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

< >.

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.

New and Improved

Joan, Take Back the Night!

It's on: the countdown until the end of the week when the season three premiere of "Mad Men" airs. What comes of the Sterling Cooperites in the year 1964? I'm taking out my excitement about those unsolved mysteries on a tube of Dior lipstick, as I sashay through the office up to no good.

Big Dreams and Why They Are Important

Dear Teacher,

Here is my essay like you asked us to write on Big Dreams and Why They Are Important. Not everybody has the same dream but I have my dream. I am a movie actress and also I am on the television. But not every channel, I don't have that many hours in a day, ha ha! Once I met a boy who told me for his job he sold dreams. I think he is really good at his job and he taught me a lot of things like, Luck plus Preparation. I bet he read books, and we have a lot in common, because so do I.

We all have Big Dreams, like for me it is to get paid so much doing what I love that I can start on my Big Dream List. And that list begins with hot sauce. Here are some of the hot sauces I plan on buying at the store with all my famous actress money:

#1 Sambal. Sambal is so good! I like to make Vietnamese cold noodle dishes with it.
#2 Siracha. Siracha is so good! You can even put it in homemade sushi.
#3 Cholula. Food Mexican.

I think the biggest takeaway of this message is: Shoot for the Stars. Fame is not the point, it is the love of your art. And if you're lucky, you can have spicy food.

Dear Actor's Access

Thank you for letting me submit, but...we need a safe word.

Period Piece Hard

"Oh my gosh, I didn't know what to wear since it was going to be 1960s!" the French baby lady gushed at my audition on Friday. "So to research it, I watched Grease, because that took place then, during 'Flower Power.'" She then modeled her getup: a far cry from the 50s of Grease, the 60s of 'Flower Power,' the 60s that the film actually suggests, or the more modern times the film is actually set in. One thing to do a vintage mash-up, as in a photo shoot I did where the 50s were suggested but not articulated on a literal, exacting level. Another entirely to pick up a banana, and since it is fruit, consider it a pineapple. While those aspiring young actors are out reading their very first tome, may I also recommend a picture book of changing fashions-by-era. "This is 80s!" I imagine little Girleen at a second Industrial Revolution sort of audition. "1880s," sighs the casting director, "Nice neon tights."

Four Syllables Hard

"Let me tell you first how to pronounce this word," the reader at my audition on Friday said. "None of the other actresses knew it." He pointed to the sides: patriarchy. You can't make this kind of thing up, can you? A friend suggested to me that someday, when I'm on a panel at the Screen Actors Guild giving advice to young actors, suggest this: Read a book.