Emma I am Not.

Since she became a household name, there is not a day that goes by in this city that someone doesn't compare me to Emma Stone. It's gotten to where I can predict when they're going to say it, even.

I'll be talking to someone I just met, and that person, just into our conversation, will tilt his or her head to the left a little and start looking at me while I gesticulate and guffaw. "Do you know..." they will start to say.

"Emma Stone," I will say.

And they say, "Yeah! It's not just the way you look; it's your mannerisms! You sound just like her, and you're funny."

Me & Emma Stone

My first impulse on this one is to be bummed. "Emma has taken my career!" You see, when I graduated high school at 17, I went to a national talent showcase and was very very popular among the Hollywood agents and managers. A couple of them were all but insisting I move to L.A. immediately. A part of me wanted to, but a bigger part of me wanted to go to college on the scholarship I had just gotten, and just learn and experience as much as possible.

I don't regret it in the least. However, that was the very same year that Emma Stone, a few years younger than me, convinced her parents that she had to move to L.A. and be an actress. I can't help but wonder, would I have been accepting a SAG award yesterday had I come out here ten years ago? 

Instead, I was backstage at the SAG Awards yesterday eating a brownie, when a production guy walked by and saw me.

"Taking a much deserved break?" he asked.

"Yep, just for a few minutes," I said.

"Congratulations," he said.

"Thanks," I said, and then laughed to myself.

Let me reiterate, I have no regrets. In fact, I feel the luckier of the two of us. I have a wonderful adventurous life and husband. Emma, having experienced fame before love, will have a hard time deciphering if any guy she is with really likes her or just her celebrity. Emma didn't get that awesome carefree college experience, and she didn't study abroad twice, and I doubt she has a group of friends so wonderful and close as mine. If all it takes is ten years and a lot of focus, I'm closing in on three. 

And besides, there's plenty of room in the upper ranks for actors who look alike. Consider these examples, from this AMC gallery:

Toby Maguire & Jake Gyllenhaal

Renee Zellweger & Joey Lauren Adams

Amy Adams & Isla Fischer

Natalie Portman & Kiera Knightley

I Hate Long Vowels

Talking is not just a way to convey meaning, it's also a way to convey beauty if you do it right. Mind you, I'm not an expert on speaking, but I do get lots of impromptu compliments on my voice when talking to strangers. And I hate long vowel sounds. I just hate 'em! When there is a choice between pronunciations between a short vowel sound and a long vowel sound, I always choose the short vowel.

[I've decided to blog about my vowel preferences because otherwise I'd just be telling you how I found $20 on the ground at the concert I won tickets to, and how it's 80 degrees and sunny, and I just got a job at the college, and I am being pitched to be on a really awesome tv show, I'm working in the green room at the SAG awards this Sunday, and next week I start my yoga teaching certification class. I am having an amazing 2012, but I don't want to you think mine's any better than yours, SO, on to vowels.]

In case you've forgotten, your long vowel sounds make the same sound as the letter itself.
A as in game
E as in complete
I as in Midas
O as in hope
U as in use

While short vowels are
a as in apple
e as in egg
i as in inundate
o as in octupus
u as in umbrella.

Now, here is what I hate:

• When people say "AppalAchian" mountains. Anyone from Appalachia knows that all the "a" sounds are "apple" sounds, NOT "game" sounds -- and it makes my stomach turn to hear "AppalAYchun" coming out your yankee mouth as if you had the right to talk about 'em anyway. YUCK!
• DATA. Please say it with a short vowel. With the advent of "data plans" on people's phones, I am having to hear this word a lot lately, and most people pronounce it like "dayta." It's not incorrect, but it's just GROSS!
• Equinox. It's so much nicer on the ears when you say "eckwinox" instead of "EEKwinocks," and yet when I use my short-vowel "e" to talk about that really cool gym on second street, people look at me like I'm mispronouncing it. Well, Webster says both are correct, but I say quit with the ugly vowels.
• Apricot. It sounds slightly Britishy when you say apricot instead of "APEricot," but you're still an American, I promise. 

Anyone else have anger issues when it comes to the way people talk?

Punk's Not Dead

Joe Sib on Complete Control Radio told us to call in to win tickets. We were on our way out the door, but I said, "Wait, let's call-- those tickets are ours." I knew if we called, we'd win. We did. For the first time in about six years, and for the first time with Adam, I was to attend a live performance of two of my long lost favorite bands, No Use for a Name and NOFX.

This may sound trivial, but going to the Sunset Strip House of Blues to watch old dudes with gritty voices melodically ponder "How Did the Cat Get So Fat?" resuscitates of a long-dormant part of me. Punk rawk shows and I have a history. So many high school summers at the Warped Tour bent me into a fanatic. Many's the night before a college exam when Lis, Gem, and I (or some other arrangement of eager college girls) would pile into my day-glo beetle and drive to Cincinnati, blasting music out the moon roof from a tape I made, then stewing for hours in a thumping loud swirling pot of sweaty limbs while screaming out lyrics until we were deaf and mute. If we were lucky, we'd catch the pick they threw out or get a picture with the lead singer. 

You know you're old when you think Fat Mike is sexy.
[Photo by Mary Bell.]

Me eight years ago.

..But there was a time when I sadly realized this couldn't go on forever. We were almost college graduates, let's say, and we'd drive to Nashville in a tornado to see Against Me and Alkaline Trio, perhaps, and we'd look around at the kids in the pit and they were kids, all shiny and faux-hardcore and devoid of our worries about the impending real world. We had been posers all along, it was revealed, and if we were real punks, we wouldn't be able to survive outside the bubble of academia without compromising our punkness.

Adam and I wondered, as we drove down Sunset, what the crowd would be like these days. Who are the people who are still paying to see a 29-year-old band that sings about killing the white man? Are they teenagers? Are they geezers? Yes, there were some of each. But mostly they were just people like us, who can decide to be punk on the weekend if they feel like it. That crowded room fostered a lot of excitement, and an old-school circle pit that just wouldn't die.

I remembered how cleansing it was to be part of such controlled oblivion, how the pit of a punk show feels a lot like yoga, a release of everything. Though we can slam into one another randomly and scream and sail over people's heads, our bodies pressed together like lovers, we are all one, and we will not let anyone fall down or lose their keys.

I remembered, as we walked back into the cold midnight, sweaty with smiles on our faces, why for years I had so sought this experience. You leave feeling so human, so raw and part of something, so excited about life, with such faith in humanity and the power that one like-minded group can generate. I can't let it go another six years.

Inviting the Exciting

Lots of time with friends and family, and a new adventure every week. Those are two things I've invited to hang with me through 2012, and both have decided to attend. Ask and you shall receive.

We're only two weeks in, and already Adam's parents have been visiting, we've taken a getaway down to Oceanside, we've watched whales swimming around our boat off the shore of San Diego, we've eaten so well it's ridiculous. Already we've had a get-together at Joyce's with lots of red wine and food and wonderful friends. Already I have a job interview which, if successful, would bring me some wealth and utilize my brain. I am so thankful for all of it, and also...

In two weeks I get to start yoga teacher training with one of my favorite yoga teachers! It's something I've been wanting to do for a while, and thanks to the love and kindness of the people around me, I will soon be spending three days a week until April learning and moving and strengthening and manifesting. Who knows what great opportunities this will bring!

Here are some others I've invited to my 2012 party; I'm just waiting for the RSVP:
-A helpful, supportive commercial agent!
-Money money money!
-A wonderful new apartment near the beach with a bedroom! And a cat friend.
-So many auditions that I get sick of auditioning!
-Booking a bunch of the jobs from those auditions!
-Lots of quality time with Adam!
-Creativity!
-Love!
-Happiness!

Who are you inviting?

Don't Give Up!

Even with all the afflictions I suffered as a child (bad hair, annoying voice, general un-cuteness), I kept on keeping on. Take heart -- it gets better!

That's Your Problem.

I hate my sensitivity, but I truly care if people like me or not. Always have. I would prefer to be friends with everyone. I am very good at being realistic, at noticing details, at categorizing, but I am also really good at seeing the best in people and choosing to go with that as opposed to finding their faults.

And in my interactions with people, I try always to be the most genuine me that I can be, while trying to filter out anything offensive or rude. I am goofy, I am raw, I provide too much information, I compliment freely, I soften blows, I break into accents or into song when I talk. That's me.

So when people don't like me, it's really me that they don't like, not some fake persona I've created. That's why, when I find out someone simply doesn't want to be my friend, I am deeply offended. I've cut myself open and placed myself neatly upon a silver platter for their consumption, and they turn their nose up at it, decline it.

I'm too hard on myself. I love humans so much that I try to be, as Everclear once put it, "Everything to Everyone." (Impossible, of course, and taxing.) Some people are offended by the real, the raw, the honest. Some people would rather you slice off all those little bits of you that make you unique and throw them in the dumpster. They'd rather you be a robot who looks like every other robot. Don't make them think. Don't make them laugh. Don't make them do things any differently. Just ignore any higher functions you may possess, because that will make them uncomfortable, or jealous of you.

Well, as time goes on, I realize that worrying about whether people like you is a lot of trouble for no reason. If I am as authentic as I can be, and as kind as I can be, and you still don't like me? That's your problem. That means you are a bitch. Or you are jealous. Or your IQ is not high enough to deal with someone who thinks outside your tiny, humorless box. So have fun being miserable - you are no longer on my radar.

Let us henceforth only pay attention to those who are worthy of our attention.

Don't Be Scared

I hate fear; I see it hinder the life-living of so many people I love. I don't have many fears that I'm not willing to face -- just maybe a few things that are uncomfortable to me. But one thing is, I very much dislike playing instruments in public. I used to be awesome at some instruments, but these days I am remedial. So for 2012, I am going to try to record at least one video per month (more, if I feel like it) covering any song that tickles my fancy. I will miss notes and my hands will fumble, and I'll sing out of the corner of my mouth like I was Drew Barrymore, but this isn't to impress you anyway -- it's to impress myself for doing it. I figure that if I get comfortable with other people's songs, maybe I'll get back to writing songs of my own! So here goes the first installment: Moon River on the guitar. 

And while we're at it, here is a poem to inspire you. I first heard it from one of my favorite yoginis. 

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

FAIL-year

I feel good. What I’ve realized from rehashing my journey through two-thousand-and-eleven is that it has contained the most failures per annum of all the years of my life. So many fails I failed this year! And I’m still here, smiling, enjoying myself, and happy to tell you about them. What I figure is, the more you’re failing, the more you are trying – attempting to do things that are beyond the scope of average behavior. So in failing so epically throughout 2011, I have actually succeeded. And since I lived through it, I think I have a great shot in 2012 to make amazing things happen.

Now, I don't want you to think 2011 was a complete bust. I did marry the most wonderful man in the entire world and spend the weekend with all my best friends and favorite people, and got visits from awesome family and friends who came to California (Karima and Brad, Cameron and Jess, Alex and Lewis, Rowen), and got to go to Kentucky three entire times to see my family. I got an awesome manager who believes in me and finally became SAG eligible. I went to Vegas for a week and worked as a producer on a pilot. I was completely changed when I made yoga a huge part of my life. I got an amazing new job (and friends) at Lululemon. We moved to a nicer neighborhood, went to Mexico, and enjoyed all kinds of adventures around L.A. I am so lucky.

However, if you're looking to feel better about yourself, click below for list of my biggest 2011 FAILs per month (and these are not counting all the things I auditioned for and didn't get). Happy New Year!

Most Loathed Christmas Songs

To continue my tradition of questioning the quality of certain holiday tunes, here, in order, are the top three Christmas songs that make my ears bleed.

1. Happy Xmas (War is Over)

-The lyrics begin with an accusation: "So this is Christmas and what have you done?" Eff YOU! What have YOU done, and what gives you license to assume that I haven't done anything worthwhile? I've done a lot, actually, so koo koo kachoo yourself on out of here and stop judging me.

-The sound of those children singing "WAAAAR IIIIS OOOOOVEEER..." is actually antithetical to the message, since it's the absolute worst noise I've ever heard. Makes me want to start a new war -- a war on children singing those horrible notes. And Yoko's voice goes in the same category.

-Why do you feel the need to bring the word "war" into my Christmas songs, anyway? Can we just ignore it long enough to deck the halls? Or could we just not use the word "war" in the refrain of a holiday ditty? Stick a fruitcake in it and let's just enjoy ourselves!

2. Santa Baby

-This song goes into the same category with those little red and white fuzzy lingerie items with jingle bells attached. Public service announcement: please, don't try to mix your Christmas with your sex. Nothing is less sexy than themed sweaters, carols, and (grossest of all) family. Everyone who sings this song makes an atrocious attempt at a sexy kitten growl. Do you, Miss Eartha Kitt and infinite cover artists, not realize that Christmas is The Least Sexiest Time of the Year? And your prostituting yourself for Santa isn't an image any of us wants to dwell on.

-Who is this song's target audience? Since we have established that it's the antithesis of sexy, it can't be enjoyed by straight men. I know it's not for women, because I am one, and all of us are annoyed by it. I can only assume that the fans must be teenage girls and/or young gay boys who want to get a holiday crush's attention by performing "Santa Baby" in the school talent show.

3. Do You Hear What I Hear?

-"Said the night wind to the little lamb..." Are you bored yet? I am. And yet, for some reason, this song has been on repeat in every store and on every radio station. I've snored through every verson. Can we please mix it up a little?

Some Notes on Happiness

My cousin just found out that the baby inside her belly is a little boy, which will pair nicely his adorable two-year-old sister. So I write this note for the forthcoming Preston Mills, and for every baby that happens to be reading this, my advice on how to stay happy.

First, bambino, stay the way you are, living in the moment, looking at everything as if it were the first time you've seen it, and being open to learning something from every person and experience. You won't get bored this way, and you can find a little celebration in every moment if you look for it. If you're having a bad day, that's okay: just look for the absurdity in the situation, and you will probably think it's darkly funny. If you have no sense of humor, get one by any means. The bad day (week/month) will end and if you keep your humor, you'll be back to your happy self soon.

I watched a movie the other day with a bunch of my Lululemon friends, a documentary called The Happy Movie. It followed the lives of lots of happy people all over the world. Some were in communal living situations in Denmark, some lived under tarps in India, some were Bushmen living in the Kalahari, some had overcome great physical trauma...but all of them said "I am happy." These people, along with me, a late-twenties misfit with no established "career" and a mountain of debt, are happy in our situations, and we all have the following things in common.

We are grateful. Instead of comparing yourself to that perfumed lady whose outfit costs more than you make in a year, put your life in perspective and look at what you do have. If you live under a tarp, be grateful that you get the afternoon sunlight from the west. If you are one of the Bushmen of the Kalahari, be grateful that you are surrounded with people who care for you. You will feel joyful if you are happy with what you have.

We stay active. Babies, by the time you are teenagers, there will probably be a Matrix you can hook yourself into and play video games with your mind while your body lies in a pod. Please use this in moderation: there is no replacement for getting outdoors, sweating, feeling like you are using your body the way nature intended; moving makes you feel vital and alive. And stay active mentally, too. Read and watch and discuss and create! Do things when an idea strikes; don't save them for later when the passion has died.

We maintain meaningful social interactions. This will help you stay mentally and physically active, and open your world up to new experiences. Find love, or find friends, or spend time with family or a group of like-minded people. Just talking to others is proven to light up happy parts of the brain that otherwise lie dormant. Get your alone time when you need it, but don't make a habit of it.

We commit kindness. Do things for other people. Be thoughtful. Give compliments freely. Smile at strangers. You never know whose day you're going to save just by letting someone in front of you in line.

And don't expect yourself to be perfect; don't expect anything from yourself that is impossible. If you decide once in a while to stay in bed and have no social interactions and not move except to get the pint of ice cream out of the freezer, don't feel guilty about it--you are human! Love yourself for who you are and own it.

That's all for now--I can't wait to meet you!

G