Shayne's Domain

Movie "The Wronged Man"

Hello my friends.....thanks to all for bugging me, um, keeping me on my toes about this movie "The Wronged Man."  Can't seem to stay on top of things lately for some reason!

The original November 2009 release has now been pushed to January 2010.

"The Wronged Man" will premiere Saturday, January 16, 2010 at 8:00 PM ET on Lifetime.

While I'm always a bit iffy with how film stuff turns out, I am excited to see this finished product.  Lifetime is really changing up some of their content:  I'm pretty sure this will not be your typical Lifetime chick-flick.

ABOUT THE WRONGED MAN:

"Renowned actress Julia Ormond (Legends of the Fall, Sabrina) will headline The Wronged Man, an unforgettable story of justice and redemption.....Mahershalalhashbaz Ali (The 4400), Ormond’s The Curious Case of Benjamin Button co-star, also joins the cast as an African-American husband and father convicted of raping a young girl. The film is based on the true story of an unlikely friendship between paralegal Janet Gregory (Ormond) and Calvin Willis (Ali) as they fight to overturn his sentence and restore faith in the justice system....

Janet Gregory (Ormond), a single-mother with a haunting past, is a paralegal struggling to overcome doubts about Calvin Willis (Ali), an African-American husband and father wrongfully accused of raping a neighborhood girl. Eventually convinced of his innocence, Janet takes Calvin’s pro bono case and wages a dramatic and stormy 22-year battle with the justice system that ultimately redeems an unjustly accused man and cements a life-long friendship."

Oh yeah, I play Vicky Tanner, the lawyer that makes the case for Willis.  See?  I did actually get to be a lawyer and I didn't even have to go to law school for it after all! :)

Love to all...

The Extermination of Kindness. Yes! Let's just do away with it all!

Ok, so really, how has it come to be that we live in a society where kindness is a crime?  

Where compassion and common courtesy get you nowhere? 

A world in which genuine thoughtfulness is frowned upon, or even worse, taken advantage of.  

I don't want any part of that kind of society.

Yes, I'm in a pretty bitter place right now. And yes, yes, I know....it's good I'm writing about it. A good sign.

I don't have many moments of discouragement like this, but this is a fairly big one. And one that makes my heart very very sad.

And of course, you know I'll get over it in a couple days. The bitterness will dissipate.  

But man. Right now. It's. Just. Not. Right.

Weekend Wedding in Houston/The Labor Day Gang Explained

Wow.  What a wonderful weekend in Houston (and yes, Houston rose a few notches from its "Least Favorite City of Mine" due to the four days of GORGEOUS weather!).  I not only got to be a guest at the beautiful wedding of Clayton and Elizabeth, but also spent some great time with my family and I FINALLY got to see some of the Labor Day Gang!  The WHAT Gang?  For those that don't know this story, let me explain, 'cause it's pretty darn cool....

So once upon a time, a looooong time ago (hee!), my mom was a wee college lass at Texas Tech University.  It was there she met eight other fabulous women, and the whole lot of them became great friends.  Starting Labor Day Weekend, on the tail end of the summer of '73, they decided to plan a camping trip together - no children at this point, but a few husbands and significant others.  Well, fast-forward 36 years, and they're still  camping....(albeit, a few less tents and more trailers involved).

Of all nine women and their spouses, six still attend regularly.  There are sixteen children in all (yes, yes, once again I'm the oldest...), and now grandchildren are gracing the scenes.  There have been years when not everyone could make it - life has interrupted, parents have passed, children have had crises.  But there have always, always been folks there - even if just one member of a family could make it.  The family representative, so to speak.

I have grown up with these people, literally, my entire life.  I have more godparents than I can count.  I have had to miss many a Labor Day, but I always hear the Labor Day Scoop, and if I'm lucky, I'll get to see a family here and there during a holiday pass-thru, or a beautiful wedding such as this one.

I can't think of a more inspiring example of true friendship than this story.  I know that any one of these families could ask anything of each other.  Through differences and distances, their friendships have remained a priority.  I have seen these people laugh and cry together, argue and hug, pitch tents and throw horseshoes. 

So to them ALL, I say thank you.  What a delight to be there this past weekend.  And to those I didn't get to see, here's to hoping it won't be long!

To Elizabeth and Clayton:  Congratulations!  I wish you both the very best!

To my family - the Kohouts and ALL the Labor Day Gang:  I LOVE YOU!

Yearbook Yourself!

  HAAAAA!!!  This is so funny!  You gotta try this:  go to www.yearbookyourself.com and upload your photo to see what your yearbook picture might have looked like back in the day...You can pick any year from 1952 to 2000...Your new yearbook picture is added to your "Homeroom" and you can invite others to yearbook themselves...I am totally in the wrong decade!

Swallow Your Pride

In going through some old boxes and photographs, I came across some great pictures...and some not-so-great pictures.  Remember that awful snapshot someone took at just the wrong angle, where your somewhat likeable chin appeared more like a turkey's neck?  Or that old school photo taken on the very same day that you got your first gigantic zit?  Or bad perm?  How about that totally akward stage when you didn't really know how to smile naturally so it always looked like you were possessed by the devil?  Or the scary clothes?  Or the really bad sunburn?  Ahhh...these moments of humility captured forever on film.  Ya just gotta laugh...    

Uhhhhh...there's a big camera in front of me...what do I do now?

Oh dear God...what can I say?!?

I really don't want to be here in front of this stupid camera again...and I have to lean on a log??

Wow...nice bangs, nice Swatch, nice UNITS!!! (I'm pretty sure I owned the entire clothing line...)

There just really are no words...this was a bad year...a really bad year...(and here's that stupid log again...)

I'm from Texas and I think I'm just the shit...hey, don't touch my hair!

I Remember Well the Day

I just came across a really old book of "Songs" I wrote starting when I was about 12 or so.  I thought I had thrown out this book years ago, so it was fun to discover I still had it.  Finding stuff you wrote at that age is usually good for a laugh or two.  There was one song I thought I'd share, in light of the current wars.  I wrote this some time around April or May in 1991, right after my Dad came back from Desert Storm. I can still hear the tune I made up to go with it, even after all this time.  I'm no great writer (and no laughing! - I was only 15 at the time), but re-reading this brought back all the feelings I had about my Dad leaving.  I'm glad I found the book. 

I remember well the day
The sky was dark and gray
When you told us you'd be leaving for awhile.

You said you had been told
That soon you'd have to go
I nodded, trying hard to show a smile.

You were called to serve your country
And you stood up proud and tall
You knew that there were dangers
But you would never fall
I know that there are reasons
Although it's hard to say
Why people act the way they do
I just pray that they'd let God show them the way.

The time seemed to fly
And when you had to say good-bye
You were calm but I sensed fear within your eyes.

Months passed and you weren't here
To spread your love and cheer
How I wished that I could only realize

That you were called to serve your country
You stood up proud and tall
You knew that there were dangers
But you would never fall
I know that there are reasons
Although it's hard to say
Why people do the things they do
I just pray that they'd let God show them the way.

Finally one day you came
I thanked God right away
If only all families could have also done the same.

Myself

I was unpacking boxes last night and found all my old journals and diaries that I haven't cracked open since they were written in.  I spent a good two hours reading through old entries-- some funny, most very painful.  I found a journal I kept when I was 16 and on the verge of suicide.  The sad thing was that my depression wasn't displayed in just that one journal, but in every journal I had kept since then-- a major, recurring theme, the motif of my life.  I sat and cried over the pain I had felt-- pain that overwhelmed and suffocated me for so many years.  Then I cried because I don't feel that kind of hurt anymore-- not that deep, cutting hurt.  Thank God.  Thank God.

I also came across a favorite poem of mine and thought I'd share it.  I'm not sure who the author is, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.

Myself
I have to live with myself, and so,
I want to be fit for myself to know.
I want to be able, as days go by,
Always to look myself straight in the eye.
I don't want to go out with the setting sun
And hate myself for the things I've done.
I want to go out with my head erect,
I want to deserve all men's respect.
For here in the struggle for fame and self,
I want to be able to like myself.
I don't want to look at myself and know
I'm a bluster, a bluff, an empty snow.
I never can hide myself from me -
I see what others can never see.
I know what others may never know.
I never can fool myself, and so,
Whatever happens, I want to be
Self-respecting and conscience free.

Playing Catch

We found two old gloves and a baseball in his sister's garage.  We shook off the cobwebs and gave each other mischievous, child-like looks.

I was pretty rusty and scared of the ball.  I didn't used to be scared.  Shad was an old pro, a natural (maybe just a little out of shape).  It didn't take us long to warm up, though.  Back and forth, feeling a release with each throw, settling into a nice rhythm.

Suddenly, I am thirteen again, standing in the empty lot across the street from our old house.  I'm feeling strong and proud of my arm.  I don't throw like a girl (at least I don't think I do).  My glove is blue and broken-in and fits me just right.  I'm getting better and better at catching the fly balls.  And I'm really getting a handle on those grounders.  My Dad throws a mean grounder.  He's the perfect playing catch partner-- my Dad.  We play for hours, until it's impossible to see the ball in the dark anymore.  We call it quits and I can't wait for the next nice day, the next camping trip, the next empty lot.  To hear him cheering me on, laughing at my natural clumsiness, giving me pointers.  To feel that priceless joy of playing catch with my Dad.

I throw the ball back to Shad, smiling, thanking God for my Dad, for the memories, for my new throwing partner.  I'm still a little rusty, but I'll find the rhythm again.  You taught me well, Dad.

Ode To A Bed

It occurred to me, as I was tossing and turning over God only knows what last night, that I have been listening to the same horrible creaking sounds of my bed since...Jr. High??  Surely it hasn't been THAT long. Wait a minute, hmmmm, let's see.....yes, yes I have had the same twin-sized scratched-up wooden daybed, complete with the same mattress AND bedding, since Jr. High.  I am almost thirty.  This is both somewhat intriguing and mildly distressing.

I think the fact that I even noticed I've had the same bed for 148 years means I must be growing up.  I mean, I've never really thought twice about it.  I had other, seriously more important things to worry about, like how big I could make my shoe collection and how many meals I could get out of a can of refried beans (about 3, if you're curious).

Well, I think I've turned a corner.  I think I'm ready to move on to a bigger bed.  But wait, that would mean giving up my old bed...a bed that's seen me through thick and thin, happy and sad.  A bed I can put together by myself, in the dark, with my eyes closed.  A bed that's been my couch, kitchen table, clothes dryer, exercise bench, hide-out, storage unit, punching bag.  A bed that has only one side to get out on, so that I always wake up on the wrong side.  A bed that's big enough for only ME.

That's a lot to give up.  But I think I'm up to the task.  My stuffed animals could use some more room to stretch out.

Call of the Wild

The following is a true story:

It's an ordinary Tuesday night. I go to Bob's to check on the cat. I haven't been by in three days, but Rani has one of those self-feeding cat bowls. She could probably go a month unattended. I can't wait to just watch a movie and enjoy a quiet Tuesday evening.

Wow- Rani's bowl is empty. She must have been REALLY hungry. Poor Rani! Where is she, anyways? Probably just hiding out, like usual.

Awww, what a great movie. I think I used three boxes of Kleenex. Hey, what was that noise?  Guess Rani's upstairs playing around. Well, I'm worn out. Anyone who can watch The Notebook and not cry buckets has no heart. I go upstairs into the bedroom. Rani's knocked the phone off the nightstand. Huh- that's a little unusual. I go into the bathroom. She's knocked over everything in there, too. And what's this? She tried to eat the soap?! I feel guilty for not stopping by sooner -- WHAT in the hell is that noise?? A baby crying? A cat dying? Sounds pretty close. I walk out of the bedroom and into the hall. My God, what is that smell?!? I stop in the guest bathroom. More chewed up soap-- and is that pee on the rug? I head to the end of the hall. The sound's definitely coming from the guest bedroom. I push open the already halfway-open door and turn on the light. No freakin' way. Two raccoons. On the bed. Mating. I'm gonna throw up. The small one bares its teeth at me and HISSES. Shit. He lunges at me. SHIT. What do I do? I still have my shoes on. I kick him and slam the door. I run back down the hall and pick up the phone. Who do I call? The police? I call Shad. I'm hysterical. He calls Animal Control for me and talks me down the stairs and out of the house. I wait in my car for someone to rescue me. You have got to be kidding me. Did I just see two raccoons having sex? On a BED?! I'm scarred for life.

Someone pulls up. They're finally here, thank God. It must be at least midnight. Two women, (who might have once been men), step out. They are obviously skeptical. "Where's the cat, ma'am?" This ain't no cat, lady. They go upstairs, into the tainted room. Whoa- there's a whole lot of cursing and banging around going on in there. Ten minutes go by. Out they come, no longer smug, with two exremely pissed off raccoons in tow. "We got 'em, ma'am. They shit all over the room, but we got 'em." So you'll take them outside and come back to clean up? "Nope, sorry. That ain't our job." Great. Well, thanks anyway. They leave. I can't breathe, the stench is overwhelming. I'm going home. I'm going to have nightmares for weeks.

Moral of the story: Don't ever walk in on raccoons having sex.  You will be horribly traumatized.

Poor, poor Rani.