I was sitting here on my couch watching the news, and I remembered a funny story from my first year of college. My roommate whom I’ll call Julia asked me, “What’s your major?”
I responded, “Journalism.” At the time, USC had one of the best journalism schools in the country and I had written a brilliant bullshit essay to get into the school. Getting my degree in broadcast journalism at an expensive university was easier to explain to my father than my true ambition—to be an actress.
Then Julia asked, “If your major is journalism, how come you never watch the news?”
I spoke before thinking (a bad habit in my youth), “I hate the news; it’s depressing.” When I saw the look on Julia’s face, I realized I had no business taking that spot in the journalism school. I dropped out the next day and changed my major to theatre. My father was not pleased when he found out, but that’s another story.

The funny thing is … now I watch the news all the time. I am a News Junkie; it is my drug. I watch CNN, Fox, even MSNBC. I read The Week, an awesome magazine that provides all points of view on a variety of subjects. I can tell you when I started paying attention to the world—when my sister Adrienne died. You see, I was so busy pursuing my dream, trying to earn a decent living, and later being a parent, that I didn’t make time to watch all of the ugliness around me. (At least that’s my excuse.) Maybe my conversation topics at dinner parties were limited, but I have always gotten by on my smile and my charm. I knew I was the ditzy, funny redhead of the “group”; in fact, my friends often compared me to Lucille Ball. “If only you could get your own sitcom,” they would say.

I liked playing that role. I miss That Girl. Goofy, ignorant me didn’t know anything about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and it didn’t bother me even though my former-roommate-turned-best-friend Julia was Jewish. Hell, it didn’t bother her either because Julia loved being the super-intellectual. Her favorite phrase was, “Does that make sense?” because we dimwits could not possibly comprehend her level of genius. The difference between Julia and me is that I knew I was smart but I never felt a need to prove it. I was comfortable being Lucy because in her shoes, the world was beautiful.

Ever since Adrienne died, I have been trying to figure out who I am. Being her parent gave me an identity that completed me, more than anything I have ever experienced in my entire life. Having that taken away from me—having her taken away from me—I struggle every day to find not only my identity, but also some beauty in this ugly world.
I found a butterfly lying on the ground in our backyard yesterday; it was dead. Perfectly intact, yet devoid of life. I lay the creature with its delicate yellow wings in our pomegranate tree because I didn’t want our dog Winston to step on it.

I don’t know if the butterfly is still there because I cannot bear to look. I need that brief moment of beauty to get me through the next week.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I think I should stop watching the news or buy a pair of rose-tinted glasses. Either way, I’m open to suggestions.

Even though many people complain that the weather here never changes, Los Angeles has four seasons: Fire, Mudslide, Earthquake, and Riot. I’ve lived in LA more than half of my life now so I’ve experienced its unusual spells. Although I was out of town for the 1994 Northridge earthquake, I was driving on the freeway when one of its biggest aftershocks occurred. I watched in awe and in fear as all of the cars simultaneously shifted into neighboring lanes. After mudslides closed the Hollywood canyons, which commuters use to get to and from the San Fernando Valley, I spent almost three hours driving a mere 18 miles. I was living downtown when the 1992 riots turned LA into a war zone. I’ll never forget seeing military vehicles on the 10 freeway and trying to fall asleep to the sound of chopper blades whirring and anarchy rising. Now it is fire season again. People are losing their homes, the land is burning to a black crisp, and the air quality has been deemed “unhealthy.” Though they light up the night sky, the wildfires always cast a shadow over LA, causing a city, full of stars both fake and real, to lose its shine.

I used to love Los Angeles. I remember when my affair with the City of Angels began. I had arrived for a summer freshmen orientation at the University of Southern California (USC). The campus was (and still is) beautiful. The sun was shining, the temperature was a perfect 75 degrees, and I had never seen so many beautiful men in my entire life. I was sold. I wasn’t even 18 years old yet, but LA had stolen my heart with its beauty, weather, diversity, culture, nightlife, and location—near the beach, mountains, and desert and more than 2,500 miles away from my mother. I didn’t know about the traffic, the air quality, the anonymity, or the character of many Los Angelenos—dense, shallow, tardy, and egocentric. I guess all of that beauty comes with a price.

Despite its flaws, I continued my relationship with LA but on different terms. In 1997, I moved to Burbank (a city that is technically separate from LA) so my sister Adrienne could attend a better school. Four years later, we moved across town to a another house in Burbank—the place where she died. In fact, I’m writing this blog in her bedroom right now, which may disturb some people, but it comforts me. I like to think of her as my muse. Anyway, in October I will have lived here longer than I lived in any other home in my entire life. I never thought I would want to move because I was afraid of leaving Adrienne behind. From her spirit in this house to her grave at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, I didn’t want to abandon her. However, Burbank is still LA, and it began losing its luster the day I lost her.

The irony is that Adrienne loved Los Angeles. Whether she was a hippie in Venice, a rocker in Hollywood, or an ordinary kid in Burbank, she appreciated everything LA has to offer. She accepted its faults. While I had wanted her to attend an Ivy League university far from home, she had planned on going to USC. The one time we argued about it she said, “Forget it, Sissy. I’m not leaving Los Angeles.” Now she will always be here, and I’m the one who wants to go. I can’t escape the pain; it will follow me. But in the City of Angels, my grief outweighs any happiness I might derive from my memories, which haunt me. Maybe when I’m not running into something every day that reminds me of what I’m missing (I don’t need proof), I can finally remember all of the wonderful times I had with my sister—how much joy, humor, and depth she brought into my life.

I want a fresh start in a new place where I can make new memories in a new house with my not-so-new husband. In a small town, I can breathe. Today, I inhaled dirt. It’s over, LA. I’m sorry. You didn’t change … but I did.

AWW — XoXo

Even though Mr. Vick has served his jail sentence and has expressed remorse for his crimes, many people believe that his acts were so evil that he should not be allowed to play professional football again. Perhaps they are forgetting some of sports more notorious villains … the ones who hurt humans.

• Once famous for her triple axels, Tonya Harding is now remembered as the person who attacked Nancy Kerrigan before the 1994 U.S. Figure Skating Championships. Only Harding didn’t do it, her ex-husband and her bodyguard assaulted her biggest rival. Though she maintained her innocence, Harding pled guilty to “hindering the investigation” of the attack; she received a fine, community service, and probation. After conducting its own investigation, the USFSA banned Harding for life from ever participating in their events as a skater or as a coach. Her career has been reduced to a sex tape, Celebrity Boxing, and The Smoking Gun Presents: World’s Dumbest.
• After a Pistons fan threw a cup of beer in his face, Ron Artest, (formerly) of the Indiana Pacers, confronted the wrong man and then punched another fan who had verbally mocked him. His actions in 2004 led to the worst brawl and the longest non-drug or betting related suspension in NBA history. Although Artest was suspended for the rest of the season and lost approximately $7 million in salary, he was not charged with assault. In fact, he didn’t go to jail until he was arrested for domestic abuse in 2007.
• In 1992, boxing weight champion Mike Tyson was convicted of raping Miss Black Rhode Island aka Desiree Washington. He was sentenced to ten years in prison, but was released after only serving three years. He immediately resumed his professional career. Two years later, Tyson assaulted Evander Holyfield by biting off a piece of his right ear during a boxing match. The Nevada State Athletic Commission revoked Tyson’s boxing license, but they reinstated it fifteen months later. Even though he was on probation, Tyson did not return to jail.
• O. J. Simpson may not have been playing professionally when he was arrested for murder in 1994, but as a spokesman and an actor, he had been profiting off his successful sports career for years. A Heisman trophy winner and NFL Player of the Year, the “Juice” parlayed his championship status into endorsement deals as well as film and television roles. Despite a former domestic violence charge, suspicious behavior, and circumstantial evidence, twelve Los Angelenos found Simpson not guilty for the murders of his former wife Nicole Brown and her friend Ron Goldman. He was a free man until he was convicted of armed robbery and kidnapping in 2008. Simpson is currently serving a 33-year sentence, which he plans to appeal.

Hmm … perhaps public perception is shaped by what sport you play, how good you are, and who your victim is. (Mommy says gender, race, and location may be other contributing factors.) In other words, if Mr. Vick was a mediocre golfer who beat up homeless people, maybe no one would care. From where I sit, Mr. Vick can do two things: run dogfighting rings and throw a football. Speaking for my fellow canines—especially the Philly dogs, we don’t want his kind around us. Let him play ball, pay his taxes, and pretend to be sorry. As long as Mr. Vick stays away from us dogs, the NFL can have him.

With three tale thumps and one wet kiss,
Winston

P.S. I would like to thank my mommy for helping me research and type this blog. (My paws are so big that I do not have the manual dexterity to operate a keyboard.) To see more pictures of me, become my friend on Dogbook and Dogster.

Soon after that party, I bought Thriller (on cassette), and later I joined Jackson in being Bad and Dangerous. I tried to imitate his dance moves, but I could barely muster the moonwalk. His music videos continued to astonish the world as well as set a standard that few other artists could touch. Even when his actions seemed strange: his constant need to be around children, the creation of Neverland Ranch, the endless shopping sprees, I (like many others) considered him to be an eccentric Peter Pan. His talent far outweighed any bizarre behavior so I accepted it.

However, my love affair with Jackson ended when the first allegations of child abuse surfaced in 1993. I remember seeing him on television being accosted by reporters and instead of feeling pity, a knot formed in my stomach. Although I’ve never been physically or sexually abused, I consider child abuse worse than murder. Not only are abused children more likely to suffer from psychiatric disorders, commit crimes, and develop drug and alcohol problems, but one out of three will victimize their own children. I never bought another Michael Jackson album because every time I looked at him, my body cringed. I even gave away my copy of Thriller because for years I couldn’t listen to the album that had shaped my childhood.

We’ll never know the truth about the first case because it did not go to trial; the plaintiff’s family settled for an undisclosed amount. When the second case of child molestation emerged in 2003, it seemed more suspect because the victim had already appeared on camera in the documentary Living with Michael Jackson. Holding hands, Jackson and the young teenage boy explained to Martin Bashir why sharing a bed was a beautiful thing. When I watched that segment of the show, goose bumps appeared along my arms as a chill went through my body. Two years later, Jackson was acquitted of all charges, but his image was forever tarnished due to his unorthodox lifestyle.

Though I consider Michael Jackson one of the most brilliant entertainers to have ever lived, he is still a fallible, troubled man who spent his entire adult life chasing the childhood he never had. I don’t think Jackson sodomized any children because I don’t believe he is a true pedophile: an adult who is sexually attracted to young children. In fact, Jackson has always struck me as being asexual. However, compared to our American standards of normal behavior, I am convinced that he was inappropriately affectionate toward young boys. We cannot forget that at a very young age, Jackson was physically abused, exposed to sexual acts (i.e., his older brothers having sex in the same hotel room), and exploited by older, authoritative figures. Therefore, he was predisposed to becoming an abuser.

When I heard the news of Jackson’s death, my first thought was not sadness or surprise, but relief for him. He was never going to escape the media scrutiny or the public’s adoration. Jackson often mentioned in interviews how painfully shy he was, which was ironic considering he was and will always be the King of Pop. No matter how many times he changed his face, Jackson never seemed entirely happy with the Man in the Mirror. Children, however, brought him joy, which may explain why he seemed bewildered by the accusations of molestation. Jackson even told Bashir that if children ceased to exist that he would kill himself. Perhaps his character in the Thriller video said it best, “I’m not like other guys; I’m different.”

With his sudden death, an extraordinary man with an ordinary name, Michael Jackson may have given his three children what he always desired—a normal childhood.

AWW — XoXo

Some people say Kobe isn’t a team player; a viable issue earlier in his career that I feel has been resolved due to strong coaching, increased maturity, and an ever-deepening love for the game. If you don’t believe me on that last point, watch the 2008 Summer Olympics Men’s Basketball Ceremony; Kobe wanted to win for the United States, not for himself. Many people have expressed a dislike for Kobe because he got away with rape. Well, maybe he did, and maybe he didn’t. However, just as I refuse to judge a whole team by one player’s actions, I’m not going to allow my personal opinion of Kobe to taint my view of his athletic abilities. No matter what you think of the man, you cannot deny his talent and skill. Kobe Bryant may not be my favorite NBA player (Michael Jordan stole my heart years ago), but he is one of the greatest basketball players of all time, and he happens to play for the LA Lakers—my local team.

As game five of the NBA Finals approaches, I have some final words for my fellow Los Angelenos. If you are rooting for the Orlando Magic because you are originally from Florida, you have always liked the organization, and/or you have a thing for Dwight Howard, then I wish your team the best of luck. However, if you want the Magic to win simply because you hate the Lakers (i.e. you hate Kobe) then you have no community spirit whatsoever. With or without Kobe, I support the Lakers because they are a Los Angeles sports team. Veteran player Derek Fisher not Kobe saved game four on Thursday night by tying the game and forcing it into overtime. Pau Gasol, Trevor Ariza, and Lamar Odom have contributed more than their fair share during the post-season playoffs. The Lakers are not perfect, but they do represent the “City of Angels.” We should be proud of them.

As for all of you local Lakers Haters (including my husband), I cannot wait to see the looks on your faces when the Lakers win the national championship, their fourth one in the past ten years. Because they will succeed, and when they do, you can kiss my Lakers-loving ass.

AWW — XoXo

If you don’t know by now, Miss USA judge and well-known celebrity blogger Perez Hilton asked Miss California Carrie Prejean if she thought every state should legalize same-sex marriage. She responded honestly that while it was wonderful that Americans have choices, she personally believes that a marriage should be between a man and woman because that is how she was raised. The key points to remember are:

1. She specified she was stating her opinion, and
2. The first amendment of our constitution guarantees her that right.

Some people complain that as Miss California, Carrie has a responsibility to represent our state, and she shouldn’t have revealed her personal opinion. How quickly people forget. Carrie actually reflected the majority. Last November, Californians voted for Proposition 8—a ballot proposition that eliminated same-sex couples’ right to marry. Therefore, the argument that Carrie’s opinion doesn’t “represent” California is false.

I don’t agree with Carrie Prejean. I support gay marriage. I voted against Proposition 8. However, I cannot tolerate intolerance. Was Perez Hilton’s question unfair? Maybe. But you have to admire someone who stuck to her principles and possibly lost the chance to become Miss USA. Even if her answer had been different, Mr. Trump swears she wouldn’t have won anyway, but few people believe him.

We must keep Carrie Prejean as Miss California to show the other 49 states that we believe in free speech—especially when we don’t like what we hear.

AWW — XoXo

The second ouch came when another creditor closed an old account that had a zero balance. Any credit expert will tell you it’s better to  keep an account open—even if you never use it—especially when it has a zero balance. Why? That account helps to lower your debt to credit limit ratio, an important factor in determining your credit score. So by closing my account, which was in good standing, that creditor effectively helped lower my credit rating. Are you sensing a pattern here?

Anyway, the third ouch was my husband’s retirement account statement. He expected a loss, but seeing 16 percent of his retirement gone in one quarter still felt like a punch in the stomach. Luckily, he’s not retiring any time soon.

I’m getting nervous. All of these events occurred within four weeks of each other. Recently, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger stated he may ask the federal government for a loan because California cannot pay its bills. He’s encouraging California residents to buy state bonds, and I’m thinking 1) Why should we? and 2) With what money?

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I forgot to mention that California is on fire again. Sigh.

I’m just glad to know who his friends are …

AWW — XoXo