Author Archives: Jill Adler

Buddy Pass? Just say “NO”

Asleep in Boston- Hotel Logan

I finally did it. $400+ dollars and many uncomfortable hours later, I was back in Utah. The weight of the world lifted the minute I shuttled to the Diamond Parking lot outside of SL International for my car. You can’t help but vow in these instances to “NEVER FLY DELTA AGAIN”. You know you’ll never stick to your guns because there will be that one time you have to get somewhere and they have the only available, cheap, convenient, whatever excuse, flight in town. But I can say it now.
A buddy pass is no benefit when it costs you $288 + $400, leaves you stranded in three airports, with Delta staffers who treat you like you’re covered in poo, before you finally get home (only because you bought the return ticket). And the last indignity? I pay $348 for a one way ticket out of Kansas City only to be seated in the one BROKEN seat on the filled-to-capacity plane. I couldn’t recline, I couldn’t relax, I couldn’t feel like at least you can get what you pay for.
Sitting in Logan International in Boston on Saturday from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. praying I get on a flight home, being denied; spending the night on the cold polished floor there, trying again from 6 a.m. – 7:30 a.m. to get on (any) flight, being sent to Detroit, sitting at the gate in Detroit, being seated in the very last (non-reclining) row on a plane to Kansas City International, and sitting in a cramped, filthy terminal from 1:30 p.m. to 8 p.m. thinking maybe there will be a standby seat, only to have to check into a roach motel for the night so I can finally get home on the 6 a.m. flight. And then this seat. My back and neck were bitching big time, my ass felt deflated and boney, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. The flight attendant shrugged and said, “I’ll let the captain know.” WTF?
The only reason I took the trek was because of the buddy pass. Had I known I’d lose two days, 10 hours of sleep and over $600, I never would have traveled to Boston and definitely would not have traveled on Delta with a buddy pass. This experience has left a huge disgusting taste in my mouth.
A nasty gate agent that smirks because I am the only person not getting on the flight? That’s out of line. The flight attendant ahead of me in the standby line volunteered to sit in the jump seat so that I could have the last seat on the plane. The agent could have made it happen. He chose not to. It should – and needs- to be his job to accommodate all guests to the best of his ability whether they fly paid or standby, are employees or buddies. I could have been home on Saturday. But this big, flabby, unkempt guy in a T-shirt and big baggy jeans with a belt cinched so tightly the back pockets touched, played God and denied me peace.
And why do gate agents not smile?? If they don’t like their jobs or don’t want to work they shouldn’t be there. I witnessed this attitude at EVERY SINGLE GATE- that’s five in Boston, two in Detroit and four in Kansas City. NOT ONE arrived smiling or greeting those standing in the area. They kept their heads low like bartenders who don’t want to serve certain people at their bar. Don’t make eye contact and they won’t hit you up for something. That’s crap. You can show up with a smile, say, “Hi, give me five minutes and I’ll wave you over” if you need a moment to center yourself.
I felt sick. No sleep, stiff non-reclining seats, and bad attitudes. GRRRR. It was bad enough that on getting to KCI I was in the backseat that wouldn’t recline while five seats went empty in First Class but on my PAID flight home I get stuck again. A miserable experience made worse by nasty, grumpy employees, decrepit planes and airports (with the exception of Detroit’s terminal which structurally sparkled). Even the carpet on the plane home was gross. Usually I can take my shoes off on a plane, but not that one. And there was something dried and sticky in the cup divot of my tray table. Maybe with those soaring profits the airlines are reporting this year they can do something about their service and environment? Nickel and dime us to death but at least use Vaseline.
All passengers regardless of seat number or status should be treated like a First Class passenger. People go to work at McDonald’s every day, 40+ hours a week, serving, dealing with complaints, the superior attitudes of the customers, incorrect orders, and people in a hurry. But they keep smiling. If any of them acted the way Delta’s people do, they’d be fired. Maybe it’s time to clean house and hire people who actually want to be there?? Yet another reason to fly Southwest.
As I sat chatting with other standbyers over the past two days, I learned a few things. Standby ‘buddies’ are treated like the homeless- you step over them. You never fly standby in the summer because the flights are full of vacationing families, and by the time you pay for the ‘non-revenue’ ticket ($288!), the hotel, the food, the extra parking, the aggravation, your time and the stress, you’re better off paying for a fare. Tell your Delta employee ‘buddy’, “No thanks.” And if they tell you there are open seats in Kansas City, laugh and walk away saying, “Good luck with that.”

Back For More

You’re shitting me, I thought when my routine mammogram turned into two hours of close-ups and an appointment to come in for a biopsy. I wasn’t dreaming and this wasn’t last year’s nightmare. It was a whole new kind of ugly. The good news- Your left breast (the one with a tumor that sucked away my summer of ’09) looks great. The bad news, your right breast has microcalcifications. These look like specs of sand on a mammogram. I had five specs. Five. Five f&%king specs that could turn my life upside down again. 80 percent of calcs are benign. You get a little metal clip in your boob, a pat on your head and be on your way. 20 percent come back malignant and you’re back on the operating slab and then on to radiation. I’m starting to get how people could just stop treatment altogether and say f*&k it even if their odds are good.
Every six months I have to go through this hell? This dread that it could be back. Canser. The bitch is back? And even if it doesn’t turn out to be canser, my breasts will be Swiss cheese. So this Asian radiologist is describing what will happen next and all I’m thinking is how smudged her glasses are and how I want to pull them off her nose and clean them off for her. Maybe she was just seeing the dirt from her lenses? But then I see the evidence for myself. Those little fricking specs. And I want to run out of the room and cry. But I can’t. I have to sit there and pretend like I’m listening to my dentist explain how to floss. I nod my head. I keep my cool. I’m going to have a stereotactic biopsy she tells me. It shouldn’t hurt too bad and it won’t leave much of a scar.
The procedure involves me lying flat on a coroners’ table with my breast hanging from a hole in the center. Lovely. They numb me up then send a giant needle straight to the place where they ‘think’ the calcs are and vacuum them out. The tissue gets sent to a lab and 48 hours later, I will know.
I talked this all over with Ryan last night. Up until then I guess it hadn’t hit me. I was fine all weekend. Even forgot about this ‘issue’.
As I described what would happen to me today, I scared myself. Regardless of the pathology, this is my life now. Every six months for the next five years, at least, I will be forced to deal. I can never put it in my past and pretend that was someone else it happened to. Can I be strong and stoic forever? I got a copy of “Somewhere in Time” just so I could have a good excuse to ball my eyes out. I don’t like feeling sorry for myself.
My doctor tried to make me feel better. “It’s too soon after chemo for this to be anything bad,” she said. “I’ll see you in six months.” God I really hope she’s right.
I brought in my Zune and watched a movie while they did their thing today. It helped. Not sure if it was a smart choice to watch “Crazy Sexy Cancer”but I only had 15 minutes left and I wanted to see how the documentary ended. It took my mind off what they were doing under the table. The hot pain of the lidocaine needles, the dig of metal into my ribcage, the snap of the vacuum sucking out my insides. All were slightly dulled thanks to my headphones and lack of focus. The movie ended and I was helped up. The nurse pushed firmly over the wound to squash the bleeding but also to keep me from freaking out when I saw the hole. Oops. Too late. But I didn’t freak. In the scheme of things what’s one little hole compared to a 2″ scar on your nipple??!!! I’ll take the hole.
It’s been a rough day. Did I mention my Homeowner’s Association is breathing down my neck? I got a certified letter today telling me I can’t rent out rooms in my house because it’s a single family dwelling and that if I stop renting they won’t pursue the matter further. NEWS FLASH- single family dwellings these days are defined as three unrelated people living together. That’s what I got. And don’t you people have anything better to do with your lives than scour Craigslist looking to ‘catch’ me? My Prepaid Legal lawyers are all over this one. As much as I’m irritated by their Nazi-like abuse of power, I do appreciate that the HOA actually took my mind off canser for the rest of the day. Thanks, guys. I spent all afternoon researching the laws and combing through my CC&Rs. I’m ready to walk- head high- into our annual homeowner’s meeting tomorrow night. That should be fun. NOT. I wonder if the person who complained will speak up if I’m present. Or will they be chickensh*t? Stay tuned….

Welcome To First Descents or My Week At Summer Camp

So this part sucks. I can’t find a pen and have to type! 4 women in a tiny cabin, no bath, all with varying thermal temps and everyone but me trying to sleep. I want to write. Damn! Where’s that pen?
The light tapping of keys sounds more like footsteps in this dark silence. I’m exhausted yet inspired to write. I came on FD so I could have just one time in my life where a trip was for me- not work, not family- and just languish in it. But then there’s the part of me that can’t help but document this experience. I’ll say it’s for Sage. So one day she’ll understand why I left her alone with Ryan for a week while I went whitewater kayaking in Montana.

A year ago today, I was sitting on the roof of Ryan’s car, watching the Park City fireworks and wondering what having cancer means to me. At that time I had no idea what stage I was, what my treatment would be, whether I would see my daughter grow up. I was numb. I watched the lights in the sky and blanked out. I told myself not to think about it because there was nothing I could do over the holiday. On July 5, however, the wheels burned rubber. Like a leopard focused on his prey, I pounced on this cancer thing. I stopped contemplating a future (or better stressing about one) to deal with the here and now. The summer swirled down the drain- flushed like bad poopy as Sage would say.

One year later, I’m here, I’m strong, I’m ‘surviving’ and I’m about to punish myself in freezing waters for five straight days in the woods. First Descents out of Boulder, Colo., is a non-profit org that puts on something like 15 adventure camps a year for cancer survivors. Idaho, Jackson, Washington, Colorado, Montana, Utah. Rugged places if you’re up for a challenge.

My only luxury is Internet. We have to walk 5 minutes to the showers and toilets. There’s no running water nearby and no TV. It reminds me of my eight grade retreat to Yosemite.

Just yesterday I was bombarded by high-tech gadgetry. I had an MRI yesterday. The experience sucked. That’s about right. Took two nurses, several shrieks and three tries to get the IV in. An hour and 40 minutes later, both boobs were scanned and I was dressed and out the revolving door. I won’t have the results until Tuesday or Wednesday; I see my doctor a week after that. Will I be back at square one, don’t pass GO, Don’t collect $200 or will I be able to relax and feel like I’ve poked my head out of the woods? In other words, will I have to repeat last summer or not?

In a way, this trip is my last week before the news. Like a deathrow inmate getting his last meal….Or it’s a celebration of the new – I can’t say ‘me’ because I’m the same me only a little less cocky and a lot less immortal- so I’ll say it will be my homecoming. My new year; my Cancerversary. Please let it be this and not the former! All of us here – at this First Descents Camp – have some form of cancer. No one talks about cancer here. Not yet anyway. Not on our first day. Maybe we never will. This is emotional therapy by way of the physical. We get to kick our butts on the river, feel strong and come home with skills. We don’t need to deal with cancer this week. We have better things to do.

One year ago today, I wondered how my life would look. Today, I’m still wondering. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be stuffed into a plastic torpedo, forced to roll it over and swim in water only penguins appreciate. I won’t have time to think about the good or the bad of my test results. I’ll only have time to “be”.

You don’t get those kinds of opportunities that often, Sage. So I’ll understand if you choose to do something completely selfish and extreme when you’re older. Do everything you can to squeeze life by the balls and make it scream in your face. You scream back, dammit! And for just that moment feel like you can control your fate.

A little about me…

I’ve known about Frank Garrish’s acting class for years but have always been hesitant to enroll. He’s scary- or so I’ve been told. He’ll make you cry. He doesn’t hold back. It’s not that I can’t take the criticism but I’m hardest on myself so when I hear from someone else that I’m not measuring up, I double that criticism and get discouraged. The last thing you want to be in acting is discouraged.
I’ve been at it for as long as I could control my own life. My parents refused to drive me to auditions or pick me up from play rehearsals so I had to wait. I combined my ability to write with my interests in media and – no- I did not become a screenwriter but a broadcast journalist. You know those people you see on TV telling you the news every night? I did that.- at KSPN in Aspen, Colo. and at KUTV in Salt Lake City. Then I was laid off. So I addressed another passion. Skiing. I joined Deer Valley’s Ski School and taught skiing to all ages and abilities. I have been skiing all my life- including a stint as a racer in college at UCLA. Came in 7th in slalom out of 36th. Not bad but my dad says if I don’t win, it’s not anything. See where I’m going with this? He poo poos acting too- If you don’t get a role, it’s not anything.
I absolutely love acting and the training of an actor. I have studied with practically everyone in Utah- Anne Sward, Geoff Hansen, Jeff Johnson, Catrine, Kate, Judy, Molly Benson and anyone else who sounds like they have something to offer. Not because I think they’re going to win me a roll but because I can practice with my peers, grow as an actor and ‘disappear’ for moments into others’ skin. If I make it past the audition and into a callback, bonus!
I’m SAG eligible. Got my card after five days as a featured extra on Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman. I had spent the summer in LA working for a talent agent at ICM (who’s now president of Warner Bros.) and did the stint on the Dr. Quinn set. I moved back to Utah and scored more roles – Promised Land, Touched, I was the soccer coach in Return to the Secret Garden and have three national infomercials to be (not so) proud of. I’ve done a handful of short films and if you asked what I dream of when it comes to acting it would be to star in a (good) independent that wins raves at Sundance. I have no desire to move back to LA. Ick. I have a strong freelance writing career, an adorable 3yo, a hot, loving boyfriend (her daddy), a great home in Park City and I ski 70 days a season. Why would I want to give that up?
To be honest, I want to nail more callbacks. I’m hoping Frank’s class will advance that goal. Please, Frank, don’t make me cry too much.
Update: Frank’s not so scary at all! We did some Meisnerish type things that got you out of your head, talked about acting technique and started to work a short scene we’ll do next week. As I was leaving he told me “You did good! And you listen, that’s important.” It felt like my dad had just told me he was proud of me.

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