THE GIRLS

Who do l listen to, who do I tune in ...?

Alexis Whit ( MSNBC Anchor) -- She's trustworthy, carefully wise, doesn't sell her personal opinions, but I don't like her hair. That's a serious flaw --it keeps me from listening to her. Why does she insist on looking like a Rapunzel, forcing us to wonder how old she is... when she isn't that old.

Erica Hill (CNN Anchor, American News Reporter) -- I liked her, trusted her instantly, and the more I see of her, the more I'm aware of her grownup womanliness -- even though I enjoy her girlish spirit, her making fun of the serious faced guy on CNN's "360." For a while they were so friendly that I thought "Mm something's going on." I don't think so. She's mentioned her husband -- she is an up front, out there person.

Barbara Walters -- She's never seemed to be a woman I can trust to say what she means, and do what she expresses that she wants to do. It's something about the look of her -- her clothes, hair, no visible wrinkles when she's broadcasting. (Only when she's caught in a candid shot at a party where the lighting isn't controlled.) Maybe because she has to stay younger looking than her real age -- she's the Queen, Number One, and that requires that we bow to her, curtsy, treat her with respect, admiration, adulation, and NOT think about what generation she belongs to.

On the plus side -- I remember the commercial she did for New York City -- "Barbara W. at an audition." It was funny, bravely uninhibited, so here's a "yay" for the Queen.

Christiane Amanpour (CNN International Correspondent) -- Top of the list woman. I don't think about who she is privately. Whenever she speaks I listen to what she's saying and absorb what she's conveying. That's a big compliment from me with my roving imagination, that I never wondered about her husband, children, family, age, clothes, predilections -- none of that personal stuff. I just respect her words, and trust her eyes, her mind. her interpretation of what she's telling us about.

Heidi Collins ( CNN Anchor, Weekdays) -- I don't sense the person, woman, girl, lady. She's not boring ... well, maybe she is ... I don't retain a sense of anything important, or unimportant when she gives us the news.

Contessa Brewer (MSNBC Anchor, American News ) -- She talkative, opinionated, spunky, aggressive, But it's annoying, that she talks so much and is so full of her own ideas, her own conclusions -- it seems as if we're getting Contessa's view, not a reporter' view. I wouldn't choose a Contessa to inform me about anything objectively. Still, she's everywhere. I feel she's pushing, building, working hard to make herself a major television personality. I'm not rooting for that.

Diane Sawyer ( ABC "PrimeTime Live") -- I rarely watch, though I feel I should. Perhaps it's because of JC's and my socializing with her husband, Mike Nichols. Watching her, I remember the conversations, excursions with Mike on an enormous rented boat, (fun times gone by) instead of paying attention to the news.

Katie Couric (CBS Evening News) -- I can't watch her show. Too much was done to sell her, and the sell is all I see and hear when I briefly tune her in.

Greta Van Susteren (Fox News, host of "On the Record") -- I stopped watching during the presidential campaign, though I liked her, and trusted her, But the slant of her politics and her employer's politics were unacceptable to me. And I can't go back. The few shows I happened to see had anti-Obama comments that felt very wrong.

Nora O'Donnell (MSNBC Contributing Correspondent) -- Her face, her eyes her energy, her beauty ... I retain an impression of liking her, listening, instinctively trusting, never turning away. Her presence during the election I certainly remember, but nothing vivid, remains. She's a beautiful woman, at the height of her powers.

Campbell Brown (CNN Prime Time Anchor) -- She's on at a time when I'm usually busy. And JC doesn't enjoy watching her jump in with answers to the questions that she's asking her guests.

The only women I go out of my way to hear are Andrea Mitchell, and Rachel Maddow.

I hesitate -- posting these words, uttered (on paper) quickly, improvisationally by me ... and me naively trusting myself. (Hey, if you don't trust yourself you can't write!)

Okay. What I'm saying here, is what I'd say to JC if we were discussing the news.

SNAP CRACKLE POP

I sputter into the phone like it's a bowl of Rice Krispies, "Customer service, please."

A pleasant lady voice says, "Customer service, this is Mary, how may I help you?"

"Mary, my order confirmation number is 4839485." My next sentence is a rat-tat-machine-gun mowing her down. "You sent my package of vitamins to the billing address, not my home address!"

Even as I'm roaring, I'm thinking -- it's not her fault -- it's no one's fault -- it's the online computer that'll only accept a standard address four-line address.

Damn, double-damn, I'm hissing at myself -- it's your own fault -- you should have put your name and the floor number on the first line -- you've had this problem before.

... "checking-out the cart" is always a drag, but buying a six-month supply of vitamins online is easier, better, faster, less expensive than trudging a few blocks to Duane Reade, hunting for brands they've discontinued, standing in line at the cashier, then heading for Walgreens, sometimes a third, even a fourth store ...

Nevertheless ... Snap Crackle Pop, I blare, "I checked and double-checked! You had the my home address as the shipping address."

My tone is nasty. Her tone is politely apologetic. She asks for my invoice number.

"I don't have an invoice. This is ridiculous! You charged me, I don't know how much -- you charged me a fee for ground delivery ten days ago, and I still don't have the vitamins."

The clock next to my phone tells me you are wasting time as the phone lady repeats her apology.

Addressing Mary in my usual calm, understanding, communicative, friendly tone, I explain that it's two-hundred-and-fifty dollars worth of vitamins. A large package. I can't go and pick up. The secretary at my billing address will have to re-address the package, give it to the postman who will take it to the post office, and it will be delivered to my home address maybe in a few days (depending on how many more postmen have been laid off).

"Mary," I say, in my best down-to-earth, practical tone, "I am paying twice to have the package delivered. I'm a good customer. Your company should refund the shipping cost!'

My friend Mary agrees. She suggests that when the package arrives, inside there will be an invoice that will indicate the shipping charge. If I fax the invoice, along with a copy of what the re-delivery postage will cost ...

I interrupt. I'm boiling over. "A copy of what the postage cost?"

... The secretary at my billing address has a postage meter -- she'll put the cost on our monthly charge for "office expenses." Mile-a-minute I'm calculating, the secretary's time, my own time -- picturing myself typing up a cover page, faxing the invoice, faxing a postage receipt for something around five bucks ...

"Okay. I'll do it, Mary." I thank her tonelessly, somewhat tiredly, and end the conversation.

Hanging up the phone I'm already in the limbo land of imaginary conversations with a supervisor, with my credit card company telling them do not pay the bill ... incapable of doing anything except heaving a sigh, telling myself I'll think about tomorrow, ala Scarlett O'Hara looking at the ruins of Tara at the end of the film.

TO HELL WITH TARA!

I phone my guy. And ask JC to pick up the box on his way home from rehearsal.

MY PAL THE JUDGE

She gets me focused. Click -- you'll see why I turn on on her show. while I'm doing my daily barre ritual.

I discovered her in Malibu when I was taking my barre in the log cabin's living room. I turned on the television while my barre tape was playing.

Energetic, vigorous, fearlessly proud of herself, she was just what I needed to stay energetic, vigorous, fearlessly proud of myself.

My barre tape is a patched together "classical" barre that I'd made from an Alicia Markova recording. Markova's voice, her Russian accented commands --"Za perrep - parr- ration vone ... stwo ... " with a dubbed-in Em voice. Throughout the tape, my voice states the name of the exercise, how many repetitions to do, when to pause and do a stretch.

Judge Judy lambasting a plaintiff, demanding clarity from slurring, sloppy, selfish defendants, speaking her mind -- I love it when she calls someone's stupidity stupid.

Watching her show helped me in Malibu. In New York, where there are more distractions, it's an even bigger help. Even when I mute the television, it's a silent movie keeping me going.

Yes, it's the same barre tape, the same routines somewhat varied -- I adapt them to whatever space I'm using. (When I was performing on the road, in hotels/motels I'd hold on to a dresser, or the back of a chair, or a kitchen counter.)

Yes, it's boring -- it's drudgery. But once you've started into it, you get into the groove of doing each step, each movement as correctly as possible.

The problems, the often foolish messes people get into, are perfect dramas to listen to, while you're checking for the thousandth time, a foot, a knee, an arm position. And the lady herself, in her black robe and white lace collar -- her steely concentration, her flashes of annoyance, impatience, boredom, and her wry asides to Bert, the guard, keep me perked up.

I guess that's why exercise gyms have television playing non-stop. You need something to divert you from doing that move again, and again, and again.

After my warm-up exercises are done, and I head for the TV to put it on mute (can't have any diversion when I'm dancing to the Vaughn Williams music), I sometimes pause (briefly) to find out what happened to a weepy defendant or furious witness ...

There are other judges -- Joe Brown and Marian Milian are fun. But there's no one as compelling -- no one except Judge Judy gets my attention, my spirit, my dancer-writer self involved and affirms me and my show -- the daily performance I do alone in the studio.

MONDAY-ITIS

Why do I dread Mondays? I'm not an employee. I can do what I want on Monday ... but too many undone chores come to mind.

Suddenly I don't know what to do first.

The first day of the week in school days, "Dear old golden rule days," was often the test day that loomed over the weekend, making me worry that I hadn't studied enough. But I don't have tests. I'm not negotiating anything. I don't have letters to write! I don't have any pressing chores , not today, but maybe next week ...

"Monday" (the name) means "Day of the moon." No wonder time is flying is loud in my mind. Next Monday, will be next month, which means the month after is looming -- in a minute it'll be next season, and the fall season is the time for birthdays and holidays. And then ... I can't stop thinking of what's next, and next ... oh my goodness, next after that ...

Stop!

Spur of the moment proclamation: Worrying about time passing is ... dumb! Thinking about time passing is ... stupid! Time passing belongs to a tick-tocking man-made machine that measures time for constructive reasons. Time passing does not belong in the head of an Em who can control her mind -- focus it on a ligament if necessary, and make it work.

Loud in my mind I'm saying: Do not waste time focusing on time passing. Use time.

Okay! So -- I fly upstairs and plop JC's laundry in the machine. In between writing this, plop it in the dryer. When my timer ding-dings, (have one on my desk, also in the kitchen, the studio, and in my bathroom ) I get his laundry out of the dryer fast, before it sits and gets wrinkled. (Racing up and down the stairs is great for the quads.)

Then, I fold the underwear, match the socks, with the side of my hand, iron the undershirts. In no time flat, his laundry is put away.

I'm back at the computer.

Hey -- Monday is wash day! So wash your thoughts, put them on the clothes line. Anchor them with clothes pins so they won't get blown down-- they'll dry in the air. Then you'll pile them in the laundry basket, fold them, put them in the drawers where they belong.

Am I done with Monday-itis? Yes!

Will it creep back in, and pause me, distract me, waste my time on Moonday-Monday next week? Maybe? Probably? But since I'm heading into tomorrow, I don't have to deal with it till six days from now.