendants who tend to be keenly aware of numbers at all times."

"The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason."

"You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands."

Feist's New CD

I can't wait for Feist's new album to come out.
This fall I became obsessed with her old CD, "Let it Die."
My best friend attends Berklee College of Music in Boston and she burned me a few CDs of what she was listening to over the summer. I always liked Feist's voice on a few tracks, but never listened to the whole CD. However, when I actually sat down and played the entire album, I realized how good she really is. Her voice sounds like she has been classically trained, but there is something alluring and sylistic about her voice.
"Let it Die" is something I would play over dinner with a glass of red wine.
She's also very Parisian, and I like that about her.
I would reccomend her to anyone who likes Fiona Apple's style.
So, look out for her new album this Fall!

I Don't Know if Anybody Reads This, But...

My mom just called me to say that her best friend's standard poodle, Max, went into cardiac arrest last night at 1:00 in the morning. The doctors tried to recessitate him, but he did not make it and 30 minutes later he died.
Would you like to know how he went into cardiac arrest?
This dog had to go under the knife because he swallowed a Ralph Lauren wallet. Now, Max was no ordinary dog. He ate everything. A plate full of cookies....survived. A plate full of brownies...survived. A leather work-out glove...pooped it out. A various assortment of chanel bags and shoes....expensive dog with expensive taste. Nevertheless, he SURVIVED all of these things.
But a Ralph Lauren wallet did him in.
Ralph Lauren puts a lot of crappy dyes into their products, especially leather, and it ate away at Max's intestines. If the stuff they put in a wallet is enough to send a standard poodle into cardiac arrest...I am NEVER purchasing Ralph Lauren EVER AGAIN.

just thought you should all know if you care about this sort of thing.

Raffi Knows What's Up

As a child I was infatuated with Raffi, as many children are. However, a few years after the hits "Baby Beluga" and "Down by the Bay," as innovative as they were, Raffi put out an album called "Evergreen Everblue" which I also listened to growing up.
Now here's where things get interesting...
I completely forgot about this album (who could blame me, we're talking 1996, people.) until a few weeks ago when my memory, that often surprises me, somehow dug one of Raffi's catchy tunes up. So I went onto itunes, God's gift to mankind, and sure enough they had it. I purchased it and listened to it.
Hearing this album again as a quasi-adult was pretty amazing because although the album is listed under the genre of children's music, the songs are basically about environmental issues. While listening to songs, I was surprised to find that I remembered a lot of the lyrics and this was something I listened to 10 years ago.
Raffi is a genuis because without really knowing it, I was singing along to these songs about the environment. What a way to influence a younger generation. Put out a CD about issues that need to be called attention to and slap Raffi's name on it!
In any case, you should check out "Evergreen Everblue" because it's good. Definitely don't buy it unless you're a die-hard Raffi fan, or a hippy, or someone like me who enjoys childhood nostalgia. I've actually been listening to it quite a bit these days, I can't lie!.
I will be the first to admit some of the songs are really corny, in a tree-hugging kind of way, but props to Raffi for putting his agenda out there (I mean, at least he's promoting a beneficial message).
And without further ado, here are the lyrics to my favorite song on the album...


Mama's Kitchen by Raffi

Mama's kitchen got no dress code
You just come and eat your fill
Mama's kitchen got no color code
come in your native skin
Mama's kitchen got no borders
It's everywhere you turn
Mama's kitchen got no dress code
Isn't it time we learned?

No politics on Mama's menu
On the left page or the right
Food enough for each human belly
In the heart
within it's sight

Mama's kitchen for the needy
Serves a piece of planet-pie
And the spoils go to the greedy
Spoilin' horizon sky, sky high

No politics on Mama's menu
On the left page or the right
Food enough for each human belly
In the heart
within it's sight

Mama's kitchen got no dress code
You just come and eat your fill
Mama's kitchen got no color code
come in your native skin
Mama's kitchen got no borders
It's everywhere you turn
Mama's kitchen got no dress code
Isn't it time we learned?

Barbie Loves MAC...and I do too.

Call me a girl, but I love make up.

And when applied correctly, I consider it to be an art form. Why else would anyone hire a "make up artist"??? It's not easy to apply make up well. On the contrary, it is VERY simple to mess it up. So why is a cosmetologist, or make up artist a profession that's often looked down upon? Surely there are plenty of people in the industry that somehow got hired and have no idea what they are doing. However, there is a proper technique to applying make up that I've learned over the years (mainly from San Francisco-based professional Hillary Clark). But in my opinion, as long as you have confidence in what you are doing (and apply with some kind of technique in mind), there are no rules and the possibilities are endless!

I have to admit, I am biased. And although I like different products from different companies (I'll get into that later), my favorite overall make up company is MAC due to their insane color diversity, but mostly, due to their advertising campaigns.

I am absolutely inspired by MAC's latest line, "Barbie Loves MAC."

The pinks and greens are very barbie-esque and I love it! However, I have to say that the look is a little costumey, and not very wearable (at least during the day...unless you're brave and want to spend a lot of money on all of the new products). So, with Barbie Loves MAC as inspiration, here are my favorite products for Spring/Summer 2007.

1) Nars blush/bronzer combination

I discovered this product over the summer when I lived in Paris. It belonged to my friend Ashley, and one day I needed to borrow some blush randomly. She passed me the NARS blush/bronzer duo (in Orgasm/Laguna) and from the moment I tried it I was addicted! I tried to find some in France immediately. Throughout our trip, my other three roomates also tired this duo and I'm not joking when I say it looked good on everyone (An fair-skinned Italian, a tan Aremenian, a brunette Mexican, and me...the blonde)Unfortunately I had to wait until I came back to America to get some, but you can get it now at Sephora!

2)Smashbox Lip/Lid Primer

Most people don't know the joy of primer. And that's okay, I actually think it's useless most of the time. However, in the spring and summer my eyelids tend to get moist and it causes my eyeshadow to crease and eyeliner to smear (if I'm wearing it). I'm sure 90% of the make up-wearing population can say the same happens to them. If you are one of these people, then Smashbox makes a great product you should know about for those hot summer nights. When applied before eyeshadow, primer works like a "make up glue" because it sets everything in place, and keeps it where it's supposed to be. As an added bonus, this product also comes with a lip primer too, if you wear lipstick! Also, at Sephora.

3. Bare Essentials foundation

Now I hate to be an infomercial. But Bare Essentials foundation is perfect for Spring because it's light, provides good coverage when applied correctly, and has an SPF. What more could you really ask for? It looks natural if you blend well, and is compatible with all skin types. I have very sensitive skin and would get irritated when I wore Clinique oil-free foundation. So, I decided to give this stuff a try and my skin has been fine ever since. I highly reccomend it. Sephora and Bare Essentials carries it.

Blog 2- SFMOMA, the picture of modernity

For my assignment two, I have decided to use the website of San Francisco’s Museum of Modern Art. Nor-Cal pride aside, I really do think that SFMOMA is a great museum. The city of San Francisco itself is a very unique city. I’ve almost thought that it was like an east coast city on the west coast, which makes it that much better. San Francisco has a personality all it’s own, and this singularity is expressed in its modern art museum. It would only be appropriate for the SFMOMA to be as original as the city it’s in.
The SFMOMA’s website is also very unique. I love it and visit it frequently to see what’s new or to buy tickets for my next visit whenever I’m back home. There are a few specific elements of the site that make it stand out to me; its modernity and simplicity.
To me, modernity and simplicity go hand in hand. The interior designs, lighting, architecture, fashion collections, that look the most modern to me, are most often the designs that looks the most simple. There is something to be said about keeping things simple and minimal. Our lives are run by technology which is supposed to make our lives more simple and efficient. It seems as if that is what our lives center around. There is a simplicity to modern art as well. Although they can be very complex and have lots of depth, it can be said that some pieces look similar to finger paintings you did in preschool. In that sense, there is a level of simplicity, not necessarily in terms of technique, but in terms of the overall appearance of the final product.
SFMOMA’s homepage is decorated with orange rectangular blocks and few images of the highlighted exhibits. The design and layout is very simple and clean. There aren’t millions of links and nothing looks complicated. Yet the bright colors are visually stimulating and your eye is drawn to the three selected images of paintings featured in the Picasso and Brice Marden exhibits. Because there are only three pictures on the home page, you aren’t overwhelmed and can concentrate on what you see.
The layout of the site is also very simple. The links are located at the top, which makes it very easy to find what you are looking find. It’s even easy to casually work your way through the site even if you don’t know what you’re looking for! As you explore and look at different pages of the site, you’ll see the color design and layout change, yet the site maintains its overall theme; simplicity and modernity.

Just Something I Wrote

Eighteen
I sat at my vanity, surrounded by trinkets, music boxes and various pink, sparkly things that I had collected throughout my childhood. And now I looked in the mirror to see my reflection, not one of a little girl, but one of a full fledged adult. Adult. What a scary word, I thought to myself.
“Today, I am eighteen,” I said aloud to nobody in particular. I just wanted to test the words out and see how it felt. I let the sentence roll over in my mouth and my mind as I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering what made today so different than yesterday. What does it mean to be an adult? I still go to high school. I still live in my parent’s house. I still watch the Disney Channel, for God’s sake! Yet today, in the eyes of America, I am an adult fully able to buy cigarettes, pornography, and can be charged as an adult for any crime. I am not financially independent by any means, my Dad drives me to school every morning and yet, I can be legally tried as an adult.
I picked up a porcelain unicorn figurine on my vanity that my Mom bought for me when she was away in China on a business trip. She was always gone a lot. I knew she didn’t really have much of a choice, but I wish I saw her more often than I saw Jane. Jane has been with us since I was two or three and I guess that qualifies her as a family member by now. I hate how she comes into my room when I’m at school and straightens everything up. It almost looks too perfect, like nobody lives here. The white, smooth porcelain unicorn feels cool and hard in my hand but its smiling face somehow seems to soften the figurine. It wasn’t that long ago when I used to fall asleep with my old, stuffed unicorn. I called her “Moonbeam.” For some reason I have always associated unicorns with night time. When Mom brought me the stuffed unicorn back from her trip to Japan, Jane had already tucked me into bed. I was tired, but couldn’t sleep because I knew Mom was coming home that night. She always brought me something back from every trip. She liked to surprise me, but I always kind of expected it. Right before I was about to fall asleep, I saw my bedroom door slowly crack open and I knew that if she thought I was sleeping, she wouldn’t come in…it was a school night.
I said, “Hi Mom!” just loudly enough so she would know I was awake. She ran into my room and crawled into bed with me.
“Hi sweetheart, did you miss me?” she said as she gave me a big, long hug. She pulled the unicorn out of a plastic bag, it looked so beautiful and white in the darkness of my room. Its horn was silver and sparkly, and felt rough compared to rest of the plush body. “I brought her all the way home from Japan so you could take care of her,” She said, “What are you going to call her?” I looked at the unicorn who seemed to just shine in the moonlight coming in through my window. I knew right away what her name would be,
“Moonshine!” I said proudly. Mom laughed at me and I didn’t know why.
She said, “Why don’t we call her Moonbeam, honey?”
“Okay,” I said. I always knew my Mom was right. From there on out, I called my unicorn Moonbeam and slept with it every night. It reminded me of her. But now the days of playgrounds, barbies, and dress up were over. I guess they were over a long time ago. My whole life adults have always seemed to comment on how ‘grown up’ I was, or how I was ‘so mature for my age.’ At the time I was always weirded out after receiving those comments, but in retrospect it makes sense. I grew up an only child, always alone, Jane was there, but she was a little to old to make a good play mate. My Dad was there, at times, and never the crucial ones. He worked a lot too, and always had those unavoidable international conference calls scheduled at the exact same time as my soccer games, ballet recitals, and student award assemblies. But at least he was in the same country. That’s more than my Mom could say. I guess you could say that I am one of those kids who raised themselves.
I looked in the mirror one last time, hating what I saw. My eyes were swollen from a lack of sleep the night before and I hated this dress that I was forced to buy at the last minute. It didn’t look like anything that belonged in my closet. It’s too grown up, too sophisticated, too black. She would have hated this dress too, it feels almost inappropriate to be wearing this today. While looking at the reflection of myself, my eye is drawn to a glimmer of white, boldly standing out from my consumingly black outfit. I realize I am still holding onto the white, porcelain unicorn.
I put it back down on the table, and couldn’t help but feel a little sad. I thought I might cry. I hadn’t cried yet. To me, my mother was always like a unicorn, some kind of mythical creature that only existed in photographs and family fairy tales. I knew she was my Mother, but it never really felt that way. The business trips, and long vacations really took their toll. So when I received the phone call from Jane that my Mother had been killed in a car accident in New York, I didn’t know what to do. When most teenagers hear the news of a parents death, they cry and can’t fathom a life without their mom or dad. But I was already living a life without my parents.
Getting ready for the funeral was the most difficult part of this whole experience. Putting on this dress, and knowing that my family and friends will be watching, waiting for some kind of reaction, all the while making confused comments about how unfortunate it is that the funeral happened to fall on my birthday. My eighteenth birthday. “What a smooth transition into adulthood,” I thought to myself. “A true test of poise, composure and maturity….holding yourself together at your own mother’s funeral.”

What Men Do Wrong

My most recent project, and the FIRST that will be published and sold is....
"what guys do wrong"
It's a book, created by a friend of mine, John Piermarini, and it's basically written from the a female perspective addressing the four timeless questions that some men supposedly can't figure out.
1) What do guys do wrong when approaching girls?
2) What should they be doing?
3) What do guys do wrong in relationships?
4) What should they be doing to make it last?
In this book, I answer these questions and give examples on things that are good idas and things that are definitely bad ideas!
It should be coming out within the next couple of weeks...look out for it.

Blog 1- Avant Garde

This summer I had the opportunity to live in Paris where I studied avant garde theater. One of the highlights was that we actually got to read Cocteau's "Wedding on the Eiffel Tower" in front of the Tour Eiffel itself. It was an incredible experience, especially because France is the birthplace of surreal theater, in my opinion.
Before living in France, I had very little experience with surreal, dada or avant garde theater so reading these plays was, at first, absolutely jarring. The work of artists like Artaud and Breton left me feeling uncreative to say the least. However, after I became used to the strange words, characters, actions and staging, I became very compelled by this kind of theater.
One specific concept I found very compelling was Artaud's idea of "Theater of cruelty." For lack of a better way to explain this, let me quote wikipedia;

"The Theatre of Cruelty is a concept in Antonin Artaud's book Theatre and its Double. By cruelty, he meant not sadism or causing pain, but rather a violent, physical determination to shatter the false reality which, he said, lies like a shroud over our perceptions. He believed that text had been a tyrant over meaning, and advocated, instead, for a theatre made up of a unique language halfway-between thought and gesture. Antonin Artaud described the spiritual in physical terms, and believed that all expression is physical expression in space."

Artaud was looking for meaning that transcended words and he achieved this by shocking his audience, and making bold choices that caused them to react and think, therefore becoming part of the experience themselves.

Although I had studied this concept I never really actualized it until I went to Avignon for the annual avant garde theater festival.
There I saw "Asobu," an hour long dance piece performed by Japanese dancers and choreographed by Josef Nadj. This performance was one of the most jarring, strange and captivating experiences I have ever had and I must admit I felt like I was part of it.




The piece was performed in the courtyard of what was once a palace. The dancers looked tiny in the middle of three huge walls. Images, mostly of horses were projected on to the walls which became a canvas and background. The dancers were spastic and I couldn't believe they could move that way for the amount of time that they did. There were parts where they jumped on one leg over and over as if hey were crippled. I can't even explain half of the things that they did, or my experience of watching it because it feels like a blur. I remember when I used to perform on stage and dance for a long set. When I finally found myself in the wings again, people who ask me how I felt about my performance and I couldn't remember anything although I was on the stage minutes ago. This is exactly how I felt after watching Asobu.