Holidays in The Sun...

On holiday. Be back on the 6th of January.

The Dangers of Diets

Wow. It's been a while since I posted anything. I think it's been a while since I had anything at all to say. Or I've just been too busy to bother. But today something struck me. And I feel it's time to get this one off my chest, so here we are.

Twice yearly, I come home to the east coast for a visit. The standard visit involves visiting and spending time with friends and family who I don't see everyday. One of these people of course, is my mother. Now, my mother is a fantastic generous person. Sure, she can drive me batshit crazy with the uttering of one simple phrase, but don't we all have that trigger with our parents that just makes you go straight into "rebellious teen" mode?

So here's the thing. A few years ago, I was somewhat overweight. That's not the point. The point is that I saw a problem. I corrected it. I worked out quite a bit, I ate well and I essentially relearned how to eat and how I react to food and temptations regarding food. I found exercise that energizes me and I enjoy. I do that regularly. I have emerged a thin, fit, foodie who regularly indulges in rich, elegant meals and good wine. I maintain this lifestyle and I am happier and more fulfilled for it. My stress levels remain low, as does my blood pressure, my weight and my Body Mass Index.

About the same time, my mother, decided that it was time to get herself a bit thinner as well. However, instead of taking a healthful approach to losing weight, she went on Jenny Craig. I have no problems with the Jenny Craig problem. It works for a lot of people. Hell, it worked for my mother. She lost 70 pounds and 4 years later has maintained her weight.

I arrived home for my visit this time and went straight to the kitchen. Long flight, no significant meal to speak of - you get the idea. There was NOTHING THERE. Wait, I take that back. There was a number of pudding cups and a varied selection of frozen food boxes. All bearing one label. Jenny Craig.

This is my problem. And this is where I run into an issue with every Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, NutriSystem and other similar weight loss program out there - they do not teach you better habits. My mother still has no idea HOW to eat unless it comes out of a prepackaged frozen box and spends 5 minutes in the microwave. I have no idea when the last time a fresh seasonal vegetable passed through my mother's lips. How much REAL nutrition can you get from eating a freeze dried microwaved meal three times a day?

I try to instill better eating habits to her. I explain the reasoning behind the way I eat. I try to tell her that white flour is like glue in your system and most people can't process it, which is why you shouldn't eat it. I worry for her.

She doesn't go out to eat because she can't order within her meal plan. She is missing out on some of the best things in life because she is afraid to go off the "program" and try to eat real food and learn what to eat, what not to eat and when it's okay to break all the rules a little bit.

I actually had to go to the market and buy a chicken when I got here - a whole cooked chicken and a bit of veg to get me through the next 2 days.

It scares me a bit that in a world of so many options that the lifestyle that Jenny Craig and NutriSystem offer isn't one of freedom to enjoy, but rather one of servitude to the microwavable cardboard meal. (My mother has been known to take these meals to dinner parties rather than eat what's served no matter how healthy the options are.) Let's not get me started on the whole exercise thing either. Neither of these programs really push exercise beyond a bare minimum. This also scares me.

If my mother or the many other people on these programs would have been taught by a nutritionist how to eat and to exercise from the beginning, they would all be happier, healthier and free to enjoy life just that much more and really, isn't that what we all want?

I just wonder, on every level possible, how on earth can eating out of cardboard box make anyone happy or healthy?

New Title?

Hello. This is a test. Is anyone out there? Is this thing on? Recently, I haven't been posting much. Mostly because I've not been doing or seeing anything that interesting that seemed to inspire a Tank Gyrl like rant or rave. By the way - this is going to be neither. I'm just curious. And wondering if I would do better if my blog had a topic - or a theme. Or just a new snappy title?

So I put this out there to you - if anyone at all is paying attention...

What do you want to hear (well, read) me bitch about? Cause there's so many many possibilities, where on earth should I start?

I'm curious... really... I am. And so I ask for your thoughts on the matter...

XO
The Tank Gyrl

Explanation of the Midnight Splodey...

So apparently, the cause of the Midnight Explosion two weeks ago was this:

There is a tenant in that building across the street who is a used car salesman. And not a very honest one. So apparently, he sold someone a car that was um, shall we say, not a good deal? And said customer tried to return the car, but the dude wasn't having it back. So instead, the customer decide revenge was best served in the middle of the night and tossed a molotov cocktail through the rear windshield of the salesman's car. It burned and eventually, exploded. The second big boom was the car next to it going up. (That car had been removed before I got the picture.) That one was just an innocent bystander in all this. I feel really bad for the owner of the second car. And for the guy who lived in the apartment directly over the cars. But there you have it. Mystery solved. Revenge is fun. Just remember kids, to blow up the car when it won't affect property of the innocent. It's just bad form to involve those whose only crime is living next door to the douchebag.

XO
The Tank Gyrl

NEW WEBSITE!!! LAURENELISABETHPHOTOGRAPHY.NET

Just wanted to say that I've redone my website. It's all new. New Look. New Site. New Work. Check it out Here:

http://laurenelisabethphotography.net

Or Here:

http://laurenelisabethfineart.net



Hope you can swing by!!! There's new work to be seen and more to come soon!!!

XOXO
The Tank Gyrl

Midnight Explosions

So the other night, I was curled up tight and sleeping very soundly when I was awoken by something rather odd. What sounded like an explosion followed by the building I live in shaking for a second like a very sharp, very sudden earthquake. I was lying in my bed, just wondering what the fuck it was, when I started to hear people screaming. Not people screaming like "AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! I'm being attacked by a crazy knife-wielding maniac" screaming, but more like at each other in an "OH FUCK WHAT DO WE DO?" sort of way. Car alarms were going off up and down the street - loudly. And a lot of them. But no one was running or screaming INSIDE my building and the fire alarms weren't going off and it was clear that whatever went all 'splodey wasn't in the specific vicinity of my bed. So I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Just as I was dozing off, there was another one. BLAM!!! Woke me up and shook the building again. This time I got a little concerned. But again, I heard nothing to suggest that my bed (and therefore me in it) was in any real danger, so I left it alone.

Went back to sleep... the rest of the night passed quietly. In the morning, this is what I saw... this is directly across the street from my building. Notice the burned out shell of a car under the carport.



My only thought is what must it have felt like to the guy who lives in the apartment just over it? And what caused it? I've not been able to track down any of the neighbors to find out if anyone knew, cause I'm curious as hell.

XO
The Tank Gyrl

Why Should I Pay for the Death of A Pop Star?

I'm going to preface this by saying that to the many of you who will strongly disagree with me or feel the need to make nasty comments about my thoughts - well, just remember... opinions are like assholes. Everyone's got one and most of the time they just blow shit. So this is my rant.

Yesterday, here in Los Angeles, there was a circus. That circus was also known as the memorial service for the King of Pop (though I have to disagree with that moniker, I don't think he was the king of anything except the crazy train), one very insane, if beloved Michael Jackson. At 50, the most famous of former child stars passed away on June 25th (in case you have been living in a cave, but then again, I think even the survivors on Lost's island heard this news). And so began the media frenzy.

First it was the multitudes of fans and paparazzi that descended upon the UCLA medical centre where he was taken. I happened to be working on a set just down the street that day. There were no less than six helicopters circling the building just after the news broke trying, I assume, to get a shot of the body. Someone succeeded. It was disgusting and horrible and a blatant disregard for humanity. But after a few days, it started to subside... the news went back to talking about things that actually mattered - the state of the economy, the near-revolution taking place in Iran, the fact that our troops are starting to come home from Iraq - you know, NEWS.

And just as the world seemed to be getting back to normal, the announcements were made. A public memorial service to be held at the Staples Centre in Los Angeles, and tickets were being given away by lottery. Celebrities to play, speeches to be given by friends and family, blah blah blah...

One question - does anyone not remember that this man who has passed, no matter how groundbreaking his music may have been at one point in the past, was all but convicted of being a pedophile? That his acquittal was questionable and the victims of said behaviour seem to be a lot more well-off these days than they were before. I'm not blatantly saying that he or his people paid off the plaintiffs. I'm just saying that it's strange that the case had so much convincing evidence, yet he got off.

But I digress. My issue here isn't whether or not Wacko Jacko was a pedophile. My issue is that the quickly announced memorial service was estimated to cost upwards of 4 million dollars. The city of Los Angeles, has for some time now, been broke. And I do mean BROKE. If a city could file for bankruptcy, I think LA would have several months ago. Teachers are getting laid off, school programs are being cut, police forces are being downsized, and construction sites have ceased to construct half way through projects because they don't have the money to finish.

So enter the overindulgent costs of a memorial service for Jackson. Who is going to pay for this? In fact, the nightly news brought it up. Amongst the repeated coverage of the memorial itself, the next highest news story last night was that in a city with no money, how did Los Angeles get stuck with the bill for this?

Someone I talked to yesterday insinuated that there was a city fund that was designated for "extraordinary events." Fine. That may be, but somehow I don't believe that the death of a pop star counts as an extraordinary event. I think that fund, if it exists, was started in the wake of the Northridge earthquake 15 years ago intended to be there in case of another massive seismic catastrophic event. I don't think that the taxpayers money set aside to help them in their time of need should be used to pay for a circus.

My friends are getting laid off from their jobs, but you expect that my tax money should go to pay for a port-a-john at the Staples Centre so that some deluded fan who "knew the real Michael" cause she met him once at a meet-and-greet way back when he was still Black can take a shit in a city parking lot while she stands crying about her personal loss? I don't think so.

The Jackson Family realized that there was a need for MJ's fans to say goodbye. I get that. I get that he had a lot of fans. I don't think he should be canonized as anything but what he was - he was a pop star. He wasn't a great humanitarian like Princess Diana. He wasn't even a good human, as witnessed by his constant plastic surgeries and deluded way of living. Sure he grew up in a bubble. He was not a normal well-adjusted person. He had problems. But that doesn't excuse his insanity or questionable behaviour over the years.

I think that the Jackson family needs to cough up the money. So should the friends and family. (MJ's estate was estimated at a worth of over 15 mill, no matter his financial difficulties at the time of his death.) If this media circus was their idea, then they should pay for it. Don't make the citizens of Los Angeles suffer further for the fiscal irresponsibility of one family whose patriarch drove his kids crazy.

Now, who should we send the bill to?

XO

The Tank Gyrl

ALL OF THE ABOVE

In a couple weeks, several of the pieces from the Carnival Series go up in a group show in Highland Park, Los Angeles. Hope you can make it.

XO
The Tank Gyrl

Who Do You Think You're Kidding...

I would like to dedicate this blog shaped bit of ranting to delusional models everywhere.

Before I begin, I would like to preface this rant with the following statement:

I LOVE what I do. I LOVE being part of the creative process. I LOVE the people I work with. I LOVE my work crew. I count myself fortunate that in this economy I continue to get work and have managed to continue to pay my bills on time, even though my income and industry have been severely affected by the recession.

HOWEVER...

Recently, I had a casting to do. It was a HUGE job. Three days of casting nearly 50 roles from 25 age/ethnic categories. It began as most castings do. I prepared the list of roles, wrote out the specifications of what we were looking for in age range, ethnicity, and even hair colour as per the client request. They were specific in what they were looking for, so in turn, so were my casting requests.

Late in the morning, I sent out the call. It was only a matter of minutes before the submissions started to arrive. Actually, that's an understatement. They began to FLOOD the casting service mailbox. And that's fine. I expect that. In a town like HellAy, there are a ton of models and actors and agents who submit to every casting call there is. This is fine.

I started to scroll through the submissions, which had jumped in number to several thousand in the matter of an hour. This also is normal, expected and I mentally prepare myself for this whenever I plan a casting.

And here is where my ranting will begin. And it is directed at the talent submissions that came in for several of the categories I requested.

WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE KIDDING????

I asked for 18 to 22 year old college students. I got women and men who are clearly in their mid-30's. I get that you look younger than your age, and perhaps you can pass for 29 in the right lighting with really good hair and makeup styling, but there is NOT A CHANCE IN HELL that you actually can pass for 21. Really. Give it up.

I blame the industry of course, where many of us working now spent our formative years (Beverly Hills 90210 anyone?) watching 30 year olds play high school students, and that practice has warped our real vision of what under 21's look like. It's still going on. Regularly, 29 year olds play 22 and 25 year olds play high school. It's a disservice to everyone honestly and it pisses me off. So now, instead of scrolling through a manageable 400 submissions to find those kids we need with the "right look," I have to scroll through over a thousand submissions for one role, more than half of which are immediately disqualified because they are just TOO OLD. These extraneous submissions just serve to waste my time, and irritate my wrist from all the mouse clicking.

C'mon people, be nice. Your silliness and delusion makes my brain cranky and my eyes water. And I'm trying to HIRE you people. You should be nice to me so I will hire you for appropriate age range roles (which - oh by the way - I have TONS of).

In fact, in this same casting, I called for a mix of ethnicities of ALL age ranges. Seriously. So if you're say, I don't know, 40 for example, then perhaps it's best if you submit yourself for the "Late 30's" age range. I for one would be so much happier if my inbox wasn't flooded with trash from deluded people who can't see their reflection in the mirror clearly.

Not to mention, if these people would start to play actual ages, then maybe the world wouldn't have such a FUCKED up view of ages and not be able to recognize an actual 18 year old when they see one. If casting directors started a trend of casting appropriately aged talent then maybe this warped perception could shift, even just a little bit. And then maybe, just maybe - people over 25 could then stop being obsessed with looking 18 and just let themselves age gracefully and beautifully as they were meant to.

Of course, this would then put a good number of plastic surgeons in the LA area out of business, but somehow, I can't be convinced that would be a bad thing.

I work and live in a world that is obsessed with youth and beauty. It's sad actually that people my age feel that they have to look perpetually 25. I am not in that age range. I haven't been for a while now. I am better now at this point in my life than I ever was at 25. And there is no way in hell I would want to go back. I was a mess back then. I like myself now. Aging is a good thing. I keep getting wiser and funnier and just plain better as I age, and screw it if there are a few more grays along the edge of my hairline and a few more laugh lines around my eyes. I'm still cute. (And yeah, you know that's not a statement of ego, just a fact.)

I want to start the age revolution. Let's hear it people. If you're 30 - be 30. If you're 35 - be 35. If you're 45 - be 45. Enjoy your life, your world and yourself. And if you're not too busy - wanna start to help me shift world perception just a little?

XO
The Tank Gyrl

I am a Twit.

Yeah, okay, so I think the proper verbage for it is "Tweet" but somehow I find "Twit" more appropriate. Because seriously, does anyone need to know what little 160 character thoughts are going through my head at any given time during a day? I began the tweet, because sometimes, not often, but sometimes you can have an actual text conversation with someone you know who lives far far far away... (yeah, there are three of you who know who you are, ahem)

When used properly, Twitter can be used as a proper good marketing technique. And I'm all for using it that way. It can be used to let your friends know en mass major news of your life... It can be used to entertain and expand (briefly) on the stupidity of what you see in the world. (Which is by the way, my personal favourite use.) But is it really necessary to "tweet" every stupid thought you have during the day? Really? It's as bad as the crazy Twilight fan who video'ed herself reacting to the new movie trailer. People, again, my problem here is this - why spend your entire life interacting with internet "friends" when you can actually go out and make friends and have a life? And I count myself amongst the guilty. There was a moment recently, when I spent a bit of time ranting about the necessity or the actual value in a show called "I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here." But I suppose no one cares for my opinion any more than I care for the random typings of Ashton Kutcher or Shaq.

I've seen some of these twittering types. I do have at least one actual pseudo-celebrity on the list of people I follow (a writer whose work I love). For the most part, the tweet is nothing more than yet another way to say "Look at me, Look at me!!!" And most of the people tweeting the most often are those who desperately need people to pay attention to them. But I suppose it's a harmless outlet. Let's just call a spade a spade - it's a trend. It'll be over sooner rather than later once the shine rubs off and the stupidity of it all sinks in.

But in case you do care - come follow "thetankgyrl" on Twitter. Tweet at me. Sure. Why not? It's one more thing to keep me from dwelling on the absurdity of life in Los Angeles. Or perhaps it's one more way to dwell on the absurdity of life in Los Angeles...And it'll be somewhat entertaining... or at least I think so.

XO
thetankgyrl

The Carnival Has Arrived...

Art Exhibition
The Carnival Series
Photographs by Laurie Goldfarb
(EKS Images)

June 1 thru June 30, 2009

At
The Rumor Mill
11739 W. Washington Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90066

Please visit the website at
http://www.eksimages.com

Bicycle Etiquette

Yep kids, it's that time again. Another self-involved irritated Tank Gyrl rant for your reading pleasure. Not that I really think anyone is reading these. Or cares. I just like to mouth off now and again. Today's general irritation - the etiquette of bicycling in public. Or rather the lack thereof.

This morning, I went for a ride. I do this a lot as most of my friends know. I find it therapeutic to get out every other morning or so and pedal my little legs off for an hour or so. On weekends - it's usually more like two hours. So this morning, I woke to by a light breeze and a heavy marine layer - my favourite kind of day for a ride. The grey cloud cover keeps the masses off of the bike path and the light breeze doesn't make riding any harder than it needs to be (strong headwinds are a bitch). So I suited up, made sure the tires were inflated and queued up my iPod for a nice ride. For the most part, it was. And there were a few people on the bike path, which made the general pace consistent and up to me. I love that.

On my way back I saw them. The youth group bicycle outing. Now, really, don't get me wrong. I am ALL for youth groups and bringing kids to the beach for a fun day of biking and beaching. What I am NOT a fan of - is that the counselors and guides that were with the youth group didn't seem to explain to them these simple few rules for biking. And it is them that I blame for any mishaps, wipeouts and crashes that take place.

These rules are simple. There are only three. They are easy to recognize. They are common sense and they are simply a matter of consideration.

One - stay to the right. Like on a road, the other side of the path is for passing and oncoming traffic. You wouldn't let a neophyte driver ride the wrong side of the road simply because they didn't know any better now would you? Nope. Think not. You'd explain the rules to them. So why the hell wouldn't you explain that to the neophyte bicyclist as well?

Two - if you are going to pass, simply announce yourself. Not hard to yell out a phrase such as "On Your Left" or "Watch Behind You" to those at a slower pace than yourself. And instruct them that when you hear that from behind you, it means - GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!!! Seriously, more of these kids caused near accidents in the 5 minutes I was in their path than I've seen in the last five years of riding regularly.

Three - look behind you before you do attempt to pass another cyclist to make sure you're not going to cut off someone else. And keep the path clear. Move off to the side, find a pull-out or simply make sure that the path is clear around you before stopping or making any turns - sudden or otherwise. Really. Is it that hard to follow that rule? That's just common sense. Of which, I think too many people are lacking.

These kids were so poorly instructed in any sort of rules to biking in a public high-traffic area, I actually watched as one stopped short and three others not paying attention piled right into her. Four went down because one didn't have the sense to pull off to the side before hitting the brakes.

These bicycling groups are worse on the path then the people who "walk" on the bike path *the clearly marked "BIKES ONLY" path*.

So in the interest of safety and not just my own, teach these kids the rules of the road. Doesn't matter if it's a road with cars, bikes or rollerblades - the same rules apply.

XO
the Tank Gyrl

Something Wicked This Way Comes...

June 1 thru June 30, 2009.

Rumor Mill
www.therumormill.org

11739 W Washington Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90066
(310) 397-5400

Come see the Carnival.

Airport Etiquette

So to start off with - In case you don't already know, I live on the other side of the country from most of the rest of my family. Literally - the opposite coast. About twice a year, I head that way to visit them for a few days... you know the usual. Spend some quality time with my Dad, try desperately NOT to fight with my mother, try to figure out which stories my brothers and I haven't told our mother yet in order that we may mortify her yet again with tales of the horrors we used to exact upon each other... you know, the standard holiday with family. Generally these trips are, almost like clockwork are one in the winter, sometime near the holidays and the other in May. For some reason it's just worked out that way.

But the one thing that I NEVER do, is fly on holiday weekends. Too many people, too much hassle, too many stupid douchebags overrunning what is usually a rather easy security check at the airport. For several reasons, which I shall not go into here, my trip this year has fallen on Memorial Day weekend. (Yes, Dave, that and my subsequent discomfort resulting in the timing of my trip IS your fault.)

I arrived this morning at the airport, with what is USUALLY a good amount of time. Plenty in fact, to check my bag, get through security, secure a triple latte from the airport coffee vendor and a bottle of overpriced water from one of the many newsstands in the terminal and be at the gate, with enough time to spare to queue up my current favourite playlist on my iPod in order to drown out any aeroplane chatterboxes and make it clear to them that I am NOT interested in speaking to them nor do I give a rat's ass where they are going or who they're off to visit.

I hit the security line at approximately 720 am. My flight was due to depart at 910 am. And after getting shuffled through the maze of temporary ropes and sectioned into queues based on who paid more for their tickets (truly - United Airlines lets first class passengers through the security area as priority), I took my place in line to wait for the security check. And there I stood. I did not move. I did not step forward. I did not progress. I did nothing. But I did notice at about 750 after I had been standing in one spot for half an hour, that the TSA agents were being very careful to make sure that passengers whose flights were due to board soon were being pulled out of line and given priority. So no worries. It's crowded, but no one is missing a flight and the TSA agents are being fair and reasonable and nice about the situation.

And then I hear the voice. You know that voice. That ONE voice over the din of many who has taken it upon herself to start to state the obvious repeatedly to anyone who will listen and very LOUDLY that they have been so put upon because THEY got here an hour ago and THEY haven't moved since. THEY are stuck in this line and why aren't the TSA agents doing something about it. The answer is a simple math equation - 5 XRay machines, 3 ID checkpoints, and 200 passengers. You do the math. It's gonna take some time. Suck it up and deal.

Now most of us are quiet. Simply minding our own business. Patience is learned at airports. In my case - these are the thoughts going through my head - "Okay, so I got here early enough I thought. Maybe I should have left a little earlier. I wonder why it's so crowded this morning, this isn't usual. Oh crap, it's a holiday weekend. Dammit. I'd forgotten about that. I hope I get through soon, I really need a coffee, but at least the TSA people are making sure that we all get through with enough time to make our flights, even if we do have to stand here for a bit longer than I would like. I hope I have time to get a latte." These are the normal thoughts for a caffeine deprived person at an airport who is watching the clock tick and not moving and starting to wonder if I would have to run to my gate, because damn my laptop bag is heavy and that would be a suckfest to have to run.

And I hear the voice again. This time the voice has begun attempting to recruit persons from the line to instigate a revolt of some sort. The voice is starting to loudly berate the abilities of the TSA workers, though not directly to anyone, just in general making those "oh I think I am so clever" attempts at pointed comments that THEY assume everyone else will and must agree with.

I feel sorry for TSA agents. Yeah, they may not be the best at their jobs, but they do seem to try. Everyday they face hundreds of jackasses who for some reason think that they are special and that they do not have to leave enough time to get through security but should be given priority anyway upon reaching the long line because once their mother told them they were a good person.

I started to wonder... I started to wish... if this douchebag bitches loud enough, maybe security will escort her out of the airport altogether. And this is where I have the epiphany. What if airports were more like bars? Security people who looked like bouncers wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. The douchebag in question would never have started this tirade if the end result was meeting with the angry face of a bald, thick-necked reject from UFC training school, now would they? I think not. For that matter, a number of possible terrorists probably would rethink their career paths if they were dealing with security agents who looked more like John Cena than Paul Blart.

I think this may be the answer to all of our problems. Let's have TSA and airport security teams be peopled by men and women from the UFC and GLOW. Let's have our ID checkpoint staffers look like the doormen from Les Deux because they won't give a shit that you may have to stand in line a little longer - you're just not famous enough or hot enough for them to care. And if you do try to mouth off to these men, they will simply put you down. I mean literally. On the ground. And hold you there. Just because they can. (And I would laugh.)

Maybe then, the douchebag behind me will just shut the fuck up and be patient like the rest of us. Because I can stand being a little late, having to skip getting my coffee and being made to run like Seabiscuit through the terminal to make my flight... but what I can't stomach is another self-important douchebag wanna-be Real Housewife of Orange County earworming me for the better part of an hour about how she's too damn important to wait.

Bite me, Bitch. I hope your fake tan gives you a horrible skin rash that ruins the rest of your holiday weekend the way you have ruined my morning.

XO
The Tank Gyrl

And the Tank Gyrl Goes East

Have much to do in the next two days, in preparation for my bi-annual trip back east to see the family and friends in the greater Washington area. (That's DC, not state.) It'll be a quick trip - I only have a few days to spend, as usual. But it should be good. I've already got more plans there than I usually do in my life here in LA. Aside from seeing my pops, my niece, nephew, mom and brothers, I will be bringing my camera to shoot. This weekend is Rolling Thunder - the annual motorcycle ride and rally in support of veterans everywhere. It's a HUGE event. Something like 200 thousand men and women on motorcycles of EVERY kind will descend upon the National Mall grounds on Sunday at noon. Leading up to that, there are parties, events, etc...

Not the least of which is a pre-rally party and show at the 930 Club, being sponsored by Iron Horse magazine and featuring several great bands - one of which happens to be King Giant, who are friends of mine. So I will of course be taking some time out of the family schedule to head down there to shoot, enjoy and have some drinks with friends in the area.

If you're around, come by, support and say hi. I'll be the chick with the dark auburn hair and the camera constantly in front of her face.

XO
The Tank Gyrl

The Carnival Arrives June 1st

Not that it's that big a deal, but oh yeah, it kinda is for me. I'm currently printing and prepping images that will be showcased at the Rumor Mill Coffee Shop in Los Angeles, starting on June 1st. There won't be an opening reception really, but the prints are up for sale and will be on display for the month of June.

Hope you can come by and have a look. This is the first series I've done since the "Chopped Dropped and Driven" show several years ago and I'm a bit stoked to just get some new work out there. Even if it is just a local coffee shop. (And while you're there, try to their turkey pesto sandwich - it's super yummy.)

More details when it gets closer.

XO
the Tank Gyrl

The Addiction of Facebook...

I am just as guilty as the next person of spending too much time on Facebook. HOWEVER - I have a bit of a suggestion for several of my "friends." Now, take this as it's intended - as a bit of advice, and as we all know, advice is free and worth exactly that much. So no yelling at me if you don't like my comments.

Since the redesign of Facebook's home pages a month or two ago - which for the record - is a HORRIBLE design - FB now has the added annoyance of posting every little thing that every single person on your friend's list does. And to be honest, I couldn't care less. There is nothing more irritating than waking up, going to check the ol' FB for new developments, funny status updates and whatever other insanely inane commentary my friends have left for me; and finding that some jackass who I haven't spoken more than two words to since grade school has done about 20 of these so-called "Tests" and the results are posted one after another for an entire page, blotting out anyone else's comments or photos... Yes, you know who you are.

So kids, let's get this straight through - just because someone sends you a test, challenge, or other irritating application - DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE TO DO IT!!! There is no Facebook Etiquette that says it's rude. The offending sender will probably never even notice or care that you have or have not done this stupid test and added the annoying application to your updates. And in the meantime you have saved us all from the constant bombardment of these things - because we don't care which Hobbit you are, the five places where you have lived (if we know you, chances are we already know this), or what hot celebrity some drunk asshole at a bar once told you you looked like.

And if you do have time to do 20 to 30 of these things per day - I have one more suggestion - get a hobby that involves the possibility of going out in the daytime, interacting with other people, and has no computer based activity. Trust me, it'll be good for you. Promise.

Now, I'm one of those people who updates my status more often that I should. I accept this. But generally my updates are silly, ridiculous and cryptic. Often intended as secret messages to people on my friends list - just to see if they're paying attention. I find them funny. And generally the people who they are intended towards do as well. But we don't overuse, overabuse or send thousands of tests to people because we would rather have a cyber-life than a real one.

There's a whole world out there people. It's not on Facebook. Stop fantasizing about which Star Wars character you are and go see it.




P.S. And yes, I do realize the irony of ranting about your fantasy cyber-life when I have taken my screen name from my favourite comic book character. But at least I realize it.

A little bit about Easter

Once again, Zombie Jesus Day is upon us. I mean, really, what is Easter but the celebration of a man returning as the walking dead - which according to everything I've heard of, is the definition of a zombie. So by that definition, Jesus became a zombie on Easter. Well, actually, he became a zombie at some point just after the spring equinox and before the summer solstice. But because they went and mushed all the old pagan holidays together with the Christian holidays in order that the pagans might be more easily converted (oh those sneaky Christians!!!) to their way of thinking, we really have no idea when this supposedly happened for real. Sometime in the spring. It's symbolic - Spring is a season of awakening and rebirth - can I get a "OH WOW THAT'S WHAT THEY MEANT?!?!?!" Or just a regular old "DUH" would suffice.

And did you know that historically speaking that by looking at star formations in the sky around the geographical area known as Bethlehem at the time and taking those into accounts with the stories that describe the stars during his birth - it's most likely more accurate that this man - whomever he really was - was a Virgo? For those of you not astrologically inclined - that's in September. Don't even get me started on why those pesky missionaries put his birthday in December near the winter solstice... that's a whole other discussion for another day...

One more little bit that someone in the church f'ed up along the way... (oh, those silly Christians) they got his name wrong too... Jesus is a Anglo bastardization of the old Hebrew name Yehoshua - which is actually just plain old Joshua. Unfortunately, "Josh Christ" just doesn't have the same Old Testament ring to it. (But it would make a really rad band name.)

So let's ignore ALL the historic inaccuracies for the moment. Let's take that huge leap of faith that Rome and all the little followers and spin-offs want us to take and just enjoy the day.

After all, it's such a lovely tradition to bite the heads off of chocolate and candy versions of adorable little woodland creatures - all in remembrance of the zombie revivification of a man who was the son of a woman who for all intensive purposes was raped while under some sort of sedative, and then if that weren't bad enough, the poor guy gets sent on a suicide mission and the world doesn't even have the decency to remember his name correctly.

I, for one, will bite the head off of a marshmallow peep in your honor, Josh.

The carnival is coming...

Not sure when, not sure how much of it, but I've just been informed that several of my prints are going to be featured at my local arthouse coffee shop. So hopefully some of you can come down and have a look... This is just one of the prints that will be featured. It's from the "Carnival" series I did last month. Something entirely random that turned into the inspiration to shoot an entire project. Inspiration comes in the funniest times and places. I got this one when I was out on my daily bike ride and there was a street carnival being set up just down the road from my apartment. There were a number of cool old dilapidated rides and the marine layer was thick that morning, giving the entire scene a very desolate and rather eerie "zombie apocalypse" sort of feeling. There were no people around. The street was blocked off and it felt very end of the world. I hope I got that across in the series as I processed. I will update when the show is going to be put up. Or if there will be a reception. (I doubt it, but who knows.)

And now, I shall celebrate with some yummy Thai take-a-ways for dinner.

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What Do We Do Now...

This afternoon I was taken to a lunch with a friend - being hosted by another friend of hers as a meeting and greeting and networking sort of gathering. I knew not one person there other than my good friend who had invited me along. Over the course of about 10 courses of amazingly tasty Korean food (at a ridiculously low per-person price I might add), and several hours, I was charmed by each and every one of these people. I forget, in my insular little world, sometimes that people like this exist.

In my adopted city, all too often I find that people here are very singularly minded. One thing. "The Industry" and that's all. Their lives revolve around the industry, they work in the industry and they socialize in the industry. And through this friend who is, by all accounts, part of that industry and without which I never would have met her - I have now met a group of friends who have more going on in their worlds and heads than most of my colleagues.

At one point the conversation turned to the current state of the world - economic, social, military and other current situations and influences - and as I was explaining that my current work situation is not only less than positive and all less than paying what I need to survive on a weekly basis, it came across to me that in this mess - there are like-minded people who have like myself become energized by the feeling of not that "we, as a global community, can make things better" but rather that "we, as a global community, MUST make things better." I personally have been galvanized into working harder on my personal projects than my paid working ones in the hopes that I can turn my passions into a lucrative business.

It got me to thinking about my father and his generation. When my father grew up there were two paths to take. That was it. You were in one of two groups - you went to college or you didn't go to college. Once you made this choice, those who went to college, picked a major, graduated, got a job, got married and lived on til you retired OR you didn't go to college but then got a job in the service industry of some sort and followed pretty much the same path, with a somewhat lower pay rate, but essentially your life path was picked out for you. My father's worst day I think was when the day that I dropped out of college because it wasn't the right place for me. He has never understood that.

Now, however, you can choose. College doesn't guarantee you anything. Conversely, it doesn't prevent you from anything either. I have a close friend who though he has never attended college has become a designing engineer for a defense contractor through a 20 year career of hard work and self-motivation. He is 38. His house will be paid off before he's 50. I have also heard stories of corporate CEO's who refused to grow with the company and technology, got laid off and are currently delivering pizzas.

Things are all over the place. Money is tight. The economy blows chunks. There is no such thing as security or retirement any longer. But - we have a president who is human enough - and I do mean by that fallible - to make an off-handed joke about the Special Olympics on national television. (You know what, President Obama - just about everyone I know makes the occasional retard joke. No, it's not politically correct, but it's okay. We'll forgive you.) It's this bit of humanity gives me hope that he really gets what we're all going through - in a way that all the recently deposed rich old white guys never could.

I suppose what I'm getting at, is that for the time being nothing is certain. We all have no idea what's going to happen next. But we have to do something. Not to be all platitude spewing and annoying, but this is my advice... who cares what careers make more money. Right now, none of them do. And there is no such thing any longer as job security (except maybe for cops, cause let's face it, some people just like to break the rules). So screw it - just figure out what makes you happy and find a way to make a career doing it. If everyone did what made them happy, then what we would end up with is a well-adjusted, diverse and talented, happy bunch of people - and perhaps less rich old white guys just out to steal all the money.

St Patricks Day

In the immortal words of some drunk ass somewhere in the middle of the US - Erin Go Braugh! What does that mean? Something about Erin's bra, I'm sure. Dumbass - it's Éirinn go brách. Whatever. It's St Patrick's Day. The day when everyone is a little Irish and for some reason everything turns green. And has puke on it.

Celebrating a Saint used to be a solemn occasion, when people would go to church, have a prayer or two, and say thank you to whichever saint they were celebrating for whatever it was he or she did. St Patrick's is different. Perhaps its because the Irish are pissed that one of the Patron Saints of Ireland isn't actually Irish. He was Welsh. Oh yeah, and the part about how he was kidnapped and forced into slavery by the Irish. Gotta love us, don't ya?

Somehow through some strange twist of fate (and let's say it folks - it had NOTHING TO DO WITH SNAKES!!!!) he became a patron saint of this tiny little island.

But for some reason, and perhaps its just the genetic makeup of the Irish people (of which I count myself proudly) instead of having a solemn thankful day, we make sure to ruin the day with massive amounts of drink, puke and bar fights. GO IRISH!

And oh yeah, I'm staying home.

Apparently My Friend Jane Caused the Global Recession

I have no words. This was published in the Irish Times this past Wednesday. Intended as a "satirical" article in a country where the word "sarcasm" to anyone over the age of 40 means something that you don't know how to give your wife - this fell on deaf, dumb (and blind) ears. Many took it literally. This was shocking to see... So enjoy...

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Working women almost certainly caused the credit crunch
NEWTON EMERSON

NEWTON'S OPTIC: THE ANSWER to all our problems is staring us in the face. It may even be quite literally staring at you, right now, across the breakfast table.

So put the paper down, stare back and ask yourself a selfless question.

Does the woman in your life really need a job?

Admittedly, this is not a fashionable question. From Iceland to Australia, men are blamed for causing the credit crunch, while a more feminine approach to finance is proposed as the solution.

Of course there will always be a place in the world of business for exceptional women. Women also have an important role to play in jobs that are too demeaning for men, like teaching. But the general employment of women is another matter. Indeed, working women almost certainly caused the credit crunch by bringing a second income into the average household, pushing property prices up to unsustainable levels.

Whether working women actually caused the credit crunch is now a moot point. The point is that removing women from the workforce would mitigate its effects.

Consider the issue of unemployment. There were 221,301 men on the live register last month and just under one million women in work.

Surely at least half these women have a partner who is earning? Surely at least half would be happier at home? One half of one half is a quarter and one quarter of a million is roughly 221,301. I think we can all see where this argument is going.

It would be ludicrous to suggest that women should be sacked purely to give men their jobs. In many cases, their jobs should be abolished as well.

Women are twice as likely as men to work in the public sector. They account for two-thirds of the Civil Service and three- quarters of all public employees.

Yet they are barely represented in the useful public services of firefighting and arresting people. Encouraging women to leave the workforce would go a long way towards addressing the budget deficit without any downside whatsoever.

Further benefits of sacking women have been uncovered by the Central Gender Mainstreaming Unit at the Department of Justice. According to its research, twice as many woman as men travel to work by bus and train, potentially halving the impact of cutbacks in public transport. However, it is probable that three-quarters of the Central Gender Mainstreaming Unit’s staff are women, so these figures should be taken with a pinch of salt.

While the economic case for fewer women in the workforce is irrefutable, we should also acknowledge the social advantages. Women make the majority of spending decisions in Irish households and make almost all of the purchases. They are far more likely than men to regard shopping as a leisure activity, far less likely to make savings and investments, and were even almost twice as likely to spend their SSIAs.

In short, women were the driving force behind the greed, consumerism and materialism of the Celtic Tiger years and it was female employment that funded their oestrogen-crazed acquisitiveness.

The time has come to build a more sustainable, equitable and progressive society. Why not make a start by telling your other half to quit her job? She can ask you for the housekeeping on Friday.

NOW - My dear dear friend Jane lives in Ireland. She finally, after reading this article - admitted - it was all her fault. She has written the following letter to the Irish Times editor and taken it upon herself to accept responsibility. If only the men who think it's just that simple would do the same.

I invite you to keep reading. From Jane to the Irish Times:

Madam,

It’s unfair for Newton Emerson (Newton’s Optic, 25 February 2009) even satirically to blame all women for the economic collapse, to hold us responsible for the cash-apocalypse that has people hoarding tins of depressing food and choosing which precious child will provide the most nourishment after the lights go out. No, that’s not the fault of all women: it was me, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t sorry before, but now the remorse-induced nausea is making my diet pills repeat on me. They’re not so nice on the return journey.

Maybe it was PMS, or maybe I’m just jealous of more attractive women. Maybe I feel fat or I hate men, or I’m just overeducated and undercultivated, and become unruly when not within view of a kitchen, or I get vertigo when in proximity to colourful accessories. Maybe I have a barren womb or an inattentive husband. Whatever the reason, if idle hands are the Devil’s plaything, mine were Rock Band for Xbox Live and they were playing drums on ‘Expert’.

It’s like with cigarettes. Take one puff, and the next thing you know, you’re eating the things two at a time, collecting used butts in a Tesco bag and re-rolling them at the back of a bus. You just don’t see it coming, and next thing you can’t even see where you came from, or how you ended up on the road to some place called Ongar.

First it was just a little sub-prime lending. It didn’t seem so bad, you know, just like the way the lady at the fruit stand used to slip a rotten apple in with the good ones just to get rid of them. I thought I could just dabble to kill the time while I scrambled up the Birkin bag waiting list. But next I knew I was practically shooting free cash out of my eyeballs, bundling up some of the ugliest mortgages you ever saw and with a flutter of my eyelashes and a collagen pout, passing them off as bags of diamond-studded gold bars, though they were little more than deceptively shiny loaves of my own muck.

I’m sorry for all that predatory lending. I’m sorry for those credit default swaps and for that shameless naked short-selling. I’m really sorry for all that price gouging, and the terrible thing I did with that property market. I’m sorry I made everyone buy second, third, fourth and quadrillionth homes they couldn’t afford and then buy platinum-coated Land Rovers with equity. And for the unpleasantness with Anglo-Irish and the Golden Circle or Maple Ten. I just wanted people to think I was pretty.

Don’t blame all women; I acted alone. I guess now I’ve confessed, someone should mete out punishment, and I guess it’s not gonna be free shoes for life, because it was my tireless lust for footwear that has brought us to the point where we’ll have no choice but to heave a good number of our less-hardy denizens into the nearest sea and fight each other to the death for a sup of briny workhouse soup. Just don’t eat me, I’m a vegetarian and wouldn’t make much of a meal.
Yours, etc,


Jane Ruffino

Be Careful What You Wish For...

Yesterday was a perfect example of how the universe just likes to fuck with me. This story is called "Be Careful What You Wish For In the Realm of Instant Manifestation." So while I was on holiday this past Christmas season (which for the record was only two weeks ago) on Maui - my new friend Sadie was explaining to me how Maui was the land of Instant Manifestation. Things there sort of take shape as soon as you ask for them. And after reviewing my recent experiences while there, I had to agree with Sadie. Things there just come off without effort. You ask the Universe and if you are earnest in your request - while on Maui - it'll happen. (Though I do recommend that you be really SPECIFIC in your request or you won't get quite what you're asking for.)

Right, I should get back on point.

So the point of today's story is that tendency towards instant manifestation of universal requests has seemingly followed me home with potentially disastrous results.

Yesterday afternoon while working on a project for work which was stressing me out quite a bit, I said - and I said it Out Loud which I believe was key to the issue - "I wish this job would go away." It was too stressful, the client can't make up their mind, things keep changing, they want to cut budget but keep the shots that require a lot of money to get the proper props/talent/wardrobe/etc. and in general this was turning out to look a lot like the last shoot we did for this client which ended up generally and completely fubar'ed.

So I said this silly little wish. I said it out loud. And then the phone rang. And there it went. Ten minutes after I said it, the other producer on the job called me. The message was this - the client flipped out when they saw the final budget for what they were asking. They have now decided that this is way too much money and considering the state of the economy (and apparently their own company stock), they are reworking the job. What was supposed to be a 5 day shoot with 10 prep days and 2 post days, not to mention a week long casting (do the math - that would have been 21 full working days for me plus overtime and mileage), will now be at most a 2 day shoot if it even happens. And I won't know anything until this afternoon at the earliest. This sucks. This blows. This is not a good thing.

Be careful what you wish for.

How Crucial Is It Really?

Last year, I am somewhat ashamed to say, I got sucked into this television "phenomenon" (so the powers that be called it) about a group of kniving, malicious, horrid little spoiled brats in NYC who all wear outfits that cost more money than I make in a month. I accepted that I am a weak person and I loved watching this show. It was a total and complete escape from reality and the clothes, well, okay, I would kill for a couple of those pieces. I am not the only one in this sudden fascination with a silly, badly acting teen soap opera. Apparently a number of my friends fell victim to the stupidity and I would regularly sit on my couch on Monday nights to watch Man-Bangs, Queen B and Lonely Boy and text my comments on this show to my buddy who I knew was watching as well. It enabled me to feel... well, like I was 15. Because let's face it, when I was 15 - no one dressed that well or had good hair. I was 15 in 1986 - my high school years looked like the wardrobe rejects of a John Hughes movie.

This show once gave me a piece of what I feel like I missed out on - that is being young during a decade when the worst fashion trend has been the tendency to wear big clunky shearling boots during the hottest days of summer. (Which actually doesn't look all that bad, it's just stupid.) However, I for one can no longer pretend to have the required suspension of disbelief when on this week's episode the Queen B launches a particularly cruel and silly attack on a new professor at her ridiculous Manhattan Prep School for the attrocity of (GASP) giving her a "B" on an assignment. And further that the character truly believes that the headmistress will side with her rather than her faculty in this unfair assessment of her scholastic ability.

This is the crucial moment that will cause this deluded girl to ruin her future?

Can I get an "OH PLUUEZE?" from the peanut gallery here? What was once a silly little Monday night tryst for high schoolers and those of us who wish we could have a do-over for the embarrassment of high school, has fallen to a level of stupidity only the original 90210 could match. I suppose finally, I just have to admit, that I am just too old for this crap.

XOXO
I'm out.

My Day Today...

My day hasn't even started really and already I'm in a bad mood. I'm trying desperately to snap out of it as I have a ton to do but I have a sinking feeling that this isn't going to go anywhere but worse. I have to sort through the thousands of submissions I'm going to get for a casting that I am running this week for a the photo shoot that I'm working on. There are going to be a number of ridiculous types submitting to it.

The only thing that's keeping me from chucking it all is my need to replenish my bank accounts from my holiday and the fact that I'm listening to an old friend DJ from London right now (I love internet radio.) and he has the absolute best and most expansive knowledge of music - something which I greatly appreciate. Music is necessary to keep my head level most days. Actually all days. And this day shall be no different.

Is Los Angeles Really Where I Want to Be?

Lately I've been wondering a lot about where I am in my life and where I wish I was and if this is the place for me. And I don't think that it's just come from the fact that I came home exactly 9 days ago from a three week holiday on Maui. But really - I've been in Los Angeles for going on ten years now and I have little to show for it except a huge closet full of clothes I don't wear and a number of friends who have proven to be not so much friends as aquaintances.

There's just much in my life that I feel so uncertain of. And very few things that I do feel certain of. And I suppose that's the general struggle of us all, isn't it? We're all in that state of uncertainty now and again, but the question I keep asking myself, is that if I spend more time wondering about my life and if I'm happy rather than actually living it, then isn't the answer sort of already there? And when do you finally give in to it, pack your shit and leave it all behind? Or do I just keep plugging away at it - hoping that somehow I'll figure out what will make me happy and how to do that.

Just some things I've been wondering about lately.