Thanksgiving is upon us. One more day and we can say "goodbye" to our waistbands as we eat ourselves silly on this one glorious day where it's actually encouraged to ignore all the so-called nutritional experts and eat everything in sight to our heart's content. Who doesn't love Thanksgiving?
As much as I enjoy cooking for my family, I decided this year to take a break. This year we are ditching the traditional feast and heading to the happiest place on Earth! That's right! Disneyland!!! Woo hoo!
So, instead of engorging ourselves with turkey, stuffing, and all that other yummy comfort food, and gaining 10 or so pounds in the process, my family and I will be spending this day of thanks with Mickey and his pals.
Many a die-hard traditionalist, I'm sure, would gasp at the thought of this travesty. The horror of skipping out on such an idolized American pastime may elicit cries of protest and questioning such as, "What about the turkey? What about the basting and baking? No cranberry sauce? No smells of high cholesterol foods filling your home starting at 9am? Won't your kitchen supplies feel neglected?"
I'm sure my oven mitts will forgive me. But, hey, we'll be giving thanks for all of our blessings as we sing along to "It's a Small World".
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! See you next week. Maybe I'll have some tips for losing all that turkey weight.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
No Begging
God never seems to respond to my begging. Each day I hold countless amounts of money in my hands in the form of copy. Whether it's commercial, animation, promo, narration, video games, or any other kind of voice over script, the spoils go to that ONE voice which impresses the fickle ears of "They" who hold a poor voice actor's future in their powerful hands. Whether an actor adds a vocal inflection going up or down at the end of a line, or the tiniest breath or pause between a word can mean the difference between a six figure salary or going back to work at Trader Joe's. (Not that I've ever worked for Trader Joe's. I hear it's a pleasant environment and can be fulfilling work.)
Really, though. Can you blame me for occasionally falling to my knees after leaving the booth and pleading with God, "Please, oh please, oh please, oh please, oh PU-LEEEZE let me book this campaign!" or "Please, God, just this one leading role on an animated series that's been picked up for 52 episodes!"? These types of prayers, I've gathered, must fall on deaf ears. Well, perhaps God does hear me, but for whatever reason is unmoved by my pathetic petitions. I suppose it's understandable. After all, God did not create me to place myself at the mercy of others to determine my happiness. One of the greatest gifts from our creator is the power to control our own minds and therefore create our own happiness. I don't need some casting director to give me a job that will make me and my family financially secure for the rest of our lives to make me happy...Ok, that would be nice, but my point is that if your chosen vocation in life is in the entertainment industry, be prepared for the roller coaster of daily rejection speckled with heights of elation when bookings do come.
Don't get me wrong. I do ok. I'm making my living doing something I absolutely love. In fact, I suppose in some third world countries I would be considered quite rich. I guess what I'm trying to say is that life as a "working" actor is spent in what many would consider a sort of balancing act between truly living and simply surviving. As "working" actors, acting is our only job, yet we are not quite celebrities and sometimes we never know when the next gig will come. Usually we are living off our salaries from our previous jobs and just when the bank account starts to dwindle and we're tempted to fall to our knees and begin the begging again, we get a call from our agent and hear the sweetest words, "Hey, I've got a booking for you." Ah, yes. Very sweet words indeed.
My agent called me yesterday, in fact, with those very words. It wasn't a booking for a campaign or series that will change my life, but still it was a booking, for which I am always grateful. I suppose therein lies what many consider to be the secret to true happiness. An attitude of gratitude. I have had the unfortunate displeasure of being in the presence of many ungrateful people. They are quite possibly the most pathetic human beings in existence. Definitely nothing I would want for my children. After all, when they see Mommy crying and whining about jobs I don't book, what on earth do I expect from their behavior when they don't get their way? It's amazing how we as adults still possess the ability to lose all self respect and melt into a sniveling pile of brattiness when things don't go our way. Especially actors! We're quite good at making that very transformation.
So, as I head off to my next audition, in stead of begging after leaving the booth, I will simply say, "Thank you for the opportunity." I will not beg to book a life changing campaign or series. I will be grateful that I am a working actor, a happy mom, and loved wife. My knees hurt anyway.
Really, though. Can you blame me for occasionally falling to my knees after leaving the booth and pleading with God, "Please, oh please, oh please, oh please, oh PU-LEEEZE let me book this campaign!" or "Please, God, just this one leading role on an animated series that's been picked up for 52 episodes!"? These types of prayers, I've gathered, must fall on deaf ears. Well, perhaps God does hear me, but for whatever reason is unmoved by my pathetic petitions. I suppose it's understandable. After all, God did not create me to place myself at the mercy of others to determine my happiness. One of the greatest gifts from our creator is the power to control our own minds and therefore create our own happiness. I don't need some casting director to give me a job that will make me and my family financially secure for the rest of our lives to make me happy...Ok, that would be nice, but my point is that if your chosen vocation in life is in the entertainment industry, be prepared for the roller coaster of daily rejection speckled with heights of elation when bookings do come.
Don't get me wrong. I do ok. I'm making my living doing something I absolutely love. In fact, I suppose in some third world countries I would be considered quite rich. I guess what I'm trying to say is that life as a "working" actor is spent in what many would consider a sort of balancing act between truly living and simply surviving. As "working" actors, acting is our only job, yet we are not quite celebrities and sometimes we never know when the next gig will come. Usually we are living off our salaries from our previous jobs and just when the bank account starts to dwindle and we're tempted to fall to our knees and begin the begging again, we get a call from our agent and hear the sweetest words, "Hey, I've got a booking for you." Ah, yes. Very sweet words indeed.
My agent called me yesterday, in fact, with those very words. It wasn't a booking for a campaign or series that will change my life, but still it was a booking, for which I am always grateful. I suppose therein lies what many consider to be the secret to true happiness. An attitude of gratitude. I have had the unfortunate displeasure of being in the presence of many ungrateful people. They are quite possibly the most pathetic human beings in existence. Definitely nothing I would want for my children. After all, when they see Mommy crying and whining about jobs I don't book, what on earth do I expect from their behavior when they don't get their way? It's amazing how we as adults still possess the ability to lose all self respect and melt into a sniveling pile of brattiness when things don't go our way. Especially actors! We're quite good at making that very transformation.
So, as I head off to my next audition, in stead of begging after leaving the booth, I will simply say, "Thank you for the opportunity." I will not beg to book a life changing campaign or series. I will be grateful that I am a working actor, a happy mom, and loved wife. My knees hurt anyway.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Nice Fit
School is in full swing! Hallelujah! The backpacks have been supplied with
folders and pencils. The lunch boxes have been filled with healthy
snacks my kids will no doubt trade for Oreos or some other nonsense.
I drop the boys off and give them hugs and kisses after having walked
a whole 100 meters from our house to their classrooms.
As I make my way back home, I experience a renewed sense of hope and
pride knowing my sons are attending a top notch educational program
and will be out of the house for the next 6 hours. Recording
auditions in my sound booth without interruption is once again a
realistic goal. It's a good feeling. I smile. All is right with the
world. Then, "ZOOM!" I am nearly run over by a Maserati. So much
for that feeling.
Although we've been here in our new neighborhood for nearly six
months, it still feels foreign and, well, odd. The last time I felt
this out of place was when I was a kid growing up in Weed, CA. (Yes,
Weed. It's a real place. Population, oh, maybe 5 or so.) Now, here in
my new surroundings, I am again thrust into a marshland of discomfort
and feeling out of place.
It is a neighborhood laden with luxury cars and little girls with
unibrows. At school my husband and I are the youngest parents by at
least 10 years. The mothers are adorned in expensive clothing that
cost a small fortune and could pay to feed a third world country for a
year. Their jewelry is from Tiffany's and their high heels are Jimmy
Choos. And the cars!!! Again, I am grateful that we walk and my
dirty Toyota Corolla won't have to feel awkward parked next to the
Bentleys and Aston Martins. (It's not my car's feelings I'm worried
about, but I'm sure you've gathered that much). My kids will have to
miss out on "Bring Your Butler to School Day", as well as the weekend
"Father-Son Yacht Races". Can't you hear my heart breaking? It's
actually me gagging. My 2nd grader has already been invited to a
birthday party where all the kids are going to be picked up by a limo
and taken to an exclusive party destination. Sheesh! Anyway, it's
definitely an adjustment.
Then I remember one of the things I learned growing up feeling like I
never quite fit in or belonged. It is that I am only as out of place
as I allow myself to feel. I always have something to offer. Whether
it's volunteering in the classroom or helping with the fund raisers,
or maybe even performing some character voices for the students on
career day, I choose to thrive in my new environment. I will not sit
on the sidelines like I did as a fearful child and watch as others
engage and grow. Furthermore, feelings of self-consciousness will not
only hinder me as an individual, but also my children. If they sense
that I am feeling out of place, then they too will believe they must
be as well. While I may feel that I have absolutely nothing in common
with my new neighbors other than our zip code, our children will be
the ones who make life long connections with one another. It will be
them who bridge the gap between the seemingly vast sea of differences
among their parents.
Besides, why should I give anyone else the power to make me feel
inadequate? It's all in my head anyway. It usually is. No matter
how out of place a person may feel among the very wealthy, one can
always take heart and know that none of these material things matter.
In the end the person who dies with the most toys is still worm food.
Though, my next car may be a Mercedes. I'm just saying.
Thanks to my children, I have met many wonderful parents who I am sure
to call friends for quite some time. Maybe one of them will let me
borrow her Jimmy Choos—last season's anyway. I am grateful to be
here. So, among the fleet of luxury cars, expensive clothing, 7 year
olds riding in limos to birthday parties, and bling, I can hold my
head high and know that I belong. Maybe I'll even drive my Toyota to
the next birthday party behind the limo…at least 3 cars back.
folders and pencils. The lunch boxes have been filled with healthy
snacks my kids will no doubt trade for Oreos or some other nonsense.
I drop the boys off and give them hugs and kisses after having walked
a whole 100 meters from our house to their classrooms.
As I make my way back home, I experience a renewed sense of hope and
pride knowing my sons are attending a top notch educational program
and will be out of the house for the next 6 hours. Recording
auditions in my sound booth without interruption is once again a
realistic goal. It's a good feeling. I smile. All is right with the
world. Then, "ZOOM!" I am nearly run over by a Maserati. So much
for that feeling.
Although we've been here in our new neighborhood for nearly six
months, it still feels foreign and, well, odd. The last time I felt
this out of place was when I was a kid growing up in Weed, CA. (Yes,
Weed. It's a real place. Population, oh, maybe 5 or so.) Now, here in
my new surroundings, I am again thrust into a marshland of discomfort
and feeling out of place.
It is a neighborhood laden with luxury cars and little girls with
unibrows. At school my husband and I are the youngest parents by at
least 10 years. The mothers are adorned in expensive clothing that
cost a small fortune and could pay to feed a third world country for a
year. Their jewelry is from Tiffany's and their high heels are Jimmy
Choos. And the cars!!! Again, I am grateful that we walk and my
dirty Toyota Corolla won't have to feel awkward parked next to the
Bentleys and Aston Martins. (It's not my car's feelings I'm worried
about, but I'm sure you've gathered that much). My kids will have to
miss out on "Bring Your Butler to School Day", as well as the weekend
"Father-Son Yacht Races". Can't you hear my heart breaking? It's
actually me gagging. My 2nd grader has already been invited to a
birthday party where all the kids are going to be picked up by a limo
and taken to an exclusive party destination. Sheesh! Anyway, it's
definitely an adjustment.
Then I remember one of the things I learned growing up feeling like I
never quite fit in or belonged. It is that I am only as out of place
as I allow myself to feel. I always have something to offer. Whether
it's volunteering in the classroom or helping with the fund raisers,
or maybe even performing some character voices for the students on
career day, I choose to thrive in my new environment. I will not sit
on the sidelines like I did as a fearful child and watch as others
engage and grow. Furthermore, feelings of self-consciousness will not
only hinder me as an individual, but also my children. If they sense
that I am feeling out of place, then they too will believe they must
be as well. While I may feel that I have absolutely nothing in common
with my new neighbors other than our zip code, our children will be
the ones who make life long connections with one another. It will be
them who bridge the gap between the seemingly vast sea of differences
among their parents.
Besides, why should I give anyone else the power to make me feel
inadequate? It's all in my head anyway. It usually is. No matter
how out of place a person may feel among the very wealthy, one can
always take heart and know that none of these material things matter.
In the end the person who dies with the most toys is still worm food.
Though, my next car may be a Mercedes. I'm just saying.
Thanks to my children, I have met many wonderful parents who I am sure
to call friends for quite some time. Maybe one of them will let me
borrow her Jimmy Choos—last season's anyway. I am grateful to be
here. So, among the fleet of luxury cars, expensive clothing, 7 year
olds riding in limos to birthday parties, and bling, I can hold my
head high and know that I belong. Maybe I'll even drive my Toyota to
the next birthday party behind the limo…at least 3 cars back.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
When Life Gets Too Good!
Today I went for a walk around the lake with my aunt. We talked about life and God. We celebrated the news of my First International tour, and my cousin's impending baby. I admitted to her that when good things start happening to me I get nervous. Nervous as if some boogieman is liable to pounce on me at any time and take away my good thing, and I will be returned to the sadness I’m more familiar with. When I accomplish goals I have hidden feelings of anxiety and unworthiness, in spite of being the vessel of an amazing gift. I am Jasmine Melodiousfly and I travel the world doing what I do best. Singing. My aunt quickly reaffirmed my self-esteem with a hug, and reminded me to embrace the goodness, don't fear it. Get to the root of your feelings of inadequacy and nip it in the butt. Well this is the root, and starts back there in my memories.
From the earliest time in my life, I felt different from other people. I also remember feeling the pressures of society to conform. I knew at a young age I wasn’t having it. I've always been a mystical person, meaning I see more then what the eyes see. This has propelled me in many directions on my life's journey, and has made me the black sheep of my family. I come from a very traditional middle class American Family. I grew up in the suburbs of Colorado with married parents who worked good day jobs. My family always stressed the importance of school and getting an education. Which is good, except for the fact I hated school. A serious hatred, brewing since second grade!! When Ms. Marshall punished me for being me, and suggested Ritalin to my parents. I would hide in the closet most school days until my frustrated father gave up and left me for work. There are many reasons for my disdain of school, but that’s another blog. To keep it simple, school isn’t for everyone, but knowledge is, and I feel that’s not being taught. When I graduated high school and left Colorado for California, my family was not surprised to know that I had quit college, but they thought I was insane for pursuing my real dream, music. Not for A+ markings, or paper validations, not for money but for love. The growing success of my music is slowly quieting all the non-believers, and my family is now my biggest support, but that came after a fight. Maybe some sections of society will look down on my choice to boot school and develop myself individually. I always tell myself to make choices that make me happy, and happy I am. So why do I still feel bad about that? So what!! I took an alternative path. Billions of people live on Earth, with billions of different talents and possibilities. I found what works for me, and I'm working on embracing me 100%! Jasmine, singer, world traveler, college dropout, eccentric entrepreneur, and sensitive soul. How could I ever feel inadequate? Maybe because I've totally shunned society's and my family's expectations of me. Sometimes I feel small and alone for this, but I always feel free. I guess I feel guilty for not forcing my self to do it, and witnessing all my friends suffer along. They have degrees and they’re broke, and full of debt, LOL!! Mean while I’ve been having a serious blast!! Doing what I love, minus the need to be validated by others. Never missing a beat.
Check Out My Latest Music Video!! 18K Views
http://www.vimeo.com/13591696
MelodiousFly
Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. Ralph Waldo Emerson
Saturday, November 6, 2010
It Just Got Real
I've only been in college for a month and a couple of weeks. I started attending UCLA late September and the quarter started off fine. My classes were pretty chill and my professors seemed okay. I thought this first quarter was going to be a breeze, until I had my first exam. Two weeks ago, I had my first Precalculus midterm, which is worth 20 percent of my grade. And you know what happened? I failed it!!! Yes FAILED! Fifty five out of 100. It was the first time I've failed a test in my academic career. It was a major slap in the face and a major slap into reality. College is NO joke. It's so easy to get side tracked and distracted that you need to be able to distinguish work and fun. I haven't quite got the hang of it yet, but I know that I've just started so next quarter I know what to do. I'm lucky enough to have older friends at the university to help me get by and figure out what I want and need to do. I just know that I can't keep doing the things I'm doing. I advise all high school students, their parents, and college freshman, to understand the importance of their education and to not take it for granted. Your education is important and to fail classes because you aren't trying is just wasting your time. What is the point of being there if you're just going to fail? These are the questions I ask myself. I have to take responsibility for my life. My life just got real.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Lost Mom, Please Help
Note: Another archive. Enjoy!
The first day of school is here! While the novelty of school is now old hat to my 2nd grader, my kindergartener is nearly beside himself with anticipation and excitement. Although we put him to bed at 8:30, he was bouncing around until 10pm.
"My brain won't shut off!" was his excuse. "Will my new school have lunch? What about snacks? Will I make lots of friends?" he inquires enthusiastically.
"Yes, yes, and yes, honey," I answer, happy that he is so eager to go.
As we head out the door and begin our walk to school, we join the slew of frantic parents and a sea of little backpacks making their way to the gates of the facility that will be in charge of our precious offspring for the next 6 hours.
"This will be great," I think to myself. I thank my lucky stars that our family will not have to deal with the horrible vehicular traffic each day since we can walk.
We head up to the entrance to find that it is a campus of morning chaos. Kids are everywhere. Parents nervously try to find their child's classroom, and are shaking with fear as they prepare to release their little babies to a stranger and allow their them to be subjected to the influence of not only that stranger, but all these other little brats who have had only God knows what kind of upbringing and who will no doubt be carrying all kinds of germs. The kids could care less. The smell of hand sanitizer causes my eyes to burn.
My husband takes our 2nd grader to this classroom, and I escort our kindergartener to his. Just then, I get a call from another frantic mom who I met the week before. She is panic stricken since she cannot find a place to park. I offer to help her by allowing her to park in my garage just two doors down. I am on my phone for less than 1 minute… that's all., and I turn to find that I have lost my kindergartener!
Now, I am panic stricken. I taste bile in my mouth as my stomach churns. Where did he go???? Beads of sweat begin to form on my brow. I begin to scour the campus, calling his name. Other parents meet me with looks of condemnation and pity. The first day of school and I lose my child! This is not supposed to happen! Not to me!
Silently cursing myself for offering to help a fellow parent, during my search I spot my husband and older son touring the campus. How do I tell them I've lost their son and younger brother? I bite back tears of frustration, as I feel my throat closing. My heart feels like it's about to beat out of my chest.
"I've lost Kannon," I tell them. My husband looks at me quizzically, then realizes I am serious. Being the good natured man that he is, he refrains from giving me an earful and settles on a simple dirty look instead. He then rolls his eyes and begins to help me search.
The first day of school is here! While the novelty of school is now old hat to my 2nd grader, my kindergartener is nearly beside himself with anticipation and excitement. Although we put him to bed at 8:30, he was bouncing around until 10pm.
"My brain won't shut off!" was his excuse. "Will my new school have lunch? What about snacks? Will I make lots of friends?" he inquires enthusiastically.
"Yes, yes, and yes, honey," I answer, happy that he is so eager to go.
As we head out the door and begin our walk to school, we join the slew of frantic parents and a sea of little backpacks making their way to the gates of the facility that will be in charge of our precious offspring for the next 6 hours.
"This will be great," I think to myself. I thank my lucky stars that our family will not have to deal with the horrible vehicular traffic each day since we can walk.
We head up to the entrance to find that it is a campus of morning chaos. Kids are everywhere. Parents nervously try to find their child's classroom, and are shaking with fear as they prepare to release their little babies to a stranger and allow their them to be subjected to the influence of not only that stranger, but all these other little brats who have had only God knows what kind of upbringing and who will no doubt be carrying all kinds of germs. The kids could care less. The smell of hand sanitizer causes my eyes to burn.
My husband takes our 2nd grader to this classroom, and I escort our kindergartener to his. Just then, I get a call from another frantic mom who I met the week before. She is panic stricken since she cannot find a place to park. I offer to help her by allowing her to park in my garage just two doors down. I am on my phone for less than 1 minute… that's all., and I turn to find that I have lost my kindergartener!
Now, I am panic stricken. I taste bile in my mouth as my stomach churns. Where did he go???? Beads of sweat begin to form on my brow. I begin to scour the campus, calling his name. Other parents meet me with looks of condemnation and pity. The first day of school and I lose my child! This is not supposed to happen! Not to me!
Silently cursing myself for offering to help a fellow parent, during my search I spot my husband and older son touring the campus. How do I tell them I've lost their son and younger brother? I bite back tears of frustration, as I feel my throat closing. My heart feels like it's about to beat out of my chest.
"I've lost Kannon," I tell them. My husband looks at me quizzically, then realizes I am serious. Being the good natured man that he is, he refrains from giving me an earful and settles on a simple dirty look instead. He then rolls his eyes and begins to help me search.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we find him playing happily on the kindergarten playground.
"Honey, where have you been???" I ask.
"Here playing, Mom," he answers plainly, yet I do detect a suggested "duh" at the end of his reply.
Did I just miss him in my scour of the playground 10 times over? Had he truly been here the whole time while I was off getting dirty looks for calling his name as I ran around the school yard advertising my bad motherhood? At this point it didn't matter… he was safe and child protective services wasn't called.
Filled with relief at the crisis averted we take our kids to their respective classrooms and say our goodbyes. All is well, and they have made it to school. I see other mothers tearing up as they head back to their cars. My heart skips a beat. I catch my breath and realize my own eyes are wet as well. Maybe it's not just the fumes from the hand sanitizer.
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