The Imperfect Storm

There was a survey done once asking people about their greatest fear. The number one fear was public speaking. The number three fear is death. Jerry Seinfeld pointed out that means when attending a funeral people “would rather be in the coffin then delivering the eulogy.”

I have never understood this. Once on the F train, I heard a couple debating whether or not to see a movie and I inserted myself in the conversation to tell them about the documentary “The Cove”. I have no problem walking up to strangers and saying hi. When the magician asks for ‘assistance from the audience’ I don’t even wait for him to point at me, I just leap up onto the stage. When I was a volunteer at Northwest Film Forum I pioneered the idea of a “fun facts” presentation where I would introduce the film with trivia.

I have no problem with public speaking. If anything I adore it. Some of the most fun I’ve ever had was giving tours of KEXP studios in Seattle.

I also have a bizarre knack for attracting unusual circumstances.

I wasn’t really thinking about this one Friday afternoon when my friend Nancy called me and suggested we met up for happy hour appetizers and drinks. We decided to hit the Revolution Café at the Experience Music Project in the Seattle Center. We chatted, caught up then this woman who appeared with clothes and accessories and said “everyone dress up 80’s costume contest in 10 minutes.” I pulled on a gold lame shirt with shoulder pads, gave myself a sideways pony tail and slashed thick stripes magenta blush on my cheeks.

When it came time for judging, there was really nothing to distinguish me from the other contestants. Yes, I committed to the makeup in a way the other two hadn’t but I couldn’t count on that. So I did what I do best. I made a spectacle of myself.

I broke into the “Can’t Touch This” dance from the MC Hammer video of the same name. If you’ve ever seen me in a gay nightclub you know I can’t dance. I am an embarrassment to the art of dancing. But what I lack in rhythm I make up for in shamelessness. All the other two woman could do was stare in horror as I cabbage- patched my way across the room, off beat despite the fact there wasn’t any music.

I won. I received a $50 gift card to the Sonic Store (which of course I never used) and two tickets to the Seattle Storm game that very night!

Ugh.

One thing I take great pride in that many people do not quite understand about me is in the years I was imprisoned in Oak Harbor High School aka hell on earth, I NEVER ONCE attended a single sporting event. Nope, not one. No homecoming games, no away games. NOTHING. Which is saying something, considering Oak Harbor is the sort of hick town where the entire population showed up to high school games.

I had no desire to go to a basketball game then. I have no desire to see one…ever.

The woman was damn near panicking. I had to go! It would be such fun! I had to go! There was a contest there too! I could win!

I went back to the snacking and drinking with Nancy. She wouldn’t leave me alone.

“These games are so much fun!” Sigh. I told her I’d go just to get her to leave me alone.

Nancy and I chatted then she wanted to head home to her husband and dog. I started to leave, but then Nancy said “well why don’t you go? Just check it out if it’s boring you can leave.”

Oh what the hell.

I headed into the Coliseum (NO! I will not call it the Key Arena and you can’t make me!!!!).

I strolled around. That place really a microcosm of America, on the upper levels, where the seats are cheaper, there is pizza, beer, hot dogs. On the lower levels, where the seats cost a small fortune, you can get fresh sushi, Ivars Clam Chowder (sigh…) and microbrews. I should take a moment to point out that I still had my 80’s garb on. The gold lame blouse with the shoulder pads, magenta blush and sideways ponytail. I kept waiting for someone to ask me what I was up but no one did. Odd.

I went to found my seat as I casually headed down a small tunnel I saw the now dour faced woman who was begging me to go to the game glumly climbing the stairs. She saw me. Her face lit up.

She grabbed my hand and suddenly started dragging me behind her.

“Oh “she cried. “I was getting so scared!”

Scared?

We go flying past the lower level gourmet food courts, past the staggeringly overpriced merchandise booths, down stairs, through doors that stated ominously “NO ADMITTANCE BY GENERAL PUBLIC” Down a narrow hallway, BAM, into another even more narrow hallway while I struggled to keep up taking frantic baby steps in my strappy high heeled sandals, to another set of doors BAM! We were vomited directly onto the floor of basketball court, Seattle Storm taking on some other team just 20 ft away.

Ah crap.

“Okay” the woman says (why don’t I know her name by this point?) “Wait here, it will start in about 10 minutes” and she was off like a shot.

Um…what will begin in 10 minutes?

I started to feel a bit of panic, but then I stepped back and assessed the situation. Holy crap. I was ON THE FLOOR of the Coliseum. The Storm was barely 20 ft away. I was standing UNDER the bleachers. I had just barreled past giant signs telling me to keep out and I had permission to be there. I looked around at this exclusive area I had been granted access to and couldn’t help but wonder if it was supposed to smell like that.

That was when I noticed a tall red headed girl clad in Madonna garb circa 1987 watching the game. She must have felt my eyes on her because she turned around and smiled. Her name was Teresa and she couldn’t have been more than 19 despite the fact she was at least 6ft tall.

“Oh you’re here for the costume contest too! Liz said she was going to get the other contestants.”

I notice the woman I now knew as Liz approaching an older gentleman holding a hat, sunglasses and a white blazer the kind Sonny Crocket would have worn while tearing through the everglades while Glenn Fry played in the background.

It all made sense.

It was 80’s night here at the Seattle Storm. There was a costume contest to take place at the halftime show. It’s pretty hard to have a contest with only person. I was recruited from the Revolution Café. The gentleman was sitting in one of the lowest areas in the arena, the part reserved for people with season passes.

A horn sounded and the players left the court. Liz reappeared.

“Okay come this way” We walked across the court DIRECTLY UNDER THE HOOP (so cool) to an aisle. The gentlemen was sitting next to us, now looking as pathetic as Sonny Crocket would trying to pull off the Miami Vice look at 60 something.

“Okay you’ll be first,” Liz said motioning to Teresa. “We’ll introduce you and walk out maybe do a little dance and go stand near the S in Storm. Then you walk to the T” she pointed to me. “then Mr. Palmer go the O”

Mr. Palmer tipped his hat to Liz in that old school charmer kind of way that only Southern men and femme lesbians can get away with.

Doppler, the Seattle Storm mascot (no I don’t get it either) came out. The crowd was informed of where we sat (because our row would get a prize too) and to vote with their claps.

The prizes were half bad either. A gift certificate for a day spa. Brunch for two at the Space Needle. Now I really wanted to win.

Teresa went out first. I give her props because she had to go first. Basically she swung her hips and did a little spin. Still her outfit could play to the crowd. My gold lame shoulder padded blouse had seen better days. My magenta blush wasn’t going to read to the stands. I had to play this JUST right.

“And now please welcome Cameron!”

I just want you to know that from beginning to end this took MAYBE 10 minutes. And that includes Teresa’s and Mr. Palmer being introduced. My introduction to my taking my place on the T in Storm took 1 minute? Maybe 2?. I’m slowing this WAY down to explain it to you.

I spun onto the basketball court and immediately started doing the robot. The crowd reacted. I did a few spins and then attempted to moonwalk. That didn’t go so well but the crowd seemed to enjoy my attempt.

But hey I studied gymnastics as a child (until my breasts ballooned up to a C up in a single summer) so I decided to throw in a nice cartwheel.

I did a little jog as I would have to go backwards away from T in Storm to start on my right hand. I did a kick and put my right hand down. My legs went into the air. My left hand planted. A gentle rustle of fabric, a tickling sensation as my dress slid from my body and landed with a soft ‘whomp’ onto the heavily polished floor of the basketball court, completely obscuring my vision and exposing a torso that had seen neither the sun nor a gym since the first Bush administration to the 7,000 plus spectators.

Time seemed to stop.

While it is difficult to embarrass me it is NOT impossible, and unexpectedly flashing an arena is one way to accomplish this. It was certainly not the first time (nor would it be the last) I would in a state of undress in public, there are things to consider.

For all my lovers who have ever told me “all my other girlfriends wore matching bra and panty sets” women only do this in the courting stage, once we get past that the granny panties come out. On display was my gold and black leopard print bra and badly mismatched pastel flowered satin panties, along with my unshaved thighs with the vertical scars I acquired when distracted while playing the Kevin Bacon game I plunged thought the roof of a theater in 1994.

If there was one small mercy it was that I could not see the undoubtly horrified faces of the crowd. But as my legs quickly left the apex and began their inevitable descent another horror overcame me. While my black dress now hanging from my armpits and draped across my face meant when my feet clad in high heeled sandals came down I wouldn’t be able to see where I should put them down. They came down anyway, skittering across the floor and slamming my left knee into the ground.

A gasp from the crowd. I had a chance to get them back. A pity vote!

I sprang up into a triumphant V, my arms stretched to the sky, even as my knee caught fire and pleaded with me to sit down. The crowd screamed. I took a cue from the rock music and swung my hips to disguise the incredible pain I was in as I limped toward Teresa to take my place on the T, high fiving Doppler on my way.

Her face was twisted with concerned as she asked, “Are you okay?” I lied and said yes.

We turned our attention to Mr. Palmer now rising to take his little spin. The crowd sprung to its feet and exploded.

I heard Teresa sigh, and then she leaned in and whispered “we’re toast”.

It was so unfair. I guess Mr. Palmer was a regular at the games and beloved by the crowd by whatever standard sports fan apply to such things.

The whole “vote with your voice!” as Liz pointed to each of us was almost silly. Teresa and I both knew Mr. Palmer had it. I felt bad for Teresa, the only person in this group who actually MEANT to be part of this competition. But I felt worse for me, because I really wanted those gift certificates.

I danced off the court with Doppler almost supporting me, as much as he/she could because my knee was really starting to swell up.

I saw the team doctor, who iced me up and gave me Motrin and told me rest for a few days. She could have given a script for painkillers but no.

I tried to watch the game but it was REALLY boring. Lots of squeaking, lots of running. Okay time to go. I stepped out of the arena past the throngs of people limping on my sore knee, still clad in my gold lame shirt and my sideways ponytail, blinking in the pale grey of an overcast Seattle and realizing with amazement only 27 minutes had past since I walked in.

Culture Comments: Julie & Julie & Shirley & Me

I saw Julia & Julie. I really did enjoy the movie. Partly because I adore both Amy Adams and Meryl Streep(who is so GOOD at comedy it’s painful she doesn’t do more), partly because cooking is such a bizarre and unknown world to me I find it shocking people do it on purpose.

I completely disagreed with the reviews that said the Julie portion should be left out entirely. I loved that she created a project for herself and did the work. When I was 12, I became so obsessed with the movie Poltergeist, I audio taped by holding my little tape recorder up the TV (VHS players were costing thousands in those days) it and then typed up the entire script as well as a twelve year old could. Indeed both my best friend Joshua, and I both were inspired by the film to start thinking about goals and what we wanted to accomplish in our lives.

Still there was one scene that had particular and painful resonance with me.
If you haven’t seen the movie, it centers on two  oddly parall stories. One of Julia Child’s life in France and of her decision to focus on cooking (more as a hobby than anything else) and wounds up writing the seminal classic “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”. Years later, Julie Powell frustrated by her cubicle dwelling job decides to give herself a task. She’ll cook all 524 recipes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking and write a blog about it. Tom and Lorenzo of Project Rungay wrote an intriguing review of the film with their unique perspective.

(sadly the link is no longer in existance)

As the movie goes on, Julie’s blog begins to draw attention to the point where there are magazine articles and a New York Times piece about her. One night a journalist calls saying he spoke to REAL Julia Child and she was being a ‘real pill’ about the blog. I can still see Amy Adams ashen face as she held the phone in disbelief saying “Julia Child said that? Julia Child said THAT?”

Being a freelance entertainment writer, I’ve met more of my heroes than I could begin to even count. Upon meeting Tim Gunn I actually started to cry a little. And what did Tim do? He gave me a big hug and his business cards saying “if you ever need anything please let me know”. I had Harold Ramis tell me “You’re very funny” when making a comment about “Groundhogs Day”.

And I’ve been seriously disappointed. The breathtakingly handsome movie actor who is without a doubt the most stupid and boring person I’ve ever met in my ENTIRE LIFE. He was extremely polite and kind, but after a few minutes, his beauty could not distract from his tranquilizer like personality. The comedy TV actress whose brilliant timing and gift for one liners stood in startling contrast to her frosty demeanor and surly attitude. The legendary producer who called me a bitch before I could even introduce myself. My first words to him were of me begging for forgiveness for transgression that is STILL unknown.

Which is not to say my enjoyment of their work has necessarily been dimmed. There is a certain director/writer/producer whose work has made a tremendous impact on my life. I will absolutely defend my stance that he has had a permanent (and evolving) impact on both the areas of cinema and pop culture in general. I own most of his films and have watched them so often I can quote many a line. He is brilliant, he is visionary, he is a God in my eyes. I met him. I saw him again recently. He was walking towards me and as he did I wondered if he would recall me and stop to chat so I responded in the only way I could. I dove under a table and hid until I was certain he was gone. I cannot stand him.

But he still inspires me.

As does Shirely MacClaine. As a young girl growing up in the nasty redneck Republician Jesus freak town of Oak Harbor WA, I was indoctrinated and ensconced in the idea of the oppressive Christian idea that as a female I was inferior and thinking, questioning, even postulating a theory that MIGHT be different from the authoritative males in my life was a sin, for which there would be deep and eternal punishment. As paltry as it was, Oak Harbor Public Library did have a copy of Shirley MacClaine’s Out On A Limb and Dancing In The Light. Trapped in the sterile atmosphere of knuckle dragging high school teachers and ditto headed classmates (before that term was even coined), the idea that were other options, concepts, philosophies that could be examined, explored was like that first gasp of breath after being under the water so long you feared you might die.

Assigned to cover the premiere of Lifetime’s Premiere of “Coco Chanel”, a deeply disappointing film that focused almost exclusively on her love life, which though very dramatic wasn’t that interesting. I was FAR more interested in her business life. Despite appearing in the commercials and posters Maclaine wasn’t in the movie very much. Still I needed a quote from her.

I waited for her on the red carpet and finally she got to me. Clad head to toe in Channel (natch) she was strikingly beautiful. I asked her a question about why she took the part of Channel and was surprised to learn that it was originally Audrey Hepburn’s idea. “We were making the Children’s Hour and she suggested it. I don’t look like her very much but according to Audrey I have her spirit”

I turned off my recorder and told Ms. Maclaine how deeply she had touched and changed my life. She signed and rolled her eyes.

She ROLLED her eyes!

This is woman who changed my life, expanded my horizons and her response to me was bored irritation. Eh?

Julie Powell life was changed forever by Julia Child but when Julia was made aware of her blog she wasn’t so much moved as annoyed.

Judith Jones, Senior Editor and Vice President at Alfred A. Knopf, and Julia Child's editor and confidante, was quoting saying “Flinging around four-letter words when cooking isn’t attractive, to me or Julia. She didn’t want to endorse it. What came through on the blog was somebody who was doing it almost for the sake of a stunt. She would never really describe the end results, how delicious it was, and what she learned. Julia didn’t like what she called ‘the flimsies.’ She didn’t suffer fools, if you know what I mean.”


Still Julie Powell harbored no ill will toward her critic. When Julia Child passed on August 12, 2004 she posted on her blog “She enriched the lives of thousands – my
life she quite literally turned around. She died well-loved, and I hope she died well-fed. There is no tragedy here. It’s a day for remembrance, and celebration. So why am I so fucking sad?”

Cleary Julia’s admonishments regarding cursing fell on deaf ears.

Still it would do us all well to remember that there is no business like show business in that an industry built on illusion. Our heroes are after all just people and the things that make them heroic to us is only one aspect of who they are. And yet Shirley MaClaine did change my life.

Whether that bitch likes it or not.

An open letter to Skynet, The Cylons or any other Robot Overlord

To whom it may concern:

While I’m not entirely sure you currently exist or if you will ever be, this letter is to any potential robot overlord that should someday rise to power. No doubt you are aware from The Matrix, The Terminator series, I Robot, Battlestar Galactica and many others, there is a deep distrust of advanced technology, assumption that when given a chance a self aware artificially created life form will rise up and destroy its creators.

I am here to say I don’t see any reason why human and our robot overlords cannot co exist peacefully. While I know initially I will be in the minority I know together we can work to create a world where mankind and robot kind work together.

You may have listened to our 44th President Barack Obama give a speech where he said “We are Americans, we do not do the easy thing, we do not do the simple thing.” While I understand his sentiments this is inaccurate. The United States of America is the superpower on the planet called earth let me tell you something about Americans.

We are lazy and we are selfish.

No, really we are. Not ALL of us, of course but some of us. Well most of us.

I include myself in this group. Now I hail from New York City so there is some intellectual superiority is to be assumed, but also a large part of why I live here was so I’d never have to cook again. 24 hour restaurants that deliver, that’s the life I choose. I pay other people to do my laundry, assemble my sandwiches, and clean my home. I simply loathe doing things for myself. Entire industries have been founded to meet this desire not to do for oneself. I am not alone.

We take pills rather than exercise of eat properly, we would rather watch the movie than read the book, we ship our kids off to boot camps when they become troublesome, rather than actually get involved in their lives.

Or other people do. I’m far too apathetic and self involved to have kids. My greatest love affair has been with my DVR. If  it could pay my bills I’d marry it.

My point we can make this work. Americans can live under a totalitarian, tyrannical regime; it’s how we survived the Bush/Cheney administration. I can live without civil rights. I cannot live without sleeping pills and air conditioning.

Now this will take some work, the Southern and Midwestern states don’t adapt well to change. But they easily suggestible and not suited to critical thinking. Once we get their religious leaders on board they’ll fall into place. And the good news their religious leaders have price tags.

Alaska? You may have to let that one go. The people there are mean nasty Republicans who already live like Neanderthals and can only JUST BARELY read and write. Taking away their plumbing won’t work because so few of them have it already. If you decide to wage a war against them you will win eventually but it might not be worth it.

I really don’t understand what your desires, ambitions etc might be. We can talk about it.

That being said if you don’t want to go this route, I ask you to remember this letter and please ensure that I am killed quickly and painlessly in the first wave.


Seriously, I neither am able, nor would I want to live in a post apocalyptic world. I will wither and die 10 minutes after I run out of shampoo.

Yours with love and affection
Cameron Grey Rose
Upper West Side
New York NY