How To Be Immortal

Two years ago, my friend James passed away. He was one of the nicest people that I have *ever* worked with, let alone in a newsroom, let alone a newsroom in Los Angeles. After his untimely and tragic death, a flurry of wonderful tributes were created by the people that knew him — colleagues, friends, strangers that became friends through social media — and each one had a lovely, touching story about how honestly kind and sweet he was. And the tributes and stories were not because he passed, but because he was just genuinely great. The rare gem of a human who didn’t have agenda, wasn’t pushing you aside to get ahead, wasn’t befriending you to see who you knew. Nope, just a person who honestly liked other people and wanted to see them succeed and be happy.

After reading the tributes to Roger Ebert in the past day, I am reminded of James and how he affected so many people for the better. In almost every story or anecdote that I have read about Mr. Ebert, the writer made a point to mention how kind and nice he was to them — especially when they were young and just starting out. A guy with a big name and a great talent who took the time to care, a TV star who wrote back to a child’s fan letter, a seasoned author who didn’t mind going off the record to give advice — real, encouraging advice — to a person in the same profession.

And while glowing stories of how a celebrity was smart and funny and actually nice to a lowly writer are hardly rare, finding those about a successful journalist who doesn’t tell a young fan to drop out of the field IMMEDIATELY are. And finding stories about a celebrity journalist who stays in touch with a nobody or supports their dreams is basically impossible. It’s like finding a unicorn… or a guy like James in a Los Angeles newsroom.

So the lesson (once again) is this: If you want to become immortal or just gloriously eulogized, be genuinely nice to writers.

11 Years Ago Today…

I was in a bad place. (Chicago, to be specific.)

It was not that city’s fault that I was so depressed and angry.  Before I even moved there, I had lost two jobs to the busted Internet bubble, watched my real city (gag, I was such an insufferable ex-New Yorker) explode from my roof and had my confidence shaken in ways that took me years to move past. I shouldn’t have left New York to start over, but Chicago lured me with its cheaper rent, proximity to my family and stuffed pizzas.

So one cold and slushy March morning, I left my place with my best fancy pants and bound portfolio of work because I had an interview! For an editing gig! It was a miracle! It was… a scam. A fake listing for a temp company that told me I’d get paid $9 an hour to be a receptionist with no benefits or security. So I told the recruiter that he was shady, packed up my portfolio and stomped back into the slush to kick myself even more for my mistakes.  This was the second or third time I had been on a bait-and-switch interview, and I was livid.

This awful “second” city was the worst place on the planet. Why the hell did I leave New York? What am I supposed to do with the rest of my day? What the hell am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? How can I get back? I. Hate. Everything.

Lo and behold, that rage stomping changed my life. I stopped mid-stomp, looked up and realized that I was standing in front of the Anti-Cruelty Society. And it was just about to be noon, which meant that I could pet some dogs for free. (I had already learned the merits of petting puppies after a bad interview, so at the very least I could get free snuggles and some dopamine.)

And that’s when my life changed forever.

I saw him. No, I saw them — three beagle-lab mixes that had just been put up for adoption that day. Two girls and a boy. The boy and I bonded immediately, and I started calling the little guy Misterpuppy.  He seemed to really really like me so I asked him if he wanted to be *my* puppy, and he gave me a face full of kisses. (Later I learned that this was his primary means of communication. Have to go out? Kisses. Hungry? Kisses. Go for a hike? Kisses. Time to sleep? Kisses.)

Adopting Misterpuppy (later named Oliver after Cousin Oliver from “The Brady Bunch”) was the best decision that I have ever made.

We’ve been together for 11 years, and I hope that we can be together for 111 more.

2013 Resolution: Befriend an Otter

Topical Rant

The personal is absolutely political. Yesterday I was harassed and possibly threatened by two strange men, and I am still very very shaken by it. The woman in the Brookfield shootings had a restraining order against her abusive ex. Meanwhile, you can still get denied ALL health care if you have mental health issues, and yet you can still get a gun. Even if you do get coverage with pre-existing conditions, insurance doesn’t legally don’t have to cover them for a year… especially if they are considered to be addressing mental health. We need to actually destigmatize these issues and absolutely need to discuss gun control.

My liberal president that I have voted for twice refuses to address gun reform in the wake of two mass shootings in less than a week… let alone all of the other shootings that occurred this year and last year and in the past decade because he and his administration do not want to anger the right. The fact that health care reform is a joke, especially to those who need it the most, is also because no one wants to anger the right. Fuck the right. Let’s anger them. I’m really sick of people dying this way. And I’m really REALLY sick of living in a culture of fear.

And while my situation yesterday was weird and terrifying and obviously does not even remotely compare to what has happened to others, it is very symptomatic of a culture of abuse and could have very, VERY easily escalated into serious violence.

If you are being harassed or threatened or made to feel unsafe, REPORT EVERY INCIDENT. Even if the situation feels random, it may be part  of a pattern of behavior that can lead to something much bigger and much scarier. And while restraining orders do not always stop all violence, they absolutely do help stop a large amount of it.

And here is a petition to demand a change in gun reform.

I Honestly Hate You, Coldplay

I was walking my dog through the candy-colored Craftsman in my neighborhood today when Professor Booty came on my Spotify. I started welling up and thought about the sheer number of grown adults shedding tears over songs with even more ridiculous names.

Then I remembered goddamn  Coldplay — Coldplay – did a fucking cover of Fight For Your Right on Friday at the Hollywood Bowl. And I my rage overtook my grief. I don’t care if Gwyneth Paltrow was friends with MCA and they spent every weekend having joint family picnics and jamming in secret; Coldplay is a garbage easy listening music nightmare* of a band.  The pure vitriol I have witnessed in reaction to their elevator music “tribute” is the only thing keeping me from finding Chris Martin and punching him in the goddamn face… mostly because wanting to punch him in the face is the nicest reaction I have read or heard thus far.

Not only is that band the music equivalent of the color beige or unflavored, cold oatmeal… but they picked Fight For Your Right because of course they did. Of course they fucking picked the most overplayed, overused, overrated song to defile with their adult contemporary sensibility and pleated khaki melodies.

Honestly, this was the best possible reaction:

If Coldplay wants to honor Adam Yauch, they should break the fuck up and stop making elevator music.

— Devin Faraci (@devincf) May 5, 2012

And I was thinking today as my catalog of Beastie Boys songs played that … just no.

Just stop. Coldplay, you are actually the worst.

*If hell is not filled with easy-listening faux garbage rock, I don’t know what will be playing. Skillerex?

Goddammit.

Here is a photo of Adam Yauch performing at the Tibetan Freedom Concert in Washington D.C. in 1998. I was here on this very day. I tried to find one of my photos, but they were all too dark, too aged and totally unscannable.

Eulogizing a celebrity you don’t know and/or met in passing a few times is a ridiculous thing, especially in this age of narcissistic social media. I didn’t post this to talk about MCA to talk about me.

I just want to say the world lost a really REALLY good person today — a person who actually created art, flipped genres and pushed music forward. A person who used his celebrity and impact to enact actual creative and social change that really *did* help make the world a better place. And he was very nice. We lost a good one.

I met him the day after this photo was taken, and the only thing I could think to say (after decades upon decades of intense fandom) was, “Thank you for making my life more fun.”

And it’s still true.

Thank you, Adam Yauch. Thank you for making my life more fun.

Ladies, It’s Time To Be Gross

I’ve been thinking a lot about the birth control debate that’s going on right now and what we can actually do to make a difference — and, honestly, if we even could make a difference. The right is moving so far right they want to enact legislation that goes backwards into the 1950s. That’s just shameful.

But why? My guess is that the anti-choice types are incredible active, incredibly political and incredibly graphic. Honestly, I don’t care if someone thinks that life begins at conception. That is their right. What I do care about is that their religious beliefs are infringing on my health and access to treatments that affect my body (as well as that of every other woman in our country).

Today, when I was doubled over in pain at the grocery store and working VERY HARD not to vomit in the cleaning aisle (believe me I’m fully aware of the irony), I had an idea — why don’t the women who suffer from horrible and debilitating cramps and other menstrual-related issues document their pain in horrifying graphic detail and send it to every member of Congress that supports HR 1179? The majority of these people are men, and my guess is that they are incredibly uncomfortable with the comings and goings of a woman’s reproductive cycle. If they got hundreds or thousands of emails and letters explicitly detailing what cramps or ovarian cysts or endometriosis feels like (possibly with photos), maybe they wouldn’t feel so comfortable ignoring the medical needs associated with birth control. (Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything we can do to fight their ethical issues other than to get them the hell out of office.)

For every anti-choice person who sends them a disgusting picture of an aborted fetus, let’s send them an equally graphic and disgusting picture of a chocolate cyst. Send in a picture of yourself hunched over in the fetal position next to a bucket with three heating pads tied to your back. Show them the first degree burns you sustained from the heating pads or the vomit itself. Describe the nausea and the shooting pains down your legs that make you crippled for hours or days. Explain that the only time you’re not like this every month is when you’re on the pill. Explain that the pill costs less to your company (and your country) than the lost hours or days of productivity. Explain whatever the hell it is that happens to you in the way that you’d explain it to your mom or best friend or the nurse at your office or school that would send you home with a medical excuse. Don’t be shy. They’re not shy about stripping away your rights, so they should probably see what the after effects are.