If It's Sunday...It Must Be 100 Degrees...

As the fall season slowly makes its way down the east coast, here we stew in 100 plus temperatures. It's the West, where we chose to venture. It's all about choice and we are all on a learning curve of some mysterious plan.

But the triple digit heat. Still. End of September. Which is normal for Tucson. And not so normal for my mental, physical and emotional state. Whatever. We all have baggage, right? Who knew this baggage would include creatures of the night (and day) and hostile sunlight?

So how did we get here--from ecstatic optimism to soul-crushing emptiness over the past couple of years? Well, not exactly soul-crushing, maybe soul-sucking or soul-seeping. So much for my positive thinking. But yet there is still hope for a good life, a good-enough life, a happy life that doesn't center around the temperature and assorted ailments affected by same.

Not complaining, just reporting. Not scowling, just ready for the next thing, where ever that may lead. It's a long-haul episode that will one day turn into some poetry or other, more pie-in-the-sky dream. Hey, if we don't have dreams how will we ever have the dreams come true? (Quick, name the musical that comes from....hint: it's a song and you know it).

Dreams are for the dreamers who can turn dreams into happy, productive lives that soar and climb.

So on this Day of Atonement, I atone for all my trespasses against anyone whose property I trespassed. Emotionally or otherwise.

I wish you all peace, prosperity, good health and happiness. And I'll even include my
self in that equation.

L'Shana Tova and all good things.

If Not Now, When?

Are you asking me?

I have no idea how this even made it into today's Scowl, but there it is. In Times Roman 12 pt (I think). So it seems that hope is still alive, possibilities remain and a bitter crust of malaise is beginning to crack like a perfect creme brule spoon-spanked.

Are you asking what is the point when every day is a deal with the pain-devil? The point is in Portland, the purpose is within and the hope shall rein supreme.

Sorry to go all crunchy-granola on you, but when the spirit hits.......

And the spirit will guide the right person to the right dealie and all shall be calmed.

Sunday Scowl

Not really a scowl, just wanted your attention.

Sometimes life offers many directions from which to choose. Sometimes our choices don't seem clear immediately, some may take time to sink in as appropriate for the time it was made.

And then we get to re-evaluate and make new choices, new determination and new resolve to change.

We (the hub and I) are straddling two worlds right now, one of the literal and one of the potential. From covering Broadway to covering tarantula hideaways, Tucson beckoned as a health oasis, a change from the soul-crushing NYC life. Sometimes a dream can turn into a night and daymare until attitudes toward the now emerge. Now is all we have, folks. Let's make the most of it.

Spa travel seemed inconsequential compared to good health and a positive attitude. So too did theater. What was once a joy and pleasure, mostly because of sharing it with my beloved daughter Emmy, is now a memory and one that I revisit with fondness.

Yet, the thought of returning to view plays without her seems an empty solution to a more pressing question: what next?

Life choices. Life changes. Always choose life.
Happy New Year everyone!

Another sunny day....

So yesterday marked a personal day--my mother's birthday. She would have been in her 90s, but she left us a couple of years back.

But this post is a celebration of her life and life in general.

For no matter what circumstances are laid out before us, we are able and compelled to make choices. And live with them.

Sometimes the choice taken, the road traveled, seems less shiny once reality hits. But pessimism must not override the hope that is the anchor of love and compassion.

And this time of year calls on us all to give of ourselves in ways compassionate and loving.

Including the great challenge: being compassionate to ourselves and including ourselves on the forgiveness trail.

That's it. No scowl today.

Just a determination to make now the best time in our lives. Until the next now unfolds.

Enjoy your macaroni.

Broadway Beckons

It's that time of year again. When the chill of autumn breaks through every so often, and a cool breeze swirls Times Square debris.

Or tourists.

And it's also the time I miss New York the most.

When the fall theater starts announcing new plays. There are so many I want to see! Some are shows I've longed to see for years ("Finian's Rainbow" which was so ahead of its time regarding racism) that I want to throw things at the mountain behind our house.

I miss the smell of post-stanky subway (it's not too disgusting after Labor Day)and the crush of idiot walkers, who I would dodge and weave. Cursing under my breath. Ah memories!

Now I see some Hollywood actors are in town, ones that aren't cast simply to reel in
celeb-loving tourists. I wanna see them, too.

I wouldn't even mind running into the wacky stage-door-lady who would walk a certain Jekyll & Hyde actor to his bus after every show.

There's gotta be a way.

And then I would happily share all my insight and snotty rejoinders, to you, my fan.

Oy Vey

So this is what passes for high entertainment in Tucson:

Last night was a "family event" that attracted all kinds (believe me, ALL kinds) to this, uh, "happening" that had to be seen to be believed.

People gathered at a pre-ordained meeting spot near a Trader Joe's to saunter over to a special bridge.

Why?

Because at a certain time, hundreds of bats were expected to fly out from under it, en masse.

How cool is that?

So the pay-off to this cultural wing-ding was to see hoards of MF flying rats take to the air (and hair) and people brought their kids to this? I knew Tucson was gonna be a little different from New York, but, come on people!

The only close encounter I had with a bat (before coming here, don't ask) was when I took my kids to play tennis at some little park, we called it the "Care Bears Park" and you'll have to ask Emmy why. We liked to name our parks. You gotta problem with that?

Anyway, it was getting dusky and there were huge trees (trees!) huge and majestic, branches swaying in the evening wind. Suddenly, I served and five bats came out of NOWHERE and we ran like we never ran before.

Screaming, me, Ben and Em high-tailed it to the car, just a tad nervous. Nervous laughter ensued.

Bats have their place in the eco-world, I get it, so lay off you animal right nuts. I love animals too, I just don't see the attraction, the "fun" in watching hundreds of bats magically take flight like something out of "The Birds."

Is it me, or are people in Tuscon just a little different from what I would choose as a "family activity"?

I was invited, but quickly declined, citing a made-up rodeo research project.

Oh, to be back in the Peter Playground. When it was good and splintery.

Tucson, can't wait to say, "Oh I hardly knew ye."

A Heavy Date

Words can never express the horror of that day that swept all semblance of normalcy from our lives. Yes, we have personal stories, too painful to relate. For where we lived, the smoke lived too.

And the husband ran to the scene for truth. And stayed overnight while his family shared fears and tears.

So on this terrible day, reflection is a mandate and survival holds new meaning for us all.

Silence.

Ding-Dong The Rat is...

No, no, this isn't about a rat.

Just its diminutive cousin. And his name ain't Mickey. We called it "Shithead."
Well, it wasn't a rat,but to me it was.........so here's what played out..... two nights ago my darling husband put the oven on and as it warmed up, guess what happened?

A little rodent, a mouse=creature, crawled out and took off (stage left) into the netherlands of our 1500 square footage. Maggie (our canine)was fascinated to see something ALIVE emerge from the oven and simply paddled after it. In case it did something fun, Like shit all over my bed.

No attempt to get it, mind you, maybe smell its butt or something dog-like. You'd think, anyway.

So this morning, as I am working on a very bad cup of coffee (gotta stop cheating ourselves with crapola beans), I hear some noise in the bathroom off our bedroom.
Suddenly a drama ensued. Lew, barely awake, runs into the kitchen and I stay mute at the keyboard. I don't wanna know nothin.'

He forages around for a big metal container and then takes out his "special" cheese
and slices a chunk. In his underwear, hair askew. "Hmm," I thought. "Wonder what THAT'S for."

The next sounds I heard were banging and clanging which seemed to go on for an hour. Then Lew strolled down the hallway, Yuban can in hand, looking all pleased with himself. Hair askew, glasses not quite right, briefs less than flattering. Gotta love him.

Good riddance you varmint. Not Lew. Shithead.

And Lew was so Mr. Eagle Scout, he walked the thing a half a mile away "just in case."

My hero.

Just don't ask me about the tarantula...............................................
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By the way, in case you want to torture yourself with more claptrap from my yap...here's my Hollywood stuff....Don't judge me, can't help it.

www.thewrap.com/blog/naomi-serviss

The Desert is Flat

It's not my fault that I don't get along with the desert. It's one thing to see lizards, snakes and (gulp) tarantulas in their native habitat--the zoo--it's another to come in contact with said creepy crawlers in your driveway.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate the coyotes, feral cats, bobcats and roadrunners that crap all over our patio. It's those smaller, more insidious things that make my skin crawl and make me "Run, Forrest, Run" into the sanctuary of our abode.

Don't get me started on the rattlesnakes and scorpions. The former in our backyard (where I heard the skin-crawling "rattle" and the latter hanging out in our bathroom or once in our kitchen sink.

What kind of place is this, anyway? The wild west? Oh yeah. We didn't sign up for revolting creatures as house-mates and we want out, please. So say a little prayer, light some sage or do a little dance that Lew's book gets snapped up. Soon please, soon.

Other than that, we love Tucson!

Just us Chickens

So the saga continues. Here we (husband Lew) still are, in Tucson, a city that has no center. And while we are ready to ditch, we need a plan. Stat. Waiting to hear back from assorted possibilities (don't want to jinx them) is a bitch.

But we now see this venture as a huge stepping stone that will one day get us to Portland, a city we almost moved to before Tucson was on our radar.

Instead our plucky daughter (the pioneer) bravely made her way there, collected friends, found non-phony people (a break from LA) and now son Ben is heading north.

And we want in, so we're doing our best to make it happen--it's just the impatience factor that we have to ride out, which isn't easy in 100 plus degree heat. Not fun. I guess B.B. King sums it up best, "The thrill is gone."

You can sing that again..

Later.

Anyone watch the Daytime Emmy Awards? Me neither, but that won't prevent me from sharing my astute observations.....

The View (from Tucson)

Not too many years ago, the Daytime Emmy awards show was just another reason to watch Susan Lucci get dissed again. What drama! How long could she pull off the poor-me, no-respect routine? It was high suspense (not crazy drama, ala most Soaps) and Lucci pulled the sympathy vote for more than a decade before breaking through the soapy ceiling.
Seems “The View” was also always going to be a bridesmaid, never a bride, with the bitchin’ foursome venting and demonstrating forced resignation, with a huge chip on their designer-clad shoulders.
Until yesterday, when the curse was lifted and the schizy show raked in a few of those gold totems at last. Who am I to deride the wacky machinations of a show that once had non-screaming bouts about real news, when Meredith Viera was the main draw, not the wacked-out Debbie Whoozit and others who bounced, or were bounced by Queen Barbara, acting like a ornery club enforcer.
Maybe some of those awards seem, uh, slightly underwhelming, but who am I to judge? I wish I could garner an award for Hair & Make Up. Especially in this so-called “dry heat” of Arizona which is a description failing in truthiness.
I don’t know how Janice Huff (full disclosure: this New York-based NBC meteorologist is a personal friend) keeps her fresh look, unless it’s the hair and make-up staff. But they don’t need to do much work with her, trust me. But it begs the question: Why doesn’t television news have a hair and makeup category? Fake news (Jon and Stephen) have groomers and aren’t afraid to admit it, even if it consists of leftover pancake goo and eye-pencils from “Phantom of the Opera.”
Perhaps it would be harder to take the news seriously if cosmetic touch-ups were a legit category. Wait, who takes broadcast news seriously anyway? Never mind.



But even when schizy Rosie was on “The View,” it was still borderline intelligent, fun to watch and occasionally more than a platform for Barbara to push her own television specials and whatnot. My favorite, Joy Behar, seems neutered compared to those early shows. Before the show found its sea-legs, it was sometimes vulgar and unpleasant, but the hair and make-up: always beyond reproach. And Rosie seemed slightly tamed but ready to burst every time she was challenged. And don’t forget the Donald Trump War—great ratings for both shows!
And now Whoopi has also been tamed (like a free-range horse corralled) by Queen Bee Barbara, whose every nuanced glare sends Whoopi into overdrive mea culpas, signaled by her zip-locking her mouth. Apt metaphor for the show. Whose View is it really?
Behar appeals because she’s a straight-shooter and does not suffer fools lightly. Just watch the show with any politico to see her outrage or support. (What became of her usually-riotous “Comics’ Corner”?) Behar is funny and her hair always looks great, even if it smacks of Long Island (not “mall hair” but definitely over-sprayed).
(Another disclosure: I once spent 3 hours interviewing Behar in her gorgeous apartment and we bonded…for 3 hours.) But Elizabeth with her puritanical, Republican blinders was impossible to take last year, and you know what I mean.
But congrats are in order for “The View,” which added to the 17 Emmys awarded to the ABC mother station. Apparently, none thought the show would win, since all four were no-shows during the 36th broadcast of this poor-cousin of award shows.
Now if only “The View” would get its groove back, let Whoopi and Joy out of their pens, it might also get its original fans back, too. With or without awards for “Hair and Make-Up.”

Hello Out There

So the journey begins. This weird section of my life took a wacky turn for the West a couple of years ago. The reasons why are too ridiculous to share. Or are they? A dream squashed? Get a new dream, I always say.

Oh wait, now I remember: Tucson was going to be something about an oasis where chronic pain has no passport. And Lew could finally get the much-deserved respite from the harried NYC world in which he "lived" for far too many years.

So, one out of two ain't bad, right? So the pain is still here, at least Lew has taken this temporary way-station as something akin to a grand experiment. Where anything can happen. It's just that we both are of singular mind when it comes to this spot. Where once two giddy souls were agog at the sight of a 2-dimensional pig, now we don't bother to count the incessant hummingbirds. Pretty jaded, aren't we? Nah, just realists,

Just not feeling it anymore. Who can say how things will play out? That's why we have choices and make decisions. You never fail when you take a chance. Life is lived far too seriously, and we're here to let you know: Lighten Up! Everything is only for now, yada yada.

Meanwhile, Lew wrote the book he's been thinking about for umpteen years. Talk about accomplishment! Of course, the waiting for a smart agent to take advantage of a former NYT editor and his amazing memory and dexterity with words, is driving him nuts.

And my quest has become more spiritual, even though I love reading gossip and sometimes contribute to it (here comes a plug) via www.thewrap.com (look for me under guest blogs unless you think opinionated columns are heresy.

Sometimes my aim is rewarded the next day with publication, sometimes it's not. BFD, I have you now to be absurd with, make jokes for and complain about the dearth of original movies.
In between, I'll offer my take on this odd little town called Tucson. They can't even spell it right. Sheesh.

Tomorrow, there will be more.
Comments?