The Week I Was Dying of Cancer

Truth be told, I was driving and texting when she called. I was plotting my first foray into film directing and emailing my D.P. about Dutch angles when the phone rang.   I hit the button on the steering wheel, activating my Bluetooth, marveling still that at a flick of a switch, a voice can suddenly encompass my car in stereo.  

We have the results of your blood test. I had recently been to my gynecologist for my annual exam, fearful I may be stepping my toes into the mysterious land of perimenopause and other foreign maladies.
She said, we need you to come into the office. I had never been told to come into the office before.
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She Loves the Circus

When the older Asian woman hesitantly stepped off the curb on Beverly Boulevard, I was distracted. I had no way of knowing she was about to be killed. But then who does? Rarely does Death send an Evite with a “Save the Date!” notice. What I did notice was the Asian woman had plastic shopping bags from the 99-cent store, and she didn’t use the crosswalk. Then I dismissed her.

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Random Acts

Every day we make a choice. Today, I create chaos. Today, I create calm.

Today, I am going to paint a giant yellow flower on the wall of an empty building on La Brea Avenue.

I was in the shower, pondering the new flower we saw yesterday. It had become a game now. We’d drive up and down La Brea or Highland Avenue, looking for the “new flower.” My 3-year-old daughter would spot it and scream in delight— “Mommy! Take a picture!” I would, and then I’d post it on Facebook.

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What the Fugly?

About once a week I have a dream about Fergie. I’ve never met Fergie. Despite living in Los Angeles, I’ve never even seen Fergie. And we’re talking Stacy Ann Ferguson, not the royal one across the pond. My Fergie-mares started over the summer. Prior to that, I’m not even sure Fergie was on my radar. In the pilot for Army Wives, we had “My Humps” playing in a key scene, only to lose it at the last minute because of licensing fees. “I Gotta Feeling” currently plays over the teaser trailer of Valentine’s Day. So yes, I’ve always had some love for the Black Eyed Peas, but I couldn’t name one of them. Not even the girl.

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Megan Fox and The Aftermath

So. Megan Fox is bisexual. Have you heard? Apparently so is Lady Gaga, who explains that her hit song, Poker Face, which is lyrically about sex and gambling, is actually about fantasizing about being with a woman while having sex with a man. “She’s got me like nobody.” Rounding out the recent revelations, comes Fergie, of the Black Eyed Peas, who admits, “Put it this way, I’ve experimented, definitely, but I have never had a steady girlfriend.”

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Sordid Tales of Runyon Canyon

Yes, it’s dirty, smells like dog shit, and spotting celebs is like shooting paparazzi in a barrel, but my love affair with Runyon Canyon never dies. I’ve fallen in love, fallen out of love, interrupted a porno shoot, and been pushed down the hill by unseen forces, which left me skidding down the mountain like a kid on a water slide—and still, when I leave LA, it’s one of the first things I miss. Why?

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How It All Turned Out

I stared at the nude photograph on the wall, remembering that two nights before I had stood nude in a window frame inside a college dorm and wondered, “Is that all there is?” In the span of a week, I had slept with my teacher, my best friend, and my boyfriend.

All three titles belonging to different people. All three interactions accompanied by alcohol. All three experiences beautiful and bumpy – but I was wrapped in the arms of D.H Lawrence and Anais Nin and I yearned for more.

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What Are Words For

Several years ago, I was standing in a long line in the restroom at London, Heathrow when I started to lose my temper.

I was still overwhelmed by the sights and smells of India. Of escaping a riot, of a battered little boy in a GAP t-shirt teaching me how to hide butter from rats, of riding an elephant and throwing Halloween candy to the village children shrieking in glee below me, of dropping my used tampon down a gaping hole inside a moving train, watching it splat-land on the tracks beneath me (okay, that was for Robin McA), but most of all, lying prone on the floor on the spot where Gandhi had been shot, wondering how he got to the place where he could forgive his assassin before he was assassinated.

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How We Survive

I heard a tape once of an African-American preacher from the South preaching fire and brimstone when he said:

If you live in a shack, you’ve gotta be grateful for that shack. If that shack is tilted and run down, be grateful for that too. Be grateful for the broken boards and the leaking roof. Until you are grateful for what you’ve got, the Lord isn’t gonna give you one more thing. When you get grateful, God gives back, but not until you say it and you mean it.

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What I've Been Given, I Give to You


2008 has been a tumultuous year for so many. Loves lost, lives lost, jobs lost. There is no gauge to meter the confusion. But it is also the year of Hope. Hope for a new Presidency. With this election, the country felt united again. Hope that we will throw back the blinds and the sun will shine again.

Of all things, 2009 seems to be the Year of Hope.

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