I Am Gonna Make It Through This Year if it Kills Me

First of all, find the song "This Year" by The Mountain Goats and listen to it. Better yet, crank it up full blast and dance around to it, then return to this post. I'll wait.



Now if you know me, you know this year is going to be a helluva ride. I'm moving to Los Angeles within the next few weeks to really give acting a job as a profession. Truth be told, I'm not sure I could hold any job other than actress. It's just so deep in my blood.

So this is the year: the year of taking risks, the year of no longer being afraid to look stupid or do something silly, the year that I am going to make it through if it kills me.

Supernatural Family

Posted as part of a Supernatural Family lovefest:

Supernatural came into my life when I was nineteen, through a friend who kept suggesting I watch the show. She showed me part of the Pilot and I thought it seemed a good show: Dean was funny and cute, Sam adorable and earnest. Then she plopped down her computer and showed me the last few minutes of the most recent episode "Yellow Fever" (mid-season 4).

Jensen Ackles. Dancing on a car. Lip-synching "Eye of the Tiger".

I was in love. Then came the gag reels and I was in LOVE.

I started watching Supernatural because I was so in love with the fun the cast and crew were having. And when I finally sat down and watched the show proper, it was... amazing. Scary and funny and the boys are so damn sexy and goofy at the same time.

I watch and like a lot of shows, but I only really LOVE a few.
My love was cemented when, about a month after my first foray into the lives of the Winchesters, Kim Manners died. For the first time, I wandered into other fans' messages of farewell and found that they LOVE the show the same way I do, all the way down to the cast and crew, they mourned as hard as I (harder because they'd loved longer). Every year when the crew does the Cancer Ride in his honor, I donate what I can.

Supernatural could have a cutesy name for our fandom, but we are Family. Because of how deep we love and respect this show and every person who helps make it and all of us who enjoy it. We bicker sometimes, we snub, we take things too seriously, but at the end of the day no matter where we come from, how old we are, what we look like or which season we started watching in: we're all Winchesters at heart. Disparate though we are, we're the Supernatural Family because as Eric Kripke so eloquently put it through the mouth of Bobby Singer: "Family don't end in blood, boy."

(P.S. A proper post about ATX TV Festival is coming as soon as I stop petting the picture I have of myself with Scott Porter)

A Thank You Letter To Ben Edlund

This is my contributition to the Open Letter of Appreciation to Ben Edlund located at the Winchester Family Business website here: http://www.thewinchesterfamilybusiness.com/articles/9-misc/17912-an-open-letter-of-appreciation-to-ben-edlund.html

If you are a Supernatural fan and would like to add your gratitude to the thread, I fully suggest you do so. Mr. Edlund wrote some of the best episodes of the show and he is leaving to work on Revolution (I suspect Eric Kripke tempted him with either blackmail, buckets of money, or...whatever you tempt writers with...coffee and a new Mac I expect).

Dear Ben Edlund,

Thank you. Thank you for your brilliant writing. Thank you for making us laugh in the middle of a tense and heartbreaking series of heavy, emotional episodes. Thank you for breaking our hearts in the best ways. Thank you for knowing these characters so well that the words you put in their mouths are natural (because Dean would so ask Sam to be his Valentine with a real human heart because he's a dork at heart). Thank you for having Sam lose his shoe, for Dean becoming a PA on a film set, for helping gay love pierce the veil of death, for putting Dean in lederhosen, for showing us how dark Dean got in Hell, for the boys naming a baby Bobby John, for Jo and Ellen going out fighting with a 'kick it in the ass', for The French Mistake...just that entire episode, matter of fact the entirety of Everybody Hates Hitler as well, for giving us Castiel's point of view. Thank you for these moments and so many more over the years of the show.

Thank you, sir.

Love and Best Wishes, Beth

P.S. Really, thank you for putting Dean in lederhosen. Thank. You.

Nerves of Steel and the Gaining of Them

There was a time when I wasn't tough.

There was actually a very long time when I wasn't tough, but let's not turn this into a commencement address, shall we?

I grew up in a middle class family, my father had (still has) a very good job and when I was twelve, mom went to work as well: I got (most of) what I wanted for Christmas and my birthday, my glorious mother had a policy that if my brother and I could behave in a store we could have one treat (needless to say we were very well-behaved), when the Scholastic Book Fair came to school (and mom wasn't working it), we were given a blank check and told we could buy one computer game, but as many books as we fancied.

I could be accused of being spoiled. If I hadn't had the mother I had, who recognized how easily her kids could turn spoiled and always kept us a couple steps from that line or pulled us back when we did wander over it, I would have been. I'll tell ya'll the American Girl story sometime, promise. I didn't need to be tough. Until I did.

I'm lucky in that when my Trigeminal Neuralgia arrived, I was already being toughened up. I left home and lived on my own, learning to budget what money I had, make my own decisions about what to eat and when, be responsible to get to all my classes on time and pay bills. I felt in control and learned I'm smart to live on my own and not rely on other people to make sure I do what I need to. This intensified in Portland, living across the country from basically everyone I knew. Suddenly, I needed to sell old clothes if I wanted to buy a new dress. I had to schlep two totes bags full of books a dozen blocks to Powell's if I wanted to buy one new book. This made me very critical about buying only what I knew would see plenty of use, instead of whatever I wanted at first glance. I picked up odd jobs as I could get them, never able to stay at them long. I cried when I told my mother I had applied for food stamps and then refused her offer of help (she doesn't have much to give). If I was going to fail here, I was failing on my own. Suddenly, I felt strong, strong enough to let my pride go and admit I could get help I needed.

I was told time and time again that I was brave to move all the way to Portland, where I knew practically nobody. This came mostly from people after my savings dwindled far enough that I had to move home. I sure didn't feel brave, I was scared as hell.

Then came the Trigeminal Neuralgia: The Revenge (I'd had a bad spell in Portland, but nothing like my current pain level. 7 as compared to 12). It is well-accepted to be the most painful condition to have. Which I can attest to wholeheartedly. I'm a rare case having had no trauma to set it off beside being decades too young. A nerve (possibly two) in the right side of my jaw have been compressed by something and so it sends pain signals to my brain whenever the lightest touch (even a breeze) triggers the affected area of my face. And oh what pain signals it sends. At its worst, my TN has literally driven me to the floor, made me draw blood from my arms as I dig my fingers in trying to send off other pain signals (this doesn't work), makes me cry and scream my voice away. It is the only thing that has ever made me completely serious about ending my life.

Trigeminal Neuralgia is called 'the suicide disease' because the pain is so excruciating, many sufferers offed themselves to get away from it. I have TN and let me tell you, my lieblings, its nickname is well-earned. I had to ask a couple of my People (Mark, who knew what to do and Mimi, who knew where everything was) to take away all my sharp pointies and long cords. Fare thee well, jump rope and house keys. But I got past it. I got past being admitted to the hospital because I couldn't eat and could barely drink anything. It's still there and my two best bets right now is brain surgery (though a very small one) that should keep it away from decades, possibly for the rest of my life. I'm scared to death, but I know I can do what it takes. I'm tough now.

I attribute all the strength I've cobbled together to my friends, real and fictional. The real ones (this includes my amazing mom and perfect grandma) showed me by example how to be tough even while being generous with what little they had. They were always there for a late night call when I was in my Dark Room to reach out a hand and pull me back over the threshold, even if they didn't know they were doing it. The fictional ones, the ones on my TV and in my favourite films, songs and books, did much the same. They made me a Torchwood agent, an honorary Winchester, a Mockingjay, a Companion (this applies to two fandoms), a Nerdfighter, a Newsie. By making me believe I could be like them...I was. I could say 'yes' to things that scared me, I could talk my way into and out of bad situations, I learned princesses can fight and witches can be good, I could face the worse pain I'd ever felt.

Breathe through it and ride it out, I've gotten through it before and will again.

On Non-Homemade Cookies

I am not Danish.

This is remarkable because between my mother's and father's families, I can claim relatives from nearly every corner of Europe. This melting pot attitude contributes to the mishmash of holiday traditions we indulge in every year. German Stollen for breakfast in the week leading up to Christmas, sour cream takes the place of cream of mushroom soup in the green bean casserole, Christmas crackers and paper crowns, we talk to animals on Epiphany (I still do anyway), an almond is stashed into porridge and there's more food than even thirty odd family members can devour at once. We make Christmas cookies starting a few days before Christmas, all homemade, no exceptions.

Save one. Danish butter cookies. This tasty little morsels arrive in a tin (that will next year be used to pack pecan fingers), nestled in white paper. They last long into January. One a night is the hard and fast rule. Gorge on brownies and spice cookies covered in buttercream frosting, but the Danish butter cookies are to be savoured. Cherished.

Maybe because we're not Danish and thus do not have a yellowing recipe card that divulges the secrets of these perfect treats are they so loved. The cuteness of the pretzel one, the crunch of the sugar-encrusted rectangle, the ridged one's sweetness, the fun of looking through the rough circle's hole at the others seated around the table, and lastly my favourite, the one with just the subtlest hint of cocoa.

Glædelig jul!

We Provided... Leverage

If it hadn't been for Leverage, the last two years of my life would have been vastly different. Leverage allowed me to move to Portland and gave me the dear friends I made there (including Kat, without whom my moving to Portland would have been impossible and to whom I will be forever grateful). Leverage was the catalyst that made me focus on what I love (acting) and helped me make contacts that enabled me to do amazing things. The two Leverage conventions helped me make even more friends and learn amazing things about what fans can do when they really love something.

Christian's concerts taught me that letting myself really let go is the best feeling in the world and listening to a CD (while awesome) isn't the same thing. Aldis Hodge taught me to be effortlessly hilarious and appreciate a man's biceps (because dayum!). Beth Riesgraf taught me that enthusiasm is contagious. Gina Bellman taught me it's a helluva lot of work to be able to master accents and make it look easy. Tim Hutton taught me that even a big, fancy award doesn't mean you're a big, serious actor who doesn't know how to have fun. And Drew Powell (who was the guest star on the episode I loved working on the most: The Boy's Night Out Job) taught me how awesome he truly is (which is very very awesome indeed). The PAs and Extra Wranglers taught me that some people really do have infinite patience.

Leverage also taught me how TV works behind the scenes: how many people actually work so hard to make one hour-long episode; how things can go wrong a hundred times, but the one time they work it's magic; how watching actors on TV isn't nearly as fun as watching them play Segueway Football or make everyone fall about laughing; how producers are not money-grubbers who care about nothing but ratings, but hilarious, warm people who care about the show and the fans.

On the surface, the show is about Robin Hoods, about making things right. But it's also about making family out of friends and my fellow Grifters became a family for me when I was far away from my own.

Leverage made me not only a Grifter but part Hacker, Hitter, Thief, and Mastermind as well. I will always be a Leverage fan. Always.

How To Suceed While Sucking At What You Love

You have to admire Florence Foster Jenkins. She was an opera singer from way back when who sang professionally for forty years or so and played a sold-out show at Carnegie Hall, the prestigious and beautiful venue in New York City.

Here's the thing: she was a horrible singer. Like terrible. Like the yowling of cats in heat in an echo chamber was preferable to her singing.

Long story short, she sucked.

But she didn't seem to care. She believed in herself and her ability so goddamned much that she still played Carnegie frickin' Hall!

This gives me pause as I consider my own totally terrible singing abilities. I cannot sing any better than Florence Foster Jenkins and I am well aware of this fact. I love to sing and if I go a day without singing, even if in my own head, I... well... I can't actually remember going a full day without at least singing to myself or safe in my own head where it doesn't matter how I sound. (which for the record, is perfect and awesome without my inferior vocal chords getting in the way)

But when it's just me, when no one else has to hear and I get just the right song (don't let this phrasing fool you into thinking there's only a handful of songs in that category, there are actually legions. And I really mean legions as in the range of 3000 to 6000), I will belt it out like I'm at Carnegie Hall. Or, in my country music loving heart, on the boards of the Grand Ole Opry. Depends on whether it's a country song or a Broadway musical number.

So when I get down on thinking that I'll never make it as an actress, there stands the shade of Florence Foster Jenkins telling me to be glad I have talent at at least one thing I love to do and if I can get my self motivated I will get to the place I want to be, the place I'm supposed to be and I just hope I know it when I get there.