T-Bone partied all day at the video shoot for the new Weezer single “Memories.” The band shot it at the Pink Motel with the Jackass Crew as well as a bunch of pro skaters and BMX guys. T thought the skaters were rad and the feeling was mutual. I had to stop him repeatedly from attempting to hop on a skateboard and drop into the pool. It’s an awesome song and if the vibe on set was any indicator, this video is going to be a cult sensation.
…here is a picture of Scott onstage in his kilt. The new fashion statement came about after he played Bonnaroo and it was about eighteen million degrees in the shade. He was complaining that it was too hot to wear pants but he didn’t like wearing shorts onstage. My suggestion for the rest of the blistering hot summer festival shows was to get a kilt. He didn’t feel comfortable sporting traditional tartan so we found an army green uber-tough kilt and it’s been a smash hit. Even Fergie complemented him on it. And really, what man wouldn’t wear a skirt if he knew it was going to merit some flattery from Fergie?
I went with some of my closest, oldest friends and their kids to the Weezer show on the Williamsburg Waterfront last Friday. In the words of my friend’s ten-year-old, it was freakin’ phenomenal. The venue was magical and the kids gave the evening a whole new shine.
I also had a reunion with John Collins, a veteran of the Samuel’s Major Problems (the Richard Foreman play I acted in a million years ago) crew and now a formidable director in his own right.
My old boss from the world of high-fashion hairstyling showed up with his daughter as well. A bunch of disparate phases of my life were represented but it all made sense somehow, as parts of a whole. I spent years keeping everything compartmentalized, but publishing the memoir cured me of that. It’s been hard to weather the exposure of the past few months but it’s also been tremendously freeing. All of my life, past and present, can comfortably exist in the same room now. Even better if that room is the backstage area of a Weezer show.
Here’s a video of Tariku rocking out to “If You’re Wondering if I Want You To I Want You To.” For those of you who are obsessed enough with how adorable he is to watch it through to the end, he gets upset because the giant beach balls bouncing through the crowd are out of reach. Just when you think life is nothing but a party, it all suddenly gets so cruel.
If you’re reading this on facebook or RSS feed, you’re gonna have to get your tush over to jillianlauren.com to see the outrageous cuteness.
Also- I promise soon to post a shot of Scott in the kilt he’s been wearing on stage, because he looks HOT.
Tariku, Jen (babysitter extraordinaire) and I boarded a plane to NY just as the second half of the World Cup was starting. People were gathered six deep around the TV screens at the airport bars. I enjoy the energy of events that draw people together in odd places, but I’m a terrifically fickle sports fan. I was routing for The Netherlands because they’re flying me out to do press for Some Girls in a few weeks, whereas Spain hasn’t even bought the rights yet. We found out the outcome when we approached the Queens-Midtown Tunnel and saw the Empire State Building lit red and yellow.
T and I aren’t going along for the whole tour this summer because it was too impractical, but we decided to rendezvous with Scott in NY for a week. When we got to the hotel, Tariku was so excited that we didn’t get to sleep until 3:15PM. Scott arrived from Canedaigua a couple of hours later.
In spite of being exhausted, the NY mojo inspired us to go on an adventure the next morning. We took Tariku on his first subway ride up to the Intrepid museum, which is based on a WW2 aircraft carrier. I haven’t been there since I was a little girl and it was fascinating. I’m hardly one for glorifying militarism, but it’s difficult to stand on the deck of the Intrepid and not marvel.
So, in essence, we took a CHOO CHOO (all-caps indicates Tariku screaming at the top of his lungs) to a huge BOAT with AIRPLANES all over it. What?!?!? Tariku will never forgive me for taking him back to L.A. That is, until he gets back to the BEACH.
Then Scott put T down for his nap while I took a much needed break by reading in the tub. I didn’t bother with the water part, as I had already taken a shower. I just lay down in the dry tub and finished my book while occasionally looking out the window over the downtown rooftops. I steal my reading moments however I can get em.
Jen took T while we had a romantic dinner and grocery shopping date and if you think I’m being sarcastic, I’m not. Whole Foods in Soho is actually an excellent date spot if you like people watching and pricey chocolate, which is kind of my equivalent of CHOO CHOOS and AIRPLANES.
I was bummed that we missed Weezer playing on the Jumbotron in Times Square today, but we settled for the Electric Mayhem (The Muppets band) on my laptop instead, as this it what it looked like outside:
We were so excited for our little July 4 getaway in Ojai this weekend (can’t you just hear the ominous undertones?). As usual, we packed Beverly Hillbillies style, our truck bed piled high with bikes and backpacks and dog beds and clothes and food and music equipment. And if that weren’t enough, we brought along Tariku’s two aunties and their dog and bikes and backpacks etc etc.
We arrive after driving through nearly three hours of holiday traffic– four adults, two trucks, three dogs and one toddler who had just had an unfortunate poop explosion– to find that our favorite little inn had lost our reservation. Not only that, the desk clerk looked me in the eye and snottily said, “I suggest you call ahead next time. If the computer reservation system doesn’t work, it’s not our fault.”
Friends, I lost it. Scott later confirmed that in the eight years we’ve been together, he has never seen me blow my stack like that. I used language that I hope my son never has to hear out of my mouth again. I was so furious that my whole body was shaking.
The thing is, I’ve had a date with a massive meltdown for a few weeks now. I had exactly three days of transition time between a mad book tour and the mad final revisions for my next book. I haven’t had enough time with my family; I haven’t had enough time to properly care for myself; I haven’t been getting enough sleep. I’m having hair trigger migraines that fell me in minutes. I’d say that my breakdown in Ojai is a red flag letting me know that I need to actively seek a better balance in my life.
I was able to sponge off Tariku on the lawn and then find us a couple of rooms for the night at a motel where the health department had shut down the pool, the floors were so dirty that the bottoms of our feet were black, and the continental breakfast was made up of three jelly donuts individually wrapped in cellophane. And when I tried to take advantage of the jacuzzi that was next to the bed, I apparently did something wrong, because the jets shot epic blasts of water clear across the room, completely soaking the comforter and traumatizing my son. He was crying and screaming, “FOUNTAIN! SCARY!”
Then, to ice the cake, the July 4 parade we had come to see was actually held on July 3 this year (no parades on Sundays in Ojai apparently), so we missed it. It didn’t seem worth it to stay another night, so we turned around and went home. We got back in time to eat a few Dorito crumbs left over at our neighbor’s party.
How did my life turn into an eighties movie starring Chevy Chase? And Scott is really curious to know when the Christie Brinkley part happens…
On Monday, I decided to have a vacation day at home instead. I turned off the iPhone and partied with T-bone all day long, first at Griffith Park and then at the Santa Monica Airport. Check out my brave cowboy on his first pony ride.
The truth is, all those romantic getaways that seem blissful in retrospect were overshadowed for years by how badly we wanted a family. Now we have one, and I guess that with a family comes a much higher probability of disastrous vacations.
I’ll take it.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again- the LA Opera is the sexiest date in LA. Scott and I joined Rivers and Kyoko and went to see Die Walkure this weekend. It rocked our world.
Gift idea: if you or anyone you know has connections at the opera costume shop (yes, Sharon, that means you) I want one of those Valkyrie costumes oh-so-badly. I’m certain that no one in the world could pull it off as daywear as well as I could:
The LA Opera isn’t just the sexiest date in LA, it’s also the best people watching in LA. During the first intermission, these enthusiastic folks were doing performance art around the fountain. Who needs a stage?
Our votes for best dressed at the opera went to:
1. The woman in the wide-brimmed hat and shiny silver catsuit and her escort in the white tux.
2. The two blondes in front row wearing Viking helmets.
3. The tall guy in the white linen suit and his charmingly trampy tattooed date in a sundress (no, it wasn’t us).
We drive to Zuma nearly every weekend and each time I’ve watched T get closer and closer to the waves while Scott stood patiently by his side. This weekend T took the plunge and Daddy was there to bail him out when the waves got too scary. It was a glorious day. I was proud of them both.
Happy Father’s Day, Honey.
The banner around the heart is the tattoo I just got from Corey Miller on LA INK. I can’t say anything more about the show because we signed a confidentiality agreement, but I can say that Scott and I had great fun shooting it. It’ll probably air sometime in August.
Mine says, “Tell Me A Story.” Scott got Tariku’s name in Amharic tattooed on his right hand.
Scott, Tariku, our friend Julien and I went today to see Amma, the hugging saint from India. Amma spends most of her hours on this earth hugging people. She has also inspired and started many humanitarian organizations. I’ve always been moved by her mission and in awe of her profound selflessness.
I’ve been to see her every time she visited LA over the last five years and each one was a unique experience. I have blissfully waited for eight hours for a hug and watched the colorful Devi Bhava ceremony and I have also stood annoyed by the shoe racks wondering who the heck would show up to get a hug from a saint and steal my brand new clogs on their way out.
Last year Scott finally came with me and we took the baby to get a blessing. It moved us both to tears. Well, this year T isn’t a baby anymore and he had some other ideas about what he’d rather be doing than waiting around the airport Hilton to get a hug. Specifically, he could not understand how we could be spitting distance from AIRPLANES and prefer to sit with a bunch of hippies in a lobby with ugly chandeliers. He made his objections known for three hours.
It was hard to sing and draw and dance around and do everything I could think of to try to keep T from freaking out in the darshan line. He kept pointing to the stage behind Amma and saying, “Band? Bass? Band? Bass?” Like- what the hell? Where is the band anyway? This party is lame!
And of course Scott managed to say like twelve things that totally annoyed me, including one that made me want to respond with the bitchiest comment ever spoken within 100 feet of Amma. It was that kind of day. It was a rough one. Everyone was out to kill my spiritual buzz.
Amma gets me thinking about miracles. And I want to say something about miracles- sometimes they don’t feel very miraculous. I live with at least a couple of miracles every day: the fact that I’m not drinking and using drugs today and the fact that we have our son. Both of those things don’t always make me feel like I’m standing in a glorious beam of sunshine. There are some late nights that I want a glass of wine more than I want the next breath of air and there are some early mornings that I really wish I had a kid who didn’t think sleep is for losers.
I remember reading a quote from Amma once where (forgive me for paraphrasing) she said something like: Where there is love there is no effort.
I’m not always there yet. And I judge myself for it. Then I judge everyone else while I’m at it, just to keep things fair.
But I have moments when I get it. Riding home I remembered last Sunday, when we went for a walk out at Zuma Beach. Scott was holding T and T reached over to put his arm around my neck and pull us all into a group hug. And for just a moment, life felt absolutely effortless.
I keep going back to Amma to be reminded of the possibilities.
At the behest of everyone who sees me on a daily basis, I actually took a day off today. Promoting the book has been an amazing ride, but there’s an eternal to-do list that I never seem to make a dent in no matter how many hours I put in. Then there’s another suitcase to pack and another plane to catch. I’m starting to wake up feeling shaky and exhausted every morning.
So I flew with my pilot friend Colin to Temecula to look at vintage trailers. It seems as though the house has been shrinking lately, so Scott and I think that it would be a neat idea to move my office outside.
I love flying with Colin. It’s like driving a sports car through the sky. Unlike in a commercial jet, in the small plane, I feel the full impact of the fact that we’re flying. Flying. It’s miraculous.
We went to visit Dayton Taylor and had a blast perusing his awesome property. The sweetest little trailer called my name. So I bought it. It’s a 1955 Holiday Rambler dubbed by Dayton: “Elvis is Alive!”
Now we’re going to strip it, polish it, give it love and trick it out and in a couple of months I’ll have a new office. I’ll update you on the progress.
As far as days off go, it was grand. I don’t do it often, but I do it in style.
