Dancehall Queen

“I’m really good at that.”

I turned around to see if she was joking.  But her fresh 19 year old face gazed back at me with complete earnestness. Her confidence was astounding.

We had just left belly dance class and were watching the Jamaican dance class across the hall.   Sweaty bodies wining, chair dancing, pole humping, and even grinding on top of each other-guaranteed to open up the “sexual chakras” as the teacher promised.   Once you get past the initial embarrassment of feeling like you are in a sex class, it is actually an incredible workout.  It takes extreme concentration and technique to ensure that you don’t look like a flailing booty bumper but more like a skilled Caribbean dancehall queen.

So what was amazing about this 19 year old, is that based on our belly dance class, I can safely confirm that her dancing is lacking.  It is extremely doubtful that she has mastered any form of dance.  And gazing into her expression, I wondered how someone could be so oblivious to reality.

But on a closer look, I also noticed something else. She looked extremely peaceful and happy.  I am a more advanced dancer than her, having danced my whole life, and am always focused on what is lacking in my technique and how I can be better.  It makes me constantly grow as a dancer, but it also makes me frustrated at times.  But Ms.19 seemed just…happy.  Which I am sure also makes her pretty attractive.

If you ask most people, they will say they are “better than average” drivers.  I have also read that depressed people have surprisingly more realistic view of themselves than others, which is why they are depressed in the first place.

So which is better?  To be aware of your shortcomings and constantly strive for perfection or to be blissfully unaware and live in an unrealistic but contented view of yourself?

“Harder! Push it! Faster! Lower!” screamed the instructor with her smooth tanned caramel skin and goddess-like presence, interrupting my reverie.  I sighed.  Even if I tried, I could never be like Ms.19.  I think too damn much.  However, I need to take this Jamaican dance class. I bet it does wonders for the booty and the self-esteem.

ZEE FRENCH MEN!!

One Wednesday afternoon at my Pilates studio on Melrose, my vivacious French instructor Josette bounced in with a little extra jolt of her typical joie de vivre.  “Oh zee French men!” she exclamined. “I just got back from Paree, and I got FAT!  And zee French men, zey love my fat. Zey make you feel so sooo…BEEE-A-U-TIFUL!!”

I smiled as a mental image of her jaunt to France conjured up in my mind.  How we all would like a handsome Frenchman to whisper sweet French phrases in our ear about our illustrious beauty while enjoying some wine and cheese.

“Zee men in LA,” she continued, “Are so stupeed.  Zey spend all zeir money on zeir cars. And zee apartments are shiiiit!  In France, zee cars are soo bad…but OOH LA LA, we love zee nightlife! Zee food, zee wine, zee partiees!”

My mind riveted back to my time as an exchange student in Alicante, a small city on the Mediterranean coastline of Southern Spain.  Everyday from 12 to 3 the whole city shuts down for a siesta.   As students, we went home to enjoy paella and sangria with our Spanish families and then take a nap. Only to wake up, have some tea and a croissant, and walk to the beach at sunset. That mid day nap provided the energy to truly explore the nightlife where people of all ages danced at the clubs on the port by the sea till dawn.  It was like a dream.   Can you imagine the chaos in New York or LA if every restaurant, shop, and bank was closed for 3 hours in the middle of the day?

And although many families in Alicante were not wealthy, they seemed to have a better quality of life-to enjoy their lives more.  Less consumed with acquiring wealth, and more interested in appreciating life.

In LA, everyone is trying to make a dollar and land a dream.  There is a frenzy in the air that seems to drive people to extreme frustration.  Spending your money on a flashy Mercedes while living in a shoebox, well, it is all a part of creating the illusion of wealth. Why? So you can feign “importance” with hopes of landing the coveted career.  It is ultimately about money and success, but it feels like a lie.

Over sushi on Sunset today, an Indian friend of mine recounted his experience from a recent trip to Japan.  He said, “In Japan, people tend to put their money on electronics and cars and fashion.  In my culture, we tend to spend more on homes and education.”

So if these cultural trends on where money is spent really do exist, what does that say about the values of each society?  Does one choice bring more happiness? Southern Spain definitely seemed more content than all the Ferrari drivers in LA combined.  Ambition is healthy, but not at the expense of sacrificing the simple joys on this earth.

Where do you spend the most cash? And what does that say about what is important to you?

As for me, I’d head to Paris, and find those Frenchmen that made Josette glow.

For Money or For Love?

In college, when they ask you to pick your major, why do they tell you to choose what you love? With little thought as to what career that might lead to?  Overindulgent liberal arts educations where we study a little of this and a little of that without any specific job-oriented training.  And we wonder why 30 is the new 20, why in cities like New York and LA, you see a bunch of 40 year olds still partying in an overextended adolescence. The Challenge: What am I going to be when I grow up? And Who am I going to Become?

In LA, the city of dreamers-of writers, actors, singers, dancers-most will have to find another career at some point of their lives. People who risk it all for passion, hoping to come into money. But few do. So then what? Have their lives been a failure, because they don’t find success in the world that idolizes fake tittied Playboy bunnies and rapist athletes?

Personally, I admire those inspired enough to place the bet, whether or not they win or lose the game. Ironically, most of the heavyweights I meet in entertainment who do make the millions seem to do so with devastating cost to their personal lives. Famous musicians who are too tempted by the gorgeous women on tour to stay faithful to their wives at home; Powerful executives that have the dream job but little time to cultivate a strong family life. I simply have not met many people here that have struck a good balance.

So even when you come into success and money, it clearly doesn’t buy happiness. Then which is better, to pursue a job that is financially rewarding or a job that you love?

I speak to lawyers who make the bucks, but hate their jobs. To producers who love their work, but can’t stand the stress and the hours. To stay at home moms, who greatly value their time with their children, but long for more intellectual stimulation than what a 2 year old can provide. Life is full of hard choices.

So what do you choose? Money or love? Or are you one of the lucky ones where the two intersected? And if you could do it all over again, would you choose the same thing?

Life in LA LA Land

It’s sunny here. Every day.  But one of the greatest misconceptions about LA is that it is always summer.  It is more of an eternal spring, and more often than not, when you walk down Santa Monica pier you will need to wrap yourself in a warm shawl.

We come here to pursue a passion-the writers, actors, singers, directors. It is a city that has a pervasive feeling of….loneliness and frustration.  That’s what most of us experience out here, because our lives are determined by forces we can’t control. And well, cause most of us are far from home.  I believe if enough people feel a common emotion, you can feel it in the air, as sure as the breeze through the imported palm trees.

Oh you didn’t know that? The palm trees here are fake.  They are shipped in from Mexico and as far away as the Middle East. Oh yes. To go with all the fake breasts and fake blondes.  It is a bit much for a New Yorker like me to take…

But ohh the apartments. They are wonderful. Rooftop pools and hot tubs with balconies overlooking the Hollywood Hills-and that’s in the building of “starving artists.”  And somehow, it seems that everyone manages to get  by with just a part-time job, which makes it feel kinda like a vacation spot. Heavy traffic at 2 pm, just because. People sunning by the pool at the Mondrion on a regular Tuesday lunch hour.

And the pace is slower here. Not like Caribbean slow, but sloooww.  Like when I first got here and went to the Whole Foods, everyone looked at me crazy cause I was racing up and down the aisles pushing my cart.  I looked around and realized, no one was in a rush but me. At the Whole Foods back home in Chelsea, I had to fight just to get a cart!

But…there is a magic here. There is a reason droves of people from around the world venture to the Pacific coastal line to drink in some of the brilliant sunlight that bronzes the skin. It is because of an almost tangible feeling of…opportunity, possibility.  It is here.  You can almost taste it in the smog-filled air.  But, for some reason, it’s oh-so-hard to touch.  Keeps you wanting more.

So here I am, at the foot of the Hollywood Hills, wanting more. Hoping for a taste.  With many, many stories to tell of my adventures in this strange but wonderful place.