Soup-Off, 2011.

I woke up in wee early hours of the morning of the soup-off. It was raining cats and dogs. I mean like, monsoon raining.

"Oh,no!" I moaned to the room in general,"my Chinese lanterns!"
I hastily got up and pulled my red rain boots on, tugging then up over my p.j.'s. Threw the closest thing I've got to a rain coat on, and dived into the torrent outside. I had made a special trip downtown for those Chinese lanterns, and Mark had spent an hour and a half artfully hanging them all over the sun porch - I was determined to save a few.
After I'd cut down all the lanterns I could save, I ventured out to the front terrace to save the brand new outdoor cushions. There was a waterfall at the bottom of my top steps. (That gutter never was fixed properly) The bamboo was blowing and bending over like mad, the flowers were taking a beating, and the hills across the way were completely hidden in the rain and mist.I looked at the wild and wooly scene, shaking my head. There went my lovely dream of a fabulous outdoor gathering. My house is small without the outdoor space that we always use for parties.

I tried to go back to sleep, but I just couldn't. So, by the time I got up and started making my soup - I was dead tired. Fog in the brain. I popped down to the market to get a couple of things, forgetting to turn the burner off,and burned the bottom of my soup. Oh well. 7 pounds of organic asparagus would have to suffice as 'smoky asparagus soup'. I wouldn't win this year, but I wasn't expecting to, anyway. Not with cream of asparagus. I just wanted to make it. I always want to do something new.

Oh. OK. For those of you who don't know...The Soup-off is an annual event that my brother concocted (usually held at my house - but not always) - where people bring soup and compete for the strangest trophy known to man. A purple squirrel. This trophy travels - so we have always counted on the previous year's winner to come again, and bring it back. Sometimes from down the street, sometimes from Ireland, Pasadena, what have you. And people who don't make soup can come to taste and judge. The judging is required. And witty,absurd or obscene comments to go along with one's vote are GREATLY encouraged. This makes reading the votes aloud for the purposes of tallying quite raucous.

This year was certainly the worst weather for any soup-off.
Then Max called me from Texas. "Mom!" he said accusingly (I knew immediately what it was about) "You're having the soup-off TODAY?"
"Well...yes."
"Without US??!!" he demanded."We were going to WIN! We were going to make Tom Yum Gai!"
The 'us' he was referring to was the band, WICKER. I felt bad about having it while he was out of town - but I really didn't think they'd care that much. I hung up the phone with Max feeling a little guilty, but mostly proud. All of my children have seemingly turned into bona-fide, card carrying foodies. WICKER WON the chili-off last year in a super surprise turn of events. You must understand - the competition is FIERCE. One of the competitors is a professional chef, for instance.

Not long after 5 pm, the guests started filing in. People showed up under umbrellas, in rain slickers, soaking wet - soup protected by all manner of creativity from the blustering gail. It hadn't let up one bit. We hung dripping jackets up on all of the hooks in the hallway, then on backs of chairs. When those were full, I had people throw their soaking outerwear on my bed.My tiny house was full of people,soup,umbrellas and rain coats before I knew it. Jeff built a roaring fire in the fireplace, and it felt like the people inside were competing with the storm outside. The more we laughed, the harder it stormed.

The first to arrive were, Mark (thank goodness - with lots of ice and sodas), my brother, Marcus, Kristan and their one and a half year old daughter, Madeline. Madeline is at a very cute age - she ran around amusing everyone and avoiding being stepped on thanks to some help from Sarah. Sarah is our kidnapped cousin. A beautiful girl, inside and out who designs jewelry and LOVES the babies! When Sophie arrived, Marcus and Kristan had a team of help with that kid, so they could have some fun and try all the soup. Which WERE:

1. African Coconut Curry
2. Potato Corn Chowder (with or without bacon)
3. Beef Chili
4. Authentic Russian Borsch
5. Moroccan Curry with Chick Peas and Fava Beans
6. Smoky Asparagus

These were all SUPER good. I wish I had a bowl of that Borsch right NOW! Mark Hart's (from Crowded House)wife won the squirrel last year, and he brought the beef chili in the hopes that they wouldn't be stuck with that thing for another year. (lots of vegetarians at the soup-off!)

I was holding Madeline on my hip when this super cute guy I ran into at the park came in the
door.
"Hi! You came!" I said."Ummm...this isn't mine. This is my niece, Madeline." He brought some musicians with him that ended up being really sweet.It was fun introducing them to Mark Hart. They did the 'we're not worthy' bow to him in my crowded kitchen.(MY Crowded House!)(sorry - that was cheesy - I apologize!)

Then, just as everyone was feeling pretty full of warm soup - a WHOLE new batch of soups walked in the door. My friend, Mieke's kid, Luka walked in with his girlfriend and the girlfriend's Mom, and they had MORE SOUP.
I had just seen Luka and his girl in their band, Hazel, a couple nights before. They were
FANTASTIC. No joke. His girlfriend's name is Angelica, and her Mom's name is Angelica, too. That was confusing. They brought:

7. Artichoke Tango Soup
8. West Indian Squash and Mushroom Soup.
9. Triple A Tomato Soup

Someone's going to be pissed if I'm forgetting one. But I think I got them all.

Every year, the Soup-Off feels like a love-fest. This may have been the best year of all. New and old friends meeting, chatting, staying warm by the fire. So many great soups to try. Good wine. Super fun kids - August Blue, Sophie, Madeline, Luka, Angelica - and one on the way in a couple of weeks (in Megan's belly). Finally, Mieke and Jim showed up (she had sliced her hand after making her soup, came with it all bandaged from the ER - what dedication!)and the voting commenced. Everyone crowded into my living room in front of the fire. Marcus and Mark emceed the proceedings, and Jeff kept count. August said something about the tomato soup being made by
God on his vote. It was pretty close - someone wrote that they wanted to have sex in a big vat of the Borsch. And another voter waxed poetic about beef and the food chain, but in the end -just like last year - a complete new comer won. Angelica's mother, Angelica, won with Triple A Tomato. Simple, fresh, yummy comfort soup.

I looked around my house at one point and thought - YES. This is how it's suppose to be. Family, friends, warm hearts and warm soup on the night of the worst storm of the year. With all of this soup, and all of this love...we could weather anything.

Lyle Lovett.

OK. The pressure's on. This story is completely out of time/context - but which if my stories aren't? I have a problem with time. A big problem. I seem to move in my own version of "TIME". I am sure it contributes to my rampant insomnia.

But...Lyle.
We did not meet on the set of "The Player", but we were both there, and we were both in it. I had a tiny part as 'myself'. Which Robert Altman custom made up on the spot for me. That story is a good one on it's own - but one for another night.
I was already a huge fan of Lyle Lovett's music - big huge fan! There were 2 or 3 of his albums that I could listen to over and over again. They spoke to me. But I had never seen him live.
So, when he was playing a VERY small venue in LA - for his Large Band album, I went and was blown over EVEN MORE.

I remember that show so well. I was in a state of complete 'artistic crush' by the time it was over. So, I got brave, and sent him a note on a napkin. In lipstick. Which was all I had. It said something like, "I was in The Player with you, but too shy to introduce myself on set or at the screening. You were amazing tonight - and amazing in The Player. Thank you for a wonderful show! Jennifer Nash."

I didn't leave my number or anything like that, and didn't wait for him afterwards - just sent the note back, and that was that. So, when the phone rang the next afternoon, and a strange voice on the other end asked for Jennifer, I had NO reason to think it would be Lyle Lovett.

"Yes...this is she." I said. (who WAS this man with the deep, honey Southern drawl?)
"This is Lyle. Lyle Lovett."
"NO it's NOT!!!!"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"It is NOT Lyle Lovett! WHO IS this?" I demanded. I simply did NOT believe it was him. My mind started RACING to try and figure out WHO of my Texas friends could be impersonating him.It could have been James Brown, it could have been a few guys, I guessed.
"No. It's really me." Lyle chuckled softly. "I got your note last night - on the napkin. And I thought I'd call you up."
"This is NOT Lyle Lovett. I didn't put my number on it - who IS this!?"
He laughed again. His laugh was like soft, Southern, butter-silk.
"I called your agents. I hope you don't mind. A woman called Jerri gave me your number."
OH MY GOODNESS!!!! IT WAS Lyle Lovett!!!!!
"Oh!" I stammered, "Ohh...well... I'm so sorry. It IS YOU?"
"Yea. It's me. " (he was clearly enjoying this) "I thought we could have coffee."
"Ummm...yes. Yes. Sure. We can have coffee. We could do that."
"Well, could you meet me in about an hour?"

My head was SPINNING! I could NOT believe Lyle Lovett wanted to have coffee with me. But I figured - what the heck! I was BEYOND flattered, and just had SO much respect for him as a musician and songwriter. I whipped myself together and met Lyle Lovett for coffee.

I don't remember that first meeting so well. I was in shock and I was trying not to fidget out of pure excitement. Lyle Lovett was a pure Southern gentleman. He was intoxicating in person, just as he was on stage. He opened doors for ladies, pulled back your chair, stood up when you had to use the ladies room, and got your coat for you when it was time to leave. Something about being with him made me feel like I was in a period movie. Back in time. I felt like I should have a little powder on my nose, gloves in my pocket book, and order nothing stronger than a sherry when we later met for drinks.

We did meet for drinks later.
Except he didn't drink. He didn't drink and he didn't smoke, and he told me that he'd walked off stage a few times when he'd smelled pot wafting up from the audience. He was a Lutheran, he explained, and very strict (in some ways), also VERY close to family.He had his suits custom made. He'd pick out some pattern from the 30's or forties - usually a formal western style suit. He picked out the fabric, too. He told me all about it at the Hotel Nikko down on La Cienaga one night.I looked closely at his suit and realized how awfully fancy it was. My girlfriend, Emily Welsh, was with me that night. Lyle had asked me to bring a girlfriend to his show, and to drinks afterwards so he could introduce her to one of the musicians in his band. I was more than happy to oblige. We had a super fun time. The Hotel Nikko was awfully posh, with big melt-into arm chairs placed in little groupings around various fountains and ponds and plants. Very private and cozy. Very Japanese. On this particular night, I was drinking champagne, and getting QUITE high on Mr. Lyle Lovett. Emily wasn't into his friend, but she was a good sport, and stayed until late.

Lyle and I had hung out a few times by then. And though there seemed to be mad chemistry, nothing had happened. He always kissed me on the cheek goodbye. Or on my hand. Hugs had gotten longer. Phone calls, too. He wanted to call me up late at night from all over the country and talk for a long time. But on this night, he found a moment to speak to me in private (we were in a merry party of musicians, plus Emily and I). He took my arm very gently and sweetly and leaned in close.
"Would you like to come up to my room with me?" he dripped with his honey voice. "It doesn't have to be anything...crazy. We could just be by ourselves for a few minutes."
Damn.
I'm JUST sayin.....DAMN. He was just seducing me in the softest, sweetest way you can imagine. I was a LITTLE scared of him - because he was JUST THAT GOOD.
I looked up at him, all goo-goo eyed. "Ok." I whispered. (he made me feel so SHY!) "I'll come up..."

At some point, we excused ourselves - but not before I confabbed with Emily. Emily was an AWFULLY good friend to me! I grabbed her and dragged her into the lady's room.
"He wants me to go to his room with him!" I exploded to her in a whisper.
"Well...how do YOU feel about that?" she said. (she was all about looking after me!)
"I don't know! He's crazy sexy! And it's been...YOU KNOW!!!" (She DID know. She knew ALL about it!)
Emily paused and thought about it for a moment. She was good at that. She THOUGHT about stuff. I didn't so much back then. That's WHY I needed to ask her.
In a steady,calm voice Emily said, "I think it's ok, Jennifer. I like him. I think he's ok, and, I hate to say this - but I think you need this. If it feels good - I say go."
"Will you hate me for not leaving with you?"
"No! I'll be fine! Don't worry about that!"
Emily hugged me and gave me her blessing. It meant a lot. She knew all my secrets.

I went up to Lyle Lovett's room and began a memorable affair that lasted for about a year. It wasn't very OFTEN that we saw each other, and maybe he was full of shit. I say that because he was so romantic on the phone. And in person. He said such HEAVY stuff. He was so romantic with his words. So committed. It SEEMED. Like most girls, I have been a sucker for words. But first and foremost - I am a sucker for the physical. I am a Taurus, and although I don't believe in that stuff enough to take it VERY seriously - I HAVE to admit that I am ruled by my body.

Lyle Lovett built a temple to my body and prayed at it's altar that first night. And every night we spent after that. And I can tell you from first hand experience that Lyle has a BEAUTIFUL body himself. Like....exquisite. Exquisite. There is a REASON Julia Roberts married him after ONE MONTH of courtship. REASONS.

When I tell this story about Lyle Lovett - there are a lot of things I can't say. Not now. And it WANTS to be steamy. Sexy. But as my cousin is the one who asked for it - I'll leave that out for the most part. Suffice it to say, that I saw Lyle off and on (just because of his touring) for about a year. It was super sexy. Even when it was just on the phone. (he continued to call me from the road - and the calls got longer and longer - and sexier and sexier.) I feel all kinds of things thinking about him now. God, he was beautiful.

Anyway - things built up between us, until I got this film that was shooting in Romania. I told him all about it, and he said he wanted to meet me there - or in Europe after the film.I said yes. This man had me around his little finger. He was like a snake charmer, and I was the snake. I would have stopped drinking forever for him. I would have moved in next door to his Mom and baked pies for him. And that's not necessarily ME!! But that man had some magic power over me for SURE.

So, I went to Romania and did this film. There were no phones - let alone CELL phones! The film company BROUGHT bottled water and toilet paper and cans of tuna! It was crazy. Chris Earl was editing for this company - he warned me. I was there for almost 3 months.

When I got back, Lyle Lovett was married to Julia Roberts. Or just getting married.
Anyway - one of my first celebrity sightings in LA was Julia Roberts - at the Dresden. She was there with Keifer Sutherland. This was their heroin period. I bumped into her (literally), and was SHOCKED at how incredibly beautiful she was in real life. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt - no make up, a baseball cap - and she was STUNNING. STUNNING. She's not my favorite actress. I'll give her her due in certain roles - but she's not my favorite. But I have seen her with NO makeup - eye to eye - and she is gorgeous. Like freaky.

The funny thing is - that they moved into the house that looks over my back yard. I could SEE them on their balcony for the short time that they lived there. IN MY BACK YARD.

I knew they wouldn't last. Lyle was far too conservative, and Julia was a wild party girl back then. I could just HEAR him asking her to move to TEXAS! HA! That wasn't going to fly.

It was a little bit salt-in-the-wound to see the whole thing in all the tabloids when I got back from Romania. But I wasn't IN LOVE with Lyle Lovett. It was something else - but it wasn't IN LOVE. Maybe lust. With a huge dose of romantic fairy tale ....something.

The last time I saw Lyle was at a VERY posh vintage clothing shop on La Brea Ave.It was after 'Short Cuts'. Which I had just seen. And was now friends with Tom Waits.

"Well, hi!" I said. (I was hugely pregnant)
"Well...howdy. How are you?"
"I'm fine. Just fine. About to have a baby...any day now."
"Well..that's great. Just great." Lyle said,awkwardly.
"I saw 'Short Cuts'." I said.
"Really?"
"Yes, I did. And I have to say, I thought Tom Waits was SOOO much better than you - as an actor. You should stick to your day job." (yes! I REALLY said this.)
"Well...." Lyle started.
"Yea - just stick to the music, y'know? You're just NOT a very good actor."

And that was the last time I saw Lyle Lovett or spoke to him. There are BIG things I just can't SAY in a blog like this. And I'm not PROUD of my last words to him....but...I was pissed. He jilted me for Julia Roberts and then had the BALLS to move in behind me - in MY BACK YARD!!!! That was wrong. But - I don't think he knew it.

And I guess that's all I can say here and now.

Meeting up with Grant in Hollywood - BEFORE 'Melrose Place'

Grant Show is on my mind right now because I'm slightly obsessed with 'Big Love' - the HBO show about polygamy and Mormons. And GRANT has turned up in this last season! He plays the cool, suave owner of 'Goji Juice' - a big juice company that's run as a pyramid scheme. He's EXCELLENT! (all of those actors are, I think!) And, personally, I'm hoping that Marge runs away with him (his character) this Sunday in the LAST EPISODE!!! (what will I DO?)

Anyway - it's fun to see his face on my flat screen every Sunday.

I ran into Grant years after London - right down the street from my house. This was before Melrose place. BEFORE he was named the 'sexiest man in the world' by People magazine. In fact, he told me that work out here in LA was NOT going well for him.

"I think I'm being black-listed, Jennifer. No one will even have meetings with me. I know that sounds really dramatic - but my agent thinks that's what's going on, so...I don't know." is what he said to me, down there on the sidewalk in front of The Daily Planet.
"Why would anyone do that? You were doing so well in New York." I asked him.
"That's exactly it." Grant shook his head. He looked really worried."I quit Ryan's Hope for a year to go to LAMDA - and they did NOT like that. I think I'm being punished. For wanting to be a better actor.." he kind of laughed it off.

Not too long after that, we both found ourselves auditioning for 'Melrose Place'.
Grant landed the sexy, motorcycle-riding Jake, and I had to tell Mr. Aaron Spelling that I could NOT show up to the final audition in a bikini - because I was knocked up again. Oh well.

One surreal evening, I was down at my local grocery store with my 2 little daughters climbing all over the metal bars at the check-out stand,when I saw the front cover of that People magazine.
"Oh my GOODNESS!" I said aloud as I checked out a photo of Grant on the cover, being declared 'The Sexiest Man in the World' - or something - in his black leather jacket, next to a motorcycle.
"Hey there." said a familiar voice behind me. It was Grant.
I just held up the magazine and laughed, "NO WAY!!!" I said to the man himself.
"Oh, man. That's embarrassing!" was Grant's reaction.
"Are you KIDDING? It's GREAT!"
"Oh man! Well - who are these little beauties?" he asked, changing the subject.
"THESE are my excuse for not being on a Spelling show yet."
"These are YOURS?" he asked.
"Yep. Isabella and Sophia."
Sophie reached out her hands for Grant to catch her as she flung herself off of the bar - which he did with natural grace. He held her on his hip for a moment as if he were a father himself.
"Well, aren't you lucky. Such beautiful daughters you have! And Max...?"
"Yea, he's probably burning the house down as we speak. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I live here. This is my grocery store - I live right up the hill..."

Turns out, Grant lived on my old street - we were neighbors. I run into him every once in a while at the market. He always asks about Max and the kids, and is still as sweet as can be. Which is VERY encouraging. Fame, good looks and money don't HAVE to turn a person into a crazy, drug-addicted nut job, no matter HOW much Charlie Sheen is making us feel that right now.







.

Grant Show puts Max and I up in London.

Well, writing about 90210 and Aaron Spelling, has made me think about Grant Show - and that whole story. So, I guess that's what's on the menu for tonight.

When Max and I first arrived in London (so I could go to the London Academy of Music and Dramatic art - LAMDA), I realized REAL quick how prohibitively expensive it would be to live ANYWHERE near the school - in town. So we got Joe Alessi on board and moved out to the country. Which was fabulous - EXCEPT that the trains stopped going out there at midnight. So, if you got stuck in town after midnight - it was a nightmare getting home! One night, I did miss the train - by 5 minutes - and I had to take the busses - MANY busses - and it took FOREVER! It was epic. I finally got home when the sun was just peaking over the horizon.

So, when I met Grant, and he offered for Max and I to stay at his flat in town any time we needed to - it was quite a nice thing.

Grant Show was in my class. He was a soap opera actor from New York, who I was HIGHLY suspicious of. He'd left a job on 'Ryan's Hope' to come and better his acting at LAMDA. This, on it's own - I felt was admirable. (are you getting a sense of what a TERRIBLE acting snob I was? I was QUITE the little idiot.) I was suspicious of any soap actor, first of all, and second of all - Grant Show was just TOO PRETTY. I was horribly snobbish and cold to him for the first few weeks of school. Which really makes how nice he was to me EVEN NICER.

Grant and I were in the same Shakespearean scene class. It was kind of the mother of all classes. We were taught by the grande dame of LAMDA, an older woman with white air and a soul made of pure steel. Grant was assigned 'Romeo and Juliet', and I was assigned a scene from 'Hamlet'. I was playing Gertrude, Hamlet's evil, queen mother. The first time we put our scenes up in front of everyone for review, I was feeling pretty good about myself - and I hate to admit it - but ready to laugh gales at Grant Show, the pretty soap opera boy. (You see how hideous I was? Truly!)

Grant and his partner went up next to last - before me. I was shocked. SHOCKED at how well he did. He REALLY wasn't bad. Even I HAD to admit it.

The Dame got up to review it."Not bad." she said. (from her it might as well have been a Tony!) "Not bad at all. Grant, you surprised me with the freshness of your feelings. You have obviously done your homework as far as the content and meaning of the work, and it shows. But above this - I was impressed at how natural your performance was. I BELIEVED you as Romeo - in the moment - and this is, perhaps, as good as it gets."

Grant smiled his perfect white smile, and I felt something growl inside of me. Some snobbish, competitive demon did NOT like it that Grant was getting this praise. From the HARDEST teacher we had BY FAR!!!! She criticized EVERYONE! She was hard as STEEL! Like a cold, Shakespearean robot! How DARE this ULTRA good looking SOAP actor from Ryan's Hope get such praise!!! And yet - he WAS good. SURPRISINGLY good. And I couldn't deny it for as much as I wanted to.

Then it was my turn.
We got up and did our scene. I felt like I had more knowledge of Shakespeare than most of these kids going in. And I felt like I was a better actress. (I TOLD you I was hideous.)So, I was expecting some good feedback. I felt it was gangbusters.

The Dame got up to review us. She concentrated on me.
"Jennifer. " she said. Her tone was that of a Salem lawyer calling out a witch. "WHY are you IN this school?"
I looked at her in utter confusion.
"WHY have you decided to WASTE your family's money so that you can ATTEND this school? WHY are you WASTING OUR TIME?"

She looked down her face at me - sitting cross legged on the floor. I was in shock, but I managed, "I paid for my own tuition.."
"Well, THAT'S a relief." she replied, haughtily. "Because for the LIFE of me - I can not imagine WHY you are here. You have a CHILD? A BABY?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"And you have DRAGGED it to this school - half way across the world with you?" (she used the word 'it')
"I did NOT approve of your acceptance here. I do NOT think you are serious about acting as a career. And THAT is what WE are about at LAMDA."

Oh, Lord! I was fighting back the tears at this point. I did NOT want this HORRID woman to see me cry! I would NOT let her see me cry! I WOULD NOT.
She went on. "Look at you. You are a mess. You're wearing clothes 2 sizes too big, I have no idea what your body looks like, your hair is in your face - I have no idea what your FACE looks like. Does anyone HERE know what this creature looks like?" she demanded of the class. Everyone just sort of sat there - they were in shock, too. This was by FAR the worst calling out that had happened in her class - and it seemed a bit...personal.
"Why don't you do us all a FAVOR and pull your hair out of your face, dear."
I did. My hair was growing out from a short hair cut, and it WAS in my face half the time.
"Well - look at that. She DOES have a face, after all. And it's not entirely hideous."
At this point, I couldn't breath. I was trying so hard to be strong - not to cry. I had been knocked off of my pedestal but GOOD.

"Come up here with me, dear." she sneered. "Where everyone can take a look at you."
I did. We stood in the middle of the cold, damp room - everyone else in the class (including Grant) looking at me with pity. Happy that it wasn't THEM.

Dame Pamela pulled my clothing tighter to my body. I had lost quite a few pounds already at LAMDA, and, indeed, my clothes hung off of me. I was so broke - so DEAD broke - and ALL of my money went to feeding Max and paying his nanny. I practically LIVED on Guinness there.As broke as I was, there always seemed to be some guy, or someone offering to buy me a drink - and I had heard that Guinness had some vitamins and iron - so that's what I always asked for. I really lived on it - but I was skinny as hell.

She went on, "Look at you. You look like a starving bird. And pale and sickly. Do you HAVE a pair of decent Wellies?"
"No Ma'am."
"I thought not. Well, I don't want to see you in this class again without some clothes that actually FIT you, your hair out of your face, and some decent Wellies. This isn't TEXAS, child. It's cold and damp, and you'll catch your death if you don't have proper attire."
She motioned for me to sit down again, which I did with relief.
"And as for your SCENE...." she looked at me and my acting partner with a look that shot daggers, "How can you POSSIBLY expect ANYONE to believe that you are a QUEEN? It's terrible. you are flitting about as though you defy gravity. I don't care HOW slight you are - you must convince me - CONVINCE your audience that you HAVE WEIGHT. You are a QUEEN. Think about what that means. You are playing someone who has a grown son. I NEED to FEEL the WEIGHT of this part.I need to feel your importance in this world. The KINGDOM has been groveling at your feet - serving you - since your infancy! Do you understand?"

I said 'yes', she dismissed the class, and I barely made it outside before I burst into a flood of tears.
I found the corner of a four hundred year old building to cry on. The floodgates opened. I had been so ARROGANT! I thought I was the best in the class, quite frankly - and BOY - had I been taken DOWN. In front of everyone. It was horrible. My shoulders were shaking I was sobbing so hard.
Grant saw me and stopped. All the other people in our class were too embarrassed to.
"I didn't think it was so bad." he said.
Oh GOD!!! The guy I had been making FUN of in my mind - and even TEASING out loud for being on a bloody SOAP!!! HE was being NICE???? It was too much! Mr. Pretty Boy!!!
"Look, she's got a reputation for being kind of a bitch...y'know...sometimes." Grant said, warmly.
"Yea, when you SUCK!" I wailed.
"You didn't suck. You really didn't."
I looked at him, all snotty and tear stained and disgusting.
"I mean it." he went on, "there were a few people in there that sucked WAY more than you - I promise!"
That made me laugh, and then and there Grant Show won my respect.He was actually a GOOD actor, AND he was GENUINELY NICE!

"Look, there's a party tonight. You should come." he said.
"Thanks, but I have Max." I heaved through my shame filled tears.
"So, bring him. It's not a wild club party or anything. It's at my friend's place. He's got a really nice place, probably nice food - and you guys can crash at my place if it gets too late. No problem."
I wiped my face on my sleeve and looked at this perfect looking guy. Why was he being so nice? To me?

Oh well, 'Life is short', I thought. I took Max to the party, we had a great time. I got a little drunk (I was SOOOO upset at my bad review) and we slept at Grant's for the first time. He was a gentleman. Absolutely. He gave us the living room, and he went on in to his bedroom.He had a girlfriend in New York. What a good guy.

At the end of the first semester of school, we all had to put our Shakespeare scenes up in front of EVERYONE. All of the other students and teachers - everyone.
Naturally, I was terrified.
But I had been working hard.
Pamela had told me that I should feel rooted - that I should imagine my feet literally being roots that grew from the earth like tree roots. OLD tree roots. HEAVY tree roots.

Again, Grant went before us. Again, they did well.

Then it was our turn. I had borrowed clothes that fit me a little better. I pulled my hair from my face and clipped it there. I channelled that bitch of a queen like a freaking psychic. I OWNED the space. That stage - that KINGDOM - was MINE. I'd be DAMNED if any famous Shakespearean teacher told me I couldn't do GERTRUDE!

When we finished the scene, we got a standing ovation.
That was all well and good - but I was looking for Dame Pamela. I wanted my DUE.
She came on the stage, straight away. Held our hands up like champion boxers who have just won a match. Then she turned to me.

"Well, dear. You DID it. You REALLY did." She KISSED my hand, and then my partner's. "Fantastic work, loves! FANTASTIC!"

There was wine and cheese to be had after our scene (the last one) - and all the teachers to mingle with. I felt triumphant. They all came up to me and praised the scene, the work. But the best of all was when Pamela came up to me in private.
"Well, you've convinced me. That you belong here. It was quite fantastic, Jennifer. I love to see that determination."
"Well, thank you." I said, taking it in.
"I really didn't think you belonged here - with the baby and everything. You showed me raw emotion from the very first day - loads of it. But that's simply not enough. You MUST be able to take CARE of yourself, and you MUST be able to DEMAND respect, DEMAND attention on the stage when it needs to be yours. There is no room for timidity, or false humility when one is doing Gertrude. That's why I assigned it to you. I gave you the opposite of what I immediately saw in you. And you have risen to the occasion."
"Thank you. We both worked really hard on the scene."
"Well, it was beautiful. It really was. BUT....have you managed to find a pair of Wellingtons?"
I had to laugh. And almost cry. She was such a hard-ass!

And, NO. I never DID "find" a pair of decent wellies!

Auditioning for 90210...

So, my brother was in town this weekend from Austin, and he took Blue and I to the Beverly Hills Hotel for brunch. Those of you who have checked out this bog, know that place has some memories for me. We brunched pool-side, and it was as glamorous as it should be. Then, afterwards, my brother wanted to find the Playboy Mansion and the Spelling Mansion. Thanks to his i-phone - no problemo. The magic i-phone looked up the addresses of both famous places and lead us there effortlessly on it's navi system.

"Don't you know where the Spelling Mansion is?" my brother asked me.
"No. I've never seen it, except in the tabloids..." I replied.
But that turned out to be a lie. I had seen it (or at least the roof) on numerous occasions. Turns out, the Spelling mansion is exactly on one of my daughter's bus stops. So I've been there dozens of times - only I didn't know it - AND the well placed trees and bushes that were planted to give the giant place privacy have grown up to do just that. So now all you can see of the legendary 'house' (sold in 2009 for $150,000,000.)is the lovely roof. But going there, realizing I see that mansion all the time - reminded me of my first meeting with Aaron Spelling.

'Beverly Hills 90210' was one of my first auditions here. I was still green as a spring day. The casting director was Johanna Ray. She was really cool and attractive, and I really liked her. I got through all the prelim auditions, and - lo and behold was up for the Jenny Garth part at the end. Back then, Mr. Spelling still had his big private office on one of the old Hollywood lots. So, when the final callbacks came around, they happened there. I really didn't know what to expect.

I was ushered to a lobby - nothing special, just the typical thing that I always saw at call backs - and there I sat with all of the other last standing contenders. I remember seeing Jenny Garth in the waiting area. Particularly. I knew she must be up for the same part. And by then, Shannon Doherty had already been cast (that was my understanding - I was up for that role, too, for a minute)But here's the deal - I was NERVOUS. I'm not sure why this audition was worse than some of the others. I guess maybe it was my biggest PART so far. This would have been a BIG JOB. And then, as soon as I got into the room (the waiting room) I could sense that Johanna Ray was really nervous, too. She was flitting around, getting things ready, going in and out of some inner room - and she just seemed NERVOUS.

Johanna came up to me and leaned in close so she could speak softly. "You'll be going in first, Jennifer." she said to me in her lovely English accent.
"Is everything ok?" I asked.
"It's been a nightmare. But don't worry - you'll be fine." she said, giving me not ONE drop more of confidence. SHE didn't look like everything was fine. SHE looked like something terrible had been happening. I imagined her getting chewed out by Aaron Spelling or some producer for some silly reason. And - of COURSE - I was more terrified than ever knowing that I would be going in FIRST.

Johanna and her assistant disappeared into the interior room. Then, after a while, the assistant came out and called me in. She ushered me into Mr. Spelling's legendary 'office', and THIS is what I saw : The whole place was wall to wall tri-colored shag carpeting. The 'tri-colors' were dark brown, mustard and baby shit brown. It was HUGE. A HUGE, open room with a FULL BAR immediately visible in the far corner. And when I say FULL BAR - I mean restaurant style. Mirrored wall in back, with shelves of booze stacked against the mirrors, horseshoe shaped bar with shiny bar tops,and glasses hanging from racks above - just ready to go. I looked over at that bar and immediately imagined 'J.R.' and all kinds of producer types drinking and doing blow off of the shiny bar - laughing and making DEALS.
The other thing that I noticed was that all of the furniture was baby-shit brown leather, circa 1981. And THEN, I took in the 30 MEN that were all sitting there in a semi-circle, waiting for their first victim to walk in the door. That would be me. They were all between 35 -45, I gaged. And right in the middle of all of them - in the middle of a baby-shit brown sofa - was Aaron Spelling himself, with his hand on his wife's, (Candy)thigh. THAT was pretty surreal! There he sat,surrounded by his men and his wife. Candy sat there, smiling, with her cotton-candy blonde hair, and her boobs pushed up to her neck. She looked sweet enough - they both did - but just something out of a BOOK - or a MOVIE. NOT REAL.

In front of the semi-circle of men - right in front of Aaron and Candy - was a chair. That was my spot. I shook hands with Aaron Spelling and Candy Spelling, and a couple of other people, and by the time I sat down in that chair - I WAS TOAST. Hands sweating, not able to think, practically dizzy - it was all so bizarre! I was terrified.

As I read the 'sides' with Johanna Ray, I was acutely aware that I was letting her down. The papers in my hands were shaking. I was shaking. I could feel sweat starting to drip down my inner thigh in my short little micro-mini skirt. I could feel my voice shaking. I kept looking at little, old Aaron Spelling and his wife, sinking into that ugly couch - not able to concentrate on the EASY (let's face it) copy in front of me. In short - I SUCKED. TERRIBLE. Quelle horrible!

I left feeling mortified and a total failure. Certain that I would never see Miss Johanna Ray again - let alone Aaron Spelling or anyone else in that room.I should have been packed up and sent back to Texas after that humiliation. I looked at Jenny Garth and just shook my head as I left. Trying to let HER know that she had NO competition.I went back to Max in Korea town and hugged him tight. I needed something REAL to ground me. And Max was always that.

Funny thing is....that WASN'T my last audition for Mr. Spelling. He must have seen SOMETHING he liked (Lord knows what!), because he asked me in for every TV show he did in the coming years. We just had bad timing, though. Seems like every time I got called in for a Spelling show - I was pregnant.

The last time, I was auditioning for a bitchy nurse in a hot tub.My agent called me up.
"OK, Jennifer. So - Aaron's asking for you, AGAIN. You know the drill -they just want you to wear something tight for the call back. You know how to do this - push your boobs up, short skirt - you know how to do this."

"Ummm....I can't."
"You can't WHAT!?"
"I can't wear something tight."
"WHY NOT!??"
"I'm pregnant."
There was a long pause from my agent's side of the line. By this time, it was no longer Jeri Scott. This was YEARS later.
Finally she sighed and said, "Again?"

I went in to meet with Mr. Spelling anyway. It was in Beverly Hills - a whole different place. A lot less people were in the room, too.I wore a black jacket that was low cut, and covered my slightly bigger than usual belly, a short skirt, high heels - trying to look as though I were all legs. (pay no attention to that middle bit! These are NOT the droids you are looking for!)

By this time, Mr. Aaron Spelling and I were ALMOST friends. We were on a friendly basis, anyway. He smiled at me and said, "You're looking good, Jennifer. You look....radiant."
"Why thank you!" I smiled in return.
I read the scene, and when it w was over, I could tell he was pleased.
"That was just great, Jennifer." he said, then he whispered something to the casting director.
She, in turn, asked me to remove my jacket.
"Well...I can't. I mean I can...but I'm pregnant. I'm sorry." I felt bad about wasting their time - I had suggested to my agents that I not go at all. Aaron Spelling had a very STRICT 'you're not allowed to get knocked up while working on my show' policy. He actually insisted that every actress sign an agreement to that effect.
"OH goodness." Aaron sighed as he shook his head at me in a fatherly way. "Our timing isn't so hot, is it kid?"
"No. I guess not."
"How far along?" he asked kindly.
"Eight months."
"Well, you look great. You really do. But you know we can't use you. How many is it now? Kids?"
"Well, this will be number 4."
Aaron motioned for me to come over to him. He leaned over and took both of my hands in his.He held them and sort of patted them while we spoke. His eyes twinkled like you wouldn't believe. And as he spoke to me like that, holding my hands, I couldn't help imagining how fun it would be to work for him. He could be my surrogate, Hollywood dad. It'd be great! I'd bring the kids over to the mansion for a swim, Candy would bring out lemonade...I could see it all!

"We've been through quite a few years together now, Jennifer." he said sweetly. I nodded. We sure had. "And I hope you know how much I've wanted to hire you over these years. Would love to help you out with that little family. Remember 'Melrose Place'?"
I nodded sheepishly. I had been preggers for that one, too.
"I really appreciate it, Mr. Spelling."
"Well, I can't hire you to be in a bikini right now, but we'll work together one of these days. How about you take a break from having all of those kids - we can fit some work in?"
"Good plan. Thank you, again. So much."
Mr. Aaron Spelling kissed the side of my hand. "Good luck, kid."

Those were the last words I ever heard from him, and the last time I saw him. But it was not my last connection to Jenny Garth.

Hollywood is a small, small world.

Scrub- a- Dub- Dub!

Thanks to Max and Clark, this house has become unofficially sponsored by Loreal. UNOFFICIALLY. There are, in fact, so many cans of hairspray, tubes of conditioner, various jars of serums and scrubs, the bathroom, AND Max's room have become QUITE over run. Don't get me wrong! I love all the free stuff to try out - but we are suddenly in need of MUCH more cabinet space!

And after so many people have asked me how I keep my skin looking young,and complimented me on my skin in particular, AND I've had the opportunity to use myself as a lab rat for months (with ALL of these free products to play with) - I thought I'd give you the rundown on the products.

As my friend Richard said recently at a baby shower, "It's for the girls and the gays!" (shaking his pretty blonde hair). Heterosexual men may now stop reading - UNLESS you have an interest in making your hair into some crazy shape or style and keeping it that way all night long....

In which case, I must start with the HAIRSPRAY! Loreal Elnett extra strong hold hair spray will hold the CRAP out of your hair for an entire night. You can pompadour it, Bardot it, curl it - whatever - and this stuff will keep it together. SUPER strong. And it does - as it claims - pretty much disappear at the stroke of a brush.

That being said - I'm going to go ahead and tell you that ALL of the NEW Loreal HAIR products are pretty darn impressive, and worth the money.(NOT very expensive!) They've come out with a whole range of sulfate free products, and anyone who knows anything about sulfates - knows that they dry your hair and skin out. If you have super, uber fantastic hair already, like my Aunts and Mom - no worries. But if you have fine hair like me - or colored hair - THESE products are WORTH the money! I especially love the Ever Strong Deep Repleneshing Masque (for hair), and the brand new, Ever Sleek (sulfate free) Humidity Defying Leave in Creme. The new products in the orange containers smell really good, too. A little more girly than their green predecessors.

Skin cleansers - the teenagers and young rock stars around here are really liking all these new GO 360 degrees skin cleansers. All of them seem to be much used and loved by the younger gen in this household. As for me - I prefer my Aveeno Skin Brightening Scrub. I swear by it. I (obviously) have older skin - and I have NO right - NO RIGHT at all to have skin as good as I do. I've never had expensive peels or lasers, or ANYTHING like that. I DON'T sleep,(As many of you know), I drink too much,I don't exercise enough, I have NO willpower about - well basically anything - and I don't have particularly great genes in this area. Both of my younger brothers look years older than I do - so I'm going to have to give my products a LOT of credit. That, and eating avocados. That's all I've got.

So, after trying out a TON of new Loreal Youth Code products, including the Serum Intense, the Day lotion with SPF 30, and the super fancy looking Youth Code Day/Night creme - I'm going to have to rate those products as 'don't waste your money'. They just aren't worth it. Sorry, Loreal - LOVE the hair products - no love for this new YOUTH CODE stuff.

I'm going to have to stick with my Olay Regenerist - fragrance free, day and night. I LOVE it! If I could afford to, I'd buy gallons of it and use it on my whole body.
The other product I LOVE and SWEAR by - is Borghese eye cream. You can find it (in the US) at that GLAMOROUS little shop called COSTCO. YUP. It's a Kirkland brand. And as much as a 'small, local shop' snob as I am - I would go to COSTCO JUST for this eye cream. It doesn't have any nonsense in it - it's just simple and great. AND CHEAP! $14.99 for the eye cream and the other cream - which I just use on my hands, or give to my 'gay husband', because it has a bit of fragrance and I have sensitive skin.

That's all for now, darlings! If you like any of these stories,reviews, what have you - please feel free to share them! And, one more time - I have to say - I LOVE the questions! Thank you, thank you for reading !

Pen helps me celebrate 'Baltimore', and i discover his apartment...

I told my pretty cousin that I might write about Lyle Lovett tonight, because she reminded me about him on facebook. But before I can do that, I need to lay down some history. So - tonight, I jump back to Mr. Pen Pendleton, and his courtship of me.

After our crazy Valentine's night fiasco, we got back on track in fairly short order.
It was pilot season (when all the new pilots - TV shows - are cast and put into production)and I was busy, busy, busy! But Pen was persistent, and I had 2 fantastic babysitters to help me out. Patrick Voetberg, and Cooper Bates. I couldn't have asked for 2 cooler, more fantastic men to hang out with my little boy.

Pen lived all the way out in Venice, on the canals, and I lived up in the Eastern section of the Hollywood Hills (just above where I live now) - in other words - a HAUL. But Pen was always very good about making the drive to my side of the world. He always showed up in a beautiful vintage car, or on a beautiful vintage motorcycle, and he always had candy in his pockets for Max. He also had the best tickets in town for US in his pockets. Elvis Costello, Tom Waits (before we met him), the MTV Music awards, John Prine, the Meat Puppets, the list went on and on... And although he had a 'real job', he was no square. He was an ad exec at Chiat Day - a super cutting edge, groovy advertising agency in Venice. And he HAD been a drummer with punk rock bands in Arizona (he was good friends with the Meat Puppets) before this current 'real job'. He was a walking encyclopedia of trivia and pop culture (which was fun), and all around, a pretty darn fun guy to date!

AND - he wasn't threatened by my acting at all. He was SUPER supportive. Which was a really nice change of pace after David's pouting and sulking at every job that I got. With Pen, I could be HAPPY about it.I didn't feel obligated to feel guilty. THIS was great. This was GREAT!

So, when I got my first pilot that year, I was thrilled to call Pen up and tell him.

"I got it, I got it, I got it!!!!" I yelled on the phone to him (still at work).
"WHICH ONE!!???" Pen asked.

I had been up for a couple - and they were BOTH great scripts.
"BALTIMORE!!!" I yelled happily into the phone. Pen was FROM Baltimore. Old school Baltimore at that! He had DEEP roots there - what a FUN co-incidence! 'Baltimore' was an AWESOME script by Jay Tarses (The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd - which my NYC friend, Drew McVety was in)- and I had landed the second lead of a bratty, sex-kitten sister who plays the flute in a jazz band and causes her older sister misery. It was a GREAT part, and a GREAT script - I was SO excited!!!!

I could practically hear Pen tearing up with happiness on the other end of the line (he was emotional - in a good way) "That is SO GREAT!!! Jen!!! We have to celebrate!!"
"Yes, yes, YES!!!" I yelled, swinging Max around the room.
"Look - this is what we'll do..."Pen said confidently, "I'll pick you up at seven-thirty, we'll go to dinner at Spago's, and then, maybe drinks at the Beverly Hills Hotel - a real Hollywood night! What do you say?"
"I don't have a sitter!!!" I burst out, tickling Max into a corner of the couch. He was so happy, too. He KNEW something BIG was up!
"Just let me worry about that." said Mr. Pen Pendleton.
So I did.

Pen picked me up in his bright orange Pantera for this special evening. His cherry racing car that made every man that saw it drool, and vibrated underneath you when you were driving in it like a monster that was being held back in his cage. We roared up to Spago, and floored the valet parkers. (they were ALWAYS impressed beyond words)And then, my gentle readers, I hate to disappoint you, but what happened then was VERY unimpressive. We were shown to a table outside - lawn furniture - surrounded by old ladies with fake boobs, fake tans and false eyelashes, and after a long wait, served cold, rubbery lobster. Imagine a long, skinny balloon deflating, and that whiny, farty sound it makes as it does so. That was Spago. Wolfgang Puck, my ass. There is NO excuse for cold, rubbery lobster - ESPECIALLY at THOSE prices!!!! NO! ESPECIALLY EVER!

Anyway, after that, Pen drove us to the Beverly Hills Hotel and announced that he had made a reservation to spend the night. He looked at me like a hopeful kid when you're opening a present from them. But I just couldn't do it.

"What about Max?" I asked. "did you get an overnight babysitter?"
"Yes. All taken care of."
"I....I don't want to stay here." I said.
Pen looked confused and hurt. "Why not?" he asked.
I didn't have the heart to tell Pen that I had made my first date with Gary Kasparov here - in one of the UBER fancy bungalows - and - I didn't want to - I don't know... I didn't want to mess that memory up. It's hard to explain, but - that WAS a - well, a CRAZY, FUN, fantastical memory. It would have been like 'crossing the streams' - you know - in Ghost Busters. Something like that.

"Let's go to your place" I suggested.
Pen looked REAL worried. "Uh...that's not a good idea.." he said. Of course that made me want to go all the more.
"Why not? I want to see your place."
"It's REALLY messy." he finally came out with.
"Oh - that's ok! I have a kid - you've seen MY place! I don't mind. Really!"
"No. I mean..it's REALLY MESSY. We shouldn't go there."
"Well, I better know what I'm in for sooner or later. I think we should go. Don't worry.I don't mind. It's better than if you're a clean freak."

So, we went to his place.
It was charming on the outside. A coveted apartment on the Venice Canals. Really quaint. But as soon as we got inside the door - I was taken aback. Even in the dark.
Glamorous Pen Pendleton's apartment looked and smelled a little bit like an episode of 'Hoarders'. No joke.
But I had said I wanted to go - so I was there. We were in his car, anyway - so I was stuck. Pen picked me up and carried me through the ...stuff...I couldn't really see what it all was, but some of it didn't smell good, I can tell you that...and into his bedroom.
His bedroom was filled with stuff, too. Clothes, stuff, papers, magazines - again - he kept it DARK - that was good. His bed was a beautiful, old antique piece, and the inches of furniture that were visible above the mayhem looked like beautiful, expensive antiques - but the furniture was absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of chaotic STUFF. This MAY have been a 'red flag' that should have been paid attention to, all that time ago.

Strangely, my friend, Drew McVety, whom I mentioned earlier in this post, ended up staying at this very apartment not many months later. I shall have to call upon his memory and ask him what state HE found that apartment in....but that (as we say) is another story, for another night.

Max is banished from MoMA.

This story happened when I was doing the Broadway show in New York - before Peter came to visit. It was just Max and I most days, before and after rehearsal, and on the weekends.
Max was one and a half, and I would zip him up in this puffy,blue snow suit, pop him into his stroller, and we'd take off for ADVENTURES IN THE CITY!

My favorite children's book store was right around the corner on Seventh Ave. (when I saw 'You've got Mail' much later, I thought that book store could have been based on OUR little store around the corner!) We spent a lot of time there, and I started acquiring a great collection of children's books. I tried to do everything I could with rambunctious, little Max - but I quickly discovered that, A : it's really hard getting in and out of subway terminals by yourself with a heavy toddler and a stroller and a big diaper bag. And, B : that it is next to IMPOSSIBLE to find anywhere in New York City to accomplish the complicated task of changing the diaper of a squiggly child who is zipped up inside a one-piece snow suit.

However; I let neither of these things deter me. I was determined to show Max the best the city had to offer, and have a great time doing it.
So, one freezing Saturday, I got all of our stuff together, and we headed for the Museum of Modern Art. One of my very favorite places in the whole wide world.

I freed Max from the puffy,blue suit, and we had a grand time looking at all the art. Then, I decided it would be oh-so-glamorous to have lunch in the brand new cafe upstairs. The hostess looked at us dubiously, and finally sat us on the very edge of the noisy, crowded room. I didn't mind - it was a MUCH better spot to be in with a little kid. We were over by the entrance, by a white wall with a HUGE, grey sculpture hanging on it. It looked like a giant, cubist spider. I looked at it thoughtfully during lunch, shaking my head. I didn't like it. Maybe I didn't get it. The thing was probably 9 feet tall and six feet wide at it's widest. "At least it's BIG.." I thought. "Maybe you can get away with anything if it's big enough."

I ordered 2 glasses of good white wine during lunch, in an attempt to make the busy waiter stop glaring at me. And Max was pretty well behaved. He didn't make a big mess or anything. But then, we were waiting for the bill. And waiting. And WAITING. Our waiter was slammed, the whole place was PACKED, and he just forgot about us. So, when Max started getting really restless, I let him get down from his high-chair and do some exploring.He hid under the table, made cute faces at the cranky old man sitting next to us, and then, just as I thought I was going to catch our waiter's eye, Max toddled over to the giant grey spider sculpture hanging on the wall behind me.

I turned around to see what he was doing, and at that moment, everything melted into slow motion. Max reached the sculpture in SLOOOOOWWWWW MOOOOOOOTIOOOONNN...Max patted the sculpture in SLLLLOOOOWWWW MOOOTTTIOOOONNN...then the unthinkable happened - the GIANT SPIDER THING FELL ON MAX'S LITTLE BLONDE HEAD in ....(you got it!)... SLOOOOOOOWWWWWW MMMOOOTTTIOOOOONNNN!

There was a terrible CRACK sound as the sculpture hit his head and broke into three pieces. It was LOUD. Then....SILENCE. It was like a scene in a movie. The whole place just FROZE! Every uber-glamorous head in there whipped around, their gazes fixed, astonished, on Max.
Max was silent, too. For just a MOMENT. He was STUNNED. We ALL were STUNNED. Then, he took a deep breath and WAILED at the top of his lungs.

I broke out of my stunned fixation and rushed over to him. Thank GOD he was ok enough to WAIL! "What is this thing MADE of anyway!??" I thought, as I looked him over and held him.
I felt his head for blood. There didn't seem to be any, but there was already a huge goose egg forming on the top of his head where the thing had landed.
I looked at the sculpture, now in open pieces around us on the floor. I could see the inside of it. It was made of wire and paper machete with heavy, stucco-like paint slathered on top like frosting (only GREY). No wonder it had made that cracking sound, and no wonder little one and a half year old Max was relatively ok.

Before I knew it, I was surrounded by people. I looked up and recognized one of the faces that was looking down at me in horror.
It was my old boss. From the American Festival Cafe (in Rockefeller Center),where I had finally found a job the last time I lived in NYC. We had all opened that restaurant together. It was a super fun job, and my boss was gorgeous. Apparently, she was now managing this cafe. But she had no time to be sympathetic, because just as we were realizing we knew each other,a team of security guards surrounded Max and I, and told everyone else to back OFF.

The security guys were hard core.
They all had walkie talkies, and they barked at me to get out of the rubble with Max, instructed me to have a seat with him and "DON'T MOVE!"
Then they made a chalk outline of the sculpture on the ground - just like in cop shows, with dead bodies. One of them told me I might be arrested. I was terrified. I think Max was,as well. He snuggled up on my lap, whimpering. And his head must have still been hurting, too.

And then we waited. People asked me questions. And we waited. More questions. More waiting. They took my driver's license and copied it. Filled out forms with my address, work address, etc. They were very rude. More waiting.
"Excuse me.." I asked one of the burly guards. "Would you mind telling me WHAT we're waiting FOR, exactly?"
"The curator." he barked.
"Well, I need to change his diaper. And I need to use the ladies room, too. We've been waiting almost 2 hours."
"Be glad you're not waiting in jail." he replied.
Then he arranged for one of the guards to come into the bathroom with me while I changed Max's diaper. He wouldn't leave so I could pee, so I just did it with him in there.

A few moments after I came out of the lady's room, A handsome man in a beautiful navy suit walked in and a couple of the security guys rushed over to greet him, speaking in hushed tones. This must be the curator we had all been waiting for. Now, I would be going to jail.
The handsome curator glanced over at me, with Max getting bored and squirmy in my lap. Then he looked at the big, broken spider on the floor. I felt guilty about my kid breaking what I assumed was a HUGELY EXPENSIVE piece of modern art - but I would have been HEART BROKEN if it had been a Rodin, or a Pollock or a Matisse.
Next, the handsome curator looked at the wall where the piece had been hanging. He put his hands in his pockets, then stepped over the broken spider and came right over to me. He sat in the chair next to mine, pulling it very close to us.

"Is your little boy alright?" he asked.
I shook my head, 'yes', and started to tear up. It was the first time anyone had asked about MAX being alright. We had just been treated like criminals. My adorable,blonde one and a half year old hooligan and myself - as if we had gone to the museum that day with the INTENT of destroying some art.
"Are you alright?" he asked me in his warm voice (did I hear the tiniest hint of a Southern accent?) He looked in my eyes with concern and put his hand on my arm. I nodded again. He looked familiar. Where had I seen THIS face? I was trying REALLY hard not to cry.
"Look, it's going to be ok. Don't worry about anything. And it's not your fault. That huge sculpture was hanging on the wall, unprotected, by ONE NAIL. Look..." he pointed to the wall to show me. "...You see? It could have fallen on anyone. That was just crazy. We'll have you sign some forms, and then we'll let you get out of here. I'm really sorry I kept you both waiting for so long."
I started crying a little bit, partly from relief."I feel just HORRIBLE! I am so, so sorry!"I told the sweet man.
"Well, don't feel THAT bad. Between you and I,"(he leaned in close to say this)"..it wasn't my favorite piece."

I signed a bunch of forms that I barely looked at. The head security guard explained to me that Max was not going to be allowed back into the museum until after his 18th birthday. That was the meaning of one of those forms. I had to sign my agreement to never bring him back as a child.
We were escorted out of the museum, and I hurried back to our apartment as fast as I could.

The handsome curator was Kirk Varnedoe. He had looked familiar because he was the BRAND NEW curator, and I had seen his photo in the papers. Modern art was his THING.

Just between us, Max HAS gone back to MoMA. And before he was 18, too. And I've been back many times - but we've always gone separately, and we didn't get arrested.

And,no. It never, ever, ONCE occurred to me that I could have sued the museum.

Max gets an earing and Brad almost burns the house down.

Back in the day, I used to host BIG Thanksgivings here. And Brad Hennigan (from the Dallas Theater Center blogs) was my trusty side-kick/co-host/MAIN MAN in the kitchen. The 2 of us were a formidable team. And money wasn't so tight as it is now, so we did it UP. Back then, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. I'm talking 35 - 40 guests,3 or 4 big tables in what was the formal front room (the biggest one),200 bucks worth of fresh flowers from the flower mart, Brad and I at our foodie best, working in perfect synch to try to out do ourselves from the year before - and anything from the bar you could possibly have a craving for.

This Thanksgiving that I am referring to was at the HEIGHT of those glory years. Brad announced to me about a week before the day that he wanted us to do TWO turkeys this year. HE would be in charge of our first experiment in deep frying a whole turkey.
Brad did his research, bought a whole MESS of stuff from Costco, and other fabulous places, set up a deep frying station on the side my house, and proceeded to pour gallons of vegetable oil into a huge cauldron that was heating up on a propane stove out there. THEN, as I was making giant baking pans of andouille sausage and apple stuffing, Brad came into the kitchen and brought forth a huge syringe which he used to inject his bird with Cajun spices. ""Fabulous!", I thought.

Max, in particular, was ultra fascinated with this turkey frying concept. Probably because of the open fire aspect of the project. All of my children have inherited my pyromaniac tendencies - but, Max, is the worst of us all. He was about 12 years old at the time, and had bright blue hair.

People started to file in, the house was smelling delicious, the kids were all running around, I was juggling 3 or 4 things at once in the kitchen, when Brad walked in the side door with a bit of sweat on his brow and a slightly concerned look on his face.
"Jennifer." he said in his deep, commanding voice. "Do you have a fire extinguisher handy?"

Before I could answer, Max ran in right after him shouting, "Brad caught the tree on fire! The house is going to burn down!" (He said this more gleefully than afraid. I think Max was quite looking forward to what would have been a spectacular bonfire.)
Lickety split - my brother, Marcus, James Brown, and Matt all rushed to scene of the fire with Brad. I don't remember HOW it was exactly dealt with in all the commotion, but the Texas Men got that fire out quick, moved the boiling cauldron to a safer location, and hosed down the roof. (just in case.) Texas is a hot bed of racist, sexist backward pigs, but generally men from that state know how to hunt, fish, fix things and put out fires.

Brad's cajun-spice-injected-deep-fried turkey turned out GREAT! And of course we all laughed about the incident all through dinner. That was a great one.
Then, as I was whipping up the cream for pies, Izzy came into the kitchen and ratted out her brother.
"Uncle Marcus is putting a NEEDLE through Max's EAR!" she informed me.
I just looked at her like she was crazy.
"I don't think so, honey." I said to my ridiculously pretty daughter. "He wouldn't do that."
"He is, he is!" she claimed, clearly worried about the whole thing.

So, I washed my hands and went back into the front room where everyone was still hanging out, talking, digesting. Sure enough, Marcus had a needle through Max's ear, and a few people were gathered around chiming in with their advice.

"What are you doing!?" I exclaimed.(No one had consulted ME!)
"Oh. Well, he wanted his ear pierced, so I just did it. Don't worry, it's all done." my brother said, matter of factly.
"Well, I didn't sign off on that." I declared, a little miffed.
"I ASKED him to, Mom. It barely hurt - don't worry." said Max.
"Well, that's not the point. You can't just do stuff like that without asking my permission."
"Look," Marcus responded, "the kid has BLUE HAIR. I didn't think you'd mind if he got an ear pierced."

It was not a battle worth fighting, so I let it go. I didn't really mind about the piercing, I just minded about Max not ASKING first.

Then, Christmas break rolled around, and Max went to visit his father in Texas - who then took the family (his new family) to Florida.
Max called me up late one night, shortly after they got there. He was sobbing.

"Mom! I want to come home! I hate my dad!!" he burst out on the phone.
"WHY? What happened?" I asked. It was HORRIBLE to hear Max cry from so far away and feel helpless to do anything.
"Well, we went out on the boat today, and my dad called me a fag and a homo! He HATES me!"
"Oh NO!" I said, my heart breaking for Max. He was coming from such a different world than the one his dad lived in. In his dad's world, men DON'T cry, they DON'T have blue hair, and they DON'T have earings. Not even in the nineties.
"He said only fags have earings, Mom! He was so mean about it, too!"
"I'm so sorry, honey." I said. "your dad doesn't mean that. He's just really different than me - and different than, you know, people in California.."
"He's been giving me a hard time about my hair, and it's barely even blue anymore. And he's been giving me a hard time about the earing the whole time, and then today he called me a fag and asked me if I was gay...but in a mean way." Max's voice was starting to calm down a little bit. That made me feel a lot better.
"...And then I just looked right back at him and said, 'What ARE you? A homophobe?'"
"No! You DIDN'T!!!??" I practically howled. (that's my BOY!!!)
Max finally laughed a little then, "Yea. I did. I really did."
I couldn't believe it! What a great kid! I was laughing now - that made me so happy!
"And what did HE say?!" I asked.
Max laughed again, "He just looked at me. And I said, 'Do you even know what a homophobe IS, dad?' That pretty much shut him up."

I was howling with laughter.
That cheered Max up.
And when I got off the phone with him, I kept thinking about that scene. It was one of those moments when I felt like I was doing the right thing as far as how I was raising my kid. I was super proud of him.

We STILL talk about how great that deep fried turkey was to this very day. As far my kids are concerned - Brad's turkey that year ranks as 'best of all time'.

Marcy thinks Tom Waits is a homeless man.

I had Max when I was sooooo young. And my ideas about 'raising' children were and are very different from lots of people - I am convinced partly BECAUSE I was so young. I was so young when I had Max, that I distinctly remembered being a child myself, and having thoughts like, "I am NOT going to be a hypocrite like my parents, or lie to my kids. They'll know it, anyway, if they're smart."

That was just one thought that I had, remaining from my days as a pretty smart 11 and 12 yr old, looking straight at my parents as they said "Don't do drugs.", when I had JUST seen them go over to our neighbor's house to smoke pot. But there were other thoughts, too. For instance, the first school I put Max into in LA was called the Page School. It's still there - down on Larchmont. He hated it, and I hated it. He hated it because his teacher was old and fat and yelled at him, and he had to sit at a desk as a FIVE year old boy all day, except for 2 short recess breaks. I hated it for the same reasons AND because when I came to pick him up,(often early), all of the boys were playing war games on one side of the playground, and all of the girls were on the OTHER side - NOT interacting - and playing with dolls. It was supposed to be a "respectable" private school with uniforms and high test marks - but I just DIDN'T get it. So, I let Max miss as many days as we could there, dragged him around to auditions with me instead, and started to look for a more inspired school. That's right - INSPIRED! I happen to think teaching future generations SHOULD be as INSPIRED as possible.

And after searching, I found The Oaks. The Oaks was a school inside of a beautiful church building, but not religious at all, with a progressive way of teaching, where a first grade little boy would NOT be required to sit STILL at a DESK for most of the day. And it was CLOSE, AND class started at 9am!!!! Glory hallelujah! I LOVED Max's first grade teacher, and she loved Max. It was a big ole' LOVE-fest at The Oaks all the way through 5th grade (when it was over).

Anyway, I made friends with the couple that lived right down the street from our new house (the house I still live in), and Max made friends with their little boy, Nick, before first grade even started. Nick Fink was an adorable, funny child, and his parents were super cool - his dad worked at Cal Arts, and his Mom (Marcy) made fantastic barbecued chicken, and they lived in one of the COOLEST houses in the Hollywood Hills.

The first day of school, I was there, as were many parents, sort of hanging about - just seemed like we were all so PLEASED to have our kids in this very WORTHY school. I have always postulated that a school can be judged FIRST by the children that attend, and secondly by the parents that send their children there. Or maybe that should be reversed. In any case... the kids AND the parents at The Oaks School, that first day, seemed reluctant to go home. It was a party atmosphere. These kids were going to have FUN! And maybe learn something while they were at it. All the grownups just wanted to stay. ILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIEILOVESOPHIE

Ok, Sophie just wrote all that while I was in the bathroom, taking a leak. It's TOOOOOO damn funny, so I'm leaving it in!

Among the parents who couldn't seem to leave that first day were myself, Marcy, her husband (Mike), and a scruffy man with wild curly hair who had arrived late, and kept growling at his little boy, "Casey. Everything ok here? I don't want to be called in the middle of the day...just take it easy, ok, kid?"
His little boy, Casey, was paying NO attention to his father. Casey and Max had already entered into the full-on party atmosphere of the first day, and I left feeling a little sorry for that sweet teacher.

The weekend after school started, Marcy and Michael Fink threw a birthday party for Nick, right down the street from me. It was a great way for the parents to get to know each other, and the kids, come to think of it. Marcy made her great chicken, the kids slipped around on a 'slip and slide', and it was a super fun day. And as Marcy sat down next to me on the steps (they had these endless steps up to the house from their front lawn), she put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially.
"What do you think of the school?" she asked me.
"Oh - it's great. Max already loves it."
"I just think they are SO progressive.." Marcy said.
"Oh yea." I agreed. "You should have seen Max's school LAST year. It really sucked. He thought he was going to prison every day."
"And I LOVE that they are so generous with scholarships and things.." Marcy continued, as her husband sat down next to her.
"I mean, did you SEEE that one family? That one FATHER? I think they're homeless...but I mean, that's SO great that the school is going that far."
"What are you talking about?" interjected Michael, her husband.
"That one homeless man on the first day of school. I'm pretty sure he's homeless.SUCH a cute kid, though."
"The one in the brown jacket?" Michael asked her incredulously.
"YEeeeessss..." Marcy drew it out.
"That's TOM WAITS. He's not HOMELESS. He's one of my all time HEROES! I can't BELIEVE you though he was HOMELESS!" Michael burst into laughter, and then we ALL burst into laughter.
"That's TOM WAITS??!!?" Marcy said as we all choked on our chicken from laughter.
"YES!" Michael replied. "I can't believe you didn't recognize him!"
I was having so much fun, and laughing so hard, I couldn't say a thing.
Michael (who taught MUSIC at Cal Arts) just looked at me and shook his head.

Well, you never know, do you?

Casey Waits turned out to be Max's best friend through fifth grade and beyond, and a little demon child (in the beginning)...but that's another story, for another night.

Well, maybe a FEW stories.