January-May 2002 Commentary Archives

May 23, 2002
Well, I've taken three days for the impact of the end of The X-Files to settle -- and think I am now able to write about it in somewhat of an unemotional fashion. Never a passive viewer (I was there from the summer of the first season, catching up with re-runs, so I was basically present from the genesis of the series), I have always defended the show -- and have remained a fan, even when particular episodes or story arcs disappointed me. Conversely, I have contended for some time that the show should have ended after five seasons. Nevertheless, I have always been there, because the show, the phenomenon that The X-Files became, is so much bigger than mere entertainment. It was a timely project, which I believe has had enormous impact on our society. I'm not kidding, here. It brought the way we look at the UFO phenomenon, government conspiracy, and the paranormal into a venue that was tenable, and not simply the stuff of lunatics. Whether or not Chris Carter had any intention of this when he conceived the show is a question I would love to ask, but perhaps it is more in the spirit of the show to not know.
Even at its worst, there was always something salvagable (great acting, interesting lighting, fun dialogue), and at its finest, it was some of the best stuff ever on TV. I have never experienced loss for two fictional characters like I have for Mulder and Scully. It now impacts me that nearly 10 years of my life were devoted to caring about the trajectories of people with whom (unreasonably, I suppose) I feel I identify, know and love.
That said, I was both satisfied and dissatified with the way things were wrapped up. Of course, there is no possible way that Carter could have tied up every loose end, and to do so, is (as I've said before) not in the spirit of the show. However, I was happy with the explanations proferred for the mythology/black oil/government storyline; what I wasn't completely satisfied with was the venue in which it was presented. A courtroom drama with expository clips was not what I would have chosen, but then again, I'm not sure how I would have presented 9 years of byzantine mythology to a general viewing public who, most likely, has been tuned out for three seasons. I guess I at least would have tried to wrap it up in the first hour, to allow for some finality that doesn't seem rushed. Nevertheless, the dangling manner in which Doggett, Reyes, Skinner and Kersh were left was actually sort of exciting for me; it gives me confidence they will return for the film franchise, which will still have some roots in the show's mythology (despite what Carter says about making the movies stand-alones). Mulder's communication with ghosts/angels Krycek, X and The Lone Gunmen was a beautiful device; they served as both his conscience and his saviours. And of course, the final scene -- which so cleverly and poetically placed Scully and Mulder in the same scenario as the pilot -- was very emotional for me. There was such beauty in placing them together, alone -- as they began, and as they should be at the end. Damaged -- but as Mulder said, "Maybe there's hope." A very appropriate and bittersweet ending to a series whose character's lives were the epitome of bittersweet.
Needless to say, I wept at their tender, final embrace -- not only for the characters themselves -- but for the realization that I am saying goodbye to a significant artistic and emotional influence in my life.

May 6, 2002
Oooh, I gots me a new celebrity obsession. Ewan McGregor. It's not that I haven't been aware of him since Trainspotting, I guess I just failed to notice his incredible understated sexiness. Last week, it started with a rewatching of Eye of the Beholder (a very fine thriller, by the way). The next night, I rented Moulin Rouge (his character's earnestness is so charming). That wasn't enough -- I rented The Pillow Book the following night (and let me tell 'ya, young Ewan should be naked in all his films). Since then I have also seen A Life Less Ordinary, have a taped copy of Shallow Grave (which I intend on devouring soon), and will go see the damn Attack of the Clones just 'cause he's in it. I don't know what it is folks -- obviously, he's one of the best actors of his generation, has a really strong singing voice, and wonderful comic timing -- maybe it's that, plus the Scottish accent, that makes me so koo-koo. At any rate, I sure hope to work with him someday.

May 2, 2002
Well, the month-long countdown has begun, and I can hear the clock ticking furiously. My six month "recuperative" stay in Kentucky (which sometimes seemed like a sentence) has seemed to pass both quickly and at a snail's pace. I am more than ready to return to Los Angeles, but feel frustrated in the time I have already lost. I'm 15 months out of LA and I am always seeing people I once worked with now in commercials and television shows. That doesn't necessarily mean that I would be in commercials or TV shows had I stayed in LA, but at least I could have had the opportunity to keep working toward it. Ultimately, I have no one to blame but myself. I chose to move to Austin because I was desperately trying to salvage an already doomed relationship -- and partly because of the fallout from that -- my confidence was down. Way down. I really didn't feel I had what it took to make it, so what the hell -- sure, I'll go to Austin, too. Of course, I now realize that it was all bullshit; I have as much of a chance as anyone else who's out there struggling. I just wished I could have figured that out before I took five steps back in my life and moved to Austin.
I don't mean to give Austin such a bad review; it really is a charming town with charming people. But it was not the right place for me. I belong on the west coast, despite what my natal chart tells me about Chicago or Atlanta. Once you've got the ease of west coast living in your blood, it's hard to pull away from. Sure, there are drawbacks -- especially living in LA -- but the payoffs and possible payoffs make it worth the struggle.
This month is a month to organize and carry out my cross-country journey, yes -- but it is also a time for me to reflect and learn from the last couple of years. To realize that nothing, no one is going to make me happy except me. And to be happy, I need my own place, my own mental space, and dreams -- even if day-to-day shit keeps me from pursuing them sometimes. I may be grinding ever closer to that thing they call adulthood, but not without a fight, mister. So pour me another Cosmopolitan, and let's get to that Hollywood party.

March 28, 2002
I sometimes wish I were one of those people who blandly marks time through life -- working a job, coming home, watching a little TV, and then off to bed, to happily start it all over again. But I'm not. My life is either feast or famine. I'm either doing things or getting involved in situations that are extraordinary, or absolutely nothing is happening, and I just sleep all the time. I've thought perhaps this is a result of needing to always be surrounded by drama -- and I'm not ruling that out. But I also think that the cosmos has me targeted -- for incredible, reeling experiences that take me weeks (and sometimes months) to recover from. No matter what kind of crazy, beautiful moments I find myself in, there's always that voice inside, saying that there's something more incredible around the corner -- better rest up so you're ready.

March 10, 2002
Thursday, I was cast in Eastern Kentucky University's production of The Laramie Project. For those of you who didn't see the film version on HBO this weekend -- it deals with the town of Laramie, Wyoming's response to the Matthew Shepard murder. Set in a documentary style, the story portrays both the guilt and denial Laramie residents wrestle with regarding their attitudes toward gay people. I look forward to being involved in this production; it's a very timely project for me, in that I've really longed for something "worthwhile" to work on, and I always want to keep my work fresh and vibrant. I'll be one of several actors playing multiple roles. The production dates are in mid-April; I will have the definite days after our first read-through on Wednesday.

Man. I am sooo boy crazy. Maybe it's my newly-acquired freedom, maybe it's that I'm off Paxil now, and the world has ceased being gray. But, wow -- there are sure a lot of cute boys in this world. I feel like an old letch, but they sure are new and pretty and sexy when they're in their early '20s. Yikes. I'm becoming a dirty old woman.

February 14, 2002
Well, St. Valentine's Day is here, and my gift is a divorce. Kind of ironic, given the supposed romance of the holiday. I've certainly had several months to get over my permanent separation, but I guess the coincidence of the actual decree going through right before February 14 has released a new flood of bitterness in me.
I've always been a cynic when it comes to long-term relationships; hence, my extensive list of exes. Perhaps something overtook me in 1998 - some bizarre, hopeful, wifey-robot that thought "true love" did exist - that it could assuage all fears and conflicts in a relationship. Whatever created that surreal abnormality in me died a horrible death in September 2001.
I do believe in love; I've fallen in and out of it a number of times. But I'll be honest, after a burn as severe as this - I find it hard to believe I'll ever marry again. Sure, I'll be involved with others (maybe even seriously), but the next guy who gets down on his knee will probably get a boot in his face.
Harsh? Hell, yes. But the one time I felt secure enough to dip my toe into the stream of wedded bliss - a big ass piranha in a veil bit it right off.
I'm not saying "Beware all men - stay away from me." In fact, quite the opposite. You want someone to hang out with who won't pressure you to become The Mate? Then give me a call. Otherwise, keep 'yer rings and 'yer flowers and 'yer vows of everlasting love for the girl after me.

An addendum: I've thought a lot about all of my past relationships lately; musing on the hows and whys of each one's failure. Certainly, I pulled out of most of them early, because I felt pressured to get serious too quickly; but truthfully, sometimes I was simply bored. A few broke up with me, which always hurt my ego more than my heart. There are two men in particular I really regret unceremoniously dumping; I didn't give either one of them a chance. Why? Because they were, quite simply, great -- and of course, I couldn't have that, now could I? (Incidentally, they both married the next girl they hooked up with after me. Weird, huh?)
I'm not sure where all of this is going, except to say that we so often choose against what is probably best for us. I often make excuses to myself for the "red flags" I see in someone, because I'm so ga-ga over them at that time. So, I've decided to make a declaration - one that asserts the kind of men I should not hook up with, although I have in the past, and will nonetheless be drawn to in the future, for whatever reason.
If you know me, and you see me consorting with a schlub who demonstrates any of the behavior/characteristics below - grab my shoulders, shake me, and tell me to review this entry - PRONTO!

~~Emotional cripples
~~Sexual cripples
~~Men with Mommy issues
~~Competitive bastards
~~Jealous bastards (whether over ex-boyfriends, friends, achievements or career)
~~Know-it-alls
~~Men who want me primarily as a trophy, thus, I always have to look like a trophy
~~Secretly sexist bastards
~~Men in denial about their own idiosyncratic behavior
~~Men who are unwilling to say they are sorry
~~Crazy artist-types who turn into stalkers
~~Married (or heavily involved) men
~~Men who refuse to communicate their feelings
~~Possessive men
~~Men who promise me too much, too fast
~~Men with slovenly hygiene and tacky eating habits

Guess that means I won't be dating anytime soon, since I just about ruled out the entire male population. Oh well. Happy Valentine's Day!