Ghost of a Decade (Almost) Past

And now we say farewell to the decade that brought us the boom, the bust, and those sunglasses that look like shutters (a nice way to accessorize when protesting the war by not using fossil fuels turns into only being able to afford one's own foot traffic). Fly free, cigarette fairy left by late-night east side hipsters, and in doing so usher in the dawn of a new era. Or at least a renewed devotion to the gym as we leave the oughts for the teens.

Nonverbal Day

Ode to Christmas Card

Still haven't figured out a way to top the Christmas card I sent out in 2004. Why mess with something so right (note lobster)? And now, I return to dressing up as a male baby and playing with my frankincense.

Convenience Store

Stopping by to easily pick up what is needed, the customers of this something-for-everyone quick stop need only ask themselves one question. Knives or dolls? (Dolls are harder to reach.)

Sea-creature Revenge

This sign recently spotted at an upscale LA grocery store. Clearly a warning to its customers they ought to mend their meaty ways, or at least hide the butter sauce?

Talking Pony Signs On!

Today I signed with Berman Sacks Talent Agency for commercial representation. Hooray! Perhaps to some, filling out a lot of legal documents feels oppressive, but to me they signal the possibility of world domination. Or at least cornering the market in booking roles as a quirky insurance salesperson, a secretary with the flu, or a herpes virus. Sometimes I really, really love Los Angeles.

I Like My Syrup Dapper

Please add top hat.

Happy Decembmeyer

When life tells you to make lemonade, be thankful your laundromat gives you lemons.

Le Pissed Resistance

FOX rolled out "Ted Sampon: Househusband," Team Tiger Awesome's clever and snappier sidebar to reality show "Hollywood House Husbands," and the episode I guest-star in is up! It's episode nine out of nine, so you might want to watch the full run for maximum comedic saturation. Either way, you can find me tricking fools in a mustache here.

Definition: Rampant

ram·pant (rmpnt) adj.

1. Extending unchecked; unrestrained.

2. Occurring without restraint and frequently.

And then, in case we'd lost touch with verbal history, the dictionary provides a glyph:Clearly, "rampant" means "king lion pawing you with his tongue out."

Current Economy Explained Through iTunes

Let's hope it really is just for a limited time.

Lost Underpants

Economic times have been tough; you've got to make sure you've got at least seven pairs to complete the set. I just hope this recent posting in my neighb isn't trying to pass as installation art. LACC, after all, isn't too many blocks away.

I Finally Understand: Squirrels

Squirrels must be smarter than all other urban wildlife; they must have figured out that if they slow down in the least we will tame and hoard them as our pets. They must sense how desirable their big fluffy tails and bright money eyes are and how much we love them. One eyed me from the cafe garden gates, and if it had winked, that wink would have been all-knowing.

In Summary

A) The Fonz (yes, Henry Winkler) and I concocted a business plan to benefit Orthodox Jewish women on Monday; B) I got to live out my childhood dream of acting as an airplane with the aid of a weightlifter on Tuesday; C) On Wednesday, I bought $13.15 of seaweed.

Tomorrow (Thursday): it's going to be 1989, and I'm already preparing the hair.

Be Yourself For Halloween

Meaning that I asked myself existential questions while cleaning house and watching past episodes of "Mad Men." If the walls to the spirits were thin last night, my dearly departeds got a good glimpse of what it means to clutter-clear without face paint or a naughty nurse costume.

Some Mantis To Watch Over Me

Hey there, enormous lady insect right outside my apartment door. I've heard tell you sometimes feel like eating men, mice, and hummingbirds, and do. Hence the confusion over whether to refer to you as "praying" or "preying." You've got good front limbs for being reverential, though, with or without some leafy temple. I wish you had access to the internet, so you could fill me in on which of the meanings I should ascribe to your sudden appearance: the importance of stillness and patience before making the right move? A sign that the opportunity I've been awaiting is arriving now? That I need to wear more green, or get my biceps in better shape to audition for that girl pirate movie coming up?

For a minute there, you got worried I was after you, and with increasing speed starting scrambling off on those masterful paws. When I backed off and headed up the stairs you got still again and tracked me with your big, moony eyes. A day and a half later, I'm still thinking of you, hoping you'll stop by again to take out some cockroaches and use the English language to guide me.

Viva Los Girlparts: Germs, Clowns, or Dolls

Today's round of audition notices-for-the-masses in Hollywood were especially fruity.

Today we 20-t0-30-somethings had the opportunity to speak out on our phobia of germs, clowns, or dolls.

If we have a big head, we could receive body painting in service of the big company led by a guileless mouse.

If we look like a realtor, there are many options (note: have we sold a house before?).

Are we willing to commit to a "rape portion" of a script, concluding with "lifelessness"?

Are we the elder of two sea-nymphs?

Foot Soaking Work Underpants

To unwind from a long, exhausting set of circumstances, my friend Gemini and I spent the afternoon at a Korean day spa for women. The moment I realized everyone gets to just walk around naked everywhere I relaxed, but the moment I realized the toilet paper was covered in cartoon drawings of squirrels on skateboards, I swooned. Having a place where you can float in a giant cup of mugwort tea or get massaged by a middle-aged woman wearing nothing but a black bra and underpants (if they're not taking their watermelon snack break) is very special, even if all you end up doing is lying on a heated jade floor. "Cuddle up under a blanket printed with heart-shaped ladybugs," the spa is saying. "You don't need that silly job anyway."

True Romance, Courtesy of Myself at Seven

Question: why is the guy the one in the tower, as if to be rescued? Is Arlene pissed off, or flirting? And where did Garfield get such a great vest-and-shirt combo?

Foot Soaking Shoulder

I got this notice rubberbanded to my door after coming home from pretending to be an antelope-feasting lion in the jungle for the head of casting at SONY. Only $14.95? Do they also do foot soaking shoulder and paws?

...And What-Not

The latest virus to hit the mouths of people scrambling for the end of a sentence is the phrase "and what-not." Want to convince someone of your credentials but don't actually have any? Drop the one thing you have done and conclude with "and what-not." Want to suggest an array of things you wish you were into but aren't? End with "and what-not." Even, dare I say, wax philosophical, and in conclusion, "and what-not." Say, I've done lots of acting, like improv, you know, and what-not. Say, I'm into all means and modes of weekend activity, like lemonade and what-not. Say, Jean-Paul Sartre really did know what he was talking about when he talked about nothingness...and what-not. If it was a show about fashion, it'd be And What-Not to Wear.

Real Life Hollywood Questions: Scene for Agent

Those not privy to the actual questions that run through the minds of those in Hollywood might like to know that we are not just thinking about the sheen of our hair. We are doing higher mathematics mentally, trying to suss out the route to the best possible outcome. For instance, an agent wants to see an actor such as myself perform a scene in his office. After hunting for such a scene and coming up with a few alternatives from film and television, a real-life Hollywood question is, "Is it better to do this scene in which a character rants about the 'if it's yellow, let it mellow' rule, or this scene in which a heartfelt confession of love ends in a lecture about the value of soy cheese?" (Note that in the above headshot, I do not yet know the answer.)

If You're Going to Go Ugly...

...go twin ugly. Thank you, coworker, for this wise advice. Now I am twice as hydrated.

Go-Go-Go

In times of packed schedule and overwhelm, the answer to "What's up?" needs a subtitle. Does it mean to relay the depth and breadth of seismic activity in one's sphere, detailing career strategems and pawns lifted and moved? Or is all that's wanted a chipper quip about how the night before last I dreamt I ate a hot lemon-glazed donut? There was a huge tower of such pastries, actually. When I awoke I didn't crave a single one. Oh, and then the whole bit in my waking life about climbing the ladder in Hollywood. Less frosting, more monologues.

Maria Callas at a Vegetable Palace

Some people see food as just a biological need or a form of entertainment, but I have a relationship with it that is operatic. Witness me nearing lunchtime, ye disbelievers! I believe in fresh, organic ingredients and attentive, tender care of them much more than I believe in medicine, doctors, diagnoses. I put produce through my juicer religiously; saute vegetables and arrange meals with speed and artistry; plan what I'll make as if I'm running my own restaurant. I am, and I really like what the chef makes. Whether it's spinach lasagna made with tofu ricotta, barbeque tempeh, mushrooms, and swiss chard, or a spicy Thai curry, I...drool, drool...I gotta go cook. Welcome to my kitchen. Where I will never have to wear a hairnet.

Sometimes There's Only a Small Window

And if you're too stupid to see what's in front of you, you miss out. Thankfully, there are things upon which we can always count, such as the month of October used for puns related to beer-drinking. Such as corporate America wanting its employees to write and not say their opinions. And yes, such as an ever-present disturbing glove left near my car at various points in the neighborhood. How do these things relate? You try dressing up as a deli worker for a Halloween party with a keg hosted by your office. You just try.

Bringgg, B-b-bring

I wonder who's on the other end of the line on this phone? If it's 1962, I want my sweet domestic life back.

Talking to You is Better Than a Rape Dream

Ye collegiates contemplating minoring in Communications: consider the major, lest ye someday be told that talking to you is better than a rape dream. Which, in verity, I did tell a fellow actor with such credentials tonight. Truth be told, the dream was awful, I spent the whole morning crying, and work was no let-me-buy-you-a-lemonade. Yet after class, a humorous conversation ensued. And I, who neither majored nor minored in Communications, shared my appreciation as ably as a person with such licensure would.

Nine Times Eight

How often does one almost get hired to portray a real-life slutty nanny on national television? Talk about Hollyweird: I spent a chunk of my afternoon on avail for a sketch comedy role on "Jimmy Kimmel Live!". The producers decided to go with the option that was more "ethnic," about which I wondered why my mother couldn't have been from El Salvador and not just born and raised there. But I wanted to be on television today, I could say to her. How often does one get to play a character who had sex nine times with a dad of eight?

Question: Am I Turning Into a Squirrel?

Pondering this serious question, I huddle over a bag of pistachios, cracking and cramming them into my mouth. Never before one to go for nuts, I feel for a newly-grown fluffy tail. Fantasizing about living in the UK, I wonder: do they have good trees there for running up when a neighborhood cat scouts me? I reflect on a dog recently lunging at me, a casting director's critique that I hunch over too much, my bright eyes. It doesn't take a rocket scientist. Pass the acorns.

It Happened Last Night

It's one thing to walk outside and find a used condom next to your car, but a single glove? Maybe my VW inspires the use of latex. But I still don't like thinking of Mickey Mouse or a magician or a prep cook lingering in the streets after hours, leaving signs of where they've been like Cinderella on the lam.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

I admit to being jealous of this dog. 1) His level of inner peace is soaring. 2) With those long legs, he's always going to be in demand. 3) He looks amazing in stripes.

Tranny like Sunday Morning

Sunday morning: the time of the week when I listen through my open window to the trans community sing to Jesus at the corner church, learn my lines about how my character came on to her half-brother, and drink homemade iced espresso.

My Sneaker Wants to Hug Me

Cockatoos are often called "the Velcro bird"...but when was the last time your zipless closure nuzzled you and tried to eat your earring?

Show Me Show Me Show Me

The grand conclusion to the acting class I taught tonight was just show me. I had the actors work on one-line auditions, and quickly had them drop their sides to book the role without saying a word. So much of it is in how you stand. How do you move? Where does your gaze fall?

Like a kindergarten mantra, show, don't tell; or at least don't just tell. The family portrait and the history lesson. The weekend getaway and the "I love you." The visual and the voice.

Your body in relation to space. At least that's what the man in nothing but a trench coat argues to get out of jail. But it's also the dividing line in something happening or not. Being he-who-acts.

Dressing for Work

My mother used to model, way-back-when. I associate that hustle with wearing a one-piece in a 1960s catalog called The Ski Inn or The Snow Inn or Mommy in a Blanket. My own brief foray into modeling, on the other hand, involved a lot of colored tights, studded fur, and a chain-mesh halter. There's the person you look like, and then the costume you don. And if they've got you gussied up in a unitard for the winter, your beauty really is your smile.

MNU and Me

Empathy can, perhaps, be taken too far. Such as this weekend when a viewing of "District 9" resulted in pain in one of my arms for hours afterwards. Let's just say that just because a character on the silver screen grows a claw-arm doesn't mean that one ought to feel the sensations that one is also growing a claw-arm. Luckily my sense of caring stopped short of producing black liquid out my nose (see the movie).

At work today I had a rush of feeling like an outsider: cue claw-arm sensations. A flood of fear about something in my life hit me: claw-arm. Reassuring myself it was all okay, I ate my spring rolls with my claw.

Or is it going too far to want to hug and take care of CGI-produced aliens in a sci-fi sleeper hit? Typecast me in the sequel, Neill Blomkamp. Typecast me.

Talking on Broken Glass

This weekend I triumphed in successfully making my very own Vietnamese fresh spring rolls. No longer will I have to rely on takeout for these soft rice paper-wrapped vegetable appetizers. I even can stand proud on the dipping sauce front.

Standing over the sink, pulling out strands of glass noodles, I carefully held the wet wrappers so that they wouldn't tear. I packaged the food inside itself, handling it with great care. The tofu, the carrots, the cucumber, the lettuce, a single basil leaf.

Just as I finished the second gorgeous batch, a small jar fell from a top shelf and smashed my favorite glass pitcher. Heavy-bottomed, elegant, and Polish, this useful object took me years to hunt and find. Finally this weekend I unpacked and placed it on the counter, anticipating any number of Mojitos.

Picking up the shards, I thought about how luck and blessings can come when you have some success--the ability to compete with a south Asian restaurant--but are still yearning, feeling like you're walking around in the dark. Immediately I thought of Jewish weddings, as if I myself was participating in a dyslexic ceremony--break glass, then tie the knot. Instead of feeling blue I'd been unable to catch the pitcher, I thought, Divine light must--per mystic tradition--be flooding my apartment, freed from the glass. And glass noodles.

Gas Station Band Practice

Just when I got done celebrating my mother's birthday and pulled into a gas station to fill-'er-up, there was a giant Mexican tuba band with a ventriloquist clown practicing in the lot. And for that, I am grateful.

White Jeans

Albino denim, why do you plague me so? If it wasn't bad enough getting accused of trying to mimic Britney Spears back in 2001, there's a new crop of tween stars who would serve as apparitive warnings were I to gain a new pair. While rehearsing for an Irish play I managed to end up with part of a raw egg on the back pocket of my Gap jeans, yellow against creamy twill. My character warned her brother of the "green-toothed girls of Antrim" in the words of Martin McDonough, while my rear dripped albumen. What is it about this August 2009 that has me considering another jaunt, pre-Labor Day? Moments I feel adolescent, or wish to fit in at Kundalini? I slip into my indigo skinnies: more my style. But still the voice of Amy Sedaris haunts me, enthusiastic and mocking: "I have no questions. I think I'll wear white jeans!"

I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant

There is a television series in America titled "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant," and it is reenactments of real-life stories about women with just that experience. I met the casting director of the show tonight, and she shot down my and others' refutations of why this couldn't possibly occur. This proved to me that not only is life as a female capable of strange heights, but that people are even more disconnected from their bodies than I thought. What about a show called "I Didn't Know My Mouth Was Open and I Was Talking or Singing Along to My iPod?" If you've ever been to my gym, you know this phenomenon is not uncommon. Or "I Didn't Know I Owe A Credit Card Company Money"? Bank of America and Capital One sure do think I'd be on that show, because why else would they call me every day? Even "I Didn't Know," in which a whole lot of people could try to get out of responsibility for stuff by lollygagging, their blank stares in lieu of an apology.

A Moment of Silence For the Arrival of September Vogue

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Giant Cat

You know the day's going to be alright when you pull up outside of work and across the street is a free-for-the-taking giant painted cat portrait. Why would someone let a few tiny sugary-brown splotches get in the way of a lifetime with this 4 x 6 foot objet? A tiny turtle gazes back up at the looming pasty-mauve kitten, as if to say "Why ask? You already know how awesome you are."

If I Was A 70 Year Old Armenian Man

If I was a 70 year old Armenian man driving way over the speed limit, I would not have given me the finger. In order to determine his identity, I asked him to complete a nationality quiz. Unfortunately the man filled it out by drawing a picture of his hand giving me the finger while he gave me the finger with his real hand.

And Still With the Biological Clock

There's No Bear

When you embark on something you really want, but haven't yet experienced, you can seize up. Your heart beats faster, you sweat, you want to run. Sometimes you do, and end up posing as a pig farmer or a lanyard expert or a lover of steins, just to avoid what you're really after. Your nervous system interprets going after the real deal as a threat, as serious as life or death. It's like a giant bear is chasing you through the forest. But there's no bear.

How do you mend this gap, and not cave to the phantom danger? You keep moving forward. You keep taking steps towards what you want, all the while reminding yourself this isn't you at the edge of your mortality--just you at the edge of your own happiness. Or even, in the worse-case scenario, the edge of something different than the results you've always gotten. Where's the bear? How close on your tails is the bear? There is no bear.

And if it helps, draw a picture of a very, very small bear to carry in your pants pocket. He's adorable, with trousers and a lisp. He enjoys berries and the aesthetics of wood grain. If and when this bear ever catches up with you, he's got honey.

Up and At 'Em

I'm type A! I have things to do! I say, and then wake up in gnome-print pajamas and sleepily roll over. I am embarking on the next big steps of my career! Followed by putting on a fluffy pink robe and pressing my own juice. I am so hardcore! As I drink the juice out of a cup with a face on it. Get me in a suit and when I'm on, I'm on, but in the meanwhile, you can find me goofing off with homemade puppets, like a cross between the world's best mom and the children she'd have. Or possibly just a human Muppet.