To All the Women I've Hurt Before

Nothing's really changed in the way women are being treated in the wake of #metoo, #timesup, the Women's March, the Kavanaugh confirmation farce, the election of our current president, the prosecution of Bill Cosby. What has changed is that issues of harassment, assault and discrimination are being talked about, and dealt with, much more openly. Women are talking publicly, loudly, passionately about experiences that were supposed to kept behind closed doors, that were supposed to be shameful, that were supposed to be forgotten.

As painful and frustrating as this process has been, I'm hopeful that it will all be for the best. I'm also hopeful that this will lead to more hard questions being asked and to more self-reflection being done by both men and women. We have the opportunity to treat each other better, to treat ourselves better. To get there, though, we have to be honest about the ways we've hurt one another in the past. I'm working on it and that's why I'm writing this apology.

Women are constantly played against each other. Andy Cohen would have no empire if we weren't. We're made to believe we have to do this for our survival, that there are only so many spots available for women at any table so we need to fight to the death to secure ours. Why wouldn't we believe it? Listen to the radio — how many female artists do you hear on any given day? Watch TV — how many women have lead roles? Go the movies — how many women are listed in the credits? Look at our government — how many women can you find?

This is the system we live in, the system we sadly perpetuate. So we hold on to whatever scraps we have by criticizing and demeaning other women. We take on the responsibility of policing how other women should act, should speak, should live. We live in constant competition with one another because you never know when some woman is going to come along to take your job, take your friend, take your man. Bitches!

We do this without realizing. I know I have. I know I've been so nasty to other women I knew and didn't know because I thought I had to, because I thought that was the way to stay competitive, to stay tough, to stay ahead. It's not. I've lost far more than I've gained from participating in this toxic system. We all have.

Can we stop? Can we stop foaming at the mouth for catfights? Can we stop with the pointless rivalries? Can we stop raising our eyebrows about another woman's clothing, another woman's voice, another woman's life? Can we stop criticizing how, if or when other women raise children? Can we stop criticizing how, if or when other women work? Can we stop criticizing other women's bodies?

We don't all have to be friends. We don't all have to like each other. We should at least respect each other. We should at least give each other space. I don't automatically side with a woman simply because she's a woman. It's OK to have different opinions, different values. It's not OK to for our gender identities and expressions to cause a division, to be an attack point, to be seen as a weakness.

I want this to stop. I want "shaming" to be erased from our lexicon. I want all of us to be better friends, better mentors, better coworkers, better neighbors, better relatives, better partners, better people. I'm working on all of those things myself, which is why I know I have to issue this apology.

I'm sorry to every woman I've gossiped about.

I'm sorry to every woman I've backstabbed.

I'm sorry to every woman I've built up a competition with so I could justify my terrible behavior.

I'm sorry to every woman I didn't stick up for.

I'm sorry to every woman I doubted.

I'm sorry to every woman I demeaned.

I'm sorry to every woman I didn't champion.

I'm sorry to every woman I chastised.

I'm sorry to every woman I judged more harshly than I ever judged any man.

I'm sorry when I didn't speak out for you.

I'm sorry.

'This Happy Place'

Since its opening in 1955, Disneyland has been a destination for my family. We have home movies of my smartly dressed family taking the boat ride through Monstro's mouth into Story Book Land. As a Southern California teenager, my mom spent many evenings and weekends in the park with friends, including at Grad Night. Later, as a working mom with two small kids, Disneyland was a fun, safe, affordable place to spend a few hours (if you're under 3, you get in for free).

Fond memories of the PeopleMover (I even got to pose in one!).

Growing up, Disneyland was a treat. Once a year, we'd do a full day in the park, from morning open to midnight close. After a lifetime of going to the park, I got my first annual pass about 10 years ago, enabling me to take my then-toddler niece to Disneyland and California Adventure at least once a month. Now I get to take my niece and her younger brother for the rides, the parades, the fireworks, the characters, the entertainment, the fun whenever we want.

A neon D from the Disneyland Hotel, now on auction.

I've had more than a few people ask how I could go to Disneyland so often. "Aren't you sick of it?" Not at all. Each trip to the parks has a special moment — a first time on a ride for me or the kids, meeting a certain character, attending a special screening, taking part in an unofficial theme day. There's also the sentimental side, how unbelievably lucky I feel to have been able to spend so much time in the parks with my niece and nephew, for all the firsts we've had together, for having Disney milestones as they're growing up. So many people have a similar connection to the parks, the place couples get engaged, families hold reunions, people celebrate good news from their doctors.

An old Tinkerbell parking lot sign.

Whatever our memories and connections to Disneyland and California Adventure, we all show our affection toward the parks in our own ways, through clothing, accessories, tattoos, personalized license plates, and on and on. One family took that passion for the parks to an extreme, amassing an astounding collection of props, décor, accessories and more from Disneyland that once filled their home and now fills a former Sports Authority in the San Fernando Valley as the That's From Disneyland pop-up exhibit. Very soon, it will be all be auctioned.

A Fantasyland trash can is also part of the auction.

For nearly three decades, Richard Kraft built his incredible collection of Disneyland effects and memorabilia. Like me, Kraft first started visiting the park as a kid. Unlike me, he had the means to not just visit the park, but to bring large and small pieces of the park back home with him. As updates were made to rides and lands, Kraft was able to acquire vehicles, props, signage and more from every land, enough to outgrow one home and send part of his collection to storage. He had a Dumbo, a PeopleMover, a Matterhorn bobsled, the sea serpent from the original submarine ride, maps from a variety of eras in the park's history, stretching portraits from The Haunted Mansion, signage from the old parking lot, trash cans from various lands …

The Tomorrowland Coke machine I'm hoping to win.

Kraft's collection is packed into the former sporting goods store, smartly curated by Kraft, his son, Nick, and the team from Van Eaton Galleries into the lands immediately recognizable to all Disneyland fans. Each section tells the story of these lands and their evolution over Disneyland's 63-year-plus history, with pieces from rides that are no longer there (like the People Mover) or rides that have changed over time (like the Matterhorn). There are signs with old admission prices, old menu offerings. There are giveaways from celebrations of the past. There are sketches and contracts from the park's infancy.

Taking it back to 2000 with this list of admission prices.

 Accompanying the collected items is the story of the collection. Kraft's brother dealt with health issues his whole life and Disneyland offered a bit of a refuge for the family. After his brother died, Kraft visited Disneyland to feel that sense of connection to his lost sibling. He was soon inspired to build a collection that he shared with his now-grown son. Today, Kraft has a young daughter with a serious illness. The auction will benefit organizations that help kids like her. Before the items hit the auction block, though, Kraft wanted to share his collection with as many people as possible and collaborated with Van Eaton Galleries to create the free pop-up exhibit.

Cinderella figures once found in a window on Main Street.

This weekend's visit to That's From Disneyland will add to my stockpile of parks memories — riding the People Movers, parking in Thumper or Tinkerbell, standing in line for the ill-fated Rocket Rods, how uncomfortable the Matterhorn bobsleds used to be, the great cowboy lunches at Big Thunder Ranch, the whimsical animated windows on Main Street. I don't have the means to take any of it home (though did enter the raffle for a Tomorrowland Coke machine) but will always have my time in the parks and the people I've been lucky to enjoy those visits with. Even though they won't have the stuff anymore, I know the Kraft family will keep the passion they feel for Disneyland and the joy it's brought them over the years, now multiplied by passion and joy of the tens of thousands of people they've shard all that with through That's From Disneyland.

‘This One’s for You Tonight’

I had a lazy Sunday and caught up on “Vanderpump Rules,” one of the few reality shows I watch with any regularity. Now in its sixth season, the show is a “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” spinoff that follows the lives of the servers at Lisa Vanderpump’s restaurant/lounge SUR.

It’s chaos. I’m amazed that anything gets done at SUR with all the screaming fights, back alley breakdowns, cigarette breaks, staff suspensions and storm offs. This many years in, I’m not sure how many members of the cast actually work at SUR when the cameras aren’t rolling, but when they are on the clock, everyone brings the drama.

The cast member I’m considering tonight doesn’t work at SUR, though. He tried once, but the “pressure” got to him and he walked out just minutes into his first expo shift. Tom Schwartz is a part-time model and husband of SUR server, and recent Queen Bee, Katie. Up until last season, a major plot driver was whether Tom and Katie would get married or not. The couple said their I-Do’s last season and we opened this season with the two as blissful newlyweds.

Well, maybe not that blissful. As a somewhat ardent viewer, I’ve watched members of the cast grow or atrophy over the years. These last few years have not been that kind to Tom, at least from the vantage point of my couch. I always thought he was a little too twitchy and fidgety. I wondered at his inability to commit to a job or his girlfriend. As part of cast that seemingly can’t go an hour without doing shots, Tom felt the most troubled when it came to drinking.

This season, with his best defense against cheating rumors being that he was black-out drunk and couldn’t remember his actions, that feeling has deepened. Maybe this guy has a real problem. If he does, as costar on a show where his fellow castmates fill sunscreen bottles with liquor so they can drink openly on the beach, what chance would he have to get help?

I understand the limitations of the reality in “reality” shows. I know editing is involved. I know there are storylines to serve. I also believe, though, that the producers work with what they’re given. It’s totally possible that Tom (and the rest of the VPR cast) had a slightly crazy summer, and that’s what ended up on the show, but then manages to live his life in a balanced way most of the time.

But what if it isn’t editing? What is our responsibility as viewers, as human beings, when we see someone in trouble? Is it enough to hope for the best or should we, despite being total strangers, reach out?

Pearl Jam Was Right!

I'm not even taking part in these on-sales but I'm still feeling the tension and exasperation that I've come to associate with any on-sale. Log in at 9:55 for a 10am on-sale, refresh, refresh, refresh, the page finally loads, scan for tickets, nothing available, search again, nothing available, something pops up, take it, whatever it is, the tickets disappear out of the cart, start over, credit card not accepted, password not accepted, event sold out. The clock reads 10:05.

It's starting to feel like those were the good-old days. New aggravations have been added in to make the experience even more terrible. Are you verified? Will the website accept your verified code? Will any tickets show up? Will you be immediately redirected to resale tickets marked 10 times or more above face value? And don't forget the fees.

How I dearly wish Pearl Jam had succeeded in its attempted takedown of Ticketmaster more than 20 years ago. If more bands had joined in, maybe things would be different today, but TM prevailed, grew and grew and grew, merged with an organization that operates venues and sells tickets and sells merchandise, and entered the resale market. It's their world and concertgoers are just living in it.

This isn't news to anyone who's ever bought a ticket. Even when we were waking up before dawn to line up for ticket sales, there were flaws in the system. More than 20 people in line? Time to pull out the random wristbands. Oh, and there's a wristband fee! If the store didn't open precisely at 10, computers logged into the TM system, no one at your location would get a single ticket.

Now we're fighting it out from our desks and phones. We have multiple devices and screens open, friends on standby, fingers crossed that we'll be one of the lucky ones to make it from event page to ticket request to payment page to confirmation. We also have the TM-supported resale tickets to contend with.

I'm 100-percent in favor of fans who can't use their tickets being able to sell their tickets to other fans at face value. I've been on both sides of this transaction — happy to attend an event thanks to access to a spare ticket and happy to pass my ticket along to someone else when I couldn't use it. I'm not in favor of scalpers taking advantage of fan club, radio station, credit card and other presales to scoop up tickets that they immediately release back into the TM system at huge markups. TM charges fees on both the original sale and resale, so of course doesn't care that fans are being shut out or taken advantage of. Artists get their cut, too.

This is all business, I realize it. TM's main concern is its bottom line, and customers and all other concerns rank much, much lower. Over my three decades of concert-going, though, I have contributed to that bottom line. I know if I step back, if I refuse to go to big shows, if I don't join the fan club, if I won't jump through the hoops to get "verified," if I promise to never buy an overly inflated resale ticket, that there are thousands of others ready to fill the tiny void I leave behind.

Maybe this is what Pearl Jam faced back in the '90s, five guys yelling themselves hoarse as everyone around them shrugged their shoulders because dealing with these frustrations is just the cost of being a touring artist, the cost of being a fan. It shouldn't be, though, I shouldn't have to go broke and go gray just because I want to attend a concert. I shouldn't feel like this whole thing is a giant rip off. It is, though. So, what can be done about it?

How Can You Say …

Four years ago, I wrote about a resolution I’d set to see Morrissey in concert. Illness, poor timing and all other manner of roadblocks prevented me from achieving this goal. As of this past Friday night, I can at last say that I’ve seen Morrissey live.

He was incredible.

The crowd was not.

I’ve tread this ground before. Four years ago, my fellow concertgoers drove me to write a simple plea in this blog —Shut Up!

In the few years since, it’s gotten so much worse. I lament this change for many reasons. The most personal is, as a fiercely proud Southern Californian, I take offense to our reputation for being terrible audiences. We always arrive late and leave early. We talk through shows. We have mild, underwhelmed reactions to even the most outlandish spectacles.

For years, I refused to believe it. That wasn’t me, that wasn’t my friends. I’d been in packed, ecstatic, sweltering rooms where music unified, electrified and uplifted. I’d looked up enraptured to the star-strewn heavens as thousands of voices reacted in a joyful call and response. I’d been in balconies that shifted and swayed under the weight of dancing, bounding bodies.

But I’d also been in rooms with crashing beer bottles, blinding cell phone screens and incessant conversations. I’d been in rooms with people who, for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom how or why they were there. I’d longed to tell them how much cheaper it is to go to a bar, a restaurant, or even stay home to drink themselves belligerent, to carry on deep conversations, to go on Facebook. I guess they figure they paid good money for these seats, so they can do whatever the hell they want in them.

I know I feel that way. I think my purchase of that ticket, and the space that accompanies it, entitles me to stand all night (even if the people behind me choose to sit), to dance all night (even if I bump into the people around me), sing all night (even if the people around me would rather I didn’t), scream all night (even if the people around me would rather I didn’t). I also think my ticket entitles me to a night to remember, a night reconnecting with friends and family and heroes and myself, a night to breathe life into old songs, a night to fall in love with new songs, a night to reinforce all the good in my life and banish all the bad.

So maybe we’re all selfish jerks. So maybe going to a concert is as much about celebrating the artist and their music as it is about finding a way to tolerate your fellow fan. So maybe it’s about learning how to compartmentalize, figuring out how to focus on the show and ignore the turmoil right beside you. So maybe it’s about weighing out what matters more, being at the show or being in an ideal environment.

I haven’t reached that level of Zen yet. I can’t not be bothered by the heavy clouds of smoke radiating all around me, the groups pressing their way across the aisles three songs into the main set because they had no idea there’d be traffic, the overflowing cups of beer sloshed over my shoes and everything else, the patrons spending the entire night on their phones, the friends who haven’t seen each other in 20 years having to catch one another up on every single moment that’s passed as the band plays on, the blowhards who have to let everyone know how displeased they are with the set list, the people who need to rush out 45 minutes early because they didn’t realize shows last until at least 11.

At Morrissey on Friday night, I had all of that in my small section of the Hollywood Bowl. I wanted a magic wand that would banish all the loud mouths and trouble makers, and pull me closer to the stage (and add my favorite song to the set list). But I also had Morrissey, his humor, his style, his passion, his language and, greatest of all, his voice, his gorgeous, resonant, radiant voice warming all of us on that autumn night. Bless him for it.

'You Never Know How It's All Gonna Turn Out, That's OK'

We live in a Gilmore Girls world, one where we don't have to rely on cable-TV marathons, the stacks of DVD sets in our cupboards or a Netflix binge session to get our fill of Lorelei and Rory's quips and adventures. Thanks to Netflix, Amy Sherman-Palladino and Daniel Palladino, and Warner Bros. Television (plus the millions of eyeballs that have eagerly devoured season after season of the original show for the past decade), we have four new episodes of the beloved show to enjoy.

I've only made it through one complete viewing but know I have so many more in my future. There are jokes to memorize, Easter eggs to discover, tears to re-shed. One thing I won't be doing, though, is railing against the show and its creators for ruining whatever feelings I had toward the Gilmores, their loved ones and friends with these new episodes.

I promise not to spoil anything for anyone who hasn’t caught up yet, so will stick to what's already been shared in trailers and decried in a multitude of other essays—Rory's life isn't perfect when we catch back up with her. While there are some who are disappointed, let down or infuriated by this (and you can easily find their pieces all across the internet), I actually appreciated that Rory's life at 32 isn't beautifully sorted, that she's having a hard time coming to grips with who and what she's supposed to be.

When this revival was announced, I thought about where Rory would be nine years after we last saw her. She'd gotten a job covering the first Obama presidential campaign for a news website. Would that lead to a job in the press corps after his election? From there, would she get a job at the New York Times? CNN? NPR?

I think there are some Gilmore fans who were expecting to find Rory on the staff of a globally esteemed new organization. After all, she was the Chilton valedictorian, editor of the Yale Daily News, idolized Christiane Amanpour, read 339 books over the course of the original show's run, and, most importantly, was Rory Gilmore, so of course she would be on the fast track to somewhere grand.

Except, that’s now how it works anymore. It probably never worked that way. Being the top student at Stars Hollow High didn't guarantee Rory the top spot at Chilton. Being the student editor at Yale didn't guarantee her the fellowship she wanted. Websites fold, media organizations get bought out, writers get laid off. Good staff jobs are hard to find and even harder to keep. As someone who's worked in publishing for nearly two decades, I know.

While watching these new episodes, I thought about what it is that's made Gilmore Girls stick with me so strongly for so long. The show is quirky and magical. The dialog is fantastic and made to be quoted. What stood out the most, though, was the show's honesty. It let its main characters be unlikable and make terrible decisions, and then deal with the consequences. It also dealt with the difference between who you were supposed to be and who you actually are.

Lorelei was supposed to be a debutante, an Ivy League grad, Mrs. Christopher Hayden. That she wasn't, that she took a left turn, that she made a completely unexpected life for herself made her story so much more interesting. Paris doesn't get into Harvard. Lane doesn't marry a Seventh Day Adventist doctor or become a rock star. Christopher and Logan don't grow up.

In the updated version of "Where You Lead" Carole King and daughter Louise Goffin recorded for the show's theme, the pair sing, "You never know how it's all gonna turn out, that's OK/Just as long as we're together, we can find a way." Buoyed by our past experiences, guided by our trusted advisors, and supported by our loved ones, we do find a way when life doesn't turn out the way we'd hoped or planned. Though they could have made her meet or exceed our highest expectations, I appreciate that the Palladinos have Rory walking the same rough road as the rest of us.

Look How All the Kids Have Grown

It’s been ages since I last posted here, but if you’ve read any of my stories in the past, you know that I’m passionate about the arts and pop culture. In a college dance class, our instructor talked about the importance of non-dancers taking dance classes and developing an appreciation for the arts because we’re the ones who are going to support the arts, we’re the ones who are going to buy the tickets and donate to the companies and keep the whole thing going. That really impacted me.

I’m not a singer, can’t play an instrument and will not be center stage any time soon. Realizing those limitations, yet still fully embracing my love of the performing and visual arts, I’ve dedicated myself to passionately supporting the performers and performances that have touched and shaped my life. Even though I don’t completely buy in to the High Fidelity theory that what you like is more important than what you’re like, I do believe that what you like does contribute to who you are as a person.

Who I am is a person who will cry at live performances, joyfully overwhelmed by the music, the story, the sets, the everything, and what it all means to me. This is exactly what happened Saturday night when I took my nine-year-old niece to see Gwen Stefani, my feelings for my girl and my girl all intermingling and reducing me to an overly sentimental mess.

Gwen and No Doubt hit at the perfect time in my life. I was a college freshman in Orange County, hearing whispers about this local band that just might make good. The band did, more so than anyone could have imagined, and my generation had another girl to emulate and admire (and that was such an incredible time for admiration-worthy females). Though I could never pull off her crop tops and bleached locks, I was drawn to Gwen for her energy and sincerity. She gave us her all on CD and on stage, and I ate it up (and still do).

With No Doubt and as a solo artist, Gwen has used her music to work through her life’s challenges and triumphs—falling in love, getting her heart broken, growing older, finding success, fearing failure. Not that it’s all so serious, like all of my favorite artists, Gwen has managed to mix the light and the dark, the fluffy and the stark. She’s given us “Rich Girl” and “Don’t Speak,” “Simple Kind of Life” and “Hollaback Girl,” and I’m forever grateful.

The No Doubt and solo songs have been steady companions for over 20 years, making the fun times more joyous, making the hard times sting a little less, making me feel tougher when I’ve needed it most. “Settle Down” got me pumped for interviews when I was out of work. “Simple Kind of Life” helped that tenuous late 20s/early 30s time feel a little more normal.

This music has seen me through my twenties and thirties, job loss, boy loss, quarter-life crisis and so much more. It’s also been a bonding for my brother and I. He was there before I was. He nudged me harder toward No Doubt as the music was swirling all around. He took me to my first No Doubt concert and we’ve gone again and again and again. As a father, he’s made sure his kids have full access to his music library and is proudly raising kids with excellent taste and (unlike us) actual musical ability.

Taking all of this into account, how could I not tear up Saturday night when the first notes of “Underneath It All” began and my niece turned to me, her bright eyes shining with recognition, her smile joyously overtaking her face, the two of us springing from our seats so we could sing and dance along, both of us knowing the words by heart? Getting to be at The Forum (a room with so many great stories) with a girl who takes up so much of my heart, getting to share this music that’s been a presence in more than half of my life, getting to see her develop her own relationship with Gwen, knowing that I can do it again and again and again, as Gwen sang, “I’m really lucky, underneath it all.”