I love LA. Deal with it.

I'm sitting in my office wearing a cashmere sweater with fingerless gloves and a hooded jacket. I'm wearing a wool monkey hat, and uggs. It's 61 degrees. Christmas weather. I think I am officially a southern Californian. It sprinkled this morning. More of  mist really, and the sky is grey, and from the moment I woke up, I've had the strong urge to drink coffee and write beat poetry, whilst contemplating world events, and suicide. So THIS is why people in other places are so creative and hard working! The weather is terrible! Or at least not perfect. Perfect weather makes it very difficult to take things seriously.

just any old January day in Southern California

Yesterday Nipper took Jack to a carnival at the local public school. I knew I was going to have three solid hours to edit my video and get stuff done. But the sun was shining, and everything I don't know about using final cut pro, combined with the beautiful weather, sent me into a minor tremor. I looked at the monitor, checked my iphone, tried to stream a movie on netflix on the laptop, while editing on the imac, checked my phone again, updated facebook 4 times, and then when it really felt like I was about to have a seizure, I got up and walked away.

as cold as it's gonna get

Emerging into the sunshine, my blood pressure immediately dropping, my heart rate slowing, my eyes finally able to lock and focus, I decided that cleaning cat poop off the patio was a much more pleasant way to spend my afternoon that editing. THAT'S how beautiful the weather is. I would rather stand in my yard scooping cat turds out of the decomposed granite than sit in my pretty pink office and work on my own music video. It's a miracle ANYTHING ever gets made around here, much less documented on this blog. I'm about 10 projects behind. So many things to write about, but I can't get myself to come inside, sit down, and write. It's really really nice here!

Our jacaranda is like something the lorax made up

If I'm ever to be a serious anything, we are just going to have to move. Between the sunshine, and the jacaranda blossoms, and the night jasmine, this place is like eden, and anyone who says different has never lived in Michigan in February. Longest month of your life.

hello shoes!

bunny shoes!

Uhm, if you have a daughter, or a friend with a daughter, or really cute feet of your own, you need to see this etsy shop. It's called Hello Shoes and the shop owner has a four year old daughter named Clover, which basically makes me love her and want to be her best friend. I'm fixin to get a pair for Jack's little friend Cleo who will be 3 in a few weeks. But how to choose?! I mean what little girl wouldn't like a pair of Marie Antoinette cupcake shoes? But the bunny shoes are sort of the greatest thing ever. Also I think if you could say a three year old has her own style, the green ice cream cones are right up Cleo's alley. 

Marie Antoinette cupcake shoes

I wish I could wear these cheery rainbow ice cream cone slippers

I mean seriously. I want to put a tiny pair of feet in these and eat them!

lady luggage

Nipper got his James Bond man bag for his birthday so it's only fair that I get this beautiful baby. We may never leave the house with them because they're so fancy. We might just pack them up and leave them by the front door. The anticipation of travel! If I keep planting night blooming jasmine and pink flowers around the house, and I squint really hard, I might be able to convince myself that we're in Bali. Maybe I can get Jack to bring me chilled washcloths doused in ylang ylang on particularly hot days...

In honor of my hermit like, troll under a bridge lifestyle, here is one of my favorite poems. 

Questions of Travel

by Elizabeth Bishop

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams 
hurry too rapidly down to the sea, 
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops 
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion, 
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes. 
--For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains, 
aren't waterfalls yet, 
in a quick age or so, as ages go here, 
they probably will be. 
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling, 
the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships, 
slime-hung and barnacled. 

Think of the long trip home. 
Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? 
Where should we be today? 
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play 
in this strangest of theatres? 
What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life 
in our bodies, we are determined to rush 
to see the sun the other way around? 
The tiniest green hummingbird in the world? 
To stare at some inexplicable old stonework, 
inexplicable and impenetrable, 
at any view, 
instantly seen and always, always delightful? 
Oh, must we dream our dreams 
and have them, too? 
And have we room 
for one more folded sunset, still quite warm? 

But surely it would have been a pity 
not to have seen the trees along this road, 
really exaggerated in their beauty, 
not to have seen them gesturing 
like noble pantomimists, robed in pink. 
--Not to have had to stop for gas and heard 
the sad, two-noted, wooden tune 
of disparate wooden clogs 
carelessly clacking over 
a grease-stained filling-station floor. 
(In another country the clogs would all be tested. 
Each pair there would have identical pitch.) 
--A pity not to have heard 
the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird 
who sings above the broken gasoline pump 
in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque: 
three towers, five silver crosses. 
--Yes, a pity not to have pondered, 
blurr'dly and inconclusively, 
on what connection can exist for centuries 
between the crudest wooden footwear 
and, careful and finicky, 
the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear 
and, careful and finicky, 
the whittled fantasies of wooden cages. 
--Never to have studied history in 
the weak calligraphy of songbirds' cages. 
--And never to have had to listen to rain 
so much like politicians' speeches: 
two hours of unrelenting oratory 
and then a sudden golden silence 
in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes: 

"Is it lack of imagination that makes us come 
to imagined places, not just stay at home? 
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right 
about just sitting quietly in one's room? 

Continent, city, country, society: 
the choice is never wide and never free. 
And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home, 
wherever that may be?

Bob Dylan plays harmonica, but daddy is not Bob Dylan

I stumbled onto this book in a book store the other day, and was standing in the children's section trying not to be the crazy mom who cries in public. Fail.

I bought it and brought it home and tried to read it to Jack without being the crazy mom who cries when she does mundane things like read books to her kid. Fail. Big time.

I got through two whole pages until my voice got all strangled and I had to stutter out the words "may you always-know-the-truth, And-see-the...........lights-surrounding......you........may-you-be..........................................................foreveryoung... Sob...

Jack didn't seem to notice, but Nipper was laughing at me from the toy room. "Haha, mommy is a softy!"

The illustrations are so beautiful, with the first page being Woody Guthrie and his fascist killing guitar, playing, as a little boy looks on. On the next page, Guthrie hands the guitar over to the little boy, and we watch him and the guitar grow up and move on. The words, the original words to the song "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan are so evocative of everything you feel about having a kid. On the back of the book there is a quote from Dylan about writing the song: " I wrote it thinking about one of my boys and not wanting to be too sentimental." sob sob sob.

Here is the little video of the song with some of the illustrations from the book. SOBBY SOB SOB SOB.

Lady Gaga returns!

Getting Gaga ready for her video shoot

I spent my Mother's Day with two of my most talented, beautiful, and amazingly generous friends, their kids, and spouses. We finished shooting the Lady Gaga parody video! I've been trying all night to figure out how to embed the song here for it's Mother's Day debut. But my brain is fried, and I've run out of minutes my body will allow me to be awake today. If any of you dearies out there in blog-topia know how to put a song of your own onto a blogger blog. Please share! In the meantime Happy Mother's Day to all you mamas out there who miss your hips when they were sleek, your breasts when they were high, and your time when it was your own. I know you wouldn't trade them back. Kiss your babies good night. I'm grateful to all the moms in my life.

Happy Mother's Day

Or as Madame Amina taught us today en francais "Bonne Fete de Mere!" Which when asked to repeat "en Francais s'il vous plait", Jack gave Amina a big raspberry. That went over well with all the moms who thought it was cute, and laughed, and I'm afraid may now be his only response "en Francais".

les ouefs

Today was filled with birthday parties for 3 and 4 year olds. We played with light sabers, smashed piñatas, ate cupcakes, ate pizza, double fisted lollipops, lolled in a ball pit for the better part of an hour, sang happy birthday out of key, drove home and collapsed.

We're filming the rest of our Lady Gaga parody video tomorrow, (yahooey!) which should be fun. I get to spend mother's day with some of my best girlfriends, and their kids, dressed in spandex, and pink wig. Who could ask for anything more.

Last night Nipper surprised me with my annual mother's day video a few days early. Every year he makes a 15-20 minute video of all the previous years pictures and videos and puts it to music. Last year it was to "Wake Up" by Arcade fire. This year, he used "Prodigal Son" by the Rolling Stones" and "All These Things I've Done" by The Killers. Oh, and a pretty song by Dick Siegel called "Little Things", that makes me cry and cry, and is the perfect song about love and family. Every year we sit and watch it and laugh and cry, and exclaim that we can't believe how little Jack was, and now how big he is, and what a nice life he has. It's amazing to see a whole year condensed into a few minutes.

We've been struggling with some choices about pre-school, and nanny stuff lately. trying to figure out what is the best thing for Jack, and for our family. It's made for more than a few days filled with self doubt, and frustration. But seeing the video I was reminded that it's what happens here at home, it's the little things that will make up the the sum of Jack's life. So, regardless of where he ends up in school (or doesn't) I'll remember that every day, I'm his mom, and we get to dance (at least for now), and sing, and name our toots "Ashgadodo".

I think we'll call her Bessie

Nipper also surprised me with a salad spinner. I know! It's been an ongoing joke that I've been suffering under the tenure of our previous salad spinner. It was one of those pull string dealies, that was never quite right. It was like trying to wash your salad with a cheap yo-yo. It always unraveled and made this unbelievably loud wrenching noise that never failed to make me curse, and shout "I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE".

upholstery mania!

I don't really want word to get out on my upholstery guy, but I have to crow a little bit. I'm not sure how he is making a living wage with what he charges, but until he realizes that he is a national treasure and starts charging accordingly, I'm having everything under the sun re-upholstered.

It started with the kitchen curtains which he made for $200. What?! I know! Ridiculous! 

Then my neighbor put this perfectly good 1950s swivel chair out on the curb, and my mom brought it home. It was in rough shape, but had good bones. I didn't take before pictures because I am a bad blogger, but look at it after, and imagine a pumpkin being turned into a gilded carriage. It was that bad. 

The arm cover rubbed raw on Grandma's chair. Shame...

Nikki's Anthropologie chair that her dog ruined. Boo...

When he dropped off the little chair, I had him pick up my grandmother's chairs, and my friend Nikki's chair. It's like I'm a clearing house for disabled furniture. Nikki was over here last week, shooting her scenes in our pilot, and saw the extra fabric I had from my crazed nocturnal internet shopping spree.  She had a chair that she got at Anthropologie that her dog ruined, but she can't bear to throw away, so she's going to use the extra fabric for her chair. Maybe that's why I ordered it. Somewhere out there I knew an Anthropologie chair needed rescuing.

Amy Butler Full Bloom in Orange

I tried to give him our pouf chair to recover in this fabric, but he thought it would look like crazy town, and encouraged me to find a solid color I like. I demurred because he's a kind old man who transforms furniture for what seems like peanuts, and I didn't want to cross him. But after he left, I thought "crazy town" is exactly the look you are going for dumb dumb. "Crazy town" is what you're all about. So I'm going to take the pouf and the fabric to his shop, and tell him that I know it goes against all good sense to do it that way, but I'm not a well woman, and it's my dying wish... or something like that.

I'm not telling what fabric I chose for Grandma's chairs. It's a big freakin secret. You'll just have to wait for them to be done. Which should be any day now. I asked him to please finish them before my dad visits next week. Otherwise, we'll all be getting very cozy together on the couch.

Oh and also, apparently my second favorite color is orange. I had no idea...

Take a step back ladies, he's all mine

I was feeling pretty gross yesterday. We've been working non-stop, and between shooting, I've been living in sweats, and I noticed the other day that the tops of my knees are starting to get this weird wrinkle, and my skin is perpetually so dry it's all chalky, and no matter how much concealer I use I have big black circles under my eyes like Rocky Raccoon but not catchy at all. I was standing in the kitchen singing Mr. Lee by the Bobettes to try to psych myself into a good enough mood to get through Jack's bathtime and bedtime routine, (because there is NO better song for this purpose) when I got an email with a link to this page about supermodels without no make up on, from Nipper Knapp:

Look at them all bobble headed and smutchzy. Don't get me wrong, I know these girls can wear a dress like nobody's business, and that they are all gorgeous, especially Jessica Stam down there in the corner, I mean come on! But en masse like this, it looks like police line-up on pinhead island. 

After mentally trashing beautiful women who are all younger than me (minus Elle Macpherson who btw is  a very tan member of the undead, because that bitch hasn't aged a bit), I felt much better. Thanks Nipper Knapp. I love you just as you are too. Just for that maybe I won't wear my retainer to bed tonight. Me-yow...

I'm getting very sleepy...

Dear Self,

Don't forget to get a door jamb thingy, or a towel, to seal the door to your office. Otherwise, when the gardener comes and he runs the leaf blower outside the door for what seems like a really, really, really, long time, I mean what the hell is he doing out there, it's a breezeway for crying out loud, you will surely suffocate and die from the fumes. And seeing how you can't come smashing through the door choking and wheezing, because you are in fact hiding from your two year old, who if he finds out that when mommy goes to "work", she is really just in the garage, your whole life will come to a screeching halt. Gas mask, wet towel, proper door installation. Whatevs. Make it happen. Also don't forget, because they come every two weeks, and your fragile lungs really can't take this again.

Sincerely,
The Lady of the House

omg y'all, it was like crazy up in here

I would like to apologize for my unannounced leave of absence. We shot a pilot. No seriously. Nipper Knapp wrote a tv pilot, and then we decided we would shoot it ourselves. And never having produced anything in my life, save some very small scale still photography shoots, I was all "yeah, that sounds like a great idea!". Dumb dumb. I'm so tired, my hair is sleepy. I've been living on dark chocolate, soy lattes, adrenalin, and love. Sleep and vegetables are so 2009.

That's me shooting my first car scene with a redrock micro eyepspy deluxe steadicam rig. Who knew?!

Every single day for the last week, some new plague has befallen our home. Cough, food poisoning, out of town actors, no show nanny. Fun. We still have one more day of shooting, and one night shoot that will include a pyrotechnics effect, that we still aren't sure how we are going to do. You know, no big deal, just like everyday around here. 

Jack looking all moony at Greg our sound guy in the back of the Prius

As soon as I have 5 minutes, I'll sit down and tell you all about our crazy adventure, how it never rains in LA, how our 2 1/2 year old wants to be best friends with our sound guy, how it takes two grandmas to shoot your own tv show, and how Nipper Knapp is king dreamy on superman island.


In the meantime, I wanted to share two disturbing things I found at Target recently. The first is awful, in a why do little girls need to look like hookers, kind of way. The second is awful, in an oh there are sad lonely cat ladies whose mother's never dressed them like hookers, kind of way. Oh and p.s. I put Fiona on a cargo plane to Oregon to live with my mother today. SO long $400 stray cat, it was nice knowing you. Jack's not too broken up about it, but I think that's because he still thinks that Nana lives in Palm Springs. Just a car ride. Sorry buddy. 

           

These are teeny tiny, like they would only fit a 5 year old. I love me some hello kitty just as much as the next girl, but seriously?

A sherlock holmes hat for your cat. Of course...