Month: August 2005

Prison Break

A brief quiz:

The communicatrix would like FOX’s hot-‘n’-juicy new episodic to kick ratings ass because:

(a) The OC jumped the shark and she needs SOMETHING to look forward to, for fuck’s sake

(b) it stars a former acting class acquaintance whom she got to kiss once in a scene* and would like to be able to brag about without having to explain who he is

(c) the hopelessly juvenile in her gleefully anticipates people calling it “Pee Break”

(d) who doesn’t like a good prison story, dammit?

(e) all of the above


*For the record, while he was a very good kisser, there were no sparks on either side; it was strictly a “duty” kiss**.

**I said “duty”.

Image of the glorious Wentworth Miller in Prison Break via FOX’s official Prison Break website and lots of snapshot-taking and Photoshop re-configuring because the #@$%&*(s did it all in Flash, damn their eyes. 

On punctal plugs, fatty acids and healthy fears of elective procedures

As I: (a) must needs wear contacts on occasion to pursue That Hobby That Provides Me With Health Care; (b) am cursed with two of the driest, flattest eyeballs on record; and (c) am rather vocal on the discomfort this combination produces, my long-suffering optometrist has been suggesting for years that I consider punctal occlusion as a means of relief…for both of us. (He has also started suggesting that I entertain the idea of bifocals, which is even more galling, albeit for entirely different reasons.)

While I’m sure none of you would take issue with the insertion of soft plastic or silicone inserts into one of the three eentsy-weentsy ducts that supply lubrication to the eye while you were wide-fucking-awake, I, an admitted crank, have a bit of a problem with it. And Lasik? Why anyone who wasn’t 99.9999% blind already would let a complete stranger cut a flap in their eyeball with a burning-hot laser, while they were wide-fucking-awake*, is so beyond me it’s crossed the International Date Line twice, stopped for pizza and laid down for a short nap.

Actually, it’s the cavalier attitude most of the medical profession seems to take with elective surgery that really blows my mind. I’m not surprised civilians want tighter tummies and freedom from the tyranny of corrective lenses, but I am a little blown away that there are so many people who’ve sworn an oath to first-do-no-harm who apparently believe it’s enormously helpful to slice and dice someone to feelings of self-fulfillment. And I’m not talking about the saints who give poor little deformed children a shot at some kind of a life; I’m talking about people spending years of their life in med school to learn how to make Michael Jackson’s face even scarier. Didn’t we all see that Twilight Zone episode where they only had to hire four actors to make the point about everyone being beautiful in their own special way?** Where is the love, people?

The thing is, some doctors are just plain rotten and NO doctor knows everything. Sure, they take that oath thingy and I’m sure most of them really, really mean it***, but still, just because they went to school longer than you did doesn’t mean they know everything. Remember, this is the same brotherhood that used to think Thalidomide was a good idea for pregnant ladies. So while I’m really, really careful about the doctors I’ll let anywhere near me, I’m equally careful about what I will and won’t let the elite cadre prescribe for me. So far, I’ve done fine hanging onto that gallbladder, uterus and large intestine; on the other hand, I really wish I’d followed my gut on hormonal birth control, the little purple ring that sent me into my first bona fide Crohn’s flare.

My bottom line is this: there is no silver bullet. I’m a firm believer in Newton’s Third Law of Physics and the wisdom of Blood, Sweat & Tears: everything, from vitamins Tom Cruise is pushing**** to the prednisone that saved my bacon back in 2002 to that baby aspirin old Doc Shafton warned my mother about, is going to do something else besides the thing you took it to do.

Still, sometimes you gotta do something about your flat, dry eyeballs. The least invasive procedure wins my vote, and in this case, it looks like increasing my ratio of omega-3 to omega-6 fatty acids could help the dryness factor. In fact, since I’m pretty sure increasing that ratio could help, period, I’m seizing this eyeball thing as my opportunity to cut back on bad fats, slow my caffeine creep, and generally reverse the long, slow slide into total physical neglect I’ve been enjoying for months now.

Maybe it’ll work; maybe it won’t.

But we’ll see, won’t we?


*Especially people in CALIFORNIA, where there are EARTHQUAKES that
happen WITHOUT WARNING, including DURING YOUR SURGERY. If you must slice & dice, go somewhere where you’re pretty much guaranteed the ground under your doctor’s feet won’t move in mid-flap.

**Or, for that matter, the other one where they didn’t have to pay any actors at all to make the point.

***This includes the Boneheaded Yet Otherwise Highly-Skilled Colorectal Surgeon who neglected to tell me how advanced my Crohn’s was until it was so far gone he felt it appropriate to sketch pictures at my hospital bedside of the new rectum he was going to build for me. Remember, surgeons like to cut; that’s what they do.

****For the record, while I think Tom Cruise is an utter asshat for dressing down anyone
who has found blessed relief from chemical imbalance through the miracle
of SSRIs, when my shrink wanted to put me on anti-depressants, I
researched causes of depression on the Interweb and found enough
natural ways to keep the demon at bay that I could let the talk
therapy do its thing. But, unlike Mr. Couch-Jumper, I fully understand the concept of YMMV. Tom Cruise = Scientologist nutcase;
communicatrix = product of hippie-60s upbringing. ‘Nuff said.

Hot Slut of the Day?

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Me, the Weird Family Mom, originally uploaded by communicatrix.

Dear Michael K:

As my new-favorite blogging hero, I’m sure you can understand the gi-NOR-mous pressure we bloggers face to produce fresh, tasty posts in a timely fashion.  Why, it’s exhausting, I tell you! Frankly, I don’t know how you do it, but you are, as you would say, one hot slut and we’re all just lucky to be living in your world.

Anyway, I’m thinking that if you made me Hot Slut of the Day, my bitches might forgive my shameful lack of hot, juicy posts recently. Hell, they’d probably be excited just to see me make the Birthday Sluts list; if you want to do that, my birthday is coming up fast, September 13th! Can you believe that shit? Crazy, right?

Anyway, you wouldn’t even have to use my picture or anything, but if you wanted, you could use this hott shot of me on stilts my friend, Ken, just emailed me. Hott, right?

Thanks, and keep that DList action going.


P.S. Are you really a porn model? That’s hott!


Karmic payback’s a bitch…and so am I!

Note to anyone* who ever knew me in my previous incarnation as a copywriter:

Dear Former Co-Worker of Mine Who Is Still in Advertising,

Boy! Long time, no time, huh? Where are you guys staying now, Shutters? The Viceroy? Or do you eschew the beach and stay in town? Or maybe you go super-downscale and fly under the radar at the Farmer’s Daughter or that place attached to Swingers? (“You go”? That’s a defunct car from the 70s! AD JOKE! HAHAHA!)

I guess it was a big surprise to see me on the audition tape the nice casting people here in L.A. sent to you, huh? I’ll bet you even stopped eating or took the tape out of fast-forward search, like we used to do when we saw something weird or funny. Are those tapes still as looooong as they used to be? Boy oh boy-ar-dee, this town is lousy with actors, huh?

Of course, even I don’t see many actors nowadays since it’s been reeeeeeally slow lately. Like, for the last two or three years and stuff. You could shoot a cannon through most of those casting places on a lot of days and not hit anyone. Makes me wonder how much longer we’ll both be able to make a living at this, huh? Yikes!

At least we can still run into each other now, like at my audition. Sorry, your audition! Although really technically, it was a callback. Oops, callbacks! One in the morning and then one just enough later in the afternoon for me to drive home, eat lunch and come back! Anyway, I thought something funny was going on when I showed up at the first one and all the other Casual Moms had blonde hair and were pretty. Then I thought maybe the director had called me in as a special choice, but I’d never met him before, plus he seemed to be laughing at everything the guy I was auditioning with did, not me. And then when he didn’t remember meeting me four hours later, I was pretty sure something was up. Et voila! You burst out of the room with your big surprise like a naked lady jumping out of a cake, only you weren’t naked or a lady and there was no cake.

Anyway, it’s great to hear everything is going so well for you. And it’s really amazing that all of you guys that I used to work with at the agency are still working there all those years after I quit. And boy howdy, it is QUITE a coincidence that I turned up on your audition tape. After all, I have only been doing this for 10 years and, wait…10 years? That’s as long as I worked as a copywriter! Hahaha, oops! Better be careful…I’m dating myself! That’s the kiss of death for an actor, right?**

Well, usually, that is. In this case, it doesn’t matter much since (a) you already know how old I am and (b) you’re not going to hire me, anyway. Come on…admit it. Come oooooooon! Because, seriously, I’ve auditioned for tons of you guys now (and mostly I’ve been able to remember your names, which I think is pretty amazing!) and the only one who ever hired me to act on their commercial is an art director who left the business to become a director. I mean, let’s call a spade a spade, right?

But, hey, I’m all for catching up with old pals. Old business acquaintances, too!(And we are OLD now, right? Right? HAHAHA!) So next time you’re coming in to town, send me an email or give me a call. Let me know which fancy hotel you’re staying at and I’ll meet you there for a cocktail, on you, after working hours. You know, all those hours during the DAY that I drive from Assmunch to Albuquerque, auditioning, like I did for you, only for real, to get actual jobs and stuff.

That’s about it. Enjoy your stay in sunny Los Angeles! And good luck with that commercial you didn’t cast me in! I probably won’t see it since I don’t watch much TV anymore, but I’m sure it’ll be really hilarious and great and keep the fires of broadcast advertising going strong for another fifty years. And even if it isn’t, you’ll have a great time in Vancouver or New Zealand or wherever it is you get to go shoot it!

Ciao, bellas!


*And, while this letter was inspired by a recent incident, I do mean “anyone”. You know who you are, you devils, you!

**Actually, this might be the kiss of death. Can you get dooced if you’re self-employed? Or would this be more of a blacklist-type thing?

Photo of the communicatrix by Thomas Lascher

It cost me $4 to blog this! (Part 2)

Things I think the Los Angeles Municipal Traffic Court could still use a little work on after spending (almost) all day here:

  1. Stairs you can use during peak elevator time without setting off the alarms and being greeted at your destination by the L.A. County Sheriff’s deputy.
  2. More elevators.
  3. Lots more electrical outlets.
  4. Definitely more Aquafina in the machine.
  5. Someplace you can actually get to on one of your allotted 20-minute breaks from the jurors’ waiting room where they serve a decent cup of coffee. Like maybe a Starbucks in the lobby. Or, barring that…
  6. Those vibrating pagers they use at suburban franchise restaurants. The benefits of the electronic tether have been amply proved (proven?) in the private sector.
  7. Pay TV and free fucking WiFi*, not the other way around. Because hearing snippets of Regis & Kelly, Montel and I Wanna Be A Soap Star are not making my time go any faster. And subjecting me to that Judge Judy wannabe on Divorce Court is cruel and unusual punishment.
  8. Better instructional video. If cost is an issue, you could just run an old episode of Law & Order. We’ll get the point and the production values are vastly superior. Remember, a happy juror is a fair and impartial juror!
  9. One of those lists like they used to send your mom before you went to camp stuck into your jury summons so you could come prepared. I mean, all I know is there are a lot more people lying around watching TV than there are Judge Hacketttttt fans. Trust me on this.
  10. Air-conditioning. That. Works. We live in a desert, people!

And finally…

BONUS EXTRA: Actual judge who comes by to thank us for coming in = good. Actual judge who comes by and uses his meet-and-greet to pretend he is up doing five at the Improv = bad. We are not here of our own volition, sipping overpriced cocktails at the end of a long, working day and predisposed for a few laughs; as you pointed out in your hilarious set, we were SUBPOENAED!!!

And that’s me, my civic duty (hopefully) done for one more year. (Heh heh heh…I said "duty"!)


*I mean, WTF? Four bucks an hour to jump on some crappy My First PC to surf? And I can’t even use my thumb drive to transfer files? Who’s got the franchise on this piece of pork?**

**BTW, I actually stuck this one in the suggestion box. So all you prospective jurors who have your free WiFi next month*** have me to thank.

***Bwahahahaha!!! Suckahs!!!

It cost me $4 to blog this! (Part 1)

Things I think the Los Angeles Municipal Traffic Court actually got right after spending most of the day here:

  1. The chairs in the jury waiting room. Surprisingly comfy, really.
  2. Free parking. With in/out privileges!
  3. The Magic Badge that gets you to the front of the line. In fact, I think a civilian version of the Magic Badge would go over like gangbusters, and imagine the additional revenue you could generate with a Post Office or DMV LinePass. I would even go for an SUV Carpool Lane Gimme Pass, provided it were non-transferrable and $500,000/year.
  4. The free weekly Metro pass option. Kicks ass over the 34-cents/mile dealio (which, for those of you who have been AVOIDING your civic duty by THROWING OUT your subpoenas, you only get one way).
  5. The hour-and-a-half lunch, with an extra 15 minutes up front so we can beat everyone else outta here at peak elevator times.

BONUS EXTRA: Free reading material provided by the state = good. Free reading material that skews heavily to the weirdest common denominator = bad. (Although if you replaced the Men’s Journal/turgid romance novel action with some more left-leaning publications — say, Granta and JANE , my problem pretty much goes away.