Forty By Forty

Number 40: Celebrate my 40th Birthday with the Friends who Made it all Possible

    I decided that the best way to celebrate my birthday and the fulfillment of the most extraordinary and rewarding thing I've taken on - Forty By Forty - would be to spend it with the friends who made it all possible. It was a way to make it more about the project and my "partners in crime" and less about getting old.  So, invitations were sent out to those who participated in the Forty By Forty project, by either adding something to my list, or doing one of the tasks with me. 

    On the back of the invitations, I had circled the challenge(s) that particular friend helped with. This one was Cyndi's, one of my busier Forty By Forty friends.

    Fantastic friends Bob and Hil graciously offered their home as the place to party, but as their street was being dug up the week of the party, there was a concern about parking, and the party moved to Ronny's. It made total sense, since Ronny was my first cohort in the Forty By Forty, having joined me for Number 1: See Sir Paul McCartney in Concert. Diane contributed vodka, champagne, and a case of Hungarian "Marika" wine, Cyndi sponsored the wait staff, Ronny got decorations and much more...Linda and I had rolled meatballs all week, and I also made glögg, which is a Swedish mulled wine served with raisins and almonds. 

    I had the most extraordinary day with calls, texts, emails, cards & flowers, while running around with Andrew (Number 30: See Carmen at the Met) getting everything handled for the party. Setting up for the party with H & R (Andrew & Ronny,) was hilarious, and a worthwhile birthday experience in itself. But there was more before I could relax and celebrate; Andrew and I headed over to Jumbo's for Number 39: Perform at Jumbo's, while Ronny sacrificed himself and stayed behind to get the party started. 

     

     Saying the party was great would be an understatement. My oldest friends came early, which made me happy and relaxed...Cyndi & Temple, Scott & Maya, Di & Roger, Toni, etc. There was yummy food, good music, delicious drinks and cool people, so I suppose just like any other awesome party, except for the fact that people who didn't know each other, kept on recognizing each other from the blog. All night I heard things like "Oh, I read the blog about you, you went with Marika to...." Kind of cool. 

     
      Ronny was the best host in the world, he mixed drinks and read fortunes by the bar, making sure people were happy, had food and drinks, and felt at home. Andrew took photos until he got too intoxicated by various things, and I finally sobered up from Jumbo's, so that I could get drunk once again. 

     But not until after my special performance. Michelle and I had practiced a Beatles medley for the party and although I was quite nervous, I was excited to perform it. "Norweigan Wood," "She Said, She Said," "Love Me Do" and "With a Little Help from my Friends." All songs that make me unbelievably happy and beaming from ear to ear. So Michelle and I got up, I made a quick speech, and off we went.

    It was hard. First of all, it's hard to play guitar and sing at the same time, especially this early in my guitar learning. Second, it's hard playing guitar and singing in a tight Gucci leather dress. (And yes, I smushed for this one.) Third, playing guitar is intimate, and I felt quite vulnerable playing in front of people, even though it was friends...I had to look down at my guitar or the floor for the most part, or at Michelle, who always calms me down. 

     The other accomplishment about the guitar playing was that sweet Guy managed to stay on the couch for the whole thing...I'm sure he'll be upset that I'm outing him about this, but he's got a thing about people busting out their guitars at parties. Like a legitimate physical sensation complete with warmth/panic/anxiety/embarrassment. And it's real. Guy usually leaves the party when it gets to the warm and fuzzy guitar point. But not this time, which made me feel quite special, although he did look a bit clammy afterwords, as he complimented me on my performance.    

    

      The cake, made by my dear friend Cheryl from Baked it Myself, was beyond delicious. It was a more sophisticated, heavenly spin on my favorite Swedish-style berry cake, and was stuffed with the freshest and sweetest of berries with mascarpone to die for. Definite highlight.

     Another highlight of the evening included Cliff inventing a solution for the problem pole dancers have with picking up dollar bills at the end of their dance. (See Number 39: Perform at Jumbo's Clown Room) Named "Strip Vac," Cliff's invention is a vacuum hose that is attached to the pole so you just pull it out and suck up the cash. Which means Mr. Olin can check something off his Forty By Forty list, as one of his challenges reads; "Invent something. Like muscle beer."

 

       Eventually, we all ended up on the back patio with a fire burning and mellow music playing. We sat around and talked and laughed, snuggled up on the couches under warm blankets. At some point, Bianca asked me to dance and I politely accepted. Just the two of us, slow dancing for what seemed like an eternity. The gentlemen seemed quite mesmerized. As was I...it was the first time all day that I was just still, quiet and peaceful, snuggled up to Ms. Sia, and it was a lovely thing at the end of an eventful and exciting birthday. 

     As the party started to wrap up, I picked up my guitar again. I wanted to play something sweet and mellow to complete the evening. For those of you who aren't U2 fans, there is a song called "40" from their 1983 album "War," that they ended their concerts with in the eighties. They would sing it, then peel off the stage, first Bono, then Adam Clayton, then The Edge and finally Larry, while the song was still going. The audience would keep singing the chorus for minutes, but the band never came back on stage. It's how you knew it was over. Simple and beautiful, the lyrics are a modification of Psalm 40 from the Bible. 

    So at the end of an amazing night, it seemed fitting that I should play myself out with "40." There were just a few people left at the party when I started strumming. With "40," I played myself out of the most magnificent year of my life, out of a beautiful birthday, out of a fantastic celebration with people I love, and out of that tiny bit of melancholy that you feel when something epic has ended.

       Leading up to my birthday, a lot of people said "life begins at forty" as a way to make me feel alright about turning the big 4-0. The truth is, I feel more than alright about turning 40. I found myself expanding and growing in ways I didn't think were possible this year; physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually...and I don't just like who I am today. I love who I am today. 

      I've managed to sufficiently shake up who I am, and laid to rest who I've known myself to be for the first 39 years of my life, so in a way, my life up until this point is complete. Not over, but complete. I've done many extraordinary things, this year and before. I've also managed to get through some difficult times, with as much grace and ease as I've been able to muster up. I recently read something that I found true and appropriate for me and my journey. "Life Begins at the End of Your Comfort Zone." It certainly did for me. Forty times. 

     My heart is full of love and appreciation for the amazing friends who shared the Forty By Forty adventure with me, by adding things to the list or by participating in one or more of the adventures. I'm a different human being today because of you. My life will never be the same and you will always have a part in that. 

       Thank you Andrea Anders, Ashley Aurell-Killian, Andrew Barrett, Brian Studler, Calvin Remsberg, Cliff Olin, Christi Christensen, Cyndi Finkle, Debbie Steingesser, Dana Schwartz, Diane Merrick, Dory Benami, Elena Zaretsky, Ellie Schwimmer, Elise Blecher, Guy Burnet, Hailey Pahoa, Heather Tyson, Ingrid Lundin, James Webber, Jason Frahm, Javier Gonzalez-Rubio, Jen Kotowski, John Kazlauskas, Judy Downes, Julian Stern, Justin Fortune, Karen Forman, Kathy Hodgkiss, Keri Safran, Keri & Hermas Lassalle, Laura Tremaine, Lily Liliana, Linda Santiago, Lorne Hiltser, Luke McFarlane, Matt Johnson, Matthew Heller, Matthew Rhys, Mark Lucaj, Maya Einziger, Michael Hundgen, Michelle Payne, Mosie Hackett, Mysti Friedman, Nate Crocker, Rachel Calvert, Radha Mitchell, Robert Scott Wildes, Ron Safran, Pia Bellander, Sara Sugarman, Todd Stolarski, Toni Pickett, Ulf Cahn, Valentin Vignet, Wei-ning Yu, West McDowell & Zoe Wittock.

 

Number 39: Perform at Jumbo's Clown Room

    It was fate. Jumbo's Clown Room opened in 1970, the year I was born, but it wasn't until 1982, the year of my Bat Mitzvah, that they started having exotic dancing there. Very appropriate considering that's when I became a woman in Judaism. At 12.

    For those of you who aren't familiar with Jumbo's Clown Room, it's a great, fun place to go for a drink. Some say it's the place where old strippers go to die, but I found that to be a grave error as some of the girls are ridiculously hot, and beyond talented in the ways of the pole. 

    They don't have amateur night at Jumbo's anymore, so getting to do this required a couple of nights of recognizance. First up, Hailey Pahoa, a few beers and lots of giggles. Hailey and I are having a bromance of sorts...we ask each other out every so often, compliment each other, treat each other to dinner, then text the next day with thank you's for a lovely night. Unfortunately neither of us have strong lesbian tendencies or we'd be set for life. 

The Los Feliz Fire Station...where I crashed and burned for Hailey

    Upon hearing that Hailey's dream is to settle down with a fire fighter, I did the next best thing to joining the force myself...I asked one of them out, while voting at the fire station in November, (as karma would have it, Hailey's polling place was a church.) I suggested that perhaps he could bring a fire fighter friend, and come out with my cute friend Hailey and I. But alas, fire fighter Webb was married. Booo.

     For the second visit, Heather came with me. Heather, who joined me for Number 5: Take an Art Class, is one of my favorite Tuesday morning girls. The Tuesday morning girls are some of the sexiest and most beautiful women I know. We take pole dancing classes with the lovely and talented Sheila Kelley, and her hot cohort Janelle, at Sheila's dance studio, S Factor.

    At Jumbo's, Heather and I had screw-top mini-bottles of wine, threw dollar bills at the talented girls, and talked to Leanne, a bartender who has worked at Jumbo's for 13 years, and who used to dance there herself. She's beautiful, sweet and fun, and after hearing about the Forty By Forty, determined to help me. 

    So it was decided that on my actual birthday, December 10th, I would go up on stage and dance at Jumbo's Clown Room. Leanne told me to look through the jukebox and pick a song before leaving that night, so I knew what I would be dancing to. There wasn't a huge selection, so I settled on "Darling Nikki" by Prince. And that was that.

    

Getting ready for my big debut...

     I walked in on December 10th a bit before 6pm, having had about five minutes to get dressed and ready. It had been a crazy week of party preparation, finishing up my last tasks and blogging about them, so I hadn't put too much effort into what I would do once I got up on stage, but I felt confident I would do alright.

     When I got there, my confidence and strong mental attitude weened. I realized that although I've been taking classes for years, I've never actually danced for anyone but the girls in class, because it's kind of personal and intimate, and you show a side of yourself that's...well, different. Only my Tuesday morning girls see the raunchy me. And Mr. "Do Something Kinky and X-rated" from time to time.

       Leading up to the big night, there had been some emails and text messages sent...inviting some girlfriends and a few gentlemen friends that I thought would provide the right sort of support; men who are either gay or British (= polite and asexual.) Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, the time slot I had been given prevented some from attending, something I received a few scathing messages about, so it was a smaller group of hard core supporters Andrew, Lorne, Zoe and Heather that planted themselves right up front for my debut. 

Raunchy apparel by Agent Provocateur  

 "Darling Nikki" started and after downing a shot of Jägermeister, I went up on stage through the side door. I was immediately intimidated by everyone staring at me, so I walked over to the mirror, listened to the music, and started to move slowly. The moving slowly part was necessary, as I hadn't worn my stripper heels in a while and was terrified I would fall on my ass, or worse, my face. But to my surprise I managed to walk and dance pretty well in those extra 6 inches.      

    Now, for the record, I know a lot of pole tricks; I can climb, flip upside down, do a snake dive, body spirals, and a lot of different spins, but it seemed I should probably stick to the basics for my first official performance. I did a few tricks, one which lands in a split, and then some crawling, pole grinding, cat pouncing, and before I knew it, the song was almost over. As much as I've not enjoyed having long hair, it was great for this task, as I could hide behind it, making it less intimating to dance in front of friends and strangers in a bra, sequined mini-shorts, fishnets and stripper boots.

       As fun and empowering as an experience like this can be, and was, there is a very strange and sort of demeaning part to it. When your song is over, you have to crawl around on the floor and pick up crumpled up dollar bills. I've watched the girls do it, and I always feel like someone should work out a more graceful and respectful way to collect the tips.

    I thought about just leaving them there for the next girl, but that's disrespectful...like I'm too good for one dollar bills or something. So basically, I crawled around on the floor and picked them up. And when I walked out, I heard someone (I think Lorne or Andrew) yell, "you missed one," so I had to go back and drop down again. For a dollar. 

     Coming down the steps, I thanked a couple of girls waiting to go up, and got a bit of attitude in return. As I settled into a chair for a quick drink and breather, with adrenaline and Jägermeister pumping through my body, it seemed there was some irritation and upset brewing among some of the girls. I promptly got up and went over to the bar where I dropped my dollar bills, telling Leanne to please distribute them among the girls.

Meow...catfight alert!

     That helped a bit; a couple of girls came up and said thank you, and wished me a happy birthday, which was totally sweet. I sat down and appreciated the next dancer so much more than I ever have before, understanding better what it takes to get up there. Balls. Then I turned around and found that one of the girls seated behind us still seemed upset, so I took my drink and asked if I could join her at her table to make nice. She explained that in the last 13 years of her working there, no one who doesn't work there has been allowed to go up, and she felt that my doing so was belittling her choice of profession. 

    I took a breath, then proceeded to tell her about the Forty By Forty project, listing a few of the more outrageous things I've done, explaining how they've inspired me and enhanced my life. I told her that I'd taken pole dancing classes, but that it doesn't mean I think I can do what she does every night. I also told her that I in no way was making fun of her chosen profession, on the contrary, I totally respect it.

    She lightened up a bit, but suspiciously asked why I had decided to do it at Jumbo's, wondering if it was some joke to me. I told her that it was because Jumbo's and I are the same age, and she finally smiled and wished me a happy birthday. I realized it probably would have been a good idea to explain all of this to a few of the girls beforehand, so as to not have my intentions be misunderstood, but this was something I hadn't expected or even imagined would happen. 

      
    After watching one more girl perform and throwing appreciation her way, we all headed out to begin my birthday celebration. It was about 6:30pm and I was pretty drunk, but also high and elated from having completed my 39th task, which was definitely outside my comfort zone. 

    Thank you Hailey and Heather for the prep, Agent May for help with the gear, my dollar throwing friends for doing just that, and most importantly, thanks to Leanne and the girls at Jumbo's for being gracious and letting me play on their playground.

Number 38: Have my Portrait Painted

     I'm no Mona Lisa. And Todd Stolarski is no Da Vinci. But he is a good artist in his own right, with a distinct and unique way of expressing himself artistically. I've seen many of his photographs and other pieces, and they all have something distinctly interesting. So, without really thinking too much about it, I asked him if he'd paint my portrait.

    When he asked me what I had in mind for this experience, I realized I hadn't thought too much about it. So we talked, and what I came up with was something like wanting to capture this time...the way I am now, in the midst of this project which has been so euphoric, being almost forty. Then I went a bit further in my thinking and discovered there was more to it. It was about someone else's interpretation of me. I see myself in a particular way, and I thought it would be interesting to see how others, i.e. Todd sees me. I remember wanting to add, "as long as you make me look beautiful," but I didn't. 

    Todd and I worked on the Fincher film "Zodiac" together. He was the second A.D. and I remember him being fun, super cool, and smoking all the time. When I arrived for my first day of interning at Brothers & Sisters last year, he was the first person I ran into, and it was a happy reunion. I spent a lot of my Brothers & Sisters time on his couch, catching up, having lunch, and listening to music. Miss those days. Todd was also one of the organizers of the Prom (Number 7: Go to Prom) I attended. You know, the one where I wasn't crowned Prom Queen...

   We made plans for me to come to his apartment and when I got there he had set everything up perfectly. He'd arranged his couch, I got my beverage of choice, there was cool music on, and a robe hanging in the bathroom. Although he always referred to it as a kimono. He's a class act, that Todd Stolarski. 

     There was that awkward first moment, when I took the robe off. I wanted to say "don't look at me" but that would defeat the whole purpose, and make it impossible for him to do his job. So for a couple of minutes I had some random thoughts go through my head, while Todd stared at my naked body. Then it settled. I got comfortable on the couch, and actually relaxed. He was the ultimate professional about the whole thing, although there were a couple of times when he seemed to take his "artist hat" off to give me a nice compliment about my body...in the context of it having been around for forty years...which isn't necessarily unprofessional...just smart, if you want your subject to relax and feel good. And that I did.

    As a profession, or even just a general past time, nude modeling is sort of overrated. You sit there, you can't move unless you get permission, so your body gets stiff. You can't really talk, because the artist has to have quiet, so they can focus. At least Todd does. So, for the most part, I was on my own. I found scrabble on the iPhone the perfect thing to do, as long as he didn't need to see my hands. What was funny about that was, I was mostly playing with the Burgers & Sisters crew, none of who were aware I was playing naked on Todd's couch. 

     The other thing I discovered being nude, that you don't really notice or think about when you have clothes on, is that there are constant temperature changes in every environment. Todd's apartment is no exception, and when you're naked, that has a certain effect on you. Hard nipples. Soft nipples. Hard nipples. Soft nipples. And on it went. The first few times, it was awkward and I hoped Todd wouldn't notice. Then I remembered that for Number 5: Take an Art Class, our nude model Chris seemed to have the same issue with his, ahem, privates, so in my mind, I sorted it under things that are normal in the nude modeling world, and relaxed.

   On the day of my birthday, I got an email from Todd, asking where the finished piece of art should be delivered, and I said to bring it to the Forty By Forty party. Todd said he preferred it if I saw it first, so I told him to have it dropped off at my apartment, since either Linda or I would be there for most of the day. Then I forgot all about it, until I came home after a busy day, to get ready for Jumbo's Clown Room. There it sat, nicely wrapped, in my living room. I asked Andrew to tear it open, which he did while I put on the obligatory fish nets, stripper heels etc. 

    I yelled "what's it like?" from the bedroom and got no reply. Oh, fuck. Then I realized Andrew hadn't heard me. So I yelled again and he replied, "it's cool...it's really modern." I ran into the living room and saw it. It made me happy instantly. It was not at all what I had expected, but then, I hadn't really expected anything. Which for me is quite an achievement in itself, since I'm known to have high expectations. 

    Here it is, painted on a piece of wood that Todd found, which is a very Todd thing to do, and which gives it a very cool, grainy texture. I love it. I think it's beautiful. It's unique, and it has an interesting modern look to it. He's captured the way I feel. Like, there's a lightness about this woman... This is the Forty By Forty Marika, and I feel very honored and proud to have been immortalized in this way, by Mr. Stolarski. A mere thank you doesn't seem enough, I really am quite moved, not just by the experience but by the finished piece. Thank you, Todd. 

Number 37: Record a Pop Song

     My sweet and fantastic guitar teacher Michelle was over at my house, looking over the Forty By Forty board the other week and exclaimed, "I have a recording studio at my house...come over and record a pop song!" I accepted her invitation right away, as this one was one I had really hoped to get to, but wasn't sure how to execute.

La la la...la la la...the lovely Linda

   To make it even more fun, my friend Linda Santiago flew in from Sweden and was just as excited as I was to get in the studio, so we headed over to Michelle's on the eve of my 40th birthday. We hadn't decided on a song but were mulling over some Swedish bands like Abba, Roxette and The Cardigans, in the car on the way over.

    Michelle lives with her lovely husband in Highland Park, an area of LA I've never been to before, but that I'd be glad to visit again, should I get asked back. It's a sweet neighborhood and Michelle and Chad's house is DOPE. Beautifully remodeled and decorated in that Rock 'n Roll way that shows you people with style live here, but they don't try to impress anyone. Michelle made tea and then we went into the studio which has some incredibly beautiful guitars on the wall, a grand piano, a professional microphone, some equipment with dials, and Michelle's computer. 

Channeling Swedish royalty...

    After going through a few ABBA songs, I felt really strongly that the song I should sing should be "Thank you for the Music." I love the song, and one of the reasons is, Agneta, who sings it, has one of the thickest Swedish accents in history, and it just makes it such a funny song to me. I also felt that since Michelle has given me the gift of music in the most extraordinary way this year, it would be the perfect song to dedicate to her. 

    As we started to record, I realized it wouldn't be as easy as just singing a song into a microphone. First of all, it was pretty late and I was tired so my voice wasn't as smooth as I would have liked. Also, "Thank you for the Music" is just on the cusp of what I actually can sing, note wise, so it was important to open my throat, which I haven't really practiced a lot, having not seen Calvin Remsberg (Number 9: Take an Opera Lesson) in a while. 

    I started singing and I really wanted to duplicate the Swedish accent, so I tried my best to, and I think it came through quite well. It made Michelle, Linda (who was behind the camera, before passing out on the couch from jetlag) and I giggle. We did a few takes of the song all the way through, but there were a couple of high parts I couldn't seem to get to, so we decided to record those parts separately. I still couldn't hit the high notes, so Michelle had me do some vocal exercises, in the midst of which I kind of snapped at her. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was sarcastic and something way too harsh to say to my sweet music teacher Michelle, who was kindly spending her night recording with me, trying to make me sound good.

Michelle...ma belle...enhancing my vocals    

      I of course apologized, which lead to one of the more interesting conversations I've had in a long time. There's a thing I do sometimes, more so when I've just come back from Sweden, and it's using a tough jargon when joking around or even just talking. And it hurts people's feelings. It's like sarcasm times a thousand. Not to blame my family, because I love them so much and we are so very close, but we tend to relate to each other in a very harsh jargon, and it's been known to be a bit difficult for the people around us, like spouses and friends.

      I've gotten quite good at catching myself doing it, and can usually stop right before it comes out, but having spent a fair amount of time with my brothers in Sweden last week, it just came out. No filter available. I was mortified.

        What's great about Michelle is, she's open, compassionate, and gracious beyond belief. A true Yogi. We also have an amazing friendship, even though we haven't known each other long. Our music lessons are filled with deep, interesting conversations about life, love and music and I don't know a lot of people who say "I love you" to their music teacher on a regular basis, but I do. So, given all that, we worked it out in a couple of minutes, and were back in harmony, wrapping up the recording session on a high note. Pun intended. 

    So, without further ado, please click below for Abba's "Thank you for the Music" sung by yours truly, and dedicated to Michelle, who's love of music and generosity of spirit inspires me so.  

Thank You For the Music

Number 36: Don't Cut my Hair until my Birthday

    This was one of the most irritating of all the tasks, because it's been going on for months and months. It's funny, I found that the friends who have known me the longest are the ones that came up with the most confronting and irritating tasks...this one was from Rachel who also made me read the longest book ever, for Number 12: Read War and Peace.

I didn't have long hair growing up, it was always short. There's not a single photo of me with long hair until I was about 16, which for a girl seems strange and even slightly cruel. Why couldn't I have pigtails or braids and use all those cute clips and bows and ribbons? My mother explains it by saying "you were always getting food and other things stuck in your hair, so we had to keep it short."    

My niece Alex was excited she could finally braid my hair last week in Sweden...

    I almost broke a couple of times, dialing my sweet friend Daniel Erdman, who gives the best hair cut in town, if you can manage to track him down....In those moments, Radha tried reverse psychology, saying "yeah, you should cut it off...it doesn't look that great anyways" which only irritated me more. I knew she was trying to manipulate me, and still I couldn't resist the manipulation. If I cut it, she'd win and if I kept it, she'd win again. 

   So for this blog, before I go and see Mr. Erdman, who I've missed terribly and haven't seen in about six months,  I thought it would be fun to show some of my hair cuts through the years, to really make this worthy of checking off. It's not fun unless I squirm a bit. There are a lot of Dorothy Hammill cuts in the lot..... Some photos may not be appropriate for children, pets or people sensitive to bad hair, as I had an obsession with perming and coloring my hair plum and dark brown in the 80's and 90's. Please enjoy...  

       

                        1989                                             1975

        

                       1985                           1988 (High School Graduation)

  

                                                2006

   
                 1976                                               1996

    
                       1990                                       2005 (Wedding Day)

     

                                    1978     

     

                               1987                                                              2007

     

                          2006                                                    1988

Number 35: Boxing Match

   I don't remember who suggested this or how it came about but I thought it might be a fun one to do. I'm a fan of taking out one's aggressions athletically and what better way to do that than with boxing gloves on? 

   I've noticed that when I start to think of something, the universe shifts around me and I manifest what it is that I want. I know...I'm become way too new-agey in my old age. A few days before I was scheduled to go boxing for the first time with Guy to take this task on, I was invited to a charity event by Diane and Roger. The charity event was to benefit Beit T'Shuva, a great organization that helps Jews combat and overcome addiction while reconnecting to Judaism. 

    

                                     Me and my one of my boxing trainers

   It turns out it was a boxing themed event, so who showed up, if not Frank Stallone, Freddie Roach, and most importantly, Sugar Ray Leonard? I was floored and delighted and it turned out my special VIP wrist band entitled me to talk to him...so I did. He couldn't have been more cool. I told him about my Forty By Forty project and how I was getting in the ring. Then I paused so he could tell me I don't look 40. Which he did. And he gave me some good pointers too. They are private. 

   So, Guy (Number 33: Go Rock Climbing) was gracious enough to take me to his boxing gym although I suspect he feels similarly about women boxers as he does about women soccer players, "I'm not bein' a chauvinist or anythin', it's just the way it is. They just don't have the same athletic ability or genetics." 

Before Jewish boxers Burnet & Cahn, there was Max Baer

   We headed to Fortune Gym which made me feel like I was in a Rocky movie. One of the good ones. A small gym with a knit capped Macka at the front, a ring, some punching bags and other equipment, owned by Aussie and Former Heavyweight Contender Justin Fortune who, despite his manly, muscular exterior, is a very sweet and funny guy. From Manly coincidentally. Guy and I did the "double Dutch" for a bit, then a lot of jabs, the speed bag, and later that night, my hands were shaking and cramping up while I was taking the LAPD essay entrance exam. You all know how that ended...

   I started going to the gym with Guy, and also started training with Mysti Friedman, one of the trainers and a former boxer herself. Mysti is really sweet and fun, but also a hard ass and a queen of manipulation. "You know those dimples you used to have when you where younger, where your lower back meets your ass?" she asked me casually one day. "Yeah...?" I replied. "Well this exercise will bring them back." SOLD. I've loved every minute of my training with her and not just because my increased stamina, energy and the slight resurgence of arm muscles for the first time in my life, but because I've found there's no better way to start the day, than with Mysti and her "burpies," "ghetto booty," and of course, the "dimple maker." 

                         

  After a couple of practice sparring sessions with Whitney, who also trains at the gym, we decided that I was ready for the real fight, with amateur boxer Dina. Mysti was gracious enough to open the gym on a Sunday to make it happen, and I got there early, filled with excitement and nervous energy.

    I was bouncing off the walls a bit, when Matthew (Number 32: Ride a Mechanical Bull) arrived. He told me to relax and breathe for the second time this week. He had generously offered to serve as cut man, should I need one. I had said yes immediately, figuring that if we can't have a pro stitcher or a real doctor on hand, having someone who can play one would be the next best thing. It turns out he also has a background in boxing, which proved to be helpful as I warmed up. 

     Lorne and Zoe walked in next for support and cheering, and I hammed it up a bit for the camera. It was almost go time....and finally Guy showed up, immediately pulling me aside to get me in the right mind set, and to have me warm up on the bag. He said I was having way too much fun and being too silly and that I needed to get serious. It was a great pep talk and he definitely got me riled up, slightly angry, and ready to get in the ring. He talked about how to pace myself, remember to protect my face, never just throw one jab, always two or three, and to keep moving. All while Mysti wrapped me and put my gloves on. 

My least favorite part...the smearing of vaseline on my face...

     The headgear and mouth piece came next, and then Dina and I got in the ring. Mysti was the referee, Guy was in my corner, Matthew was the time keeper, and Lorne and Zoe filmed. It's hard to describe what came next because it all happened so fast. Two minutes, which is a standard round in amateur boxing goes by really quickly. 

     We moved around, both carefully at first, and then things picked up. I wasn't afraid, I was really excited and having the best time, although it was exhausting beyond belief...it's hard to imagine how much energy it takes to move around like that for two minutes...nothing can prepare you for it, although Mysti's hardcore conditioning comes very close. 

    I found that I was most "in the zone" when I was just breathing, moving and my mind was quiet. I listened to what Guy was screaming and did what he told me, to whatever extent I could. Dina has way more experience than I, so she moved fast, was better at ducking and protected herself really well, so it was hard to get in there. But I did my best, and got a few good ones in. It's the best feeling by the way, to throw a jab or a hook, and have it hit perfectly...

    The second I started to analyze what was happening, or strategize, I got punched. Which I thoroughly enjoyed as well...almost more than when I hit Dina. At one point she got me good, and for a split second I was a bit dislocated. It made me feel alive and awake, and my adrenaline started pumping, which then made me hit back harder, and move faster. It was awesome.

    I heard Matthew yell "10 seconds" so I jabbed and jabbed as much as I could before he yelled "time." It's weird, there were so many more things I wanted to do but it was over. At least the first round. I was more comfortable the second round, but also more tired. I held my ground as best as I could but it was a definite struggle to keep my arms up, move around and jab at a good pace.

   The winner? See below. 

     Thanks to Fortune Gym, to my amazing trainers Mysti and Guy, to Matthew who unfortunately didn't need to stitch me up, and to Lorne and Zoe for coming.

    Most of all, thanks to Dina for getting in the ring with me...a great day...a great fight...I can't thank you enough!

    And now, something that's becoming a Forty By Forty staple...the actual boxing match on video. If I was more competent in iMovie, I would have made a highlight reel, so my apologies for the lengthy videos.

   

 

 

Number 34: Do Something Kinky and X-Rated

   Hmmm. Ok. How do I write about this while maintaining dignity and respect? Without offending those of you who so generously offered to "help" with this one? Without embarrassing my family? I actually toyed with the idea of just pretending I never did this one. BUT, this is my project and although I didn't imagine sharing every detail about it on the internet when I first started...this one happened. And it's on the list. So here it is. One of the shorter blogs I'll write for the Forty By Forty project. 

    I'm fairly liberal when it comes to sex. And no, that is not the same thing as having a string of one-night stands, or a different lover every night. To me, being liberal means not thinking sex is bad or shameful, and being open to exploring all of its different aspects. It's meant to be fun, not serious. As long as you practice safe sex.  

   There were a few things I thought I might want do for this one. With someone who is charming and sexy and has a devious mind. Someone who I trust with my own somewhat devious mind. If you are racking your brain trying to figure this one out, you might as well give up. Because it could have happened last night. Or last week. Or even six months ago. My lips are sealed so don't bother with that inquisitive text. It's in the vault.  

   There were some texts sent back and forth, making it clear that nothing was off limits, and everything was possible. "Anything?" I asked. "Anything," he replied instantly. My mind excitedly started to imagine various options and I was quite relieved about the whole thing, until a few minutes later, when the next text arrived inquiring as to what I wanted to do. Oh wait, I now have to ask for what I want? Shit. I texted back. "What if you say no?" Another quick reply, "I'll say yes." I froze. 

   And there it was. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I considered texting back saying, "Thank you, but I'm just going to take an Argentine Tango lesson instead." Then I pondered not texting back at all. Ever. Like, what if I just never replied and then disconnected my phone? I stopped for a minute and just "watched" my mind come up with grand and complicated excuses. Then I became fascinated by what was happening in my mind, and interested in why I was so confronted and uncomfortable. I couldn't believe I was having such an issue with this, being someone who communicates quite freely. I was stunned.

     And so was he, it seemed. He was now curious as to why I couldn't just text it, since I'm fairly relaxed about sex. And I couldn't come up with a good reason because I honestly didn't know. It took me two days to text back my desire for this challenge. And when I did, I almost threw up waiting for the response. Longest hour in history. Of course his reply was "yes." 

    It turned out that the challenge with this task wasn't the actual doing, but the communicating about it. It was interesting, confronting and eye-opening. The conclusion I came to was that although nothing makes me feel better than doing things for others, I'm uncomfortable being at the receiving end of compliments, gifts and "experiences." I have to make an effort to be gracious and appreciative when friends give me things, or do nice things for me. It's not because I'm not thankful, but because when someone does something kind and generous for me, it makes me vulnerable, and quite moved. And the thing is, I don't mind being vulnerable or moved...I just want to control when it's going to happen...

    So for this task, I learned how to let go and receive. I learned how to ask for something I want, and be happy and appreciative when I got it. I was even able to say what the other options that had lingered in my mind were. To which his response was, "we can do them all, you know?" And that's all I have to say about that. I learned so much from this, it blew my mind. And it wasn't like the thing itself wasn't mind-blowing. Because it was. Really.

   Thanks, W.

 

Number 33: Go Rock Climbing

    My friend Guy Burnet would want me to say he's tough and cool, a perfect gentleman but also a ladies man, a great boxer, and an even better soccer player. I will happily say all of that, because it's true, while adding that the cool brown leather jacket he wears is a ladies jacket. And that at Hannukah dinner at Bob & Hil's this week, he proudly announced a huge new breakthrough in technology: wireless printing. "Do you know that I can click to print in one room, and have it come out of a printer in the next room?" The funniest part was, he couldn't work out why we were all laughing...and kept asking "why is that funny?" until Rosie - because I was still laughing uncontrollably - told him we've all been doing that for the last ten years. 

    Guy has nestled himself in my heart very quickly, almost like a fifth brother. He has the ability to wind me up with just one word or even a quick look, like the rest of them. But he is also a treasure of a friend, not too cocky about his dreamy looks, very protective of me and my heart, and with a heritage as diverse as mine... his mother is Jewish Italian and his father British. As if all that wasn't enough, he appreciates my baked goods, which is a great way to stay on my good side. Upon tasting my Indian cupcakes, Guy exclaimed "It's like Christmas in my mouth..." in his sweet Oliver Twist accent. 

 Yes, Guy, I had to embarrass you with this smoldering photo...

   Having decided that indoor rock climbing would satisfy completing this task, Guy got into my car, which surprised me because he is usually frightened to drive with me. Not because of my driving skills, which are excellent, but because my car is a convertible, so when the top is down, Guy feels like he's going to fall out. I suppose with the weather being a bit chilly, he rightly assumed I wouldn't take the top down, and felt safe.

     We headed to a place called Rockreation in West LA, and as usual, started by filling out the familiar release & emergency contact form. Guy listed me as his emergency contact, and under "relationship" he wrote "bum chums."  I decided to shake things up a bit, and listed Ken Olin. Relationship: "Daddy."

Happy the harness is loose around the balls...

   Next, we put our shoes on and got strapped into harnesses, but not before Guy had whined about being uncomfortable having things tightly tied around his balls, to the girls at the front desk. Two things come to mind here: 1. What else has Guy had tied to his balls? and, B. How is it that a British accent can turn something like that into smiles and giggles from the girls? If some American dude had said it, it would have just been gross. 

Guy and "shirtless guy"

    We walked in, looked around and immediately saw the douchiest person in the world. An overly muscular little dude in tight bleached jeans and no shirt. He was looking at a wall, deep in thought, then started to do some "fake air climbing" to figure out what exactly he would do once he got up. I'm sure it's good to have a plan, but it just looked so overly cocky and ridiculous. After all, Rockcreation isn't Mount Everest. We named him "shirtless guy," took a photo secretly and moved on. 

     We met Ryan, "our guy" and I started with a wall that looked fairly easy. Ryan gave no instructions but just said to climb up, and that he would help guide me if necessary. The first couple of steps up were pretty easy, so I climbed up a few more. Then I looked down and got scared.

     Guy and Ryan were talking down below and I tried really hard to look calm and un-scared, while telling myself to breathe. I couldn't wait to get to the top, just so I could come down again. I think I might be afraid of heights after all. I have now bungee jumped, gone skydiving and attended trapeze school, but I still get scared every time I get up there. It doesn't stop me from doing it, and I'm always happy after, but I see those falling scenarios so vividly every time. 

    I was sweating, which was weird because it was just a few minutes and I didn't think I was exhausting myself at all. I reached the top, and got to do that cool slide down, while bouncing my feet off the wall every few feet. I could feel how cool I looked. "Vertical Limit" cool. 

   I wiped some sweat off, and prepared Guy for how exhausting it would be. He started, and pretty much just climbed right up really quickly. By the time I got my phone out to take a photo, he was already at the top. He came down with zero beads of sweat and acted like it was the easiest thing in the world. "What's next?" he said and we moved over to another wall. 

   Guy picked a really hard wall and I could see Ryan hesitating. He obviously didn't think I had it in me to climb a wall with a wide incline, which of course meant I had to prove him wrong. I got up a few steps and focused, really looking around to find the perfect colorful blob to place my foot on. It was going alright until I got to the incline part. It was all arm muscles, and although I have some on account of my boxing training, it didn't seem to be enough to lift and hold the rest of me in place while moving up.

   I started to sweat again, and my breathing pace picked up. I went beyond arm muscles and tapped into anger and stubbornness, but nothing could move me further up. I swore to myself, then looked down and yelled that I couldn't do it. Guy did his version of a pep talk, which is a half-excited "oh, c'mon...s'not that hard..." and Ryan said he could give me a break, which meant he'd hold me and I could let go for a few seconds until I was ready again. I said "yes, please" but once he had me, I really couldn't start climbing again because my arms were cramping up. So sore. I gave up. 

    Irritatingly, Guy swooped up the wall like Errol Flynn in a pirate movie. Because his legs are so much longer than mine, he could just skip the hard incline part, and step right past it, getting to the top in seconds again.  And even more irritating; he looked way cooler than I did when he was coming down.

     A couple more climbs where I was dying from exhaustion while Guy looked fresh and happy. I glanced around at 6-year-old Caroline and explained, "I have a boxing match tomorrow so I can't go full out...have to save my strength." She nodded in what I interpreted as a patronizing way. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I felt ridiculed, and it was definitely time to go.

      Guy, who originally had questioned the legitimacy of this challenge saying that "it just doesn't make sense to climb up there for nothing," adding, "if they had ice-cream or some sort of incentive up there, it would be different," actually admitted he had quite enjoyed himself.

    Next up, lunch, Christmas shopping in Santa Monica, and Christmas caroling in the car on the way home. I wanted to take the top off so badly, to punish Guy for being so much better than I, but I'm not that kind of person. Who am I kidding? I totally am. But it was too cold.

     Thank you Ryan, for not dropping me, and thank you sweet Guy for a fantastic day! 

Number 32: Ride a Mechanical Bull

    I first met Matthew when I interned with the writers on "Brothers & Sisters" last year. I had been given the task of interviewing him for the show's blog as he was directing his first episode. I asked him if I could take his photo and he said "no" quite coldly, and walked away. Great start. Then someone explained that he has a dry sense of humor and was probably kidding, so I tried again, and after some eye rolling was allowed to take the photo and made arrangements to interview him. 

    The blog turned out to be pretty funny, so funny that it's not available to read online anymore, but one part of it was that I made fun of how nationalistic he is about Wales, which is where he was born and raised. He gets riled up if you call him a Brit and insists the Prince of Wales isn't really his prince. I still take every opportunity I can to get under his skin about this very topic, just because I know he's sensitive about it, but in fact, it's one of the things I most admire about him. He's not only well spoken, well read and well traveled, but he has a really strong connection to his heritage and that's inspiring to me. In fact, it's made me jealous...and subsequently lead me to reevaluate my relationship to Sweden.  Which I'm in the process of mending, having become an American citizen last year. 

A serious man...about his roots

    Matthew is so Welsh that he recently wrote a book about a journey he made last year to a Welsh speaking colony in the Andes, which was formed in 1865 and still exists. He did it on horseback, along with descendants of the original Welshmen who made the trek 125 years ago. It's a fascinating story, and I suppose the second thing that impresses me about Mr. Rhys. And now to the third. 

     After he'd seen my Forty By Forty list, Matthew bragged about his mechanical bull skills for months, before we headed to the Saddle Ranch on Sunset a couple of nights ago. The Saddle Ranch is not your typical hangout for a charming Welshman, but it turns out he's competed and won bull riding competitions here so he was in his element. As with many of my challenges, this one required a waiver and emergency contact. I toyed with the idea of putting Sally Field down again, as I did for Number 13: Skydive, but I still don't have her number. I'm pretty sure Matthew listed Ron Rifkin.

     Having heard how bruised you can get and how much it can hurt, I wasn't eager to go first, so I let Matthew jump on the bull and get going. I was astonished. He barely moved. The bull went around and around and shook and picked up the speed and he stayed on, looking like a cowboy with his hand up in the air. I was so taken by his talents that A. I missed turning the flash on, thus getting no photographic evidence of his triumph, and B. I assumed, incorrectly, that this was an easy task. 

Getting last minute tips by the smooth bull operator, an obvious Karate Kid fan

    After the Welsh matador got off (the bull) I got a really good pep talk. Matthew had tried to give me pointers earlier, but that was before I realized he actually knows how to ride a mechanical bull, so it had gone in one ear and out the other. I eagerly listened to his coaching this time around. He said to squeeze my thighs, to lean back when the bull dips and lean forward when it bucks. He added that it's all about relaxing, breathing deeply, letting my body go limp, so basically not tense up. Because it's when you tense up that it can really hurt.  

     I got on the bull, cocky and secure. Then I felt uneasy as it started moving. Just as I got used to the slow pace and felt I could handle it, it started to move faster and faster and with the speed picking up, my confidence started weening. It got harder and harder. I had my hand up and was squeezing my thighs as instructed, but it was hard to remember where to lean so I was thrown off about thirty seconds in, making this the shortest Forty By Forty experience, but by no means the least fun. And, in real bull riding, the number of seconds to stay on is eight, so I didn't do that poorly.

    I can't remember who put this on my list, but I'm glad they did... mechanical bull riding is an all-American activity and I've been wanting to do it for some time. I really thought it would be hard and painful, but to my surprise, I found it to be a fun and delightful past time. My ass hurts a bit today but it's to be expected from what I understand. 

   Ddiolch 'ch, Matthew for taking me, and talking me through it calmly beforehand. It made all the difference. And also for being super Welsh while riding a bull like a real American. 

 And for the second time in Forty By Forty history, the video:

 

Number 31: Make a Family Tree

   Inspired by my old boss Lisa Kudrow's NBC show "Who Do You Think You Are?" I decided to do some ancestry digging and make a family tree. I learned two big things from this. 

1. My Family Tree is WIDE. I have five siblings, my parents have six siblings together and their parents had eight siblings together. And my mother's grandparents had sixteen siblings together so it goes out wide with siblings, spouses and children. 

2. My mother has a very impressive brain. Her storage capacity for information and details, like dates, names and places is incredible, and it's something I've inherited but never quite realized the depth of, or appreciated. I just know that I usually win arguments if specific details are involved because I remember EVERYTHING. Unless the argument is with my mother or grandmother :) I asked her about things I couldn't imagine her knowing and she came through for me in a big way. She provided me with detailed information about my uncles, aunt and grandparents on my father's side although she was only married to my father from 1968 to 1972. She knew everyone's birthdate and even my dad's parents' wedding date in 1940. 

    The great part about this task was that I got the opportunity to reach out to my extended family which was great. My uncle Ulf was incredible. Ulf is just 5 years older than I, so fairly cool, and likes to talk about our family as much as I do. I thought I would get stopped fairly quickly on the Jewish side, on account of the Holocaust, but he had so much. I got moved reading his emails because there were all these really cool names of people who were my family, who I had never heard about. So I got names and dates and other interesting information. For example, my grandmother's two grandmothers were sisters. Uncle Ulf and I agreed that it explains a lot about our family. Not everything, but a lot. 

    I Facebook messaged with my aunt Ingrid, who also provided me with a lot of good stuff. I never really spent much time thinking about my Swedish heritage until I became an American citizen last year, so it was cool to dive into that. It was actually trickier on my father's side because my grandparents' names were fairly common (Lundin & Nilsson) so it was hard to figure out which ones were the "right ones." 

       The two main online systems I used were www.ancestry.com and www.jewishgen.org. Talk about a fascinating and worthwhile use of the internet. As you start to type in your family members' names, you get connected to all sorts of sources, like the Census, even the Swedish one. 

    Having worked on this task for months, I've been very much looking forward to completing it. I imagined getting one of those big trees on a poster and filling it out. I quickly realized that wasn't going to work because my family doesn't fit on one of those pre-printed ones. Then I saw you can order one online through Ancestry.com, as long as you fill in your tree completely. But as my birthday is getting closer, I've come to understand that a family tree is never quite finished, because A) you can always dig deeper and B) someone is always getting pregnant, especially in my family. Between my five siblings, I have four nephews and three nieces, and more on the way. 

   So, my family tree thus far contains 150 people, with four generations living today. My grandmother Celina (82) is the oldest, and my nephew Bruno (2) is the youngest. Celina came to Sweden in 1945 after the war, making my mother and her brothers first generation Swedes. My father's family seems to have been in Sweden for centuries; perhaps they were even vikings...

    I saw everyone on my mother's side, and also my sweet brother Max and his family from my father's side, last week. I was in Sweden for a quick visit and early birthday celebration and had the best time. Ten degrees and snow every day but I couldn't have been happier bundling up and trekking around in the snow. And I got some well needed play time with the little ones. And the big ones too. Here they are, four living generations of Cahns, Blechers and Lundins. 

Grandma Celina Cahn, flanked by me, and my cousin Henrietta, Uncle Ulf's daughter

The 2nd Generation: Uncle Bernie Cahn, Mom Elise Blecher and Uncle Ulf Cahn

The 3rd generation; Ulrik Cahn, Max Lundin, me, Simon & Martin Blecher

 The 4th generation; Alexandra Cahn, Bruno Blecher, Nicholas Cahn, Molly Lundin & Lucas Cahn

    My family tree will never be complete and I'm just going to have to live with that. Which is hard for me. I hate incompletion. At some point, I'll order the big family tree poster and subsequently get irritated when it gets outdated. Until then I will continue to research my Swedish and Jewish family...because it's fun and because it makes me feel connected to my roots...

My Dad Leif Lundin

   Thanks to Lisa for inspiring me to take this on, to Uncle Ulf and Aunt Ingrid for all their invaluable information. And finally, obviously, none of this would have been possible without my being in this world. So the biggest thank you goes to my mother Elise and my father Leif.