nakedjen

Your Secret Is Out, Taiji

December 3 Film. What's a film that you saw that blew you away? That you shared with all your friends. That you will purchase and watch again and again and again and give to all your friends, as well?

We all know, quite well I think (unless you just landed at Nakedjen looking for those naked pictures of Jennifer Aniston or Jennifer Love Hewitt and, well, if that is you then welcome to the naked pictures of this Jennifer instead, I do hope you're not too disappointed and that you'll stay for the rest of this story) that I am a girl who loves film.  All kinds of film.  If I could truly live my dream life (and hey, I should be saying this far more than I do so I can live my dream life) I would spend my life perhaps even, yes, gasp, do not faint, living in Salt Lake City and traveling to work at six or seven major film festivals every single year. 

Yes. Universe. That would be my dream life.

As it is, I most times work for the Sundance Film Festival.  In some fashion or another.  It is a film lover's festival of festivals.  It is my absolute most favorite.  If the Oregon Country Fair is my religion, Sundance is my temple where I worship.

This year, I was a very lucky and blessed film lover in that I got to be part of the UK Film Council team for the festival.  What that meant, exactly, is that I got to help them with all the affairs surrounding the twenty-five UK films that were selected as part of the 2009 Sundance line-up.  I got to talk and promote fantastic independent film for what certainly felt like twenty four hours a day for two weeks straight.  I got to meet passionate directors who were so excited just to be chosen.  I got to meet actors and actresses who were so gracious and personable and truly lovely.  I got to attend premieres of films and the parties to celebrate them. 

Yes, it all sounds very glamorous.  Let me also say it is one of the hardest jobs you will ever love.  I can never get enough of it.

I could talk forever and ever and ever about the multitude of films that I have seen this year that have touched me deeply in one way or another.  The films I have insisted that all my friends go see.  The films that will be nominated for Oscars, I am certain.  The list is very long.  In fact, I know I should talk about that and I will.  But not right now.

There is one specific documentary from Sundance 2009 that has touched me more deeply and profoundly than even I could have imagined possible before seeing it.  That film is The Cove.

The Cove is a film that I think every human being needs to see.  Every one.  If you've ever swum with a dolphin, you need to see this film especially.  If you've ever paid for a day at Sea World, well, then you need to see this film, as well.  But even if all you do is eat a fish, this film is a film you truly should see.

I have spent the months that have followed Sundance doing all that I can to help to promote this film.  I have written about the dolphins.  I have written about the toxic levels of mercury in our oceans, rivers and streams and in our fish.  I have petitioned world leaders around the globe, but especially in Japan, to stop this needless slaughter.

Ric O'Barry is an extraordinary man.  I had the honor of hugging him and sharing a heart-felt conversation with him after The Cove won an award at Sundance last year.  I thanked him for his heart and his soul and for the fight he continues to fight every day for the dolphins.  

I have always been part mermaid, a girl who sings with all the fish of the seas.  I can't imagine the heartache experienced in that Cove every fall.  As long as is necessary, I will continue to shout for the dolphins, for the whales, for the fish, for the end of this unnecessary slaughter.

A Hunk, A Hunk Of Burning Love

A few years ago, on Father's Day, DearSweetDave and I went over to his father's home to share the day with his dad.  I will share with you that DearSweetDave's father, my FIL, is a very passionate man with a very big heart.  He is also a man who believes in following your heart.  In going after the golden ring.  In making your dreams come true.  And he especially believes this for his own children.

On that particular day, the big news and excitement, as we gathered in the kitchen, was that Katrina, Dave's middle sister, was in hot pursuit of a 40 ft. GMC turbo diesel RV-converted bus.  On Ebay.  She had never seen the bus in person.  She had not had it checked out by a mechanic.  She had exchanged just a few brief emails with the sellers of the bus.  However, Katrina had already decided that she was going to purchase this bus (with what money was still to be determined as she had absolutely none) and she was going to drive it to Mexico.  Cabo, to be precise.  Where she was going to live in it. 

I think at the time the plan was to make and sell beaded and shell jewelry.  Make it there with the local crafts people and sell it here in Santa Cruz.  But I'm not positive about that part of the story.  I just know that she had some plan for making lots of money in Mexico.  Once she had her house. 

Our entire morning was spent as Katrina kept refreshing the page on the Ebay auction site to see if anyone else had possibly outbid her on her "dream".  She would rush downstairs to the computer and then rush back upstairs completely flushed with adrenaline and exclaim that the bus was still hers. 

And then, just as the auction was about to end, someone did outbid her.   So she quickly decided that she would have to spend even more than she planned and upped her own bid.  But then so did the other bidder.  Back and forth it went.  Each time by just $100 dollars.  Katrina actually sent an email to the other bidder telling the person to please stop bidding on her DREAM. 

As the minutes quickly passed, things got more frantic.  The page was refreshed and refreshed again.  And each time, Katrina would add yet more money to her bid!  When the final bell tolled, she was the winner!  She had outlasted all the others, she had purchased her dream.

Well, sort of.  As I mentioned, Katrina didn't actually have the funds to purchase this Hunk of Burning Love RV that she had just won.  But remember, her father, my FIL, believes in making dreams come true.  So on Monday morning he went with Katrina to the bank and co-signed a loan with her so the big pink bus could be her new Mexican home.

It was a good dream.  A life in Cabo, living in the bus, making and selling jewelry to the tourists, a simple and uncomplicated life.  Only, Katrina never made it to Mexico.  She instead found herself drifting from job to job in Santa Cruz and also soon found herself unable to make the proper payments on her DREAM.  Her dream became a big fat financial burden.  An albatross around her neck.

DearSweetDave's dad stepped in.  He's like a superhero that way.  He often will swoop in to rescue the fallen angel.  In this case, Katrina who was sinking under the weight of her Big Pink Bus.  He took over the payments and financial responsibility for the RV.  He also found a place to store it and paid for that, as well.  And I think the dreamer in my FIL kept hoping that somehow Katrina would still be able to have her own Dream if he just helped her along.

What he's realized, though, is that Katrina gave up her dream.  And this RV?  It is not my FIL's dream at all.  So now he's got this 40 foot GMC Turbo Diesel RV Bus conversion that he certainly doesn't want or need.  He's about to move to the Big Island and last we checked this bus isn't exactly sea-worthy.

So he's selling it.  For a bargain price, I might add.  Again, like I said, he's on his way to the Big Island.  He doesn't want to complicate his life by owning a bus that is residing in Santa Cruz. 

It's absolutely perfect for a wandering soul.  Maybe even some of you folks who were interested in my own Magic Bus.  You might find this bus an even more enticing offer.  Or if you're a Burning Man regular, maybe you'd like to add this Bus to your own camp's provisions. 

I actually considered getting it for myself, quite honestly.  With the price of real estate in Santa Cruz, I told DearSweetDave we could live in it parked next to the ocean and have an ocean front home!  But DearSweetDave couldn't imagine living in just 40 feet with the terrible twosome and I suppose he's right. 

Still, for someone out there, it could make a very plush home!  Or maybe even the start of a beautiful dream. 

NaBloPoMo links for today:

dreaming in denmark

Dreaming In Reality

dreams of a river selkie

Helping Gwyneth Paltrow Give Birth

I dreamed last night that I was Gwyneth Paltrow's doula.  And she was so worried about me not being where she was that the puppies and I went to live with her in all her various homes for the last month of her pregnancy.  We hung out with Apple and Chris and the boys in the band. 

I did such a marvelous job as Gwyneth's doula that she actually called Brad Pitt from her hospital bed while holding her new baby girl (it was a girl who looked very much like her) and told him that he simply must have me come and be Angelina's doula, too. 

The puppies, by the way, loved living in London best.  Of course they did!  They're MY puppies.  We went for lots of romps in Regent's Park with Apple.  Took her to the zoo.

I wonder if Gwyneth has ever considered using a doula?  She seems very much like the type of woman who would really love to have one. 

Have also been having more dreams about Heather Armstrong.  But since they involve her BIG NEWS, I'm not sharing.  I know I probably am totally wrong, but what if I'm not?!  This is news she definitely gets to share.

Why Reading Dooce Before Bed Might Not Be Such A Good Idea

Last night I dreamed that I was Leta's nanny.  That I was hired by Heather and Jon to take care of her and to also take care of Chuck.  I will tell you all right now that I do not know Heather other than through her blog.  I have been a faithful reader for what feels like forever.  Before I even understood what a blog was, I was reading her. 

Before going to bed last night, I checked in.  I read about Heather asking her Granny if she took the sacrament with those same lips that she was sipping her tea.  My own sister, NeverNakedBeth is a Mormon who lives in Utah so there are often things in Heather's blog that really do just make me LAUGH OUT LOUD and I wish that I had thought of to say to my own sister. 

But back to my dream.  In it, Heather had hired me to be Leta's nanny because she had read my blog (which I find highly improbable) and realized I was great with dogs, was a professional nanny, I knew how to say Fuck in more than three languages and I could possibly solve her poop issues.  She confided in a very loud stage whisper to me after I moved in to their house that really I was there to solve all the Armstrong Poop Issues, but that my help with Leta would be greatly appreciated as well.

My first task was to give Leta a bath.  And I gave Leta all these bath toys that made very loud farting noises when she squeezed them under water.  There was a dolphin and a duck and a pony.  And Leta really wanted them to squirt water, but instead they made fart noises.  So there I was playing with her in the bathtub, when Heather and Jon and Chuck all came tumbling into the bathroom because they had heard all the farting noises and just HAD TO KNOW what was going on.  Heather was wearing Wonder Woman underwear and Jon had on Spongebob Squarepants boxers.  Chuck was wearing cow ears!

And then, because this is my dream I suppose and I am NakedJen, everyone got naked and got into the bathtub together.  And the bathtub kept growing in size to accommodate each additional person.  Including Chuck.  He got in, too.  We all then each had a toy and started playing Joy to the World in fart sounds. 

Meanwhile, the water was still running and eventually spilled over the side of the enormous tub and through the living room and down the stairs into the basement where it ruined all the computer equipment.  I was beside myself thinking Heather was going to have a melt-down or something with all that water everywhere and her inability to now blog, but instead she was completely non-chalant and said, "Oh we'll just get another house with better stuff.  We really needed to wash all of that away, anyway.  But you still haven't solved our POOP problem so you're not going anywhere until you do!" 

So I was standing there in her basement, water up to my knees, trying to explain to her that she needed to take Rainbow Light Everyday Fiber pills and perhaps try some acupuncture and Heather's nodding her head away when my own dogs started whining and woke me up.

And I realized it really was all just a Dooce dream.  I really shouldn't read blogs before bed.  I'm far too impressionable.

Terrorists Stike Heartland! Election Proceeds! Bush Wins!

As darkness fell on Halloween eve, children donned in Princess Fiona and Shrek costumes scurried from door to door in search of mass amounts of chocolate. The singsong voices calling “Trick or Treat” could be heard up and down the streets of this city smack dab in the heart of America.

St. Louis had already felt the stinging loss of the World Series to the Boston Red Sox. It was just a few days before the presidential election and the majority of the lawns here were casting their vote for Bush and Cheney.

It was on that same night that 10 men boarded their small crop duster planes outside of St. Louis with only one objective in mind-- striking terror into the hearts and minds of even the smallest of American citizens.

Taking off from regional airports in places like Joplin and Columbia and Cassville, the ten small planes headed for the symbol of America’s heartland, the Gateway Arch. By the time they were finished, the Gateway Arch lay in rubble, as did the Old Courthouse and Busch Stadium and most of downtown St. Louis. Thousands were dead and across America people were wondering just how this could have happened and who was responsible.

Within hours, President Bush was on radio and television encouraging America to remain calm. He blamed Osama Bin Laden and the evil terrorists for yet another strike against our great nation. And he promised that we would seek out these evildoers and kill every last one of them.

America was a land of freedom and democracy and these terrorists had chosen to strike on the eve of the event that symbolized those two things more than any other. The Presidential Election. President Bush urged all American citizens not to let this act of terror frighten them or take away that freedom. With a bullhorn in hand, standing atop the rubble that was once the Busch Baseball Stadium, he urged all Americans to go to the polls and vote.

And of course you know what happened, right? They did just that. And Bush won.

++++++++++++++++++

I’m really hoping that this particular nightmare does not come true. I really need this election to be over. It’s making it quite difficult for me to get any real sleep at all.

I Dream of Burma

Thank you, each and every one of you, for the new skin love. It was my intention to rip off Mr. Warhol. Imitation is some sort of form of flattery, right? At least that's what some people keep saying. Not sure who those some people are, but some people keep saying that. I figured that since nakedjen had a birthday she should also get a new birthday suit. Ta Da!

I wanted to come on here tonight and write about so many things. I actually tried to come on here this morning and write about this very odd dream that I had last night. Oh so disturbing. And it seems to be part of a series of dreams. Oh the drama in these dreams.

The gist of them is this. I'm back at the place where I was once employed. You know, the place where I worked until last November when I was laid off and told my marketing and management skills were no longer necessary. So I'm back there. And I'm in a meeting. Some very important meeting. But I know that I no longer work there. However, they've called me in because this is some very important meeting (as I just mentioned, but I want you to understand that, dear internet people, this was a VERY IMPORTANT MEETING) and they needed me there to somehow seal the deal.

From what I can gather (and as I said I've been having these dreams in series), B and C (the CEO and CFO) are meeting with some people from BURMA who are going to hand over huge amounts of cash for the software that creates talking heads. But these folks from Burma will only do this if B and C can promise that Nakedjen (not just Jennifer, but NakedJen) will be at the meeting and that she'll be naked. So B and C are going through all kinds of gyrations to ensure that I'll not only be at this meeting, but that I will be naked and that I will not disclose that I am no longer a vital and integral part of the company's marketing and management team.

So last night, we're finally having the meeting. B and C have assured that I'm there. That I'm naked. That I'm sitting between the two of them at this very huge conference table and the Burmese folks are at the other end. Around the rest of the table are the very FEW people who are left working at my former company along with the guy who played the roommate to Russel Crowe in A Beautiful Mind. You know, the blonde haired bloke who is now married in real life to Jennifer Connolly? Can't remember his name, but you guys know who he is. He's supposedly now the REAL head of marketing and product management, so he's slipping me notes written in a scrawl that I can't read so that I can answer the Burmese folks intelligently.

Well, you all know where this is going don't you? Can't you tell? I'm naked. I'm in a board room. I'm supposed to be saving the day for the company that screwed me (well, they didn't really screw me when all was said and done because NakedDave and I will be the first ones to tell you that, well, our lives were GREATLY improved by our being laid off at Thanksgiving...but the day it happened, we very much felt like we had been SCREWED). So instead of feeding these Burmese people who are sitting at their end of the table with literally piles and piles and piles of money in front of them exactly what B and C want me to tell them, I tell them that since I'm naked, they might as well know the naked truth. And then I proceed to tell them all the things I think are wrong not only with the company, but with the software, with the management and then, because well, i'm on a roll, with the entire United States Government. By the end of my little speech I find myself standing on the table over the Burmese and their piles and piles and piles of money, telling them that the best thing they can possibly do with all that money is to go home and give it to the poor and suffering in their own country because if GW stays in office, well, there's not going to be any US aid other than in the form of bombs and destruction any time soon.

The Burmese folks thanked me for my honesty. B and C wanted to have me arrested. And everyone else in the room applauded.

And then I woke up and realized, just like Pamela, that it was all just a dream.

So, if you're the kind of person who analyzes dreams, what would you make of all of that? Don't forget, I've been having these dreams for weeks. And I'm coming up on the anniversary of my getting dismissed from the company that used to employ me. I find it all rather interesting, really.

What do you think?

P.S. Am off to Nashville and the home of the lovely Ms. Emily tomorrow. Will not be back until Sunday evening. I promise to take a proper Nashville worthy naked picture while I am there. And will share it when I return.

The Amazing Apprentice

There are seven of us. At least that's how many I am able to count. The estrogen levels are all running very high and to say that we're all a bit catty is putting it mildly. Lots of finger pointing and lots of "It's not my fault, it's your fault!" Come on, women, if we're going to win this thing, we've got to pull together. But no one really wants to pull together. Everyone is looking to everyone else to figure our way out of this particular challenge, but it seems that no one particular person wants to take responsibility for the outcome.

And so it's all seven of us against seven men. We have to create a new line of clothing and get it produced and have a fashion show and sell heaps of clothes and then also manage to get ourselves to the next city before the men. The seven men. There are seven men who have the same task and are trying their best to get to the next city before we arrive.

Donald Trump is being a complete ass. He's pontificating on how you must make the right business decisions, not overextend yourself, know your market and who your customer is. Shut up, already, Donald. I remind him in a not so pleasant tone that if he's really going to end up hiring one of us, he should trust that we understand the concept of supply and demand. He sputters and tells me that I will regret this when he sees me in the board room.

But we're not going to end up in the board room, are we? No, we just can't. I try my best to rally these women. I remind them that I have years of experience in women's clothing. We can win this, we really can, if they'll just please stop bitching about their broken fingernails and cut fabric! And sew.

Does anyone know what city we're supposed to go to next? Has anyone bothered to check an airline schedule? Can we manage to pull off this fashion show and still get all seven of us on a plane and to Rio before the men?

Come on now, everyone, let's get those garments finished. And onto the models. And yes, shove them down the runway, I don't care. The dress doesn't fit? Grab a needle and thread and sew it onto her body. She can rip it off later. We must win.

What are the buyers saying? Can you tell if they like this stuff? More black? Throw some dye onto her! Quick. Stand in the tub. We'll pour it over your head. It will be the "latest" look. Promise.

Have you packed? Where's your suitcase? Pack,pack, pack. Are we just going to leave those beautiful clothes hanging there on the rack? I know, I know. I'm coming. But those see through lace dresses...and those delicate silk skirts. I want them. What can I unpack and leave behind to make those fit in my suitcase? Hmmm....let's take out all the shoes. Why do I have so many shoes? This whole suitcase is nothing but shoes. And sweaters. Shoes and more sweaters. Surely I can do without quite so many shoes and sweaters.

Why is it that no matter how much I remove from my suitcase, I still can't fit these see-thru lace dresses in the bag? What is the problem?

What? It's snowing? The men have already left? Shit! We'll need a snowplow to get to the airport. Someone go find a snowplow! No, I can't go. I'm trying to squeeze these dresses into my suitcase. No, I won't just leave them. They're BEAUTIFUL. I MUST HAVE THEM. Forget the Jimmy Choos? No way. Not on your life.

Come on, don't be such a baby. Just go flag down a snowplow! Oh christ, do I have to do everything?

So yes, I get the dresses and the skirts and the shoes crammed into my suitcase, I run out into the snow wearing nothing but my thong underwear, I flag down a snowplow driven by Johnny Depp (did you all know he drives a snowplow when he's not acting...he told me so last night) and he drives all seven of us not only to the airport, but directly onto the runway and to the waiting plane and off we go for Rio.

We'll win this amazing race and I will be the next Apprentice. Just you wait and see!

I Dream of Blogging...

Is it wrong to be dreaming about blogging?  I'm not sure.  I haven't made up my mind.  While I was sleeping last night I dreamt that I was at my boarding school for an alumni function.  I was sitting in the auditorium for some sort of alumni meeting and heard the current headmaster, Mr. Roach, talking with a student while standing in the aisle.  (Mr. Roach was an English teacher and soccer coach when I was a student there, he's now a very good headmaster).  Anyway, there he was talking to a student and asking the student if they had a blog.

In my dream I thought to myself, "St. Andrew's students have blogs?  I wonder if they're teaching them about blogging?"  Then the alumni meeting was over and we were all moving to go outside.  I was walking by Mr. Roach and thought to myself (yes, weird, I know...but I think to myself even in my dreams), I should talk to him about blogging.  I should offer to teach blogging.  But he'll think I'm crazy.  Then he stopped me.

Mr. Roach:  Hi Jen.  How is life these days?
Me:  Hi Mr. Roach.  Life is pretty good.  I'm still living in Santa Cruz.  (taking the plunge) Did I hear you ask that kid about a blog?
Mr. Roach:  A blog? 
Me:  Are the kids at St. Andrew's blogging?  Like during class?  Do you let them blog in class?
Mr. Roach:  No, they're not blogging.  Not in class.  But if you were a student here, I know you'd be blogging in class.
Me:  Well, I think they should be.  Blogging is the "newest" form of journalism.  Cutting edge.  Put St. Andrew's ahead of all those other boarding schools.  Be the first to offer a class on Blogging.  I'll teach it.
Mr. Roach:  A class on blogging? 
Me:  Yes!  And I can hook into the bloggers at Harvard.  Or in Florida.  Or a host of other schools.  It will be great.  New forms of creative expression.  New outlets for the kids.  A whole new way to think about the world and the information and the Internet and community and...
Mr. Roach:  And you'll teach it.
Me:  Yes.  I'll do it for free.  I've already made enough money.  (Now I knew I was dreaming!)
Mr. Roach:  Blogging, huh?
Me:  Blogging.  It'll be great

So maybe I should call Mr. Roach.  At the very least I'm going to find out if those kids are blogging.  Because if they're not, they should be.  Now.  Especially since that entire campus has wi-fi.  Those kids can blog without wires!