Tag Archives: talent

Your “First”

4 May

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You will never forget them.  It’s impossible, given the hugeness of their role in your life.

…Today, mine would have turned 85.

I was four years old.

…I still remember the house address we live at, the exact layout of the living room furniture.  I remember a cardboard record sleeve, covered in pink with floral artwork spilling over it, leading to the face of a woman in a giant hat on the front, still photos on the back.  And the record itself, spinning on the turntable by the wall, Mom resetting the needle to a specific song.

“Okay…you wanna try it again?”

“Yuh.”

“Okay…here we go…”

…And the needle went down and caught on the groove, and the intro of a song I will remember…I think even if I were to one day forget my own name…started to play.

…And my eyes, would look hard at the record cover…the picture of this lady…and I’d think about how she looked when she sang this song…that green coat and flat black straw hat, dancing around the wet cobble stones, throwing lettuce leafs in the air, and pretending to be a queen…and I opened my mouth and let it burst out of me.

I was trained to be a character actor, as I trained for that talent show.  My very first time on a stage. I would be five when I performed it for real…just me and a piano, and my own little green jacket, with flat black straw hat.  But I was four when I first met The Lady, first saw the film on VHS, first pointed to the TV screen and said, “I want to be her when I grow up.”

…I didn’t know what an Actor was…nor The Lady, but she talked funny and I liked it.  So I started talking funny, back.  And Mom had noticed. Apparently I had an ear for it.  Apparently, I nailed it.  Which is how we got on a road to a talent show to begin with, which is how I got on stage for the first time, and freakishly won…which is how so much of who I am, all began.

Today The Lady would have turned 85, had she lived.  And for two decades of my life, she was the star I had set my ship to sail towards.  I mean what better role model could a young girl have?  She survived war and famine with grace, was understated, and elegant, classy and joyous,  she was gentle and kind to animals…she spent the last years of her life as an Ambassador to war-torn nations.  I spent the bulk of my adolescence obsessing over her, reading every article, buying every book, seeing every movie…and learning as much as I could about how to be a better person…on total accident.

…My intent, because of her, was to be an Actor. That was what I thought I was studying for…like I did all those years ago, with a record spinning cockney voices into the air. But I learned much more.

…I learned she WASN’T the flower girl pretending to be a queen. She was a queen…pretending to be a flower girl.

…And the more I realized that, the more I opened up to other influences…building my cannon of acting teachers and role models…first in black and white, and later in more contemporary atmospheres.

You see, I realized even at age four, I wasn’t ever going to be the pretty lady walking down the stairs in a white beaded gown on the way to a ball. I was (and am) the scrubby street urchin. It’s more fun, for one…and the joy and limitlessness to dream about the what-ifs, is endless. The pretty lady in white always seemed stuck somehow. Unhappy. Even with all the wealth she was surrounded with. And I’d rather roll in the mud with some mates raising a ruckus any day, than attend Ascot…even if I DID get to wear that hat.

…And so this lesson formed my life. Obviously.

…And The Lady, though my first and best girl, became not my only model for measurement. Eventually I would find Bette Davis, who’s swilling booze and articulate bite of dialogue seemed more a natural to me. And Ava Gardner, who could do these magical things to men by just looking at them in a certain way. And Judy Garland who would be doped up ten ways to Sunday, slurring even, then open her mouth and sob out a song that would make you forget to breathe for a while, it wretched your guts so hard. There were countless others…but all of them who caught my eye seemed to be damaged or dark or simply more complicated than The Lady, who had started it all. I don’t believe it made me love her less, just realize my own place in the artistic arena.

Hardly anyone can be as genuinely a good and beautiful person (inside and out) as Audrey Hepburn. But I’ll be thankful for the rest of my forevers, that in the years when a human is forming their sense of self and ideas of the world in general, I had the fairest lady of them all as a role model and guide. It certainly isn’t her fault I ended up falling off the wagon by way of the Tallulah Bankhead variety. The point is: I can recognize the value, I understand the need, I see the importance of a positive influence.

…What Audrey taught me was to work hard, to live simple, to be kind, to help others, to be gracious. I may not live up to these idioms all the time, but they are there in my head…and when I fall short of them, like a good ol’ Catholic guilt complex, I can still hear her voice in the back of my head, urging me to be better. And maybe that “goodness” was too posh an outfit for me to wear. I know myself well enough to acknowledge that. But I suppose the point is: I am who I am today…whether you can see it or not…due in large part to one of the gentlest, classiest, fashion-iconic, charity-building, humans to walk the earth. She was (and will always be) a very special hero to me…

…And I guess what I’m saying is: “Here’s a toast to a Dearest Lady, very close to my heart…with endless thanks, on her 85th Birthday.”

Cheers, love.

~D

Genetic Lotto Wins Of Talent & Beauty

1 Oct

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You know how every once in a while you see a print ad or a commercial or are watching a movie and a person is standing before you with just unconscionable beauty, and you think, “My god, that just cannot be real. No actual person can possibly be that ridiculously beautiful?!”

…And you know how then, you really have to acknowledge the fact that, yes, these people actually DO exist, if for nothing else than to fuck with the normal human laws of averages?  Like you HAVE to have the highest heights of esthetic perfection, and you have to have the lowest lows…because that’s just how you have a ruler on which to gauge things.  And most people fall somewhere in the middle.  And that’s better than being at the bottom.  Unless you really think about the dilemma of “relations.”

…Not “sex” mind you, but ACTUAL “relations”…of the blood variety.

For instance: No matter how “pleasant” the fraternal twin sister of Isabella Rossellini might look, tell me it didn’t TOTALLY  blow the big one, with “Ms. Lancome” growing up right beside you.  Not that she isn’t brilliant…a professor for one…a noble profession, yes…but her mother was a fucking gorgeous freak of modeling and acting talent, her father helped reinvent Italian cinema, and her twin sister’s face is plastered on every major magazine from Vogue to Harpers, across like four decades.  So yeahThat didn’t suck.

…Its like that, you see, with my own sister.  (Minus the Doctoral degree.)

She’s but a “half,” (different Mothers, ironically both of Irish descent)…though both of us very clearly take after our Father in looks…and she very clearly, managed to get the fucking genetic Lotto on every level outta the deal.  How can this be? And where is the fairness in that?  When you put our pictures next to one another, you can tell we’re “related”…only she’s in sharp focus, with fine lines and perfect teeth, a beautiful figure (even after two babies), and model print portfolios, with musical talent comin’ outta absolutely every pore.  She prob’ly even shits rainbows. 

My photos look like a person who hasn’t quite finished cooking yet.  They are all sorta bulgy, with extra chins, and not great noses, who has no “good side,” has never…in the HISTORY OF LIFE…taken a good picture, (yet, bless the theatre, I’ve been airbrushed and Photoshop’d with religious fervor to ATTEMPT it); and at the BEST of times, could be said is a “decent character actor,” who can write and sing “a little.”

This topic all comes, by the way, in due part to the latest photo-sitting of the sister I barely know, and her family…newly posted on FB, all of which look like they just came out of a GAP ad.

…I’ve never spoken to her husband in my life, (whom I am told, is a lovely man), nor my niece and nephew, (the former, an absolutely eery carbon copy of her mother)…and only to my sister herself, maybe twice since my own High School graduation.  (We are not close…due to circumstances of our childhood, not any ill will.)  And yet even having NOT been raised in the bedroom beside this beauty queen all my life, I still shake my fist at the fairness factor involved here.  Not that I would take it away…I’d just like to have gotten perhaps a bit more of the “fabulousness cocktail,” that was clearly for the taking, genetically speaking…when it was MY turn.  After all, I DID come first!

…It’d be nice to have a “profile” and not a “potato” (for instance.)  I could use a little less of the “Latina” in the ass department, thank you.  Would it have really fucked fate to have gained another inch in height or relocated a couple pounds into my bra?  And the weight distribution?  Even when I’m small, it still falls in all the wrong places than it should, by just plain common sense and physics.

…Which is all to say: The new family photos are ridiculously adorable, enchanting, and beautiful.  She married a hottie, and BOTH her kids managed to also cash in on the genetic Royalty line.  And I’m proud to say, “These people are my family!”  But at the same time?  It’s gotta be stated:

“Average sisters of the world, of print-art-freak-beauties: I feel your pain, all!  And this one’s for you.”

(toast.)

~D

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