Jew-Humbug: A Hiker's Tale

I re-post this story every year on Christmas day. It is a true account of a Christmas I had a few years back and, if you have a minute, please read and enjoy.

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Jew-Humbug: A Hiker's Tale.

"Fuckin' Christmas.
An overrated greeting card-driven holiday that doesn't even mean anything to most 'christians' anyway..."
This is the sentiment that I have maintained through 3 Christmases working in high-end retail.
As an outsider, any, and I meant ANY good will I had toward this holiday has been ravaged over the years with a little help from Paul McCartney, Electric Light Orchestra, certain members of the Beverly Hills community, and December heat in LA.
Working Christmas eve was like a joke. I was forced to gift wrap boxes of $40 tee-shirts (our LEAST EXPENSIVE item in the store, by far), all the while explaining to disappointed tourists from Wisconsin that putting velvet ribbon around a gift box IS how a gift is wrapped on Rodeo Drive and if they wanted brightly colored elf paper garnished with jingle bells, they'd have to do it themselves.
"Ok, well...Merry Christmas," they'd spit.
"Ok, well...Go fuck yourself," I'd hiss as soon as their back was turned...

Then I woke up today, Christmas morning and decided to reserve the entire day to do what I get to do the least throughout the year...NOTHING.
I slept for 12 hours, flipped through fuzzy TV channels in the hopes of finding something to watch OTHER than a Disney holiday parade and the "Yule log station". And then, finally giving up, proceeded to clean my room while listening to Christmas stories told by everybody's favorite Christmas icon...Ira Glass, the Jew from NPR.
After folding some clothes and scrubbing a bit of tile, I gave in to my cabin fever, grabbed my new balances and one of two Golden Girls commemorative tee-shirts and headed up to Griffith Park for a nice SOLITARY hike. I figured it would be very quiet today, what with families being together and celebrating and all...
Not so much. I fought my way past honking cars, cyclists and families balancing coolers and babies in each arm until I found parking at the bottom of the hill from which I started.

Finally my chance to emerse myself in nature and forget about all things relating to December 25...
It was beautiful. The sun, high and bright...the breeze, crisp with the fragrant scent of leaves and dirt in the air. And on MY route, only the muted screams of cheerful families invading my otherwise peaceful hike. I had chosen a route that would have been hard for people who were not up in the mountain a lot to locate. My path wound me along sun-drenched trails ad spilled me into damp shade at the very point I thought the heat would force me to turn back.
I was doing well, making it to my destination in record time. But as I reached my favorite cliff where my customary half point stretching was always done, I was greeted by a family invading MY CLIFF...hording MY VIEW. This simple act of naive thoughtlessness on their part irritated me...Couldn't they see how far this cliff stretched? Couldn't they stare blankly over the edge ANYWHERE ELSE?
Defeated, I made my peace with the notion that I would not be able to feed my OCD in this moment and continued passed them in hopes of finding another inferior place to stretch my hamstrings.
But as I made my way around this family, clad in matching red and green baseball caps, I noticed the father drape his meaty forearm over his young son's shoulder, all the while staring out into the vast pink horizon . "Look, Mijo..." he whispered anxiously, "It's all of Los Angeles out there...Sure is a lot prettier from this far away, huh?"
The boy nodded and I silently forgave them.
Not long after this incident, I made it to the very top of the mountain. I had done it many times before, but nonetheless, I lingered at the top for a moment, my eyes darting back and for between the sky that seemed like an homage to pastels and the international tourists who also made it to the top clicking pictures of each other and wishing everyone a "Buon Natale" and "Feliz Navidad".
I chuckled. All of a sudden this slab of rock garnished with a few hitching posts for horses and a picnic table was transformed into some sort of an international holiday party...people who'd never met before with no language in common posed together fists in the air, laughing and patting each other on the back...it was this weird unique moment... and for some reason, I felt lucky to bare witness to it...
On the long trek down the mountain, a symphony of crickets, distant coyotes and woodpeckers filled the now pungent and brisk air. I love these noises...uninterrupted. Beautiful.
"Hey, Merry Christmas," a middle aged-man with a backpack offered as he passed me. My first instinct was to sneer...couldn't he tell i was descending the path listening for things OTHER than the sound of HIS voice?
But I stopped myself. This was a unique experience. A balmy Christmas day in Los Angeles and people weren't crammed inside, stuffing their faces and talking over each other in offensive Cujo sweaters. These were decent people, out HIKING, of all things. It was kind of cool...
"Yeah, thank you..you too!" I replied.
And so it went, to about 15 other hikers, perhaps making new Christmas traditions both with their families and by themselves. It was a peaceful and dare I say, spiritual afternoon that I wouldn't have missed for all the solitary hikes in Griffith.
I hope you all had a wonderful day today. Be safe, be well, and...you know...
MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Some might call me a "Jewish Princess", but...

I'm feeling rather merry. I wish you all a beautiful Christmas...

And of course, a very Happy Hanukah.

Love,
Gina

My Sweet New Shirt

Friend of the Conway show and best policeman EVER, Lt. Andy Alvarez, brought us all presents to the station the other night and I got a T-Shirt that says "Police officer / Los Angeles Police / To Protect and To Serve".

It was very sweet of him and I really appreciated it.

I'm feeling my shirt!

The dead horse of Democracy

Sitting here in a cold medicine-induced haze, I've come to the understanding that you would had to have actively avoided copious amounts of information throughout the past several months NOT to be at least a LITTLE bit sick of election talk by now.

Yes, it's historic, no matter what way you slice it. But the more people I talk to, the more I am starting to understand that many patriotic people aren't that fond of either of our presidential candidates and are considering using that as an excuse to give up their right to vote on Tuesday.

I, too, waver back and forth between certitude and skepticism in my choice for the presidency (and even in my stances on a few of the props). But with all the hullaballoo from various groups and camps inundating us with ads that beseech us to PLEASE see things their way...attack ads, smear campaigns and epic tales of heroism boiled down to their most essential 60-second pitch...I have come to remember one thing that is certain above all others - these groups, these camps, these people that blanket our television and radio programming with pleas to vote this way or that serve as a constant reminder that WE are in charge.

These groups work tirelessly day after day to come up with ways to manipulate our deductive reasoning, play upon our emotions and suspend our disbelief and all because they KNOW that WE THE PEOPLE ARE THE FINAL DECISION.

No matter what your feelings are on McCain or Obama or even whether or not children's hospitals deserve more funding and gay people should be allowed to marry, we are the final authority on the next direction our country takes.

(*Now, please don't assume I have taken a passive, hypocritical approach to my thinking by using valuable time that could have been devoted to researching ballot measures and standing in long, early voting lines, but instead were squandered by writing flowery blogs that forced my opinions on others through thinly-vailed thoughts about democracy and civic duty. I have not).

The morning after Halloween, hung over, exhausted and on my way to brunch, I realized that there was something infinitely more important to me than Advil, eggs Benedict and gossip. So I peeled myself out of bed, made the compromise of clean clothes and unkempt hair and drove my weary self down to Norwalk to stand alone in a 4 and a half hour line in the overcast and drizzle to cast my votes - all of them - and take my place among the hundreds of people who thought enough of their state, their country, and themselves to weigh in on the decisions of next 4 years.


It's not that I don't care which way you vote. In fact, I'd be thrilled if you voted the same ways that I did. Who wouldn't? But letting my mind wander to all the modern societies that don't give a damn what you think, just as long as you keep your head down and your mouth shut, I simply can't fathom a citizen of this country, a passenger of this ship NOT wanting to have a say about where this boat goes and who is at the helm.

"It's your nickel", my math tutor would half-heartedly reply after listening to one of my energetic rants about why I couldn't study with him that day.

But it is your nickel. You were lucky enough to receive it by being born on this soil and you deserve to spend it in whatever way you see fit. I guess I just don't see how you could let someone take it out of your hand and patronizingly pat you on the head, all the while assuring you that your contribution would have been worthless anyway...

...or it could just be the cough medicine.

You only have 72 hours left. Please stand and be counted. It's your nickel and it matters.

Fame and Preservatives

In my vocation, I have to wade through tons of stories on the internet that spotlight celebrities and their various shenanigans. It's not that I have anything against these waif-like icons and oily-haired magic-makers...in fact, anyone in the entertainment industry owes these overgrown puppies an enormous debt of gratitude for giving us something to talk about.

Nonetheless, some of these famous fools have exceeded their expiration date and it is time that I get in line, take my deli ticket and speak out when my number is called.

The following is a list of people I'd like to ask to think about it before deliberately jumping in front of another camera like a secret service agent leaping to protect a dignitary.


Lindsay Lohan - The ONLY thing interesting about her is that she's a lesbian. Unlike most people, I didn't think that "Mean Girls" was the most amazing thing I've ever seen and I don't feel that "Georgia Rule" and "Herbie Fully Loaded" are good enough reasons to keep her in the spotlight.
She's not famous for her work. She's famous for being troubled. I don't hate her. I just want her to continue to stay away and clean herself up - it's your day to watch her, Samantha.


The women of "The View" - How the hell is this show still on the air? I don't know one single person who watches this show or cares about these women in any way...and yet they take up SO MUCH time in the news - what with Rosie's fights with The Donald, Rosie's fights with Elizabeth Hasselback, Elizabeth Hasselback's fights with EVERYBODY Star Jones's fights with Baba Wawa, Baba Wawa's fights w/ vaseline-smeared camera lenses, Sherri Shepard's fights with the sane and informed,..it's a wonder they even bother having guests on at all...Please - either add a ringmaster and boxing gloves to the set or GO THE EFF AWAY.

Criss Angel - He seems like nothing more than a younger, Jersey-er version of David Copperfield. All the billboards around LA won't change the fact that no one knows who he is or what he does...I guess he likes to freak people out by levitating in random parking lots and gas stations, but I think the reason why most people clap at the end of his tomfoolery is because this magic man looks so scary, that people are just happy to still have their wallets and watches on them when he's done...And maybe most importantly - mild relief that Criss hasn't shanked anybody.

David Blane - He's not even an "illusionist" anymore. He is an individual that needs attention so badly, that he wallows in the hi-jinx of a 4 year old. "Hey everybody! Watch me see how long I can hold my breath! Hey everybody! Watch me balance on this pole! Hey everybody! Watch me stand in ice with no coat!" They're all things we did as children and even then, I don't remember my parents giving a crap. I don't think he should keep throwing money behind TV stunts. I think his time would be better spent in therapy before he accidentally kills himself.


Paris Hilton - The jig is up...It's NOT fascinating anymore. Okay, sure it was interesting for 5 minutes 5 years ago when we all got caught up in talking about the idea of someone "being famous for being famous". But that's all behind us now.
Now she has a new show looking for her next "bff" and though I'm sure it's disgustingly hilarious, I'd be just as happy is she vanished... I think I smell a Criss Angel cross promotion...

Amy Whinehouse - Yes, her music is amazing and I'm sure we'd all like her to do more of it..but if she's such a tweaker, then maybe she needs to REALLY go away until she can truly get her life together. It's sickening to see every photo of her look like she just got pulled out of a dumpster...Amy is another one that needs to stay away from cameras til she's clean. She's too talented and it's uncomfortable to watch.

TMZ needs to go away. Perez Hilton needs to go away. Inside Edition and Entertainment Tonight and in a sense, people like me need to go away. In a lot of cases, these "celebs" wouldn't be over-saturating pop culture if these "news" mags and gossip shows didn't shove them up our collective ass. It seems that a lot of times, the celeb truly wants to be left alone and NOT appear accidentally tripping over a crack in the sidewalk for a "Celebs-They're just like us!" segment. These people are people and deserve their privacy...the only problem is - they have to want it, too.

Epiphany.

Epiphany. It's not just a good name for a b-list celebrity's baby. The word is defined in the dictionary (well...dictionary.com) as a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.

And this concept is so beautiful to me that I feel almost high just thinking about it. It's this idea of absolute clarity that I've chased my entire life...or, at LEAST since middle school...I would have loved to have had one single thought about existence that was so intensely clear to me, that I could have been able to transcend the horrors of generic 7th grade hell and risen above my station as a nervous 12 year old, transforming into someone who was calm, elegant, and empowered...everything that adolescence is not.

But it never came. Or if it did, I certainly didn't recognize it.

In my adult life, I have noticed myself craving this all over again - this ultimate answer that would untangle years of volatile relationships with people who have claimed to know me best and answer probing questions about my late-blooming career and fragile finances:

Why were people who claimed to care about me causing me so much pain? Why am I such a screw-up when it comes to organization? When did I start putting so much energy into holding myself back?

I've searched for answers to these questions in a multitude of stereotypical ways (think shrinks, not sherpas), but I've continued to come up empty handed over and over again.

I was so damn sure for so damn long that if I could just solve these individual puzzles, my epiphany would come...It would be one of those situations where I'd work long and hard figuring out the reasons for every negative thing in my life and then, in one cinematic moment of clarity (hiking atop a green hillside somewhere) it would all come together - twinkling twilight, circling hawks and all.

But it didn't happen that way. Not even close. It was in the middle of a challenging week, riddled with pain and stress, fighting traffic on the 10 west with a busted out car window and a sore throat, that my mind wandered searching for answers to these decade old of questions of self-doubt. And this is were I FINALLY had my epiphany.

It was this moment, stuck on the freeway in the oppressive summer heat that I realized this - the epiphany isn't always in figuring out the answer...sometimes the TRUE epiphany is the realization that you can give yourself permission to stop asking the question.

It was in that moment that I knew my constant search for answers was the very thing that was holding me back - that if I could just let go of that desire to chase down those mysteries, fraught with self-pity, and focus on moving forward, that THIS would ultimately be where I would find my strength.

So I did.

And with the letting go of those questions, I have let go of a LOT of heartache and confusion. And though I haven't replaced the space with anything else yet, I have at least made room for the possibility of something else, something more positive to grow in its place.

My cute 30's

I’m 30.

I don’t know how it happened or where I thought I’d be, but somehow, without any express consent or proper warning, it snuck up on me, jumped on my back, and rode me into a blinding and disorienting dawn.

It’s not a pairing of numbers I prepared myself for. I hadn’t really thought about it leading up to the “big day” and *I haven’t really had time to think about it since

(*by “not having time”, I mean that I have chosen to lull myself into detachment with the rhythmic repetition of other things like playing games on my cell phone and voraciously checking my email.)

But the one thing that I HAVE struggled with in the past couple of weeks has been dealing with a phrase that has been ringing in my ears non-stop since May 1 – a phrase I have been so inundated with, that it’s as though everyone I know has been walking around with a loaded pistol just waiting to pull the trigger on these 4 small, powerful words.

“It’s not cute anymore.”

The amount of times I have been assaulted with this sentence is nothing short of staggering. Its use is simple and biting and can be used in a variety of stealthy ways:

Case in point:

“So Gina…When are you going to get a real job? Because this little hobby is not cute anymore…”

“Gina, when are you going stop dating like a teenager and get married? Because this 'independent'crap really is not cute anymore.”

“Gina, when are you going to move out of that teeny little apartment and get a respectable place? Because, seriously?…NOT CUTE ANYMORE!”

The weaker part of me should let these questions penetrate my very foundation. I should look to these people as prophets, soothsayers, who have gleaned a peak into my future and have come rushing back in time to warn me about the impending doom that my own hubris and sense of elastic time will bring down upon me.

“You think you’re immortal, Gina?” they’ll shriek, “With your H&M clothing and bed-in-the-living room playfulness?? Not so! You better grow up fast and start living like an adult, OR ELSE-”

…But the nightmare always stops there.

Or else what? Or else I’ll continue to age with the some feeling of youth and optimism?...And then maybe pass that same sense of joy and calm down to a tiny human being when (but not a second before) it's the right time to do so? Yeah…maybe they’re right.

All this energy, hope, excitement, and possibility I still feel…I should let it go and just...grow up.

Aww, Screw it. I'll always choose happiness and discovery...

Over a bedroom with a door and the chance to be called cute again...

Erica Kane, Patrick Ewing, and everything else comforting about childhood.

In what turned into a long night of sleep depravation, I found myself youtube-ing old episodes Dallas the other night.

It was very late and I had to work early the next day, but I couldn't stop myself. My hands clicked quickly over different scenes featuring Patrick Duffy, Ken Kerchavel, Victoria Principal and Larry Hagman until I became immersed in this tawdry world of ranch houses and oversized lapels.

Something about the acting (always the perfect balance of melodrama and twang) seemed incredibly comforting to me at 3am in the near pitch-black room.

The simple dialogue between Pam and Bobby endeared itself to me in a way that fueled my need to search further down this path of primetime nostalgia.

I kept going and going, typing and clicking away at this useless site, not able to pul up images of my pre-adolescent years fast enough:

Dolly Parton
All My Children
Falcon Crest
Angela Lansbury

...looking back on it now, if someone were to look up my computer's search history, they might assume I lent this old iBook to a 60 year old gay man for an afternoon.

But I couldn't help it. I became fixated on these images and stared at them til a small, but intrusive glimmer of yellow light threatened my happiness by holding the thought of the morning over my head like a bet I'd lost the night before.

Jessica Fletcher, Erica Kane, Jordan Roberts...these were all characters I would take in beside my mom at night while helping her fold huge mounds of laundry. Dinner would be over, lights would be dimmed, and horns, violins, or piano sounds would signify that the multitasking part of the evening would commence. I couldn't help finding this somewhat exciting

...The other outlaws.

It is a widely accepted theory that the #1 force that motivates human beings not to act on an instinct comes out of the fear of being judged.

This notion makes me feel sad and a little ashamed. It's as though we should just skulk away quietly and accept defeat in the knowledge that we are little more than animals who are instinctually hard wired to live a life void of personal fulfillment - that if we keep a low profile, not making too much noise, we may just avoid becoming prey.

I admit that being human, I have felt this fear.

The constant struggle between obeying your higher self and rejecting your *ceiling fears (*see: terrifying images that dance across the unlit corners of your ceiling as you fight to shut your eyes and force yourself to sleep) is, for most of us, at least a part-time job...the big problem with this type of employment being that there are absolutely no benefits and the ONLY thing your company will match you on is help in solidifying the idea that you are not worthy of your aspirations.

I'm not sure why we're like this and frankly I don't care. What I want to do is accept this collective fear as truth...and then move on from it.

I want to continue to face my fears and chip away at the old lies that I'm being judged every step along the way. I want to put passion and focus on what feels right TO ME and trust that, in time, the right people will take notice and all others will be a muffled reminder in the distance of how far I've come.

And I know that the joy of this adventure will only be magnified by the presence of other people attempting success with the same boldness. This will prove that judgment is nothing more than a myth. This will show that all of us are just trying to live and taste a bit of happiness wherever we see it flowering.

When each of us begins to subtract fear from our own equation, we will eventually see that there is no one left standing on the other side smirking and sneering at us...there is no crowd barking criticism, as we once thought. We will know unquestionably that THIS FEAR HAS LEFT OUR LIFE ...and that if we still feel it lingering, it's not because it's actually there. It's just that old comforts will sometimes fight not to be left behind.

I am going to renew this vow to myself. And I'll try not be discouraged by the thought that the higher I climb, the easier it might be for others to take aim.

And if I ever find myself thinking back on this and despising myself for believing it could work, I'll just take a small breath and remind myself that it is both my privilege and my responsibility as a human being not to cower like prey, but to stand up and take my turn.