It's Always the Food!

I hate most reality shows but I do admit a penchant for a few. One of them is Chef Gordon Ramsay's show on Fox, Kitchen Nightmares. The chef goes around and helps failing restaurants figure out why customers leave and don't come back. Many watch for Ramsay's abrasive personality and bleepable language. I watch because I'm amazed that someone who owns a restaurant can be that oblivious to what's going on under their own noses.

The chef helps them with food and marketing and decor but just in case any failing restaurant owner stumbles across this blog and they can't get on the busy chef's to do list...allow me to save you some trouble. IT'S THE FOOD! IT'S ALWAYS THE FOOD!

The one that really had me laughing recently was a restaurant in a nearby neighborhood that made Italian food and thought it might be the decor or... something else... but surely not the food. But it was...it's wasn't fresh, and the chef / owner didn't care.

And as a case in point, I offer up one of the most amazing restaurants in the same neighborhood: Casa Bianca is less than a mile from the restaurant that was failing on the show. The decor looks much like I'm certain it did in the 1950's when the place opened. It's not fancy. But there is a line down the block to get in. I often try to get there by 4:30 when they open to not have to wait. But if I don't, I really don't mind because I know a little slice of heaven awaits!

Their lasagne is a religious experience! It melts in your mouth! It's so fresh and the sauce is so perfect and the cheese... oh the cheese!  The Caprese salad with the reduced balsamic over the freshest mozzarella and tomatoes and basil is breathtaking. And Casa Bianca is one of only two restaurants the understand the amazing flavor of green olives and pepperoni on a pizza!

I don't go for the decor... I go for amazing fresh food!

And just like some the incredible hole in the wall restaurants I grew up going to... look for a line or a full parking lot! Heck I've eaten as some dives where I wonder if the building is going to fall in the bayou any minute.... but the food is always fresh and good!

So if your restaurant is failing... taste your food. Then go around the block to your closest competitor that's doing well and eat there. Surely, you'll notice the difference. If not, do us all a favor and sell your place to someone who cares!

In Defense of Bristol Palin

I hate politics... mostly for what it does to normally sane people. But I've been especially offended by all the comments and rants over Bristol Palin's continued good misfortunes on Dancing With The Stars.

I will openly admit, I'm more than a bit biased as I write this. NO, I'm not a Tea Partier and I'm not a left winger either. My bias comes from childhood - from being the only "normal" sized girl in a dance class. I was a little girl who could strike amazing lines (very important in dance), albeit, not skinny lines.

I loved being on the stage. I danced solos in front of large audiences. My dance career came to crashing halt when my mom took me out of the Dotsy Barron School of Dance after I refused to dance one more time for company in our living room. (My mother will tell you it was because I was left unattended when class was canceled but this is MY story.) It is one thing to be on a stage with bright lights in your face, completely unaware of the audience until all is said and done versus, being in your living room, very aware of the uncomfortable stares on the faces of your parents' friends!

I didn't dance again until I was in my last semester in college. Taking two projects classes that required about 60 hours a week, I found myself missing an elective to graduate. The only one that fit my crazy life was a Broadway style dance class - full of Dixie Darling's no less!  Talk about pressure - take a dance class with a dance squad! But I was busy with film projects and marketing projects and decided to view the class as a twice weekly steam release. I went; I danced; I left. It wasn't until one of the Darlings came up to me at the end of the semester and said, "Wow, you can really dance!" did I realize that I was again being judged for being a "normal" sized girl who dared to dance into a skinny girl's domain.

Just know... that's where my Bristol bias comes from. That and I love rooting for the underdog.

I should also disclose that I'm a somewhat long time fan of the show. I hate reality t.v. on many levels and in the beginning referred to DWTS as Dancing with the Vaguely Familiar. But for some reason, I got hooked on season four and never miss it now. I love the pro dancers so much - they are such talented people and having to put up with famous people is not easy. And having to put up with people who once were famous is even worse!

I expected little from Ms. Palin but when she hit her lines with such ease in show one... I thought she had a future. I felt it was confidence she lacked. I saw a normal girl in a skinny celebrity world and she won my heart.

Now, I admit, she has not progressed as fast as many others have. But Bristol has come so far. She still lacks confidence and acting ability. But she shows UP. She doesn't phone it in. She doesn't look into the camera and beg for votes. She doesn't appear to be a Diva. She's real. And I like REAL.

The girl has spunk. When she learned she got the job on DWTS, she put her baby in the truck and drove to L.A. from Alaska. I once considered driving my Jeep to Louisiana with a rottweiler and chickened - out.

And speaking of Bristol's son, Tripp: She has spoken of how hard it is to be working seven days a week and having to send him home to Alaska with relatives. As have the other parents on the show. Without fail, every season, the celebs who have kids always talk of the impact of the show on their families... except for one. Brandy.

And again, I'm biased here. I have friends who have worked with Brandy. D.I.V.A. Nothing I care to repeat here but I will share a story told to my by the former principal of Hollywood High. That school has so many celebrity alumni that come back and visit. Once Brandy had returned and came into the principal's office, which was covered with autographed photos from floor to ceiling. Brandy asked where her picture was. The principal pointed it out - up near the ceiling. Brandy asked why it wasn't at eye level where it could be seen. My friend told her, when you graduate from high school, I'll move it! (I think this says a lot about BOTH women!)

For all the outrage blasted over the "news" media this week, when I've met someone and hear them complain, I always ask, "Did you vote?" Surprisingly, the answer is NO! I can understand complaints about her dancing but the worst is the issues that Bristol has NO control over.

• They show her mom on every episode - as they do every celebrity's  family. Just because viewers don't realize that's Kurt Warner's wife or Jennifer Grey's husband and they do recognize Sarah Palin doesn't mean the producer's are treating Bristol differently. When Momma grizzly didn't come, they showed Bristol's aunt. After every dance, the first audience shot is almost always someone connected to the celeb.
• The Tea Party is stacking the vote - but if you listen to the producers of the show, Bristol and partner Mark Ballas only needed 1.5% more votes than Brandy to stay in the competition. I hardly call 1.5% a stacked vote.That's less than a margin of error in most elections!
• The ABC website allows you to vote with multiple, unconfirmed email addresses - This may be true but again, the producers have publicly stated IP addresses are being checked...there's no way to fake that!
• People are calling from multiple phone numbers - True... but it is allowed for an allotted number of votes. Back when Apolo Anton Ohno won and I had four phone lines for the house and the shop plus a cell phone, I would race around calling from all of them.

I just wish people would give her a break. Life is hard enough for Joe Schmo. I can't imagine how hard life would be as the unwed teen mom /daughter of Sarah Palin. Which brings up the one reason I'm thrilled Bristol has made it this far... MONEY! Base salary for the celebs starts around 125K with bonuses for each week they stay on ranging from 10K per week to 50K for the final show. The winner will make around 350K for the whole run with the two runners up making 50 - 100K less. How much life could 250K buy YOU??? I love that this girl can get an education or save for her young son's future or just stay home and be a mom if she chooses. I wish every single mother in this country were so lucky!

I promise, unless some miracle happens, Bristol won't be the best dancer Monday night. But she will have the most heart.  Just like in previous seasons, the voters will decide the final winner. And just like my mother taught me about my duty to show up and vote in a real election, "If you don't vote, you give up your right to complain."

Sorry to Disappear - But the Shoes Were Calling My Name

I kept forgetting my camera after day 2 of my sister's visit. But we did more shopping than I've done in a year! I was dead dog tired!

And my sister wasn't solely to blame. I discovered J-41 shoes. Shoes designed by Jeep... are car sales so bad that they want to get in on the ground floor of the original mode of transportation??? I'm only kidding. I love my Jeep and I love my J-41s. They are so comfortable: Soles made from recycled tires; great arch support!

Only every store we went to had them in the wrong size. I finally found this red pair but was longing for their trail rated - water proof model.

 I finally found the water proof one on the left in gray and lavender... ahhh!

Dancing with the Stars was a hoot. No celebs in the audience if you don't count Rick Fox's trashy girlfriend Eliza Dushku. We had VIP seating, which I didn't realize. So we stood in line for two hours in 100 degree temps (I wore shorts under my fancy dress to sit on the concrete!) all to get to our assigned seats! LOL!  Rod Stewart was kind of disappointing. The screen behind us turned into gigantic teleprompter so he could read the lyrics. Snooze.

But, my sister got to be a hero when she held our place as I went back to the car for bottle water. A guy in a wheelchair jumped a curb and wrecked. An even though we were not supposed to enter the studio lot, my sister did! She ran and got security to call 911. The man in the wheelchair was so grateful.

The whole time my sister was here, my bestie was gone to Mesquite, NV for the World Long Drive championships. Her hubby made the quarter finals. I was on dog sitting duty in the mornings with my
godson on night duty with Bart. That was fun to get to know the boy away from the BFF. I have quite a few Bart tales I will share as I get back into the blogging saddle.

It's a Crappy Day

I've periodically mentioned that July is often a rough month for me. I don't mean for it to be...it just is. You see 35 years ago this very afternoon, my father died. I was 11.  It is a earth shattering event for a child. And in some ways, I still feel like that raw little girl, missing her daddy.

There are years I'm not even aware of it until I find myself full of despair for no apparent reason. And then I notice the calendar. There are years where it feels like the world is out to get me. And then I notice the calendar.

I'm not into this nation's whole cult of celebrity, but last year when Michael Jackson died, I was so annoyed by the 24 / 7 news coverage it got here in LA LA land. I mean, he's a singer; Not some head of state. He didn't cure cancer or anything important. But then, when his 11 year old daughter spoke at his funeral, there I was, sobbing my heart out.

I had so many things I wanted to say to that girl...things I know from experience. The first ten years, the anniversary date will place an ache in your soul so vast, you think nothing will fill it. Year 11 will be hard when you realized you've lived as long without him as you had with him. Year 12 will be even harder because you've lived longer without him than the days you had him in your life. By year 15, you won't see his face in your dreams any longer. You will stare at his picture and wonder what is wrong with you that you can't visualize him without help. By year 25, it starts to hurt a little less... just a little. By year 30, the date doesn't loom as large but can still hit you like a ton of bricks when you least expect it. And that's just all the crap that a date on the calendar carries.

There are all the coulda woulda shouldas that come up. The milestones he's missing. Would he like your boyfriend / husband? Would he approve of your choices / work? Would he be proud of you? You feel his absence as much as you ever felt his presence. Your graduations. Your wedding.

And then when his siblings start dying and you start to imagine what age he "should've" died. How old would he be? Would he still be strong? Would he still love you? Would he still know you?

It's a lot for a little girl to bear.

The other thing I would tell her is that she will wake up the next day. And she will get out of bed and do...something. And she will feel better. She will realize that life goes on. Because it must.

Uneasy Feeling

I imagine the producers, cast and crew of Two and a Half Men are sitting pretty uneasy this morning after the news of star Charlie Sheen's arrest. I've been there myself. Lost a job over a celebrity who just couldn't keep his $h!t together.

If Sheen had been arrested in LA LA land, I would tell them they have nothing to worry about. Everyone knows that juries in LA find it impossible to believe a celebrity could dream of hurting his wife with a knife (or even bullet).

But Sheen had the misfortune of being arrested in Colorado and could possibly do eight years, most certainly putting an end to the top-rate sitcom and all those jobs. Wait....Colorado??? That's where juries can't believe a celebrity would ever possibly rape a woman, right? Hmmm. On second thought, maybe they don't have a thing to worry about at all.

How Very American

I was quite miffed the other day when I saw Aretha Franklin on The View. The hostesses inquired about that fantastic hat Ms. Franklin wore to the inauguration in January. The Smithsonian Museum wants it but has not gotten it.

Ms. Franklin stated, "I'm considering it. But, we haven't come to terms..."

Haven't come to terms???? What terms??? They want it. SEND IT TO THEM! PERIOD!

Maybe it's the two trips to Washington DC I took as a child, both highlighted by trips to various Smithsonian museums, that makes me feel this way. These places are living history.

And the thought that some petty music superstar can't come to terms with donating a hat...

She won't wear it again... does she want visitation rights? Can't be that... everyone can visit.
What other terms could there possibly be? That really leaves the issue of money. Does she want remuneration? While tacky, surely some donor will step up and reimburse her for the damn hat.

And I guess that makes Ms. Franklin very American.

SUPASTAH in the 'hood!

I'm not one to be star struck... It's happened only once or twice. Lucille Ball, my childhood idol had me drooling into a cocktail at my very first ever Hollyweird party. And then there is the infamous job interview with Christopher Lambert. But that was more of a guttural, sexual reaction than simply being star struck.

But tonight (Tuesday, 12/1 as I type), I got a little giddy when I realized a SUPERSTAR is in the neighborhood.

I know this young, hunky, beef-cake(OMG! Did I really type that outloud???) graces Sunland - Tujunga with his presence from time to time. I know this because I know his mom.

She lives in a rather unusual house...so distinct, I dare not describe it here, for a single word would give it away! (Although, her son has described it numerous times on Leno and Letterman.) I know her from swimming at the local Y where I went daily for almost a year, trying to build up my strength and learn to walk again after my surgeries. I was rather fond of her and, even though we don't really see each other any more, when I pass her house, I always see her little car in the driveway and smile.

But tonight when I passed, her little car was not in the drive; It was parked on the street. In it's place was the BIG MOVIE STAR'S SUV!!!

And I'm not so sure I'm giddy because a major box office star is in the 'hood...so much as it just warms my heart that a nice young man, who has a lot on his plate, still finds time to visit his mother.

Star Struck

I’ve never been the type to be star-struck. That’s a good thing as I chose to earn a living in the film industry. I’ve had breakfast with Paul Newman, chatted up George Burns in the halls, and argued with Little Richard over the length of his limo. No problem.

O.K. There was that time that I nearly peed my pants meeting Lucille Ball… but she was a legend and my childhood idol. I wasn’t working with her; we were at a party – so that doesn’t really count.

Imagine my chagrin when, years into my career, I found myself completely star-struck during a job interview.

I was tired of constantly looking for work and applied for the job of “celebrity assistant.” These types of jobs are always kept deliberately vague when advertising in the trades. I was told to appear one July day in the 14th floor Century City office of said celebrity’s accountant. Upon arrival, I was told I was interviewing with Christopher Lambert, of Greystoke fame. (French pronunciation: Chris TOFF Lamb BEAR)

I was shown into a library with a wall of windows. The door opened; It was Christopher. Without really looking at him, I reached for his hand. Then I saw the most alluring azure eyes. I was only vaguely aware of him peeling his hand away from my death grip.

As he moved around the table, I checked out the rest of the package. Short, dark hair; tall, clean-shaven, tight legs, amazing ass, sexy French accent. Whew! I sat across from him and lost myself in his beauty. Yup. He is the most gorgeous man I have ever met.

“Oh, yes, ..um, I work on sets.. not build them. . . erm…what was that question again?”

I am blowing this interview…. Get it together! Oh damn! He asked me something else…

“Err..”

He looks at me as though I’m some stalker. I am certain he wishes he had taken the seat by the door. We both notice a book falling from the shelf.

“Is that an earthquake?” I ask, the first sentence I’ve offered with any clarity since he entered the room.

He stands and grabs my arm, “Yes, darling, we must move to a doorway.”

He called me darling.

And just that fast, the earthquake and Christopher are gone.

“Thank you for coming in,” he shouts from down the hall.

I get in the elevator, still numb. The elevator vibrates hard against the walls, metal clanging on concrete as an aftershock occurs. I keel over laughing.

Oh what he must think of me… how unprofessional!

But then, fate does believe in second chances.

Eight months later, the phone jars me awake at 8 a.m. on a Saturday. It’s Amanda, my production manager.

“Hey, do you have a current passport?”

“Yes,” I reply, reaching for a pen.

“Can you be ready to leave tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s the deal. Meet me at Aerolineas Argentinas counter at 12 noon. We’re going to Buenos Aires to replace a feature production crew …Highlander something… a sequel. We’ll be there for 3 months. It’s fall there, winter when we come home. Pack accordingly. O.K?”

I am terrified to find out Christopher Lambert is the lead and even more afraid to “meet” him. It is uneventful… my humiliation remains secret.

I become involved in my work. This is a crew of over 1200, units all over the place, insurance claims up the wazoo. As luck would have it, I possess one of the only working phones on set. Christopher and his lovely assistant, Patty, regularly park at my desk.

We all become chummy. One night a group of us are out to dinner. Christopher suggests dancing. Many drinks and dances later, the group dwindles to Patty and me and like all good drunks I feel the need to confess.

“Icoulda hadyer jab, yaknow…if I onleeeeeeeee hedn’ta blernda innaview,” I shouted as I hug her on the dance floor.

I spill the beans and then my dinner.

The next morning, the realization sinks in. Nah, she was drunk too. She won’t remember. I try to reassure myself.

When I arrive at the office, Patty is waiting, grinning like a full Cheshire.

“You have to tell Christopher!”

“No – that’s the most embarrassing thing ever,” I plead.

She smiles and walks away.

I manage to avoid them both for days. Then, Christopher plops down in a chair across from me. I assume he needs my phone and end my conversation. Patty walks into the room… that damn, stupid grin still on her face.

“Patty says you have something to tell me,” he says.

“No, not really,” I beg off.

“You tell him or I will,” Patty laughs.

I relay the tale. He stares at me, searching for recognition in my face. I stare at the floor wondering if he could have me fired. The silence is deafening.

He finally speaks.

“I want to know one thing. You’ve always been professional, you know your job…you’re nothing like that girl I interviewed. If you found me too handsome to hold a conversation, how do you work with me every day?

“Oh, that’s easy,” I say, praying that I do know this man’s sense of humor. “Your hair’s grown out, you’ve got all that stubble and those blue eyes are awfully bloodshot with the hours we’ve been working. Basically, you do nothing for me looking like this.”

I both hold my breath. Maybe I will get fired, after all.

And then, he laughs. He laughs so hard, he falls out of his chair. Patty and I help him up. He spins round and hugs me, still laughing. He pushes me away and looks into my eyes.

“You really are full of crap!”

Ah… reputation redeemed.