I’m thankful for my family, loving friends and the Fever Jones. I’m also thankful for my friends who took care of the poor while I relaxed at home under the chandelier…all that time on my feet would’ve killed my back.

[insert insightful blog here - because I've tried and tried and don't appear to be very clever now that I'm working]

So here’s what I need: Volunteers. Hundreds of volunteers. I need people to usher, to work parties, to help filmmakers and sponsors find their seats and direct them to the next event. I need volunteers to CALL volunteers to make sure they show up. I need good, reliable people to surround me and make things run smoothly.

Go here, look over our shifts, and meet some great people in the process: http://www.outfest.org/volunteer.html

And come SEE the movies. I’ve been taking them home and they’re FANTASTIC movies.

About Outfest:

COME JOIN US!

I had been searching for a job and, in conjunction, searching for my “passion”. In the process of this search, I’d been attending a meditation and writing workshop called “Comedy Karma” led by a wildly talented Sarah Taylor. These evening workshops include 3 meditations of varying lengths with two writing sessions in between. The writing sections are given a beginning by Sarah, and then the writer writes constantly – never stopping regardless of the direction the writing takes until a set time has been reached. This assignment was started with: “What I don’t know about myself is…”.

Setting the scene, imagine me and seven other people sprawled across a living room in a house on a busy corner with a lot of windows. The five minute meditation left us looking like the Jonestown Peoples Temple to anyone looking in the window and afterwards I noticed that three bleary eyed people looked like they’d been roughly awakened from a two hour nap. We took up our pens, and I wrote:

“What I don’t know about myself is… What is my ‘passion’? Of course I just spent the last writing session talking about that, but seriously, it’s getting a little embarrassing looking at people with a completely blank stare when they ask what my passion is. That, by the way, is one of those sentences I used to snicker about when I would hear it. ‘What is your passion?’ And now I understand there is a problem. Does everyone else have an answer for that? ‘Pearly White’ and ‘Croakie Roberts’ over there have cute socks on. I think I’m going to have to get cute socks – maybe something with a puff on them. ‘Purple Scarf’ has tiny little breasts that she’s delighted with. That’s nice. So, I like to meet and collect people. Is that a passion? I also like to drink wine and judge people – how’s that on the passion list? Now we’re back to Shawn Pelofsky’s idea of the two of us having a show where we criticized strangers when they passed us in the lobby of a casino. ‘The Queens of Mean’. Perhaps I should’ve said ‘critiqued’ instead of ‘criticized’. What am I going to do tomorrow? Yoga at 11 and hiking with Tammy Jo at 1pm? Perhaps. Passion. Drat. I hope the passion vine survives the trauma – I really want to see that growing in the garden soon. Some jackass walking by and whistling – is that his passion? Walking and whistling? That might be lamer than not having a passion.”

Let me first point out that the people I’ve mentioned in the assignment are people that are sitting around me for the most part. Instead of writing something inane like “I don’t know what to write, whatever shall I write” eighteen times until I finally think of something to write about, I start looking around the room at my “classmates”. Let me also point out that I’ve changed the names of everyone that was in the room. Apparently comedians are far too sensitive to listen to my “critiques”.

As a side note, what kind of horrible person must I be if COMEDIANS are sensitive around me? Seriously? Most of them just become comedians in an attempt to make sense of the daily heckling. I must be a monster.

I should also point out that I still haven’t found my passion, though at the last networking meeting I went to, I sipped wine and told people I took pictures of the ill-dressed and wrote bad things about them. Apparently they thought I was trying to read my cellphone’s screen when I took their pictures and posted them on Facebook.  I would’ve thought the flash would’ve given me away.

All this being said, I DO have a job at the moment and I’ll be telling you ALL about it very, very shortly. Cuz it’s going to take a village.

~ Mark Twain

I had never been to a show at Staples, but I knew to take the train, and when we arrived the area didn’t look TOO crazy – A loud outfit here, something a bit out of place there. Hair wrapped around a soda can…things like that. And then we got to “Will Call” and the line into the center. Oh.my. It was a total freak show…and not just kids. I saw 70 year old women dressed up in crazy outfits and garish makeup. I couldn’t stop looking. And inside was even more condense crazy. I was truly in heaven.

We got inside and bought a drink (basically they painted a layer of vodka on the bottom of a cup and added soda to the top – NEVER buy booze at Staples) and sat down and watched. There were masses of people in the general admission standing-room-only area. It looked like hell in ultraviolet. It turned out that it was also Lady Gaga’s 25^th birthday, so all the lights we were looking down at were LED birthday tiaras. I still kind of want one.

The opening act was the Scissor Sisters. A dear friend, Flower, introduced me to them several years ago and oh-sweet-jesus that Jake Shears gets NOTHING but hotter. They’re an excellent, high-energy opener for a show like Lady Gaga, and by the end of their performance he has stripped down to a thong and has sweat running down every taut musc…um, I digress. I love Ana Matronic, she’s got a great voice and a definite style. “’Spawned by the scuzzy, gay nightlife scene of New York’ they took their name from a sexual position between two women also known as tribadism”. That makes me giggle.

Lady Gaga was late to the party. About 30 minutes, I think (Though saying that out loud makes me think of that horrid Kim Zlociak and her ricockulous song “Tardy to the Party” and I’m oh SO glad I never have to hear THAT again). Again, however, the people-watching was TOTALLY worth the wait. EVERY age group was represented at this concert. I saw 10 year olds and 80 year olds and they were ALL delighted to be there. There were zombies, people in “caution” tape, men and women in various shades of drag – my people were everywhere and I thought, “of course, every gay loves a fad”. But then the concert began and I understood.

Lady Gaga is a show woman, and a fantastic time. She’s a good girl, with a lovely message. She’s doing remarkable thing like coupling with Virgin Mobile and raising money and volunteers for homeless youth. She’s advocating for full equality for gays and lesbians, she’s teaching people that THEY are worthwhile, regardless of their insecurities. And I love that she admits to bad days: “When I wake up in the morning, I feel just like any other insecure 24-year-old girl,” she says. “Then I say, ‘Bitch, you’re Lady Gaga, you get up and walk the walk today.’” This show has a good rhythm, a story, a message, a progression and the entire trip is her amazing voice, dancing, lights, and musicians. And she makes sure that you know, she has never lip-synched; not at the concert, not on tv…and that she knows people pay too much money to receive that kind of treatment.

The show was better than Madonna. Though it has made me need to go back to listen to the Madonna on my iPod.

While I’ve been sitting here writing this article, several news stories have crossed my screen. Such as the assbags in the Indiana Senate voting one step closer to banning gay marriage and civil unions. BTW – Equality for gays is going to happen. We ARE going to get married. Right now, the only question is, will it be your children or your grandchildren who look at you in horror when they hear of the discrimination that happened on your watch.

As I sit in my home in Los Angeles, all the doors and windows open letting in a gentle breeze and the scent of flowers I planted only yesterday, the news is showing Chicago and the rest of the Midwest under snow. And I’m an ass on the Facebook, posting pictures of walks along the beach and hike into nearby canyons.

The truth is that I miss the seasons and, especially, snow days. Huddled inside with a good book and a fireplace, the snow filling every window – these are good memories of that small amount of time before cell phones and computers. I always had the kitchen stocked with goodies (because you know I always feed a cold AND a flu), candles lit around the house, and was cozy despite the wind howling at the widows. Of course when I got to Chicago it was all about braving the elements to get to the best friend’s place so we could be snowed in together.

I do, however, remember the other side of it. I remember the snow days of my childhood in Kansas. There was the fireplace and the snow, but there was also the chore of it all. Good times hauling wood in from the pasture, breaking the ice in the trough so the horses could drink, and going around to rental properties to make sure their pipes hadn’t frozen. There was the pharmacy and getting medications to the people that had run out or needed something for any little ailment and Dad always tried to make sure the restaurant was open and running for the truckers and farmers needing coffee and breakfast.

As I sit in my home in Los Angeles, all the doors and windows open, I think that snow days are best when you travel to them. I’ll remain here in my little community (which, interestingly, has the same population as my hometown) in my big city , where everything seems so like a resort. I’ll read a little, write a little, wander off to lunch. If I need snow I’ll drive the hour and a half to a mountain. Chances are, however, that I’ll go the short distance to the ocean instead. Perhaps I’ll go skiing in a couple of weeks.

Be safe everyone. Stay indoors where it’s warm. I’m going to a hike.

• Orientation is inane and by-god next time I’m avoiding it.  It breaks up into three parts: the guy who babbles for 20 minutes about how hard jury duty USED to be; the cranky broad who has to explain the affidavit and questionnaire over and over and over to the dipshits in jury duty; and the guy who rambles about the day’s procedure and the giant burrito he can get for $4.25 down on Grand Ave.
• There is a potential jurist that sounds like a Tribble <think Star Trek>.  I can’t find her, but I hear her.
• A big girl camped out in front of the vending machines.  She hasn’t stopped chewing in three hours.
• There’s a Hip/Hippy grandma whose ass hangs out of olive green cargo pants every time she bend over.  I’m horrified to say that she’s going commando.
• An aging hipster is sitting across from me.  He’s as twitchy as a meth addict, wearing a skullcap and has shoulders that ride up high and stiff.
• Three giant girls with red sweaters and stretch pants are carefully avoiding each other.

• A geek is trying to be cool.  He’s got a giant leather messenger bag and is hauling around a 2.5 gallon water bottle like he’s at Gold’s Gym.  He hasn’t been away from his online porn this long since that bout of Dodgeball he went through in 2004.
• The woman whose seat I stole just glared at me and muttered under her breath.  Her brassy hair is pulled too tight and she has rosacea and thin, bloodless lips.  Her name is Tammy.

–{The sound of the Tribble ended up being the fluttery sound of a chair shuddering under one of the big girls in red.}–

• “There’s a TV in back.  But it’s broken.”  This is probably for the best, because this crowd would be fighting to see Jerry Springer. Actually I’m more afraid of the response we’d get if they saw “their” episode on Jerry Springer.  It could turn into a riot and we don’t have Steve Wilko in the house to keep people from going overboard.
• Sitting at 2 o’clock is one of those “artsy” cholas.  Raggedy Ann red hair is fading around the edges and she’s chompimg Hubba Bubba like a cow chewing its cud.  Thank god her lip-liner is NEVER coming off.
• Middle aged love is happening on the front row, but it’s poor middle age.  He’s telling her humorous stories of road trips in his Corolla.  They’re both some indistinct version of Asian – he’s balding and attempting to make up for it with humor, she’s chubby and can hear her eggs drying.  Actually we can all hear her eggs drying…it sounds like Rice Krispies.
• Of course there is another hipster in the room.  This one is younger and paid good money to look like white trash.  The camouflage hat and prodigious mullet are sold out by the Hollister Co. Huntington Slim Straight Destroyed jeans he’s wearing.  Seriously…that’s the name of his jeans.  Not only did he not rub anything into pseudo-poverty by himself, the only thing he HAS distressed is his parents.

–{The girl in the Tribble chair just leaned back and stretched out flat-ish.  The stretch pants, suddenly revealed another roll of fat at the top of each thigh in the groin area.  And then it was a gigantic camel toe.]–

<shudder>

I am ALWAYS the only person in a large room that actually WANTS to be on a jury.  After decades of LA Law, Law and Order and the CSIs, I really want to experience the real thing.  And you know I like a good plot.  But alas, I sat in this room from 7:45am – 4:15pm with absolutely nothing to show for it.  At least they could’ve given us something to do.  Like handling the switchboard for California Unemployment.  Those people don’t even leave you the OPTION of leaving a voice-mail.
2011 is going to be a great year, kids.  Run out and OBSERVE.

On a personal note, this year of unemployment has been difficult for me.  One reason being that many people have asked me what my “passion” is.  The troubling fact is that I can’t think of an answer.  Perhaps finding an answer to that should be my goal for 2011.

Have a glorious start to a fantastic new year.

Alan

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”
~ Thornton Wilder

Vote like you’re a Christian who actually has love and compassion and isn’t just waiting for an excuse to shoot someone.

Vote like you love children and aren’t just ranting with rage as their lives are being saved through health care reform – and that you realize the biggest opponent of health care reform is insurance and pharmaceutical companies.

Vote like you’re an American who isn’t looking to tear down others…and that you realize that the love between other people isn’t destroying the sanctity of anything.

Vote like you believe in what the founding fathers struggled for.