Random Anecdote #1

At work a few months ago I took a phone call from a client asking to speak to my boss who was, alas, on a conference call and couldn't be interrupted.  This particular client was not happy to hear that he’d have to wait 45 minutes to speak to the boss man.  With some cheer in his voice he asked if I were the “messenger” and when I replied in the affirmative he chuckled and said “Well, I kill the messenger.”  He went on to ask what I looked like.  Startled, I begged his pardon only to hear him respond “How big are your titties?”  After another "excuse me, sir, what did you say?" he chuckled and said "I only asked how big they are, I didn't ask to see 'em."  He continued "Are they big?" at which point I decided I'd had more than enough and told him in my German ancestor voice (clipped, pointed with a strongly disapproving tone) that I did not appreciate his comments and that I would have my boss return his call as soon as possible. Undeterred, this man then told me I was being overly sensitive and that I needed to get laid (a favorite charge of misogynists applied to women when we dare assert ourselves).  Really getting my German on now, I told him he was rude and then I hung up on him. 

Clearly it need not be stated that there are no situations in which it is okay to ask a woman "how big are your titties?" unless you are starring in a porn film playing a priest hearing confession. 

Love Child

Recently, I’ve done a lot of thinking about my creative identity.  Based on several (highly unscientific) polls of friends and family, comments from writing instructors and classmates and a review of my acting credits (www.julieevansmith.com if you are interested in my bona fides), the time has come to announce my creative DNA.  It goes something like this:

If Laura Linney, David Sedaris and Eve Ensler had a three-way, I would be their creative love child. 

So that’s good to know, right?  Sure, if I need to do my “elevator pitch” anytime soon to an agent at CAA.  But I’m trying to determine which of the several unfinished projects in my BIG FAT WRITING BINDER (thank you, Sofphronia Scott), to concentrate on.  Yes, the collection of personal essays is scratching at the door of my brain to get out, ready for the Barnes & Noble book tour.  At the same time, the actress in me wants to create a one woman show in order to showcase my talents and feed the significant part of my soul that loves being onstage.  Then there’s the activist side of me, the one concerned about women’s rights and female autonomy in a world still considerably hostile to the female sex despite it being the 21^st Fucking Century!!  Judging from my creative DNA, the answer is obvious, isn’t it?

I need to write a funny solo show about abortion.

That should be easy, right?!  ‘Cause we all know that abortion is A) hilarious and B) a subject that is not remotely controversial.  Everyone is like “WHERE is that comical show about reproductive rights that I keep waiting for?  Sheesh – I wish someone would hurry up and produce THAT play.” 

Come on In!

Welcome, dear readers!  For those of you familiar with my previous blog (wordsmithatplay.blogspot.com), I decided that a fresh start was necessary; hence, my new address.  I like to think of my new web home as the 1920s Craftsman style house I will live in one day in the real world, with my dog and my husband. Alongside it is a picture of my London brownstone - necessary as my future husband and I will divide our time between the States and the UK.

For those of you that enjoyed reading my political tirades, there will be less of that here, but rest assured, I’ll still rant-n-roll from time to time.  Despite the election being over and Obama being re-elected (thank GOD!), I’ve no doubt that Republican idiots will utter something inane about female anatomy and/or autonomy sooner rather than later.  Rest assured, it will piss me off and I will take to this blog to vent my rage. 

But I would like to explore more than politics here.  When we find ourselves at the dinner table (made of reclaimed wood) in my 1920s Craftsman house, we’ll dish on all things policy and wonky, just like Rachel and Chris and Lawrence over at MSNBC.  But you may find yourself in the study/library of my London flat, in a cozy chair with a glass of Reisling, in which case I’ll likely be recommending the latest book that kept me up past my bedtime.  Or we might be in the family room, watching a little TV, eagerly awaiting the Golden Globes – hosted this year by TINA FEY and AMY POEHLER!!  Either that, or we’re watching BBC. 

Warning – we could also be curled up under the covers, frustrated over where to put our creative energies now that acting is on the back burner.  In that case, comments must be limited to cheerleading and positive reinforcement! 

No need to remove your shoes.  Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge (most likely some Mountain Dew, cheese, salad fixings) or the pantry (lots of crackers, butternut squash soup, pasta).  Make yourself comfortable.  I'm glad you're here.