tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-364990302024-03-19T02:04:51.360-07:00Claire FordhamClairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-85382967773082647622012-01-26T08:47:00.000-08:002012-01-26T08:55:37.885-08:00Rhythm and Bliss<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrMaDlBkx-1Bw0fEPuykhz80JUGzTy9-yesUPQq3h1LufbX4pOBgaa4XJk_S_hPCZ7XWtxAW9r5GA-gGOwxuaAmMShV-6Uz5QsXVoPTrqqzf6C1pKs_c1qOS9NdhfHnQpMDrf/s1600/5+Dance+crop.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrMaDlBkx-1Bw0fEPuykhz80JUGzTy9-yesUPQq3h1LufbX4pOBgaa4XJk_S_hPCZ7XWtxAW9r5GA-gGOwxuaAmMShV-6Uz5QsXVoPTrqqzf6C1pKs_c1qOS9NdhfHnQpMDrf/s400/5+Dance+crop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701984155260777442" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">In my dreams, I am smiling at the cameras in the season finale of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Dancing With The Stars</i>, waving at the adoring crowds with one hand and holding the mirror ball trophy in the other, with confetti raining all around<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">. </i></p>In reality, I only dance after a couple of glasses of wine at a party. And it’s more shuffling from one foot to the other, hoping no one is looking. <p class="MsoNormal">My sister Julia suggested I accompany her to a 5 Rhythms Dance class. She’s been going every Tuesday in Topanga and thought it would be good for me to step outside my comfort zone and dance around a) with abandon, and b) among complete strangers.</p> <p>Developed by Gabrielle Roth in the 1970s, 5 Rhythms is a cathartic form of dance for body, mind and heart with classes held all over the world. The practice focuses on putting the body in motion in order to still the mind and allow the student to connect to the spiritual. The five rhythms (in order) are: f<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">lowing, staccato, chaos, lyrical and stillness.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There’s a reason why I hadn’t been to a class before. Julia told me that at some point the teacher invites people to dance with the person nearest to them. Not in a “strictly ballroom” or “pas de deux” kind of way, but in whatever way takes your fancy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julia assured me that the class is not just for professional dancers, that no one will look at me or care if I am any good or not, and it’s not too touchy-feely. So I bit the bullet and prepared to dance the night away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A quick, discreet look around the room confirmed that my fellow dancers were all shapes, sizes and ages, men and women – regular people. The music was loud and, well, rhythmic, and impossible not to dance to.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kate Shela, a fellow Brit, is a brilliant teacher and a wizard at weaving the five rhythms.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-;font-size:100%;" >There’s a guided structure </span><span style="mso-bidi-;font-size:100%;" >but you cannot get it wrong. We were</span><span style="mso-bidi-;font-size:100%;" > encouraged to dance whatever comes up for us and embody it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That first time, I pretended I was a ballet dancer and just wafted my arms about with the occasional leap – for most of the class. I stomped around for the last half hour and genuinely didn’t care what anyone thought. That’s actually a very big deal for me. It was intensely and immensely liberating.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kate runs weekly classes in Topanga and Santa Monica, California and gives individual tuition. She’s also a shamanic healer. Kate says, “5 Rhythms is a map that can take you anywhere you want to go. It fuels so much passion and gives you confidence in all aspects of your life. It teaches you to be truly present and fuels creativity. It can be life-changing and life-affirming. For some people, it’s just a great workout.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It certainly makes me feel good and the best $15 I’ve spent in a while. It’s also aerobic exercise that doesn’t feel like a chore. Wear loose-fitting clothes and take a big bottle of water. The class lasts two hours and you will get hot and sticky. You can dance in bare feet or soft shoes, but you will dance. Oh, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For more information and to find a 5 Rhythm Dance class near you: <a href="http://www.kateshela.com/">www.kateshela.com</a> and <a href="http://www.gabrielleroth.com/">www.gabrielleroth.com</a> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-54106984527297552012011-07-12T18:06:00.000-07:002011-07-12T18:12:54.569-07:00Call me Bubu<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtC0ZZnAveSFZ9mFAiWwB21BL6aao9nkVGuCOjvI-LAVIIIMRtlUSdE1pnnHhwT9cf5jVjxM5jYdE-Jotf_QtSt1uhWBgzsCVw52v5jkQLJM5L8s3BsEy_iZDjCDqSnkpEuHYy/s1600/Mia+Rose%2527s+Smile.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtC0ZZnAveSFZ9mFAiWwB21BL6aao9nkVGuCOjvI-LAVIIIMRtlUSdE1pnnHhwT9cf5jVjxM5jYdE-Jotf_QtSt1uhWBgzsCVw52v5jkQLJM5L8s3BsEy_iZDjCDqSnkpEuHYy/s400/Mia+Rose%2527s+Smile.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628638291864450130" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I may have been a little hasty 10 years ago by stating I would stop coloring my hair when I became a grandmother. That time has now come, but my colorist will still be seeing me once a month. I also need to tell my sister I’m moving the goalposts on my request that she smother me with a pillow when I start peeing my pants. Let’s change it to: “when I start peeing my pants regularly.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was a one-off, honest, and only a teeny, tiny bit after I’d consumed a lot of water, was out on a long hike, and someone made me laugh.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Forget about growing old gracefully, I am going to be dragged into my dotage kicking and screaming. There are so many adventures to be had ‒ like more trips to Fiji, where my Man Child lives, to get to know my first grandchild properly. Photographs and Skype are all well and good, but I want to teach her to bake, swim, read, write, and play hide-and-seek in person.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hope she likes me. Of course she will. I’m fun. Parents are annoying. But grandparents are fun, fluffy and kind. Or rather, we should be. And wise. My grandchild’s father and aunt chose to ignore most of my advice and words of wisdom, but they are happy, healthy and thriving, so I must have done something right.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of the best things we can do for our children (apart from loving and feeding them, of course) is to set a good example and learn from our own parents’ mistakes. My mother was unable to resist mentioning (constantly) that she didn’t like the name Marley that my sister chose for her daughter, as it reminded her of Marley’s ghost in Charles Dickens’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">A Christmas Carol</i>. I vowed never to be so tactless and rude about my own children’s choice of names for their offspring.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Although I defy anyone not to raise an eyebrow when their son announces he is going to call his unborn child Vosamana, a Fijian name meaning: “what he says happens,” if it turned out to be a boy.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The baby is a girl, so we dodged the Vosamana bullet. She is completely gorgeous, super-smart, and has been named after her aunt and maternal grandmother: Mia Claire.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Fijian word for grandmother is Bubu. That’ll do nicely. I’m way too young to be a Grandma or Grannie. I see one of my jobs to ensure Mia Claire is the best-dressed and best-educated girl in Fiji. My husband, Colin (or Grand Poppa C as he is now known), has never had children of his own, but is almost as besotted as I am with the baby.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He said it seems like the world is a different and better place since she’s been born. I’m glad he feels that way, because his Porsche fund just became Mia Claire’s college kitty.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-27468197837152920672011-06-01T08:08:00.000-07:002011-06-01T11:20:32.505-07:00Hawaii Six-Oh<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU4np8u4kFwAoHGwWEH1I3usExu_aw6Un_AtVaqZNKjKq0LhlGTKmv5yACfphXM4-PJ66kbLCKWQaCtP-zvtPib_dEJg9plhnbW9Yy3qFI4cCVPjYy1CiJoxRL6e7gUB8iX4po/s1600/035.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU4np8u4kFwAoHGwWEH1I3usExu_aw6Un_AtVaqZNKjKq0LhlGTKmv5yACfphXM4-PJ66kbLCKWQaCtP-zvtPib_dEJg9plhnbW9Yy3qFI4cCVPjYy1CiJoxRL6e7gUB8iX4po/s400/035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613268851424326082" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Marley’s Hawaiian-themed sixth birthday party was a triumph. My tropical bra was actually made of two scallop shells; worn over a tank top plus a shirt to spare my embarrassment.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Leis and all other Hawaiian accessories ‒ including napkins, plates and cups ‒ were bought from a Dollar Tree store. Who knew? It costs more than the 99 Cents store, but well worth the extra penny.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Most of the delicious food was cooked by Marley’s grandmother, Luba. You could taste the love. Marley helped me make the cake the day before, although I was also in charge of the salmon, green salad, <span style="font-style: italic;">Pass The Parcel </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Musical Statues</span>. But my greatest contribution was to use pineapple juice instead of peach (more Hawaiian) for the adults’ Bellinis. I could barely keep up with demand.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Highlight of the party for me, as it is every year, is to go in the bouncy castle with a few other game mums after the kids have exhausted themselves. Joy.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGmM-YtaaDx1cDVi86Axd5Cme3MCaN7ISt8Ejd45mk24BU8iiQNxIzZ_yAeosTEjREjsC649kwK7fPVBGA9EHxioIF0mTyIjtzS7vtQ72bgo-1vVZTq34sZMebenn9R3T5V4W/s1600/046.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGmM-YtaaDx1cDVi86Axd5Cme3MCaN7ISt8Ejd45mk24BU8iiQNxIzZ_yAeosTEjREjsC649kwK7fPVBGA9EHxioIF0mTyIjtzS7vtQ72bgo-1vVZTq34sZMebenn9R3T5V4W/s400/046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613270447897378434" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTwyXxk0_bXpqxTdjQmIxabEa2mpteHHcEYAnwVgiaY48jowaPcDqiQzPWcAZ7sjINvEQiPQEUa2v40eto974O2t2YbCnsKPNHJcJYFmHypzAzLWGOfDjqm2AYJi1gGTdoiNE/s1600/038.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTwyXxk0_bXpqxTdjQmIxabEa2mpteHHcEYAnwVgiaY48jowaPcDqiQzPWcAZ7sjINvEQiPQEUa2v40eto974O2t2YbCnsKPNHJcJYFmHypzAzLWGOfDjqm2AYJi1gGTdoiNE/s400/038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613270444254766274" border="0" /></a></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKl7Q2tg9HKKoxnIhTlPbrj6RI2otURdMnT6NKosMN1l92Wk5RNSTBnRIlG1nn0orvQd3pQsm5YXP9hDKaf1hwX18Xc7UGGdHG65QEEGvzKVV2wGO76xFWIBA28EMU-O3NomP/s1600/058.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKl7Q2tg9HKKoxnIhTlPbrj6RI2otURdMnT6NKosMN1l92Wk5RNSTBnRIlG1nn0orvQd3pQsm5YXP9hDKaf1hwX18Xc7UGGdHG65QEEGvzKVV2wGO76xFWIBA28EMU-O3NomP/s400/058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613270436063788882" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ilcy82EwScKgCus9tvlg8-YJ5T08NPjOnXpi7XpDWU9QEcb-dO92HIOYHKFKjUgmB813Tyhk0ge2ofhpZghgimuzAaBZmGgmqHduscZxopi0TNPyk4eE9QTdGA465E5DvuKi/s1600/054.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ilcy82EwScKgCus9tvlg8-YJ5T08NPjOnXpi7XpDWU9QEcb-dO92HIOYHKFKjUgmB813Tyhk0ge2ofhpZghgimuzAaBZmGgmqHduscZxopi0TNPyk4eE9QTdGA465E5DvuKi/s400/054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613270425100583250" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlgocgC0RV2JjrH-2keQ6Aai9Xd82VPEm1o4-RkrMdAlRT4w6TmMvEZGgR7msyaVfAnE-ORhZwYf6RTgP1XFqkx9kwqAfQu6KgrVJBznCMLlG_zj4w0Yb-dm8CHDJGFWpV3qL/s1600/071.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlgocgC0RV2JjrH-2keQ6Aai9Xd82VPEm1o4-RkrMdAlRT4w6TmMvEZGgR7msyaVfAnE-ORhZwYf6RTgP1XFqkx9kwqAfQu6KgrVJBznCMLlG_zj4w0Yb-dm8CHDJGFWpV3qL/s400/071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613272881172570930" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNvWcfO_4VX9pORad0Hwrk5ykUFpceJoaqCM-q2OSCBsEMMjq5KHBP3BL6V5jyrqVXlgXMnN2WnRP_61f8mD8PNQ3Sr0q7h3ePapeeCh9EkX-3RNvo5blFPgxVsplt_zOMUGE1/s1600/037.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNvWcfO_4VX9pORad0Hwrk5ykUFpceJoaqCM-q2OSCBsEMMjq5KHBP3BL6V5jyrqVXlgXMnN2WnRP_61f8mD8PNQ3Sr0q7h3ePapeeCh9EkX-3RNvo5blFPgxVsplt_zOMUGE1/s400/037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613316540153655250" border="0" /></a><br />Fresh Pineapple recipe<br />Ingredients:<br /><br />1 Ripe pineapple<br />Brown sugar<br />Fresh Mint<br /><br />Cut the pineapple into four pieces leaving on the leaves for prettiness. Remove the core with a sharp knife as its bitter. Then sprinkle with brown sugar and the chopped mint. It looks spectacular and is delicious and refreshing. My friend Diane who gave me the recipe pounds the sugar (not much) and chopped mint in a mortar and pestle first but I can't be bothered.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-75136699122712722102011-04-28T09:32:00.000-07:002011-04-28T09:41:23.079-07:00To blog or not to blog...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8C9wxlvFcuI16tKFKr8NR2n0Zs985ug8kTJeoElLL90BC7Rru8-ZRkUGEZZZXtmgscj9J4509ezhSs_41ZLozYAvsDNrAQd6Y4CME4fuqToZMZnHoPIjGqfdswgnRu-mpMfwZ/s1600/011.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8C9wxlvFcuI16tKFKr8NR2n0Zs985ug8kTJeoElLL90BC7Rru8-ZRkUGEZZZXtmgscj9J4509ezhSs_41ZLozYAvsDNrAQd6Y4CME4fuqToZMZnHoPIjGqfdswgnRu-mpMfwZ/s400/011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600674681392924930" border="0" /></a>Overheard in a Santa Monica restaurant: a distraught man was telling his dinner companion that not a single comment had been left on his latest blog post.<br /> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I read an article on the <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span> website (before the recent paywall) saying the blog is dead and has been for years. Couple that with snide comments from some (alright, many) people who think those of us with blogs have enormous egos and deserve derision for thinking that anyone gives a shit about what we think or do.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know several journalists who write for websites and get paid for it. They become quite huffy if anyone calls them bloggers.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In my defense, I started writing a blog when my book was published (June 2005 – yikes!). I was advised by other authors and my literary agent that everyone blogs and you simply must have a website. The idea being that readers will be so amused by your blog they will buy your book(s).<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not so much. My few followers have bought the book already, but I persevere nonetheless. Not from a place of arrogance, but a love of writing and the faint hope I might amuse a friend, family member or complete stranger who is bored at work and has stumbled upon my blog by accident.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My good friend and web mistress, Diane, who actually has hundreds of people follow her blog, advised me that blog posts should be no longer than 400 to 500 words (my first few ran to 1500 words), have a photo and be about something. In Diane’s case, she writes about book binding and other creative pursuits. So I decided to include recipes in mine, as I love cooking and hope to publish a recipe book one day. It has been fairly easy to accept that my life isn’t funny or interesting enough on its own.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To this end, please see below the recipe for Prince William’s Groom’s Cake to be served at his wedding to Catherine Middleton. I made it to celebrate my woman-child’s 30<sup>th</sup> birthday this month and it was very well received. And yes, I will be setting my alarm to get up for the royal nuptials.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chocolate Crunch Cake </span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ingredients:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">4ozs/110 g butter or margarine</p> <p class="MsoNormal">10ozs/300 g chocolate (milk or dark, according to preference)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">140zs/400g tin condensed milk</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Large packet Rich Tea or Digestive biscuits or half and half.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">15 glace cherries (Chopped)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">2ozs chopped nuts</p> <p class="MsoNormal">2ozs raisins</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Recipe:</p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">In a large bowl, crush the biscuits.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Stir in the cherries, raisins and nuts.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">In a pan, melt the butter, condensed milk and half the chocolate.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Pour the chocolate mixture over the biscuit mixture. Stir well until all the crushed biscuits are coated.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Line a tin with parchment paper and pour in the mixture.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Melt the rest of the chocolate and pour over the cake mixture.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Freeze for at least two hours or until needed. Remove from the tin, leave at room temperature for two hours before cutting into slices and serving.</li></ol>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-15352249946904206082011-01-25T16:31:00.000-08:002011-01-25T16:44:24.454-08:00The Sundance Kid<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCQxzfPyBLUtCT055nZtbDnSJhFG2-IOCHypqQe1wwvI9ZJ2qLhGlMpA2ELAUTgdqPOiKRuJYtQWTQOCE7bjEilSfwZLaWg7bvw-yu929VaF_bxEDRIILc9Ys8TqN1aCAvwYN/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCQxzfPyBLUtCT055nZtbDnSJhFG2-IOCHypqQe1wwvI9ZJ2qLhGlMpA2ELAUTgdqPOiKRuJYtQWTQOCE7bjEilSfwZLaWg7bvw-yu929VaF_bxEDRIILc9Ys8TqN1aCAvwYN/s400/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566286875834950098" border="0" /></a>Turns out Colin was right, I could have packed the clothes I needed for the Sundance trip in a carry-on. Paul Reiser, Julia and I were the only people in our party who brought their biggest cases. But they were performing. I missed the email that said there would not be time to go snowboarding, so I needn’t have bought new (and expensive) ski pants and coat. <p class="MsoNormal">At least my case wasn’t overweight by two pounds like Paul’s and I was able to take the manuscript for his latest book, <i style="">Familyhood</i>, thus saving him $95 in excess baggage.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It pained me to have to pay $25 each way to check in a suitcase filled with outfit changes and six pairs of gloves in different shades that I didn’t use. Lesson learned.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t care that Paul could only get Julia into the first class airport lounge with him. Lori (Julia’s manager), Joan and I were happy in the Malibu bar drinking champagne and Bloody Marys with a surfboard as a table.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The gigs at the ASCAP Music Café on Main Street were a triumph. I loved being in the green room with the young rock bands who were also on the bill, so full of enthusiasm and excited about being on the road. Our favorites were The Manchester Orchestra, who became firm pals.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Paul was ready for a celebratory whisky after the last gig, but the young rockers had drunk the two liters ASCAP provided. Well, it was four o’clock in the afternoon. I went and found Paul some single malt and therefore proved myself invaluable on tour.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julia and I were in an apartment with a fan that blew cold air - the Reisers, meanwhile, were slumming it in the Waldorf Astoria.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thanks to Paul’s great celebrity, we were invited to many places and events where companies line up to give away their wares. I brought home hoodies with earphones sewn in, the headphones of Colin’s dreams, Ralph Lauren aftershave, a camera, drinking bottles, Moleskine notebooks, jewelry, a bracelet to be worn at all times to make me “balanced,” sweatshirts, ski hats and a pair of Shape-Ups<i style="">. </i>The vodka in my rucksack was confiscated at the airport, but my big case was able to hold the rest of my bounty<i style="">.<br /></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We were determined to see at least one movie, and let Paul and Paula choose. It’s not as easy as you might think to see a movie at the Sundance Film Festival. The good ones are sold out well in advance and you need to get to the main office, a bus ride away, to collect your tickets. It’s incredibly well organized, though, with free and abundant buses and shuttles. Each shuttle stop has a volunteer on hand to point you in the right direction.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">With great ceremony, Lori handed out our tickets, collected earlier by a nice lady from ASCAP. We had to be at the Egyptian Theatre at 9 p.m. sharp. We went for a farewell dinner before the movie, and it was there that Paul and Paula flaked, saying they were too tired. I had three words for them. Rock. And. Roll. But there was no budging them.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The rest of us raced to the cinema and were the last ones to take our seats in the packed theatre. I was sat behind the tallest couple in the world. The film was Cuban with sub-titles I had to crane my neck to see. It was a cheery tale set in 1993, where the impoverished, homeless, young protagonists deliberately get infected with AIDS so they can get a permanent bed in a hospital with regular food. There was some incest thrown in for good measure. The soundtrack was heavy metal. Death and misery and lots of suffering. Kind of the Buena Vista Anti-Social Club. It was called <i style="">Ticket To Paradise</i> and will probably win best foreign film.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning at the airport, I gave Paul a hard time for a) choosing such a bleak film and b) not even sitting through it with us.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There’s talk of gigs in New York, San Francisco and possibly the UK in the late spring. I’ll be traveling light. And choosing the movie.</p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-2339749357491466602010-12-29T14:20:00.000-08:002010-12-29T14:26:47.404-08:00Aaaaaaand action!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOJJz7JdQfpgAriF4mLVBUso7bZe6_I_I1cM7xXCuqRw4WZutc3xcDlzQuOvKq9hIdQtKt2LS3ZRE4O1Pn3ApvJDo4F_3AR-0sL467RtrT9jJMPS3-nHCSIlwyeOOuzMMyQll/s1600/Publisher+Pic.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOJJz7JdQfpgAriF4mLVBUso7bZe6_I_I1cM7xXCuqRw4WZutc3xcDlzQuOvKq9hIdQtKt2LS3ZRE4O1Pn3ApvJDo4F_3AR-0sL467RtrT9jJMPS3-nHCSIlwyeOOuzMMyQll/s400/Publisher+Pic.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556233281552145490" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">“Ladies and gentlemen… it is my great pleasure to ask you to raise your glasses -- apple juice of course -- in a toast to celebrate the Internet publishing campaign of all time (look over to Eric Roberts). To The Novelist!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“To The Novelist!” (the gathered throng raise their glasses).<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Five (or was it six?) takes. For the different angles, you see. I only fluffed my lines on one occasion and did once start speaking before the director shouted “Action!” All in all, I opened to rave reviews.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Filmmaker Mary McGuckian who made <span style="font-style: italic;">The Making Of Plus One</span>…said I did such a good job playing myself in that she wanted me to play the publisher in her latest film, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Novelist</span>.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My brother, Mark, who is visiting has been teasing me relentlessly. When he isn’t saying “aaaaaaand action!” he says “The Novelist” with as many different emphases as possible. Over and over again. Wearing a tad thin, I have to say, though I am enjoying being his favorite sister. I have forgiven him for calling me “portly” over Christmas.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julia takes him hiking up Red Rock every day and to Monday playgroup social gatherings in Topanga, while I get him a part as a film extra, play table tennis at the Mondrian hotel (where we shot the party scene) and take him for drinks in the Sky Bar. Then on to the producer’s Hollywood mansion for Veuve Cliquot, single malt whisky, In-N-Out burgers and cold fries.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mark nearly choked on his champagne when a lady casting agent said to me: “I know you’re an actor, but I’m sure I’ve met you somewhere before.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Colin and I have had a coughing competition over Christmas and I won, having been diagnosed with bronchitis. But thanks to antibiotics and cough syrup laced with codeine, I battled on and cooked the Christmas feast wearing a surgical mask and plastic gloves so as not to infect the other guests. Colin was so sick he missed Christmas and Boxing Day.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now, I accept that Julia and I had decided to get each other just a token gift this year and I chose to ignore this agreement, but I gave her: a pair of stylish spectacles (it’s getting harder for her to read the small print), a silk purse filled with quarters as she never has any for parking meters, a table that attaches to her microphone stand for water, shakers, etc., her favorite peppermint bark, loose leaf Earl Grey tea, fancy face cream, and a few other things I’ve forgotten – all beautifully wrapped with matching bows and ribbons.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She gave me… a fridge magnet that reads: “She knew she had a Big Fat Ass and her attitude was “Kiss It!”</p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-212665399941974912010-12-09T09:09:00.000-08:002010-12-09T09:14:34.880-08:00Driven to distraction<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLaGALOkUkAgKdJVtOxu09qdZ9Ih9xkst7-asvzWbxSzuJzN_ddhHuvkQP5xSMnv5m58QnoM6TVG9-zycHCXQKIb9aZxl3ntytn28MvtaLftcB13VyPa6XM3k1hpSiqLBrlfY/s1600/016.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLaGALOkUkAgKdJVtOxu09qdZ9Ih9xkst7-asvzWbxSzuJzN_ddhHuvkQP5xSMnv5m58QnoM6TVG9-zycHCXQKIb9aZxl3ntytn28MvtaLftcB13VyPa6XM3k1hpSiqLBrlfY/s400/016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548731472004344898" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">When we were kids and went out on a day trip, my brother, sister and I would pretend Dad was our carriage driver and command: “Home, James. And don’t spare the horses.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So it was especially poignant that the limo taking Julia and myself to The Tonight Show was driven by a man called James. Despite my protestations, James insisted on calling each of us “Ma’am.” It’s just plain wrong that any human being should have to defer to another, but that didn’t stop me asking James to stop texting the studio every five minutes while driving in the fast lane.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He explained that everything is timed down to the last minute and he needed to keep base informed of our progress. We compromised and I did the texting for him.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s a big deal to be a guest on <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tonight Show with Jay Leno</span>. Every artist with new product to push vies for the music slot. Just Julia and Paul Reiser’s luck to have a record out the same week as Annie Lennox, Bruce Springsteen and Rod Stewart — but they all made the cut that week. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The band had already played through “Unsung Hero” (from Julia and Paul’s album “Unusual Suspects”) twice, then had to wait around several hours for the camera rehearsal. Julia had received her five-minute warning to be in her place. I could tell from the TV screen in our dressing room that the band were already on their marks, including Paul.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julia’s singing teacher advises performers to keep detached from emotional stories on a gig day, so they can keep in the zone and ease those nerves. Just as Julia was putting on her boots, her manager, Lori, told us about the last episode of The Big C (on Showtime) where the character played by Laura Linney has terminal cancer. Her son found a garage full of gifts and letters for the rest of his life that she wouldn’t be able to give him because she’ll be dead.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hope Paul, the band and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tonight Show</span> staff don’t think Julia was being a diva and kept them waiting on purpose, she was just trying to compose herself after sobbing like a baby at the sadness of the story.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s been a fantastic, roller-coaster week: <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tonight Show</span>, then two triumphant gigs at The Catalina Jazz Club in Hollywood. When I wasn’t pulling Julia’s boots off after the shows, making her buckets of chamomile tea, flat ironing her hair and feeding her dog (and her neighbor’s dog), I was collecting Marley from school en route to the gig and dropping her off at Grandma’s.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Marley likes to play I Spy. This was the first time she ever beat me. I still can’t believe I didn’t get “sea” as I was driving her along Pacific Coast Highway. Once she had tired of that game we moved on to more philosophical questions. “Do you believe in God?” my favorite five-year-old asked. I side-stepped the issue and marveled at the weather.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My sisterly duties also included dropping off Marley’s friend, Charlotte, aged four. They were discussing, between fits of giggles, how boys like to kiss girls.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Marley: “…and some girls kiss other girls.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Charlotte (howling with derisive laughter): “No they don’t! Girls can’t kiss other girls!”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Marley: “Yes they can. Girls can marry another girl if they want to.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Charlotte: “No they can’t! Girls can only marry boys.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Marley: “They can. Ask Claire. Claire? A girl can marry another girl if she wants to, can’t she?”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Claire: “I spy with my little eye something beginning with S.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Marley: “Sky.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Claire: “Correct.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-26122283602547600272010-11-08T09:23:00.000-08:002010-11-08T10:00:26.213-08:00Creature discomforts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLqVLPz240oMjex2miwTIOCIFLYf0TtPpgNOl6VGFsG94OuY83rQbCdUvkUzioxmB-mfATEYmWVHul58EP-q8m7azoDRpQYvQPjznloB-Zw-qqqXrDs9nYBxUyZpRHgzJpjSl/s1600/007.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLqVLPz240oMjex2miwTIOCIFLYf0TtPpgNOl6VGFsG94OuY83rQbCdUvkUzioxmB-mfATEYmWVHul58EP-q8m7azoDRpQYvQPjznloB-Zw-qqqXrDs9nYBxUyZpRHgzJpjSl/s400/007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537231777053557106" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I am an adventurer. My woman child and I just went to see my man child in Fiji.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From Los Angeles, it’s a 10-hour flight to Suva, the main island, then an hour on an island hopper to Vanua Levu. The landscape is spectacular, lush and verdant. That would be because of the rain.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Day one was heaven on earth. A stroll along the magnificent beach, a swim in the warmest, cleanest water I have ever known and a quick sunbathe, being careful to avoid the shade of a coconut tree. Coconuts fall on people’s heads and kill them.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then the rains came. Biblical rains. And with the rains came the creatures: mosquitoes, lizards, giant cockroaches, frogs and rats. And power cuts.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is nothing more disconcerting than being in the dark with the sounds of a rat scratching to get in from the rain and playing tag in the attic with his pal. I was confident one hadn’t actually come into the house until the rat poo in the kitchen and bathroom proved otherwise.</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXp15qHP56oFM_5Fq1_n-vmPAXcO06iW7AO19AcSxeAXUrb-xmDROLzFTtfYWXGKXYHSho2bezW9djUmqdjLzAjPWvAXUiV_SYFCcTbKm8a_AertS5fV4CaZtPiiH6AaOf2t-/s1600/009.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXp15qHP56oFM_5Fq1_n-vmPAXcO06iW7AO19AcSxeAXUrb-xmDROLzFTtfYWXGKXYHSho2bezW9djUmqdjLzAjPWvAXUiV_SYFCcTbKm8a_AertS5fV4CaZtPiiH6AaOf2t-/s400/009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537231798903655794" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Things became far more bearable once Anita the housekeeper and cook arrived. She is a wonderful Indian Fijian who gets up at four every morning to make food for her husband and children, clean her own house, and then goes to work.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It turns out that Fijians like bones in their food, the more the tastier. Anita’s duck curry included the beak and feet. She also made us the most delicious fish curry, and even here she used the whole fish, head and all. Still, I had to get the recipe, which I reproduced once I got back home (and is set out below). I used fish fillets, though. <span style=""> </span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My geography isn’t so bad that I didn’t know Fiji is tropical and therefore expected some rain. My children scoffed at the three sets of emergency rainwear I packed and swore blind they would never be seen dead in any such thing, however torrential the rain. Anita saw things much differently and wept tears of joy when I left her my plastic mac. I promised to send more for the rest of her family.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is so much to love about this place. Nothing seems to bother Fijians. They are always laughing and smiling. I was a little anxious when I first saw a local coming towards me with a machete, until I learned that they all carry them to cut down coconuts. This is a peaceful country. A former British colony, they still celebrate the Queen’s birthday.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dentists are cheap in Fiji. No disrespect, but it would appear from the number of gappy smiles I saw that Fijian dentists remove teeth rather than fill them. There’s also a lot of diabetes here, due no doubt to the high amounts of sugar they eat.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Most locals live off the land, as fruit and fish are plentiful, so no worries here if you lose your job as you won’t starve. And you’ll never eat a sweeter, better papaya anywhere else in the world. Apparently, the rains that dominated our trip were especially heavy and the weather is usually fabulous.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If money is no object, there’s no shortage of luxury in Fiji. Check out <a href="http://www.namalefiji.com/">http://www.namalefiji.com/</a> and <a href="http://www.tuitai.com/">www.tuitai.com</a>. After seeing these beautiful places for myself, I have come to a realization.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There’s a difference between being an adventurer and a traveler. A traveler visits distant locations, while an adventurer enjoys taking risks in hazardous and perilous places. Although I endured a cold shower two days in a row (including a hair wash) because of a power cut, I have accepted with no shame that I am more of a Ritz-Carlton kind of girl than a lover of the simple life.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUV-D2qw36JMtfjg5Nj87kgEJLcfFeRHAIsdgtBXl3zVqclbdL0-cWjl85b37YyxxUiNQXCutpRrKze1NspUMSwKuvwuPIFOiqQP48fPnug74MjGKI4gHy4aGpoBkLIcZdC8C5/s1600/109.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUV-D2qw36JMtfjg5Nj87kgEJLcfFeRHAIsdgtBXl3zVqclbdL0-cWjl85b37YyxxUiNQXCutpRrKze1NspUMSwKuvwuPIFOiqQP48fPnug74MjGKI4gHy4aGpoBkLIcZdC8C5/s400/109.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537231782452112722" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But I couldn’t have had a better traveling companion than my woman child. What didn't bite us, made us even closer. This time spent with my kids was absolutely amazing and precious. My man child said that since we left there’s been no sign of rats.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p>The day after my woman child left Los Angeles, my pal Sue, who is Al-Jazeera’s Afghanistan correspondent, came for a visit and invited me to go and stay with her in Kabul. If creepy crawlies and cold water are torture for me, I don’t think I’d fare well in a war zone. That would be because I am a traveler, not an adventurer. <p class="MsoNormal">ANITA’S FISH CURRY</p><p class="MsoNormal">Ingredients:</p><p class="MsoNormal">2 lbs white fish (filetted!)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Coconut oil</p> <p class="MsoNormal">6 lemons</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 onion</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 red chili</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Whole garlic bulb (Anita uses a whole bulb. I think half a bulb is enough)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1-inch chunk of peeled fresh ginger</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 tsp masala (use curry powder if you don’t have masala)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 tsp turmeric</p> <p class="MsoNormal">½ tsp toasted cumin seeds crushed in the mortar and pestle</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fresh chopped cilantro (a third of a bunch)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">2 cups of water<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Recipe:</p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Squeeze four lemons over the fish</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Crush the garlic cloves, chili, fresh ginger and a little salt in a mortar and pestle. It will be lumpy and that’s OK. Use more chilies for a hotter curry.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Rinse the fish. It will still be lemony.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Squeeze two more lemons over the fish. No seeds, that will make it bitter. Sprinkle the masala and turmeric over the fish.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Fry the onion in a big splash of coconut oil until golden brown.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Add the cumin seed and paste mixture of chili, ginger and garlic.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Add the fish. Pour on the fish juices. Cook for five minutes.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Add 2 cups of water for a wet curry. Without the water, it will be a dry curry. Salt to taste.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Add the chopped cilantro and cook for 5-10 minutes, being careful not to overcook the fish.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Serve with rice and roti or naan bread. </li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-71479840641841892842010-09-20T09:03:00.000-07:002010-09-20T09:40:34.379-07:00S#*! my mum says<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKOZyIgL9nNJhLbVAirc4mDtpu4HEv-u3Z_-o8ul1tJolhzu13dr3UE-TdIVxq1Ac1lYby_V17djqzZh6lXPdL1bgIY8b_UgqSAZ44XoFh19U5wUFzJ4fZqPS8KFxFACnUznS/s1600/046.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKOZyIgL9nNJhLbVAirc4mDtpu4HEv-u3Z_-o8ul1tJolhzu13dr3UE-TdIVxq1Ac1lYby_V17djqzZh6lXPdL1bgIY8b_UgqSAZ44XoFh19U5wUFzJ4fZqPS8KFxFACnUznS/s400/046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519030114950260930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Georgia;">If Oscar Wilde was right and all women become like their mothers, you can forgive me for feeling a little anxious after Mum and Dad’s trip to LA.</span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Not that they are losing their marbles, far from it, but they have been known to tell the same story several times a day. And the fact they must have the TV on maximum volume (and it’s still not loud enough for them) has done permanent damage to my own ears. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Fearing this might be their last trip, we wanted it to be a memorable one. Julia used her air miles to fly them over Upper Class. Trouble is, having sat in the lap of luxury, they have vowed never to fly any other way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">There are advantages to living in a one bedroom apartment. Mum didn’t want to be at Julia’s in Topanga (she now calls it Satan’s Hills, because the first day we all went there on this trip, it was baking hot and the winding roads made her car-sick), so they stayed in an apartment in Santa Monica. A few years back, before she vowed never to stay in Satan’s Hills again, Mum and Dad stayed with Julia, and have only just got over the shock of coming face to face with a rat, one of the perils of country living.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">I had hoped I had met all Mum’s cleanliness needs by having a pair of rubber gloves and a proper dishcloth available, having made the mistake in the past of just supplying a selection of scrubbing sponges for her to choose from.</span> <span>Mum measures success by how clean and tidy someone's home is.</span></p><span style="font-family:Georgia;">I got it wrong this time as well. Mum needs three dishcloths: one for the kitchen and one for each toilet which she wipes down every day with disinfectant… “That’s why your father and I don’t get diseases.”</span><span style="font-family:Georgia;"> </span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Colin and I only moved into our brand spanking new apartment two days before my parents arrived. Every box was unpacked and everything put in its proper place. I knew this would make Mum happy and proud.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">During the time we were technically homeless, we loaned our furniture to some friends. Some fleas from their cat had migrated onto the bed and sofa and proceeded to bite me to buggery. Various homemade and natural remedies are being tried to eradicate the problem before we nuke the bastards with the hard stuff.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">After days of scratching until I bled and fearing I might lose my mind, I finally found relief with a daily dose of antihistamine. The fact that my mother is aware of the flea situation is an even greater source of irritation. At least I’m no longer homeless.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Mum and Dad’s trip has actually been triumphant on many levels. The main highlight was Julia and Paul Reiser performing the first single, “Unsung Hero,” from their new album, to rapturous applause at a $1000-a-plate charity event in Laguna for wounded warriors. And they got to stay at the swanky Ritz Carlton in Laguna Beach (see picture above).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3jzcmk3ZCixiVwIsXR6DbKsya2SJeJ-JVHQnWbv4vTDHnXukH9_y99MMAj0sXqNuTJXcT7WctmdyVkhgnK7OKrDjVSsOabdiLSDHx_EVkJgxb8Hev-etTv6jR8YA0TxrHVJrJ/s1600/011.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3jzcmk3ZCixiVwIsXR6DbKsya2SJeJ-JVHQnWbv4vTDHnXukH9_y99MMAj0sXqNuTJXcT7WctmdyVkhgnK7OKrDjVSsOabdiLSDHx_EVkJgxb8Hev-etTv6jR8YA0TxrHVJrJ/s400/011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519030127158128034" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Watching Mum dance with her youngest grandchild brought a tear to my eye and taking Marley to kindergarten was truly memorable. I have never heard Mum laugh so hard as when Marley and I went through the steps she (Marley) had learned at <span style="font-style: italic;">Princess Ballet</span>. Mum said it was even funnier than the Dawn French ballet sketch with Darcy Bussell. I was not trying to be funny.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4_LwzqaCmbX9RysWZzknm6KjYSXJPgeHStnbOUFzbiWPwoANES-AMmMn-vlTLlBjo-B9w_O-Cn1aqIaPbG4vjjmQRop0RQWRtkGBb7psbLgn9ZwG0Vu5p2fNDybUcu7nBaKc/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4_LwzqaCmbX9RysWZzknm6KjYSXJPgeHStnbOUFzbiWPwoANES-AMmMn-vlTLlBjo-B9w_O-Cn1aqIaPbG4vjjmQRop0RQWRtkGBb7psbLgn9ZwG0Vu5p2fNDybUcu7nBaKc/s400/005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519030109620729346" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">My pork chop and apple sauce dinner was another highlight in three weeks of unusually disastrous meals from me. The spicy sausages were a genuine mistake, hot on the heels (if you’ll pardon the pun) of the cottage pie made with tinned tomatoes that I didn’t realize were laced with chilies (honest). “Your father and I don’t like spicy food.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Ironically, Mum found the “guatemala” Julia made too bland. She meant guacamole. But my all-time favorite miscommunication has been Mum thinking that I said I “make a cake” every day when I actually said I “meditate” every day. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">It would not be fair to give the impression that my mother is less than stellar in many ways. This is a woman in her 70s who doesn’t dye her hair, has had no Botox or facelift (she’s never even had a facial), who, if there were only four pieces of cake for her family of five, would say she’s watching her weight and will pass on the cake, even if it’s her favorite.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Her most-uttered phrase is: “Everything in moderation.” I recall her once thoroughly enjoying a raw carrot. When I offered to get her another one she said: “No thank you. I don’t want to get addicted.”<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Deeply suspicious of all medication, Mum rarely takes even an aspirin. Because the midwife had the day off when Mum went into labor with Julia, Dad delivered her at home. On his own. My brother and I slept soundly in our rooms throughout as Mum didn’t make a sound.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">This stoicism has come in handy for me in particular. Mum had such terrible morning sickness when she was expecting me that her doctor prescribed a new wonder drug, Thalidomide. She wouldn’t take it. She did take a course of antibiotics once when she had severe bronchitis and is currently receiving Vitamin B12 shots for pernicious anemia.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">I walked back into our apartment last night, having dropped my folks at the airport and told Colin how annoying it is that Mum and Dad have started to repeat themselves. “If they’ve told me once how disappointed they are about the marine layer at the beach, they’ve told me a hundred times,” I said. Colin replied without looking up from his computer: “Yeah, you told me… about a hundred times.”<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">This is the Oscar Wilde quote (from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Importance of Being Ernest</span>) in full: All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his. </span></p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-90951248205300901772010-08-16T09:28:00.000-07:002010-08-16T09:40:32.656-07:00Home sweet homeFor the first time in 10 months, I see light at the end of the tunnel – and not a freight train slamming toward us – as Colin and I prepare to move into our new home. (http://www.thetidesandwatersedge.com/) <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I shall spare you the tedious, exhausting details of trying to find the right place that included one apartment in Woodland Hills so close to the 101 we could almost touch it from the bedroom window, or being pipped at the post to the perfect place in Topanga.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At first I thought it was my fault we lost the Topanga place by admitting to the landlord we were both freelance writers. Until I learned it had gone to a drummer and a belly dancer. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We found an even better home, at the beach, where we belong. Well almost at the beach – Marina del Rey, one street away from where we were before. Thanks to Colin working his fingers to the bone writing about cars, we are back in the black, as it were, and finally able to afford our own place again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I said to Colin this week, if we can make it through these last 10 months of no fixed abode, our marriage can survive anything. I thanked him for his creative endeavors that are putting a new roof over our heads and food in our bellies, and promised to get a proper job if one of my creative projects doesn’t come to fruition soon. “Any idea when that might be?” he asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The trouble with relationships is that the one who earns the most money tends to have the upper hand. But I think the balance of power just tipped back in my favor with this chocolate cake. Colin’s digestive system doesn’t do well with gluten, so I took Marley’s birthday cake recipe and used rice flour instead of wheat. I didn’t have any buttermilk, so used what I had in the fridge – two percent – and it was absolutely delicious, though I say it myself.<br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAo8hWUJht-NiLtL6tGN8ki5ux7tLv_5T4Z464bankmkWtcxC0H3nviBUwfbtpOkAdI_n06mFdnKtRPmRxORw0MR6pbc4IewidVvRPY6OASsX-WuKVbeZR4l9GSj7mdBLU1Gk5/s1600/015.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAo8hWUJht-NiLtL6tGN8ki5ux7tLv_5T4Z464bankmkWtcxC0H3nviBUwfbtpOkAdI_n06mFdnKtRPmRxORw0MR6pbc4IewidVvRPY6OASsX-WuKVbeZR4l9GSj7mdBLU1Gk5/s400/015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506046599143660434" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Life is about to get even crazier than usual: we’re moving this week, Mum and Dad arrive for three weeks at the end of the month, Julia has a CD coming out and Marley starts kindergarten. Now where did I pack my <span style="font-style: italic;">Bach Flower Rescue Remedy?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Chocolate Cake</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Trader Joe’s claims on the front of its cocoa powder that this is the greatest and easiest chocolate cake recipe. I think Joe may be right.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Ingredients</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3 & 1/3 cups flour</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 & 1/3 cup cocoa</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3 cups sugar</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 tbs baking powder</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 tsp salt</p> <p class="MsoNormal">12 ozs softened butter or margarine</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3 cups buttermilk</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 tsp vanilla</p> <p class="MsoNormal">5 eggs</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Recipe</p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Pre-heat oven to 350</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Grease and flour or line with parchment paper 2 x 9’’ round baking pans or line cup cake cups with paper liners.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Place all the ingredients in a large bowl and beat on high speed for 3 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl once.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Pour into prepared pans or cupcake cups</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Bake cakes for about 55 mins or until a toothpick comes out clean or bake cupcakes for 20-25 minutes. Make sure you halve the mixture evenly or it will overflow the pans.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><st1:place st="on">Sandwich</st1:place> cakes together with your favorite butter cream frosting. Here’s mine:</li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Vanilla Cream Frosting</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Ingredients</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3 cups confectioner’s sugar (icing sugar in the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">UK</st1:country-region></st1:place>)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 cup softened butter (salted)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 tsp vanilla extract</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1-2 tbs cream or milk</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Recipe</p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Whisk together sugar and butter on a low speed till well blended then increase to medium and beat for another 3 minutes. </li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Add vanilla and cream/milk and continue to beat on medium speed for 1 minute, adding more cream/milk if needed for spreading consistency.</li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-52865407249631586882010-08-10T09:24:00.000-07:002010-08-10T09:29:43.054-07:00The spirit is willing, the Fleshie's weak<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbFsdbjHURRlgmRxa2q9U0TUdNSOV5_dmTgJ3mxPsLuW0utU3fLAzoPhIqEtqJYQrja2pe9Qs9QDJaZbzB1-x7cGPlA0ZJ2EYLWKEA0RH4aURLnOIc0Ogma_2imFgsES6sztN/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbFsdbjHURRlgmRxa2q9U0TUdNSOV5_dmTgJ3mxPsLuW0utU3fLAzoPhIqEtqJYQrja2pe9Qs9QDJaZbzB1-x7cGPlA0ZJ2EYLWKEA0RH4aURLnOIc0Ogma_2imFgsES6sztN/s400/008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503818778980717666" border="0" /></a>Julia, along with 3,339 other foreigners, became a <st1:country-region st="on">U.S.</st1:country-region> citizen during a swearing-in ceremony at the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Convention Center</st1:placetype></st1:place> as I and thousands of other family and friends waved our flags and cheered. Not only did she pledge allegiance to the American flag, but she promised to take up arms if required. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is it against the law to impersonate an American citizen? My intentions were entirely honorable, your honor. I pretended to be Julia to save her the trouble of being on hold to Virgin Atlantic for seven hours, trying to get our parents upgraded using her air miles.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To confirm that I was indeed one Julia Fordham, the charming and most helpful Virgin representative asked for my date of birth, to which I answered in all honesty: March 10. Which was a shame, because that’s not Julia’s birthday. The Virgin rep said: “That’s not what it says here.” I managed to convince him that I had temporarily forgotten my own birthday and that it is, in fact, August 10.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then as I confirmed my parents’ names and mine/hers, he wondered – beside himself with glee – if I might be the actual Julia Fordham of singer-songwriter fame and of whom he is the biggest fan with all of her/my records, which he proceeded to list, and wondered if I might sing a few lines from “Girlfriend”?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I thanked him for his kindness, even though there still weren’t any Upper Class upgrade seats available for Mum and Dad’s flight to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">L.A.</st1:place></st1:city> and couldn’t get off the phone quick enough. I had broken into a cold sweat and was babbling so much incoherent crap and felt so sick with nerves having almost blown my cover that I wanted to puke blood.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julia can call Virgin herself next time. But not today, as it’s her birthday. August 10. We’re celebrating quietly this year with afternoon tea – just we sisters, Marley and Marley’s friend, Lily. This birthday morning, Julia is going to hear the first playback of her newly mastered CD, co-written with Paul Reiser. This will be her 11th. She started recording her first album on her 25th birthday and here she is, quite a few years on, still in the music business, and still writing and singing great songs that people want to hear. I am so pleased and so very proud. Happy Birthday, Fleshie! (Our latest and possibly most favorite pet name for each other, as in “flesh and blood”).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-39376044856780561242010-07-09T14:14:00.001-07:002010-07-09T15:00:01.290-07:00Red Hot<a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2U67c0yNl0rfz5I52ph0V4NFRHaEWa2UmsItOdtt0g6EGcUQRbwARJOnm5HBHo-iO_j_l54UdKfxzSehHRHBBtSgNwauhpRROfxor76jKted3dSpt2KW4MQ7rKkGFk4AsdpfF/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2U67c0yNl0rfz5I52ph0V4NFRHaEWa2UmsItOdtt0g6EGcUQRbwARJOnm5HBHo-iO_j_l54UdKfxzSehHRHBBtSgNwauhpRROfxor76jKted3dSpt2KW4MQ7rKkGFk4AsdpfF/s400/010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492019954389770114" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I managed to stop myself eating all these delicious Gaviota strawberries from Harry’s Berries (Santa Monica Farmer’s Market) and saved some for the ice cream recipe below. Gaviota are slightly more expensive, but well worth it. I have been spoiling myself while Colin is away visiting his family in </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: times new roman;" st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Zealand</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family:times new roman;">. He hadn’t seen them since they came over for our wedding four years ago in September. At the time, I recall thanking Colin’s and my parents for living long enough to see us get married. They’re still going pretty strong.</span><o:p style="font-family: times new roman;"></o:p></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" >A friend told me this story of a colleague who invited his then recently widowed mother, aged 61, to come and live with him, his wife and young daughters, thinking she would be a most convenient babysitter and probably only last another 10 years. She lived to be 101. This cautionary tale has held me back from suggesting our parents come and live with us.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" > <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" >Not that I don’t like senior citizens, especially Betty White. I spent a few days staying with my sister, Julia, and Tivo’d <i style="">Hot In Cleveland</i>, Betty’s new sitcom on TV Land. We watched it together and loved it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" > <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" >Earlier, Julia had been scrolling down the list of recorded programs (looking for a <i style="">Max and Ruby</i> for Marley) when she came across the <i style="">Hot In Cleveland</i> and, not having prior knowledge of the show, was mortified, thinking her chap, Arthur, had recorded some porn. If she had known more about <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Cleveland</st1:place></st1:city>, she might have realized that it doesn’t lend itself to being an exotic backdrop for erotic goings-on.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" > <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" >We also thoroughly enjoyed the World Cup now <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region> has received their just deserts. I’m rooting for <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Spain</st1:place></st1:country-region> in the final. Talking of just desserts (kind of), here’s a simple but delicious recipe for strawberry ice cream from one of my favorite cooks, Nigel Slater.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJh1Dpj_7SMFvuzX2lQO5cjyRkWJlhM_Q0KnCHDEVLceOX9YC56o8gvs9tFpwirgz5WABD7NKz3R71otHYtMQ15t4UFdc-SwvIfUnxN1c2_9ceOrSr8M9Sw44kVv_Zui0wdY9/s1600/156.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJh1Dpj_7SMFvuzX2lQO5cjyRkWJlhM_Q0KnCHDEVLceOX9YC56o8gvs9tFpwirgz5WABD7NKz3R71otHYtMQ15t4UFdc-SwvIfUnxN1c2_9ceOrSr8M9Sw44kVv_Zui0wdY9/s400/156.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492023015621547698" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" > <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></p><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Ingredients</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />1 lb strawberries (Gaviota are the best)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />3.5 ozs baker’s sugar</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />10 fl ozs whipping cream</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Recipe</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />1. Rinse the strawberries, remove the leaves and slice the fruit.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />2. Cover them in the sugar and leave for an hour.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />3. Whip up the cream until it’s thick enough to lie in folds rather than stand in peaks.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />4. Zap the strawberries in a blender.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />5. Fold the strawberry puree into the whipped cream, leaving a bit of a ripple.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />6. Cover and freeze, checking and stirring the mixture as it freezes, bringing the outside edges into the middle.</span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" > <o:p></o:p></span></p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-44752747967337639132010-06-21T14:57:00.000-07:002010-06-21T16:55:22.207-07:00Committed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf-j4xJhhSZGIPIytLFPeB0UWiqIT93oAFv87AzDBkiTWyzWlBMHkAwLaaZNGtR93u44cMNRjQljRtl96LaSIjTTZYJ9IJeH2PFYUVgASgUQgh6yEVhyJQZt8CeTY19dLvKdf/s1600/Paul+and+Jackson.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf-j4xJhhSZGIPIytLFPeB0UWiqIT93oAFv87AzDBkiTWyzWlBMHkAwLaaZNGtR93u44cMNRjQljRtl96LaSIjTTZYJ9IJeH2PFYUVgASgUQgh6yEVhyJQZt8CeTY19dLvKdf/s400/Paul+and+Jackson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485351210407993378" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I love this picture. Yes, that’s Paul McCartney, pre-knighthood, post-MBE, having lunch with my friend Kara Noble (just to the left of the frame). Kara’s parents were very pally with McCartney back in the day and he was a regular visitor to their home on London’s Abbey Road. On this particular occasion, Paul had originally said he couldn’t make the lunch. Then he heard that Jackson Browne was going to be there (sadly, we can only see the back of his head here, but believe me, it’s Jackson). Paul was a big Jackson Browne fan and wanted to meet him. The hand and nose to Kara’s right belong to the man who brought Jackson along, Don Henley of that little combo, The Eagles. Quite the rock-and-roll chick was Kara. Still is.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Call it British reserve, but Kara never mentioned this event to Jackson, or indeed that she had ever met him before when they were sat on the same table at my wedding almost four years ago. But on the subject of saying things to famous people, as well as “I do”, Colin said something else at our wedding he never thought he’d ever utter: “<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Jackson</st1:place></st1:city>, this is my dad, Ted.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have just finished reading <span style="font-style: italic;">Committed</span>, Elizabeth Gilbert’s follow-up to <span style="font-style: italic;">Eat, Pray, Love</span>. While not as brilliant as her previous book, it’s still worth reading. It’s about the history of marriage and the author, having vowed never again following a hideous and painful divorce, plighting her troth once more . </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A therapist friend of Liz’s (her friends call her Liz) says in the book that most of her female clients suffer from a sort of ‘grass is greener’ syndrome, a condition explained thus: all her single patients wish they were married and all her married ones secretly wish they were single. Not me, obviously.</p><p class="MsoNormal">No nuptial is complete without a toast, so here’s the recipe for my favorite cocktail served at our wedding - delicious and so much cheaper than champagne.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXEqiAHeUT_Z3ofsRVSs2yYXj77bw9fk4ZelPPkPM2IdfZGaLiPJg_wX1pbWjVQlhxRfp5VhJwlaakaS_c_nv_kvU6SfTaB-knpP6zS2JNdoryDyWvLcLwB4NkxR20mI2WteA/s1600/009.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXEqiAHeUT_Z3ofsRVSs2yYXj77bw9fk4ZelPPkPM2IdfZGaLiPJg_wX1pbWjVQlhxRfp5VhJwlaakaS_c_nv_kvU6SfTaB-knpP6zS2JNdoryDyWvLcLwB4NkxR20mI2WteA/s400/009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485351217130179682" border="0" /></a></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Bellini</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Ingredients:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sugar to rim the glass</p><p class="MsoNormal">A wedge of orange (lemon is a tad bitter, but works as a last resort)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peach juice (Trader Joe’s Dixie Peach is excellent)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Prosecco (Trader Joe’s Zonin is ideal and a very reasonable $5.99 a bottle)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">2 fresh raspberries per glass</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Recipe:</p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Wipe the rim of the champagne flute with the orange flesh.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Dip the glass in a saucer of sugar.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Pour an inch of peach juice in the glass.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Top up with prosecco.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Place 2 raspberries in the glass.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Clink glasses with your beloved and say (as Colin and I still do with every alcoholic beverage): “To us.”</li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-14504659079284764682010-06-15T08:59:00.000-07:002010-06-15T09:27:15.727-07:00They wrote the songs...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuZM0DRM9rGCeeXOt5v45au97ij69XesOlqCglDPRWhmgA6lU86zxXRyawfaoB_J1-LiJBfnJzO61zD1ivIpYMhdxzax9M05o0eC4VArsZaqXLCRKXc5N8TD9Rq53VRq53NUd/s1600/013.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuZM0DRM9rGCeeXOt5v45au97ij69XesOlqCglDPRWhmgA6lU86zxXRyawfaoB_J1-LiJBfnJzO61zD1ivIpYMhdxzax9M05o0eC4VArsZaqXLCRKXc5N8TD9Rq53VRq53NUd/s400/013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483031897702126962" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I hate to name-drop, but pull up a chair: Neil Sedaka, Stephen Bishop, Paul Reiser, Tony Orlando, Julia Fordham. And here are some names you’ve probably never heard of: Charles Fox, Dean Pitchford, Mac Davis and L. Russell Brown, yet they’ve written some of the biggest hit songs and theme tunes ever, like <span style="font-style: italic;">Killing Me Softly, Fame, Footloose, Tie A Yellow Ribbon, In The Ghetto.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They were all on the same bill at LA’s Wadsworth Theater last night for <span style="font-style: italic;">The Songs Of Our Lives</span>, songs performed by the people who wrote them, in aid of <a href="http://www.fulfillment.org/">www.fulfillment.org</a>, a most worthy charity that helps young people realize their dream of a college education.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am still on a high from the sheer brilliance of the evening. Tony Orlando, the only non-composer on the bill, paid homage to all songwriters who have touched our hearts and kept him in business for 50 years, especially L. Russell Brown who co-wrote most of his hits.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You might be wondering why actor/comedian Paul Reiser is mentioned in this esteemed songwriting company. Not a lot of people know this, but Paul actually majored in music and has co-written an album of great songs with my brilliant sister, Julia Fordham. The album is currently being mixed, as we say in the biz, and will be available in stores and for download on a website near you in the fall. Paul also hosted the evening and, as if it were possible, is even higher in my estimation for having made a, shall we say, mostly “mature” audience laugh heartily at his hilarious monologue that included the word “cocksucker.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here’s a trailer for NBC’s <span style="font-style: italic;">The Paul Reiser Show</span> that will be broadcast early next year. Top telly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><object align="middle" width="384" height="283"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="movie" value="http://widget.nbc.com/videos/nbcshort_at.swf?CXNID=1000004.10045NXC&widID=4727a250e66f9723&clipID=1228319&showID=406"><param name="quality" value="high"><param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"><embed src="http://widget.nbc.com/videos/nbcshort_at.swf?CXNID=1000004.10045NXC&widID=4727a250e66f9723&clipID=1228319&showID=406" quality="high" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" align="middle" width="384" height="283"></embed></object>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-46119484727644109122010-06-03T13:56:00.001-07:002010-06-03T14:03:30.663-07:00Stand by your meringueThe perfect day, for me, involves good food and conversation with family and friends. Ideally, a game of tennis will be involved but this Memorial Day, once we’d raised a glass to our fallen and serving troops, we played cricket with some English pals in our hosts’ garden under a warm Californian sun. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I tucked my skirt up into my knicker legs and assumed the wicket keeper position for our team. No catches, but I did score a couple of runs before being bowled out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julia, Arthur and Marley went to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> for the long weekend. “Are they stark raving mad?” asked a fellow cricketer when I told him they’d gone to Rosarita, a resort just over the border. “Three years ago, the chief of police was beheaded there by drug runners,” he said. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Everyone had a <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> horror story to share so I was relieved when Julia called that night to say they were home safe and sound and had a fantastic time. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My contribution to the Memorial Day feast this side of the border was a traditional English trifle with homemade custard, plus some meringues. I usually make meringues when I make trifle as it’s an ideal way to use up the egg whites left over from the custard. Meringues are gluten free, sublime and simple to make so long as you have parchment or baking paper and an electric whisk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_AYNkgbNUZN12RGfu5iNcrozulr9nrrbVmVRbm3A6-IEaNV5SqGJh7wUEdAVnonBEAgRYgKcwivlMYGYXXjeZwnXt_KB-8zFvDLd1TC8kY1JAj8vPCZ7KX_IM0HI1Iv33Xa3I/s1600/036.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_AYNkgbNUZN12RGfu5iNcrozulr9nrrbVmVRbm3A6-IEaNV5SqGJh7wUEdAVnonBEAgRYgKcwivlMYGYXXjeZwnXt_KB-8zFvDLd1TC8kY1JAj8vPCZ7KX_IM0HI1Iv33Xa3I/s400/036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478654516775699938" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">Ingredients:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Six large egg whites</p> <p class="MsoNormal">12 ozs of caster sugar (granulated or baking sugar in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region>) – 2ozs per egg white for a smaller batch. Six egg whites will make about 20 small like the ones pictured.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 pint whipped cream</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Recipe:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1. Pre-heat an oven to 250.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">2. Line a baking tray or two with parchment or baking paper – greaseproof paper won’t do.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3. Whisk the egg whites together in a large bowl until they form stiff peaks.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">4. Fold in the sugar or whisk in on low.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">5. Take a tablespoonful of the mixture and place onto the tray using another spoon to ease it off. You can make lots of little ones or two giant plate-size ones and sandwich them together with cream and your favorite fruit. Or cover one with whipped cream and fruit for a classic Pavlova. I think making two large ones into a cake looks most spectacular. Just remember to spread both sides with cream.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">6. Cook for two hours. Thanks to the parchment paper they’ll come off easily once they’ve cooled for five minutes. Sandwich two together with whipped cream and arrange on your best plate. Stand by to become very popular indeed. </p>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-67800655473559239372010-05-25T11:09:00.001-07:002010-05-25T15:26:40.156-07:00Party favors<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGIJvge2ZETWEfG6yjPz6Xb3Dl3n0y9kE52O8ueqjovIG9LrMRqLV8NNkZUzzF95wXTx1qI6oRTIDsEysy3UGw4fr2b5YwMniSgN2BVyG5Ys5ke1xKL7JrohBSozYrTtge7ay/s1600/Princess+Marley.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGIJvge2ZETWEfG6yjPz6Xb3Dl3n0y9kE52O8ueqjovIG9LrMRqLV8NNkZUzzF95wXTx1qI6oRTIDsEysy3UGw4fr2b5YwMniSgN2BVyG5Ys5ke1xKL7JrohBSozYrTtge7ay/s400/Princess+Marley.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475271961681589234" border="0" /></a>Marley was very clear what she wanted for her fifth birthday party: a chocolate cake with pink frosting and sprinkles like the one at the beginning of kids’ cartoon <span style="font-style: italic;">Max and Ruby</span>, cup cakes, a bouncy castle, face painting, a nail salon, a pinata, the girls to dress up as princesses, and positively, absolutely no boys. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wise beyond her years, Marley asked me to make the cake. Julia (Marley’s mum) says in her defense: “I have other skills.” My responsibilities didn’t end there. I was also in charge of bellinis for the mums, pass-the-parcel, musical statues, bubbles and washing up. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I found a chocolate cake recipe on the side of a Trader Joe’s cocoa powder tin that claimed to be easiest and best. It should also have said biggest. It took me fifteen minutes to prepare and two hours to clean the kitchen. The walls and cupboards looked like a Jackson Pollack painting by the time I’d finished whisking. Add another two hours to clean the oven, because the cake mixture flowed over the tops of the tins. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had forgotten how much mess icing sugar makes when whisking it with butter to make frosting, and how few drops of red food coloring are required to make it pink. I had a devil of a job spreading the frosting with a knife, so resorted to using my hands to slap it on. They’re still pink.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I arrived at party central to find Marley’s dad sawing up the tree he’d had to cut down to make room for the bouncy castle.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDpC5VYXKHjzXlLiETWdouu7kC6E_gzHLA77UTDMzHcf1njXoneetuy0pvSjQkNQ_6k_Hmi_s2g8oYhLDTAvk1TIBTQ81FsRRpyjceY95qiOm6Fea3KbZtSlvYPlGBr3aGPDY/s1600/pinata.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDpC5VYXKHjzXlLiETWdouu7kC6E_gzHLA77UTDMzHcf1njXoneetuy0pvSjQkNQ_6k_Hmi_s2g8oYhLDTAvk1TIBTQ81FsRRpyjceY95qiOm6Fea3KbZtSlvYPlGBr3aGPDY/s400/pinata.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475271977968398834" border="0" /></a>No dramas during the party. Apart from when the bouncy castle collapsed. Twice. The plug had come out of its socket, but everyone got out before any of them suffocated. There were a few suspicious glances when the kid who won pass-the-parcel was the daughter of the lady in charge of stopping the music.</p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaev0heAyX19M7O8p49fgsPExbrNJ3DhtOeg1_UiDOwDYbThNvJbXMKbikhlIVM1T7avtYRnaxAXJlxOkzhAEnuXPWqu29672lkV45AzWlzhZoHVEjRdWxs1WmIo2b6R0lyze/s1600/Marley's+Aunts.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaev0heAyX19M7O8p49fgsPExbrNJ3DhtOeg1_UiDOwDYbThNvJbXMKbikhlIVM1T7avtYRnaxAXJlxOkzhAEnuXPWqu29672lkV45AzWlzhZoHVEjRdWxs1WmIo2b6R0lyze/s400/Marley's+Aunts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475271966048488594" border="0" /></a>In keeping with my determination to be more adventurous in part two of my life, I had my face painted and jumped up and down like a crazy fool on the bouncy castle. Here I am with Marley’s other aunt, Irena, who was in charge of face painting, the nail salon and cup cakes. Fab photos of the party are by Marley’s godmother, Susanna Bech Young. While godmother is quite an important role, it’s not blood. The cake, by the way, was blinking delicious.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqLCWADnySXVzcnYtHYGC-6qNyp2wn_c320idpe1zaIU42FWsdkHUtEJp3ug34JVepmZWs1d5_gruyClN62epjQsIBTurH36sdjIb3qWzxy_mgFSQ-2SEbQxpdyMjSR8KBIHt/s1600/cake.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqLCWADnySXVzcnYtHYGC-6qNyp2wn_c320idpe1zaIU42FWsdkHUtEJp3ug34JVepmZWs1d5_gruyClN62epjQsIBTurH36sdjIb3qWzxy_mgFSQ-2SEbQxpdyMjSR8KBIHt/s400/cake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475336968384248146" border="0" /></a>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-67507295993494445352010-03-29T08:39:00.000-07:002010-03-29T08:47:15.236-07:00Eat, Pray, Lunch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHkCFm7UvBxpPlbcBmsZ5ffl7htNThgHKhw5NuMQnvToC2YGISqerB-8So4Uv7hXmDe9nb64iZhEvjh-RjDgQZK4qrez_J2jSTtXChVjNGCgVElPm41EthL7aqgrqMvQIm7vK/s1600/095.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHkCFm7UvBxpPlbcBmsZ5ffl7htNThgHKhw5NuMQnvToC2YGISqerB-8So4Uv7hXmDe9nb64iZhEvjh-RjDgQZK4qrez_J2jSTtXChVjNGCgVElPm41EthL7aqgrqMvQIm7vK/s400/095.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454082092395549970" border="0" /></a><br />Let me make this quite clear, I am not aligning myself with the Tea Baggers. I was all for universal health care until I realized (once the law was passed and I had stopped clapping and cheering to read the small print) that the fundamental way of bringing this about is to make health insurance compulsory come 2014.<br /><br />The reason I and 45 million other permanent residents don’t have health insurance is because we can’t afford it. And if we can’t afford it now, what makes the government believe we’ll be able to then? I shall watch with interest to see how Barry makes that one work. Barry, I learned from a man who went to college with him, is how Barack Obama’s fellow students addressed him.<br /><br />Back to health care (mine). I have always believed that prevention is best. Rule number one if you want to up the chances of a long and healthy life: don’t smoke. My friend Dr. Suzanne Donovan told me years ago that she would never marry a smoker as she knew she would spend their last 20 years together looking after him as his health declined. I don’t smoke, drink plenty of water, alcohol in moderation, eat sensibly, take regular aerobic exercise, meditate and do yoga. And I’m fortunate enough to have good genes.<br /><br />If I get cancer or a serious health issue (positive thinking, another good health tip), I’d go back to England for treatment. This will spare America the time, trouble and expense of taking care of me, or me going bankrupt to pay for it here.<br /><br />While trawling the internet for confirmation that my theory to rinse your mouth with peroxide once a week is brilliant and far cheaper than using those hideous and expensive teeth whitening guards whose one ingredient is… peroxide, I found another health tip: oil pulling. The idea is to swill a gob full of sunflower oil around in your mouth (in and out of the teeth) for 10 to 20 minutes a day, as soon as you wake up, to ward off and supposedly cure all sorts of diseases, including cancer. While I am unable to do it (it makes me gag), Colin is oil pulling religiously every day, much to my revulsion. Seeing or hearing him in the process sends me rushing to the bathroom to vomit. Let’s see who lives the longest. It has certainly improved his tennis. He beat me yesterday for only the second time in our history.<br /><br />A useful tip for Barry and Co. over in Washington to keep the nation happy and healthy: give everyone a job. My temporary job as a researcher/producer on a TV special has brought me joy, a feeling of purpose and a pay check that has made me feel so much better in general. I love being part of a community where people bring in cup cakes (not so good for the figure) and bagels on a Friday. There’s even wine on Friday afternoons, but I’ve had to stop partaking. After just one glass, I mistakenly deleted a column of important information on my Excel spreadsheet I had spent days working on and was unable to restore. It all worked out in the end, but the stress did nothing for my blood pressure.<br /><br />It was my birthday earlier in the month. I had intended not to mention it to my colleagues what with me being so much older than everyone else, but then decided what the hell. I gave the game away by saying “birthday girl” every time I answered the phone.<br /><br />My lovely lady colleagues took me out for a slap-up lunch and I got to wear the office birthday hat (see above). My Woman Child sent me flowers, my Man Child and husband bought me a massage from Burke Williams. No birthday party this year, but a check for Colin came in just in time to justify a dinner for two at Chaya Venice, one of our favorite restaurants. I didn’t have the heart to tell Colin I was still full from my late lunch at Tony’s Taverna in Malibu and had to force down the delicious blackened cod, but I was very happy.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-61001850582991004752010-02-15T07:52:00.000-08:002010-02-15T08:00:10.753-08:00Home thoughts from a broad<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2e_9OymZ0bs5w3O1hV78jKIjZp2dswMwIOGqSP3TWfXpaCwMZalOf9IOzKVBkY_qa7EAO2UeZ3RIegmrmV6kr6wXG4jcirvchi396OKarm3tzMs_qc_RjYWDa1DjzmiCyeXQ/s1600-h/029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2e_9OymZ0bs5w3O1hV78jKIjZp2dswMwIOGqSP3TWfXpaCwMZalOf9IOzKVBkY_qa7EAO2UeZ3RIegmrmV6kr6wXG4jcirvchi396OKarm3tzMs_qc_RjYWDa1DjzmiCyeXQ/s400/029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438500001304288642" /></a><br />I had forgotten how hard work is. It’s been over ten years since I toiled in a hectic television newsroom and, while my new job as a producer/researcher on a TV show is nothing like as stressful, the hours are bloody long.<br /><br />Up at seven every morning and not home until 9.30pm sometimes. One night, I asked out loud: “Haven’t you people got homes to go to?” To which Jason, the VT editor, replied: “Well you certainly haven’t.” It’s funny because it’s true.<br /><br />I made the mistake of telling my co-worker that Colin and I have sub-let our apartment, and moved in with friends to re-group financially. But things are looking up as 2010 continues to bring good fortune.<br /><br />Not least the fact that our Green Cards have arrived, and Colin and I are now proud permanent residents of the United States of America. Everyone is thrilled for us, apart from my mum who thinks this means I am no longer British and she will never see me again.<br /><br />Colin has started saying elevator, ’erb and sidewalk, and can’t stop smiling. That may be because I have a proper job with pay. And he was offered three writing commissions yesterday. There has definitely been a cosmic shift. In a good way. <br /><br />My boss said I could work from home for a few days, which made me very happy indeed. The downside is that I don’t get to hang around the water cooler with my colleagues and miss gems like this:<br /><br />Jason: “I had a great time filming in New Orleans, went to a gay club…”<br />Tia: “Why did you go to a gay club?”<br />Jason: “A couple of reasons… one being I’M GAY!”<br />Tia: “Oh, I had no idea. Well, of course, that’s fine.”<br />Claire: “Are you in a relationship?”<br />Jason: ‘No, unfortunately.”<br />Claire: “What sort of guy are you attracted to? So I can keep my eyes and ears open.”<br />Jason: “I really fancy that guy in Prison Break.”<br />Tia: “He’s not gay, he’s British.”<br /><br />I have a gift for saying the wrong thing myself. Our roomies were hosting a dinner party and I was busy chatting to a guest and her African-American (it’s relevant) boyfriend. I told them Colin and I were about to move to another friend’s fabulous place at the beach as he is away for a while, and how lucky we’ve been to have access to some incredible places rent-free. She suggested we carry on like this as long as possible. I said: “No, we want our own place again as soon as possible. I don’t want people to think we’re liggers.”<br /><br />She was outraged and mortified and sidled up to comfort her boyfriend, convinced I had dropped the N-bomb. I managed to stop her putting on her coat and collecting her purse by apologizing profusely and explaining (stuttering) that, in England, a ligger is someone who sponges off other people.<br /><br />Part of me is wishing I was in London so I could go and see the fabulous singer-songwriter Judith Owen at the Purcell Room on the South Bank on Friday, Feb 26th at 7.45pm. Special guests: Claire Martin, Ian Shaw, Harry Shearer and Danny Thompson. For tickets and more info www.southbankcentre.co.uk<br /><br />My head is and always will be in England, because I know the proper way to spell color is colour, while theater and center should be spelled theatre and centre. And butter is not pronounced “budder.”Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-77668655973999941292010-01-19T09:04:00.001-08:002010-01-19T09:07:32.755-08:00Desert Song<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jX6UrdSV5oomvYML9UgCzuEF5wsXT5pG_C3QyozRFkdaP87N6GZvXiNwmnKv0g1b3SqHpwGqpO1jhkRfVIwqWz64UjHLeiTeSYr78PLfVc_6p7KYaj_FTrlrIlzDbRrUE0nx/s1600-h/006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jX6UrdSV5oomvYML9UgCzuEF5wsXT5pG_C3QyozRFkdaP87N6GZvXiNwmnKv0g1b3SqHpwGqpO1jhkRfVIwqWz64UjHLeiTeSYr78PLfVc_6p7KYaj_FTrlrIlzDbRrUE0nx/s400/006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428498092967510466" /></a><br /><br />Julia and I listened to the Susan Boyle CD during our two-and-a-half-hour drive to the desert. We were surprised how bloody good it was. Then we put in Barbra Streisand’s new CD. We didn’t get to hear all of it as there are 35 tracks. Note to Barbra: you can have too much of a good thing. I mention our road trip listening pleasure on the way to the Palm Springs Film Festival to give some idea of the type of ear candy Julia and I prefer.<br /><br />We were meeting our great pals, Lori and Joan, at Lori’s dad and stepmother’s fabulous pile in Palm Springs. Lori currently prefers The Black-eyed Peas and Lady Gaga wherever she goes ‒ really loudly and constantly, so all conversation was shouted and there was much asking each other to repeat what was just said. Five years have passed since the four of us used to hang and travel together on a regular basis (BM: Before Marley).<br /><br />Later, in a restaurant, Lori was taking forever to decide on a bottle of wine. Joan opened her hands in wonderment at such protracted indecision. Julia saw Joan’s opened hands and wrongly assumed (more loud music in the restaurant) that Joan wanted to say Grace, so took mine and Lori’s hand until we were all linked, heads bowed waiting for someone to start the prayer and wondering why no one had mentioned that Joan had found the Lord since we were last together.<br /><br />An amazing and beautiful 86-year-old lady hosted a cocktail party for The Making Of Plus One…before its world premiere at the film festival (Cannes didn’t count as a premiere; that, apparently, was just a screening). <br /><br />I spoke to the venerable woman’s sixty-something daughter who told me she had seen a couple of good films at the festival as well as some terrible ones, including one foreign entry where she walked out, because it was “nothing but fornication and human defecation.” Holy fucking shit.<br /><br />Director Mary McGuckian told us the exciting news that she had secured distribution for the film. It involves a new distribution model where the movie is released in a different state every month. More on this as details come in. I guess it’s to avoid paying out $25,000 for each print of the film for every theatre. <br /><br />My group agreed to meet Mary, Jennifer Tilly and Michael Eckland at the red carpet outside the Regal Cinema where our film was being screened, but we couldn’t find the red carpet, what with there not being one. More wishful thinking on our part.<br /><br />The screening went well, a packed cinema filled with people who paid for their seats, laughed in the right places and applauded at the end. I won’t lie to you, the film’s not Avatar, but a pleasing romp through the trials and tribulations of getting a movie made. As I said during the Q & A, it’s a miracle that any film ever gets made at all, let alone released, and this has been the most amazing adventure for me.<br /><br />The next morning, Julia and I went for a walk and wandered onto a beautiful golf course. We kept to the path and marveled at the glorious scenery. However, we soon learned from the course marshal who came chasing after us that the path was not for walking, but for carts, and we were lucky not to have been killed by a golf ball. Ironically, we were on the cell phone telling our dad (who is president of Hayling Golf Club) about our weekend’s adventure just as we were escorted off the course.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-61919091246008363362010-01-13T13:56:00.000-08:002010-01-13T14:04:35.100-08:00Play Mitzi for me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSr4Ti031RgMEx0eonilVEAETxJEgEsjakGb88lOsPG8RsmrZCIoKZj-7HYF34g5kvvMsHfFpvpfvncD1Vz3t8I-rJg0GakqDeyzq67FpzTXuY9RxCvry73x52EUuhh14zbQsb/s1600-h/078.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSr4Ti031RgMEx0eonilVEAETxJEgEsjakGb88lOsPG8RsmrZCIoKZj-7HYF34g5kvvMsHfFpvpfvncD1Vz3t8I-rJg0GakqDeyzq67FpzTXuY9RxCvry73x52EUuhh14zbQsb/s400/078.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426347026241913330" /></a><br /><br />I don’t know about you, but 2010 has got off to a cracking start. This may be because I am a Pisces and this, allegedly, is going to be our year. http://www.susanmiller.com/forecasts/monthly/pisces_full.php <br /><br />This is excellent news because, frankly, 2009 sucked. <span style="font-style:italic;">The Making Of Plus One…</span> screening at the Cannes Film Festival and my dad’s 80th birthday party were the highlights of a year drowning in lows. <br /><br />As one door closed, another was slammed in my face. And then another. Until finally Colin and I had to sub-let our apartment and move in with friends to re-group financially. Despite being a normally robust and positive soul, the year’s rejections and disappointments almost brought me to my knees with stress-related illnesses and chronic insomnia. So much so that I looked like I had been hit by the ugly stick and felt like shit.<br /><br />My misery was compounded when a friend of the same age suddenly looked 10 years younger than me, thanks to a $10,500 facelift. <br /><br />Arthur, the acupuncturist and Chinese herbalist, came to my rescue (he’s also my sister Julia’s other half). He brought me back to the land of the living and the remotely attractive.<br /><br />So, before you submit to the knife, might I suggest you try Arthur’s acupuncture facelift? He can cure other ills at the same time. That’s me above with Colin on New Year’s Eve. Not bad for almost 55, though I say it myself. Thanks to good genes, I only needed eight sessions; most would need 12 at $85 a pop. Arthur’s offices are in Woodland Hills: 818 999 0300 or naturalmeddoc@gmail.com. I am proud to be his poster girl.<br /><br />Back to 2010. My children were here and it was the best Christmas and New Year ever. In the first week of January, I was offered some research work on a network TV show. My work was so well received that I have been offered a producer job on the show (a one-off) for real money. <br /><br />Julia and I are going to Palm Springs this weekend for the film festival with two of our bestest friends ever, Lori Leve and Joan Scheibel, where <span style="font-style:italic;">The Making Of Plus One… </span>is being screened. Two extra screenings have been arranged because the one at The Regal on Saturday at 6.30pm is sold out. And there are parties, parties, parties.<br /><br />A producer has offered $1.5 million partial funding to make the movie <span style="font-style:italic;">Plus One</span> actually based on my book using my script. The fabulous Academy Award nominee Jennifer Tilly has read my script, loves it, and agreed to play the Mitzi character. <br /><br />Another 11 months like this please, Cosmos.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-90379808739538869822009-12-21T09:55:00.000-08:002009-12-21T09:57:46.288-08:00Palm Springs EternalThe Palm Springs Film festival has just announced : we are happy to be presenting THE MAKING OF PLUS ONE as a world premiere at the 21st Palm Springs International Film Festival and have scheduled it for the following date: 1/16/2010 SAT EVE - 6:30 pm Regal Palm Springs. Wahoooooooooooooooo!Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-21159659651168859052009-12-14T12:47:00.000-08:002009-12-16T09:16:33.301-08:00Ladies Night<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxqSX9Ln4DgMxbpoYdXYZ-z8-02ujgnEKnIc5nhaMQRiu8IzVkWxXRAPg5QsxofC7K0wmrEKqDwbHWJ7bNkk-tFAqlhjSV2Di-C4ylktCicDboUl5O3KMnRW2jBlDzIMfOCYI/s1600-h/146.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 295px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxqSX9Ln4DgMxbpoYdXYZ-z8-02ujgnEKnIc5nhaMQRiu8IzVkWxXRAPg5QsxofC7K0wmrEKqDwbHWJ7bNkk-tFAqlhjSV2Di-C4ylktCicDboUl5O3KMnRW2jBlDzIMfOCYI/s400/146.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415198015534205938" /></a><br /><br />Mary McGuckian — the writer, director and producer of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Making Of Plus One...</span> — has been honored by WIFTS (Women’s International Film & Television Showcase) with a Career Achievement award. <br /><br />Actors Jennifer Tilly, Amanda Plummer, Donna D’Errico, Lothaire Bluteau and I were there to cheer her on. Mary’s big moment came at the very end, after more than three hours of award-giving. By that time, I confess, we were nearly losing the will to live. Mary received a roar of gratitude from the audience for promising to keep her acceptance speech short. <br /><br />The event was held at the upscale Andaz hotel on Sunset Boulevard and, apart from going on way too long, it was an uplifting evening with some incredible women being lauded. Like Betty Markoni, who has helped tens of thousands of women in her native Zimbabwe fight back against sexual exploitation, poverty and violence. It’s a commonly held belief among Zimbabwean men with AIDS that they will be cured if they have sex with a virgin, usually against her will. <br /><br />Betty helps these girls and women find their voice. She provides counseling, rehabilitation and somewhere safe to live. Betty rightly received the WIFTS Humanitarian award. There’s an amazing documentary about her work, <span style="font-style:italic;">Tapestries Of Hope</span>.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-91578865341258028622009-11-09T08:43:00.000-08:002009-12-14T11:23:36.895-08:00Art and artifice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygB8uxAKp6tXxhkCApLlYvymWhqAvvKUjGz9nlk0QyV9mfW6cXq2Agb78L6rlGxC4lt2LgiaJH_TlfhJkYq-IPcaXRAaR5jk0JEO-oo6fRH4rpA1IHMXKPHNPtRt7R0iIBzY-/s1600-h/049.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygB8uxAKp6tXxhkCApLlYvymWhqAvvKUjGz9nlk0QyV9mfW6cXq2Agb78L6rlGxC4lt2LgiaJH_TlfhJkYq-IPcaXRAaR5jk0JEO-oo6fRH4rpA1IHMXKPHNPtRt7R0iIBzY-/s400/049.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402147108317471986" border="0" /></a><br />Top of my wish list for physical improvement is a smaller (much smaller), pert bottom. But this is closely followed by decent eyebrows. I hate mine. They are too thin and one of them isn’t nearly long enough.<br /><br />I was in Beverly Hills for a screening of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Making Of Plus One…</span> the mockumentary inspired by my book and in which I have a cameo role. Fearing that filmgoers might judge my pathetic brows, and as I was in the hood, I visited the premises of one Anastasia. Not only is she the world’s most expensive eyebrow plucker, Anastasia sells a range of products to give us eyebrows to be proud of.<br /><br />An assistant offered to demonstrate their most popular products. The screening was in an hour and I was thrilled at the chance to look like a film star. She found a template of the perfect brow for me after measuring angles and doing various calculations. I loved it that she was taking my plight so seriously.<br /><br />Twenty minutes and $122 later, I left the store with Anastasia’s Essential Brow Kit and the thickest eyebrows since Joan Crawford. I had been feeling very guilty about the expense of the ’brow kit because Colin and I have been on a “is it a want or a need?” regimen, as recommended by financial guru Suze Orman.<br /><br />My mood was cheered by attending the star-studded BAFTA/LA Britannia awards with filmmaker Mary McGuckian as her plus one. The highlight for me was Kirk Douglas singing ‘Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner’ after he was presented with an award by Arnold Schwarzenegger for his contribution to film entertainment. Also honored were Robert De Niro, Colin Firth, Emily Blunt and Danny Boyle. Stephen Fry did a great job hosting and Ben Stiller gave a funny speech presenting Robert de Niro’s award. I suspect Colin Firth regrets asking Minnie Driver to present his.<br /><br />The best night of the week for me was watching DV8 Physical Theatre’s astonishing performance at Royce Hall with some dear old friends. Back in the day, Julia shared a council flat in Camden with Angie Giles (another great singer/songwriter) and Lloyd Newson. Lloyd was a dancer who went on to achieve international acclaim as DV8’s artistic director and choreographer. Lloyd and Angie had been introduced by Angie’s brother, designer Steven Giles. Check out Steven’s store, www.baseworld.com.<br /><br />Angie and Steven are pictured above at the DV8 show with Julia, who had to borrow my glasses to read the program.<br /><br />I remember visiting their London flat and first glimpsed the artistic life. I knew then that the four of them were extraordinary people leading extraordinary lives and how honored I felt to even be in the same room as them.<br /><br />Steven and Angie flew in from Miami for the show and we have had an incredible reunion, catching up and reminiscing. I won the prize for “most creative irons in fires.” Who spotted the unintentional gay pun? I tried ‘fingers in pies’ but that sounded worse.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-23382197136127317032009-11-02T08:28:00.000-08:002009-12-14T11:28:02.451-08:00Not so easy street....My producing partner and I have shot the sizzle reel for my reality TV show idea. The shoot couldn’t have gone better. Two weeks to edit, then her agent and my manager can try and sell it.<br /><br />While we were out filming, a pleasant-looking man of about 30 walked into the frame and sat down nearby. This turned out to be a happy accident from our point of view, so I asked him if he’d be so kind as to do it again. He told me he would be happy to help. As we walked back to the others, he said he was homeless and asked if I could spare a couple of bucks for some food? I gave him five.<br /><br />The wonderful singer/songwriter Celia Chavez referred to a book by Steven Pressfield, <span style="font-style:italic;">The War of Art,</span> in her blog. Celia wrote:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"The premise of this book is that resistance is a creative person’s tireless and impersonal nemesis, and you have to resign yourself to battle it. You will encounter the worst and most heartbreaking obstacles around that which you are most called to do. It defines the different forms resistance takes and recommends that an artist hunker down and assume the mentality of a professional soldier in an endless conflict."</span><br /><br />Most people who achieve success would agree that luck plays a part. Maybe they were in the right place at the right time, or knew someone who knew someone who could help or guide them. Yes, it’s a battle at times, but the harder we work, the luckier we are. And the ones who make it are the ones who don’t give up.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36499030.post-33838906271406969982009-10-12T08:00:00.000-07:002009-12-14T22:40:28.976-08:00Getting warmer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0USROUEYfRMSzfxIJxSX7Zw9l92Fd0D8PEU3DwyOoKVj9_kzbgglxA4FHukAdjKUXk2GcbULV3g0XP0RQcStkHNSEzdQ-rnRlXw_KCxVYxSlDpXfnOV9eqPZLNblTHhkKI1z/s1600-h/146.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 295px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0USROUEYfRMSzfxIJxSX7Zw9l92Fd0D8PEU3DwyOoKVj9_kzbgglxA4FHukAdjKUXk2GcbULV3g0XP0RQcStkHNSEzdQ-rnRlXw_KCxVYxSlDpXfnOV9eqPZLNblTHhkKI1z/s400/146.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391831086354113874" border="0" /></a><br /><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><img src="file:///C:/Users/User/Desktop/146.png" alt="" /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">There is movement on “The Making Of Plus One…” front. The <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">L.A.</st1:place></st1:city> push begins this month. There’ll be a screening for family and friends at the William Morris Endeavor agency on October 22<sup>nd</sup> at 6pm to start a word-of-mouth buzz within the industry.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">On October 26<sup>th</sup> at 7.30pm at the Harmony Gold theatre on Sunset, BAFTA/LA is holding a screening for its members, followed by a Q & A with director Mary McGuckian and the cast (including me). </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The movie will also be premiered to selected press at the AFI/AFM at the <st1:city st="on">Fairmont</st1:city> in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Santa Monica</st1:city></st1:place> at 5pm on November 4<sup>th</sup>. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">RSVP to screenings: info@pembridgepictures.com</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Here’s the trailer:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyDSe3APlKOB3FaXGouDDTaKeGDBy-S48tFCndcUPRKX81BxKs2Xz1B6HSxtqG2ApX_0C-zRj9Y2ME' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">I had a meeting with a top talent manager last week who wants to represent me and is confident she can get me my own TV show. I’ll tell you how successful she is: she just secured a $7 million dollar deal for one of her clients and it costs $24.50 to park for less than an hour at her fancy offices on Century Park East.</span>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08884735944719909989noreply@blogger.com1