The Gentile's Guide to Chanukah (or Hannukah... or Hanaka... or however you choose to spell it)

So... on this, the 2nd night of Chanukah 2008 (2nd night, right? Who knows. I can't remember if it started on Sunday night or Monday night, but whatever. Close enough.) I thought it might be prudent to give the Jewish challenged folk in my life a little lesson about this holiday which is so often misunderstood. Call it my mitzvah for the year. (Jewish Challenged People: The word "mitzvah" is Yiddish or Hebrew or something for "good deed".)

So, below are some of the FAQ I receive here in the south where Chanukah is so widely mizunderdastood.

Q. Why is Chanukah at a different time every year?
A. My ancestors thought it would be fun to keep the gentile guessing. OR... because all Jewish holidays are celebrated according to the Hebrew Calendar which is different from English calendar. Just to illustrate this point, while you non-Jews will soon be welcoming the year 2009, we Jews will be waiting until Rosh Hashana in Sept. to begin the year 5770. The Hebrew calendar is shorter than the English calendar, so the holidays move around. That's why you hear us Jews talking about "Chanukah/ Rosh Hashana/ Purim is early this year!" It's our favorite thing to talk about. (well, 2nd favorite. Our favorite thing to talk about is what we will be eating at the next meal as we consume the current meal. But I digress.)

Q. What are you celebrating at Chanukah? Does it have something to do with Christmas?
A. No. Nothing to do with Christmas at all! Zero, zilch, nada. The fact that there are presents on Chanukah and it happens around the same time as Christmas (sometimes) confuses people into thinking the two holidays are kissing cousins or something. In reality (and long story short) the Jewish temple was trashed by some bad people and after the damage was assessed, it was determined that there was only enough oil left to last one day. (Or something like that. Give me a break Jewish friends. It's been a long time since Sunday school.) But the oil lasted seven days instead and Chanukah is a celebration of that miracle.

Q. What's with the candelabra you always light?
A. That's called a menorah. It's got eight candles on it. One for each night of Chanukah and then the 8th is the candle we use to light all the others. You start out by lighting one candle the first night, two on the second, three on the third etc. There are a few prayers that you say, I think three on the first night and then two on the second. We sing them in Hebrew and that is probably atrocious for anyone who can hear. Then in the morning, after the candles have burned out, you pull out a metal skewer normally used for cooking shish-kabobs on the grill and dig out all the melted wax. (Of course, that may have just been at my parent's house.) It was always my favorite part. Strange? Yes. Are you surprised?

Q. How cool is it to get so many presents?
A. And herein lies the crux of the confusion. I can only speak for my family, of course, and the families of friends I grew up with, but here it is. You may want to sit down for this one. It's a bit of a nasty shock if you don't see it coming... Celebrating Chanukah is NOTHING like Christmas. In the past, when I have attended a Christmas celebration, I have seen orgys of present opening under the Christmas tree. Piles of presents in beautiful paper... toys... games... clothes... stocking stuffers. Good God but you all get a lot of stuff.

At Chanukah, as a child, you get about one present a night. Perhaps two. And one of them is always socks. Or some pair of shoes you don't want to have to wear to Temple. Or, worse comes to worse, Chanukah gelt. (Those are the little gold wrapped chocolate coins that come in the yellow fishnet. Gelt means "money" in Hebrew.) The gelt chocolate doesn't even really taste all that great, to be honest. So on the first night of Chanukah, you may get a gift from your parents. The next night may be from siblings. The next night, you get one from crazy Aunt Mildred who lives in Florida. She got you a sweet little hat to put on your keppie (yiddish for "head") to keep you warm in the cold Cleveland winter and if you would just come down to Florida already you wouldn't have to be so cold and then you could get a real gift. Oy, why do these meshuge (yiddish for "crazy") kids never come to visit?

So you see, all those kids who sit and picture eight whole days of Christmas Morning-style partying are so sadly mistaken. At my parent's house, as I believe I mentioned in an earlier blog, we would light the Menorah during a commercial from the evening prime time TV. Then Dad would make us march around the house singing Chanukah songs and then either make us hunt for our gifts or just give them to us. Whole thing would be over before the commercial ended. And that's not to say I didn't look forward to the holiday. I always did. I liked lighting the candles (I looked forward to lighting the match and would pick out my favorite box matches every night to use. Young pyromaniac for sure!) and digging out the aforementioned wax every morning. There was always something really peaceful, as well, about walking into the kitchen after the candles had been burning for a while and standing in the dark, watching the colorful wax melt into interesting designs onto the tin foil beneath the menorah that kept the wax from sticking to my mother's pristine counters. I always liked arranging the colors of the candles too, sometimes alternating between two colors, sometimes going with a block of color, sometimes just putting together a random sampling of colors from the blue boxes we always had in abundance because they gave them out to us at Sunday School every year.

But did I walk away from any Chanukah with an overwhelming bag of booty? No. I do remember walking away one year with an excellent new Olivia Newton John album ("Totally Hot") but that's about it.



Q. Do you and your family get together for Chanukah?
A. Another harsh truth to be faced. Chanukah is for kids. Really, it is. My parents still give me a gift every year, but that's it. I don't run around trying to find a gift for my Aunt on my mother's side or my brother-in-law's cat. In fact, I give a gift to my niece, one to my cou-niece (that's the daugher of my cousin who is more like a sister than a cousin so her daughter is more like a niece than anything else. I am her Coz-Aunt Sheri and she is my Cou-Niece Sara.) and one to my oldest friend's kids. And that's it folks. So there is really not all that much enthusiasm about getting together at Chanukah. It's not a big family holiday for us (and by "us" I mean the Reform Jews. Conservative and Orthodox Jews may feel differently, but either way, it's not a major holiday for us. Rosh Hashana is much more important!) Thanksgiving is the big winner in the Spitz house.

So those are a few of the questions I get most frequently. If you have more, by all means, ask me. I probably won't know the answers, but I can certainly point you in the direction of a website which will explain it allllllllllll.

In the meantime, I wish every reader a Happy Holiday Season and a happy healthy New Year. Shalom, out.

(Oh... yeah, Shalom means peace. And Hello and Goodbye. So it's a confusing language. What can I tell you?)

Twilight... And the Reason the Chicks Dig It

So... in case you don't already know, Twilight is the first in a series of books by Stefenie Meyer (who is strangely Mormon and NOT a Member of the Tribe... huh) which is currently making women across the country swoon and sigh in their love of vampires and werewolves and the Pacific Northwest. (Oh my?) The movie is currently burning up the box office and women have arrived in droves, waiting for their chance to see Edward and Bella fall madly in love under cover of rain and clouds while all manner of creature attempts to kill Bella, Edward's first true love in 100 years.

Last night, I went to the movie with the girls in my book club and we went out for dessert afterward to discuss the movie and book at length (aka my chance to pick the movie apart and alienate several members of my book club with my movie snob ways...) We have already decided that the second book in the series will be next month's book and some members of the BC have already finished it. One girl has finished all four in the series. So it was difficult to have the discussion without giving things away.

Let me take this opportunity to fill you in on my history with book clubs. The first one was in LA. All my girlfriends in the script world and one errant Line Producer drew straws to determine the picking order of each book. The first book was "Emma" by Jane Austin. Ouch. Very few people got through the whole thing. And based on the nature of our work lives at the time, we never really were able to get around to actually getting together to talk about it. Which was sad. The next book was by the author of Owen Meany and that further alienated any of the remaining members who were interested in reading. And we once again had an aborted attempt at meeting and discussing. Basically, by the third book, "Deliverance" (which my friend Leslie picked but was bitterly disappointed by because the "squeal like a pig" line was not in the book) it had become less of a book club and more of a suggested reading list for Sheri. We disbanded after the third book, I think.

Shortly after my arrival in Charlotte, I started one here with a few girls. The first book was a great easy read. I think it was called Ella Minnow Pea. And it was about a town where you were not allowed to use certain letters. So the actual text omitted letters from the book as the characters were no longer allowed to use them. Fun! Sometimes had to read aloud to understand, but fun none the less. We actually met, discussed the book for a few minutes before turning to celebrity gossip and picked another one. I think we continued in that vein for a few months, although once again, I became the only, or one of the only, people to read the book. Frustrating!

So one morning this summer, I was standing in line at Best Buy to buy a Wii and the girl in front of me said she might like to have a PR party with her book club. I jumped all over it and invited myself to join them. I finally met the Novelistas a few months ago and what a difference! They all actually read the book! And come to the meeting prepared! And have discussion questions ready! And don't deviate into celebrity gossip until all book business has been finished! I love it!

So, in true Novelista fashion, one of the girls had prepared a list of questions to aid in our discussion of the phenomenon that is Twilight. And one of the questions she asked was, "Why do you think this book appeals so much to women?" To me, the answer was immediate. "Because Edward is a man who says exactly how he feels and doesn't mess around with stupid 'how-many-days-til-you-call-your-babies' stuff. Plus, he is totally damaged AND really protective and will not hesitate to put his body between his woman and danger. Which is HOT!" I received resounding approval from everyone at the table from that statement. Which made me think... is that really all women want from a man? Is that all I want?

One night, a few years ago, I was out at a club with a guy I was dating and a few friends. The guy I was dating was very nice, but he was an MOT (that's Member of the Tribe, aka Jewish), really short and kind of wimpy. My friend was kind of dating a guy there who we will now refer to as Jon the Jewish Cop. (Well, I always referred to him as that because the idea was SO astounding to me! A Jewish guy who is a cop. What the F? I love it! I never actually knew his last name, really.) So we were all dancing and there was a guy behind me who was kind of weaving around. He was pretty drunk, and he kept crashing into me like he was trying to dance with me. I was completely creeped out and was kind of hoping the guy I was with would help me out. Instead it was Jon the Jewish Cop who stepped in. He came over and stood behind me, facing the drunk guy with his arms crossed... just staring him down. The guy took the hint after a few minutes and walked away. J the JC stood there a few minutes longer, staring him down as he walked away, making sure he was gone before moving. Believe me readers when I tell you, if Jon had then asked me to rob a bank, run over small puppies in the getaway car and drive right off a cliff with him, I would have answered "yes" in the breathiest voice I have. It was hot! And suddenly, I was just DONE with my date.

It's not that I consider myself a poor, defenseless woman who can't defend herself! I know how to break an attackers nose and kick him in the groin! (We all saw that episode of 90210 where Donna and Brenda and her Mom take the self-defense class and keep screaming "NO" while they attack their instructor, right?) It's just the idea that a man would put himself in harm's way for me... wow. I can't explain it. I'm sure the idea doesn't have universal appeal. Every woman is different, of course. That's why there are so many different flavors of ice cream. But I bet there a lot of women out there who know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

So when Edward (who is emotionally available enough to say things like "I'm tired of trying to stay away from you" before there has even been a first date) drops into a defensive crouch, shielding his woman with his body and growling deep in his throat (even if it did sound like a burp in the movie... you were totally right about that Al!) it is supremely appealing. And don't even get me started on the damaged thing. I have always loved the tortured boys. It's a sickness from which I hope to never be cured.

The funny thing is, as the series goes on, more and more men are dropping into defensive crouches in front of Bella and growling deep in their throats. Poor Bella has to choose between all these protective, emotionally available, yet tortured, men! It's like Felicity all over again. Plus, at least in my head, all the men are really tall!!!

Now, some girls will protest. They will say they were drawn to the story, to the emotionally rich characters, to the suspense. They will be lying. And that's not to say there isn't a great story in there and the characters are nothing if not well drawn and emotionally rich. Stefenie Meyer is a great writer and her grown-up novel "The Host" is fantastic as well. But it's Edward that has the girls swooning at the movies. One of my girlfriends just got a life-sized cutout of Mr. Edward Cullen for her office as a gift. Is that because he is suspenseful and emotionally rich? Or cause he real hot? Personally, I don't find the actor who plays him all that attractive. But I still sighed through the movie.

I believe this makes me seem not at all deep. And I think I'm ok with that. After all, I have dated plenty of guys who were none of the above. And I even liked them a lot. But one of my favorite dating memories is of the Green Beret I went out with for a while. We went to the movies one time and he was playing a video game with a prop gun and after watching him shoot the gun and then break his wrist after each shot, reaim and fire again, I said to him, "I'm not sure if I am totally grossed out or COMPLETELY turned on." He responded with quite the lacivious wink as if to say, "I know which one you are..."

And he wasn't wrong.

Someone Please... Save Me From Myself

So... over the years, I have had many people whom I have imagined are trying to "do me in." You can call me paranoid. I prefer to think of it as confidence challenged. Whatever your definition, there have been plenty of times in my life where I have regarded people and thought to myself "You are trying to make me unhappy. Deliberately trying to make my life miserable for sport."

Now, let's be fair about this, cause many of those people whom I was sure were attempting to ruin me were "talent" on a show. My fellow scripties will probably recognize this emotion. Where some stupid talent comes in at rehearsal (or even worse... minutes before they step out on stage for the show) and changes all their copy. I was always sure it was just to torture me! Just to show that they were a big important celebrity (yes, Kevin Spacey, I'm talking to you!!!) and that I am a little peon with a pencil and a 3-ring binder who is there strictly to do their bidding. Sometimes it wasn't talent at all, but crew. Stage managers... producers... teleprompter... all out to get me and rob me of my chance for sleep. So these paranoid moments might be just a wee bit self-centered and probably can be discounted. In my own defense, I was probably really tired at the time.

But I do believe that at one time or another, there have been a few people out there who were torturing me just because they could. And hey... that's fine. I mean, it only works if I let it, right?

Here's the problem tho. Lately, I have begun to wonder if perhaps the person who is most determined to bring about my personal ruin is none other than... well, me.

There have been people whom I have gotten to know at one point or another in my life who seemed to have such a busy head that I was sad for them. Sad that their head must be such a crowded place... so full of business and stress that there must seem like no escape. I wondered how these people could function without exploding.

But what I have realized recently is that the above description can oftentimes describe my own head. Good Lord but I can torture myself. Like a pro. Like I'm being paid! (Would that I could...) There are so many different thoughts racing around in there, I don't know what to do with them half of the time. I think that's why I am so obsessed with music and reading. And TV. Cause that's when the thoughts go away. The voices shut up.

Ok, yeah, I said voices. There was a time in my life, before I became a 12-steper, where there was a constant battle in my head between Voice A and Voice B. A & B were constantly at odds with one another. One trying to be the disciplinarian and the other trying to be the child. I remember that being the miracle of my first day in an OA meeting. All of a sudden, after 29 years of fighting with myself in my head, it was like someone hit the mute button. I don't think I even realized how loud it was in there until it stopped. I remember wanting to cry from relief. I could actually just sit still and listen to myself breathe, something I would never have been able to do before.

A & B beat a hasty retreat as I became immersed in the 12 steps and found my way to recovery. The great news is that they haven't really ever come back. At least, not for long. I will always be grateful to Bill W. for that.

The voices I hear now are different. They are quieter, a bit mellower and usually kinder. And they do serve their purpose. But they also doubt. They imagine... and not in a great way. They hear drama where there is none and whisper doubts when I am desperately trying to find some confidence. And they don't stop talking unless there is a distraction (hence the constant background noise in my life.)

Is it a Gemini thing? I usually make a joke out of that one... someone asks me who I went to the movies with the other day and I say, "Oh, just me and my other personalities." I'm not a big believer in Astrology, but it does seem to fit me pretty well. There is certainly a touch of crazy about me. I mean, for the love of God, I sell sex toys for a living!!! I am definitely living off the beaten path. And I do like that about myself. I have never wanted to live an uninteresting, untested life.

But the question is, how do I get away from my own mind? How do I take a vacation from self-doubt and the certainty that the things I want the most are always going to be just beyond my reach? I'm open to suggestions from the peanut gallery. If you have an idea, send it on baby!

I do consider myself a happy person and my life to be pretty damn fulfilling. There is nothing that I want so desperately that if I don't get it my life will feel like a waste. And I'm grateful for that. Cause there are plenty of folk out there who will always yearn for something and never be satisfied without it. I have balance. Nine times out of ten, I'm content. I have very few regrets. But every once in a while, some little voice in my head will gleefully suggest, "Hey, let's get out those journals from high school and read about how miserable we were then." And another sinister little voice says, "Hey, what a great idea!" I did that the other morning and I spent the next two hours trying to pull my head out of a fog, trying to remind myself that I am, in fact, 35 and not 16 and that other stuff is far, far in the past. Long, long ago. And many moons behind me.

The point is, what do you do when you can't escape the friend who is a bad influence and constantly talks you into doing stupid things. Nothing so bad that your life will be inextricably altered, but bad enough that it stings. How do you stop this friend from pushing you to make the same stupid mistakes over and over? After all, as Bill W. taught us, the very definition of insanity is repeating the same action while expecting a different result. Can a person escape their own mind?

Once again, I have no answer to this tirade. That's often the case when I try to get serious here. And I'm not even 100% sure I should publish this. It's more personal than I like to get in a public forum. It could be I wrote this just to get it out of my head. Make some room in there for something else. Or maybe I am just looking for confirmation... looking for someone else to tell me that they have the same problem. Maybe my head wouldn't feel so crowded if I knew that other people felt cramped in their own mind as well. Whatever the reasoning, my head is awful full at the moment. Full of worry over things I can't control, things I can't do anything about.

So if someone could help me find the mute button, I would be so grateful.

It's So Hard to Get Good Service These Days! Or not...

This one's for Debbie...

So... the biggest change in my life when I moved from LA to Charlotte was not what you'd imagine. It wasn't the cultural change. It wasn't the traffic differences. (And for the record, I sometimes think Charlotte's traffic is worse than LA's cause there are only a few routes available to get in and out of uptown and when you get stuck in a traffic jam, you can't just hop over two blocks and go around it or go over the canyon instead of taking the freeway.. but that's neither here nor there.) It wasn't even getting used to the churches on every corner. No, the biggest change I experienced was the startling lack of available (read: not within a food court or the refrigerated section of the grocery store) sushi.

Okay, well, probably not all that startling. Clearly the Asian population of Charlotte is smaller than in LA (yes, yes, I'll say it for you. DUH!) and that would decrease the demand. And that whole lack-of-oceanic-access thing has an effect as well. So I wasn't surprised, per se. Just bummed. Really bummed. I would drift off to sleep at night dreaming of deliciously cool albacore sashimi in a chilled ponzu sauce at Sushi Sase Bune and would wake up to a reality of Harris Teeter "cucumber rolls."

Now, I'm definitely not being fair to the culinary folk in Charlotte. I don't want to give my LA friends the impression that it's 'all Applebees, all the time' in Charlotte. Johnson and Wales Culinary Academy has a branch here in Charlotte and as a result, we have some fantastic restaurants and some of the best food I've ever eaten. It's just the sushi where we really fall short. And, of course, sushi is the one that I crave... Sigh.

I've been through a few sushi restaurants here and was fiercly loyal to each one during its tenure in my life. Sushi 101 had the enjoyable distinction of being a mile from my house. I liked that! And although I thought their sushi was good, it never felt fresh to me. So it became my place holder sushi place. Maybe not Mr. Right, but Mr. Good Enough for Right Now, as they say.

There's another place that is very popular with the 20-something nookie hunting crowd called Rusan's but I was never a big fan of that place. Aside from the mind-numbing techno music they played at a stupid volume, they had very few rolls to choose from that had not been fried in some fashion. Call me obsessive, but the whole reason I spend the money on the sushi is cause I get to pretend it's healthy. Add the flash fry and I don't get to pretend anymore. Fortunately for me, Rusan's got a VERY scary score from the health department a few years ago and I haven't had to fight with dining companions to avoid going there in quite some time.

Then, one day, it seemed my prayers had been answered. Ginbu 401 rolled into town. Fresh fish prepared just the way I like. Barely a fried roll in sight! Heaven! I ate there so much that they eventually named a roll after me. Seriously! It's called the Sheri Roll (creative, yeah?) and it had all my favorite fishies in it!!! But one day, they mysteriously cut their portions in half while keeping their prices the same. I admit, I'm being dramatic, but I felt a bit betrayed. And so... bye bye Ginbu.

Now, there is a new place in town and it's not so far away from my house. The fish is fresh and the servings are appropriate. I'm trying to be more fiscally responsible (note the "trying" portion of that sentence) so I haven't gone as much as I would like. Which may be why I can't even remember the name. But probably, the main reason I don't remember the name is because, to me, it will always be known as "the water glass place." And why is that? Ask Debbie.

No seriously, you don't have to ask Debbie. Most of you don't know Debbie. (And those of you who do know her don't have her number.)

The reason why is because they have really good customer service at this restaurant. In Debbie's mind, a bit TOO good.

Debbie is my favorite sushi eating partner. She and I only manage to get together about once a month when we are lucky, but it's always for a meal and more often than not, we wind up eating sushi. However, we are currently at a bit of an impasse because Deb still likes Sushi 101 the best and I don't like it there anymore at all. She doesn't like to go to the "water glass place." She always gives in to me and goes there, but leaves unhappy everytime. Which makes me vow to myself, every time, that I will go to her favorite next time. And, of course, I don't. Cause I suck. Also, I digress.

Whenever we eat at TWGP (not going to keep typing "water glass place" cause that's way more work than I'm interested in doing) it isn't really all that crowded. However, they always seem to have an abundence of staff... and they seem to want to make sure we are enjoying ourselves as much as possible. So they come by... they come by a lot. Debbie takes a sip of her water and they hustle over to fill it back up. (Hence TWGP) The menus arrive, waiters appear to take our order immediately. If we ask for time, they hover nearby, checking back every few minutes or so. After we order, the owner, the host and the waiter each check on us frequently, asking if we are okay, do we need anything etc. The food comes and as you can probably imagine, there is a lot of checking to make sure everything is to our liking. And water glass filling. And how are you ladies doing? And can we get you anything? And can I take that plate for you? And on and on and on.

Now, again aiming toward fairness, I have eaten there at lunch by myself sometimes with a book. (shocking!) On those occasions, they mostly leave me alone. Although, it is entirely possible that they try to speak to me and I am just too engrossed in my reading to notice. I do always have water in my glass, I know that.

It's not that helpful service is not appreciated. There have been times at other restaurants where I seriously considered getting up and going into the kitchen myself to fill my water glass. (Goodness me, what a tortured life I lead.) So I like that this place is on top of customer care.

It's just that constant interruption makes Debbie want to yank her hair out by the root. Possibly because conversation with me is just THAT fascinating that she doesn't want it interrupted, but more likely because it's just frustrating to be trying to catch up with a friend and being interrupted every few sentences to assure people that we are fine and don't need anything more. I think the water glass thing wouldn't bother her so much if the servers didn't take that opportunity every time to ask how we are doing. If they just came and filled and left, we probably wouldn't notice. But every time, they interrupt to ask how we are. And every time, I watch Debbie's expression get darker and darker. I sometimes think she's one interruption away from stabbing the water glass lady in the eye with a chop stick.

One of the first lessons I learned in in the edit bay or the production truck was that as a Script Supervisor, I should be seen and not heard... I should not speak unless spoken to... It was a lesson I learned the hard way (aka being fired for asking questions and being "too comfortable") and probably wouldn't have happened on a different kind of show where the producer wasn't such a tight ass. Nonetheless, I learned the lesson well. To this day, it's pretty close to impossible to get me to talk in a setting that even remotely resembles a tense edit bay or production truck. Even when it's appropriate for me to speak, I can rarely summon much more than a whisper and have to be told frequently to speak up! (Which is hard for many to imagine, I'm sure, but I got spanked PRETTY HARD when I learned that lesson.)

I'm not saying that serving staff should be seen and not heard. Far from it. I love a good waiter who laughs and jokes with me and offers his opinion. But what I, and I think I can speak for Debbie on this one, would prefer is a waiter who can read the table and be able to ascertain that there is a conversation going on and then make the decision on whether an interruption is prudent.

Having said that, however, TWGP is still the best sushi restaurant in Charlotte, in my opinion, and as such, they will undoubtedly continue to separate me from my hard-earned cash.

And of course, they will continue to fill my water glass at every conceivable opportunity! Which is really fine. Cause let's face it.

Soy sauce makes me thirsty.

Guess what I get high on?

So... I am slacking. I'm not updating this blog as often as I (and some other vocal people) would like. And honestly, I want to update it more often, I do. It's not even that I'm too busy, it's just that I'm uninspired.

I occasionally have ideas float through my head and I like to give them a day or so to percolate to see if there is any substance to them. The other day, I thought about writing something about why I'm so addicted to primetime teen soap operas. But honestly, is there anything to say about that? Cause I'm a freak. End of blog.

Then I thought about writing of my love for all things Aaron Sorkin. Again, who cares? I have nothing interesting to say about it. Just that I love the West Wing and I was one of the few people who loved Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. He has a gift with dialogue and banter. And done.

Then yesterday, I was playing Guitar Hero and considered writing about how each song I hear has a memory attached to it that is so tangible that it often feels like a time machine. There are some songs on there that are SOOOOOO morning show on KROQ that I could almost see the Beverly Center passing me on my right as I drove down Beverly Blvd. to get to CBS for work in my Nissan Exterra. But again, with that thought, I am done.

And so it falls to you, gentle reader (as Stephen King would say.) I require inspiration. When I first got to Charlotte, I was taking this drop-in writing class. The teacher would read aloud from a poem or a song or something or even would just say a word and we would have to write whatever came into our minds for five minutes. I remember one time the assignment was to write something that started with the words "I thought I wanted." And from there I wrote a whole piece about leaving Los Angeles and television and my love/hate relationship with the whole scene and it's one of the things I am most proud of having written.

So a little help from my friends (yes, that's what I get high on) please! Send me an email with anything in it and I will do my best to come up with something to write about. A song lyric is good, a sentence fragment, something you saw in the newspaper or on line, whatever.

In all honesty, I want to write more. It feels good. I so rarely get to feel the satisfaction that comes with creation and I crave it. If only I could create an idea about something to write about.

I would imagine that you will see some blog on my love of the twilight series at some point, but other than that, I'm blank. Help!

Speechless? Well, that's a first!

So... I can't talk today. Literally. Got a cold on Friday, became a fever on Saturday night (right as I was describing to a room full of women where their G-Spot is, so that was fun!), a cough on Sunday, raspy voice on Monday (which made Monday night's party sound very sexy!) and this morning... totally MUTE. Can't make a sound much above a whisper. Well, actually, let me amend that... I can sort of make a noise above a whisper, but since it sounds like a cat screaming while simultaneously playing an out-of-tune viola and scratching its nails down a chalkboard, I choose not to go there unless absolutely necessary.

I have had a few clients call today and didn't want to just not answer the phone, so they got to hear my strange voice and became very confused and hung up quickly. I had to find someone else to do tonight's party, so Molly came over and made phone calls on my behalf to the hostess and other consultants until we got the party covered. It was fun for me... like having an assistant. She would repeat whatever question the person on the phone had just asked and I would whisper my response, which she would then relay back into the phone. I felt like an aging, eccentric diva on an old episode of Moonlighting.

Anyhow, so through all this silence today, I've noticed a strange thing. I'm a bit more lonely at home alone today than I normally am. Feel a little more isolated than usual. People are always asking me how I can stand to work at home, don't I get distracted (yes), watch too much TV (yes) and get lonely without someone else to talk to (not usually...) Don't get me wrong, I enjoy company when I can and there is always the odd day where I miss being in an office and sharing my day with other people. When I got home from Telethon this year, I had an exceptionally hard time reverting back to work-at-home mode and was sad for a few days remembering what it was like to be in an office full of people. (Fortunately, I also had the memory of working until 3AM to make me feel better when I got too sad.)

But normally, I'm pretty happy with my work-at-home situation. I like being around Richie, can't beat the commute, love that I can choose just not to shower, or wear the same outfit two days in a row (yes, only if it's clean... GEEZ MOM!) if I am not seeing the same people I saw the day before. And I very rarely get lonely and miss interaction. So why is it that my status as a temporary mute today should affect that? This is what I have fixated on today while simultaneously fixating on giving up the money I planned to make at the party tonight (grrrrrrr). And here is what I have decided.

It's cause I talk all the time. This won't come as a shock to anyone who knows me, and probably anyone who doesn't but reads this blog anyway. I talk. All day. I always did in an office with other people... off hand comments, long conversations, phone calls, you name it. But I was almost always talking. And it appears, although there is no longer anyone here to talk to, I have continued to talk my way through the day. I'd like to give myself the credit of believing that these conversations are probably all mental and not out loud, but today I have the proof that I say quite a few thoughts out loud when I'm alone.

See cause every word is an effort today. But if I don't talk for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes and focus on something else and then a random thought floats into my brain and my brain says "hey, that was smart... tell everyone else in the room that smart thought you just had" and I open my mouth to speak forgetting I have no voice... well... let's just say it's easier to notice the random mumblings when they sound like pigs being drowned and strangled at the same time. I guess, when my voice is normal, those random out loud mutterings just slip under the radar. If a comment is spoken in an empty room and there is no one there to comment does it make a sound? Now I know how the tree in the forest feels.

The feeling of weirdness got even stronger in the car. I felt so isolated in this very curious way. But I realized quickly that the explanation for that was easy. No voice=no yelling at talk radio. No voice=no singing along with my iPod very loudly (although... probably wouldn't have sounded much worse than when my vocal chords are working properly). Most importantly, no voice=no communication, friendly or otherwise, with other drivers. No nasty, snide comments on other people's driving. Had to make them all in my head. Which was an effort. An effort which led my mind to another question, which you might have already led yourself too.

If I'm talking this much in the car all the time, why have I not been pulled over for DWC (driving while crazy)? Certainly, if I drove by me while I was yelling at the POTUS 08 channel on XM, I would accelerate immediately to pass me by for fear I would be pulling a gun out of the glove compartment. (Remember that movie LA Story where Steve Martin was driving down the highway shooting his gun while talking to Marilu Henner about whether he had left his pants at her house? I love that movie. "Open season on the LA Freeway!")

Seriously, tho, what do other people think of me while they drive by? Do they notice? Do they think I have a bluetooth in and they just can't see it (in which case, if they are like me, they are probably judging me on that basis.) Or is what I do so completely normal that other people don't notice? I know that Molly likes to give shoutouts to other drivers to warn them of impending danger... "Don't you back into me, Mr. Mercedes." "That's an entrance, not an exit lady!" (I call her the traffic avenger. She gets really mad when she drives sometimes. Makes me giggle.)

And finally, this is the other thought that came to me today. You know how, when you lose one sense, it makes the others stronger? Well, if I lost the power of speech today, shouldn't I become instantly better at listening and remembering conversation? You would think, right? But I went to the doctor and he gave me some spray stuff for my throat and I swear he told me how many times I need to spray it each hour but I can't remember. I mean, I think he said three, but I'm not sure... I'd call him and ask, but well, you know.

I'm sure there are some of you out there who are gleefully pondering a world of Sheri-Without-Speech. Probably would be a very different dynamic for everyone! In fact, the nurse at the doctor's office (who I happen to know because she used to sell Pure Romance... holy coincidence Batman) said to me "This is making you crazy isn't it?" To which I rasped "I'm going out of my mind." And she laughed, "Yeah, I knew you'd have a problem. You're a talker like me." Thank God she added the "like me" part or I might have taken offense.

But all you giddy folk thinking about me not being able to quip at the drop of a hat are forgetting the one casualty of this situation. Poor Richie! He probably thinks something is horribly wrong! It's so quiet in his house. His Mom isn't singing to him or barking at him to get out from underfoot in the kitchen, or even ordering him to sit at food time (thank GOD for hand signals.) His whole world has been turned upside down with the silence that surrounds him. Poor buddy. Even though is laying there on his back, looking like he has narry a care in the world, I know somewhere inside he is wondering why his Mom isn't talking to him today. Gee, I hope he doesn't think it was something he did!

Don't worry, little punkin. It won't be long before my voice has been restored to its former glory. (And it better be before Thursday, because I am NOT giving up my party again!) And when it comes back, I will celebrate with an out-of-key song or two, followed by some loud vocal exercises a la high school drama class (the tip of the teeth, the tongue and the lips) and ending with a disertation on why Dexter is currently the greatest show on television complete with a season three episode by episode breakdown of its virtues.

So there's that for us ALL to look forward to. Anyone wanna come over?

The Overnight Shift!

So, ok... it's been a week since I wrote this... but I felt I was too tired to properly proofread when my shift ended and I forgot to post it after. But better late than never!

9/1/08- 12:00AM

The overnight shift!!! It’s the best ever! Some people think I’m crazy, but I fight for this shift! I pulled seniority this year and told someone else they were not allowed to have the overnight. There are a lot of reasons why… some of them have to do with personnel… some of them have to do with me not liking to wake up in the morning and being a night-person. But some of them have to do with the following fantastic performances… welcome to my Overnight on the Telethon blog

1:48A- The Balloon Animal Maker climbs inside a giant balloon and then gets shot in the butt with a lawn dart.

2:30A - Place your bets. Skip Martin, formerly of the Dazz Band is performing his one hit, “Let it Whip.” The live version he currently does is approximately 15 min. We are assured that it will be a mere five minutes on our show. Who wants odds?

2:33A- Skip is now asking just the sexy people if they will shout out a “hooooooooo”. Yes, we are asking a 2:33AM audience to sing and shout “Hoooooooo” “Ya’ll gonna make me lose my mind.”

2:40A: Tom Bergon is hysterical and does not get to showcase his inherent sarcasm on Dancing.

2:45A: Menopause, The Musical. Need I say more?

2:54A: It’s the juggler! He juggles little balls and bounces some blue rubber balls on a small piano on the ground and plays Fur Elise. If that's not talent, nothing is...

3:15 AM: In a local break, I see that breakfast is up in catering. And since I feel that Vegas has not completely leached all the water from my body, I grab a plate full of salty bacon and ham so that finally I can get rid of every pesky ounce of moisture my body currently possesses.

3:20 AM: The Assistant Director is counting the Director through a song where the singer is celebrating bald men and lamenting men who use rogaine. TRUE STORY! "She's said it before... she'll say it again... I like Bald Headed Men."

3:30A: The “comedy imaginator” draws a turkey on a big pad and then pops an actual full size frozen butterball out of the bottom of the paper pad. Then he pops snakes out of peanut cans to the rhythm of Blue Danube. Honestly, I’m not making this up! I LOVE THE OVERNIGHT!

4:10A- In the middle of the local break, one of the staff members says he thinks it will be a good idea to streak the show somewhere in Hour 20. We discuss for a few minutes and someone suggests that because of camera placement we will only be taking away an image of the back of his head. He responds suggestively “Oh, I think you would definitely be taking away something else…” and another staff member inquires “Will it be syphilis? Because, you know, not EVERYTHING that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

4:15- One performance into Hour 11. I’m beginning to tire. Which is making everything a lot funnier. Which is good news for some of these acts and we can only hope the audience is EXHAUSTED!

4:30- Time for the foot jugglers. I’ll let your imagination run wild.

7:20AM- You may have noticed that quite a bit of time has passed since the last entry on my overnight timeline. The reason for that is two-fold. One… I got bored. And two… I got tired. And twoA (revision!)- I stopped having funny things to say. But I have now made a decision that is very important and personal, so naturally, I will share it with you. We have an act performing in the next hour that I am quite fond of. Turns out, this act makes shadow puppets which are the coolest hand puppets you’ve ever seen. These aren’t stupid bunnies hopping through the forest scoopin up the field mice and boppin ‘em on the head. This guy makes Ray Charles and Elvis and Dolly Parton complete with boobs. And although my shift ended at 7, I was going to stay to watch the shadow puppet man (who may have usurped the horn honker man as my favorite telethon act) in the next hour. Alas, I realized the song my bed is singing to me, the come hither lullabye, is too sweet to be ignored. I will have to let me memory of the shadow puppet man's rehearsal be enough to sustain me until next year.

And thus... with a balloon animal... I sleep.*

(*Some time, I may give you the Shakespearean version of Telethon which Allison and I wrote one day. If you're lucky and ask real real nice!)

Happy Labor Day!

Amen Sister!

I found this posting at outtamilk.blogspot.com. And I couldn't have said it better myself... so I won't bother to try.

Please Forgive Me
Dear Hillary,

I know I haven't treated you like I should have. And through the years, I admit we've had a love-hate, on-and-off relationship.

I fell in love with you when you were hanging out with oh-so-cute Bill in the White House - and I admired your spunk and ability to throw when you learned about a Certain Intern.

But then, I had to screw things up by questioning your desire to become a New York senator (Okay, I said I was sorry for mocking your 2-minute residency in the state before taking political office) But gee, Hil, "the suit fit" and you did a great job.

Meanwhile, as a mom, I was also impressed with how Chelsea turned out. And during the long bleak Bush years, so many of us have been poor and jobless and without health insurance, but it was you and me, together in the trenches.

But then, you had to go get all power hungry. Admit it, you did. And friend, you were a little too strident for my tastes - and you made Republicans waaaay too happy every time you talked about being President.

The poll numbers looked iffy. You felt divisive. And ultimately, you reminded me of an uptight, angry, first-wave feminist whose determination just came across as bitchy.

And I left you.

But Hil, I see the error of my ways and I want you back. Um, still not as president, but to rip to shreds that Alaskan Creationist Anti-Community-Organizer No-Sperm-Shall-Be-Wasted Republican poser.

Please. If you ever loved any of us Democrats, you'll do this for me.

Please, please tell me that you're not going to give this scripted sharp-tongued loser a pass...Please, please don't tell me that you won't be an attack dog against Sarah Palin, according to the Huffington Post.

C'mon, she's using your hard earned accomplishments to push her horrid agenda. It's your glass ceiling to break.

She revels in being called a "barracuda" (thank you Heart for demanding the Republicans cease and desist using your song.)

And you know, I've got no doubt that she can be nasty - but girl, and I say this with love - you could be much nastier, and with more intellectual finesse.

The Dem boys can't do it. The laughable outrage of the GOP calling out "sexism" has scared them. And with good cause. History has shown that too often, political girls can outmaneuver boys by insinuating they're bullies -- hell, you've done it.

And this requires a bitch slap.

A good hard one.

So, Hillary, for all the good times we've shared, please, please do this for me. And can we still be friends?

Love, Digital Gal

Prepare Yourself... It's a Sappy One

So… it’s 10:30PM PST and the Telethon has been on the air for 5 hours. I will be on the overnight shift, my favorite shift, tonight. The best shift! All the best, craziest performers come on during the overnight. Plus everyone is really tired and start getting really wacky. (Tune in to the blog a bit later to read the details.) So I will go down to sit in the production truck from 1P to 9AM for my shift. So I have some time to kill until my shift starts.

One of the reasons I love working on Telethon so much is because I get the chance to see so many people I love who used to be a part of my day to day life in Los Angeles. There are so many people on this show who are important to me, who I’ve known for years, who are family and I only see them for these two weeks. Then there are other people who, although I used to only see them on a few shows a year, I have missed and I love catching up.

But I think the best part of the show for me is when, on the last day, my closest friend from LA comes to town. Alli comes to Vegas on show day just to work a few hours, usually the overnight. The telethon is a family business in her family and she’s worked on this show for years. Since her shift starts tonight at 2AM and I’m not on until 1AM, we got a rare chance to do what we always did best… go out to dinner and gab.

Back in my LA days, it was a rare week where Al and I didn’t see each other at least once a week for dinner (when we weren’t on some horrible show.) We certainly talked many times a week and complained about work and the people we worked with and for. But since I left, we haven’t been able to stay in touch as much as I’m sure either of us would like. She got married and had a little girl and like a million animals living in her home. I, as you know, have been jumping from job to job and making a life for myself in NC. Between our crazy schedules and the time change, it’s hard to find the time to catch up. I would say we really only get the chance to sit down on the phone and really talk about three times a year.

Despite that, every year when I see her at Telethon, even though we usually only have a few hours to spend together at most, and there is a live 20 hour show going on at the same time, for me, it’s as though I just saw her yesterday. We sat at dinner tonight for a few hours and got really annoyed that the waitress kept showing up and interrupting our conversation. And there were no lulls. And there was no awkwardness. And no sense of having less in common now since we don’t have the work people to bitch about any more. I filled her in on my life, she filled me in on hers. We gossiped, we reminisced… and the time flew.

So it made me think about how incredible and rare friendships like this one are. Between Alli and I, as is the case with my girls in Charlotte, there is no sense of competition. There’s no snarkiness (well at least-- not directed at each other… everyone else is fair game.) There’s no need to prove how happy or successful we are. Or to lie to save face. There is support. There is genuine affection. And there is the sense that we are really rooting for one another, really wanting the other to find what they are looking for, regardless of the state of our own lives.

I wish I could say that all my friendships were like this one. I certainly have girl friends whom, I admit, I want to get what they want… as long as I either don’t want or already have it. They are the ones I don’t necessarily tell if I am worried about my future and wondering if I will make it in this life I’m living. When I talk to those friends, everything is AWESOME! Couldn’t be AWESOMER! Rah rah and GO TEAM! When I talk to Al, things are good. But some things aren’t. And I’m happy. But not all the time. And what I get back from her in those moments of vulnerability, which I don’t allow many people to see (except, of course, when I publish it in my blog) is not a feeling of pity or even sympathy. Not a sense of, ‘Thank god that’s not me…’ What I get is a sense of empathy. A feeling that, for the moment, she’s going through the bad stuff with me. And on the flip side, celebrating the good stuff with me.

When you have this kind of friendship, and I am lucky enough to have a few of these, it seems not quite worthwhile to go through the motions with anything less. Last year, when I got home from seeing all these people I love so much, I reevaluated some friendships and decided to let one go. Because as much as I wanted to have someone to go to the movies with and go out to dinner with when I’m bored… when compared to a real friendship like this one, it seemed so empty. And not really worthwhile for either of us.

As a single woman in her 30’s, family, friends and dog (yay Richie) are everything. I know there are few people out there with families they actually enjoy like I do who support them the way mine does. And few who have real, honest-to-God friendships like this one. And even fewer who have both (and also a very cute dog who follows them everywhere.)

I get all three. On both coasts. It’s good to be me…

Oh the Things I Could Know...

So... still here at Telethon, listening to random artists who have written random songs and typing out their lyrics and counting the bars between verses and listening for back up vocal etc. To my loyal readers who don't know what happens in the script department, this is my whole job on the telethon. I am creating a picture on paper of each musical performance so the directors know where to put the camera. So it needs to be detailed. I need to know if there is a half a bar beat between the first and second line of the chorus. If there's a cymbal roll in the middle of a verse, I need to know that too.

The other day, I was working on an 80's song that I once liked but haven't really heard in many years cause sometime in the late 80's I realized that it sucked. So probably haven't really heard this song since about 1980-something. And it's not as though I psychotically loved it at the time either. I liked the movie it was in, but that's about it.

So it was something like my third song I had broken down during the day and my ear buds were starting to bug me so I took them out to take a break for a while after listening to about the first :30 of this 3:30 song. I was just going to surf the internet for a few minutes to give my ears a break when all of a sudden I realized that, in my head, the song had continued to play. My mental jukebox was already into the first chorus and I was even bouncing my knee to the beat. (This is me, ashamed.) So I realized, at that moment, that I could continue to break down this song and get all the lyrics, the count between bars and the back and forth between the two lead vocals... all WITHOUT listening to the song.

I figured I would at least make it through most of the song, get the basics and go back in with the song playing on my iPod and fill in all the musical details and the little breaks between lines, etc. But it turned out my recall was near perfect. When I went back over it with the music on a few minutes later, I had to make two or three changes and that was it! I was proud of myself for an instant (as only a music geek can be) and then I was almost immediately flooded with shame (as any music geek should be.) I couldn't believe I knew that song well enough to break it down by heart. It's not like it was the Beatles or something and I listen to it all the time... it was a song I never hear that I don't even like. If it comes on the radio, I turn it off. If it's playing in an elevator, I sing something else in my head until I can get off. If it's playing in someone else's radio or iTunes, I whine until they either knock me unconscious or turn it off.

So that got me thinking. I've been a script supervisor, on and off, since 1997. I've broken down too many songs to count. There have been some great shining moments in that time where there were Beatles' tributes and Paul Simon performances and good contemporary artists that made me excited for rehearsal. But for the most part, they've been stinkers and I take great joy in deleting them from my iTunes immediately when the show is over.

All the same, if you pulled a random name of a random song out of my past, I could sit down and count you through the opening bars and then sing you the lyrics (if you could stand to hear my singing voice.) So now I'm wondering... how much room in my brain is currently being used by song lyrics to songs I don't even like or songs I loved when I was young and didn't know any better. And, even more importantly, what could I use that brain storage space for if it wasn't being wasted in this frivolous manner.

For exmaple, if I didn't know every word to the Patti LaBelle song "You Are My Friend," would I remember to roll my trash can to the curb every Monday night instead of remembering as I hear the truck on the street Tuesday morning?

If I didn't know all the words to "We Built This City" would I be able to remember people's names for longer than 0.25 seconds after they introduce themselves to me?

Without Wierd Al's "Eat It" song lyrics, could I remember the streets that are parallel to each other in downtown Charlotte and which of them are one way? Would I remember to go to the pet store to buy Richie more food when we are totally out and I've been buying him McDonald's hamburgers for breakfast and dinner every day for a week? Would I remember to send out birthday cards in a timely manner and not have to have computer reminders pop up every time someone in my family has a birthday?

I don't know. Clearly, there are other people out there with better memories than me when it comes to the practicalities of life. But can those people recite on command both sides of the Beastie Boys' debut album "License to Ill"? (Not that I'm ashamed of that one...)

Let's assume they can't. But they can remember the equation for pi to the 156th digit. (Or, for that matter, they can remember how to spell "pi" and not spell it "pie" accidentally and then have to look it up on dictionary.com to confirm the proper spelling.) Are they better off than I am? Are they more productive than I am? Are they more prosperous than I am? Do people like them better because they remember the names of people they meet?

I love that Jim Carrey movie "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." If you haven't seen it, it's really angsty... right up my alley. In it, Jim Carrey is so devastated by the breakup he has with his girlfriend that he has her erased from his memory by a doctor. The message of the movie is that you can't ignore destiny, blah, blah, blah, but what I took from it was the idea of cleaning things out of your mind and your memory so you can replace them with something better.

I would like to experiment by removing certain songs. Not all of them by any means. I'm a big lyrics lover and I would hate to no longer remember the lyrics to "In My Life," the first Beatles song I ever fell in love with or the angry song Adam Sandler sings in "The Wedding Singer" when he was "listening to the Cure a lot." ('But it all was bullshit... It was a goddamn joke...And when I think of you Linda... I hope you fucking choke.' I love that movie.) But certain songs can be cleaned out and replaced. "Who Let the Dogs Out" could be replaced by the relationship between all of my now deceased aunts and uncles. The space reserved for not only the song "Macarena" but also the accompanying dance could better be used for remembering to go buy more shampoo when I'm running low. The Wayne Brady parody of the Four Tops' song "Bernadette" which he cleverly titled "Halle Berry" when she was going to be a guest on the show and he wanted to do a special song for her... imagine how much better off I would be if that space were reserved for the prices of all of my inventory so I could recite them off the top of my head when people ask instead of having to grab a catalog and look them up.

Alas, there are certain complications with this idea I have, since the procedure in the movie only erased old memories. It didn't allow you to choose what you wanted to replace that memory with.

So until modern medicine catches up with Charlie Kaufman's imagination (another case in point... I love Charlie Kaufman, but just now, I couldn't remember his last name and had to look it up on IMDB) I guess I'm stuck with stupid Wiggles' songs generously given to me by my beautiful niece running through my brain (fruit salad... yummy, yummy) at random intervals.

And I will have to content myself, on the other end, with knowing that the first digit of pi is 3. And after that, I think there's a point. But then I'm lost.

('Cause I am lo---st. Livin inside myself... living inside this shell... livin outside your love.' -Gino Vanelli "Livin Inside Myself". And I didn't have to look it up to confirm.)

One step forward...

So... I'm a woman. You know this. Probably not a surprise. I empathize and support many things that women do on a regular basis. Many of our habits that drive men crazy or are completely uninteresting to them. I talk about my hair and nails. I coo at babies and little animals. I spend time staring in the mirror before I leave the house (many times) to make sure I look ok, even if I'm only going to the grocery store.

The one thing that we women do, however, that makes me crazy is the "one step forward, five steps back" dance. Please understand, I'm not speaking metaphorically and talking about how I hate growing as a person and then regressing. (Cause clearly I don't mind that at all.) What I'm talking about is departure from a room, a party, from work etc. Especially when there is a group of girls involved.

Take today for example. When we got into the office this morning, one of my friends announced that she was very hungry and we would be going to lunch today at 11:30. "Just like in elementary school," she said. I responded with some comment about having a juice box and a bologna sandwich and agreed that I was on board. Flash forward to 11:15. One member of the team stands up to head into a short meeting and declares herself ready to eat lunch when she gets back. We all agree and while she's gone we determine what we plan to eat.

Time check: 11:45. Previously mentioned team member returns to her desk and immerses herself in work. Someone starts making lunch noises, but it turns out that the guy copying our script this year is coming by to say hello and touch base with us shortly, so we wait.

12:15- Script copying guy has come and gone. Someone mentions lunch again, but no one else responds.

12:20- "I'm at a good stopping point if you guys are ready for lunch," declares one team member. I look up and agree since I just finished a song and don't want to start another one if we are leaving shortly. Sadly, one team member has left her desk and is talking to another staff member on the other side of the room. We all agree to wait until she returns and then leave.

12:35- Another team member says she has to go mail something before we eat. We agree to meet her down by the mail center on the way to lunch. She goes.

12:40- "Hey guys, are we ready," I ask. The two team members left at their desks look up and nod and then look back down at their work. I return to my computer and begin writing this blog in frustration. God forbid I should do work while I'm waiting...

12:50- Mailing team member has been gone for a while now and is SURELY getting irritated standing down by the mail center waiting for us. I remind everyone that she is waiting for us and they all look at me surprised. The team member in conference on the other side of the office is still sitting there talking so I yell out to her to ask her if she's ready. She says she is and will be back in a second.

12:55- I stand up, thinking I will take action to prove my determination. Another team member comes to my side of the desk and tells me he is standing near me to show his solidarity and his readiness to leave. As we stand, the previously mentioned abandoned mailing team member returns to the office looking frustrated.

12:59- FINALLY, we all stand and head toward the door. Before leaving the desk, I stop and hit save on this blog so I don't lose it while I'm at lunch. The other script folk stand at the door and joke that they are sick of waiting for me.

1:00- LUNCH!

See, the point I am making is that no matter how good our planning or our intentions, we still wound up leaving an hour and a half later than intended. During that time of flux, I didn't do any work of course, cause I didn't want to be in the middle of a song when we left. So I mostly messed around on the internet, watched the olympic replays on the monitor and began conceiving this blog.

As a child, I remember waiting for my mother for-freaking-ever whenever we were leaving a dinner party or friend's house at the end of an evening. I would be playing with my friends and either she or my father would come find me and declare it time to leave. I would reluctantly go get my jacket or whatever and go stand by the door, dreading what I now knew was to come. I watched her say goodbye to one friend and talk for a few minutes. Then she would take a step toward the front door and me and then she would remember to tell her friend just "one more thing." I always wondered why she didn't say her goodbye's first and THEN come get me and tell me it was time to go. I believe I suggested that at some point during my childhood and it was not well received.

As I got older and sassier and more bored, I would imagine a sports commentary to go with the slow-motion departure dance.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to another exciting round of "Try to leave the house before I completely melt in my coat in the foyer." Tonight's competitors are formidable opponents who have been sparing in this sport for over 12 years! In this corner, we have Team Me, who is already in her coat and ready to go with a hand on the doorknob. In the other corner, Team Marsha who is holding her coat and chatting with the hostess. Let's watch how events unfold..."

"It looks like Team Marsha is walking backwards a few steps in the general direction of the door and Team Me is turning the doorknob in excited antici... oh no! It looks like the party hostess has offered to send Team Marsha home with some leftovers from the party. Team Me has released her grip on the door and is gazing around the foyer in boredom."

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, Team Marsha has the leftovers in hand and takes a step in the direction of the door and we see Team Me getting excited and... oh no! It looks as though Team Marsha has begun telling one of the party guests about the book she has just finished. And now Team Me has begun to really sweat and is fanning herself with her coat."

FIVE MINUTES LATER...

"Folks if you are joining us, this has been an exciting evening and a tremendous show of sportsmanship. It would appear as though we have made it all the way to the doorway. Team Me is standing in the snow close to the car and Team Marsha is standing in the doorway facing the house with her coat on and almost buttoned. What a thrilling evening this has been ladies and gentlemen! It now appears as though Team Me is jumping up and down on the same spot, completely impatient and whining. Let's listen close and see if we can make it out... oh yes. It appears Team Me is saying "Let's go Mom! Let's go Mom!" in quite a sing-songy whiny voice. I don't know that I have seen Team Me put up a fight like this since the '80 New Year's Eve party at the Weiss' house."

"And... yes... it looks like... I do believe... it's over! Team Marsha has unlocked the car doors and appears to be getting in! Thanks to our loyal audience for joining us and I hope you will tune in again next week when we go to the party at the Rothstein's house!"



Overkill? Perhaps. I just wonder why this is such a womanly trait. When my Dad said it was time to go, the only thing that kept us from leaving immediately was one of my mom's friends coming up to him to talk. Otherwise, coat on... door open... walk out. So WTF?

There are certainly many mysteries that go hand in hand with woman-hood! Chief among them being why we always have to pee so much on a road-trip. But this whole slow-motion departure thing is on the list, for sure!

And now I have spent my first hour back from lunch writing this blog instead of working, which makes about three hours since I have done much that was constructive. So let's hear it for female procrastination!

Just to be safe, I mentioned that we should plan on leaving for the day at 4 so we can be out of here by 7. Let's see how it works...

Many Lives, Many Masters

So... I've been thinking about this one quite a bit lately. To better understand my train of thought, let's take a step into the time machine and take a look back at my many lives and the many masters who ruled them.

Of course, there was childhood and teenagehood. Followed immediately by the incredible college years. Interspersed within the four years of college were a couple of semesters away, one in LA and one in London. (I know, it's taking a long time to get to the point, but hang in there, it's coming.) Then came LA and eight solid years of television work. The shows changed, the players changed, the payroll companies changed, the work mostly remained the same. In 2003, I said goodbye to TV forever (or for a couple of years, whatever) and moved to Charlotte, NC to begin a new career.

That's when things really got interesting. First there was temping at the mortgage company. Then temping at the pump factory (yes, you read that correctly! A pump factory!) Then the corporate office of the hair color franchise where I finally realized that it was only in television that I was allowed to wear jeans every day, so Tentmakers Entertainment brought me back into the TV fold. That lasted one glorious year until they went under. Following which, I tried on the hat of owner, ceo and general commandant-in-charge of my own video marketing company.

All of which led me to where I am now, a Pure Romance consultant spending some of my time in double-wides being paid in quarters and some of it in giant mansions with people who go through money like water.

What's the point, you patiently reiterate? The point is this... Each of those individual pieces of my life seem to me to have happened to a slightly different girl. Confused? Me too. But seriously, I look back on the girl hanging out in a nasty nightclub in London in 1993, headbanging to Nirvana, and think she was a different person from me. Then I think about the girl who stayed up all night long in 1999 working on her very first live show, Nickelodeon's 12 hour telethon "The Big Hell" (oops, I mean the Big Help) just drowning in exhaustion and paper and knowing she was totally sucking at the job but having no idea how to fix it, and I feel no connection to her at all.

Similarly, I currently feel no connection to any of my other lives where I had a boss and set hours. In fact, I really feel more like the girl in college now than anyone I've been since adulthood reared its ugly head.

Does anyone else feel this way? That your life is divided into sections and that they don't seem to go together? Or at least that all the other sections feel like they happened to someone else and you just have heard the stories so many times from that person that you know every detail?

I have some friends who I know have been in the same job their entire adult life. I wonder what that's like. I don't think it's any better or worse than my life, it's just the concept seems so foreign to me. Decades of time going by knowing, more or less, what the day will bring every morning when you open your eyes.

Then I have other friends... the girl who this blog is named for, in fact... who almost never have two days that are the same. And that seems alien to me too. Is she a different person to herself every time her circumstances change? Every time she gets on a bus and goes to a different venue with her tour, does it feel like she takes on a slightly different personality from the day before? OR is it like it was with freelancing for me, where the jobs changed but the person doing them seemed to stay the same. (Until the Olympics when I completely bottomed out and became another new person. A really whiny one, actually.)

I'm sure if I asked my friends with kids they would tell me that they feel their lives fractured and became different the second their first kid was born. I get that.

And it's not so much the change in life that baffles me these days, but the complete disconnect I feel to those other lives.

This morning, I started working on the MDA Telethon for the sixth year. I love this show. It is the only live TV I go back and do and it's a great chance to see the people I love as well as remind myself why I left in the first place. (Not much sleep to be had during the last week...) So when I started working this morning and started the familiar pattern of counting musical bars and typing out lyrics, I felt like I was putting back on an outfit from the previous summer that I used to wear all the time but had completely forgotten about months ago. It feels so comfortingly familiar and yet it feels strange to wear it again when I haven't touched it in so long. And even stranger, from the second I started counting that first beat, I stopped thinking about the work I needed to do for Pure Romance. I barely checked my email throughout the day, something I normally do compulsively, and I didn't even look at my calendar to see if there were any calls I needed to make. It's almost like I put back on my script supervisor self and left the Pure Romance version of me folded in the drawer.

If you've never read the book "Many Lives, Many Masters" I highly recommend it. It's FASCINATING! From Amazon, "In 1980, Weiss, head of the psychiatry department at Mount Sinai Medical Center in Miami Beach, began treating Catherine, a 27-year-old woman plagued by anxiety, depression and phobias. When Weiss turned to hypnosis to help Catherine remember repressed childhood traumas, what emerged were the patient's descriptions of a dozen or so of her hitherto unknown 86 past lives, as well as philosophical messages channeled from "Master Spirits." Catherine's anxieties and phobias soon disappeared, says Weiss, and she was able to end therapy."

That's what I'm getting at here. All these other times in my life feel more like a past life than a part of this one.

When I think about all the different phases in my life, in mind's eye, I see a bunch of different "Sheri"s all lined up next to each other in order of height. And I can see their personalities as easily as if they were wearing signs. One says, "Angsty teenager." Another says, "Angsty script supervisor." Still another says, "Completely satisfied office manager who loves her job, the people she works with, her new house and her dog. But with angst."

I guess the reason I am thinking about this so much is cause I have recently started wondering what is coming next for me. I am steering myself toward being a successful PR consultant who has a team of amazing women working beneath me, each with their own strong, successful team beneath them. I see myself being the mother bird, a role I always enjoy since I am obviously a control freak.

So who will that Sheri be? Will she be more confident? Will she be more focused? Will she really enjoy her life and her work? Or will she be looking for another train to come through town that will take her on to the next master? What would the next master be?

The goal, of course, is to find a way to not only embrace the old "Sheri"s, especially the ones I don't like who keep poking their head out of the woodwork because of stupid Facebook, but to somehow unite them and absorb them into my current life. I'm sure each of those "Sheri"s has something to contribute. They all learned important lessons during their lifetimes.

Makes me grateful for the constants. (Shout out to Lost!) The ones that have been there to know many, if not all, of the incarnations of "Sheri" and who liked her all along.

So, constants... you know who you are... thank you. The little connection I feel to those other lives are due in large part to your memories of them and my memories of you and them together.

Does this make me a bit crazy? A lot crazy? Perhaps schizophrenic? Or does everyone feel this way? Who knows. All I do know is that I am pleased to report than I feel each "Sheri" has grown up a bit more than the previous and by a few more "Sheri"s from now, I should be a completely mature adult!

Fingers crossed...

The Tale of the Thieving Bank Manager

So... on last Wednesday afternoon I was out and about in hip-happening Charlotte, doing what I like to call a 'bank field trip.' See, I get checks at parties quite often and they sometimes like to bounce. I don't like it when this happens, as you can imagine, since not only do I now have to chase the check writer and force them to pay me in cash but I also have to remind them that I have a bounced check fee of $30. So now they can add 30 dollars to their total (which, in some cases, is more than the actual check they wrote the first time) But the most annoying thing about it is that the bank charges ME money every time. So now, I make a list of all the banks from the checks I received and then drive to each of them to cash the checks first, then deposit the cash. This way, if it bounces, I pay no fee.

Anyhow, I'm in the middle of my bank field trip last week when I go to a Wachovia bank branch. I get out of my car, hit the lock button and walk the 100 feet from my car to the bank. I walk into the bank and 50 feet to a counter to endorse the check. Then another 10 feet to stand in line. 5 feet to the teller. And then I begin to leave. This all takes place in about, maybe, 10 min. As I leave, I start digging in my purse for my keys. But I come up empty. I dig and I dig (there's a lot of crap in my purse for sure) and I find nothing. I empty the purse, tampons and all, onto the counter and paw through it. Nothing. No keys. Keep in mind, ten minutes and a total of maybe 165 feet have transpired. They aren't on the floor. They aren't on the counter where I endorsed my checks. They aren't the counter by the teller. They are just gone. I look outside to make sure I didn't drop them. Nope. Check inside the car, even though I know I locked it from the outside. Nope. Gone. G-to the-O N E.

I will spare you the details of my frantic search throughout the bank, my phone calls to the only friends whose phone numbers I know off the top of my head since my phone was locked in the car as well. Finally, Molly and the kids to the rescue... Molly had a key to my house, I got my second set of car keys and we headed back to the bank. I get back in the car and check my VM and there is a message from the bank. Says the bank manager "We found your keys!" I call back (sure, I'm right outside the bank at this point, but so pleased to be back in my car that I don't want to leave it again) and ask in wonder, "Where did you find them?"

"They somehow found their way into my office," she answers vaguely. Now keep in mind that at the height of my search, the entire bank was helping me look. And this self-same manager poked her head out of the office and said, "No, I haven't seen ANY keys."

So they SOMEHOW found their way into her office. I totally hate it when my inanimate objects wander away and ensconce themselves in someone else's desk, don't you? Well, let me tell you, I grounded my keys when I got home! You have to teach these keys a lesson. There have to be consequences for wandering away from Mommy in a public place.

Here's my theory... I probably left my keys on the counter while I was endorsing my checks. (Yes, I acknowledge some complicity in this debacle that derailed my entire bank field trip!) I often do that. In fact, at the previous bank, I had walked away from the teller and left my phone sitting there so the kind soul in line behind me had to chase me down.

Anyhow, I left my keys on the counter which was right outside her office and she walked by on her way into her office and, without even thinking, just grabbed them and threw them on her desk. I imagine it was like that moment when you are walking around the house with your mind on 50 different things and all of a sudden you look down and wonder, "How did that banana get into my hand?" So when she was asked if she had seen my keys, the confusion on her face was probably genuine. I have no other reason on earth to think she was holding my keys hostage. She didn't demand a ransom or anything.

Anyhow, I go into the bank and pick up the keys while all the employees smile indulgently at me, as though I am possibly not quite all there, you know, mentally. (Which I'm not. But I don't think the missing keys are a good indication of that at all!) Although the keys "somehow" found their way into her office, in which I had never been, somehow I got the patronizing "Isn't she cute and dumb" glances anyway.

As I'm leaving, the thief calls out to me, "You know the cell phone number on your business card has the wrong area code, right?" I look at my card and, lo and behold, she's right. It says 705 instead of 704. So as I begin counting in my head the hundreds of cards I have given out that have the wrong number on them, she says to me, once again very slowly like I just got out of the hospital after suffering a serious head injury, "Maybe this was karma. Maybe it was meant to happen so someone would tell you that your business cards are wrong."

I stared blankly at her as she put her hand on my shoulder and with a bright, happy smile said "See, it's a good thing!" Well, sure. Perhaps I "secreted" my keys into being lost so I could discover this problem with my business card. Let's see if that explanation holds water.

The moral of today's lesson, boys and girls, is to always put the keys in the purse immediately after locking the car door and don't take them out until you are en route back to the car. Sticking your finger through one of the key chains and swinging them around while you walk? Not so smurt.

Especially with thieving bank managers lurking nearby.

Sheri Spitz is trying to understand the draw of Facebook

So... I'm not stupid. At least not technologically stupid. I'm pretty adept at figuring out what the heck is happening on my computer. In fact, I'm so not-stupid at computers that I started a company based entirely on downloadable internet video. (Feel free to peruse if you have never seen it... www.viewu.com)

But Facebook makes me feel stupid. Really stupid. Cause seriously... I don't get it! I really don't. I wish I did. Apparently people spend quite a bit of time on this site. My sister, I know, spends a great deal of time sending pieces of flare back and forth with her friend Lisa. Now, I know what "flare" is. In fact, I was watching Office Space just this morning. (See, even without Facebook I am able to efficiently waste time).

My cousin Robin, I know, very much enjoys changing her status line. Right now, as I write, Robin "is realizing how underrated fresh air is - being in the midst of wildfires."

I don't ever change my status line. Am I being remiss? Do those people who found me on this site that knew me in nursery school want to know that right now Sheri Spitz is "writing in my blog and will soon be exercising on my Wii fit and unpacking two giant boxes of new merchandise that arrived today"? Or is that too boring? Should I instead inform people that Sheri Spitz is "currently pondering the chicken or the egg issue as I decide which to have for dinner." Although really, I'm having tomato pie. But "which came first, the tomato or the onion" doesn't have that same pithy ring to it.

Another thing I don't get. I have so many invitations and they all make no sense to me. Below is a list of invitations I have recently received.

1. A Superpoke invitation
2. A scabble invitation
3. A Sea Garden invitation
4. A Pirates invitation
5. A Johnny Depp invitation. (I know Alli... I know...)
6. An ilikefriend invitation
7. A Biggest Brain invitation
8. A piece of sushi
9. A Good Karma invitation
and last but not least...
10. An I love the 80's invitation

I don't know what those things mean. I'm sure they would be fun if I attempted participation. After all, almost every person I love in my life seems to enjoy these activities. And I do like playing with the word scramble game, although I don't seem to do very well despite my obvious verbosity.

And please don't misunderstand me, FWLFs (that's Friends Who Love Facebook). I'm not making fun. Well, at least not of you. I am making fun of myself to some degree because I feel like some old lady leaning on my cane and sucking on my dentures while I wonder aloud "What do these crazy kids see in this faces contraption?"

I think my biggest problem with Facebook currently isn't so much a lack of understanding of its purpose, but rather the emotional landmines that lie within. Here I am, innocently reading fan fiction or surfing eonline, when suddenly I receive an email friend request. And there, in the title of that email, is a name I haven't heard in 5 years. Or 10. OR WORSE YET... 15! Cause those are the high school names.

It's not that I don't want to get back in touch with old friends. I love catching up with people who knew me when I was shy. (Shut up! I was... I really was!) But it's that whole two-worlds colliding thing. You know? It was like when I was in college and someone from Shaker would come visit. Or now, when someone from LA comes to Charlotte. It seems weird to me that I should be unpacking my latest box of bedroom accessories and preparing for a party when someone, all of a sudden, who knew me when I actually was willing to run around the playground and play kickball (although I was never really all THAT willing, let's be honest) reaches out with no warning from 20 years ago and touches me on the shoulder. Doesn't that give anyone else the heebee geebees? Sometimes it's a lovely pleasant memory and I revel in it as I accept their invitation. Sometimes, on the other hand, it's a fun little trigger that dislodges me from my current life situation and returns me to a time perhaps best left in the past.

The other weird part for me is that after you accept said ghost-from-high-school-past's invitation and become a friend, people seem to not have an interest in writing and catching up. And I'm as bad as anyone. I have accepted tons of invitations (aren't I popular?) and not even ever opened the profile of the invit-or. I often don't answer things that are posted to my wall. And I very rarely actually write emails. If I do, it's a quick catch-up and then silence again. Some of them have pictures and it's nice to see some faces again. But otherwise, it seems I spend most of my time accepting invitations and then closing my browser.

I can't be the only person who thinks like this, right? But then, I guess if the whole thing really bothered me, I would remove my Facebook profile. Or I would never have put my high school or college into my profile so no one from the past could find me.

So ultimately it must not bother me that much. Perhaps it is just the feeling of not getting the appeal that bugs me the most.

I never did like feeling left out. Except in kickball.

Words, Wonderful Words

So... I'm a talker. We all know this and I am comfortable enough with myself to admit that I talk quite a bit. It's my Grandmother Bea's fault. She talked quite a bit as well. (I just hope I don't exclude all others from participating in the conversation as she did. And grip their arms in the Vulcan Death Grip while I talk to them.) In fact, my Grandma talked so often that it wasn't until she passed away (alavah shalom) that I ever heard my Grandfather (alavah shalom again) finish a whole story on his own with no exasperated "Oh Paul..." interrupting him and taking over the story.

But it's not just that I love the talk. Or even that I love making the pretty talk. Cause I do enjoy a well constructed sentence. I also love anyone who can talk the pretty talk with me. People who know how to put words together in such a clever way that even though the sentence is totally banal in meaning, the words they choose make me laugh out loud for several minutes.

Take for example my good friend out there in LA, Vanessa. Today on instant message I was talking to her about something and declared myself full of shit. She responded, "I don't think you're full of shit. I think you're full of awesome!"

Which is FUNNY! And exactly what I expect from Vanessa. This girl answers her phone on any day of the week, "Happy (insert day of the week here) to you!" It makes such a nice change from the usual, "Hello?" that most people throw at you. In fact, just about everything Vanessa says includes a fun turn-of-phrase that makes you stop and think a few seconds before you respond while your brain processes her meaning. And yes, VI, I mean that as a HUGE compliment! Another example from today's conversation. I was lamenting my lack of post-it flags in the house and Vanessa offered a solution.

"I'm surrounded by them. Hold on, let me teleport them to you."

"Crap. I still lack the power of teleportation. Maybe tomorrow."

Vanessa isn't the only one in my life with a talent for wordplay. Two other good friends here in Charlotte, Kara and Lucas, are two champions of funny-ness in ordinary phrases. I can't really do them justice without the tone of voice that goes with them. But a good example is how they add, "It turns out" before any sort of statement that describes a situation. As in "It turns out this blog is rambling quite a bit without direction." Or "I was going to the post office today but it turns out that I am quite lazy."

I think this love of strangely constructed phrases comes from an early childhood love of Stephen King. This is my favorite passage from any of his books. It's from "The Shining." In this section, one of the characters has just been distracted in his driving by a premonition being sent to him by Danny Torrance at the hotel. (Yes, premonition! It's Stephen King!) And he cuts off a workman driving beside him in his distraction.

"The workman cut to the left, still laying on his horn and roared around the drunkenly weaving limousine. He invited the driver of the limo to perform an illegal sex act on himself. To engage in oral congress with various rodents and birds. He expressed his sincere belief in the position the limo driver's soul would occupy in the afterlife. He finished by saying that he believed he had met the limo driver's mother in a New Orleans house of prostitution."

I mean... COME ON! Does anyone out there who knows me think that the way I talk may have been influenced by this prolific writer? And if there is anyone out there who knows me who doesn't believe that I not only laughed out loud when I read that the first time, but that I also went back and read it over and over and sometimes would pull it off my bookshelf and look for just that passage to read again and just now when I pulled it out to type knew exactly where it was in the book even though I haven't picked this book up in probably 15 years... well then you probably don't know me very well!

What's the point? Dunno. Turns out I don't have one. I just enjoyed Vanessa's turn of phrase so much that I wanted to share it. And, of course, procrastinate. There's always that.

Check back another time for something more coherent.

Let's Talk About Pattie Boyd

So... I'm here in Nashville, TN visiting none other than the famous Snell of "Snell Said I had To" blog fame. (Her place is super cute, BTW, for those of you who know our beloved Snellycat. -ed.)

On the drive here to Nashville, Snell and I were chatting on the phone, in preparation for three days of non-stop chatting in person, about the book she's reading about Pattie Boyd. Now, Pattie Boyd, for you non-Beatles lovers (re: foolish people) was first the wife of Beatles' George Harrison (alava shalom) and then, later, the wife of Eric Clapton.

I was excited to hear Snell was reading that book, since I just finished Clapton's autobiography. I was anxious to compare notes and find out if Pattie reveals any more in her book that would give some hint as to how this woman, undoubtedly beautiful and probably quite poised and sexy, but still just a woman, managed to inspire some of the most beautiful, passionate and intensely longing songs ever written.

Sadly, Snell came up as empty as I did. She agreed as well that Pattie is a beautiful woman, no doubt. But if you think about some of the lyrics written about this woman, you would think she was some kind of Olivia-Newton-John-in-Xanadu-esque muse. Let's review some of these, shall we?

"If I could choose a place to die
It would be in your arms."
-Bell Bottom Blues, Derek & the Dominoes (aka one of Clapton's bands)

"Let's make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say we'll never find a way
And tell me all my love's in vain."
-Layla, Derek and the Dominoes

"Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me"
-Something, The Beatles

"I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes.
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don't realize how much I love you."
- Wonderful Tonight, Eric Clapton

The interesting thing about Pattie, it seems to me, is that every song she inspired became a rock anthem. Well, Bell Bottom Blues might be a bit of an underappreciated tune, but it is an anthem to me. I can't imagine what it would be like to inspire that kind of unapologetically (yup, I newly worded that word) passionate plea from a lover. He literally offers to crawl across the room to her and beg!

"Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?
Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?
I'd gladly do it because
I don't want to fade away."


(This YouTube video is just music, no pictures. So you can come back and finish reading! I know, I'm a giver.)


He'd gladly do it! He won't just, you know, do it. He'll GLADLY do it. That's crazy. I can barely get myself to lean too far out of my way to pet Richie, whom I love tremendously. (By the way, Snell clearly feels the same on that one, because Richie is just outside her reach and she desperately wants to pet him, but doesn't want to get off the couch to do it. Now, granted, she doesn't have the same emotional attachment to him that I do, but you get my point.)

Is it a musician thing to feel things so passionately? Or juat to express them so passionately? Most of the men I have met in my life have felt that passionately about their favorite sports team, but not their women. In fact, now that I think about it, there are probably quite a few guys I have known who would maybe have offered to crawl across the floor for the Boston Red Sox or the Cleveland Indians.

Clearly, when these songs were written in the 70's, they didn't yet understand the dating rules set forth so eloquently by Swingers, where you never show actual interest lest you scare off the object of your obsession. If they had, Eric probably would have waited three days before he wrote a song about his baby. That would have been a different kind of song.

Did they just feel things more passionately then? But if you think back on some of the other love songs from that era, there are so few that are as emotional as the ones Pattie inspired. Or from any era.

I guess there really was something about the way she moved... I wonder if she can teach me.