Behind the Scene Clip from Madame's Dish

Behind the Scene Clip from Madame's Dish...

Madame Shoot Day 1

We are thrilled to be filming a new pilot with a puppet named Madame! Some of you may remember her from Solid Gold, Laugh In or the Hollywood Squares - well....she is back and she is back with the same quick and sometimes naughty humor. We are working with an original puppet - she is amazing and I must say that her mate Joe was spectacular!!!!!! Filming was awesome, today went off without a hitch and we actually finished early! I am dog tired and my belly hurts from laughing.

Here are a few "behind the scenes" pics - more to come tomorrow....


Madame, Joe and Greg


David plays the "Winehouse" as Madame sings a tune.


Joe just off the plane....


Zach and I kept snickering....


Look close and you can see Eddie, Steve and Jenn.


Snack Time


Madame and Joe.

A New Season.

It's been hotly debated, but scientists have the final say- whether we remember them or not is one issue, but we all dream nonetheless. As night lulls us into peaceful slumber, our minds, whether we want them to or not, give way to the things of our hearts. It's just a matter of whether we remember them or not.


We dream nonetheless.


We were born to dream.


I’ve always dreamed of being in the thick of the action- stitching wounds underneath a tent, landing on an unknown land with a team of people, travelling places, seeing sights, never knowing what to expect... taking twists and turns, unexpectedly, unpredictably, going on a God-scale adventure, running, flying, fighting, battling, being a part of the epic adventure which takes place not only in real life, but in the very battlefield of one's heart, too.


When you’re discouraged, however, one of the most important things which hit you is how your inadequacy affects you, affects your dreams. It makes you doubt yourself, your abilities. Very often, it makes you feel like a lesser person, someone with something to hide, someone who ought to be ashamed. I often notice patients covering their amputated leg, wound or bandage with a blanket, in fear and shame. Are there parts of you you wish no one would ever find out about, too?


Dreams come in rainbow-colours, and the deep dark voices which echo our inadequacies are like the darkness of the grey skies which taint their techni-coloured hues.

The deep dark voices resounding from within ourselves always threaten to shatter our dreams into a million little pieces. In our darkest moments, it is these voices which threaten to break our hopes, our dreams, our faith in ourselves. They are the voices which keep us tossing and turning at night, that hold our minds hostage and wide awake, capture our hearts as prisoners-of-war, and keep us from dreaming. You can't dream with your eyes wide open, can you?


Being a medical missionary means being able to cope with crises, being able to withstand stress and hardships, being able to be emotionally and mentally strong in spite of loneliness, being able to watch death and listen to grief, being totally independent and yet completely dependent on one's community and wholeheartedly yielded to God. It is my rainbow-coloured dream. Ever so once in a while, however, when grey skies swell with heaviness and evil, dark voices creep up to steal the sunshine-You will never be adequate for this sort of thing. This dream is too big for you. Too big, and too bright.

So one evening, as I tried to confirm my plans for another mission trip overseas during my short vacation, a doctor called me, “Wai Jia, I know a team going up to Sichuan, China to help out in the post-earthquake situation. Has it ever crossed your mind to go there? Nothing stressful happened to you in the past year, I hope?”

I hardly slept a wink that night. Tossing and turning in my bed, deep dark thoughts tormented me. "Nothing stressful happened to you in the past year I hope?" Now, what did that mean? Have my experiences in the past year made me less adequate, less able, less equipped to follow my dreams? Does the arc of my rainbow end in a grey cloud?

Wide awake, a rainbow-coloured dream was locked within the darkened walls of a pulsing heart. Desperate and vexed, I got up to pray.

For the people and rescue teams in China, for the starving children in Burma, for me to listen to what God had to say about this. Many people ask me what God's voice sounds like. How can you hear a voice from someone you can't even see?



You establish a relationship with Him, that's how you know.



When I opened my eyes, I was scared as scared could be. Even when I was in Nepal, just minutes away from bomb blasts near the orphanage, I was never half as scared. When I opened my eyes, and got up from my knees, Fear gripped me like a vice.


For I heard God say to Go, to step out in faith to Go, follow my heart to walk on the rim of a rainbow arc dangling a thousand feet in the air to Go. I froze. There, squatting at the foot of my bed and hugging my knees, I froze in fear.

What do you mean, God. I'm not... adequate. Besides, this is an earthquake, there're still aftershocks...

What would my parents think. What would my doctors say. That I was crazy, irresponsible, or worse... not enough for this?


I dare not tell a soul about that dream that was pulsing from deep within me. Deep dark voices from within smothered my dream like an angry cloud, and suffocated it. Alone in the living room, I would finger the newspapers and read the gruesome, heartwrenching stories of the people of China, and Burma. Eyes wide open, I lay in bed, writhing. On my knees, I finally said- Okay God, if this is really You talking to me, then talk to my parents and doctors and church leaders- because if you're Big enough to prompt me to go to Sichuan on a medical relief trip, I know you're Big enough to make the way there, too.


The following evening, I asked with anxiety, half-dread and trepidation, "Dad, mum. What do you think?"

I nearly died when they said without hesitation, and with much enthusiasm- " Sure! Go, Jia- they really need help there! Isn't this the kind of thing that makes you happy? We'd love for you to go- it's a great opportunity. "


That night, I slept early, but awoke at 3am, 4am, 5am and 6am in the morning. My mind was ticking -Now what would the therapists say?

It scared me that my parents were, for once, so instantly supportive. But it scared me even more to think what the Professional People I'd been seeing would say.

Would they tell me, gravely and resolutely, that I wasn't well enough, wasn't adequate at this point in time for this sort of thing? That it would be too traumatic, too much for someone like myself to take? After all, it is a crisis relief trip. There would be trauma, death, grief, infection, counselling, desperation... All of that.

As I sat in the room with bated breath, tears welled up in my eyes when I heard-


- “Whatever made you think you aren’t well enough to go?" They laughed out loud, "Look at the progress you’ve made! What're you afraid of?"


Pause. "That I won't be... adequate. That I might be... well, you know me... that I might be... too saddened by the situation there... break down, you know," I said in a quiet whisper, and looked away.

" If you’re worried about breaking down there, then well, I’ve got to tell you- which normal person wouldn't!" Miss B laughed out loud. " What’s important now is that you prepare yourself mentally, physically and emotionally. Don't be afraid to feel. This is part of who you are, embrace it! In an earthquake relief setting like that, nobody is going to be adequate. "

The Professional People looked at me and smiled, "You've come a long way- you've our full blessings to Go."


They laughed out loud. And I laughed too, albeit nervously, more quietly, not quite believing my ears.


“Every one of those doctors in that team will carry some form of emotional baggage with them. Nobody will be adequate for something on a scale like this, Wai Jia. And I think you’ve been doing well."



And it made me realize, that each and every one of us has a hidden inadequacy, a burden we carry, a voice which tells us how inadequate we are. But what matters the most is how we carry those burdens, or better still, how we release them by confessing our inadequacies, humbly and truthfully to one another. When we do, our burdens are halved, shared, our humility is doubled, and we become more whole, hale, healthy. Humble, too. We all have inadequacies, and while it's one thing to be humble enough to accept it and learn to overcome it, it's also another to learn how to embrace it.

Being emotional means having to tolerate people's disdain sometimes, and one must be humble enough to admit its pitfalls. But it is also what makes one more human, more empathetic, more attractive in certain ways. Inadequacies can be crippling, but they can also be beautiful and advantageous if we embrace them in the right ways.

I wouldn't be half the person I am if you took away that part of me. It has caused me distress, hurt and put in my way many challenges, but it has also opened the hearts of Strangers to me, opened up roads to places where I'd never dreamed I would be, put to flight many a kitesong birthed within my heart, to be the kind of missionary doctor I dream of being.


When we acknowledge our inadequacies, the million little pieces of broken faraway dreams, previously shattered by deep dark voices, join together like colours in a swirling palette.



For those of you struggling with your own dark voices, know that you have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing that can stand between you and your rainbow-coloured dream if you choose to confront your fears humbly and truthfully. You can choose God and healing if you step out to make that choice- because there are always people out there who wish to help. Know that you have the power not to let it take your dreams away. Know that with faith and God's grace, all things are possible. You are not an inadequacy, not an illness, and it is not a part of you. Rather, it is apart from you, and though it a long and challenging process, you can choose to make that separation.



To my parents, friends, church leaders and many loved ones who have given me their fullest support, Thank you all so much, for your faith in me, my dreams and who I am.

This means so much to me.


This is what my dreams are made of- adventure, God, people and medicine.


Thank you Mum and thank you Dad, for loving me and supporting my dreams. I cannot thank you enough for releasing me to where my heart belongs.




So this is it. If all goes well, I leave for Sichuan with a medical team in less than two weeks. We will be bringing in medical supplies, medical help, providing post-trauma counselling and staying in tents.



Thank you all for walking with me on this journey of darkness and light. Remember the four seasons I talked about? Winter, that season which seemed like it would never end, has finally ended and a New Season has arrived. Delay and waiting are a part of God's dealings. It is always worthwhile to wait on God and for His timing.


Did you know, I saw two half-rainbows in the sky this week. My mother was with me when we saw them.


Winter is ending, and Spring is near. I can finally lay my watering-can down, close my eyes and dream rainbow-coloured dreams by the sinuous roots of a glowing tree trunk, freshly planted in a crater of soil.


New dreams are awakening.



It is a New Season. Spring, oh Spring, is finally here.

Photo by Xi

Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves is heard in our land.

- Song of Solomon 2:12

Nayantara Looks Sizzing Hot in Black Tight Top

Hot Item girl in Homam

Shooting a pilot with a mini diva!

So.....today I have been making "mini" aprons for a pilot we are shooting this weekend. And when I say mini...I mean mini! - they are only about 10" tall. The crazy part is that the aprons are for the "star" of the show - yes it is true, the star of the show fits a 10" apron.

This little lady will be gossiping with the stars, eating at the hottest restaurants in Los Angeles and making her own concoctions and recipes in her kitchen.

This is her "Hot & Spicy" apron for making grilled veggies.

Here is her Sushi making apron.

This one is for her Blended Fruit Cocktails.

This one is for her "Perez Hilton" fan club...she was actually just featured on Perez and TMZ!

Any guesses as to who she is????

Vida Guerra And Her Sexy Butts At The Maxim Party

Lumpectomy.

Lumpectomy is a common surgical procedure designed to remove a discrete lump, usually a tumor, benign or otherwise, from an affected man or woman's breast. As the tissue removed is generally quite limited and the procedure relatively non-invasive, compared to a mastectomy, a lumpectomy is considered a viable means of "breast conservation" or "breast preservation" surgery with all the attendant physical and emotional advantages of such an approach.


Today, as chance would have it, a surgeon called me into the operating theatre for the treasured opportunity to assist in a surgery which involved removing a breast lump from a patient.

"Benign?" I asked.

"Nope, malignant. This'll save her life."



There was yellow fat sliced away, red blood spurting, and the smell of burning flesh. Surgery is, in its essence, a brutal event. When the evil mass had finally been excavated from the soil of human flesh, the wound gaped open in bloody agony. It seemed an impossible mess to stitch. Yet, very skillfully, the hole was sewn, sealed and plastered over. Neatly, impeccably, beautifully, with the rest of the breast still largely intact.

In the past, most doctors recommended masectomies, where the entire breast was removed, compared to lumpectomies, procedures requiring far more skill and time where the rest of the breast still remains largely intact.

As I watched the surgery and thought about the woman I had met just days ago, I wondered, if perhaps our fears of completely losing such an intimate part of ourselves prevented us from seeking help, and compelled us to live behind the curtain of shame and dread forever.

It may surprise most to know, however, that if one chooses to nip the problem in the bud early on, one has a good chance of requiring a lumpectomy only, and not a complete removal of the breast. The surgeons just need to take away what's bad, but they leave behind what is good.

How the surgeon burnt and excised the tumour reminded me of the way the therapists carved away the cancerous roots of my intimate illness. Skillfully and neatly, and still, leaving behind what was good. I think many people are afraid of losing themselves in the process of seeking help professionally, but the truth is, they only cut away what kills you.

Going under the knife can be scary. Largely naked on the cold, cold operating table, with nothing but a paper-thin gown and some sterile sheets covering you, with possibly your breast exposed and a host of busy staff crowding round you, it is a vulnerable place to be in. It may hurt, and it can sometimes be a messy, even brutal process, but the wound and scar heals, and when the surgery is over, you find not only your breast still largely intact, but your life saved.

You can fight tooth and nail to resist help, as many do, but the more you let go and the more you trust, the more they can step in and get the job done- and done well, too. Going under the knife means completely letting go, allowing someone else to take over. Most people who are ill continue to cling onto control, and until that control is completely handed over, the root of the illness can never be fully removed.

And the surprising thing is- the more you let go, the more you are given in return. They took away my old sources of pride, took away my old sources of control and sustenance, took away my old coping mechanisms, forbade me to eat and exercise the way Ed wanted me to... It was a complete surrender, a complete giving up of control. Yet, at the end, I realised, that all the good parts were returned to me... and more. The joy of eating, the joy of running, the joy of being comfortable with oneself, and the joy of finally... living.


They removed the lump, and left most of the breast largely intact, saving the patient's breast, and life, and most importantly, giving her a new lease of life, with nothing but a fading scar for nostalgic remembrance.


After a few gruelling hours, the surgeon heaved a sigh of relief.


"There, it's done. This'll save her life."

Recycled Record & Rock and Roll Projects

Take a sneak peek at the paper folded cd covers project!

Creative Juice - Episode # 202 - Record Mania

Pull those old records off the shelf, and let's rock! Cathie Filian and Steve Piacenza are tackling some fun music-inspired crafts, including a groovy room divider made from old LPs; a vintage-looking faded rock T-shirt; photo scrapbooks made from nostalgic record sleeves; and customized CD covers that put a new spin on record mania.

Record Album Room Divider

Bleached Pen Rocker Shirts

Paper CD Cover

Record Album Scrapbook

Visit the Record Mania page at cathieandsteve.com

Riya Sen Sexy Cleavage Peek at a Event

Victoria Secret supermodel Marissa Miller at Maxim Party.

Here are some pics of Victoria Secret supermodel Marissa Miller at the Maxim Party.You could almost see the cleavage of her butts under that short ass skirt.

Masectomy.

I had never in my life seen anything like that before.

Large, angry, and sinister-looking, it was a textured canvas screaming with colour, red and bleeding from ulcerations and yellow with pus. It was smooth but full of nodules, like a cobblestone floor, and its edges gripped its sides like an angry, angry spider. Most of all, what shocked me was how large it was, how big it had become. It had grown to the size of your entire hand, fingers included, and I believe, it bled every single day.

A breast tumour gone wild.

The elderly lady whom it belonged to was admitted because of the massive blood loss from it one morning which knocked her out. And the saddest thing was, it had become irredeemable. It had infiltrated so deeply and grown so large that any attempt to excise it would pose a serious danger to her life.

So when I was presented to the patient for my test, to take her medical history down and perform a clinical examination for her, I was, to say the least, a little traumatised. Every single day we face suffering ( "Aiya, give me an injection so I can die!" says the old lady with a serious chest infection), grief ("Sayang (my love), look- they cut off my leg till my knee... Oh Allah..."), and bewilderment ( "I know it's deadly but I didn't want surgery because I want to keep my breast.")

Sometimes, it can be too much to take. That day, after seeing some ten patients, one after another with serious illnesses and sad Stories, I went home to cry. Just when I thought enough was enough for a day, a neighbour stopped me before I walked into my home, "Hey, you're a medical student, aren't you? I've been wanting to talk to you. My wife passed away two weeks ago from an alcoholic seizure... Our whole family, she and my two sons, were holidaying in Disneyland in Tokyo when she got a fit... The helicopters had to come get her, our Disneyland holiday turned into a two-week stay at the hospital, and we had to cremate her there."

What was I supposed to say. I'm so sorry to hear that, I said. I'm so sorry and will keep your family in prayer. I cried for over an hour that night.

It's often said that doctors are often not sympathetic enough, and I now understand why. With this much disease, suffering and sorrow on a day-to-day basis, one cannot afford to be entangled and suffocated by the evil griefs of this world. There is a balance to keep, and our fancy medical jargon and metallic technical speech helps to prevent us from taking the risky foray into the real whirlpool every patient faces.


I looked into her eyes and wondered about the nature of her whirlpool, how far its ripples travelled, where they ended. What was her Story? It had grown on her for four years, like a heavy, growing burden eating away at her chest. I looked at the monstrous evil that the tumour had become and wondered why it was not removed sooner- it could have been easily excised earlier on. "They told me from the start that I had it, but I wanted to keep my breast. It's a painless tumour, anyway."

Painless, so she kept it till it was overgrown with mutated cancer cells and hard, nodular tissue, swelling with pus and spilling blood.

There was a faraway look in her eyes. There was no pain, so she kept it. Ah, the Gift of pain.

And I didn't question her about it. I wasn't even that bewildered, really. That breast, the one with the fungating tumour and ulcers bleeding so badly that she passed out one morning from losing so much blood from it, was the same one which saw her through adolescence, marriage, menopause. That breast- one of the curves her husband fell in love with, and looked upon with wonder and gratitude through their marriage, was the same one which nourished each of her four children. They told her it would save her life if she cut if off, and I wondered if perhaps she thought part of her life would be cut off, taken away from her forever, thrown away in a surgical towel and incinerated, if she allowed them to do so.

I didn't question her about it.

And after my test, still slightly in shock and overwhelmed, I thought to myself- do we all have breast tumours, too? A tumour in the most intimate, hidden past of ourselves, so dear and close to us that we fear exposing it would cause us deep shame and embarrassment, a tumour that we allow to feed off us simply because it doesn't hurt enough to cause pain. Are our problems like that, our sins like that, too? Pride, unforgiveness, lust?


So often, I think-if we would look at our problems early on, from the start, and be brave to get help, seek wise counsel, so many devastating consequences could be avoided. If only we had enough humility and courage to tell someone about our problem with our emotions- anxiety, worry or depression, or our addictions- to food, shopping or lust, then surely these problems, when nipped in the bud early on, would not grow to become the silent, lethal killers which take so many of us away, destroy so many of our lives.

But it's too personal, we say. And besides, we've lived with it for too long to make it an issue. It doesn't cause me pain. It's like a malignant breast tumour, isn't it? Personal, insidious, and painless.

Breast cancer is one of the commonest, most dangerous cancers in the world.

And if you leave it alone out of shame and fear, all you might be left with is regret. After all, when you leave the tumour to grow, it eats up the breast anyway. It eats it up and spreads to other parts of your body. In the end, you don't win- still. You lose the breast anyway. And worse, you die too.

For all our fear of losing what we placed so much attachment to- cigerettes, lying, pornography- we lose anyway. It will eat us up if we let it.

So tell a friend, talk to somebody who can help you. We all have tumours anyway- but only the bravest dare to face the knife early on. It may be painful, you may be afraid of scarring, be afraid of the consequences of losing it, but know that it's the better option, the braver, more right one, and ultimately, you keep more of yourself than you would if you had decided otherwise.

That's how surgery saves lives.


But patient consent is needed.

Homemade Soaps

Making homemade melt and pour soaps, is as easy as it sounds, all you need to do is melt and pour! The fun part is getting creative and decorating the soaps

Materials:

1 lb. melt-and-pour glycerin soap base
essential oil
soap bar mold
spray bottle with rubbing alcohol
plastic cling wrap
microwave
medium glass bowl
optional: additives such as lavender, peppermint, etc. & glycerin soap colorant

Wrapping Materials: tissue or decorative papers, rubber stamps, ink pads, ribbons, stickers.

1. Cut a 1 lb. brick of glycerin soap base into 2" cubes. Place cubes in a glass bowl and cover with plastic cling wrap to keep excess moisture from evaporating. Melt on high for one minute and stir until melted.

2. If desired, add a few drops of colorant and/or additives to the soap and blend thoroughly. Add several drops of essential oil to the mixture and blend.

3. Pour the soap into molds. Spray the soap surface with rubbing alcohol to remove excess bubbles. Allow the soap to harden/set for several hours before popping it out of the molds.

4. Package the soap in a paper sleeve trimmed with decorative scissors, place it in a cellophane bag or wrap it in tissue paper. Embellish paper labels with ribbons, stickers and rubber stamps and attach to the packaging.

Christina Aguilera Diverts Attention To Her Cleavage

Crafty Finds in Montrose

Yesterday, I did a little crafty shopping in Montrose, Ca! I found great papers and stickers at The Paper Rabbit. This shop really had some fun stuff and everyone who worked there was really sweet. I picked up a few papers and will be back for more. Take a peek at what I got.

"Owl Pals" by Sassafras Lass

"my dearest" by Sassafras Lass

Metropolitan "roof top garden" by American Crafts

"my little prince" by My Minds Eye - Bohemia

I also popped into Needle in a Haystack (just across the street for The Paper Rabbit). They have some lovely items, beautiful yarns and so many patterns. They offer everything for the needleworker including knitting, crochet, needlepoint, and cross stitch supplies.

Inside Needle in a Haystack

Montrose is just outside LA and before Pasadena. The Honolulu strip has tons of great eats and shops. This June they will celebrate the 25 th Arts and Crafts festival on June 7 & 8. You can get all the scoop here.

Bridal Showers

Steve Piacenza & Cathie Filian

Creative Juice - Episode # 201 - Bridal Shower

Tune in or TIVO - May 22nd - DIY

It is a do-it-yourself bridal shower as we create beautiful daisy-themed decorations for your next big bash or intimate get-together. Easy handmade invitations get things started in style; a springtime tablecloth and runner will be the center of attention; personal party favors add a little extra flair; and some unique finger sandwiches will have your guests asking, "Who's your caterer?"

invitation making


daisy table runners & place mats


party favors: hand stamped note cards and beaded pens


layered place settings


napkin folding

delicious homemade chicken salad

ready to celebrate