Washington is exhausting.

Everyone here has an opinion. A strong opinion. And they want to talk and talk and talk about “serious issues” ALL THE TIME. Really? Hasn’t anyone been to a movie or read a trashy novel lately? Why does a cute story about trick-or-treaters lead to a discussion of child labor laws? Why can’t we enjoy our amazing twice-grilled burritos without arguing over immigration policy. You people need to chill the heck out!

Now – caveat here – these people are my friends. I like them. We don’t agree on everything; in fact we disagree quite a bit. I enjoy talking to them because we can actually debate without the posturing and screaming you see on cable news talk shows. We can share opinions and try to see each other’s points of view. Often we end up very close to the same place. For instance, no one wants little kids working and no one wants illegal aliens bringing drugs and crime into our country. It’s how those problems are solved that leads to differences. But I always feel if someone told my conservative pals and my liberal pals to work it out, we could because the goal is the same for all of us. (Of course, we don’t need to win an election…)

Which leads me to this past Saturday. The night Jon Stewart announced he was holding a “Rally to Restore Sanity” in Washington DC, I called United and booked a ticket. It represented everything I felt was possible if we got away from the shouters. I wanted to be with people who were just like my friends. Intelligent, ordinary folks trying to get something – anything – done.

Oh, but I’m a rally rookie and failed to follow some simple rules for successful Mall sitting. I didn’t get there four hours (or more) before show time. I didn’t bring a buddy to help carry stuff and spot openings in the nonstop flow of people. Mainly, I didn’t understand the impenetrable wall of humanity that forms in the middle of that Mall. Once formed there’s no way in or out. So my rainbow and unicorn filled plan of mingling with people who were involved in the process went up in fairy smoke.

Now I understand why newscasts are always filled with interviews standing near the port-a-potties. They’re simply the only people an interviewer can get to. I was very lucky in that some of the “fringers” were terrific people who aren’t really sideline-sitters on a regular basis. They were just people who couldn’t get into the parking lots or on the bus or into the Metro… just like me.

The Empire Gives Back...

Blurry, but I was there, by golly! It's Billy Dee Williams,
Harrison Ford, and Peter Mayhew at the Arclight in LA!

One of the best things about having your birthday in May is you grow up thinking all those summer blockbuster movies are opening just so you can have a super cool birthday party. During my childhood, almost all those movies were made by the tinseltown twosome of Spielberg and Lucas. Jaws, ET, Indiana Jones, and, of course, the original Star Wars trilogy are all films that have become cultural benchmarks for most of us and, to say the very least, quite lucrative for their creators.

So, George Lucas is spreadin’ it around. For the rest of 2010, in celebration of the 30th anniversary of the greatest (don’t start with me!) of the Star Wars oeuvre. Lucas is providing a GORGEOUS digitally restored copy of The Empire Strikes Back for screenings around the country to benefit various charities.

Last night the very worthy and appreciative beneficiary was the amazing St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis. For those in the audience who were unfamiliar with their amazing work, they brought along a family who have benefited greatly from the Hospital’s $1.5 million a day spent on research costs. Daughter Elizabeth was sent home to die just after she was born, but her parents found a doctor at St. Jude’s willing to take on her case. They not only saved her life but now, 11 years later, doctors are about to perform a new type of gene therapy that could effectively cure Elizabeth. The Empire screening last night was generously sponsored by Junk Food, so 100% of the money went to the cause. $75-$175 ticket prices raised about $40,000 – nearly two minutes of research time at St. Jude’s. I like to think it will be two minutes when someone looks up from a microscope and smiles.

Elizabeth was definitely the star of the event, even though a few others were present. Like Ewan McGregor (Obi-Wan Kenobi)… and Billy Dee Williams (Lando Calrissian) and… Peter Mayhew (Chewbacca) and… wait for it… Harrison Ford!

After the screening, Los Angeles Times columnist Geoff Boucher hosted a Q&A with the reclusive Mr. Ford. Ford rarely attends such gatherings, but sat for a full half hour and answered questions from Boucher and the audience. In his hesitant, quiet, rumbley voice he told old stories (how he got the role while working as a carpenter for Francis Ford Coppola) and new (his kids weren’t that impressed by having Han Solo OR Indiana Jones as a dad). My favorite exchange came courtesy of a fan asking Ford when it was revealed to him that Darth Vadar was Luke’s father. “Well,” Ford stammered, “I read the whole script.” I guess BI (before Internet) keeping secrets in Hollywood didn’t require the same security it does today. Ford also made a point of saying how proud he was that George was using the film to support so many worthy causes.

It was, to say the least, a great night for this hard core Star Wars geek. There was even a goody bag! I scored cookie cutters shaped like Yoda’s head and an R2D2 toy. Happy birthday to me!

A Fine Romance

Before joining the WhatGives!? rodeo, I worked for many years in the television industry. One of the most appealing aspects of that work was the formation of a production team every time a new show began. Long hours working towards one creative goal brings people together like nothing else. For those weeks or months, you are family; sometimes dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless. And sometimes, your family needs some help. That’s where the Motion Picture & Television Fund steps in.

Ninety years ago Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, and D.W. Griffith established the Motion Picture Relief Fund to assist those in the entertainment industry who had fallen on hard times. At first they just put out donation tins to collect change – a simple method that provided rent money or paid hospital bills when work was scarce. Eventually there were charity balls, movie premieres, radio shows, even benefit polo matches adding money to the Fund.

In the 1940s the vision expanded to include a retirement home and hospital for folks who had given their lives to the business of show. Since then, the MPTF has flourished and now includes six outpatient health centers throughout the greater Los Angeles area; a children's center; a retirement community, health plans and much, much more. Their mission is as straightforward as their slogan: Taking Care of Our Own.

So, they serve 60,000 people a year, helping with everything from grocery shopping to major medical bills. You can imagine the millions of dollars needed to keep this great organization running and expanding programs. But the MPTF have two aces up their sleeves. One is the tireless dedication of entertainment industry professionals who give of their time and money to support the Fund. The other is the tireless dedication of those who give of their astounding talents.

Hugh Jackman hosts "A Fine Romance" featuring performers such as Patti LuPone and James Marsden.

One night a year those two groups come together to raise a boatload of cash for their friends and co-workers. This year? Over a million dollars. As I have been for the past five years, I was part of the team that produced this year’s “A Fine Romance”. Other nonprofits might look on with envy at the star-studded roster of performers and the well-heeled audience. But the reason it all works and is so successful is due to the personal relationships that have built the MPTF. Plus, there is an undeniably personal connection between givers and receivers – to the point that those roles have been known to reverse through the course of a career. There is always the distinct feeling that “it could happen to me” – unemployment, failing health, injuries. No donor is more committed than one who recognizes himself in the face of someone being helped.

So, yeah, it helps if Hugh Jackman is your host, but it helps even more you have found a way to strengthen the connection between your cause, your mission, and your donors. If you’ve made it personal, all you need is a fun event that allows all those connected, passionate supporters to hang out together and talk shop. If you’ve made it personal, you will succeed.

So dreeeeeamy...

On the Edge...

You’ve heard about them all your life. You’ve seen them in the backs of magazines. The third season of every sitcom has a storyline about them. But you always think people are exaggerating; making more of them than is actual reality. Then, you see one in the wild. A man’s hairpiece. Not a full-on wig or a little spray-on hair in the back. It’s that half-head thing. The front is bushy and full, with a little wave, a little sass. Then there’s hair that stretches about halfway back so the wearer can comb it in with his own hair so it looks “natural”. Oh me oh, oh my oh, oh Cleveland, Ohio. Standing perfectly still in front of your bathroom mirror, I’m sure it blends and disappears beautifully. Standing in the aisle of an airplane near that whooshy stream of air vent air, however, the truth is revealed. The line of demarcation between store bought and home grown: the dreaded edge of hair.

I won’t insult balding men by asking why they go to such lengths to cover a receding hairline. It is naïve to think that people aren’t judged by their looks and “penalized” (especially by other men) for a lack of a full head of hair. Additionally, there are, of course, people with medical conditions or birthmarks or scars or whatever that they prefer to keep to themselves. My observations are not directed solely at the wig wearers. They are also to shake a finger at the wig makers. Surely, if we can put a souped-up off-road vehicle on Mars, we can create a head covering for men that doesn’t leave them open for all those squirrel-pelt-on-your-head jokes comedians are always tossing out while the strippers change g-strings.

Certainly women have wonderful hair options. Women who wear wigs for religious reasons, cancer patients, and actresses who love period films have forced wig makers to step up their game. I also believe women simply insist on a higher standard of fake hair. Unlike men who probably never paid attention to their hair until they started losing it, women often base their beauty self-perception on the state of their hair. Women would never tolerate the edge of hair.

Another basic mistake made by men is they insist on growing hair everywhere to make up for the lack on their head. My fellow traveler had a beard and a moustache and an enthusiastic pair of eyebrows. In and of itself, I suppose that’s not a tragedy. But, again, the devil is in the details. His beard was an attractive salt and pepper grey and black, nicely trimmed. The moustache was, hmmm, kind of reddish brown. His eyebrows were dark brown. His wig and back of the head hair were darrrrk brown. So somewhere in that mix, hair dye must have been involved. Even at first glance, from his neck up, every follicle on the man’s head was screaming “I AM LOSING MY HAIR AND I PANICKED AND THE LADY IN THE BEAUTY SUPPLY STORE SALON SOLD ME A PACKAGE DEAL!”

The gentleman on the airplane caught me staring at him. I smiled, he smiled, and I shifted my gaze to the video monitor nearby, hopefully pulling off the “oh, I wasn’t staring at the thing on your head, I was watching television” ruse. Once he sat, I found I continued to glance up occasionally to check out the top of his head from behind. Like Waldo in those big picture books, once the edge of hair has been located, it’s all you can see. It’s harmless, though, and like our red and white stocking-capped pal, kind of sweet and silly. Like most men. Bless their hearts…

(back to hohoshobiz.com)

Flying in Circles...

I started this post on Friday morning when I was at LAX waiting for my flight to Tulsa. I was in a high-and-mighty mood, complaining about how airline terminals were basically bus stations now, and that we had become a nation of traveling hobos. In our “eclectic” outfits of random t-shirts (Gumby? Fake tuxedo shirt? “Got F__k?” Reeeeeeally, people?), combined with sock monkey pajama pants and flip flops, we are dressed as if we hit the church rummage sale on the way to the airport. And the roly carry-on bag with various items bungeed onto it is apparently the shopping cart of the 21^st century. We are a bum. The bum is us.

Yes, indeed, I was on a holier-than-thou roll. Discovering that I had a whole row to myself on the plane only served to confirm my superior status. I settled in for the ride as United 3168 took off on time, made that wide turn over the ocean, and headed east.

I had a book and a diet coke and the two and a half hours passed quickly. I was actually surprised when I felt the plane begin to angle down, beginning our descent into very cold, snowy Tulsa. And then it angled back up. Apparently, in the course of about 20 minutes, Tulsa went from snowy to closed. As in, nobody landing or taking off; as in, until tomorrow. There was no circling the airport or waiting to see about snowplows or any other such nonsense. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are diverting to Kansas City.”

Well, all righty then. I was sure it was all about fuel and such, so no worries, let’s get this baby on the ground. Besides, I had to pee. Really. So, put the pedal to the medal, Captain Mike, let’s go.

Twenty-five minutes later we were on the ground at MCI, waiting for a customer service person to come and explain our options. Twenty minutes later I pushed my way through folks standing in the aisle back to the bathroom. Hey, a tiny, slightly overused toilet is better than none, if you know what I mean.

Finally, we were let into the gate lounge area – but not allowed to leave it due to security issues. Have I mentioned that there was no food on the flight? I climbed into the SuperShuttle at 9:15am after a hearty breakfast of coffee and toast. Flight left at 11:45; landed in Kansas City around 3:30p; deplaned around 4p. I was really hungry. Oh, right, so was everyone else. The poor man at the one little food kiosk within our “secure” area was caught up in a stampede of people willing to trade sexual favors for a pre-packaged “Caesar-style” salad. (What does that mean? “Style”? Is that like “ish”? Must remember to research that…) I grabbed the last Cinnabon on the shelf. The look in that 7-year-old’s eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life, but hey, kid, life is hard. Learn to deal.

We were offered the choice to stay the night in KC and hope for better flying conditions the next morning, or to fly back to LA. Hmmmm. Let’s think. Snow and freezing rain and an airport hotel room I had to pay for, or a trip back to sunshine and my own bed. Sorry, Mom. Love you, mean it, but gotta go! I’ll be back when the pass is open.

So, five of us flew back. Yeah, I know, right? Five! That meant one flight attendant for every 2.5 passengers. We even got the “premium” snack mix – pretzels AND almonds. Livin’ the life, baby, livin’ the life.

Back in LA at 8:25; luggage at 9p. Yes, even with FIVE bags, it took a half hour for them to get to baggage claim. What EVER. Cab home. Pizza ordered on the way; delivered 10 minutes after I walked in the door. I am, if nothing else, organized.

All in all, it was a very strange lost day in the airspace over the western US. But, hey, we got vouchers. I can reschedule my trip to Tulsa at no charge, plus I got enough vouchers for another trip. Not a bad day’s work.

Round and Round...

Just saw the trailer for the new film “2012” that opens this weekend. Apparently, the Mayan Calendar signals the end of the world as we know it. Yeah, yeah, I’ve read the more sensible explanations as to what that December 21, 2012 date really signifies – how it’s all cyclical and the world’s not ending so much as it’s beginning again. Blah, blah, blah. Roland Emmerich can’t make a kick-ass disaster movie out of all that spiritual circle of life gobble-de-gook. He needs the world. to. end.

Oddly it reminded me of scene in the middle of “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs”, another disaster flick that’s been bringing in big audiences. As giant food falls from the sky a reporter notes that all the major capitals seem to be getting hit by the storm first before it spreads across the globe. So in “2012” we see the White House and St. Paul’s Cathedral crushing and being crushed, and then random other places are engulfed by the destruction. Thank goodness for the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben and the Great Wall of China. No one wants to see a meteorite hit a cornfield in Nebraska. And a lot of people are actually hoping for the destruction of the crappy little towns they left behind after high school. So you gotta go for the big stuff. If the government can’t save the Golden Gate Bridge then we all are surely doomed.

It’s all about symbols, old and new. We give them power as surely as the gods themselves. The Hollywood sign signifies a town, an industry, a dream, while the lost knowledge of an ancient civilization equals mysticism and magic. Since humans first wandered the planet we have identified symbols and then gathered them around us to protect our friends and families and to wreak havoc on our enemies. Once we gazed into a fire and imagined our futures. Now we bask in the glow of a movie screen. If we are to believe the movie industry’s interpretation of that ancient calendar, we’ll soon be gazing into campfires again. We are as cyclical as the Mayans predicted...

Changing My Luck...

I just got back from Las Vegas and the BlogWorld Expo ’09. If you’ve been following along on my little blog, this might come as a distinct surprise. What’s an old-school TV production slave doing at a high-tech blogger convention? Adapting, that’s what. Apparently, there’s this thing called the internet and lots of folks are now gathering around this new campfire to get their info and entertainment. Shocking! And it turns out that underneath all the fancy lingo, it’s basically radio and television and newspaper all rolled up into one shiny “new and improved” package. (Yeah, the advertising biz is in there, up to its old tricks as well.)

So, the fact that I have too short of an attention span to specialize in one area of production is finally paying off. I can write and I can produce and I can yell at editors and I can calm divas and I can build a convention booth and I can make buttons with one of those hand press badge makers. Oh, yeah, baby, I can do it ALL! Which, it seems, is the secret to success in cyberspace.

Now I’m multi-tasking across the media spectrum. I’m still shooting interviews for various outlets like the BBC, I’m still writing for the John Tesh Radio show, and I’m still doing what I can for the Motion Picture & Television Fund. But as of today I am officially taking off on another adventure – I’m the new Managing Editor of WhatGives.com. (balloons fall from ceiling; confetti cannons erupt)

It’s all very exciting and I hope it’s a journey that leads to a more focused life. I have been working for others my entire life. Helping others bring their ideas and dreams to fruition. I’m ready to be a little more selfish and try to make more visible what I care about. So you’ll be hearing about non-profits and giving back. And you’ll be hearing about history and new science. HEY, WAKE UP. This is great stuff, people…

Strike Up The Band

It’s Labor Day weekend and all I can say is, hallelujah, summer is over. It’s been a crap summer with not nearly enough work, super low cash flow, and as a special parting gift, a nice fire-filled heat wave. I’m ready for the back-to-school feeling that always perks me up every fall.

Yeah, that’s right I’m that geeky girl who always believed that this school year would be better somehow. Inevitably, I remained the not-cool, not-pretty, not-popular girl I always was, but I was lucky enough to be in a school that had enough of us that we had a good time anyway. Others might make fun of marching band kids, but when there are 100 of you, it’s easier to circle the tubas and ignore the wise cracks. Not invited to the cheerleader’s party at the country club? No worries. One of the drama dweebs has a pool and a case of Diet Dr. Pepper. Rock on.

(yeah, that first drummer is me)

So as football takes over weekend TV and Halloween costumes start creeping into the drugstore aisles, once again I’m ogling the rainbow of highlighters and dreaming of new projects that will need some color-coding. My usual goulash of freelance work is slowly picking up and I’m hopeful that the recession’s death grip on Hollywood is easing a bit. I’m also seeing opportunities spread across a wider spectrum of media. I’m writing for websites and for radio; producing short-form documentary videos and helping a non-profit take its first tentative steps into social media. Telling a good story is key in any format, I’m happy to say.

So, bring it on, Fall. Hit me with the deadlines and the cooler temperatures and the inevitable Christmas-is-too-commercial piece for local news. I’ve got a new backpack, glue sticks, and a bunch of spiral notebooks. Maybe this year the cute boy in biology will be my lab partner. Hey, it could happen!

Nobles of the Mystic Shrine*

We’ve been staying pretty close to home base these days. We’re editing the SCi about why we need to believe in “the other”, working on the website, organizing the November conference and generally messing about in boats, so to speak. But of course, the elephant in the room is Dan Brown’s Lost Symbol coming out in September. The glare of a very large spotlight will soon hit us squarely in the face as people await Simon’s next best-selling companion book. The publishers expect Simon’s manuscript on their desk two weeks after Brown’s book is released. Simon won’t be getting a sneak peek or advance copy. He will simply read Brown’s book on September 15 and then work non-stop to create the unauthorized, authoritative guide in 14 short days. They want Decoding the Lost Symbol on the shelves by November 1. Oh my. Can old school publishing somehow meet the new media demands of instant mass distribution?

Simon is back in the UK right now. Sort of “in training” for the writing process. He’s been reading every book he can get his hands on that might relate to the many hints Brown’s publisher has been releasing regarding the mysterious subject matter. Freemasonry, the Founding Fathers, symbols and maps, clues and imagery – all centered in Washington, DC, the most symbol-filled city in the US. Simon reads and summarizes and cross-references and fills book margins with his own illegible “symbols” that will help him quickly create Decoding.

Of course, I’m trying to be supportive but I’m following my usual pattern of getting completely ahead of myself. I’m totally distracted by what I’m pretty sure is going to be a super fun production for Unlocking the Lost Symbol’s DVD.

See, I love Washington, DC. I get all caught up in the history and the beauty and the, well, symbolism of the place. I was a snare drummer in my high school and college marching bands, so I know all those John Phillip Sousa marches* backwards and forwards – the minute I step onto the National Mall, the piccolo part from “Stars and Stripes Forever” starts whistling through my head, and I can’t stop smiling.

I joined Henu Productions because it provided the opportunity to learn about subjects and visit places that I find deliciously evocative and enticing. Cairo and Kabul. Tiahuanaco and Taklamakan. Wewelsburg and Washington. Atlantis and Area 51. Oh, right, Area 51. Back to the editing room for SCi’s “Little Green Men and Other Strange Beliefs.” But soon, we’ll cross the Potomac…

It's in the Cards

She looked so normal. I mean, no crystal ball or turban or creepy, unidentifiable accent. Just, well, normal. But she was about to read the tarot cards for our beloved leader, Simon Cox, do a little light palmistry, and then identify his inner animal spirit guides. Fantastic!

Our trusty director of photography, Joel, was doing his best to get some good shots in Krista’s comfy, but small alcove off the Bodhi Tree Bookstore in Los Angeles. I was helping. (Really, I was. I had a clipboard and everything.) As Simon continues his investigation into why we believe, we were there to find out more about people who look to psychics and card reading for guidance.

And then, with no fanfare whatsoever, she began dealing the cards and talking. It was fascinating to watch because she wasn’t making a big deal of anything or asking Simon any leading questions. She was just kind of calling it as she saw it. No big revelations, but certainly some valid insights into Simon’s personality.

The palmistry was fun because it was determined that Simon’s lifeline runs right off his hand. Yes, you read it here first. Simon Cox is immortal. But the best part was the whole animal spirit guide thing. If you are a fan of this set of cards, I apologize in advance for my rudimentary understanding of how it is supposed to work. What I did understand is that the dog, wolf, badger, and wild boar all represent aspects of Simon’s personality at different times in his life. And as Krista expounded on the traits that go along with those animals, it seemed to me to be remarkably accurate description of Simon.

As we were leaving she mentioned that one of the cards dealt had to do with building and was often associated with Freemasonry. We all had to smile since Simon’s next book will be the companion book for Dan Brown’s “Lost Symbol,” which many people believe will explore the secret society of Freemasonry.

Just a coincidence, right?

Red Lights, White Mailboxes, and Little Green Men

So a few weeks ago we were on the road to Area 51. Five people, camera gear, luggage, and a substantial bag o’ snacks crammed into a Cadillac Escalade with flames painted on each side. We rocketed north out Los Angeles towards the far side of Vegas – a seemingly endless swath of dust, cacti, and occasional bomb craters officially known as the Nellis Air Force Base Test and Training Ranges.

We’ve all known each other for a while – years even – but this was our first road trip together. I was in the backseat, in the middle. The spot I fondly remember from my youth as the “hump seat” due to the lump in the floorboard caused by the driveshaft running underneath the family car. Modern technology has smoothed out the floors of today’s vehicles, so that wasn’t an issue. But the feeling that my siblings were going to start flicking me in the back of the head at any minute never quite went away.

With nothing of particular interest speeding past our windows, we were a captive audience for Ace and Simon, who declared themselves the trip DJs and began to “educate” the rest of us. Two bigger music fans I have never met. Their depth of knowledge and range of musical taste was astounding and a little bit frightening. Both have been band tour managers so there wasn’t just running commentary about the music, there was info on the band members, producers, record labels, groupies, and all sorts of random minutia.

Soon, mercifully, they were so busy entertaining each other that they forgot about those of us in the backseat. Joel (DP), Jen (Exec Prod), and I chatted about nothing in particular, although there was a delightful interlude during which we described our favorite Dairy Queen treats. Good times.

We were off to shoot our first series for Simon Cox Investigates – “Little Green Men and Other Strange Beliefs.” Along the way we shopped at the Alien Beef Jerky store in Baker, traveled the Extra Terrestrial Highway, marveled at the giant metal man in front of the Alien Research Center, chatted with the locals at the Little A’Le’Inn, and watched the night skies near the legendary Black Mailbox (now painted white). It seemed like the little red lights on our cameras were always lit and it was great.

Our journey to the gates Nellis AFB Ranges containing Area 51 (aka “Dreamland,” “Paradise Ranch,” and “the Box”) was one of the highlights of the trip. In movies people are always breaking into top secret places or smuggling out top secret documents, but when you come up against a real place with real warning signs and real guys with real guns, well, your perspective changes a bit. The military has every intention of keeping the secrets within those gates, including whatever monkey business that may have occurred in Area 51. The “camo dudes” (armed guards in camouflage gear) positioned on surrounding hills spend their hot, dusty days watching the roads for potential threats – and for idiots who think it would be fun to step over the line just to see what happens. Putting a boot on the neck of such a prankster would totally make their day. So, when an unmarked truck suddenly came down the road towards us while we were filming, we immediately decided that, hey, maybe we have enough footage of this area, you know? Maybe it was time to head back to town. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. And the flame-painted Escalade made a neat little U-turn and we skedaddled.

Before we said our farewells to Rachel, Nevada, and the surrounding area, we interviewed the owner of the Little A’le’Inn (“aliens are among us; they take over our bodies…”), a woman behind the counter at a local gas station (“those lights are just Air Force maneuvers…”), and other folks with varying opinions about what they believe, what others believe, and why it all seems to matter so much. FYI, no one at the Dairy Queen in Baker seemed to have a strong opinion about the subject, but the Blizzards and the Dip Cones were most excellent.

Can’t wait to show you the footage. (teaser!!) I’ll let you know when it’s gonna hit the website.

Nani Pilikia

Hawai’i. So alluring. A siren song. Years of advertising and marketing campaigns combined with all the stories from friends and loved ones about dreamy honeymoons or perfect family vacations have created visions of paradise in the minds of the multitudes. And traditionally, the multitudes come. But not so much lately. Apparently even tropical Edens have been hit hard by the economy and the N1H1 virus. Hotel room occupancy is way down in our 50th state and that is bad news for a local economy that rises and falls on the number of folks that annually decide to release their inner surfer.

I recently visited four islands (in eight days – not recommended for those looking to relax!) as part of a promotional tour sponsored by the state tourism office. I was a behind-the-scenes person, not one of the guest travel writers invited to see Hawai’i and spread the word that it’s as beautiful as everyone says it is, but not as expensive as you think. Like any destination that you’ve built up in your mind for years (I’d never visited before), it was both better than I hoped and less than I expected. There is no argument that it is beautiful. Kaua’i is quiet and ruggedly beautiful with curvy roads and small towns. Maui is built up but still retains a quiet, soothing soul.

The Big Island of Hawai’i is a contrast of tropical lushness and stark lava fields created by the still-active volcano at its center. The disappointment is Honolulu and Waikiki with its over-built beachfront, clogged streets, designer shops, and over-priced, ever-present mai-tais. A shopping mecca for foreign travelers or perhaps visitors from smaller American towns; a lively club scene for party seekers; an urban mess for those looking for a quiet walk on the beach or a glimpse of native Hawai’i.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

But it’s not the Hawai’i I was interested in. My favorite moment was in Wailea on Maui a few hundred yards off the beach, standing on a paddleboard. Yes, there was much standing and falling, kneeling and falling, and every variation therein, but once I was standing more than swimming, it was wonderful. And I felt like, for that instant, I was really there. Really in the Hawai’i you see on the postcards.

And it can be done on a budget. There are airfare deals and hotel packages and moderately priced food to be had if you’re willing to do a little research. And the locals are happy to point out their favorite places to grab a quick bite or rent a kayak for less that the big resorts would charge. So I think the message got out through the guest writers that Hawai’i was still a reasonable destination in these belt-tightening times. And, hey, I had a fine time. I got a free trip to Hawai’i. Not too shabby.

Oh, wait, that’s the other thing. I suddenly found myself in the middle of a controversy about the fact that this trip was comped for the writers. They weren’t paid for their time or work. No restrictions were placed on what they could and could not write about. But their airfare, hotels, and most expenses were covered by state tourism money. Which means the government. Was it journalism or was it marketing disguised as journalism? Numerous people whose opinions I respect weighed in on a point, counter-point discussion that grew heated. It was a valid debate that brought up a lot of interesting points about how content on the web is presented and perceived. But I felt it was directed at the wrong group of people. All our writers made it very clear in all their postings that the trip was sponsored by the state of Hawai’i. Everyone talked about how we were traveling in a group and sharing experiences and rental cars. It couldn’t have been more transparent. And yet, there was criticism that the writers weren’t like “real” journalists who never take “freebies” so their souls remain pure. Well, if you’re writing about prostitution rings being run out of Hawai’ian resorts, independence from the corporate owner of those resorts is important, even necessary. But if you’re writing about a local restaurant you stumbled upon one evening or how much fun it is to paddleboard, does it make your story less valid if someone else bought the plane ticket (and you told your audience that fact)?

I’m sure there are many online writers and bloggers who aren’t as scrupulous as those who participated in this project. I understand the idea of a slippery slope that we must guard against that might send us back to the bad old days of advertiser controlled media content. But I think online there is a much stricter supervisor than we realize. If someone reads a blog and doesn’t (a) want or need the information, (b) like the style of writing, or (c) trust the writer/source, that user is g-o-n-e, gone. During the discussion of the potential conflicts of writing a review while on someone else’s dime, one writer talked about how she strives to be as transparent as possible while providing information to her audience. Her final thought regarding the result is a good one: It’s not up to us (the writers), it’s up to them (the users). They will make their preferences known in a swift and often heartless manner. And that’s the way it should be. Mendacity should not be tolerated by anyone – on either side of the computer screen.

All Aboard

Anyone who thinks American women are struggling with their body image haven’t been on a cruise lately. Never have I seen such a celebration of the feminine silhouette than on a recent jaunt to Mexico. Women of all ages and ALL sizes were strutting the Lido deck in bathing suits that often defied the magical properties of spandex. No one seemed concerned about the lack of makeup or snarl of bad hair or excess flaps of skin. The men were equally oblivious of their own flaws, but they are delusional creatures about their appearance most of the time anyway.

I purposely lost 5 pounds and sat outside to try and get a tiny bit of a tan before the trip because I was sure I would be the huge pasty redhead everyone was staring at. But then, I live in Hollywood where the standards are, well, slightly skewed. But it’s coast-to-coast America on board a cruise ship – even the one I was on which was filled with a 30-something crowd of rock music lovers. It was certainly obvious that there is a growing obesity problem in this country, but equally obvious was that a few extra pounds is not keeping people from doing whatever the “pretty” people do. All those weight loss commercials feature such miserable, unhappy people who have lost the will to live. And I’m sure there are many people out there who are frustrated with their weight. But the truth is we appear to be healthier – at least mentally – than all the magazines and infomercials would have us believe.


Of course, we should all watch our weight and eat healthy and exercise and all that. But to see so many women in bathing suits who are not “perfect” is refreshing. And I must admit that to see many of these women with loving, happy husbands is, honestly, a relief. Men’s magazines may be filled with some perfect, airbrushed, bleached idea of female perfection, but most guys seem to realize that a good woman comes in all shapes and sizes. And that makes them beautiful.

Testing, One, Two, Three...

If you’re thinking about going away with someone for a romantic weekend, book the trip then go without him. You wouldn’t buy a car without a test drive, so why fly blind with a new cutie.

Try and find something colorful, like a family wedding to attend and then imagine what the weekend would be like if he were with you. Flying on the red eye. Struggling with connections. Checking into that cozy bed and breakfast that is reeeeeally cozy. Imagine sharing a 10 by 10 space connected to a postage stamp bathroom with your new honeybun.

Oh, and then it rains and your hair frizzes and you’ve got the wrong shoes and it takes you two hours to make yourself presentable instead of your modern girl half hour. How would he handle sitting in that tiny room watching the tiny TV while you struggle with hot curlers and flat irons and humidity that makes your mascara gunky? How would you handle the stress of knowing he’s bored and irritated and exasperated?

Then go to that rehearsal dinner and consider having to keep your sweet patootie entertained while catching up on all the family gossip. Just how many times would you stop a story to explain who Uncle Mike is and where your cousin Lisa went on her honeymoon and why this is such a really funny story? How much champagne would you drink if he were there? How much could you flirt if he were there?

And the wedding. Oh, my, the wedding. Imagine he’s come along because it’s a destination wedding someplace spiffy and now he spends one whole day of the short weekend stuck in a suit in a warm banquet hall listening to maudlin toasts instead of on the beach he can see through the windows.

And finally, think about the sex that may or may not be going on around all these activities. Would you really be having a good time or just providing the one thing you know he’ll enjoy the whole weekend. Is it delicious out-of-town sex or is it simply sorry-about-grandpa’s-ear-hair sex?

If you return from your test-drive weekend more determined than ever to spend a weekend away with your sweetie pie, then you may have found yourself a keeper. If you return slightly hung over and greatly relieved that he didn’t come with you, maybe you should stick to occasional overnights in town. There’s only so much togetherness some people can stand.

Yikes...

A few days ago I made a mistake. I walked into a room filled with people I don’t know in hopes of learning more about their support group. They were mostly men and I tend to use the girly thing a little to make everyone laugh and put them at their ease. I pulled out some name tags and markers and began to pass them around saying, “Now boys, everyone needs to print very neatly…” I moved on around the table getting things set up and the interviews began.

About half way through, one of the men stopped in the middle of a sentence because he had to get something off his chest. He looked right at me. “You called us ‘boys’.” I was startled and had to think for a moment to remember what I’d said. And then I realized – I was in a room filled with African American men. I had waltzed into a group of strangers – Black men in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s – and I had called them ‘boys’. Yes, I would classify that as a big mistake.

The thesaurus is filled with words that attempt to describe how I felt. Mortified. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Breathtakingly stupid. But I did my best to meet his eye and apologize with all my heart. To him, to all of them. And I thanked him for being so gracious in calling me out. He hadn’t raised his voice or stomped out of the room, or said anything mean. He just very calmly pointed out my lack of respect and complete ignorance. It was devastating, and also revelatory.

How many times had I done that before? Said something silly or thoughtless that I thought was flirty or funny or clever, only to hurt someone without knowing it. No, I may have meant nothing by it, but that doesn’t excuse my cluelessness. I have been hurt by words in the past. And I have used them to wound when I needed a weapon I could rely on to cut deeply. I know their power.

Hopefully, in the future, I will use that power for good. After all, with power comes great responsibility.

An Exit Row Kind of Day...

Sometimes when you travel, nice things happen. You get to the airport on time – even a little bit early. There are plenty of spaces in long term parking and just as you walk up to the shuttle stop, the bus arrives to take you to the terminal. Which isn’t really that crowded, all things considered. People are reasonably polite, the security line is reasonably efficient, and nearby children are reasonably subdued. It’s not like it’s the best day of your life or anything, but it’s not bad.

And then a kind of magical thing happens. You know the flight attendant. He isn’t a super-close pal, but he’s a neighbor you wave to and who has a nice dog you give a pat when you’re walking by. You look up from your cramped coach seat and there he is, demanding your boarding pass and telling you you’re in the wrong seat. Suddenly, you’re in an exit row. An empty exit row. Leg room! Fanny room! Spreading out or curling up room. And at that moment, my friends, life is good.

I like to travel. Even when I don’t have a magical exit row day, I like to be heading towards a city I’ve never seen or revisiting a place I want to explore further. Call it wanderlust or call it nosiness – I just want to find out more about people in other places. I want to see their monuments and taste their cuisine and try out a bit of the local lingo. Today I’m heading to Philadelphia. First time and I’m totally frustrated ‘cause I’ll be there such a short time I won’t get to do much of anything but attend the meetings that are the reason for the trip. No Liberty Bell, no Constitution Hall. But I’ll get a glimpse of the skyline and of course, I’ll get the best bit – I’ll get to meet a room full of people from this foreign land called Pennsylvania. I am hopeful that with their guidance I will uncover the perfect example of what is known in their language as a “cheese steak”.

Just For Practice

Wow, now I have my very own blog. How cool is that?