LACMA Sunday

I woke up this morning in an unusually good mood. Generally, I wake up feeling alright but today I felt especially... oh, I don't know... jubilant? For no other discernible reason than I had a great Sunday.

I spent the afternoon at LACMA with my roommate, Davida. My boss' mother, Arline, is a LACMA docent. Basically a docent is a museum member who has voluntarily completed a year long art history intensive and gives weekly tours on particular subjects or themes relating to pieces in the museum collection. Arline is a pretty cool lady. I became friendly with her & my boss' father while doing odd jobs for them during my prolonged winter holiday less fondly known as the Writers Guild Strike. I'm probably now more familiar with them than I am with my boss. But that's another entry. They're such fun, vibrant old people. And I don't like old people. But I like them. I guess because they don't ACT old. Anyway, ever since I found out that Arline was involved with LACMA, I've wanted to go check it out. Broaden my horizons and such. So, Davida & I went for her 1 o'clock tour which focused on Mythology in Art. Mythology was always one of my favorite subjects, so that made it doubly interesting for me. Then we had a nice lunch with Arline and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the museum.

As I get older, or - because people who actually are older roll their eyes when I say "as I get older" - as I'm maturing into a full-fledged adult, I'm starting to be more interested in and have a greater appreciation for things that used to bore me. Things like nature parks and non-fiction books and the newspaper. And museums. Trying to impose that stuff on kids is such a waste. Kids don't pay attention. They don't care. At least, I didn't. Going to the museum was all about leaving school grounds and who you sat next to on the bus and if the boy you had a crush on tried to hold your hand in that little screening room where you have to watch that boring movie on dinosaur evolution. What museum is that anyway? See, I don't even remember. Museum of Natural History? Yeah, I think that's it.

So, anyway. I'm starting to figure out the adult I want to be and the adult I'm becoming. They should have elementary school for adults. Where you get to do all the stuff you wish you'd paid attention to back then. Oh wait, I think that's called UCLA Extension. Whatever. I just think it's kinda neat to be impressed with yourself when you truly would rather spend an afternoon looking at Mannerist art from 17th century Europe than, say, shopping at the Grove.

Fine, so that's still a close call. But...

So here's the deal...

I'm gonna do this quick and dirty. Okay not so dirty. Dirty is completely against my nature, as anyone who knows me well would attest. But quick. Quick is the name of the game. Actually the name of this game is... Bianca MUST. WRITE. SOMETHING. EVERY. DAMN. DAY. That means no endless analyzing and contemplating of the placement, meaning or cleverness of each word and sentence. I type. I post. You read. If you give a fuck. (I don't.)

Some people say that blogs are bullshit. Forums for people who feel the need to express their opinion because nobody in their life really wants to hear it. Or they just want the attention. Or both. Apparently, blogging is merit-less. Because anyone these days can do it. But you know what? These days, anyone can write a screenplay, sell it and become an overnight sensation (or Oscar nominated former stripper) despite painfully pretentious and unbelievable dialogue or any evidence of honest-to-goodness talent. That's just the way this world works.

So, yeah, I'm trying to become an overnight sensation. "Overnight" would be a stretch at this point though. I'm coming up on my 10 year reunion and damnit if I'm not rich and famous with a hot, sexy actor husband like I vowed I would be when I graduated high school. Fuck it. I have a cool job. And I have a manager. Two of them to be exact. And they like me. They really, really like me. Except I'm not delivering as quickly as I should be. I've got this script that I'm working on and it's been like pulling teeth. And I've realized that if I'm ever going to succeed when I get down to the nitty-gritty business of writing - ie; when I'm expected to deliver by a deadline - then I need to start exercising this muscle.

So here I am. Exercising. My braaaaaaiiiin. Anyway. This is more or less like a journal. I've always been terrible at keeping journals. So this is an experiment journal. I'm going to try to commit to writing about something every single day. The topics will vary widely, based on my daily observations or whatever I feel like ranting about at any particular moment. Which could totally suck and be completely delusional and if you know me may make you realize that when I jokingly call myself crazy, I'm not really joking.

My name is Bianca. As in Jagger. I'm a big ass closed book, but I'm trying to crack my cover.

This is my new blog.

Read it. Or don't. But read it. Seriously. I need the attention.

P.S. Lucinda Larkham is fake. I liked to think of her as my British alter-ego. But I've come to grips with 2 things: I'm not British. And I lost interest. It happens. See? Crazy.