Prague News

Recently I have been taking stock of my 35 year old, "not size 0" body. I stand in front of the mirror, suck in the tummy and peruse the yardage. My boobs are still amazing looking, my ass is alright - and hell - my fella seems to like it so I won't complain, and I have a little tummy that seems to shrink and expand according to the whim of the gods. But, all in all I think I look aright. And that is a pretty big deal. It sucks that it is a big deal, but that is the way the low fat cookie crumbles these days.

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Dear Mr. President,

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I hate Twitter. And Tweets. Twitpix is lame. Twitter is like being in a tiny room full of annoying people who are all vying for your undivided attention. I feel like my shirt sleeve is constantly being tugged, or like a little yappy dog is nipping at my heels. I feel like I just walked into a cloud of gnats. I just don’t get Twitter. What is the point? Is it just to be witty? Is it because you REALLY need people to know what you are doing every second of the day?

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In La Canada California, God and church were not a negotiable choice for its young citizens; it was your duty to go to church every Sunday with your family. What church you went to was determined solely by what church your mom and dad went to. See, in La Canada, you “were” whatever religion your parents were and that was the end of it. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t have to go to church, or anyone who went to a church that their parents didn’t. Every family attended one of the “Big Four”: La Canada Presbyterian, St. Bede the Venerable, The Mormon Church and, what we affectionately referred to as “The Church of the Holy Touch-down”. I think they were Methodist, but I honestly don’t know. There was a rather large and imposing statue of Jesus Christ on top of the church - His arms raised as if he were a referee and the Christians had just scored the winning play.

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Friday night I was dancing with some friends at Blind Eye as I often do. I was happily bopping to the Billy Joel classic, "Only the Good Die Young" when I realized that I was alone in my boppage. My friends abandoned the dance floor and left me and Billy Joel to ourselves. Why? Because dancing to Billy Joel is just not cool. And then it hit me - I am completely un-cool. My idea of what is cool peaked with Arthur Fonzarelli and really hasn't evolved since then. As far as I am concerned - you don't mess with perfection. I mean honestly, what is cooler than a Harley, a leather jacket and omnipotent power over juke boxes and women?

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Every time i return to The States I go through some variance of culture shock. I am bombarded with English speakers, huge hamburgers, buttered popcorn at non subtitled movies and 80 channels of television. (My mom just gets basic cable.) I have seen T.V. commercials for the most asinine things, things I forgot I was supposed to want and need. I now feel that my life is less than perfect since I don't have an air freshener that is on a timer and goes off at thirty minute intervals. I also feel less than human for not having trash bags that are scientifically engineered to "not smell", a disposable mop that wets the floor for you, and a zip lock bag that can withstand the Civil War.

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As a child the concept of “my future” was regulated to questions like, “what do you want for lunch?” or “Would you like to go to 31 Flavors after school today?” The future seemed not that far off, like Disneyland. I knew it was nearby, but I couldn’t tell you exactly how to get there or how long it might take due to traffic. The future was often a suspenseful thing, like not knowing what was going to happen next week on Dynasty. The only time I recall being asked the standard “what do you want to be when you grow up” was in school and being forced to either write or draw about it. I learned quickly that being honest in these situations would just mean doing the project over again. Acceptable answers included but were not limited too – veterinarian, schoolteacher, astronaut, mom, doctor or dentist. I think other kids in my class had caught on. I am pretty sure that no child dreams of dentistry.

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You use your voice every day. You talk. You might sing in the shower. You may even yell at someone for stepping on your foot or pushing you into a wall. but you use you voice. It is part of who you are.

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Genius. The word gets tossed around more than Britney Spears at a Frat party. Just recently Kanye West proclaimed to the world that he, himself was a genius. Isn’t there some rule that says: You can’t nickname yourself, and you can’t proclaim yourself to be a genius. (This rule applies to you as well, Erica Badu.) And, what makes Mr. West a genius? Sampling? I don’t think treating other people’s songs like a 24-hour – Non-Stop – All – You – Can – Eat Buffet qualifies someone as a genius. If so, then P-Diddy and Madonna are geniuses too. And the kid at the Metro with a Casio Keyboard and his itunes Shuffle. It doesn’t help that most of Kanye’s “fans” are in their 20’s and have never heard music that was made before Beyonce. Kanye West is what happens when you tell your children that everything they do is great, and they can sing when they can’t, that they are THE BEST and the prettiest. Maybe if Kanye’s mom had been a little more honest with him as a youth, we wouldn’t have to deal with the total Douche Baggery that is Kanye West.

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This isn't going to be very well thought out, and it might not even be eloquent. Bea Arthur died yesterday. I never met her, and she didn't know who I was but she played an important role in me becoming ME.

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I saw President Obama give his first public speech in Europe this morning. It was in front of Prague Castle which is kinda in my back yard. Just a 5 minute ride on the metro and a tram (or walk) up the hill and you are there. When I woke up this morning I had no intention of going. I looked at my clock at 6:20, rubbed my eyes and said, "what the hell."

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The world today seems to be going all topsy-turvy because of the “Global Economy”. Everyday I read more about cut backs here, lay-offs there and a new term that I find mildly amusing – being made redundant. Seriously? Has our society become so thin skinned that we have resorted to the thesaurus to ease the pain of being fired? Instead of saying, “Sam, I am sorry but you are no longer needed here, and your position is no longer useful to the company.” It is somehow BETTER to hear, “Sam, we are making you redundant.” I wouldn’t know what to do with that. I would sit there; blank faced wondering what I should say. But I digress. The point was that the world seems to be going through a purse pinching, cancel that Latte, I’ll walk to work if I still have a job to walk to - crisis time.

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My relationship with Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha started out promising enough. I, like many other women was happy to see smart, sexy, pretty, employed and SINGLE women represented on television. I was pleased to see a show where women talked and joked about dating and men in a somewhat realistic way. My friends and I had nick-named our past boyfriends, shared more than one cocktail or ice cream marathon over a jerk and even walked each other though weddings and divorces. Up until SatC the single women on television were limited to Bea Arthur and her pals on The Golden Girls, or the schizophrenic ramblings of the likes of Allie McBeal. Neither category was a flattering match for a woman who still has all her own teeth and all of her marbles.

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About two years ago my (then) flat mates and I took a day trip to the lovely spa town of Karlovy Vary. We spent some time swimming in an awesome and enormous outdoor swimming pool. As I was walking back to the showers, I noticed a guy – not in a bathing suit – just hanging around. I went in the showers and looked for a comfortable place to rinse the chlorine from my body. That’s when I saw the hand holding a cell phone under the crack in the door taking pictures I ran out the door and yelled, “What are you doing!?” The guy – the same guy – ran off.

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I decided to stray away from form and habit and get out of town - thus last weekend I took a sojourn to the charming and popular Czech town of Cesky Krumlov. From the town website...

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There is a virus going around right now. You have probably seen it, or even caught a strain of it yourself. It thrives on your need to be seen and be a little self indulgent and it encourages you to become the vapid narcissist you always accused Jennifer Lopez, Paris Hilton and Madonna of being. This virus is called Facebook. And it is eating your soul.

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As most of you know, I turned 35 yesterday. THIRTY-FIVE. That's kind of a big one in the scheme of birthdays. And, I have to admit that for the first time in my life, I was having a hard time with "getting older". I should explain that a bit. It's not that I am having a hard time with the actual aging thing - hell I still pass for twenty-five. It's more the accomplishment thing. I mean, when I go back to the states to visit my friends - I feel like a kid visiting grown ups. My friends all have ...very grown up lives and very grown up homes. Me? I am happy to have a few color books and crayons. Seriously.

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It's 2009. This is not news to anyone with a heart beat, but it bears repeating at this time of year. Every December 31 folks like to take a moment to look back at the year that has past, reflect on the good and the bad and ultimately decide what they need to change in their own lives to make the new year a better one. We decide to spend less time at work and more time with family. We decide THIS is the year we are going to really hit the gym and get into shape. We are going to quit smoking or drinking and we are going to do abstract things like enjoy life more and learn new things. We vow to get out of debt, get organized and to become better citizens.

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Parents lie. It’s just a fact of life that you live with. Anyone who thinks otherwise has just never been a parent or has a much better set of rose-colored glasses than I do. They lie to get you to do things, they lie to get you to behave in a certain way, or to not behave in a certain way, and they lie to you … for your own good.

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I love Prague. Even right now as I sit here in my kitchen, a little hung over from last night, I love Prague. I love cooking my Tortellini soup while watching the snow fall outside my window. I love going down town and looking at the big ol Christmas tree in Old Town Square. I love dancing at Blind Eye every Friday night and having brunch the next day with new flat mate Claire. I love Prague. I love bundling up in the winter and the Beer Gardens in the summer. This city takes my breath away. Having lived most of my life in the L.A. area it feels amazing to live in a city rich with history, and a well respected history at that. I never felt a sense of history in Los Angeles probably because there really isn't any. I mean this is a city that constantly tears down its historical landmarks and creates new ones. In 50 years the Disney Concert Hall will be replaced with something new. And that's just the way it is.

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