Why do people "misuse" quotes?

Why indeed do "people" misuse quotes? There's a Mexican restaurant in Kansas which says Fiesta "THEN" Siesta. What?
The fireworks store on the way to Cheyenne which says, For the "BEST" deal around...so wait. It's NOT the best deal around? "Best" has a different meaning than, well, best? Gotta "love" the misused quotes.

So I hope everyone has had a lovely holiday season and is "ready" for another doozy of a decade. I actually don't have a lot to say about my holiday except that it's nice to be older and off the radar. I mean enough of people undressing me with their eyes, right? Seriously!

So let me take a moment to discover my inner Jane Lynch. You know who I mean. The cheerleading coach from "Glee". She's tough BUT she can be tender. Jane would say, "Britt. You've just gotta let it all hang out. Life is not a dress rehearsal. Yes, you're older but you're still menstruating. Just take your iron and do weight-bearing exercise and you'll be golden. Hey, here's to mom jeans (what's wrong with 'em?) and jowls (it's called reality, people) and eating too many caramels and all the rest of it. Britt, let this next decade be about self-acceptance of YOURSELF and maybe more recycling if you get around to it. I know I'm preachin' to the choir. Don't let the nerds getcha down."

So I wish all my readers, both of you, a wonderful next decade. I hope this next decade is full of comfortable shoes, an afternoon cup of tea and watching an 8-episode miniseries on a weekday because hey! It's the holidays! It's "vacation". You "deserve" this break. It's "your" turn. Or it's your "turn". OK you don't need this. You have "a life" and "better things to do" than get swallowed up once again in one of my blog entries which doesn't seem to be "going" anywhere. Well you know what they say..."Wherever you go, there you are!" Isn't "that" the truth. I actually think I've never "really" learned how to use quotations correctly like when a quote is within a quote like when you're quoting someone? (Wait. What?) Anyway if someone could enlighten me or "enlighten" me...

This holiday I didn't have to play my Christmas medley in church which was a bonus. Getting older means you don't even have to "go" to church. When I was little we'd go to the 11pm service and it was like an eternity of waiting until we went. Now it's like, "Oh, it's 11pm already. Yeah, I'm gonna pass this time. Night."

So here's to Jane Lynch and her straight talkin' toughness which we all can use a dose of once in a while. My favorite scene from "Glee" is when she throws a bottle of iron pills to the choir director and says to him,
"This helps when you're menstruating."
"But...I don't menstruate."
"Neither do I."

HEAR THAT TACO BELL?

Someone told me they played for a Taco Bell convention and were told to move because they were playing too loudly. What?! I would think they'd be hired to play in the first place to drown out all the farts. Oh I apologize! What am I THINKING?! How can I even write something that DISGUSTING! May I take this opportunity to apologize for all the many times I have offended anyone on my blog or for any future times when I will INEVITABLY offend someone on my blog. I apologize to Taco Bell for implying that their food causes any sort of gastric disturbance. That was unfair. There's no positive proof that a bean burrito has any affect on the human body at all besides giving it a fat ass. Oh! Again, I've made a misstep in writing the word 'ass' and again I must apologize. As a reader you don't need this. As a busy person with "a life" you most certainly don't need this. If you can find it in your heart to simply disregard any of this last paragraph I would be most grateful. Your eyes on my blog are important to me so please stay on the line...

OK now I've really gone to the point of no return. Strong coffee this morning? What's the DEAL?! I can't stop being Chatty Cathy this morning!

So Book Club was at my house last night and the evening got rolling as you can imagine. What do I mean by that? Well, whatever. It ain't rocket science. (What?) Exactly my point. You know where I'm going with this. (Again, what?) So the long and the short of it is and here comes the content you've been waiting for...one of the members of book club, who will remain anonymous because I'm nothing if not discreet, told a hilarious story. Now I'd love to print this story except I don't remember all the details EXACTLY as they were told so all's I'm sayin' is this is a big humungous hint to please send in your musings and memories and what-not about bad gigs from any profession. First and foremost keep your standards low and just get a-writin'. Hey! It's that easy! Second and foremost this blog NEEDS you!

from Ronda
I have a doctor of music in flute performance from Northwestern University (2002) and sold both my high end gold flute and 1947 silver flute this year. DONE! I am so done with beating myself up over every missed note, shelling out money for plane tickets, hotel rooms, eating it to take a 3 minute audition for a job that will pay less than working as a bookkeeper (which by the way I got really good at while hoping I could eat!) I examined all of this and finally realized that for ME it was sheer insanity! And I cannot tell you the peace and happiness I have found in pursuing a "normal" life. I am a stay-at-home mom to our two girls now and I LOVE IT!

Um...don't tell any of the current music majors or conservatory students about this! Seriously I'm glad you found happiness after such an odyssey in the trenches of music. I think any musician understands this feeling of not wanting extremes anymore. The same friend who encouraged me to do this blog has also brainstormed with me about writing a joke pamphlet for prospective music majors. It would be very upbeat and have questions like....

Do you enjoy working for terrible pay? Then music might be for you!
Do you have fun playing when people are ignoring you because they're drunk or don't like music or just don't like YOU?
Do you like wondering where your next paycheck might come from?
Do you enjoy spending a lot of time alone in a room? Then music is just the thing for you! Do you like working as hard as an Olympic athlete only to end up playing whole notes or off-beats?
Do you like Broadway? Who DOESN'T!? But do you like Broadway enough to play the same show 8,000 times? Then music IS for you!
Do you have a high pain threshhold for back pain?
Do you like your commute to be longer than your rehearsal? Then, you guessed it, music is the right thing for you!
Do you like teaching kids who don't practice? This dream can become a reality in just 4 agonizing years in music school and LOTS of practice! Hey! What else are ya gonna do?

OK I've brought the room down and I apologize if you're even still reading! Well let me post another story from another dear reader and hopefully this will brighten your day. By the way I actually like being a musician. I actually like teaching violin a lot which is a thank your lucky stars(!) kinda thing because oh man if I didn't like teaching...yikes! Oh the horrors. Oh the bad bow hands. Oh the intonation. OH! Oh me oh my oh on the bayou! I love this blog because of what I can do on this page or virtual typing range if you will. Freedom! So here's another TRUE story or rather stories(!) Thanks Greg for sending!

A few years ago, I was invited to play the piano in an ensemble for a "world premiere," modern dance production of "Coyote, Iktomi, and the Rock"...I held several musical rehearsals at my house (for which I fed snacks to eight hungry musicians). We were supposed to split the profits from the show (after the costs were covered). Well, the show LOST money and the reviewer called the accompaniment: "Nightmarish, Viennese cafe music." So, I believe, this would constitute my most "Nightmarish" gig from Hell.

To complement your cemetery story, the first FUNERAL I played (14 years old), was for a guy shot to death by the police (his grandmother asked me to play)...everyone who attended the funeral was a convict, drug dealer, prostitute, or all of the above (no police escort). I still remember that event (35 years ago), like it was yesterday...the working girls filing by the organ wearing off the shoulder, black mini dresses (I guess they were going straight to work, afterward)...as well as the rattle of chains dangling from all denim vests. That was very distracting during my first paying gig.

ONE MORE STORY: I played for a Christmas party for a local cable company. They should NEVER have had an OPEN BAR. (I was told, after I got there, they have "Head Butting" contests at their summer picnics.) The lady, who hired me, told me I could stop playing an hour early...it was so loud I was inaudible.

Greg, thanks for those stories....oh my! It helps to have a sense of humor. There's this dreadful hotel in a desolate part of South Dakota which has a roadside billboard that just says
Reid Hotel
Kitchenettes
I wanted to write "Nooses" below that. I guess that's sick and might not even translate to humor on a blog. Oh well. I give myself snaps for tryin'. Whatcha gonna do?

Well may I wish you a wonderful day in this holiday week and hope you have a good one! Stay cute 'n crazy! Send me your stories! What have you got to lose?! Bye-ee!

If life's a shit sandwich, I WANT a second helping!

Britt, It's your inner Stuart Smalley contacting you again if you will, or even if you won't if that makes any sense at all but anyway. Britt, I'm contacting you because as usual you've begun a new venture, this wonderful honest blog where you're sharing and shedding old demons and goblins and all of that and getting some wonderful stories sent by your readers which is so great but I'm sensing you're losing steam already. I'm sensing a short attention span from you, Britt. Am I right? Britt? OK, I've got you again...um...Britt, stay the course this time. Try to write a little bit every day and become even more of the Britt as a writer you can be. Yes, we all can feel like imposters and phonies and good-for-nothings or like we're working in a vacuum and no one gives a damn and all of that. And all of that may be true but my point is don't put yourself on a shame spiral.

These are the holidays and it's time to take stock and give thanks and reflect a little on life! Yes, finding all the stocking stuffers and packing your bag to head to the crowded chaotic airport can be a huge stresser and what if your flight's delayed and did you buy the right gift for so and so and what's all this crazy Christmas crap, pardon my French, all about and are we all really shut out from paradise like that sad song "Toyland" which just can make you ball like a little baby every time you hear it.

But you're not a baby, Britt, you're a person fully grown and realized and self-actualized and interesting, well sometimes, person and you have a lot to share so all's I'm saying this mid-December morning is just keep on a-bloggin', lady. It ain't no never mind! You don't have to change the world. You don't even have to be interesting but it's nice if you are. It's WON-derful if are! But really, you don't have to do a dern thing but be honest. Life's full of ups and downs and choices and feeling like we have control and then feeling like we have ZERO control and which is better? Beats me?!

Anywhachamajiggy, your inner Stuart wishes you peace this Christmas, Britt. Peace from all the painful memories that make you cringe...starting your senior recital on the wrong string at Juilliard of all places(but everyone's heard that story already), being one of the finalists in the Mendelssohn concerto competition at that same mixed blessing of a school and then having them not choose a winner out of the 3 of you. OUCH! It was really like they were saying all the melons were too rotten to show at the county fair so they just chose the Gil Shaham violin melon (who wasn't even in the college division yet, hello?)to perform with the Juilliard Orchestra at Avery Fischer Hall in Lincoln Center, NY, NY, USA, Planet Earth, Milky Way Galaxy...You get what I'm saying. It was a big deal, Britt and you didn't win. No. It wasn't your moment to hit the winning free throw shot or sprint your way to glory and the gold medal in the Olympics. You didn't win ANY medal that day and that's OK. As a matter of fact now might be the time when you finally can give up your Olympic dreams by the by but that's another story. Doesn't it suck to get older and realize you'll never do the splits again and then realize you never COULD do the splits to begin with?

Britt, these episodes of agony can feel like just yesterday. So fresh that the scab is oozing and can easily bleed again! Just don't pick at it is my advice. I guess that's kind of gross and disgusting and unnecessary but the visual is my point and I guess I'm rambling but I have a lot of wisdom or rather I'm you, Britt, and YOU have a lot of wisdom...what am I saying? This is weird being the inner Stuart Smalley talking to myself or you, Britt, or whatever this is, and yet it still feels good. It feels nice to share and drivel on with whatever the heck, ya know? Forget all the embarrassing moments and just breathe deeply....Inhale to the count of 4...and then exhale to count of 8...AHHH...Isn't that better?

If life's a shit sandwich I WANT a second helping! Anyway that's my wisdom and my 2 cents and I'm stickin' to it. Happy Holidays, Britt. Keep it real. All you have to be is YOU and that's plenty, BELIEVE ME!

Love,
Your Inner Stuart Smalley
And hey! How about love yourself for a change, k?

P.S. Maybe this has been a total crock and waste of your time and your friend's time who are reading this blog and they're busy and have their own incredible lives and have lots better things to do than read this kind of long-winded novelette for the love o' Pete!

OK. I'm gonna stop beating myself up now or you because I AM you, Britt. This WAS good. The point is writing and that's what you're doing and it's all OK. Britt, I'm signing off now for real. Just know that I'm always here for you ready to chat or rehash whatever sort of terrible memory or painful experience you want to talk about. Britt if anyone needs a therapist like FULL time it's you. You went to Juilliard for 9 years. 9 YEARS?! Were you nuts?! OK that isn't fair and NOT helpful. That was a mistake to say that and I apologize. That's "stickin' thinkin'"! But I can't put the toothpaste back in the proverbial tube if you will so here's my point: Honey, you deserve a break today at McDonald's if anyone does and when you go, make sure to get that savory McRib sandwich if they still make it. Oh god! That is YUMMERS-ville! Yes, you might need someone to chase you around the block afterwards to burn off all those naughty calories but it's worth it! Oh god! It's SO worth it!

Britt, I'm going to leave you now and maybe this has helped your blog friends and musician cohorts and all of those anonymous readers whoever they may be...all TWO of them! Kidding! There's probably 3 of them! OH! I'm so bad! OK I'll stop! But my point is even if one pair of eyeballs looks at this meak and mild holiday blog entry that's a victory of a thousand years. Drama's my thing if you haven't guessed and it's so hard to leave you. Parting IS such sweet sorrow! Mr. Billy Shakespeare said it SO well.

Britt, it's been fun, right? We haven't hurt anyone even though I'm not a licensed therapist. I care and that's not chicken feed. Word? Hugs to you and your broken dreams but remember there's a rainbow and new beginnings around every treacherous corner of life. Happy Holidays for the final time, Britt.

xoxo Love, again, from your inner friend forever, yourself, Britt and your inner Stuart Smalley. P.P.P.S! Aren't ya glad ya found me?

COLD finger...he's the man, the man with the MINUS touch!

Please read the following as though the valley girl in the pic is telling it or kind of like that, ok?

I think that title is like pretty darn good. I thought of it myself! Freaky, huh? I mean did ya get it and everything like with the Bond reference and like all that? Instead of Goldfinger it's like Coldfinger? Cool! Oh my god that's like so clever too! I can't stop! Anywayz this blog entry is about like the craziness of conditions that musicians have to play in sometimes. Yeah it's completely mental. I'm talking INSANE, ok? Read on cuz you won't believe your eyes! So anywayzz...where was I? Oh, right. Yeah. Musicians sometimes have to play in totally extreme conditions...like the total blazing sun of an outdoor wedding and even an insane mountain top string quartet in late October. I mean like hello I'm so sure?! Outdoor wedding in OCTOBER?! That's like doing a summer wedding in December! Wait...that doesn't make any sense but you know what I mean.

There was this time, this is totally true(!) and mind boggling(!)but anywayzz I was playing in a string quartet at this outdoor wedding. Picture this: It's a sunny day perfect for an outdoor wedding and all beautiful and there's flowers and the quartet is on the pretty lawn and we're like playing away the Pachelbel Canon which every bride wants at her wedding I don't know why but they do. Anywayz it's all very sweet and nice and then SUDDENLY(!) the sprinklers turned on(!) I mean WHAT?! We totally FREAKED! It's like violins and water are poor bedfellows as they say. (I hope that's what they say.) Let me tell you we had to pick up our instruments like crazy ladies and everything and run like the wind! We blazed outta there so fast it was like as fast Samantha Stevens disappears on "Bewitched" which is like my totally favorite show. I'm totally hooked on the re-runs right now or it was like as fast as like a light year, ya know, like in a SciFi movie? I'm serious. I was like freaking so bad I was like, "I can't even begin to DEAL with this!"

Being a musician is like totally stressful sometimes and people don't know this! People don't understand this! I mean they think we're just like sitting there sawing away on the Pachelbel Canon without a worry in the world when like that's the least of your worries if you know what I'm saying. The Pachelbel Canon can be a torture chamber of doom or like the scariest theme from the gorriest horror film of all time especially if you have to play it like at a thousand weddings a summer, ok? It will get you and I'm not kidding! Craziness! So where was I?! (I totally love these blogs! They're like so NEAT!)

I heard one story about Tanglewood how like the morning orchestra rehearsal was so totally freezing cold that a violinist in the orchestra would wear gloves with the fingers cut off just to stay warm. It sounds straight out of Charles Dickens, right? I'm not making this up! I mean were they served GRUEL at the break? I mean, were they like all ORPHANS in the orchestra? Were they all visited by 3 ghosts? Oh, wait. That's like a different Dickens thing but OK. You get my point. Anywayzz this same orchestra had to greet the orchestra manager like little children in a schoolroom. They'd have to say, "Good morning, Harry!" What did he say back? "Good morning baby teens!" or "Little pathetic urchins who might as well be begging in the streets of London" or "Musician babies!" Really! Where's the respect?! Goll!

I was on tour with Juilliard Orchesta and this woman who organized it kept referring to us as children. Hello? Lame? Then we're like all children who menstruate(!)ok? or are like sleeping with each other(!) Well I wasn't, but whatever, I'm sure somebody was, ya know? Children who have check books and drive cars and drink booze and get married! How about that? But I'm ranting. You get my point! I was an adult and it ticked me off majorly to have this lady trying to put me back in a crib or something with a pacifier! I won't be pacified, ok? Anywayzz I digress which is like so easy to do on these crazy blogs! I've gotta sensor myself and like stop blabbing! Seriously! Get a grip, Britt, like STAT! That's what they say in the operating room on "ER" which is like my other totally favorite show. I totally love it and can't believe there will be no new episodes. Tears! Sadness! It's over!

OK, so back to cold temps, there's a string quartet I've played with which won't play outside if it's colder than 55 degrees. Gee thanks! Um...newsflash. That's still dang cold to be trying to move your fingers which might as well be icicles at that point(!) Below is a totally true story sent in by Josh, one of the loyal followers of this blog which I'm totally loving doing by the way. Anywayzz thanks Josh!

From Josh:
I was playing a gig (on electric bass) for Collegiate High in Wichita for their theater department many years ago. They were celebrating the opening of their new amphitheater by holding a concert there. And, it was March. I thought is was rather odd that they where doing this when it could be pretty cold outside, but it was expected to be nice that day. ANYWAY, during the rehearsal, it started to snow, and got really, really cold. I put on gloves, but my hands still where getting numb. In the middle of a song, amidst the snow and wind, the MD turns around to me and says "Josh, if you can't feel your hands go ahead and stop playing"....

Like yeah! OMG! Thanks Josh for sending.
Please send me your stories. I'll post 'em! Thanks for reading! Bye!

Oh...Aspen!

The following entry should be read in the voice of Padma Lakshmi, the pretentious-sounding woman who hosts "Top Chef". I'm sure she's actually very nice but she sounds exhausted from being so fabulous! She'd say something to her friend in a totally exhausted bored voice like,
"Oh. I just remembered about Aspen."
"What?"
"We're GOING..."

A friend told me a story about this woman looking at upholstery fabric and said in a bored voice, "I'm so sick of beige. All my friends' JETS are beige!"

The couple who were overheard saying, "We took the Concorde to Paris. The woman they were with replied, "Oh we haven't flown commercial in years. How was it?"

There was this lah dee dah cellist who was at a party of NY freelancers and she was obviously more successful than the rest of us and had lost perspective to say the least. We were talking and swapping war stories about gigging in NY and she said, "I can't IMAGINE doing something I didn't enjoy for a living!" This was said during the days when I would make a mark on the wall of the pit of "The Scarlet Pimpernel" for every show I played. This same cellist said the same evening, "I'd never take myself out for a HAMBURGER! It would always be FILET MIGNON!" Darling. She was just too ultra for words!

I really get a kick out of self-involved rich people. I can write this now because I'm up in Aspen...the land of furry-boot clad women skidding around town in their Porsche Cayennes(!) They seem to think you must know where they are at all times of the year but darling they have so many homes! Are they in St. Barts or Zurich or where!? Who can keep up?

A friend and I made up this character while we were in LA named Beverly Weintraub. We made her up because we wanted to check out the Scientology Center and not have to reveal our true identity..."Oh, you need my name and address? That's easy, darling. I'm Beverly Weintraub...654 Rodeo Drive." Anyway this friend reminded me of her this morning saying, "Poor Beverly is stuck in Aspen completely snowed in!" I would love to be so self-involved and impatient with people that I would think people would know where I am every birthday..."No. Labor Day, Telluride...birthday, Aspen." This is my 7th year I've celebrated my birthday up here because of this wonderful Aspen "Messiah" gig. We play 4 concerts and it's a lot of fun. Anyway, the gravy is I always get a kick out of people watching and seeing all the pretty holiday lights. Darling, they make it so LOVELY at this time of year for the rich people.

As a musician I've been asked to take the service entrance or service elevator and I've managed to always avoid obeying this request. I don't feel like a second class citizen but I understand how musicians are sometimes hired for show. One time I was one of 12 violinists who were hired to line the balcony of the Waldorf in NY for this banquet. We stood for hours performing for all the rich people down below who were having this sumptuous feast. I'll never forget how the smells wafted up to us. It would have been funny to drool over the edge. Anyway, I'll never forget the clear line that was drawn between the haves and the have-nots that night. It was very clear to the musicians that we were of a different class as we stood playing for our supper or excuse me it was for their supper but wait. Where was I? We got sandwiches at our break which were no comparison to the meal that was being served.

Musicians and food...that's for another blog entry. How many times have I been on a wedding gig and the musicians are told, "Don't EAT!" (Back! slap Bad IGOR! BAD!") There's good reason for this. There was this reception after an orchestra concert I played where they put the food on the edge of the stage. Mistake! The guests never even got near the food because the musicians stood with bellies pressed up against the stage never moving and clearing out all the food! (Bad trolls! BAD!)

Conductor gone mad!

The following is a true nightmare gig from my friend Sara (who encouraged me to do this blog. Thanks Sara!) Anwayzz...Sara is also the one who told me that in this same orchestra they were worked so hard she would look down at her clothes to see if they were black. If they were, she was playing a concert. Rough.

(from Sara) The orchestra I was playing in averaged 2 1/2 new programs a week, which was often a real grind, playing 1st violin. One week, though, we had 6 new programs- in one week! One was a one-rehearsal run-out. A Mozart overture; John Adams' Shaker Loops, which we had played earlier in the season, but with a much bigger string section;and Beethoven 4, which the orchestra hadn't played in something like 12 years. We're all fried, especially riding the bus or driving out to wherever it was - a couple of hours away from home. You may remember that the last movement of the Beethoven is a mostly a moto perpetuo for the 1st violins. We only had six 1sts that night and let's just say that not everyone in the section was a crackerjack. The conductor stopped before the last movement, turned to the audience, and said (with glee), "Let's see how fast the 1st violins can go." And, of course, then proceeded to turn around and beat his stick as fast as he could. There ended his ability to walk through a dark alley at night safely...." Girl, you can say that again! Thanks for sending that along.

There are so many conductor INCIDENTS. I played in this orchestra that was playing Saint-Saens organ symphony. It has a huge ending with everyone playing their heads off and the organ roaring and it's all very exciting. I think the conductor got a little too excited that night because he wouldn't let the last note end and just kept holding his hand up in the air like that Bugs Bunny cartoon. It started to feel a little how shall we say...WEIRD. Finally...finally(!) we finished the piece. Backstage afterward this other violinist said, "Didn't you feel sexually abused?" I couldn't have put it better myself.

Musician Cars!

Gotta love the musician cars which have 190,000 miles on them. I BOUGHT a car when it already had over 130,000 miles on it. My dad looked at it and the mileage and said, "You've gotta sell that thing." I'm like, "SELL it?! I just BOUGHT it!" That lil' Civic was a honey! Oh, she was like a fine wine...just gettin' good!

My favorite memory of the worst car of all time, no offense to anyone, was this time I road to a gig during a huge snow storm in this car where you could see the road underneath through a huge crack in the car's floor. I guess if the engine went out we could have driven it with our feet a la Fred Flintstone. I'm not naming names but it was a Toyota Corolla. Anyway the driver had a radio taped to the middle of the steering wheel and she listened to the weather report as we lurched and skidded our way in the snow storm to the concert. This was before cel phones so she kept pulling off the highway to check at various pay phones to see if the concert was still on. The answer was always 'yes' so we skuttled on. In this blinding snow her wiper fluid didn't work so she kept reaching out the window with a bottle of Windex to squirt the windshield as she drove. I needed a martini you might say by this point. P.S. long story long this was the first time in my life I've been late to a concert. This was the first time in my life I wasn't sure if I was going to MAKE IT to the concert. It was worth it for the story anyway.

My other musician car tidbit is that I have this friend who starts his car with a screwdriver. Can anybody top that?

When I did stand-up I used to talk about the different kinds of Barbies they could have...
Juilliard Barbie would come with her own collapsible practice room. The way you play with her is you put her in there and come back 8 hours later. No Ken doll is available for this particular Barbie.

Musician Barbie comes with her own 1988 Corolla with 197,000 miles on it.

Oboe Barbie makes her own reeds! (Reed making kit sold separately...)

Got any other ideas for other kinds of Barbies? Send 'em along...

Barbies actually are kind of a sore spot with me. (My sisters are now groaning but here goes...) I never had a Barbie doll when I was growing up. It was probably because I wasn't very good at playing along when my 3 sisters would spend endless beautiful summer afternoons cooped up in the stuffy upstairs playing Barbies. I could never understand it. Occasionally I tried to play along. One year I was given a Skipper doll for Christmas and didn't have a Ken doll to go with her. I used an old GI Joe with kung-fu grip I found in an old box of my brother's crap. He was the pasty one with fuzzy orange hair. I would have him hug Skipper in this weird disjointed way. Skipper was 13 and GI Joe was a weathered man in his 40's. Sick! Anyway believe it or not the romance didn't last long and I abandoned my sisters to their long drawn out romances with their Barbies drinking out of old marker caps used as cups.

One time I begged for another chance to play. I'd plead, "I'll be serious this time. I PROMISE!!" My Barbie would be walking along with Ken and she'd strangle him with her bionic hair. My Barbie would also show up naked at one of my sister's houses just to shake things up. All 3 of my sisters had had it with me. When they were gone I'd put the wrong Barbie with the wrong Ken kissing. I'd hear screams from upstairs because like, "They weren't at that stage of their relationship yet! Goll!!!"

I love having sisters though. We'd read romance novels aloud to each other but when we got to the sex part we'd read it like a newscast so we wouldn't get embarrassed...'roughly he grabbed her, cupping her breast and probing her mouth with his tongue...' more news later on this NBC station.

Just a few years ago I got a Barbie and Ken doll for Christmas. It was sweet of my sisters to try to make up for the past. When I opened my gift and saw my first Barbie and Ken of my very own, I said, "It's too late."

a Stuart Smalley-style of letter to myself...Britt

I kind of cracked up these past few days when I thought what if I wrote a letter to myself forgiving myself in a kind of Stuart Smalley kind of way for everything I regret in my life? There are a lot of ways I keep myself to a standard I can’t live up to and there are all the ways I feel I’ve fallen short or have quit the fast track or whatever. (Was I EVER on the fast track?) For some reason thinking of "Dear Self, Britt, Me…" I kind of stepped away from what my life has been and it was a relief so here goes...

(to be read aloud in a Stuart Smalley style of self-help speak)

Dear Britt, Me aka Myself…
I’m writing to you to say it’s OK that you aren’t famous, that you didn’t become a violin soloist or that you didn’t get a sitcom on a major network, that you left LA after dipping your toe into comedy and maybe left too soon or was it? It’s OK that you chose a happier path which you could control more rather than staying on the rickety roller coaster of LA fame and fortune which you know is a bad lover who will never love you enough. You chose true love and moved away to have it. Britt, I understand you because I AM you.

It’s OK that you just quit the Comedy Store as a stand-up comic without so much as a by your leave and didn’t call in for spots anymore after that comic told you to shove your violin up your…well never mind. That’s all ancient history now. It’s OK that you have a short attention span in seeing some things through. Wait. Where was I? Oh. Now I remember... It’s OK, Britt, that you never did your one-woman show in Vegas after going all the way out there and staying in the Monte Carlo and meeting your non-manager Gary at the theater and then after leaving the next day that the Monte Carlo had a huge fire. Don’t think about the fire and that it had any symbolism or meaning or anything. It was just a coincidence.

Britt, you can get around a violin. You've paid your dues, sistah. It’s OK that you made huge sacrifices at a young age to do this. It’s also OK now that you live in obscurity and sometimes take bad gigs. It’s also OK that you have mixed self-esteem because of going to Juilliard. On the one hand you feel entitled to the highest echelons of the arts and on the other hand you feel like dirt, a failure, a nothing, because you didn’t become a glittering soloist in the heavens with the seraphim and the other angels and all of that. But there’s more to life than that and it’s OK that dreams change. They should. You’re human. It’s called evolving and anyway the soloist thing, well it’s all ancient history now. You've always been kind of Mr. Magoo about your career anyway. Never mind. Just let it go. It’s all OK.

Britt, not to be mean but if you would just get off your ass and write more you might actually feel better about yourself. I’m not trying to boss you around because I know you do your best when you sneak up on yourself when you write or practice violin or workout or any other dern thing. Whatever. It’s OK. Remember I know you because I AM you. Britt, it’s OK that you started your senior recital at Juilliard on the wrong string and couldn’t forgive yourself. Forgive yourself now. Take a deep breath. Isn’t that better? It’s all ancient history now. It’s OK that you bombed as a stand-up on the stage of Carnegie Hall. Don’t sweat it. It wasn’t your crowd performing for a bunch of senior citizens. It’s OK that your entire spring that year that you prepared for that Carnegie Hall performance debacle was overshadowed and heavy because of being totally stressed out and not being able to tell anyone about the Carnegie Hall thing and being totally freaked because you were going to be a surprise guest and all of that and what if you bombed and incidentally you did bomb but hey let's have some forgiveness! Yes, you fainted at the movie theater weeks before your appearance which should have told you something about the pressure you were under and you cried many tears but you still bombed so the moral is it just doesn’t matter. You can worry yourself to death and still fail and fail miserably hearing your jokes answered by a tomb of silence in cavernous and monolithic and unforgiving Carnegie Hall. Don’t beat yourself up. You still played a violin piece with piano on that stage that same night and did a fine job though you should have had a sandwich before the concert. You were a little light-headed silly nilly but that’s ancient history now. Hindsight is 20-20 as they say. Time teaches us how to be our own best friend, etc! No one cares as much as you. You’re your own worst critic and all of that blah blah blah…It’s all good.

The arts are all about a huge build-up for a very short amount of actual performance time. Hmm...sounds suspiciously like other acts in life where there’s an enormous build-up of tension and wondering and building and pressure and pushing and working and staying on target and striving and then...AAAAHHHH!!! RELEASE!!!! Let it release, Britt. Let it all flow away. Let it all go. The time you borrowed a violin worth millions of dollars(!) for a recital and you found the very best pianist you could to accompany you and you took numerous lessons and practiced and practiced and chose a challenging program and then the day of the recital there was a snow storm and the pianist couldn’t make it because his flight was canceled so then the recital was also canceled. Major bummage to be sure. That was a nightmare but not the end of the world though it felt like that because you were making good, so to speak, in your hometown. Britt, you’ve performed plenty of times in your hometown. Don’t fret about it anymore. Yes, your red gown hung unused that day. Yes,all the people had to go home or get a refund because the concert was canceled and you returned to NY numb, defeated, but not DESTROYED. NO! You rose like a phoenix from the flames of that disaster! Let it all go! It’s ancient history now!

Britt, remember that performing is a generous act!! It’s the gravy of life! It’s not brain surgery! It's not a life and death situation though you can die on stage or bomb or whatever and you’ve done that plenty of times, lord knows. Time for forgiveness, Britt. You’ve done stand-up comedy at the back of an antique store in LA with 3 people in the audience. You’ve performed for patients in a hospital ward who you weren’t sure even heard your jokes or not. (If they heard they would have been laughing their heads off, right?!) You’ve performed at the Retarded Citizens Christmas Party (that’s the term they used in the 70’s not to be un-PC or anything) You’ve performed for the Almont Harvest Festival (in ND, hello? Never heard of it?) and for the Japanese Wheat Farmers Convention at the Kirkwood Motor Inn in Bismarck.

Yes Britt, you know a wagonload about performing. A performance can lift people out of their hum drum everyday lives or leave them exactly as they were before the performance or actually depress them. In any case, it doesn’t matter. Forget all the bad gigs or just laugh at them. The time you played for the dancing horses in Denver who didn’t dance so much as run around kicking dirt onto the stage. The time you stayed in the worst hotel of all time called “The Red Carpet Inn” which had a spooky lobby with a climbing plant which was strung all over the ceiling in a kind of "I’m going to strangle you, guest, when you’re not looking," sort of vibe. It was OK to be horrified and to think, “This hotel is disgusting. My room is disgusting. It’s not OK that there is a hair in my bed before I’ve even slept in it(!) or that the next day you saw the hotel manager leaving your room when you came back from getting coffee! What he was doing in there god only knows! Creepy! Inappropriate!" It’s OK to be mad about that or grossed out or just like EW!

Music will put you on a roller coaster of wonderful highs and fun opportunities to play in fun situations and rock out with a rock band or play for a silent movie with a very appreciate audience in San Francisco full of fabulous gay men who really love the arts. Music will also put you in a dung heap where you will drive to a town which smells like cow shit and you will sit at the back of an orchestra because you’re a sub and they don’t know anything about you and don’t care and you will be hit on the side of the head with a self-esteem crushing proverbial two-by-four having to think things like, "At least I’m still playing music" or "I’m going to really listen and not focus on me at all." It’s OK that these things you tell yourself fail miserably. It’s all OK Britt. You’re doing fine. Don’t sweat it. As Stuart Smalley would say, "Stop the shame spiral!" IT'S ALL OK!