Tired, but can't sleep.

I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. Too many things rolling around in my head. This class I'm putting together, the possibility of other classes, the possible move to LA, what-happens-if-there-is-no-job-in-LA, stupid auditions freaking me out, ...everything is just freaking me out, and I'm hungry, but it's 1am and I'm not allowed to eat anything... because I should be sleeping... but I'm not.

Is it REALLY that bad? Do I REALLY need to break out the full-color, illustrated LORD OF THE RINGS, and start reading? Honestly, the best sleeping pill EVER are those heavy, detailed, hard-cover volumes. Ten paragraphs, and I'm a goner.

Sadly, I can't really sit up in bed and read, because Warren is already fast asleep. Always that chance that I'll start to doze off on the couch, then move to the bed, and the move will wake me back up again.

I remember falling asleep while reading as a kid, under the covers with the flashlight on. Or writing, or drawing...

Okay, well, LOTR it is. I know, I know! They're amazing, wonderful stories. I enjoyed the films very much. But the books are ENORMOUS and FULL of unnecessarily confusing description and meandering exposition, you HAVE to give me that much... and it makes me sleepy to read it. Don't hate me. I just like more action in my books, that's all.

-cb

Portrait of the Artist as a pissed off Liberal.

In the Denver Post's September 19, 2004 issue, CO State
Senator Andrews (R) was critical of a handful of
political plays that have emerged this year, some of
which were produced by companies funded in part by the
SFCD. He warned that such political theatre could
threaten the SCFD at large. Senator Andrews was
quoted as saying,

"This is a perfect illustration of the problems you
get into when you tax people to subsidize the arts,"
Andrews said. "Everyone is put in a bind when tax
dollars have been collected involuntarily from
millions of people and used to fund the private
political opinions of a handful of people.

Well, funny that, my tax dollars have been collected
involuntarily and used to fund the private political
opinions of a handful of people... it's called the
Iraq War! I'm a pacifist-- can I get a refund from
the Federal government? Of course not. Nor can
Senator Andrews ask for a refund (which was probably a
whopping eighty-eight cents) for taxes spent on the
SCFD. Why? Because my government has the right to
tax both of us.

In turn, I have the right to speak out against my
government, in any way I see fit. So does a Senator.
A Senator is actually employed (quite nicely, I
imagine) by the government to do just that: to get up
on the Senate floor and state his opinions.

In stark contrast, the SCFD gives small grants to
groups of artists who may or may not use Art to do the
same. (Many of them choose to do puppet shows for
children on the perils of dishonesty and greed! Oh,
no! We can't let them do that!) I'll bet, if a troupe
wee performing pro-Republican or Pro-Bush theatre
using SCFD funds, Senator Andrews would be one of the
first to applaud their patriotic efforts.

Our country was founded by men who thought that every
person should have the right to free speech, and to
declare their opinions publicly.

In the United States, and in the state of Colorado, we
have freedom of speech and of expression. People are
allowed to disagree with the government, and express
their grievances in public. Of all the forms of art
that should be held sacred, and protected, art that
joins in the political debate should be at the top of
the list.

In Nazi Germany, or in the former USSR, the only
state-sponsored art was the art that followed the Nazi
or Socialist line. I say, let us not fall into that
trap. Let us ENCOURAGE, in the name of Freedom,
state-sponsored, Artistic, political debate!

In a nation as diverse as ours, we cannot agree on
everything. So, we agree to disagree. And we embrace
this debate- it's what makes us American. Some may
join the Senate to join the debate, others become
writers or lawyers, and still others create theatre,
art and music. That is what makes us great as a
Nation. And if you can't support that-- the right to
argue and disagree, just as Senators do every day on
the taxpayer's dime-- then I'm not sure how you can
call yourself an American.

I hate to break it to all my Liberal friends out there, but we're all fools.


There's a film I think everyone should see, especially now, in this last month before the 2004 Election: MR SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON. In it, the film's hero, the appointed Senator Jefferson Smith, storms out of the Senate instead of standing up for himself. His fellow Senator Paine, and the powerful businessman Taylor, have betrayed him, smeared him, called him a thief and a liar, and the press has taken this and run with it. Smith's faithful assistant, Saunders, finds him alone, faint of heart, crying, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

"Your friend Lincoln had his Taylors and Paines, so did every other man who ever tried to lift his thought up off the ground. Odds against them didn't stop those men, they were fools that way. All the good that ever came into this world came from fools with faith like that, you know that, Jeff. You can't quit now, not you. They aren't all Taylors and Paines in Washington, their kind just throw big shadows,that's all. You didn't just have faith in Paine, or any other living man. You had faith in something bigger than that, you had plain, decent, everyday,common rightness - and this country could use some of that. Yeah, so could the whole cock-eyed world, a lot of it. Remember the first day you got here? Remember what you said about Lincoln? You said he was sitting up there, waiting for someone to come along. You were right. He was waiting for a man who could see his job and sail into it, that's what he was waiting for. A man who could tear into the Taylors and root em out into the open. I think he was waiting for you, Jeff. He knows you can do it, (and) so do I."

~ Miss Saunders, MISTER SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON

Friends... don't give up. Don't sit back and sulk! Don't put your future in the hands of pollsters. Don't give the bullshit the time of day. Don't you dare give up, my friends, because this election is too important.

I refuse to worry and whine, anymore. I have to have Faith, because it's the only thing I can damn well do. Every moment of every day, I can have Faith in my fellow Americans. The Faith of a Fool, perhaps, but Faith nevertheless.

I can have Faith that Americans will see the Taylors and Paines --the Bush's and Cheney's for what they are: the worst kind of self-serving, egotistical, lying cheats. I can have Faith that the American people will listen with their hearts and minds open, and they will keep talking about the issues that face them, and turn away from greed, fear, and lies. I can have Faith that we are smarter than Bush and Cheney think we are. I can have Faith that Americans will not allow their Civil Liberties tobe stripped away,that Americans will not allow the super-rich to benefit again and again from loopholes and taxbreaks, while the working poor suffer and scrape and go without health insurance and education.

"Just get up off the ground, that's all I ask. Get up there with that lady that's up on top of this Capitol, that lady who stands for Liberty. Take a look at this country through her eyes, if you really want to see something. And you won't just see scenery. You'll see the whole parade of what man's carved out for himself, after centuries of fighting, and fighting for something better than just jungle law. Fighting so's he can stand on his own two feet, free and decent, like he was created, no matter his race, color or creed. That's what you'd see. There's no place out there for graft, or greed orlies or compromise with human liberties. (...) And it's not too late, because this country is bigger than the Taylors or you or me, or anything else. Great principles don't get lost once they come to light. They're right here, youjust have to see them again."

~ Jefferson Smith, MISTER SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON

I just want to go home.

I just want to be at home, with my honey, where I can just be cuddling with Warren.

Michael Moore: My Dream Man

(More Bridget Jones-style journaling...)

~ September 12, 2005

Weight, 275 (feels like, really just hovering at 150)
Cigars chewed on during show, 2
Alcohol units, 0 (v.g... actually, too tired to drink)

2:45 pm
Okay. So, Michael Moore.

Last night after the show, I had a bowl of oatmeal. The oatmeal was a stupid move, considering my eyelids were already drooping and I knew I wasn't going to be able to stay up 2 more hours. (Oh, new rule: must stop eating 2 hours before bed). But I was in the mood for carbohydrates... and there was no chocolate. Having absolutely no fuel value, it's going straight to my ass, I know... but I don't care. (This really does have a connection to Michael Moore. Bare with me.)

In my post-oatmeal stupor, I fought to stay up until 1am, watching horrible Jon Lovitz SNL crap on Comedy Central, wishing that Jon Stewart were on instead. Oh, the joy and glee that Jon Stewart and his co-horts bring me! Oh, the humanity, to be forced to endure the wrong Jon.

My friends all headed off to the bar, Shawna begged me to come along... but how could I go drink, when I'd barely enough energy to kick the footstand up on my Laz-Y-Boy?! Oh, the humanity! No, sir, I couragously held my ground on the living room barkalounger, slowly processing my hi-fiber midnight snack, fighting to stay awake. Finally, I got up the energy to drag myself off to bed.

Early this morning, probably as a result of eating too late at night... I awoke groggily, only to realize that I'd dreampt about Michael Moore.

Here's the dream, if you have the courage to read it:

I find myself working for Michael Moore, in his production office. Sleek LA office, lots of windows and polished chrome. Probably not at all what Michael Moore's production office looks like. Still, I'm there, and I'm working with lots of young, smart, idealistic film-types. We're all sitting around, laughing and working, when Mike enters. We sit around talking politics and laughing with Mike, naturally... like ya do... for a few hours. We all obviously adore him, and he adores us, his little worker bees. The day draws to a close, and one by one, the other interns and employees leave, and Mike and I are left alone, just talking. And... one thing... leads to... another.

Now, I know, I know ... Most women out there are probably dreaming about... I don't know, Orlando Bloom, or at least Prince William. But, dude, check it out, I have an explaination: This is what George W has done to my psyche, people! I hate that little fucker and his Facist followers so much, that my dream-- literally-- is for Michael Moore to swoop in and sweep me off my feet.

I wonder if anyone has ever told Mr. Moore that he is their Dream Man. I think he's married, so I imagine the woman he's married to thinks quite highly of him. But, c'mon, are there legions of Michael Moore fans out there having sex dreams about him? I may be one of the few, the elite!

I am tossing around the idea of just writing Mike a little note. I mean, really, it isn't every day that one dreams about doing naughty things with a scruffy, midwestern documentarian... I would think he'd want to know! Maybe he'd be flattered. Maybe he'd mention me the next time he's on Leno. Maybe he'd even write back, and ask me to come work for him! Just think of it... Cara Burdick: Key Grip on Michael Moore's next film. Content Manager, MichaelMoore.com. Campaign Manager, Moore For President 2008!

As entertaining as this post has been, thus far, I probably should get going. Weekend packing to do, a show tonight, then a long drive to L.A. to visit with Best Friend.

Word.

The Edge of Pudgy.

~September 11, 2005 12:40 am

Weight, 150 (too chicken to really weigh-in)
Cigars, 2 (chewed, not smoked)
Alcohol units, 0 (not making enough money to drink)
Plans to visit The Dana in L.A., 1

Wow, it's the three-year anniversary of the ...the... thing. The bombings, the terrorist attacks. The hijackings. The bombings in New York and PA and Washington DC. I hate calling it "Nine-Eleven"-- I've never called it that. "Nine-Eleven" is such a bullshit phrase. It doesn't mean anything. It's just another TV producer's invention, like "The War in Iraq" and "Decision 2004". They have to name things, TV producers. They name things as if they're summer blockbusters. "Cellular". "Hero". "9/11". It cheapens, and commercializes, the deaths of innocent people. That's really what it was, wasn't it? Lots of plain, ordinary people, murdered, all at once? Or not at once, but within the span of a few hours, while we all watched... it... on ...CNN?

In other news, Warren and I will find out in 3-6 weeks if he has a job in L.A., or not. There are so many things I'm interested in exploring, if we move to LaLa Land: acting classes for film/tv, marketing myself to agencies, extra work, trying to market myself as a singer, doing research and due dilligence for starting a theatre in Europe, catching up with old friends and making new ones... could be a very cool, very creative time for me. And... a chance to live near the ocean. Wouldn't that be lovely? Step out my front door, walk two blocks... and I'm on the beach.

Only 8 days left in my contract. This last month has dragged so slowly. This time on Sept. 20, I will be laying down to sleep in The Chateau for the last time. And at this time Sept. 21st, I'll be laying down next to my Honey! I am more homesick right now than I've ever been. Ever! I miss my Honey...