Doing "Nothing" is "Something"

Don't feel like “doing” today…want to relax this morning after teaching my college class for four hours last night.

Slept in…looked at the clock…and rolled over. Permission to self to take the day off.

List of things to do can wait till tomorrow. Instead, sip coffee in my pjs on the front porch and write while the birds sing and the soft breeze and checkered sunlight caress my neck ever so gently. Enjoying a sunny day in Phoenix.

Ah, the luxury of musing, reflecting without deadlines, appointments and obligations for the day.

Simple and delightful and so different from my former self, the Type A, overly responsible, overachieving Super Woman who tried and at times did do it all…single mother, professional career woman, wife, hostess, etc. Exhausting.

No more. I have officially retired my Super Woman cape, and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

My “self” has earned and deserves time without the requirements of work and responsibilities that compete for my time with me.

Putting me first is a relatively new experience after years of doing just the opposite for bosses, family and friends. It’s very liberating and peaceful to not have “to do” anything. I never had that choice or so I believed.

How lovely to finally know what it’s like to be free and not have to answer to anyone but me, a heady thought indeed. Just floating for now…see where the current takes me. During my life, the raft has taken me over the “falls” (divorces, moves, layoffs), and I’m still here.

The fears and worries of those times no longer have power over me. I realize now I did learn survival skills on my life journey, but the angst isn’t worth it.

Is my glass full or empty?

Both, I think: Full from my life’s experiences with some wisdom from my life's challenges and Empty of the cares and struggles of the past with space available now for what comes next.

Doing nothing for a day is good for something:)

 Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010-11 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Alarm clock photo by Zvone Lavric

Snooki and the Book Signing by Brian Leiken

Snooki isn't a name. It's slang, a colloquialism of informal speech best used for stuffed animals and cute pets, a name befitting puggles and hamsters.

(My first pet was a hamster with a name ironically similar to "Snooki"; I named him Snoochi - until he died of wet tail. There was a Snoochi II, III, and IV - they died of wet tail too. Don't ever name your hamster Snoochi unless you want them to die of wet tail.)

Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi, better known as Snooki, is a reality TV star from the hit show Jersey Shore, an MTV show about eight Italian roommates from New York pretending to be from New Jersey having to share a house together.

There's Jenni "JWowww" Farley, Paul "Pauly D"DelVecchio, and of course Michael "The Situation" Sorrentino; Jersey Shore is a mash-up of MTV's the Real World blended with HBO's the Sopranos.

Four foot nine with poofed hair, fake tan, big boobs and enough mascara to rival a raccoon, Snooki is one of the more popular characters from the show. Snooki isn't pretty, most men wouldn't give her a second glance, but what Snooki doesn't have in looks she makes up for in humor.

Girls adore Snooki, because of all the cast members on Jersey Shore, she's the one most of them would like to hang out with.

She even has a book, A Shore Thing. Written by Snooki's ghost writer, Valerie Frankel, A Shore Thing is a novel about a girl named "Gia" who resembles Snooki and has lots of hot sex with a beefy Italian firefighter named Frank.

Valerie Frankel may have written the book, but Snooki gave her lots of ideas, and Snooki's face is on the cover and on the back, so it's almost like Snooki wrote the entire thing all by herself.

So why am I writing about Snooki, you ask? Good question. I'm writing about Snooki because I went to her book signing at the Grove.

When I saw the sign at Barnes and Noble promoting the book signing, I immediately texted Parrish, who is a huge fan of Jersey Shore. I didn't think Parrish would want to go, but she texted me back almost instantly. "Let's Go!!"

What the hell, at least I'll get a blog out of it.

When you attend a book signing, most stores will demand you purchase a copy of the book from the store for the author to sign.

Because Snooki is a high profile reality TV celebrity, Barnes and Noble is handing out alphabetized wrist bands along with brand new copies of the book for $26.95.

Grumbling, I pay it. They won't let me stand in line with Parrish if I don't have my own book. We are given a flyer with a number of guidelines and rules:

. Posed photography WILL NOT be allowed. Photographs may be taken from the signing line only.

. Other memorabilia WILL NOT be allowed.

. Personalization WILL NOT be available.

It's only four o'clock, we've got some time to kill. We hit the Cafe Moza and people watch.

Two and a half hours later after eating a feast of fine french cheeses and bread and beer, we trek back into the store.

People are already lining up, but I cut through to the front and find that because we purchased our wrist bands early, we can move past the majority of the people waiting.

I estimate there are probably about 300 people here, most of them young women with their mothers and a handful of hapless boyfriends.

A trio of teenage girls behind us begin giggling and screaming uncontrollably as soon as Snooki appears. "Snooki!" one of them screams. Snooki waves, escorted by an entourage of security guards, managers, agents, photographers and book store staff.

She's short, tiny, would be forgettable except she is surrounded by the aura of celebrity, and that makes her the most envied person in the room.

"Oh my God!" one of the girls behind us gushes. "She is so short!"

"Quiet!" another girl admonishes her friend. "She'll hear you!"

"Are you girls from LA?" I ask.

"No, we're from Newport." (That's the OC.)

"Have you met anyone famous?"

"Well, we met the cast of Jackass!" the prettiest one titters. "But I'd really like to meet Justin Bieber."

"If I met Justin Bieber, I'd pee my pants," another girl cuts in. "Why are you here?"

"I'm writing a story for my blog."

Her eyes go round. "You have a blog! Are you someone famous?"

Parrish gives me the eye, trying to hide her smirk. I sigh, oh the lies I could spin, the lies I could spin. "No, I'm not famous. Only in my own head."

Snooki comes back out and girls at random begin screaming, WE LOVE YOU, SNOOKI!

A member of the staff opens up a copy of the book, instructing us to have the novel open to the front page for Snooki to sign.

I pull out my iPhone, attempting to figure out how to zoom in the camera. Should have checked that out earlier, because the line is moving forward like a waterslide at the park, people being processed in groups as Snooki signs her name over and over again in book after book in a bright pink pen.

There must have be at least 50 people in front of us, but the store crew has them filed past Snooki in under ten minutes.

Books primed, we hand them to a store clerk who passes the books to Snooki. I try to get in close to take a picture on my phone, but security stops me.

"Sir, you'll need to turn off that phone. No cameras past the line."

I shut it off. Risking my phone to get a close up of Snooki just ain't worth it.

As I walk up for a brief moment, Snooki and I glance at one another. I permit myself a polite smile, and give her a small nod. To her credit, Snooki doesn't pretend that I'm some super fan who has been just dying to get a chance to meet her.

Beneath the makeup, the tan, and the poofed up hair, she looks tired, weary, a five minute celebrity running a marathon because the moment she quits, it's over.

She signs the book, and I move on.

As we exit, a member of the staff cuts off and collects our wristbands, preventing us from selling or giving them away to other people.

"Wow, I can't believe we met Snooki!" Parrish exclaims. "I can't wait to read this ghost written book! What are you going to do with yours?"

"Not sure yet," I reply. Tax write off maybe?

The inanity of fame; how could someone like Snooki, a girl with no talent, accomplishments, or beauty, become an instant celebrity?

Snooki is a celebrity precisely because she has no talent, accomplishments, or beauty - she's the young woman many identify with because they all think they could be the next Snooki.

You don't need skill, or intelligence, or looks to be famous; just timing and luck. Who wants to be the next lottery winner, step right up and get a chance to meet Snooki, buy her book! Maybe some of her fame will rub off on you!

Snooki. Like everything else in this country, she's instant and effortless, even her name is disposable. Cultural fast food to be consumed and forgotten.

But hey, at the end of the day she's $26.95 ahead, because I still ended up buying her book.

Definitely a tax write off.

Copyright 2010 Brian Leiken

LA Teacher
http://leiken.blogspot.com/
Crossed Out by Brian Leiken at http://www.lulu.com/

Brian Leiken is an LA inner-city, special ed teacher and author of Crossed Out, a book about and for his students. Oh yes, he's also my son:)

Hearts & Teardrops: A Geography Lesson

Years ago, sitting in my English professor's office, I found a curious wall map of the U.S.

It was a canvas divided only with states' borders; instead of cities, the painting was dotted with partial and broken hearts and teardrops like pushpins marking an emotional geography.

I asked my professor what the hearts and teardrops represented on the non-topographical map. He told me they were placemarks for locations where hearts still lingered and tears still stained the people and relationships of the artist's life.

It got me thinking as to where I would place my hearts and tears around the country. I have lived in the Midwest, East Coast, and now the West and Southwest.

How many hearts and tears would there be for my sixty some years of living as my relationships changed: marriage, divorce, separation, and friendships that touched me, a mix of love and hurt, joy and sadness?

Some relationships, no matter where they happened, stay with me; others are gone and not stood the test of time.

My personal geography, like the painting, has its share of both symbols marking my emotional terrain throughout the years.

They represent some of the happiest and some of the most painful experiences of my life.

Nevertheless, my emotional geography is not a map I would change. My map is filled with geography lessons that are part of the journey I have known and have shaped me into who I am.

Did I take the roads less travelled? Did I end up in places I never thought I would? Looking back, does it really matter? The detours were often the best parts of the trip.

I'm still traveling and expect I will add more hearts and tears along the way. What's important are the experiences they represent of a life fully lived.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Broken Heart by Billy Alexander

Facebook: See me, hear me, feel me, or not

Facebook, 5 million users, so many friends, so little time. Just want to connect, comment, like, share.

Superficial touching, remote caring.

We reach out to each other to gossip, brag, complain, protest to our virtual community of friends and family. We express ourselves and wait to see if anyone paid attention or noticed.

Almost like a popularity contest. How many commented? How many clicked "Like"?

We are plugged in, or so it seems. So safe, so easy to say nothing of consequence, share our lives, sort of, but not real contact.

We live everywhere; our time is limited; this is the best way to touch base.

The phone is hit or miss. E-mail not as quick to let you know. Virtual living in a time-starved, long distance world. Works to a point, can't live without it, satisfying but never filling.

Our anonymous and private lives in a public gathering place, technology's replacement for the village well, pub, stroll through the neighborhood.

Odd that it's called Facebook, an album of faces that stare back at me, on the other side of the screen from me peering in.
 

Intimacy, closeness, touching, not there. A moment of your time, please. Look at me. Acknowledge I exist today. Facetime via machine time.

Something is missing: time for each other. Stop the clock just for a bit and spend some time with me. Reach out and touch someone across the miles, the time zones.

Did I miss your post? How old is it? Too much information, too little. How are you...really? I wish we could just sit down and have a cup of coffee and tell me how you're really doing.

Our lives are more than bits and bytes. I am human; I am not a machine. I miss you.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Shirley Temple and "Glee": Good times for bad times

When times are tough, entertainment helps us escape reality.

During the Great Depression of the '30s, people grinned and clapped when Shirley Temple sang, "The Good Ship Lollipop."


Her adorable singing and tap dancing on the silver screen made them forget joblessness, bread lines and poverty. She was a charming distraction from disturbing, distressing uncertainty.

When the dimpled, blond, curly haired girl pouted and giggled, she briefly took them back to childhood innocence and joy.

She was an icon for hope and brought a weary America much-needed relief in difficult times.

Today Glee uplifts us with song and dance during the Great Recession. Even when dealing with teenage angst, the cast breaks into song and dance, offering a sweet retreat from everyday problems.

The TV show helps us forget foreclosures, debt and high unemployment. It makes us feel better. Just for a short time we are transported and delighted.

Both Shirley Temple and Glee are more than entertainment.

They keep life "lighter" for us when we really need it; they help us maintain our balance and avoid despair.

We smile, chuckle and push away the dark clouds.

There's a common belief that the right leader shows up at the right time. 

I think the right diversion also appears when we need it most, and we hug and squeeze its sweetness to help us through the storm. It's a gentle "feel good" reminder of who we are when life is simpler.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Guest Blog: "Dating L.A." by Brian Leiken

L.A. is a goddess.

She is the daughter of Apollo and Lilith, forever chic, eternally young, phone glued to her ear as she veers down the freeway.

Like all gods, she goes by many names: Hollywood and Tinseltown. She is the American Idol.

Dating in L.A. is notoriously difficult. People who move here often go for years finding no one, then move away only to discover a "soul mate" and marry six months later.

It's a paradox. How can a city known for its youth and beauty, a city crammed full of party loving singles, a city like L.A., be so difficult for finding love?

The problem is the nature of L.A. herself.

She's elusive. Her whims are fickle. She wants everything but promises nothing. Many come to L.A. seeking her, yearning for her approval.

She is mesmerizing, Narcissus reborn; those who seek her unable to tear themselves away, hoping, praying, even begging for the briefest hint of her acknowledgement.

She's beautiful, the essence of desire; to have L.A. laughing on your arm is to have every aspiration fulfilled. Her silhouette covers the city in sequined glamour.

People who look in the mirror do not want to see themselves - they want to see her gazing back at them with longing.

She is terrifying, this goddess. Those lucky few who bask in her glory often get too close to her divine flames, burning up, enraptured by all that she offers.

Those who lose her interest are the wash outs; has-beens who frequently debase themselves on game shows and reality TV in acts of public self-flagellation, all in the vain hope of regaining her approval.

Within six months most who come to L.A. realize she doesn't exist, no more real then a mirage, no more attainable than a bowl of Cezanne's fruit. You can only gaze at her illusive beauty.

She is untouchable, but her captivating splendor remains alluring and tempting.

It is because of this goddess, this siren of desire, that dating is impossible in L.A.

No one wants to date who they are with - they want her. She is the collective consciousness of the modern world's dreams, a broadcast of mass marketed fantasy.

L.A. is lust and passion, wealth and romance, ecstasy and bliss. No mere mortal can match up to the promise of L.A; no one person can fulfill all the dreams and endless possibilities she evokes.

It is only after becoming numb in the land of collagen and silicon enhanced bodies that the realization dawns - not even L.A. can satiate all that she promises.

No matter how much you are with her, L.A. leaves you hungry and desperate for more. More fame, more success, more praise, more self-adoration.

L.A. doesn't bequeath dreams, L.A. bestows hallucination.

Natives born in her womb are impervious to fever induced charms. Birthed with immune systems incapable of substance, L.A. natives accept her artificiality with a zen like Buddhism that mystifies outsiders.

For the natives do not date; they "hook-up." For them, it is enough to have a look and the appearance of a relationship.

For true initiates of Hollywood, the image is the person, what you look like is who you are. They accept that when you are in a relationship, you aren't just a boyfriend or a girlfriend, you're an accessory.

In most places, it's what you bring to the table. In L.A. it's not what you bring, it's who you bring to the table.

In L.A. an image isn't skin deep because there is nothing beneath the skin. Dating in L.A. isn't about love or commitment. It's about creating an image, all in an attempt to be closer, to be closer to her.

It's why as a "broke" writer I did better dating than as an employed teacher - a writer has the potential of launching a career, catapulting an individual into her hands.

A teacher? A teacher might be able to add you to his PPO.

It's why people in L.A. can have one night stands, but are incapable of sustaining a relationship. In a relationship, your image might not be compatible with theirs.

People often say to me, "Leiken, you are too picky. You won't bend, you won't compromise. You expect too much. You don't put yourself out there enough...you won't change your look."

To date in L.A. you have to find your niche, you need to have a "look."

Because when you are dating in L.A. you are dating two women. The girl you are with, and L.A. One I can handle, the other can never be satisfied.

Copyright 2010 by Brian Leiken

Long hair photo by vassiliki koutsothanasi
Narcissism photo by lu tb
In the sun photo by Ulrika Bengtsson

LA Teacher
http://leiken.blogspot.com/

Brian Leiken is an L.A. inner-city, special ed teacher and author of Crossed Out, a book about and for his students. Oh yes, he's also my son:)

Crossed Out by Brian Leiken at http://www.lulu.com/

Also see my initial impressions of L.A. after moving from Washington, D.C.:
D.C. to L.A: A Monumental Change http://justdoingmythingcom.blogspot.com/2009/09/dc-to-la-monumental-change.html

Doing "Nothing" is "Something"

Don't feel like “doing” today…want to relax this morning after teaching my college class for four hours last night. Slept in…looked at the clock…and rolled over. Permission to self to take the day off.


List of things to do can wait till tomorrow. Instead, sip coffee in my pjs on the front porch and write while the birds sing and the soft breeze and checkered sunlight caress my neck ever so gently. Enjoying springtime in Phoenix.

Ah, the luxury of musing, reflecting without deadlines, appointments and obligations for the day. Simple and delightful and so different from my former self, the Type A, overly responsible, overachieving Super Woman who tried and at times did do it all…single mother, professional career woman, wife, hostess, etc. Exhausting.

No more. I have officially retired my Super Woman cape, and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it. My “self” has earned and deserves time without the requirements of work and responsibilities that compete for my time with me.

Putting me first is a relatively new experience after years of doing just the opposite for bosses, family and friends. It’s very liberating and peaceful to not have “to do” anything. I never had that choice or so I believed.

How lovely to finally know what it’s like to be free and not have to answer to anyone but me, a heady thought indeed. Just floating for now…see where the current takes me. During my life, the raft has taken me over the “falls” (divorces, moves, layoffs), and I’m still here.

The fears and worries of those times no longer have power over me. I realize now I did learn survival skills on my life journey, but the angst isn’t worth it.

Is my glass full or empty? Both, I think: Full from my life’s experiences with some wisdom as I near my next birthday and Empty of the cares and struggles of the past with space available now for what comes next.

Doing nothing for a day is good for something.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Alarm clock photo by Zvone Lavric