WHAT’S REALLY WRONG WITH SOME PEOPLE

WHAT?!?!?

Are you kidding me?

In the present holiday adaptation of multi-tasking, I sat myself in the comfortable chair in front of the TV, heating pad at back, unaddressed Christmas cards on lap, address book in front of me on tray table, tea beside that (just aching to spill itself on said address book) and the remote remotely close by to distract me from mundane tasks.

I like to find out what’s on the tube before I make a commitment, so I scrolled through the list of shows, saw little that interested me, and moved on down the line – literally and figuratively – to that grouping that strangely calls itself reality shows.  Now look, I’ve laughed and shaken my head at the ones that depict women who all of a sudden find out they’re in labor and didn’t know they were pregnant.  Right.  I’ve watched the Cake shows that draw me in to the greatest problem facing our modern world: can a cake be made to look like a car without falling apart?!?  Scary thought, right?  But I never, ever thought there could be something as ridiculous as “Bridalplasty.”

Huh?

Yup.  There’s a TV show that is in the form of a contest involving a dozen or so of the most repulsive human beings imaginable who are competing for even one – just gimme one – plastic surgery of their dreams before their big day as the Top Bride.  We’re not talking about correcting a major disfigurement that might interfere with their functioning.  No.  This is about nose jobs, boob jobs, tummy tucks (for the ones who dive into every taste test through the show with complete abandon)…you name it.  And our “hostess” for the show refers with frequency to their plastic surgery “wish list.”  Because – you know – just one is never enough…

I am not kidding.

The competition heats up because the way it works is that show after show, a woman gets dropped from the contest, usually because of some major inherent flaw such as not choosing the correct wine in a wine-off.  Or choosing the wrong dress for their figure type.  Or – not getting into the right clique with the other competitors.  That’s right.  It is possibly the most cut-throat phenomenon I have witnessed since a girl in my 7^th grade class beat up another for stealing her boyfriend.   Threw her right down on the pavement in front of a bunch of us shocked “normal” kids.  And 7^th grade this is.  Grown women parading as 20-something brides-to-be are about as nasty as they can get in their effort to be a perfect bride and vote out their competitors.   Oh.  So that’s what marriage is about.  Don’t get me wrong.  I have nothing against the occasional longed-for cosmetic correction.  But I just think it’s strange to go on a TV show and YES – show off your boob job to your competitors and a national audience – in the precious weeks before the wedding, when there might possibly be a few other things to do.  Such as enjoying the special time with your soon-to-be-mate.  There might even be some who view this as a loving time to spend with a sister, mother, mother-in-law to be, to have lunch with a bridesmaid or a cousin.  To reflect on the meaning of commitment.  Yeah.  That’s a ludicrous thought when there are so many, many ways to mess up other people’s chances to beat them out for the plastic surgery you want.

I’d like to think that maybe they’re just actors playing a part.  And if so, the Oscar goes to Janessa or Janella or whoever the little blonde is who, in the words of another contestant, has formed an “alliance” which ultimately backfires on her.  These are women who are about to marry?  To commit to a life with another human being, likely have children to raise?  Is there a good woman alive who really cares about an extra inch on her chest parts when she’s covered with baby puke?  Or when her child is burning up with fever and she’s waiting for a call back from the pediatrician?  Or when her husband needs medication from the pharmacy, they’re both tired, and it’s 10:00 at night?

The votes aren’t all in yet, but I’m guessing Janessa’s conspiracy plan won’t work and she will be leaving the show before she can get the next plastic surgery on her wish list.  She’s already had the nose job.  But there’s always more…more…more…

I’m not sure what these girls are offered in their wish list choices.

But I figure Janessa’s going to have to skip the choice of getting a real heart.

Peer Pressure – A Great Idea at Any Age

Oh, not again.  I thought I was done with peer pressure.

I thought I had evolved.  I thought I had a mind of my own.  I thought…well, never mind that now.  Let me get on with it so you can feel sorry for me.  PS – Dark chocolate always cheers me up.

I recently got a call to audition for a short video, for a non-speaking part, just as one in a crowd.  That shouldn’t be too hard, I thought.  Just stand around, smile or cry or do whatever the casting director tells me to do.

I was scheduled for a 1:25 interview, slated to last just five minutes.  Wow, I thought, this ought to be a snap.  Either I look the part or I don’t.  Instructions included how to dress, and that because of the brevity of the audition, it was all about how we looked and took direction.  Once again, I figured it would be a piece of cake.

Be very careful when you have that thought.  That is, unless you keep it in mind.

I arrived a few minutes early, and sat around for quite a while with other actors.  Most were young women in their twenties, one mid-forties, and then there was me.  Let’s just say I passed all those ages a long time ago and MYOB if you think I’m going to divulge my age.

OK, 57.  But I look 55.

The casting director was looking at us in groupings, thus the delay.  Cool.  I was waiting for my group.

Um, I sat there for quite a few groupings, and I started to feel insecure, being somewhat new to this scene.  During the times when others were ushered into another room, we were supposed to be very quiet.  That was my signal to chat it up a little with some of the others.  I asked one pro of about twenty-five a question, to which she answered, “Oh.  Is this your first audition?”  I looked myself over to see where someone might have planted the sign that read “Brand new – doesn’t know what she’s doing – has no business being here – should pull out her car keys and go home before she completely embarrasses herself” but I couldn’t see the sign.  It must have been taped onto the back of me.  So I stayed.

Finally the director took me and several others into the audition area.  Was I imagining it or did she say “Well…OK.  You too” as she sympathetically waved me in like a charity case?

Then she gave us basic instructions that went like this: “Look at the camera, give your name, turn to one side, then the other, then turn around, and walk off.”  Very professional.

I am a trained nurse, and boy, do I know how to follow instructions to the letter.

The first young woman went.  She gave her name, turned to one side, then spun around and walked off.  Wait a minute, I’m thinking, wasn’t there supposed to be two profile shots?  Well, I thought so, but…

The second one went.  Same thing.  “Hi, my name is…” one profile, turn around, leave.

I knew that we were supposed to give two profile shots to the camera before the turn.  I did.  I really knew that.  But these two young women – well, they seemed experienced, right?  I took my turn, feeling intimidated, and I did what I supposed to do.

No, I didn’t.

That’s right.  I followed these young kids even though I knew we were asked to do it differently.

Several others did their thing, and then the last woman did exactly what the director had asked.  At that moment, I saw the director and the cameraman give each other the thumbs up.  Oh, crap.

After that, we moved on to a group scene that lasted about 30 seconds but felt like, oh, roughly three hours.  After which the director looked at us and told us what the next scene was to be.  Then she looked right at me and said, “You’re done.”

Huh?

Oh.

I said thank you and slipped out of the room.

Now, I’m not suggesting I didn’t make the cut.  I won’t know that yet, although my hopes are not high.  After all, I was not the only one who did not do as the director has asked.  But that’s not the point.  I mean, am I still in high school mentality?  Did I not know what I was asked to do, but then followed the crowd anyway?

Just glad I wasn’t in the middle of assisting a surgeon when my brain left its place of knowledge and experience.

Maybe I didn’t need that little acting job anyway.

Maybe it’s all for the best.

After all, my profile on the left is not all that great anyway.

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ADVICE – WHO NEEDS IT?

I’m hoping you do.  Have a personal problem and want some unbiased feedback?  OK then, how about some biased feedback?

If you have a non-urgent, non-life threatening life problem (please, I only look at this blog when I think of it, and at my age…) then send it in and if I can figure out how to use this “so easy a child can use it” website, I will give it a go.

Write in, do not ask me to send you cash, and we’ll chat.

Declaring Candidacy

It is early June in Maine.  The grass is green, the vegetable plants are starting to raise their new little heads from our garden soil, and the ads on TV for the plethora of gubernatorial primary candidates are blaring.

I’m sick of it already.  (Not the garden part.)  I find no problem with the large numbers of folks making a bid for office.  They range from the possibly-too-political to the novice businessperson, and who knows?  Maybe there’s a gem in there somewhere.  It seems every candidate for governor uses the same tired phrases over and over again, some of which we hear so often that we don’t even stop – to think – if it makes sense.

Here’s the latest one that sends me flying Read more…