A thin line between love and hate.

"Truth and love must prevail over lies and hatred" Vaclav Havel 1989

Beautiful words. Beautiful sentiment- amazing artist. I was inspired by this quote and found it to be moving and powerful. It's a shame that it appeared at the top of this page

I find it incredible that the very church that was behind 44% of the funding of Proposition 8, produced the incredibly bigoted commercials demonizing the gay community, and then loudly and proudly displayed their clear prejudices could have the audacity to then form a website called Above the Hate.

What the Mormon church fails to recognize is that what is happening to them right now isn't hate. It is disappointment. How quickly they seem to have forgotten the persecution they themselves faced less than 200 years ago (in 1878), when the rest of the country condemned their own marriage practices. Maybe it slipped their minds that their own church disrespected the "sanctity of marriage" they seem to hold so dear- Let's take a look at that bible quote they love so much:

1Corinthians 7:2 "because of prevalence of fornication, let each man have his own wife, and each woman have her own husband"

*Note- That's one wife and one husband, my friends.

Another quote we keep hearing is: ‘Marriage is the lifelong union of one man and one woman unto one flesh.'

Funny story: That isn't from the bible. It's from 'Luther's Small Catechism"

But my purpose isn't to point the finger at the Mormons. I don't want to persecute or make them feel hated..... like another group of Americans we may know about. If it seems like gay rights activists are singling out the LDS church it's only because they started it . That's the list of all the Mormon donors above $1000. The proof exists!

Here it is in plain, non-blame game English: All of the propositions banning gay marriage were bigotry, pure and simple. Any claims anyone made to "keep marriage sacred" were hiding behind a mask thinly veiling homophobia. To keep two people from legally declaring their love for one another isn't sacred; it isn't righteous; it isn't morally just. It's HATE. So I ask again: How can the main supporter of such a proposition claim to be above the hate?

They can't. They won. So anything following their "victory" is well deserved protest. Booker T Washington once said "Every race or nation that has ever gotten up on it's feet has done so through struggle and persecution." Lets hope so. For love's sake.

Call me what you will.....

Everyone has always called me a drama queen. I hated it, I mean, I suppose I can be a bit loud at times; I speak in hyperbole. You know "I swear to God, I was in line for seventeen hours". When something's beautiful, I call it out, when something is awful I make a point of making that clear. I guess I'm not very guarded. So what? I always thought that was a nice quality to have. But noooo. Nobody ever says "You're a drama queen" with reverence or admiration. It's like a bad thing to be. I blame Mary J Blige.

So I did a little thinking about that term. "Drama Queen". And I 've come to a conclusion. It is okay to be a drama queen- as long as you're the right type of drama queen. And a theory was born. Behold the three types of drama queens.

Type A: This is a girl (or boy) who does not thrive unless there is drama. There always has to be a huge scandal. She can't date anyone unless she has to overcome obstacles to get him. (He's in prison, he has a girlfriend, he's gay...) You can't keep her attention unless your life is in peril. She's your best friend when she can be there for you, not neccesarily because she wants to be there for you, but because she wants in on your drama. She starts fights, she holds grudges, she gets off on confrontation. She usually has a bunch of friends, but is kind of mean to them- but they take it. They love her and they think the way she acts is kind of funny- and maybe they're a little afraid of her.

Type B: This one is always a victim. Everything is so much worse to her than it actually is. She can burst into tears at the drop of a hat. If something minor goes wrong, she's in an exsistential crisis. A flat tire could ruin her life. At least in the moment it does. If she has a boyfriend, she is always putting him through the ringer. Bad news, he's never gonna be good enough because any mistake he makes, whether it's showing up late or leaving the toilet seat up, he's gonna hear about it, alot. If she's single- she's got bad taste in men. Like- abysmal, catastrophic taste in men. She likes bad boys, bad guys- guys she has to save, guys she has to pay for, guys who treat her like crap- She's a magnet for thses guys- almost like she's looking for them.

Type C: She's Liza! It's not that things are so intence for her- she just has an intence reaction to everything. Good music is "brilliant", Bad food is "intolerable, disgusting, repugnant". When she's startled, she screams. She talks loudly, she sings out loud to the radio- regardless of where she is. She's even been known to dance on tables. She's social, fun, has an eccentric style of dress and isn't afraid to flaunt her stuff. If she has low self esteem- she hides it. Very well. She has intence, relationships because she usually falls for guys that are like her.

You can guess which one I'm gonna say I am, right? With a Z, baby! No- seriously, I know that there's a little of all of them in me- but I prefer to believe I'm Type C. And I have a big problem with type A's. The point is- I'm not ashamed of being a drama queen anymore. It's good to be queen.

No, it's fan-fucking-tastic.

Oy Humbug

So here's a few fun facts about me that you might not know. Touching cardboard gives me the chills. I hate lipstick but collect lip glosses like it's my job. I'm afraid of choking to death when nobody's home. I like emeralds better than diamonds. And I hate Christmas.

You read that right. I hate Christmas. There's a reason why more people commit suicide this time of year than any other. I mean, first there's Thanksgiving. Then less than a month later, it's Christmas. A week later is New Years then you get a month and a week till Valentines Day! It's like rapid fire, bam, bam, bam! If you're alone- boy, are you ever alone. What with every other comercial on television reminding you the "Holidays Are Here!" with the painfully beautiful and happy families smiling and laughing and wearing hideous sweaters,sharing huge meals. Those frickin' bells playing everywhere. Got no one to kiss? Well don't worry about it, every kiss begins with Kay. No money? The holiday's begin at Wal-mart! Everything is geared toward the holidays. You can't sneeze without Santa saying "Ho Ho bless you!"

Alright, so maybe I'm a cynic. I used to LOVE Christmas.I'm the youngest in my family. Both of my brothers were away at college by the time I was six. But at Christmastime, the family magically came together. My mom would cook, just like the moms on tv. Sometimes we would even wear horrific matching holiday sweaters. But times changed. Mom and Dad split up. We all moved away. Soon, our Christmas numbers dwindled. First it was me, mom, and my two brothers- then me, mom and one brother- one year it was me and mom. And then one bad year, while I was living in Florida, it was just me.

There's this thing that happens during a show,about a month into the run. You get into the routine. You're used to the people, the space, the timing and the show- just becomes three hours of time you have to get through before the next thing. You can fight with one of the girls in the dressing room about using your lash glue without asking, get upset that your check hasn't cleared, make plans for the weekend, and then want to scream because the guy you've been seeing hasn't texted you back in two days- but then the overture starts and boom- you plaster on a smile and go do your job. It's just what happens.

That's what Christmas is like for me. Every other day of the year, you're allowed to fight, to be annoyed, to be normal. But for some reason, sun up Christmas day it's overture, cut the lights. It's time to pretend. Lets pretend we aren't completely irritated with each other right now. Lets pretend we don't miss mom. Lets pretend this isn't totally awkward. Lets pretend we don't NEED A COCKTAIL LIKE IT'S THE ANTIDOTE. It's all an act. It's not that we don't love each other, fiercely. It's just that we don't love each other like that.

There are parts that I love. I love it when I get to see my big brother. I love the present exchange between me and my best friend that's become ritual. I love when I get a present for my dad that he loves- not likes but loves, enough to smile a for real smile and go "Okay!". I love egg nog lattes. That's not a Christmas day thing, but the red cups are only around for Christmas. I just wish those things could be around on another day. On a day that we're not only doing it because we think we have to. And yeah, being alone has something to do with it. Only because there is no other time of year that we are reminded just how alone we are than Christmas.

So I hate Christmas. Sue me. Technically, I'm Jewish anyway.

So there ya go.

A disappointment, a theory and a movie premise

Greetings from London! Jolly good! Pip, pip! Cheerio! Bangers and mash, Bob's your uncle, here you are then!

Alright, enough of that. So- here's the thing, as you know, I'm quite broke. It's one of my defining characteristics. So you'd think it would be tough to find one's broke self alone in London. Whatever can I do to entertain myself? Well..... Museums of course!! Anyone who's been to Europe knows that museums are free here. So that's what I do with my day. I am incredibly cultured. There's this specific exhibit (see above) at the Tate Modern which features the work of Mark Rothko, an internationally known modern artist who's work is awe inspiring. *waits for reaction* See how the paintings stir up feelings of passion, rage, and deep sadness. *Waits for reaction* Notice the very thought provoking use of color layered upon color.... (nothing?)

Yeah, me neither. This exhibit is all the rage- in fact, this artist is all the rage. I remember a scene in that horrible movie "Prime" starring Meryl Streep and Uma Thurman where they dine in front of a Rothko, the picute alone bringing Uma Thurman's character to tears. When I saw the movie I thought Well, I don't really get it. But maybe if I was in front of the work I would feel it.After all, some modern work is incredible. Some work actually does stir up emotion- certainly if he is internationally known his work must do something. *still waiting for reaction...* Nothing.

As I walked around the gallery, I noticed people standing and staring at certain pieces. They would gasp or nod their heads. They would discuss the artwork in hushed tones with their friends. At first, I felt, well, really stupid. What the hell were they seeing that I didn't see? Was there something embedded within the colors I was missing? Was there a hidden message? Was it like those 3d pictures from the early nineties where you had to cross your eyes and you'd see a sailboat inside? Then a theory was born. They don't see anything either. What if everyone was just pretending? A sort of Emperor's New Clothes sort of thing. "If we don't say anything, no one will think we're stupid." That's my theory anyway. I'm no art expert- but I didn't see anything revolutionary about the lines and squares. The colors were pretty- yep, that's all I got.

So I wandered around the (nine room) exhibit, staring at each (mind numbingly similar) piece and a pattern emerged. Some were lines, some were squares. And then a brilliant movie idea hit me. A handsome, young, brilliant technical scientist goes to the Tate Modern to take in the exhibit, when he unearths a shocking discovery that Rothko himself had planted in plain sight.There, staring him in the face are the plans for a fusion bomb buried deep within the tunnels of London, even below the London Bridge perhaps; written in BINARY CODE. Laughed away by the rest of the scientific community, he enlists the help of a beautiful young museum worker, as they unearth the bomb and stop it before it's too late. I call it : The Roth-Code.

Huh? Yeah- that's hot, right? I'm thinking someone like Jake Gyllenhaal for the scientist and Kate Bosworth for the museum worker? Seriously- I'd see it. Under duress of course but, you know, in a pinch. If I had nothing better to do.

Anyway, let me know if you felt something when you looked at the paintings... Anything other than "By, God, it does look like binary code!!" or "Pretty colors."