I'm Having Blogger's Block

My husband reminds me that he is a REAL writer because he has TALENT. He sometimes encounters writers' block. But me, the blogger, who writes, uh rather, whines, about having to eat gluten free, is just a blogger. Not a real writer. So, I'm having bloggers' block today because I can't think of something great to write about.

You see, my husband believes that we, in the blogger world, engage in narcissistic rants. Online diaries. Not real writing. Real writers are talented, trained professionals. We bloggers are basically trained seals.



Ah, showbiz, now there's something to write about...

Do not for one minute think that showbiz folks are hip and cool. They aren't. Here's proof. I told my showbiz pals that I started a blog. Here's their responses:

"Wow, that's great. What's a blog?"
"How much did it cost to get this done for you?"
"What are followers?"
"Do I have to COMMENT? DO I HAVE TO USE MY REAL NAME???"

Yes, you have to use your real name so 6 zillion people will start sending you their scripts and resumes. This you see, is their great FEAR. The fear of being discovered. Of being tortured with "can you pleeeeeeezzzzzeee get me a job in showbiz??"

My showbiz pals live in their bubbles. Often behind secure walls with Ivy league secretaries. (They prefer "Assistants," but hey, a rose is a rose, right? Are they not schlepping coffee, rolling calls, taking notes? Why is it so demeaning to be called a Secretary, anyway?)



My showbiz gal pals are skinny and tough. However, I find it amusing that they hide cigarettes and God knows what else, in drawers and sneak puffs on rooftops, in order to maintain and perpetuate the image adhered to by John Molloy's "Dress for Success" disciples.



I'm still unclear about all this; do women have to act like men to survive in showbiz? Or can they be their voluptuous sexy selves? What would men like to work with in the workplace? (Ha-ha this oughtta be interesting!)



Lunches with my skinny girlfriends in showbiz starts and ends with salads. The kind with no dressing, no bacon, no egg, no cheese, no asparagus, no radishes, no anchovies, light on the chicken, but "could we have a little, just a VERY little balsamic vinegar? Oh, but ON the side, please? Oh, and an Arnold Palmer please, but very, very light on the lemonade, almost like an iced tea, but not quite, ya know? Okay? Could you read it back, please?"

Is it any wonder waiters suddenly have tons of fodder for their encyclopedia-like tell all books they are hawking on the morning talk shows now?



I'm especially intrigued with the way my pals EAT salads.

Step one: Dip fork into dressing on the SIDE. Ah, but just a little dip. NOOOO do NOT drench it. Hey, NO drenching the fork!! That's CHEATING.
Step two: Plunge fork quickly into salad while keeping micro drop of dressing ON the fork. (This oughtta be a Reality Show, I swear, "Anorexics on Parade.")
Step three: Now into mouth, but slllooowwwwlllly; you want to enjoy the rich and tart TASTEFULNESS of your delicious salad. --- sans bacon, egg, beans, radishes, peppers, cheese, chicken, dressing....I'm sitting there thinking enjoy WHAT TASTE? What is left in there to TASTE??

Meanwhile, I'm completely intimidated. I'm looking at everyone's salads, including mine, which looks dreadful. They are all eating in unison, step one, step two, and step three. What is wrong with me? I'm dying for a hamburger. A gigantic one with a whole bunch of french fries swimming in a bottle of catsup.



And these gals aren't even suffering from being the "gluten for punishment" newbie that I am, and STILL there is NO bread at this table. The waiter was shoved aside with threats of violence should a basket of bread appear within our zip code.

I'm starving and miserable, however suddenly thoughts of the new gluten free Red Velvet Sprinkles cupcake are invading my brain with excitement and pleasure.



I will soon be free. Free to EAT my heart out. My thoughts are only on the cupcake. Maybe not just one. Maybe two? It's GF free after all...(I know, I know, GF is NOT fat free, I discovered that on the scale...) But after suffering through this lunch, I deserve at least two cupcakes. My loins are on fire, my heart is racing, and I'm already figuring out the fastest route to the nearest Sprinkles.

There's a gal in my locker room at the gym who is clearly anorexic. Her bones protrude everywhere. I'm dying to just force a Whopper down her throat to save her life. I overheard her say, "Everyone thinks I'm anorexic. But, I'm not. I eat like a horse." Really??? I've seen horses eat, and she's no horse. In fact, she probably had a salad for lunch. ...or what is sometimes referred to as a salad....

Diet Coke and Eating….It’s The Real Thing…

I spoke to a film and TV class last night.

I made it through without eating myself into oblivion, because, I’ve discovered nirvana: DIET COKE.

I know, I know, its bad, puke, awful, full of cancer causing chemicals, caffeine, addictive, etc. And yet I don’t seem to care, because it seems to curb hunger. And it keeps me awake.

And I needed both last night.

So, what’s this bit about speaking at a class?

Well, I’ve been around showbiz a while, many years, in fact. And it’s time to give back. To offer some advice, help, solace, insight, to a new generation eager to pursue their dreams of becoming producers, writers, and directors.

As I looked over the class and took in all the pupils, I couldn’t help but notice how great everyone looks in their twenties. Great skin, hair, bodies, clothes. (Probably great sex too, but that’s another blog, or posting, whatever…)

I doubt many were in Spanx, and I didn’t see one gray hair. Aging and weight gain certainly rears its ugly head when confronted by youth. I guess aging and weight gain is the “real thing” but one that so many of us would like to avoid. Yet another good reason to eat and drink diet coke…

I met a lot of excited, energetic, enthusiastic kids eager to make their mark on the world. Eager to start at the top. Eager to get outta school. Eager to make money. Eager to pitch their stories. Eager to blast through the ranks.

And, eager to eat everything in sight with little fear of gaining any real weight that can’t be taken off with one colon cleanse. (Something we old dudes would prefer over the colonoscopy with similar results, but far greater, and uh, mercilessly difficult, preparation…)

I tried not to inflict pain. Or realism for that matter. Because I can sometimes offer a too jaded view of what’s ahead for them in the world of entertainment. But I just couldn’t do that last night.

Instead I offered encouragement, support, and embraced their fantasies -- oh, darn, I didn’t mean that, I meant expectations, much better word -- (that jaded thing pops up every once in a while)—Yes, I wanted to embrace their expectations and offer optimism…

So, I drank my diet coke, didn’t eat, (maybe it was those skinny jeans on everyone that kept me from eating the two cookies now crumbled in my purse) and stayed awake.
I stayed focused on THEIR real thing…SUCCESS.

Remember that great 70’s commercial where everyone is singing that very catchy tune about how Coke is the Real Thing? Take a look at it again. Its such a lovely tune, once you hear it you’ll be singing it in your sleep.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfU17niXOG8

I hope this new crop of kids entering show business will succeed. And I hope they won’t get driven out before they drive in, because it’s a tough take-no-prisoners business.

As these students leave their very protected and insulated cocoon to enter the real world, they will begin to experience the REAL “real thing,” or what some of us ol' farts refer to as: stress, killer competiveness, overeating, aging prematurely, psychosomatic illnesses, GERD, hyperventilation, panic attacks, exhaustion, envy, fury, maniacal bosses, life-is-unfair-deal-with-it syndrome, racism, sexism, ageism, tons more isms, insecurities, and the almighty sedatives and addictive painkillers that got us all through those very difficult times, the REAL, REAL THINGS -- FOOD and DIET COKE!!

So, here’s to the new graduates and their success.

And, here’s to food and diet coke.

And, don’t for one minute think those two cookies are still in my purse….