Reviewed

Book Club received a bad review.

(It took me three shots of vodka to be able to write that sentence.)

Some of you may have heard me talk about, promote, Facebook, email, Tweet, shout from the window of my Yaris to the homeless man picking through the garbage, to WATCH BOOK CLUB!

(You can watch it here on Hulu!)

I’ve been obsessed with getting people to watch and (hopefully) love it.


Well, somebody didn’t.

(More vodka!)

This person was a stranger with access to a small blog about ‘true bibliophiles’ (something Book Club, according to her, is not.)

Noah found it last night when I was at work. Between serving beef carpaccio to millionaires I would sneak back into the coatroom and read snippets of her blog in which this random woman tears my little show apart.

At first I was angry. (Just ask table twelve when they asked for more cheese.)

How dare she!? Does she not know that I worked for THREE YEARS on this?? That this project kept me from leaving Los Angeles, that I spent thousands of dollars of my own money, countless days of my life, and put my heart and soul into this project. Does she not realize how amazing our cast and crew was to work with? How many people gave up so much of their time???

And then I realized it.

No. Of course she doesn’t.

And she shouldn’t be expected to.

Because it doesn’t matter.

We were brave enough to create something. Put something out there, and welcome anyone’s feelings about it, good or bad.

When Book Club was first in my head it was safe. It was protected from the world and its opinions. It would have been easy to keep it like that, never forcing it out and exposing it to people who might hate it.

But that’s not who we are. We are much braver than that.

And as much as I hate to say this, she is welcome to her opinion.

But I am welcome to mine too.

And I think Book Club is fabulous.

FABULOUS.

A large part of me would like to attack this person personally to see if I can make her feel like I did when I first read it. But that’s not who I am.

(But if it was, I would suggest to her that if you are going to write a bad review about something, you should get the name of the main character right. It’s MARLO not Harlo.)

The more I read the review, and re-read it, and then printed it out and wallpapered my walls with it, I started to realize something.

I don’t agree with her. In fact, I think she missed the whole point entirely.

And my opinion matters just as much.

She seemed to have wanted Book Club to be more about characters just sitting around reading. She wanted elitist bibliophiles in a real book club talking about the ‘right’ books. (Even the fact that she calls certain books the ‘right’ books tells me we are not on the same page.)

From the moment she criticized the ‘creatives behind the show’ for choosing a book (Ulysses) that no one would ever read in a ‘real’ book club because of its length, I knew she didn’t understand the show.

We tried to make a fun, silly, quirky, comedy. We wanted people to laugh, be engaged, and want to watch more.

We wanted everyone from non-readers to avid book lovers to love the show.

She’s right. This show is not just for elitist bibliophiles.

This is a comedy. It’s not going to be reality. That’s not what we wanted for it.

And I think she was looking for a serious show, which makes it obvious why she was so disappointed.

Because that’s not what it is.

And thank God because that show sounds boring.

In this business you have to have a tough skin.

I’ve never taken criticism that well. I think we all remember this incident.

But after reading the review for the twenty-second time I started to notice I was feeling something other than indignant.

I was relieved.

Because someone hated Book Club.

And miracle of all miracles I did not implode.

In fact, I’m still incredibly proud of it.

Her words don’t change the fact that my partners and I had an idea that we turned into a living breathing series on the biggest online network available.

And love it or hate it, you can’t take that away from us.

So I’ll tear down the words of her review that have been lining my heart all night and throw them away.

Because it doesn’t matter.

It’s inconsequential.

Now excuse me while I go find out where she lives.

Stars

This week I had my stars read.

Don’t tell my grandfather or it will confirm that the ‘damn liberals’ have finally got me.

The reading was a Christmas present from my boss and the whole experience was much different than I thought it would be.

It was much less ‘woman-in-a-turban-reading-a-cracked-egg’ and much more like my reader was translating another language.

There was no guessing or card picking or palm reading. It was just based on facts.

Meaning, she simply looked at where the planets were at the exact time and place of my birth and gleaned meaning from those locations.

I was shocked at the accurateness of it all.

When I was a little girl, between the hole digging and the gymnastics, I thought a lot about my place in the world.

I wasn’t out on my roof with a crystal ball, but I was constantly aware that my life seemed…brace yourself…. pre-destined.

(Grandpa, it’s those ‘liberal commies’ talking again.)


In other words, I never felt like I was a mistake.

So, as I listened to a virtual stranger describe my inner soul better than I could have, I had an incredible feeling of validation.

Like I’d been right all these years. That I’m on a course I was meant for.

Sometimes in Los Angeles it feels a bit like I am floating around aimlessly. Trying to pay my bills, trying to book a job, trying not to dump wine onto a poor-tipping elderly woman.

But to believe that I have some kind of purpose, some kind of destiny, is reassuring in this shaky city.

The main piece of advice that stuck with me through the reading, the thing I thought about a lot today when I went to yet another audition for a ‘quirky blonde girl’ was this:

Lately you probably feel like you are banging your head against a brick wall. But you need to step back, look up at the wall and surrender. Just know that this is where you are supposed to be right now.

I think the universe has a wicked sense of humor if it thinks ‘where I’m supposed to be right now’ is eating cereal for dinner on my bed and trying to figure out if by ‘FINAL NOTICE’ the power company really just means ‘Happy New Year.'

But okay. I surrender. I will accept that this is where I need to be.

After all, it’s written in my stars.

My ‘Communist, liberal, peace-loving’ stars.

Chez Moi

It was a long year.

I'm pretty sure 2011 was specifically designed to see how much stress I could handle, how many call-backs I could get without getting cast, and how many times I could utter the phrase, I can't afford it.

(Answers: A lot, about 18, and every single day.)

The last blow was the LA arsonist. Nothing says goodbye 2011 like fifty fires (two around my apartment) in three days.

Bring on 2012! End of days here we come!

One of my resolutions this year is to enjoy my life more. If you know me you might think that sounds silly but to be honest I've been a little low these last few months.

And I have so much to be thankful for.

So this year, I am pledging to take stock of how lucky I am and really try to notice the beauty that's all around me.

That, and wear more earrings.

Hey, a girl has to have priorities.

And since I'm seriously considering moving to Santa Monica this year, I thought I would start with acknowledging just how thankful I am to have my apartment.

It was our two year anniversary in December.

I celebrated by almost paying my rent on time.

This little place has been just right for me. I feel lucky every time I walk in the door.

So...with the help of my iPhone and some serious Instagram action I wanted to share why I'm so thankful.

Happy New Year!