Abigail Spencer is having a good year. She's got Cowboys & Aliens coming out, which is going to be huge, and above all she's stopped
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| Abigail Spencer |
Abigail Spencer
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| Abigail Spencer |
Florida, Abigail entered the pageant system at the age of four and won a state title Abigail Spencer
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| Abigail Spencer |
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| Abigail Spencer |
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| Abigail Spencer |
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| Abigail Spencer |
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| Abigail Spencer |
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| Abigail Spencer |
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| Abigail Spencer | |
Born and raised in Gulf Breeze, Florida, Abigail entered the pageant system at the age of four and won a state title at the age of 11. She credits this early experience with helping her deal gracefully with disappointments. An accomplished vocalist, she traveled with her church choir to Germany in her freshman year at Gulf Breeze High school..Actress Abigail Spencer first came on to the scene as Becca on the soap opera All My Children in 1999. Since then, she's appeared on television shows Mad Men, Hawthorne, CSI, Bones, Gilmore Girls, and more. She's also starred in films The Captain, Jekyll, and Hooked. We're sure to be seeing more of the starlet with films like This Means War, out next year, and Cowboys & Aliens, in theatres Friday.Abigail Spencer is having a good year. She’s got Cowboys & Aliens coming out, which is going to be huge, and above all she’s stopped dressing like she has no self esteem:This is really cool — it’s got a touch of the ’80s about it, but the bright and lively ’80s we LIKE to remember, not the garish and freaky ’80s from those photos we shove under the bed in the hopes nobody will find them until we are long gone and can’t hear the laughter. It’s “The Power of Love,” not “It’s Hip To Be Square.” It’s James Spader in Pretty In Pink, versus, let’s face it, pretty much the rest of Pretty In Pink. Better Off Dead, and not Monique’s hair in Better Off Dead. You get the idea.Apparently, this is an Oscar de la Renta — or, if you want to be really hacky about it, Oscar de la costs-as-much-as-my-Renta. (Lucky for us, nobody ’round these parts would make such a valiantly embarrassing joke, right?) It’s lovely on her, it’s something I dearly wish would manifest in my closet, and something I suspect Sarah Jessica Parker will be ordering in about ten minutes. Seriously, you could Photoshop her head onto this and it’d make sense. So for Abigail Spencer, getting to SJP wardrobe levels — when you are not actually anywhere near as well-known as Madam Three-Letters — is kind of a banner achievement. Bravo, lady. Now, pay it forward, okay? Specifically, to me.I feel this longing deep inside my soul. This earthquake to the inner most parts of my bone. This crack in the marrow of my inner most blood flow.
There is a block to my heart. My heart cannot compete with the sadness that comes with your ever present absence. No amount of pain could fill the void of despair in your nowhere to be found; nor here, nor there.
Nowhere to be seen. Nowhere to be preened. I can’t forget, I won’t forget the gentle voice of tender words of which you slurred and cured the verbs, and when weren’t feathered, made clean.
Too many things to be done and undone. Too many roads to be run and un-run. I’ve escaped the heart and fled to the mind to make haste and make hindrance so my love’s not left behind. I don’t know how to be seen with out the sound against the sheen of your call. Your thoughts. I don’t know why there aren’t more thoughts, to quickly float and fly and fall. The distraction is too great, the temptation is too steep. I can’t bare the thought that another and another year will pass with out you in my keep.
Come back to me. I will not lie. I can’t let salty tears distract me from which mine eyes must do. I can’t let runny noses react to the things that are left to do. I need your grace, your strength your presence, to make it through the night. I can’t believe you were taken, when it was just getting to what seemed right to do.
No practice run to tell me so of how to live in mourning. No facts or figures calculate, the depth of which I’m soaring. I fill and fill. And fill a lot. The filler is much fuller not. I empty, empty, and empty air until you’re but a glimmer.
A wave left in your chair.
I don’t’ want to forget your smell of sand and surf and wax and sweat. I don’t want to forget the way you stand, bow legged with a lilt and to the left… or how you had just learned to text.
I don’t want to forget, the forget me nots that pile upon my care. I don’t want to forget, forget me not, as you hover closer with the kindest stare.
I call to call. I call to be. This strange un-parting passage.
I’ll call and keep calling and call some more, in ever hunting, ravaged.
don’t leave me now. don’t leave me so. i could not bare to bare.
don’t leave my heart. my broken heart. that now is in your care.My father loved magazines. Not just loved. Lived. He lived in magazines. Literally. He was a famous professional surfer and he was in the likes of Surfer magazine (Surfing, Longboard, etc.) all the time. He owns/owned (I never know which one to say) Innerlight Surf Shops on the Gulf Coast of Florida, and the ads for the shops were in the Surf Magazines, monthly. At the age of fifteen, he first started hitchhiking to the beach to see if he could borrow an extra board from one of the kooks -- who were usually more into their girls than their guns. When he couldn't get to the beach, he'd stay at home and teach himself to surf by tearing out all the pages of surf magazines and wallpapering his bathroom with each image. He would take a bath and: mind surf. Sitting in the water. The images of the great surfers and surf maneuvers all around, wondering if he too would be a great surfer, even if it meant by osmosis.
Mind surfing was a practice my father kept up over the years. Going surfing with him was an event. We had to make sure we had our snacks. Our towels. Our change of clothes. Our green tea gum. Cell phones. Jugs of water to wash the sand off our feet. Proper music in the car. When we were situated, we'd slowly back out of the driveway -- and I do mean "slowly," there are no windows in the Surf Van, making it basically impossible to drive -- and find our way over the bridge to the beach. We'd pull up, then leave our boards in the car and go down to the beach to just ... watch. Those moments have become some of my most treasured memories. Sitting next to him, staring out at the horizon. Watching the swell. Him explaining to me where the rise and fall of the wave was. The current. Where I should start paddling to catch the wave at just the right moment. Too soon: wipe out. Too late: no glory. We'd also talk life. Trials, tribulations, dreams. He'd share his innermost personal thoughts and stories of youth. I learned so much about him during those mind surfing moments. I remember a pivotal one, where we walked along the beach as I contemplated quitting acting and the soap opera I was on, packing up my stuff from New York and moving home. He said he couldn't imagine me not pursuing my dreams and being who I was, but that I was going to have to decide if I had the wherewithal, drive, diligence and perseverance to get through this moment ... even if it was hard. He said the "hard way, was the right way ... and the cool way.OK… can I just take Andy home with me? He's h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s. "Easy Seacrest." I'm still laughing. But he's right.... How disappointing was Brando's little "vods" and "fall in" phase? And the belt! It's too bad we didn't see more of Ryan Reynolds, because he usually keeps me laughing for a while. But we don't need anymore D-bag behavior. I mean, you don't "sweetie" P.J. while eating her food and rating her a 6 in front of her face! Onto other disappointments... Lyssa (Abigail Spencer) and her friends were so eye-roll-worthy I got a headache. Can you say Carrie Bradshaw wannabe? That whole slow-motion car splash was just ridiculous. And if Kim Cattrall was watching, I feel for her. I didn't find them funny or entertaining at all. Lab Rat was an interesting scene. I live in New York, yes, but girls rolling around inside gerbil balls was still shocking. Aside from all the nonsense, I did relate to the storyline — friends do change as you get older, and relationships fade aw
Abigail Spencer
