Socal Mom by Donna Schwartz Mills

Making Up for "The Talk"

I have an informal rule: I do not turn on the television on weekdays before 5:00 PM. Daytime TV reminds me of my first bout of unemployment, after my syndicated radio show was cancelled and I had little to do but immerse myself in my favorite soaps. It was one of the most depressing periods of my life, and even though I went through many, many more periods of being laid off (because, after all, I was working in "The Industry," and it's seasonal), I coped by taking temp jobs, writing, hanging out with friends -- and staying away from that TV dial.

But this week, I've made a couple of exceptions. This afternoon, I'm catching Katie Couric's new show, because her guests include some of my favorite bloggers (and a few friends). Their segment was taped last month, right after the BlogHer conference in New York. I've been looking forward to seeing it.

But that's not the only daytime show I've seen this week. On Monday, I joined eight Southern California bloggers in the audience for the season premiere of the CBS-TV daytime show, "The Talk."

Knowing how I feel about daytime TV, you might ask why I took time out of my day to go. It's a good question. I definitely have a lot on my plate right now, especially with everything we are doing over at MOMocrats. And that's the point. All work and no play makes Donna a cranky woman. After being immersed in election coverage (including the two recent conventions), I was craving some light, funny infotainment.

And that's exactly what I got.

This WAS a blogger event, and we were given some special privileges not usually accorded to studio audiences: we were allowed to bring in cameras and take photos before and after the show, and during commercial breaks. And we were invited to tweet.

And the hosts of the show visited with us during commercial breaks and a short Q&A session after the program was over.

The producers of The Talk were trying something new on Monday: The five hosts (Julie Chen, Sharon Osbourne, Sara Gilbert, Sheryl Underwood and Aisha Tyler) were going to do the show without makeup. So were their guests. And -- we were informed in an email -- they requested the same of the audience.

Those of you who know me will laugh at that request. I stopped wearing makeup daily some time after my daughter was born. I don't know how much of that was due to being a time-pinched new mom, or whether it was just the fact that I was now in my 40's and suddenly didn't care about it as much. Both events really put things in perspective; you only want to take time for things that make a difference.

And believe me, there's no amount of spackle I can smear on my face that will erase the fact that I look like a woman in my mid-50's (which is what I am).

I learned a few things: That cast changes and time passed has enabled the five hosts to develop a chemistry and comfortable feeling I did not sense when I sampled the show shortly after its debut. That actress Jamie Lee Curtis (one of Monday's guests) just wrote another children's book. That even without makeup, the beautiful people of Hollywood are STILL beautiful...

...And that being in the audience of The Talk is an absolute HOOT. 

During warm-up, the audience is led to excited applause with the help of remixed 1970's disco tunes like Boogie Oogie Oogie and Ring My Bell. It's obvious that the guy they have doing warm-up has no need to go to a gym for workouts, because he is such a physical presence with that audience.

The makeup free hosts appeared on the show in terry robes, so these were also distributed to the members of the audience. (And they are NICE: 60/40 Egyptian cotton/bamboo.) Sheryl Underwood whispered to us "Y'all should come back when we give out prizes. We give away really good stuff." (I'm paraphrasing here.)

But I confess that one reason I enjoyed sitting in the audience at The Talk was personal: 

The show emanates from the CBS lot on Radford, which was familiar to me during those bouts of unemployment. It was still MTM Studios then, and the temp agencies I worked with sent me there a couple of times (including two weeks in the Hill Street Blues production offices, where I kept trying to hit David Milch up for a permanent job. No such luck, but he was very encouraging about my writing). My last TV production gig was also there, on a forgotten CBS sitcom called "You Take the Kids," which starred Nell Carter and had the distinction of being created and produced by a pre-Oscar Paul Haggis. I'll tell you all about that some day. But you may have to get me drunk to do it.

In the meantime, there was talk of returning to the show to do some live tweeting. I may even take them up on that -- but probably after this election is over. By that time, I'll be in dire need of some activities that are fun. 

I may even watch it on TV.

DISCLOSURE: I received no compensation for this post. I did keep the robe. I agreed to visit the set of The Talk because I thought it would be fun. And it was.

Not Going There

As if my ongoing mid-life crisis wasn't bad enough, look at what I just got in the mail:

I do believe that everyone should attend a high school reunion, at least once. But I did that: I went to the 10-year, weighing less than I did when I graduated and able to boast about a glamorous job. And I went to the 20-year, when I was feeling less smug about myself.

The most memorable thing about the 20-year was how a former classmate stalked me ... So she could apologize for some mean things had actually been long forgotten.

The thing about high school reunions (and just about any meeting with someone from my past) is that after all these years, it's just a bunch of people whose only thing in common is that they once went through hell together.

It's not that I have no good memories of high school; I have a few and I look back at some of those people with great fondness. But most of us are not the same people we were then (thank goodness). I have managed to stay in touch with a few of my high school friends, and have wondered about others. But whenever someone from that time makes contact, once we have satisfied our curiosity about one another, there is usually very little to say.

So chances are, I'll be busy doing something else next year. And that's OK.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Dick Clark's China Crisis and Me

Like everyone of my generation, I have memories of Dick Clark.

Some of them are even personal.

I've mentioned before that my first job out of college was writing (and later producing) Top 30 programs for syndicated radio. I knew very well how fortunate I was to have landed a job that was way cooler than I was. I just didn't understand how lucky I'd been until three years later, when my employers decided to go another way and laid me off.

Unemployment was a depressing shock. I learned exactly how scarce paid broadcast writing jobs were. At one point, I decided that ANY work was better than none, and I signed up as a secretary with one of those show biz temp agencies that advertised in the Hollywood Reporter.

About six months into what I came to call a "hiatus," I got a call from an engineer I'd known at my old job. He was now on staff at Dick Clark Productions and they had a temporary opening that sounded just like the job I'd recently lost. Would I be interested?

Yes, yes, yes. I can't recall if I was invited to ask any questions - if so, I don't think I would have thought of any to ask. I mean, this is what I DID, and had done very well (in my opinion). The depression of under-employment had lifted. Of course (I thought) I would knock them out, the temp gig would turn into a permanent one and I would have my foot in the door to work in television with Dick Clark. I was back.

So I entered the Burbank mock Tudor-style offices of Dick Clark Productions that morning in feeling confident. Cocky, actually. I was certain I was going to leave them so impressed, they would beg me to stay on.

That feeling lasted for about an hour.

I had been called in because the woman who wrote Clark's show was out sick, and when I learned exactly what I'd walked into, I suspected she might have been playing possum. Dick Clark was about to embark on a three-week vacation in China (rare and exciting back in early 1984).

Now, when most radio and television hosts take a vacation, they either bring in a substitute or plug in a rerun. Since the program in question was a countdown of the week's top hits, the latter was out of the question. And as Dick Clark's name was in the title, there would be no guest host, either.

His solution was to get three shows in the can before he left. And since we had no idea where the hits would fall on the charts for all three weeks, we would have to anticipate everything that might be there, and record versions where each song would move up, down, or stay in place.

And all we had was one week.

As I settled in to the little writer's office, I started to panic. At my old production, our office was lined with file cabinets, filled with archived news articles and old taped interviews of everyone who had landed on the Billboard Hot 100 since 1955 (and part of my job in those pre-Internet days was to keep that archive up to date). This library of  material was utilized by our staff of three writers to produce a stockpile of stories about each of the artists and songs likely to have a place on the chart - so when the numbers came in, all I had to do as producer was work out the timing and stitch them together.

There was no stockpile of stories to be found in the writer's office at Dick Clark productions. On top of that, the countdown show employed just the one writer/producer, and each Wednesday night when the numbers arrived, she'd write the entire thing and have it ready to go first thing Thursday morning.

I figured I was OK. The shows were going to be stitched together in editing anyway, and when I was at Drake-Chenault, I'd gotten pretty good at guessing how the songs would move up and down the charts. I had three days to create my own little stockpile. I picked up the trades and got to work.

And that's when I realized how screwed I was. Six months of unemployment without regular access to the music trades is an eternity. The charts that week in early 1984 were full of artists I had never heard of: Cyndi Lauper. Madonna. Bon Jovi. (To this day, I am still unable to identify anything by Bon Jovi.)

I was in over my head, in a manner I'd never experienced before, but I thought I could rise to the occasion. So I did what I could, went into a complete panic on Wednesday night, pulled an all-nighter, and turned in a script that was embarrassingly inadequate.

Needless to say, I was not asked to stay on. I never worked there again.

I did meet the man dubbed "America's Oldest Teenager," and remember noting that in person, he did not look as young as he did on television. I shudder to think that he was younger then than I am now.

Random memories of that week:

I was instructed not to mention the Grammys. Dick Clark created and produced the American Music Awards, and I guess he didn't want to remind his audience of the more prestigious competition.

One of the Everly Brothers happened to drop in one day last week. I can't remember which one, but I'm thinking it was Phil. But it could have been Don. Whoever it was, he seemed very nice.

Dick and Kari Clark brought their very large dogs to work with them, and gave them run of the building. So I ate lunch at my desk each day with a Wiemaraner's head in my lap.

While working for Dick Clark, I made the acquaintance of a staffer there named Fred Bronson. A few months later, Fred called with news he'd gotten a book deal. This is how I ended up as a researcher on The Billboard Book of Number One Hits - which helped me gain a bit of my confidence back.

And the experience got me paying attention to the charts again, which came in handy when I landed a job programming music videos. But that's another story.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad - Which is only a little bit of an excuse for the typos.

Sponsored Post: The Oreo Century

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You may find it funny that I write so many posts about grocery shopping. 

Well, maybe you don't think that's funny, but I do. I guess that's what happens when you shift into the role of mom/consumer, which is what I've been for almost 16 years now.

When I got my first solo apartment 30 years ago (!), I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about where I purchased my groceries -- or how much they cost. I just went to whichever store I happened to be near, and bought whatever I thought I needed.

And I didn't need much: I ate out several times a week. Most of the time, that was how my friends and I socialized after work. But sometimes, it was a means to get out and be with other people, even if I didn't interact with any of them. 

Such is the life of a woman living alone -- especially one who worked odd hours in television production.

But I still had to go shopping. One video shoot I was employed on consisted of one week of 18-hour days -- with eight hours off to go home, sleep, shower and start all over again. Each night, quitting time was pushed back later and later -- so by the end of the week, we were driving home in the wee hours of the morning.

At the end of the week, I remember realizing that I was out of cat food. So I went to the 24-hour Ralph's to pick some up -- along with my other single gal staples: non-fat yogurt, several boxes of Lean Cuisine... and Oreos.

I know that sounds inconsistent -- all that diet food and then, Oreos. But a girl's gotta have a few vices, right? 

Besides: Who doesn't love Oreos? 

Back in those days, I would occasionally host a party with my best friend -- which meant buying a lot of beer and wine and serving munchies, like chips and salsa. Right next to the bowl of chips, we'd also have one filled with Oreos. It might not sound like hipster food --but our guests scarfed those Oreos right up.

(At this point, I have to assure you that, believe it or not, 30 years ago, I was pretty darned cool -- one of the members of Devo showed up at one of those parties! No kidding!)

This is what I was thinking about this morning when I heard on NPR that today is the 100th anniversary of the Oreo cookie. It's kind of comforting to know that this very American confection is still going strong.

In honor of the anniversary, Ralph's (a Kroger store) is running a CartBuster deal for $1.50 off on Oreos, today. I love the fact that you never have to clip the coupons on the Cartbuster site: They are digital downloads to the Ralph's loyalty card I already use to get the best pricing on the  groceries I buy there.  I also like knowing that I don't have to use the coupons I download right away; the one I downloaded for the Oreos will work until March 13. Easy, peasy.

Thank you to Kroger for sponsoring my participation in the “Deal Of The Day” promotion. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions expressed here are my own.

 

Another Hurricane, Another Day in New York City

The news of Hurricane Irene reminds me of the one time I experienced a named tropical storm -- coincidentally, on a rare visit to New York City.

It was 1985. I was in Manhattan to attend a conference -- and after flying all night on a red-eye (cheaper!), was greeted with the news that Hurricane Gloria was on a path directly for the City.

At that time in my life, I'd ridden through several earthquakes, including the largish 1971 Sylmar temblor. I used to think it was fun to tell quake tales and watch the fear in the eyes of East Coast tranplants. Back then (before the '94 Northridge disaster), I looked at earthquakes as akin to a thrill ride at Disneyland: scary at first, but ultimately an exhilarating ride.

Hey, I was young -- and young people don't tend to have many feelings of mortality.

Anyway, earthquakes didn't phase me. But hurricanes were another matter. I guess you fear the natural disasters you don't know. Everywhere I turned in New York City, the radio and TV stations were on, and they were all-hurricane, all the time. I was scared.

I also figured I had better check in with my mom.

"I want you to know that I'm okay," I told her -- which puzzled her, because (a) I never used to call her just to tell her I was okay and (b) the weather reports in California were not full of hysterical hurricane coverage and she didn't know. So I told her that a hurricane was about to hit New York.

I'll never forget her reply:

"Of all the things I worried about happening to you there, THAT was not one of them."

My mom was born and raised in Havana, so she experienced her share of hurricanes and was full of advice (although the only nugget I can remember all these years later was "stay away from the windows.")

The hurricane was set to hit the following morning. That night, I and a colleague ended up with several strangers in the hotel bar, where we fortified ourselves for the storm to come. As I recall, there were some toasts and raucous renditions of the rock classic, "Gloria" ("G-L-O-RIA").

Fortunately, the storm had weakened a lot by the time it got to New York. There was a lot of rain, and strong winds that made the water seem as if it was coming in horizontally (I disobeyed my mom and did watch through the window).

And then, the storm passed... the sun came out... and the weather for the rest of the day was glorious.

Of course, Gloria was not so benign everywhere she touched. Wikipedia says the storm was responsible for eight deaths and $900 million in damages ... and it was not as large a hurricane as Irene. 

I still have not experienced the worst that Mother Nature can do. And I remain afraid of being in a hurricane.