sweet dreams

I want to be good. I want to be layered with subtext and make tiny choices with big consequences. I want to be inspirational to smaller girls and lucid old people with twinkling eyes. I want to do something extraordinary - really extreme. Like those crazy Olympians. Yet I want to do it in a small ordinary way.

I think of the filmmakers who made Once. Have you seen that movie? It was a small undertaking that turned into an extraordinary thing. It's magical, and the title track to the soundtrack makes me sob without fail.

Like a David Whyte poem. Like this poem.
I pasted it below too....

I don't need need fancy dresses, I dress like a teenage boy in real life, why pretend and wear other people's dresses? (I'm thinking of the Oscar's of course). I just want to be grace and love and magic personified. I want to drop all of my bad habits, negative thinking and random bullshit that y'all have surely noticed over the last 3/4 year but have granted me pardon because I'm funny at times or my kid is too cute to pass up. I'm guessing anyway. Is that it?

Can you tell I'm working in a 'dream board' this week? I'll have to scan it and share it like a big old geeky crafty scrapbooker when I'm done.

I've got to get some vision back into this picture as it's gotten a dangerously dark and gloomy around the edges. As it is, that big ol' life change I've been threatening to dish about has finally come to pass in an official way. Our tenure in Los Angeles is coming to a close, this little family is moving east to be near cute hubs family. So the thing in the box over there to the left? About leaving LA for free babysitters? It's happening.

We're moving to Utah. I hope the saints are nicer to outsider's in 2010 than they were in the 1840's.  Hub's family is delightful and not a part of that scene (for the most part), but that part of the equation is an x factor that makes me uncomfortable. I'm reading Under the Banner of Heaven, which it turns out, isn't a great idea. But it is a great book.

I love LA in an unreasonable way, mostly because of the people who I love here. And the sun I love here. And the way people dream big here.

For the record I'm going to keep dreaming big up there in the valley near Park City, I just have to do it in the snow. (shudder)

So for now I'll leave you with this poem that a dear friend of mine sent me in an email six years ago. She didn't stick around the planet for long after she sent it to me, I think this kind of living is hard to do. But I love this poem and her memory in the same fierce way.

Heavy hearted-ly yours,




Self Portrait

It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

-- David Whyte
      from Fire in the Earth 
      ©1992 Many Rivers Press

She's Having a Baby

Yep, I've known I was going to use this movie title for this post for a long, long time.

It's time for the birth story kids, it's time. Our lil hero turns one in an hour, we'll celebrate him on this day for the rest of his life, our lives. This life. (draft started 11pm on April 5th)


----

This time last year I was in the hospital wondering what the eff I was doing there. I had just gotten an epidural put in by a very hot, sassy, gum-snapping Armenian chick whose work was overseen by a giant man with an awkward walk. I was terrified. There I was perched on the edge of a hard bed with a breeze on my butt and what felt like duct tape up and down my back and the tiny long needle about to go in.

Snappy gum: Don't move. It's really important that you don't move.

Me: Contraction. WAIT! Please wait. I can't Not move during a...... aaahheeeighhggghggheihhh. F*ck. HOld on. Ouch. okay. hold on. okay. go ahead.

Snappy: Ok, this will sting a bit.

Me: Seriously? Nothing can phase me now.

enter needle

Snappy: Ok! Great, so now you will soon feel relief. Push this button (hands me a contraption on the end of a cord with a red button) if you need more relief, it will dispense more medicine.

Me: Neat.

So the army of amazing women who had followed me, the belly, and cute hubs across town to the fancy-ass UCLA medical center now disperse in search of sleep. My midwife says, sleep. Take advantage of this epidural to finally get some rest. Sounds like a pretty good plan since I have not slept since 3 am Saturday morning when the 'rushes' started - and this is now 11pm Sunday night. The boy isn't going to come on April 5th after all. Or April 4th either (our first guess seeing how labor started that day) I guess we'll meet him tomorrow.

'Rushes' by the way, is the lovely term that midwifes and other lovely hippy-dippy sweet people who want to make you think that you can give birth in a lovely home-like candle lit setting or in a calm part of some damn sea or a water tub with dolphins n' such and gracefully and gently move through the feeling of the 'rush' of sensation and by calling it a 'rush' it is somehow not the FAWKING TIDAL WAVE of PAIN and utter ridiculous PAIN and searing hot PAIN and bone-crushing body-wracking FAWKING PAIN and I guess it's not a bad plan to call it something other than the FTWOP (fawking tidal waves of pain) but I think they were pretty darn misleading but thankfully I am not angry. Really.

As they are leaving, I am a mix of compassionate for their needs along with a hollow feeling of being completely deserted. I watch their backs march away into the inky night which is visible through the giant window of our strangely beautiful hospital room that has nice dim lighting. The view is sweet of Westwood's spots of lights and perhaps campus beyond. Sleep they said. As my awareness fuzzes out into the lights visible over my giant belly and the form of a sweet sleeping husband on the bench, I feel grateful for their beauty and their kindness and belief in my ability to have a natural home birth but also just a little bit grateful for the gum snapping Armenian gal and her freaky needle.

And I fall into delicious sleep. I  close my eyes and ask the images of the previous 40 hours of my existence to disappear into a drugged oblivion. The walking and walking and the waves of pain and constant throwing up and the sitting on the toilet waiting for the world to end and standing and no, actually, walking and the waves coming consistently and then intermittently and none of it added up the the labor I was supposed to have. The walking sure. The singing even on Saturday night as my doula, BF and I did laps around our block. The beautiful moon behind the black palm trees in the gentle April night. My sweet doula and her constant presence. The warm smell of hubs neck as I leaned into him, his gentle ways and slight anxiety obvious through the haze.

What wasn't invited was the lack of rhythm. The fact that the swimmer was turned and his shoulder was stuck in some weird way. That the labor was termed 'prodromal' which is a mystery but I think says something about my head that isn't great. The IV drip due to my inability to keep anything down, even water. The thought-out labortime snacks I had prepared sat somewhere nearby, I think someone quietly nibbled on them at some point. I can't remember. The time at home was behind a wall of water and glass and pain.

-----

A few hours later I am awoken by the midwife on duty, she needs to 'check me' to see how well the pitocin is working. Fine. That's fine, check it out. She frowns and pulls her gloved hand out of the exit zone.

Nice midwife:  Oh well, okay. So. You're only dilated to 5cm. We were hoping for more. We need to up the Pitocin.

Me: Neat.

Nice midwife: Try to go back to sleep.

I nod.

This room is very large, I feel like I'm on a boat in a sea of shiny floors. They said it was the nicest room in the wing, sure seems like it. Let's ignore for a minute the beeping of the heartmonitor on the baby that I was never going to get, even if they said I'd need it. Let's ignore the machine hooked into my body providing a flow of narcotics surging into my body and the little one, the thing I was never, ever going to do. Let's focus on the fact that I don't feel the GD rushes. Oh. Wait a minute.

Me: Ouch

crickets

There is no-one here. Cute hubs is asleep on the bench. I don't have the heart to wake him. I'll just push this little button on the end of the thing here, because this 'sensation' is starting to heat up - oh boy.

Me: OUCH. Shit. Um.

The FTOP's are back. That's not the bargain I struck here. I gave up the last remaining shards of my 'birth plan' and dignity to end the reign of pain that had gone on for 40 hours at home and in the car. I am now fully in their world and their world is supposed to be pain-free.

Me: DAMMMMMMIIITTTTTTTT.

Cute hubs: Zzzzzz. (poor guy he hadn't slept for 1/2 of Friday and most of Saturday night either)

Time to call the nurse. She arrives eventually and promptly calls snappy gum who eventually (after many more FTOP's). She rolls in there rolling her eyes at me.

Snappy: You have sensation?

Me: Yes, plenty.

Snappy: Did you push the button?

Me: Several times.

Snappy: (SIGH) Let me see.
(pause while fiddling with machine)
Okay, I reset it. It should work now in about 20 minutes.

Me: 20 minutes!? Are you serious?

Snappy: (Eyeroll)

----

So this goes on. There is no more sleep. But at 5 am it's time to check again, (I wish I'd charged for admission for access, by the end I probably could have paid the hospital bill) and the good news is that we're fully dilated kids. Game on. Let's push.

My army of women slowly arrive as the hubs awakes. Dawn streaks out over UCLA as the pin lights disappear and I wonder about the college kids going to their classes and how they don't know that something miraculous is happening right behind them, right up there on the fourth floor.

At 7 am I have 'labored down' enough and I start to push. Due to the epidural which is now turned off but is still attached, and fetal heart monitor, I cannot push like a normal person, I have to squat awkwardly in the bed or do some kind of upside bar madness. It's not comfortable. It's not reasonable. But I'm okay, it seems okay. Strangely people keep coming in and saying that I look really glamourous. Which is ridiculous. The nurses say "You're the most glamourous pusher I've ever seen".

I bet.

So an hour passes. Then another one. And still I'm getting pretty good feedback about my efforts. It's certainly not easy and by now I think it's about time to get this lil party over with but oops looks like I'm losing one of the key players.

Nice Midwife: Well, I'm afraid my shift is up - I'm going to turn your case over to our next midwife on duty.

And now you know why I"ve been calling her 'Nice midwife'. Cause here comes the other one. 

This new woman enters and before shaking my hand or as much as a hello she checks me and the progress of the boy through the ol canal and now another frown and the stark, nasty disapproval makes my heart drop into my swollen feet.

Mean Midwife: (scowling) Ok, let me see you push. I don't think you're being effective here.

So I proceed to do my glamourous pushing which involves a head toss and some real strain, I mean really - but based on the look on her face, it's not enough.

MM: You're pushing with your face and your legs, you need to push right here. (She illustrates with by thrusting her hand into the spot of which she speaks. Apparently she's touching his head.)

Me: Scream.

Next comes a confrontation. MM and her folks decide to coach in a non-midwife manner during a contraction by yelling "PUUUUSH" and "RIGHT HERE!" and "OTHER THINGS" and I am just. not. okay. with that. Sure it's a very Hollywood labor moment but I just can't abide by this scene at all. So after I finish panting I yell.

Me: I can't have you yelling at me!

MM: I didn't think I was yelling.

Me: You were.

MM: Scowl.

And by 'pushing back' (ha ha) I create a tense moment that involves a conference outside the room with my real midwife (the one I originally hired for a homebirth) the MM, and the physician on duty.

The RM (real midwife if you're not tracking with my initializing) reappears and strongly encourages me to play ball (as it were) seeing as how it's now Monday morning and my water broke on Saturday and if I don't want to end up under the knife, well. I need to shut the eff up. Not her words exactly, but I get it.

----

So I push. And I push. And. PUSH. And I get more productive with the pushes, it's less glamour - more progress. The MM does not come back after the above conference (there is a God) but the physician is just as adamant about touching his head ALL THE TIME while I push so it is a deeply uncomfortable (and intimate) experience.

The following hour is something I'll never forget. I have never felt more vulnerable, raw and exposed. I have never been so strong and beautiful. I have never had to do something so incredibly fawking hard. And I've never had such a profound reason to partner with my body. I'm sure it will sound cliche but I dig into a part of myself that I had never met. It's somewhere under the gut, surrounded by soul right next to the heart and nowhere near the brain. It is primal and destructive. I am a cyclone, a whirling dervish a slow rumbling earthquake. I hear a roaring sound resounding in my head, I have no idea if the screams and grunts I hear are mine, as far as I can tell the room is silent as I watch the whole thing from inside and above.

And the time in-between the contractions is so weird. It's a ride on the FTOP's which are massive and huge and fantastic and then we file our nails and wait for the next one. Finally my girlfriend is running around the room weeping and brandishing my camera yelling 'he's coming! 'he's coming! I can see his head!'

Now he's crowning.
And everything stops.

But. He just sits there.

I'd heard of the 'ring of fire' - and I believed it was an accurate name. And I won't go on here but suffice it to say it is a fine name.

F*AWKING HELL-O KITTY WHAT THE EFF DID I DO DESERVE SUCH PAIN?

This is my inner monologue, outwardly I am strangely calm. I focus on my breath. It's 11am and I've been pushing for four hours and really? People? I am just done. So I take another breath.

In the next rush okay contraction he comes out. I don't know much about it because I can't see anything, my eyes have been pushed out of working order and it's all a fuzzy Renoir wash. So after only four and 1/2 hours of pushing, it's done. He's here.

----

What I have failed to mention thus far is that there was some evidence in the water that caused some alarm that the boy might be in distress so a team of dudes have been called. They arrive in a quiet shuffle all scrubbed and ready to meet him at the table across the shiny floor.

He is quickly ripped away from me and flown across the sea into their hands. I am there alone on the island, stranded in the tangled sheets and blood. I have just turned my guts, heart and other parts inside out in an effort to bring this guy onto the planet - and now he belongs to them. Medical science. A team of gloved hands and plastic tubes that descend deep into his throat and very being and my dear husband stands by and watches helplessly. I can't see any of it, but later he described watching this tiny infant being scrubbed and handled like a car in a car wash without the water.

3 minutes pass.

There is an oppressive weight in the air, like the humidity before a thunderstorm. Alone on my island I watch the storm approach and I wonder. I am curious. I am quiet. I don't know why but I don't feel anxious, just curious.

Will he stay?

Finally a raspy cry. I think a cheer went up in the room, I can't say.

The Real Midwifes of LA County insists that he come onto my chest. I guess this is a little tip of the hat  to my original dreamy birth plan of the candle-lit water birth and the sweet bonding and the alleged fact that the tiny guy will come crawling up to find the easy breastfeeding because of course there has been no drugs or anything to inhibit breastfeeding.

But this isn't the world I live in anymore, it's an old idea and I'm not sure how to get back there. His little mouth is yawning open with a weak little cry and I'm helpless like a beached, blind manatee. My hands are heavy like flippers as I try unsuccessfully to comfort this little being who is bound and perched on my chest.

But he's gotta go. The team of faceless carwash guys want him down in the NICU.

Hubs goes with them. And now there is nothing. I'm just there on the windy beach. I'm lost in a blown-out world of white and shapes, I still can't see.

----

56 hours. I did that dance with the force of nature designed to bring human life to the world for 56 hours.


Unfortunately I felt like I fell off the stage when I couldn't 'see' the birth at home anymore. When we took to the Prius caravan and covered the entire LA basin in search of a hospital with midwives, I'd turned in my shoes. And then the force of nature had to deal with the force of medical science. And in my humble opinion, they don't get along well. But the good news is the boy was born, and he was okay.

After they all roll down the hall to the NICU, my midwife (aka RM) - turns to me and says she is glad we are here, at the hospital. And as I look at her sweet make-up-free face under the turban and see the kindness and sincerity on her face, (what I could see of it), I say I am glad we are here too. But they better not give him antibiotics...

----

Happy Birthday BHB, I'm so glad you stayed.

In a wash of memories and relief and love,



PS - The NICU story for another time. Thanks for reading this. Hubs and I joke that telling our birthstory is almost 'real time'. Hopefully it wasn't 56 hours for you...

Fool's Rush In

Happy April Fool's Day!

Anyone do anything dastardly? I've never been good at this prank thing, I'm too chickensh*t for it. I don't like the suspense or worry that something will go horribly wrong or someone will end up hating me. When I was 12, my brother rigged a bucket of water above the bathroom door and waited snickering around a corner for me to walk under it. Unfortunately instead of the intended bucket dump, it slid off the top and landed directly on my head where it bounced before finally soaking the floor. A bucket full of water - whadya think? Maybe 15 pounds? It hurt like hell. I think it explains alot about my personality...

So, guess what!? We are in the final weeks before our film shoot. Y'all may remember that I've been yammering on about this thing for months and months now and that raised all of the money on ye old interweb. So we're finally going to be getting this thing done this month.

Ya-freakin'hoo!

I could wax on endlessly about how miraculous it is to be sitting where we are right now. Don't tempt me. But, let's just summarize by saying this:

*Last fall, we were told "You don't have enough money to make this film".

*Last fall, we asked the internet, our friends, our family, you to help us make this film.

*This winter, the fundraising succeeded. Incredible considering the state of the economy and the rest.

*This spring, we will shoot our short film. 10 days after the boy turns 1, a dream 5 years in the making will come true.
It is a miracle. Nothing short.

I gotta be honest, it's been hella challenging trying to balance the two big roles of Mom and Director. Well, three - also Executive Producer. It has somehow magically worked due to very patient, sweet producer's who meet over here a lot during naptimes or so he can play in the play-yard while we chat and sweat details. I've also been seen location scouting with him in the Ergo or driving neighborhoods looking for locations while he naps.

Here on the right you can see how excited he is to be checking out an office location....below we are looking for a convenience store.

I gotta say, I think he looks like a future star baseball pitcher in this shot. Facebook friends, sorry for the repeat - but comon', that is ridiculous cuteness.

Here we are working hard in our PJ's.  Not my proudest parenting moment, but a sleepy baby doesn't pound on your keyboard (I've noticed).

I'll leave you with the schedule of the juggle from today. Our lil guy was a total champ as we made our way through this day, this last hectic day before my Mom comes back to see us through the shoot....


8:00 am meeting with potential unit production manager in studio city. We negotiated his price while dad had kid in lap and feed him applefish.

9:15 hike with friends and babies and dogs (oh and one of the star's of our movie!) Boy learns how to clap! I guess the blue sky and black crows were just finally 'cause enough for applause.

11:30 go to hollywood - wait for place to open to get delicious seaweed salad while on call with producer.

12:00 next hollywood errand - find dinosaur costume for movie (hub featured sporting costume) get awesome discount due to extremely cute kid in Ergo!

1:45 BHB finally gets the nap he was denied all morning.

2:00 finally eat delicious lunch, awesome production manager hired - talk to location guru and friend about the key locations that we're missing, he has great ideas...

2:30 babysitter arrives

3:00 go to location, meet with DP (Director of Photography) to talk shots

5:30  home to relieve babysitter

6:00 play with boy til 7 including admire his new clapping skills and laugh hysterically with him at the antics of the peek-a-boo dad. Then bedtime routine.

8:30 eat our dinner watching 6 Feet Under Season One to get inspired by good shots, good acting

10:00 sucked into emails with producers and put up an 'update' for our backers on kickstarter.

11:51 still typing blogpost that swore I wouldn't stay up til midnight to do....

Right. Goodnight.


Yours in the crazy, happy, busy daze ~


PS - I name my posts after movies. I haven't seen the one this post is named, I know nothing about it. I just liked using anything with Fool for this day. I'm working on another post called 'Enchanted April'. Is this naming my posts after movies too ridic? You can tell me.

Gold

I feel so trite saying this, but here I go. I too want to go for the gold, only I don't want the round disk that all of those folks up in Canada are after - I'm more interested in that shapely hottie they call Oscar.

I think I've been too embarrassed to say it, especially as a resident of Los Angeles. It's just so obvious. And the Academy Awards are so. You know. Such a swell of pretension and glitz and comon' tell the truth actual awesomeness but they certainly have been known to roll around in a stinky pile of lameness. Like the King of World moment. Ugh.

But I'm going to out myself here. I want Gold - and it's on my five year plan dammit.

I'm excited that Kathryn Bigelow might beat James Cameron this year, making Oscar history by being the first woman director to win. I say hells ya. Or, actually? It would be okay with me if I was the first. Sometime in the next five years.

Sometimes I get annoyed with the fact that I've been dicking around doing other for so many years when I know that my true dream is to direct features. I feel lucky that I've been able to carve out a living doing what I love - I mean - that's kinda bitchin'. But, you know what? I've been really beating around the bush....

For fun - let's look back down the road full of bushes, shall we?

Corporate vids - Big fun! Nice money. Lots of control over the creative! A product that only makes sense to a tiny segment of the population. I know, I know, I've already subjected you to some of it here.

TV Ad's - Big fun with someone else's big money! A perceived sense of control! Lots of people talking in your ear. And a product that's reallllly short. But seen! Sometimes salesy and lame. But. Fun! Be subjected here.

Here is one of my favorite commercials that I've directed: 



Short Films - Not so much on the money. But so, so much closer to the prize. A narrative. Actors. Creating a world. Hard ass work. Nice reward when we go to Sundance. (hello Secret)

Viral Vids - No money at first. Some fun. Some success. Later on, perhaps some money. Need to see some?

The reason I'm going ON about my career (or whatever it is) tonight is that I'm in a reflective mood after watching something super fawking cool happen. One of my BFF's from Seattle just walked with her Olympian husband in the opening ceremony.  He was the guy waving the flag for Peru. He and my girlfriend met on the internet and fell in love long distance about six years ago. I remember I was one of her only friends who wasn't going, "Are you nuts? Some dude from South America? From the internets?" Not me. Being a fate-lovin' ridiculous romantic who had just a few years before met her hubs on a plane...I was cheering for her instant messaging love. 

And now they are hanging out in Olympic Village with their adorable two year old and preparing for the race of a lifetime. What about it?

It's just so amazing to see a dream of that magnitude come to fruition. So inspiring. So fantastic. So like me going to the podium and trying not to trip on my fancy-ass dress when I accept my Oscar. Don't you think? I mean I've been mentally prepping for that moment for a long damn time. In fact when I went to film school I would go on my nightly runs through Balboa park, pictured to the right. And as I would run on this road toward the fountain with the sky going through it's pastel wonderland into black, I would accept my Oscar. Pumping my legs with my eye on the shooting water I would thank my peeps, crack a great joke, stand to the left to show my good side,  and then give a shout out to my Dad on the other side. For the record? This was in the mid 90's. I, like Oprah, was practicing the Secret long before the australian home-chic made that cheesy movie. Of course Oprah seems to be better at it.

I have to say, I miss the Hollywood YMCA. I used to run on the treadmill there before Mamahood. I'd always choose the machine that looked right into a blank wall which must appeared to be an odd choice because that wall was maddening, like two feet away. But I loved it, it was perfect for projecting a fantastic future onto. I would replay that moment, that dream moment - me, dress, moderate heels 'cause I suck at walking in them, and the feeling of 'dream come true'. So if there is anything to that Secret madness, I've certainly put in some time.

Hmm. Guess I better go back to my bookshelf filled with manifestation books. Here are two of my faves:



So hang with me people, I think it's going to work. Tonight as I watched the faces of people I love and adore march across my television, I thought.

Yep.

 I can do it too.



With big dreams and big bags under my eyes to match,

PS - Please cast your ballot about Movie monday, I know we're all watching the Olympics but I'll blather on about a movie anyway...

Away We Go

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November 13th

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled Movie Monday Madness to bring you a special bulletin about November 13th the movie and November 1st the short film"

OHMYGOD! HOLYSH*T! HOLYCRAP! I'M FREAKING OUT! (and yelling, obviously) But. OMFG!

It Happened! We did it! You did it! It was did! Ok, okay. I'll stop yelling. But, as you'll see, it's incredibly yell-worthy.

Our short film got funded! We just today surpassed our rather ambitious goal of raising 13,000 over the internets in hunks as low as 2 dollars, and for one person as much as 2,500 dollars - we somehow gathered enough signatures and people willing to put their CC where their typing fingers are and this is how it happened....

That Kickstarter site is so damn amazing. It's really just so special how they help artists and filmmakers and non-profits and bakers and bloggers and anyone who needs funding. It's an online democracy for art. Anyone can make it happen! It was such a perfect forum for us to get the excitement centered and focused - an incredible piazza if you will where we can all mill about and admire other people pursuing their passion. And let's be clear, the number one reason I liked the piazza's in Italy? The gelato. That's what Kickstarter is missing! A dairy sugar treat. Actually - you can get delicious fig newtons up there from Cassie, I did!

Ah but it's pretty darn sweet tonight, let me tell you. Needless to say I'm just so thrilled. It's overwhelming to me that 95 people so far have stepped forward to support us. 95! I got 95 emails that said 'New Backer Alert! So and so is your new backer! Amount pledged x dollars'. So 95 times my little heart jumped when the emails came in. And some of the times if the numbers were especially crazy my heart and feet would jump around the room and our little baby would squeal and my dog would look worried and my mom and step dad get excited and IN FACT!  I just scared the kee-rap out of the cute hubs because as I was looking at the email to see the wording for the above sentence when another 'Backer Alert!' came in for a big hunk of money from a dear friend and I just skitterred across the house trying to squeal quietly and scared him a little bit. What is happening? Why am I so lucky? How are we loved so much by friends, family and strangers alike? It's just nuts, and I'm shaking with the prospect of it. Make that 96 and wipe the tears from my face for the 45th time today.

So that's what is going on over here friends! It's an incredible day. February 1st. I'll never forget it. This experience has given me a new faith. It's a humbling and moving reminder to me of the great Nike campaign from the 90's.

Just Do It.

And we're gonna.

Your incredulous hostess of soon to be movie making fame,



PS - Thank you again to my dear blogee friends who are among the 96. I so appreciate you. And thank you again JJ for putting up the widget on your blog. Love you and the B-day Bea!

Up In The Air

George Clooney is so hot.

It's that damn George Clooney! He's so hot right now!


Sorry to mix my movies. Zoolander happens to be one of my all time favorite movies. If that fact means you don't care what I have to say about any other movie, so be it. Don't let the browser hit you on the ass on your way out.


YOU: Wow, really Jane? That was pretty rude. Do you actually feel that strongly about Zoo-freakin'-Lander?

ME: Yes, Yes I do. I love it. I mean comon'...the walk off? Pure genius.

YOU: Oh, okay. You know what? You're right.

ME: Ah good. Glad to see you've got great taste in movies. What a relief!

Ok, back to the action. Yes, hot. I just have to start there with GC's hotness. I mean, hellllo.  And while it should absolutely have no any bearing whatsoever on whether or not Up In the Air is a good movie, I'm sorry to say but it does.

It made it better. And it was already quite good.

Nominations for 2010 Oscars will be announced next Tuesday. I feel pretty darn confident that Up in the Air will be among the best picture contenders. Do I think it deserves to win that auspicious award? Short answer: Kinda.

Here's what worked for me. The filmgoing experience. I was quite satisfied. Ok, I granted I was a little frustrated with the ending, I'm not saying why yet (don't worry, I'll flag with spoiler alerts) but I get the strong feeling that we are supposed to be a little frustrated by the ending. And I laughed. I got a little weepy. I was swept away into the story and it's character's just like I'm supposta be.

Hot GC's character evolves. I like evolvement! In fact I think it's critical to a hero's journey and thusly the audience journey. Our hero should come out the other side a pretty different guy in a believable way. He did. I believed it.

And wow. I LOVED the casting a--key--ross the board. Down to the bit parts. This is often effed up by other filmmakers but Jason Reitman and his team just nailed this casting thing. I love lovey loved the love interest played by Vera Farmiga. What a power move, more or less an unknown ( I totally IMDB'd her on my iPhone on the way home from the theatre). And the other key role was played flawlessly by relative newcomer Anna Kendrick. Holy delightful! And the sisters. And. Really? Everyone! Like down to the gate agents kind of thing. I really appreciate this attention to detail, how often do you see a movie and things are humming along swimmingly when it suddenly gets knocked off track by a wooden lame actor with zero ability phoning it in and then Whoa! Weird! Bam! you're out of the story and have to find your way back with a gulp of DC and a few bites of popcorn. This friends, did not happen. Plus I don't drink DC, it makes me feel funny.

So here it comes...my issue with the movie.

**Spoiler Alert**

Ok, so. What's with the out o' the blue married status of our gal? I mean, I get that surprise's are good - ie: "ohhh, wow, didn't see that coming" But this was too far out. I don't think it's fair to take an audience to a wedding on a WEEKEND and give us tons of smilee -gorgeous- we're-a-couple-now-twirling around-the-dance-floor with a woman who is not wearing a ring and did I mention it was on the Weekend? And isn't it totally true that when you go to a wedding with someone you're taking the next step? Especially the wedding of a family member? On a Weekend?

Harumph.

**Okay, comon' back**

So I wanted to overlook this flaw, I really did. The only other issue I had is that it could be a bit stage-ee at times. Like the shot (don't worry, it's in the trailer) of the two of them opening their laptops at the same time. I mean, yea. No. That's heightened reality, which I am all for but all of the reality needs to match. But, well. Hold on, I think I'm being a bit curmudgeon-ly. The heightened stuff happens alot...and it's fun. See the thing is I didn't like Juno. (gasp! I know!) and that level of inauthenticity that happens in the cutesy moments (ah Jane, there you go again) is why I didn't like Juno and it was where I got lost momentarily in this movie too. His apartment? Just not believable. I get what you're trying to do, but it's frustrating.

I do love Jason Bateman as the boss. That dude is a fantastic freakin' actor who I think is sorta underrated. Not by me, by the world. Anyhoo. Ok so I know I'm all over the map but y'all know me well by now and wouldn't expect any less. Or more.

All of the acting goodness along with one of the better moments in recent cinema (the hotel lobby sobby scene) add up to something definitely worth seeing, as in I'd see it again.

So I give it an A--. Or B++. I can't commit to just one sign here. It's flawed it a pretty major way in my mind but totally, totally worth the ride. Especially to watch the uber hot George Clooney totally nail it. May he win many more awards and put on many more benefits and may he be in a movie that I direct someday so that I can admire him in person.

Jane out.



PS- This is an apt title for a post for me right now as so much of my own personal life feels very up in the air. I will dish more very soon. In fact...I'm thinking of asking folks who read my blog to help or actually make a major life decision for me and the hubs. I think it sounds kinda fun. I mean, it's better to blame the wiley internets if we find out later it was a total mistake, right? Stay tuned!

Food Inc

thanks to those who voted in the schmancy movie poll over there to the left. Cause let's be clear any viewer participation at all (be it comment, follow or vote) in this blog makes me feel UBER special. So here goes.

Time for another edition of: Monday Movies: Masterpiece or Meh? (or something in-between)

Watch this movie.
Don't wait.


I"m so tempted to end here. Bwha hahaha! It is tempting.

But I won't. So let me 'splain.

You know how we just go along eating the food, you know the food that we get at the Crazy Chicken (El Pollo Loco) or MickeyD's (um, I don't go there dammit) or that nice restaurant where we're spending 20 bucks a plate. We think 'Gosh, I'm sure it's safe. I'm sure the animals that we're eating were treated with... okay they were killed but at least fed and had a little bit of animal joy, some lil piece of what I would consider to be humane treatment. I don't really know where this food came from but since that chef is so swell and the food tastes SO Good, you know, it's gotta be good.

And scene. End of thought process.

Food Inc asks you to actually think about your food, about the places it's been, who is getting paid along the way and what is at risk. It's one of those 'eye opening' documentaries. I've been known to avoid these films, I'll think. 'Gawd, I can't see another movie about government corruption (duh, we know!) or how evil we are to civilians in Iraq, or entire villages of people that are starving, I'll really start crying and never stop.' Because I know it, I know it and it's upsetting and I feel powerless and there is rarely anything if much I can do. But I do watch them, occasionally. And get upset.

I was feeling pretty bold when I sidled up to Food Inc. But I was pleasantly surprised. While I did get a little smack down of reality that was tough to swallow (get it?) , I also got a nice little edu-macation and importantly I liked the filmmaking alot. No small thing for me, if you're going to scare me or inform me or inspire me, thanks so much for taking the time to make killer graphics or really interesting visuals that wouldn't be caught dead in a Ken Burns film.

If you've read The Omnivore's Dilemma, you know the dealio. The movie is based on this book by Micheal Pollan and he tells the story of how the majority of our food is 'industrialized' down to the control of seeds and comes from 3 or 4 corporation who are trying to squash (trying? well, often succeeding) the little farmers. Most farmers are working for these corporations and let's just say it's not a good scenario.

So while I have a lot more to learn and a whole heck of a lot to think about, I am very glad I watched this film. The images of the industrialized chicken houses and slaughter houses and the facts about how 90% of what we eat has CORN in it (as in derived from, or fed, or syruped or whatevs) shook me to my core. I cannot continue to eat what I was eating and pretend I don't know what is going on.

And of course I was looking at the film with one hand over my eyes, but the other one waving with a little Amen brother! Tell it! This shizzle has got to change. It's funny how the little one who is still eating what I'm eating (and now a whole lotta baby mush that I make at a furious pace to keep up with his little growing belly) is making me care, really care about these issues. And of course not just what he is eating now, but more than that, what planet and food system will he inherit.

But what's awesome about Food Inc is that I felt immediately empowered with the information I need to make a few changes that I DO believe will make a difference. At first I decided to become a Vegetarian. And then I decided that I would like to support farmers who treat the animals well and let's get honest I really like chicken, but it does mean I just can't eat the random 'don't know the backstory chicken' anymore. So I become an Integritarian. And OH yes I did just make that up, and OH yes I feel prettttty proud of it.  As in, I eat with integrity.

What's tricky about that is all of the food labels that can kick your ass in a fit of semantic confusion. Does organic mean free range? Nope, not necessarily. Does free-range mean they get to wander the forest? Nope, rarely at best. So I'm still digging through all of this as well as bugging the butcher at Whole Foods about his Organic chickens from Mary's. So far his answers were pretty darn good, but I'm thinking I'd like to go to her farm and see for myself so that I can be sure to feel good about eating what she produces. In fact the film features a farmer named Joel Salatin who literally has happy pigs rolling around behind him in the interview and they are literally - as happy as pigs in shit. I thought...I could eat the animals who lived that sweet life. And apparently this guy sells to Chipotle Mexican Grill, and they are one of his biggest customers. Pretty darn cool. Chipotle claims that their chicken and pork is completely 'natural' as in, not from industrialized farms. And their beef is 50% there. Ok, a place I can go out and eat chicken if I'd like to...they make being an Integritarian easier. Godblessem.

I do feel like I can be a part of a massive necessary change by voting for a different world with my  dollar. By refusing to support those thoughtless, heartless and dangerous industrialized foods at every turn possible. And so, I buy the organics. I go to the farmer's market. I am done with the meats unless I know what farm and how and why and I must say I'm pretty afraid of the fishes. The food choices are slimming (as in what's avail) of course it wouldn't break my heart if that was the result on my butt too. When I went all evangelical about this on Facebook a few weeks ago a friend of mine told me she pulled corn and evil meats and the rest out of her diet when this movie came out last summer and has since lost a ton of weight. I just saw her the other day and I'm here to tell you, watching this movie just might make you hot. She looks GOOD.

Next on my netflix in the 'I'm feeling brave' category.
King Corn.

Alrightee then. We'll see if I get to enjoy any movies between now and then, I'll try to give you some more swell choices for next week. Thanks again for playing.

Rock on super chics!

Liar, Liar

Night # 3. I put him down at 7pm. He cried for four minutes.

(space for emphasis!)

I checked in a bit later and found that he is doing his usual starfish impression with the flung out arms and adorable peaceful face. Not a peep since.

So dear friends, needless to say, I've joined the ranks. I'm a believer. He's learning a new skill, and doing a freakin' great job. Clearly all of the fish oil that cute hubs gagged me with is working. Our son is a genius.

I thought you people were lying. No offense, but I really didn't believe you when you said that it's not just selfish people wanting a life back (I mean, how rude!) but it's better for the child. You said, Jane not only is it better for you, but guess what? better for you is better for the child and he's got a skill for life, blah blah blah. I thought y'all were mean-spirited cry-lovin' people and you were all trying to make me into a baby terrorist.

But now, I'm an evangelist for your team. I mean, four minutes? Really? God bless him, I do think he's happier. I used to feed him all the way to sleep, now he doesn't have to wake up :40 minutes to burp.  Or wake up going 'Ok. I don't think I drank that  much, but last I remember I was in her arms and it was warm and now I'm in this crib, wtf wahhhhhhhhh!' God forbid it was looking like beginnings of a black out drinker. I just saved him from hours of life not having to go 'Hi my name is...'

The first night after I wrote the last post, skeeeroll down if you want to see what I"m talking about, turned out to be a pretty rough night. I stayed up typing to you to give him the preemptive 11:30 feeding, went great, he went right back down. Bed at 12. I was planning to feed him again around 3:30 to avoid the usual 4:30 or 5 feeding. It's the way the pretty ladies at sleepy planet recommend you wean night feedings: wake him up an hour before he usually eats. Feed him some. Slowly each night make it less and less, then you're done. We'll see, but so far, so good. I gotta say, I kinda want to make out with these chics. Not in a hot MLF on MLF kinda way, in a OMG you've just saved my life kinda way.

Back to the action. Unfortunately he beat me to the preemptive 3:30 feeding and woke-up and cried at 2:30. So. We did the routine. Check in at 5 minutes. Check in at 10. If he stops crying for longer than :30 seconds wait to start a new round. Moral, it was 45 minutes of this. Then I had to wait for 15 more minutes to make sure he was back down to go back in and wake him back up to feed. Did that feel broken? Yes. Poor guy just got back to sleep and I'm in there bugging him with a boob.

But! He fell right back to sleep and slept very peacefully til 6:30.

However I did not. I could not get back to sleep. Could not, no way, not happening. So, on night one I got 2.5 hours of sleep altogether. But! if last night (only 20 minutes of half-hearted protest and no problem going down both times I woke him to feed) and then this four minute magic tonight have any bearing on my future...I think it will clock in as fawking worth it.

But we'll see. Ebbs and flows. Teeth will come. Sleep will go. Illness will come. Peace will go. But you know what? I think I just got out of baby jail. I can hire a babysitter and go out after 7. I feel like a blinking stumbling hostage who wandered into the sun with just a little bit of rope burn and a silly big grin of freedom. My nights! Are back! Ahhhhhhh maaahhhh god!

Thanks again for your support y'all. It is truly, totally, utterly helpful.

PS - He doesn't sleep on our bed anymore- he's a crib lovin' dude. And the blanket is not over his face, I swear. In fact, here's the close up:

PPS - How cute is this?

PPPS - He's starting to cry right now. Drat. This is the result of the gloat, karma moves fast.

PPPPS - It's not a cry, it's a little coo-ing whimper. Hmmm, now what? Damn I wish I had a video monitor.