All posts for the month June, 2013

How this bodes: I’m not sure it’s well

Published June 29, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez


LocalSluts ( to contacts 6/28/13

I got many, many messages today. Most of them wishing me well on my birthday. Starbucks gave me a free drink, Panera gave me a free pastry.  I had a wonderful lunch with my wonderful mother. I saw some free comedy with some good friends. Then I checked my email. The above was in my junk mail box.  Apparently a perk of my entering the mid forties (I’m 44) is that I now have access to local sluts.

I did not realize this was difficulty. True, one usually has to leave one’s house to find a convenient slut (World’s Worst Dominick Dunne novel.)

Who knows what this year will bring?  Maybe when I turn 45 I will gain access to that most elusive of all creatures: The International Slut (Coming soon to an art house near you.)

Thanks for the birthday wishes, world.

Universe, you haven’t knocked me out yet!

I wonder what Mel is thinking

Published June 28, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Tomorrow is my birthday. I share this day with Gilda Radner (RIP Emily Latella) Todd Camp, King Henry the Eighth, and Mel Brooks.

I’m feeling a bit introspective and more than I little ooged out.  (The introspective is because of the birthday, the oog is because I just stepped on a cockroach with my bare foot. EEEEEWWWW)

This time of year is usually a big ball of confusion for me because I am used to having down time. Now that I don’t teach regularly, my schedule is less rigid and with Sunday being  the longest day of my work week, I’m always a little off. (Yes, that’s the reason.)  And this week Actor Boy was here.  I insisted he take the good bed. After spending a week camping with his family, he didn’t put up much of a fight.  So I slept on one of the less comfy beds. And then the day before he left I was awake 22 hours. It wasn’t difficult to stay awake, I am an insomniac, but it was difficult to stay focused.  I slept all day yesterday only waking to slug from one room to the next and feed myself.  I’m still disoriented.

What I’m thinking now is “Where did I want to be by this time in my life?” The answer to that is “I don’t know.”  I should probably know the answer to that.

Where am I now? Is it closer to find than the what? It’s all very confusing, especially since my ambien just kicked in.

Actor Boy and Writer Chick are undertaking a grand adventure tomorrow. I need to rest up.

Three Hundred!

Published June 25, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez


This is blog three hundred. It is a mind blowing concept. Even if my mind isn’t worth much today because I used many neurons to teach and stay positive and not fling someone off of the balcony and remember that I was hired for my skill and my ability to stay unflapped. (For some reason the idea of me flapping struck me as HILARIOUS.)

Since I clearly need structure, I did a Google search on Three Hundred. Of course I got the movie, but this also came up.

Bowling. With a twist. (Their slogan, not mine.)  Apparently it is upscale bowling. I don’t mean to scoff; I’m a terrible bowler. One of the attractions for me is the possibility of enjoying some onion rings and the terrible atmosphere.  This is my favorite thing from the website:

“Our baby shower at 300 was the best party I ever hosted, mostly because my only job was to make the lane assignments! Everyone’s still raving about the ambiance and food, thanks!”

– Lisette

There are at least three hundred things I could say about my kid. And about that much about my friends and my family.

And then, there’s going back two years to May, 2011

I wrote a blog entitled: “How did we get here?”

No idea.

Actually, plenty of ideas, just very little focus.  The irony of this is that I am reviewing the purpose of focus in acting.

In my spare time (actually I have more of that than you would think) I am researching for my third novel (yes, yes, I know, I haven‘t quite polished the first one or really written the second one  but in the weirdness of my day, it’s much easier to stop/start research rather than narrow my focus to my story and have some child demand my attention by asking me why it’s important to protect your head in a tornado drill.  That really happened. Really. )

Anyway, the research I am doing involves World History.  It came to my attention that I don’t really know enough about World History.  Maybe it’s because I have such a bad memory of World History from High School because Denny King is an ass.

So I am reviewing World History for Dummies. (Making a crack at Denny King right now would be too easy.)

The first thing on the first page is the query, “How did we get here?”

Ideally, the answers will spring forth as I go through this book.

I’m pretty sure that’s a lot to ask of one book.  But then again, I’m no dummy.

When I wrote that blog I was still recovering from the death of my good pal Mr. Steve. I was also facing a pretty major transition in my life since it was apparent that I was going to be downsized out of a job I truly loved, but I was being afforded the opportunity to make the most out of a career in freelancing. My kid was about to embark on his journey to become Actor Boy, so things were interesting to say the least.

Two years later, I still wake up in the morning thinking, “I should ask Steve about this.”   Actor Boy has finished his initial journey and is now ready to take on the task of become the artist and entertainer I know he can be.

I am also facing a major transition. Because EH is now firmly ensconced/entrapped with AWT, I am trying to get out more and adjust to life alone. Just me the cat and the Bunnies and occasional visits from Actor Boy. I don’t think it will be too lonely as long as I keep busy and don’t become isolated and weird.

I also need to find a job that will pay me at least 400 per week because that is what I will need to supplement the money I make writing so I can, you know, live.  The need is getting pretty dire. This last month has been ok because all of the little jobs I have been working on add up to what I need. Most of these jobs end next week. So I have to maintain until July, then I get to freak out.

But my kid is here, so Actor Boy and Writer Chick will have a few adventures in the next day or so. Here’s the cliffhanger: Will Actor Boy help Writer Chick avoid a nervous breakdown before her impending birthday?  Stay tuned for the further adventures.

And thanks you folk out in the intrawebs for taking the time to read my rantings.

Crushing, crunching and loving.

Published June 21, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I have a massive crush on Lesley Kinzel. I am totally crunching on Ryan Gosling. I am deeply in love with Aisha Tyler.

I know that was an odd way to open what I was hoping would be some sort of literary respite from the other stuff I’m writing today.

I tried to calm myself by taking an extended coffee break. I enjoyed a lovely iced latte with extra shot.  (Why, yes, yes I do know how coffee works SO KEEP THE SNIDE REMARKS TO YOURSELF!!!!)

I am having some abject panic moments  today because I have ten days to crank out five stories. I also have to get my verbal act together for the next rapidly approaching deadline. I also have to vacuum, change the sheets, do the dishes, teach some children and try to be a hard ass because they really need it. I’m finding it very difficult to make sense and stay focused.

So what do I do to try to regain my will to create?

That’s right, friends and neighbors, I go to XO JANE!

Lesley Kinzel is responsible for some of my very favorite articles. I strongly suspect that my internal monologue is the Greek Chorus for hers.   My new favorite thing that La Kinzel has said, “If obesity is a disease, can I call in fat?” as in, “Oh,Mr. Boss, I can’t come to work today, I’m too fat.”

I don’t think I really need to explain why I’m crunching on Ryan Gosling.  I’ve always thought he was pretty in that slightly awkward, secretly cool boy next door.  And even though he’s let the rest of the world in on his secret coolness, you just know he’d much rather be curled up on the couch watching a movie with you.

And Aisha Tyler.

I’ve always adored her from afar. She was a grounding influence on the first season of Ghost Whisperer. (Yes, I did just read that sentence. Don’t  judge me. Try spending a day walking around in my brain and see what sticks to you.)  Her stand-up comedy is hilarious. Her voice over work on Archer is inspiring. (I’m heartbroken that there is absolutely no way that I can afford to go see Archer live this weekend. I can’t spend the cash, or the time.Thanks, AWT!)

I have now stumbled on her podcast, Girl on Guy. It’s very interesting and her interview with Joe Manganiello is very informative, especially for the young actor, or possibly, the manager/assistant/ mom of a young actor.

So that was about four hundred words to answer the question that nobody asked,  “What’s on your mind?”

I think the planet knows better than to ask .



So rare a human to think and define

Published June 19, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I know that sounds kind of word salad-y, haiku-ish. I’m still trying to figure out how I want to arrange things in the verbal picture of me and my warped little mind. (Ok, it’s not warped, it’s just a bit dented and marred, not unlike my car, because I keep scraping against the same tree.  There’s a metaphor in that)

I’m a bit bumble fingered today, and the things I’m accidentally typing are actually better than what I’m trying to say. For example, I accidentally typed “Meataphor.” The weird little gnome that lives in my head ran around drawing pictures trying to put together a definition. Meataphor- A  large filet topiarily arranged. Then I realized that “Topiarily” is not a word and that I shouldn’t really be turning to a weird imaginary creature for writing tips.

Yes, it is exhausting being me.

That whole verbal meandering is an excellent example of how my entire day has been.

I have gotten 250 words written on the next story for the ghost contract and very little else.

I have some very lofty ideas waiting for the boost or at least some kind of support structure. Flying word buttresses, if you will.

I sat down to write this in hopes of making an actual point.

The point I was trying to make is that we often hear about the events that define us. I have been thinking about that lately. Which events really defined me as a person?

Is it the brain thing? Or the best friend dying ten feet away from me? Or perhaps one of the many, many other instances of life yoinking the rug out from under me with absolutely no warning.

Then it occurred to me. Events and moments don’t define us.

We define them. Things happen and we decided what to keep and what to edit.

That’s exactly why I write.

I started writing to create and understand. I kept writing as an escape. I used writing to make a point. I keep writing because it manages the truth.

Sometimes you have to work out a deal with the head gnomes and time weasels so you can be productive.

What? Write now, Right Now?

Published June 19, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

As I may have mentioned a time or two I have been having a difficult time pushing myself in the right direction. Actually, that’s not true. I do really good for a while then something insane happens to harsh my mellow and I get temporarily derailed.  This creates an environment in which I find it hard to produce something if there’s not a deadline exhaling hot, steamy breath down my neck. (I know, ooh gross. I’m writing frisky romance short stories to help Actor Boy with his transportation fees.)

I know that I’m going to have to create an essay about “Why I write” for the Langdon Review and I shouldn’t gripe, but I don’t want to sound like a mental patient in this scholarly tome. Forever. In Print. For Real.  This sends a icy cold finger of fear down my spine to the small of my back causing me to start, frightened; but somehow retaining my warm smile (I’m still working on the stories and it’s causing me to get a little blurry.)

Anyway, I’m fairly sure I don’t want fluttery and frisky language to leak out when I actually write the essay. I know who I am and I’m pretty sure I won’t have the final draft ready until the last possible moment, but I do want to at least practice.

I am very fortunate in that come from a family that values education and encourages intellectual curiosity.  My parents were both in college when my brother and I were small. I remember being lightly reprimanded for highlighting sections in a book because I saw my parents doing that. I have vague memories of seeing a professor’s office door with the letters next their name. I wanted to be able to have a sign on my door with letters after my name.

My handwriting has always been terrible, but I have always had the urge to write, tell stories, and read.  Unfortunately, I did not grow up in the computer age and the best of my creativity was recorded in spiral notebooks. When I was in the sixth grade I attempted to write a musical about the Pilgrims and their tradition of prayer meetings .  I was a very naive child, but I had big dreams.

Immortalizing Puritans took a backseat to the creation of a Young Adult novel that was an unofficial group project among several girls in my class. I was the keeper of the notebook and did most of the writing, but everyone contributed to the concept and sometimes provided unsolicited criticism.

I have no idea what happened to this notebook, but it was the first time that I used writing as an escape. Writing gave me the power to go beyond the day to day limits of an 11 year old Catholic School student. In my story,  I was a bright, pretty teen who was falling in love with one of the very popular triplets at her school (Everyone wanted to date a cute guy, so we turned the cute guy in the class into triplets. Very fair minded of us. I got the sweet one. It was my notebook and I had to keep it safe from boys, parents and nuns. I deserved a perk.)

From that point on, I used my writing as an escape. I had two running projects, one in the school year and one during the summer. I had a set of friends that were part of the process for each of those. One project was a historical romance, one was a soap opera set at a professional theater

I did write papers and essays for school, but the only one that every reached the passion of the other projects was part of my final for Senior Honors English. I wrote an essay about Paradise Lost being a thinly veiled attack on women by John Milton.

I still remember how much I wanted to punch him in the face, not just because I was forced to read his work while dressed in a plaid uniform in the balmy heat of a Texas spring.

That made me short of breath. I should go do something else for awhile

Something new on which to fixate

Published June 17, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

As if I needed something else to over think and weird out about, I heard a podcast about capgras syndrome.

This is a direct quote :

“When people with Capgras Syndrome see a friend, spouse, or themselves in a mirror, they believe they are seeing an exact double or an impostor.

Sometimes, people with Capgras Syndrome even believe that inanimate objects — like a chair, watch, book, or lamp — have been replaced by exact replicas. If people own a pet, the pet may be seen as an impostor, a strange animal roaming through their lives and homes.

Capgras patients are often so disturbed when they see a doppelganger in the mirror that they remove all mirrors from the home. The syndrome, named for French psychiatrist Jean Marie Joseph Capgras, afflicts thousands of people in the United States.”

Needless to say, this blew my already fragile mind.

Of course this tidbit of info went right into the hopper (I sometimes picture my brain as one of those fisher price push toys that has little bits that pop around making a pleasing poppity pop sound. This nugget of info is now dancing with the plotlines I need to refine and the areas of my house that need cleaning and sheer joy that is trying to pop out because Actor Boy will be here in a few days.)

Actually this syndrome makes sense to me. It would certainly explain a lot about recent events.  But it also may just be fodder for my extended proof that I am working my way through the circles of modern hell (world’s worse Must See TV sitcom.)

I can actually see how insane this would make everyone and everything involved. I have had some days that were so weird and horrifying or weird and delightful that I had to actually just sit and stare into the middle distance while the rest of me functions. Would that mean that I was replaced with my own impostor? Who would the real me be? And why didn’t  Up with People or Marlo Thomas write a happy skippy song about that, “Free to be who you think you may be” ?

On the upside the last moment that poleaxed me was actually pretty good.

I have been given the honor of recognition by the Dora Lee Langdon Center for the Arts for my work as a playwright. A profile of  Writer Chick (me) will appear in their publication “Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas” 2013 edition.

I have to say I was speechless.

Maybe that’s when they switched me out with the impostor. If it happens again, I’m hoping this one cleans.