I went to Paris abrasive-ly resistant to spending time in a country I was taught to hate. I left a beret-wearing Francophile shouting “Viva La France” at random intervals. The reason for the change was finding that France is a magical place where ordinary rules do not apply.

Here are the top ten things that make Paris a mystical wonderland:
11-Butter is not fattening.
10-Public pools have co-ed bathrooms and showers where no one is sexually harassed.
9-Bread, cheese and wine have their own places in the food pyramid.
8-The most one waits for a subway is not at all to thirty seconds on a normal day, and four minutes on a bad day.
7-The best thing to drink after a morning run is a coffee.
6- It is not necessary to tell people to turn off their cell phones before a movie.
5- Muscle relaxers are over-the-counter drugs.
4- Buying new clothes is not necessary when there are one-hundred years of the finest fabrics and designs at your disposal at a bevy of decently priced vintage houses throughout the city.
3- A forty-something woman can dance on the bar in a chain-link mesh shirt and still be the hottest thing in the club.
2- A photo of a topless women does not make a movie or an advertisement or a television show or a piece of art pornographic.
1- You can have two kids and a husband and still find yourself in a lesbian bar on New Years Eve.

Matt Wells at the BBC wanted to know more about how I changed my NY accent. Here is the link of the segment that recently aired.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9334000/9334355.stm

Actor Patel is more than a person. More than an actor, really. He is an experience. He is the kind of guy to blast Hindi music at seven in the morning, break out in dance and song for no apparent reason and incessantly take pictures of nothing at all. I tried to video him to give all my readers a taste of what he is like, but he froze because he was speaking to a camera and not to his audience, which is really anybody and everybody who is surrounding him.

Actor Patel (who really calls himself Actor Patel — we call him “Actor” for short) played a character in the movie I was shooting in India. He was not staying at Vijay Vilas, the lovely beach resort where most of the actors were, and was instead was sucking it up as a shabby joint. At dinner the second night Actor told me how he has not been sleeping well. Beore I could stop myself an offer to take up a bunk in Grant’s, a fellow actor’s, room, flew out of my mouth. Grant almost threw a fork in my direction. That night Grant, the poor guy, was only able to get to sleep with the help of an Ambien, a blasting IPod and a pillow over his head. That was after Actor Patel made him partake in a photo shoot that included a lap top as a prop.

The next morning the cast discovered something very important about Actor: you can tell him to shut up. At breakfast he started going on a ramble that was half Gujrati, part Hindi and somewhat English (note: people who speak all of these languages fluently find him hard to follow because most of it is muttered) and Zenobia, who played his boss in the movie (character traits sometime follow you off screen) turned to him and said “Chotu [his name in the movie], be quiet!” And, miraculously he did. That was because he has a heart of gold and about the size of a football field. You can poke fun of him and he doesn’t mind — a long as he knows that you are his friend.


This is not to say that at our discovery that he is a sweet guy Actor stopped being irritating. The offers for life insurance (he sells it as a side gig — a dollar a day if you are under thirty!), puns that make no sense and a constant plee for attention all grated on our nerves. But, because he is a good person he was able to, as Grant put it, “worm his way into our hearts and infest our brains”. When filming was over Actor had to visit family somewhere else in Gujarat (however, Actor currently resides in New Jersey and is available for performance bookings all over the tri-state area which you can read about on his Facebook page) so was the first to leave. The remaining cast and crew spent a day at Vijay Vilas resort without him and the experience was not quite the same (although more peaceful). Actor told me before he left: “I am like a perfume — sometimes too strong, but when it fades out you miss it.” Yeah, we missed him.

Living in India was the first time that I had no one around telling me what to do/who to be. After college I rebelled from a conservative Republican family by moving to San Francisco. The problem with the Bay Area is that everyone agrees with each other, so there is a lack of critical thinking and serious passion. I went to India and learned something that the liberal mafia nor Howard Beach Italians would never let me admit: it is OK to manipulate the system to get what you want. Here is an old blog post from that time when I was finally was able to put on a corset and get out on the runway. Posted in post-fashion week enthusiasm.

“A friend-of-a-friend in Calcutta is a designer who got into Indian fashion week for the 1st time. Friends of theirs were going there to help out so I tagged along. I was essentially an errand boy for them and did stuff like hang up clothes and get people breakfast, but in exchange got to wear designer clothes all week, see tons of runway shows that most people just watch on F-TV(India’s 24 hour fashion network that shows mostly runway shows) and go to lots of parties with the “beautiful people” of Bombay. You’d think that I would be disgusted by the whole ensemble of starved models, sleazy agents, uptight designers and pathetic flunkeys, but by the end of my 1st runway show I was sold on the Bombay fashion industry. 1) Bombay is by far the best city in India 2) runway shows are a performance of sorts. Like drag people are performing gender. and 3) the schmoozing is so ridiculous that you cant help but see it too as a performance. Everyone is running around kissing each other’s ass and trying to move up the ladder, and you need good acting skills to pull it off. Its all just pretend for business purposes and the best actor wins!”

About a month ago I received a phone call from a nice journalist with a beautiful deep voice named Sam Roberts. You lost your NY accent, so what’s deal? My voice teacher Lynn Singer had referred him to me. He wanted to know more about my journey from “wuawta” to “water”.

Later that day a video journalist named Erik Olsen called me from the Times office. A video complement to the story was what he was after. Two days later we met for two hours, I said a few words and I left hoping that at least if they have some video footage they won’t cut me out of the article.

Then the Times staff photographer called to get a photo. The entire ordeal took ten minutes. We met on a street corner and a few snaps later he walked off satisfied. Um, or maybe I exasperated him and he was hiding it?

We waited and waited and waited. Maybe the story got dropped? Two long weeks later the story hit the web edition and that Sunday made it to the front page of the Metropolitan section.

The response was massive. What struck me was how many people had very personal reactions to the concept of loosing ones accent. Some called is classism, others necessary. Over six hundred people commented on the Times website and tons of blogs covered the story. Even French publication put the concept up for debate. And after we renamed their delicacy a Freedom Fry, that is saying something.

I’ve got a lot to say in response. I’ve been burning to write some thangs on the web, but I was invited to speak about them in person. On December 14th you can join me live at Chelsea Studios for a panel discussion — Accents: Identity or Roadblock? Join Lynn Singer, Kevin Urban and a host of other special guests from various fields. They will be filming it for out-of-town folks, so watch out for YouTube action!

151 West 26th Street, 5th floor, 7pm

The article and video: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/21/nyregion/21accent.html?pagewanted=all

Orange juice and Odwalla drunk continuously throughout the day equals a continuous sugar high.

But a pleasant one. Not as tenuous as the energy fluctuations given by drinking maple syrup.

Besides sugary juices, today I was able to eat soup. For lunch I had miso soup. Dinner consisted of potatoe and calliflower soup, which contained a smidge of butter. I could taste the thickness of the butter; it felt heavy swimming in my stomach. Solid food still seems elusive. My co-actor sat next to me eating a Coconut Bliss sundae and I wanted to simultaneously punch him and sit two inches from his face to understand the mechanics.

It was remarkable how eating food has made me feel more grounded. Who knew that starvation could make one feel sick? My brain is closer to the earth than it has been in days. We’ve been in rehearsals for most of the day and I have been able to focus. A miracle! I will be able to look like an anorexic model and give a good performance. Objective met.

Today I watched “Things You Can Tell Just by Looking at Her” with Calista Kay Flockhar (Alley McBeal). She looked like Skelator from Thundercats. In no way was it necessary for her character to be so thin. It was angering: There is no way this woman eats! Who finds this attractive? Does she realize what she is doing for the standard weight perception for women on the screen and in the audience?

But, then what the hell am I doing by undergoing this fast? Indulging myself in this culture of eating disorders and misogeny? Subconsciously, am I really doing this because I think people will like me better as an actress if I am thin?

I’m trying to steer my brain clear of that negative spiral. I keep reminding myself that the Master Cleanse and the subsequent weight loss is for a role. To be believable as a particular character. If I did not do everything possible to inhabit the character I would have felt like I cheated the director.

Previous to starting this cleanse, my weight was fine. When I gain the weight back I will again be at a fine poundage. Part of me doesn’t want to add any additional pounds. My mind wanders in the if-I-could-be-this-thin-forever-what-opportunities-would-that-bring-me-? direction and I gently bring it back to reality. Luckily for my stomach, when I arrive home my family will have ample opportunities during the holidays to remind me that yes, I like food and no, I should not be concerned about my weight….So just shut up already and eat your goddamned antipasta and turkey!

My character in “Bittersweet Monday” has an issue with food. She keeps herself thin, but the constant refusal and repression of hunger causes her anxiety that is damaging to her relationship with her husband. It is my intention to show through my choices on screen that this is a character flaw that is not something to emulate, but to be wary. And I hope to keep that lesson in my mind as I move forward.

This was the last day of the lemonade diet portion of the Master Cleanse.

I’m ending this phase a few days earlier than recommended – seven days. If I show up to film on Monday in my current condition I will not make it through a long day and remember most of my lines. I feel good, but I don’t have stamina. Every evening I go to sleep early and in the afternoon I catch naps. Not the right conditions to withstand twelve-hour days.

Also, my brain is starting to get funny. And fuzzy. In Andrea Beaman’s book “The Whole Truth”, she talks about how eating sugars (the low-glycemic kind, which do not include refined sugar) is actually good for one’s brain function. Sugar is supposed to help your mind. However, I’m drinking copious amount of maple syrup in my lemon drink every day. I’m sustaining myself on sugar. Although the raw materials have a lower glycemic index than refined sugars, I get an inevitable high from drinking my concoction. My brain then starts to darts around at warp speed. Suddenly, I’m thinking about everything and nothing at once. I’m in the middle of a conversation and my mind slips off the rails. “What-cha-ma-call-it…Um…Yeah…What was I saying?……………..Oh, yeeeaaaahhhhh!”

I now have the attention span of a five-year-old. It takes me double the time to read a single page of a novel. If I try to accomplish a task I get sidetracked very easily. This is not normal.

I want my brain back!

I can’t wait to eat substantial food. I’m going to savor every morsel of vegetable, grain and meat that comes into my mouth. For the last two days every time someone takes a bite of food in front of me I try to imagine what that must feel like.

Oh, the

texture!

flavor!

smell!

Pre-cleanse I had the horrible habit of eating very fast. Post-cleanse I’m swearing it will be different. Food is too amazing not to get the experience of every aspect of your glorious meal.

I say this now when I’m damn hungry. I hope it sticks when for the first time in a week a plate of food is placed in front of me. I may bury my face inside it first.

Tomorrow is Phase-Out Day 1 — which is orange juice and soup. One more step to making my food fantasies a real-life fiesta in my mouth.

Today I learned that: “If you you need something, open your goddamned mouth and ask for it!”

Breakfast convened with a bit more substance. Food continues to make me stronger. We shot a scene near our home base and then made a company move to another location. Before leaving I didn’t think about not having orange juice and other Phase-Out survival foods nearby. For the full hour between arrival on the new set and the commencement of shooting I contemplating bringing my situation to a crew member’s attention. However, I didn’t want to be perceived as pushy, demanding or a diva, so I said nothing. I was having a case of “girl disease,” a condition aptly named by my friends Bitch and Billie Cavallero. Potential suffering is better than being pushy.

Lunch orders were called into a restaurant. The PA rushes into the room and says that they don’t have the soup I requested, which was the only hardy soup I could eat on the menu. The only other choice was miso soup, which I had eaten about five cups of during the last 48 hours. Once she left I realized that I should probably order something to supplement clear liquid with a few pieces of mushrooms, seaweed and tofu. When I walked outside she had already gone to pick up the food. The crew was about finished lighting so I walked back to my place. And I said nothing. I don’t want to delay production. I’ll be fine.

After lunch I chewed some gum after lunch to help ward off the dissatisfaction. And continued to say nothing. This gum will fill me up!

The afternoon goes on and my blood sugar level drops. I’m starting to get that murderous feeling again. I find a fizzy fruit drink in the fridge. This helps me for about an hour. We only had another hour left at this location before going back to home base where I would have a full selection of juice options. But an hour turned into two. I got more light-headed. But I said nothing. I can suck it up, we’ll be home before I know it.

Now we’re in the car on the way back to the final location. The 2nd AD said, “We might not be able to stop by the house before heading over.” I blurted out, “I am going to die.” He looks over at my fading color and pained expression and understands that I’m not joking. I backpedal: “I’m OK, let’s just stop to get juice when it is convenient for everyone.” We hit traffic. Several people in the backseat offer to run out of the car at a red light and get me juice. “No, no…I’ll be fine. Let’s just get there.” We slowly weave through the cars to get to the last location of the day. I continue to say nothing and get more and more sick to my stomach. I’m about to loose it, start crying about being tortured (by myself) when the 2nd AD looks over and says, “I’m pulling into Walgreens.” I run in and get a Naked Juice. After three sips I’m a new woman. I start to tell the 2nd that I’ve needed sustenance all day and he says point-blank, “You should have said something.” And I will next time.

Today was I felt a lot more sane and energetic. I switched to maple syrup from molasses, which might have done it. Or maybe I got rid of toxic substances and so feel better? Honestly, I can not tell the difference.

One more day and then salvation.