Before I ever dared publish my writing, or think about writing my own book, “Craving Normal,” (Because I don’t think I’ve bored you enough in previous posts about MY BOOK. Did I mention I wrote a book?) I merely admired the work of real writers, while hiding my own stories in binders. At the time, one of my favorite LA writers was Sandra Tsing Loh, author of “Depth Takes a Holiday”, and other work. Sandra had me hooked after I read her Buzz Magazine article, “The Joy of Temping,” where she wrote about working as a temp in the North San Fernando Valley – a “land of fluorescent lighting, faux hardwood paneling, olive-green carpet and gummy IBM Selectrics.” There, she was forced to wear nylons and eat lunch from the vending machine. Of course, the story was way more hilarious than my second-hand telling… But it made me laugh and I related. I’ve lived that temp life in the Valley. I knew just that color green carpeting.
Anyway, I began buying Buzz Magazine just for her witty tales of life in the San Fernando Valley. Reading her pieces inspired me to submit my writing. So I really wish my exchanges with Ms. Tsing Loh could have been wonderful. But, no! I had to make a fool of myself.
So, in the mid 1990s, when my husband and I went to a friend’s party, and I saw Sandra Tsing Loh there – dancing in front of the band – I knew I had to meet her. And, little did I know, our husbands, both musicians, know each other. Somehow we (Sandra and I) ended up at the same table. I don’t remember how. But it probably involved me skulking over there like a twelve-year-old fan. I cringe to recall the entire exchange. But part of it went something like this:
Me: Yeah, I’m taking a writing class right now…
Sandra nods and smiles.
Me: But my teacher, she smells a little musty – you know, she’s a little artsy-fartsy…
Right then, I wanted to smack myself in the head. I’d never, ever used that goofball phrase before. What a dork! I meant my teacher was a little new-agey, touchy-feely, took herself too seriously for my taste. Instead, I just blurted “artsy-fartsy.” It’s a phrase that might sound right coming from a 70-year-old woman who buys her living room paintings from Walmart to match her sofa.
Right about then is when Sandra began looking around for her husband, the bathroom, a drink, any reason to escape. I got the idea every new person she meets tells her about their dream to write, so maybe she just figured I was another writer-wanna-be, one who uses stupid phrases like “artsy-fartsy” and would just shame the writing world if I ever got published.
Well, that’s what I was thinking she was thinking. Sandra was actually really nice and supportive, leaving me with something like, “Well, we need more women writers,” before fleeing.
Still, I wanted to stick a cocktail toothpick in my eye.
I enjoy Lev Yilmaz’s work. But if I ever meet him, I’m sure it’ll be awkward.
Yes, it’s true. I sang out in public without shame. See this photo above? I’m dancing and singing, as I often did. And from the big hand gestures, I’m guessing the number I’m assaulting everyone in my vicinity with is Age of Aquarius.
And if I had more room in the Daily News piece, I would’ve included how I, as a Freshman (who should have known better by then), sang Linda Ronstadt’s Blue Bayou to my entire high school. Yep, it was just me singing a capella – standing in the middle of the auditorium during a school rally.
So, yes, I was truly delusional… I say in the past-tense, while typing about my life into cyberspace as if anyone gives a damn. Some things haven’t changed.
The dawning of the Age of Aquarius; yet my lack of talent did NOT dawn on me –
Jug wine was to the 1970s what Scotch was to the 1950’s Rat Pack crowd; what Martinis were to 1960’s cocktail parties or what Bartles and Jaymes wine coolers were to the 1980s. Yep, jug wine is just as ’70s as mood rings, shag rugs and Pong. The combo just somehow went together – like Sonny & Cher, the Captain & Tennille, Shields and Yarnell… Okay, I think I’ve taken that whole thing too far, haven’t I? (*Don’t know what a mood ring is? See the 1970’s mood ring commercial, bottom of this post).
While going through slides for my book, “Craving Normal,” I discovered a theme in many photos from the ’70s involving my parents and their friends: the ever-present (or nearly always present) jug wine – there it was at house parties, diving days, beach outings, camping trips… and even at a kiddie party at the San Francisco zoo. No wonder whenever I see memories of the 1970s in my head, those bottles always seem to be clanking around there somewhere.
Hey, let’s play find the Jug O’ Wine (I guess the “wine” in each photo might give away the answers, huh?)
It’s 1970’s kid’s birthday party at the zoo, so of course there’s wine.Scuba diving and wine… just makes sense. I guess.
Maybe adults were trying to run away from home as this 1970’s Mateus ad reflects –
Do you have a superpower? I bet you do. Mine? I create universes, control the actions of others and can even time travel. How? I write.
Ever since I was a kid, I have been creating worlds I can control. Darn, I only wish I still had the story I wrote, when I was 8 years old, about a little farm girl kidnapped by fun-loving aliens. She went to live with them on their planet, where she could stay up late and eat junk food.
Life experiences, one huge reason I devour memoirs and biographies. Again and again, I’m fascinated by what other people have gone through and how they use those experiences as they’ve grown. Did their bad experiences make them stronger? Or were their easy childhoods a detriment? An advantage?
Last night, I started reading Amy Poehler’s “Yes Please” – and, boy… can I relate. Middle school (or as it used to be called: Junior High) was brutal on my self-esteem. Mean girls and boys name calling and pointing out my flaws. Sad to read how much these little creeps hurt Amy. But look at her success!
In my book, “Craving Normal,” (available soon!) I share a story called “My Place in The Sun.” In it, I tell about the summer between 7th and 8th grade where I morphed from a chubby kid with a metal front tooth into a slimmer version of myself with a new white capped tooth. The boys who once made fun of me did a 180. Creeps!“When I returned to school for eighth grade, instead of my old husky-sized jeans and embroidered smock top, I wore Ditto pants that fit my butt just right and a purple satin baseball jacket. Now the boys who once teased me with “Michele Miles, I wish you were miles away,” and taunted me with “Michele, Michele, the Liberty Bell!” smiled and squeaked, “Hi, Michele,” which made me want to scream: “Hey, you idiots! I’m the same girl you teased only a few months ago!” But I ignored them and joined the cheerleading squad.”
“Craving Normal,” my stories as a child growing up in the 1960s and beyond, will be available soon. Here’s my nearly complete book cover. Think I’ll keep “Enthusiastic quote goes here.”
Book cover for “Craving Normal,” written by Michele Miles Gardiner
“Craving Normal,” by Michele Miles Gardiner – back book cover text:
Living in a rock hut on a nude beach, staying in a religious commune,
facing an angry man with a gun, riding camels, hiding her freaky health
food lunches from lucky Twinkie eaters – Michele didn’t experience any
of this when her family lived in the suburbs of San Francisco. Then came
the counterculture revolution. Her entire life changed: Michele’s young
parents sold their home, bought a car and trailer over-seas and took her
and her little sister to explore the world.
We know a lot about the “flower children,” but what does an actual child
growing up in that era have to say? While many tales about that revolutionary time
are on record, few come from the perspective of the children who lived it.
This collection of stories are from one child’s perspective – tales of
becoming a young adult whose brain, and life, transformed from her early
experiences. Rebelling by cheer-leading, eating junk food, attending honor
roll parties, dreaming of being a foxy stewardess/actress? Lame, sure.
But how else does a child of young parents of the wild Sixties generation
rebel? By countering the counterculture.
Michele’s collection of stories – in which she rarely takes herself too
seriously – span from her earliest memories of the suburbs (her idea of
“normal”), through growing up trying to find a place where she fits in, once
again. Does she find it? Is Hollywood a sane place to search for normalcy?
