Much has been said on this topic. Much more will be said. However, I feel the need to express my thoughts on 'paper' about this measure.
First, by recognizing same-sex marriages, the law would be changing the inherent definition of what a marriage is. What one group of people is asking for would be null and void if they received what they were asking for, so even though they think they're getting what they're asking for, it's not exactly what they wanted, because the definition changed.
Second, I'm a bit disgruntled because the whole push of anti-Proposition 8 is about the right of two individuals of any sex to have a marriage legally recognized, but they're actually campaigning for a GROUP right, not an individual right. Campaign away, but on at least one political issue this election, let's call a horse a horse and a carrot a carrot.
I am in favor of Proposition 8. !!!! I truly believe that marriage is meant for one man and one woman. I am not hateful or angry toward people who do not share my beliefs, or who don't adopt my preferred lifestyle. I just have a belief, and I'm going to act on it on election day.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
just saying...
that if the highlight of your day is squishing a 2.5" cockroach at work, then you are either under ten years old and your employer is breaking child labor laws, or your day has just been sad, sad, sad.
Monday, October 13, 2008
City of Angels
I think I wrote awhile back about the terrible, rotten, no good, very bad car accident I got into about fifteen months ago. The one that involved me and a garbage truck, which ended with my car angelically parking its battered, soon-t0-be-junkyard-self perfectly, three inches away from the sidewalk, just as if I'd meant for my car to be there, fully stopped, regardless of any impact with trash-collecting vehicles. Anyway, after that accident, I knew there really were angels in the City of Angels, and seriously thought that when I leave this place, the angels will go with me.
So. Angels have not deserted me!
Saturday night I was getting ready to play in front of people for the first time in a long time.
I'd had my friend Kim come over and help me pick out what to wear...silly, I know, but I needed the moral support. I ended up in a regular black shirt and jeans, but I added a cool spidey scarf in honor of it being Rocktoberfest. I had even written a song (see two posts below) especially for the occasion, and been practicing it day and night, sleep and wake, in car and out. Now it was 8 on Saturday night and I'd gotten gussied up (haha, what a funny expression) and was ready to go. I grabbed my gear and drove up to Westwood. I got out of the car and opened the rear door to grab my guitar and go....but it wasn't there. I blinked, turned around, and checked again. Still not there. I started to panic. Here I was, about to play for real, and I go an lose my guitar. Wait, had I really lost it? Had I really brought it down the stairs with me? Was it still in my apartment? I suddenly had this horrible image in my head of this time when I was in eighth grade and Casey Getzelman had gotten a brand new cool guitar while we were waiting for our jazz band carpool parents to come pick us up, he'd put it on the ground where we were waiting, and then some stupid ninth grader without a license...his name was Paul, and he rather reminded me of Kay in Disney's Sword and the Stone...had driven along and promptly run over it. Had that happened to my baby, my sweet little roommate-fingernail-gouged Seagull? I raced back as fast as hitting every red light possible allowed me to...and get this: it wasn't until I was three blocks away that I even contemplated the fact that someone could have stolen it. I rounded the corner, and coasted by the spot where my car had been parked, and there was no guitar. None at all. Not even shreds of gator guitar case. I got out and peered all around, even squatting to look under the cars on the side of the road. I started to panic even more because I realized that I had put my phone in my guitar case, and my camera as well, and so half my life was missing. I went back to my apartment, thinking I might have left it by the table in the front room, but even as I raced up the stairs, in my heart I knew it wasn't there, because I distinctly remember having the grandiose feeling of walking along, guitar in hand, being a guitar girl for all the world to see. I trudged down the stairs, defeated, not knowing what to do. I sent up shreds of prayers from my heart - I couldn't even form cohesive sentences. As I exited the building, I overheard some lady talking on the call-in phone about how she had a guitar, and some girl was supposed to be playing in a concert that night...and I turned and looked at her, and said, you have my guitar!?! That's MY guitar! You have it? And she said, "nevermind, I found her" and promptly hung the phone up and came and hugged me and said, "we have your guitar." I was seriously about ready to cry from relief. Anyway, the angels, Peggy and Dan, and their dogs, who are nameless to me, but who I see every morning on their walk, had my guitar safely ensconced in their condo. Apparently Peggy had been ready to take the dog out and he started barking and barking and they didn't know if the guitar case was a bomb or not, and then there was my syringe inside for making sure my guitar is hydrated, and they thought it might be drugs...let's just say that in the end, the angels were there for me, and I got my guitar back.
So I found another parking spot, and made it to Rocktoberfest, where I managed to completely bungle the chorus of TMBG's New York City twice, but managed to keep playing anyway...seriously, my ego was at an all time low. I thought, can I even manage to play this next song? This song I put a lot of effort into? Help! It went fine, even though it was so noisy that I wasn't sure anybody could hear me. But I got a few compliments later, which was nice, even if the guy who was my crush of the week last week totally made it obvious that he isn't even the slightest bit interested after I, bolstered in my courage by my successful singer/songwriter debut, made a slight overture. Seriously, being rejected is just no fun. Although it's a lot better than being strung along and THEN rejected, so I guess it's all part of the learning.
Just wanted to say that there are angels. I know, because even though I haven't seen one with wings, they stop & direct wayward traffic and help small lost girls in LA find their baby guitars.
So. Angels have not deserted me!
Saturday night I was getting ready to play in front of people for the first time in a long time.
I'd had my friend Kim come over and help me pick out what to wear...silly, I know, but I needed the moral support. I ended up in a regular black shirt and jeans, but I added a cool spidey scarf in honor of it being Rocktoberfest. I had even written a song (see two posts below) especially for the occasion, and been practicing it day and night, sleep and wake, in car and out. Now it was 8 on Saturday night and I'd gotten gussied up (haha, what a funny expression) and was ready to go. I grabbed my gear and drove up to Westwood. I got out of the car and opened the rear door to grab my guitar and go....but it wasn't there. I blinked, turned around, and checked again. Still not there. I started to panic. Here I was, about to play for real, and I go an lose my guitar. Wait, had I really lost it? Had I really brought it down the stairs with me? Was it still in my apartment? I suddenly had this horrible image in my head of this time when I was in eighth grade and Casey Getzelman had gotten a brand new cool guitar while we were waiting for our jazz band carpool parents to come pick us up, he'd put it on the ground where we were waiting, and then some stupid ninth grader without a license...his name was Paul, and he rather reminded me of Kay in Disney's Sword and the Stone...had driven along and promptly run over it. Had that happened to my baby, my sweet little roommate-fingernail-gouged Seagull? I raced back as fast as hitting every red light possible allowed me to...and get this: it wasn't until I was three blocks away that I even contemplated the fact that someone could have stolen it. I rounded the corner, and coasted by the spot where my car had been parked, and there was no guitar. None at all. Not even shreds of gator guitar case. I got out and peered all around, even squatting to look under the cars on the side of the road. I started to panic even more because I realized that I had put my phone in my guitar case, and my camera as well, and so half my life was missing. I went back to my apartment, thinking I might have left it by the table in the front room, but even as I raced up the stairs, in my heart I knew it wasn't there, because I distinctly remember having the grandiose feeling of walking along, guitar in hand, being a guitar girl for all the world to see. I trudged down the stairs, defeated, not knowing what to do. I sent up shreds of prayers from my heart - I couldn't even form cohesive sentences. As I exited the building, I overheard some lady talking on the call-in phone about how she had a guitar, and some girl was supposed to be playing in a concert that night...and I turned and looked at her, and said, you have my guitar!?! That's MY guitar! You have it? And she said, "nevermind, I found her" and promptly hung the phone up and came and hugged me and said, "we have your guitar." I was seriously about ready to cry from relief. Anyway, the angels, Peggy and Dan, and their dogs, who are nameless to me, but who I see every morning on their walk, had my guitar safely ensconced in their condo. Apparently Peggy had been ready to take the dog out and he started barking and barking and they didn't know if the guitar case was a bomb or not, and then there was my syringe inside for making sure my guitar is hydrated, and they thought it might be drugs...let's just say that in the end, the angels were there for me, and I got my guitar back.
So I found another parking spot, and made it to Rocktoberfest, where I managed to completely bungle the chorus of TMBG's New York City twice, but managed to keep playing anyway...seriously, my ego was at an all time low. I thought, can I even manage to play this next song? This song I put a lot of effort into? Help! It went fine, even though it was so noisy that I wasn't sure anybody could hear me. But I got a few compliments later, which was nice, even if the guy who was my crush of the week last week totally made it obvious that he isn't even the slightest bit interested after I, bolstered in my courage by my successful singer/songwriter debut, made a slight overture. Seriously, being rejected is just no fun. Although it's a lot better than being strung along and THEN rejected, so I guess it's all part of the learning.
Just wanted to say that there are angels. I know, because even though I haven't seen one with wings, they stop & direct wayward traffic and help small lost girls in LA find their baby guitars.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Memories
When I was about five or six...back in the days when it was fun to ride in the 'way back' of the '90 Dodge minivan, we were on the way back from an excursion to the City library. My sister and I were harking back to the gunslinging days, using our index fingers to as gun barrels and making shooting noises as we 'shot 'em dead' ('em' being all the drivers of the cars unlucky enough to travel in our wake). There was a guy in an old Ford Ranger behind us who looked eerilyl like Gordon Lightfoot...the version of Gord on the Gord's Gold LP. He followed us for a long time, all the way down Capitol Hill and Victory Road, and we shot him enough times that by all rights he should have expired several imaginary bullets ago. But he was still alive, and perhaps was getting annoyed, as later, we both swore that he pulled something black and shiny from the dashboard and pointed it at us. We huddled behind our 'cover' (aka, below the window) and did not come out to peek at the competition for a very, very long time.
I used to stare at the Simon & Garfunkel Greatest Hits album cover for hours. I wonder how exactly Garfunkel's hair got that texture, and wondered if Simon was really holding a golden egg in his hand. I'd listen to the songs and really feel the mournfulness of the boxer, and the despair of Mrs. Robinson, even though I had absolutely no idea what the song was about at the time, and wonder what the devil difference it made between being a hammer or a nail, as both came with pound-a-trucks which were to be guarded jealously against the stealings of younger siblings.
I remember the first time I went to the subpar Robintino's grill on Highway 89. I had been elected Student of the Month, and my fellow cohort, Paul, and the principal went along. We had pizza which I had heard rave reviews of, but which I remember thinking looked and tasted exactly like the pizza cafeterias used to serve before Ambassador Pizza got the contract to provide the little people with greasy carbs....that is, it didn't taste appetizing at all. Remember, how it was cut in squares, and had canned mushrooms on it, and dripped grease everywhere? (No wonder I brought my lunch from home so often!) Later, Paul gave me a small beanie-baby (yes, this dates me) lamb for Christmas, which I named, but I cannot remember its name to call my little sheep home. Help! what was its name? He (Paul) delivered it to my neighbor's house on Christmas morning, and it had snowed, so I put on my boots and trudged in my pajamas (no coat, as it was bright and not too cold) to the neighbors...the pristine snow glinting. I was so surprised...it was the first time a boy had ever given me a Christmas present, and I was totally overcome with happiness that someone had been so thoughtful...and it was so unexpected! What a great surprise!
My favorite baseball players are Derek Jeter, John Smoltz (what a great last name...I think if I chose a last name, that would be it), Orel Hershiser (I nicknamed him Oreo Hershey), Chipper Jones, Mariano Rivera, Greg Maddox, and Kenny Lofton. I saw Lofton, Jeter, and Rivera in action four summers ago at a game at Camden Yards. (Bet you can't guess who I was rooting for...) When Jeter got up for his second at-bat, I silently willed him to hit a home run with all my little heart...and on the third pitch, that's exactly what he did. I jumped up and down, shouting, shaking my roommate and shouting, "He did it for me! That one's for me!" So all you people, the homer he hit on June 24, 2004 is all mine.
HMPM and I used to eat 'cheezits' from the side yard. Cheezits come from weeds. Yes, I ate the 'fruit' of a weed. The plants usually grow to be about a foot high, but can sometimes be higher, and the leaves are wrapped tightly around a very tiny pumpkin-shaped green fruit. We ate them, and actually thought they were good.
I told Shanelle in my 2nd grade class that her crayons were toxic, because they weren't Crayola and didn't have 'non-toxic' written on them. She had absolutely no idea what I was talking about, and after I explained that she would be poisoned and die from using her crayons, she started to cry. I don't know if I was being malicious or just trying to show off that I knew what 'toxic' meant. I don't think I want to know, either.
Before having the Internet at home was common, my siblings and I all had Juno accounts because you could access email without actually having an Internet connection...you just dialed up, and it made the little fax machine noise, and then a bar would appear and it would jump forward in lime-green increments. If it went straight from 0-100%, chances were really good that you had no mail waiting for you; however, if the bar took even a few seconds to load, you almost certainly had mail. I played the old game Lemmings on this computer, too. The graphics and layout of the Juno page stick in my mind...wish I had a printscreen of them to show you.
We used to get Mario and Luigi points for reading back in elementary school. We had a schoolwide reading contest and my older sis was mad because third graders had to read 20 minutes to get a Mario head on the classroom poster chart, whereas first graders only had to read 10. Therefore, I racked up a lot more points than she did, and due to my overzealous competitive edge and my love of reading, our grade managed to win. Mario and Luigi. My kids (if I ever have any) probably won't even know what dot-matrix printers, record players, modems, typewriters, or land lines are. Sad. Most of me wishes I could go back to not being so 'connected.' Seriously, do I have to be looking at a screen ALL THE TIME??????????? I realize that was shouting. I meant it to be.
Ah, a trip down memory lane always takes too long to type. Gotta go to bed now or I won't be able to get up to take my trooper of a car into the stinky dealership to get my headlamp and oil changed. Timeconsuming and tiresome, but necessary, nevertheless.
Music & Lyrics
Clarification: not the movie. Although I have to say that the film, starring the terribly terrible Hugh Grant, and the somewhat dopey Drew Barrymore (not to be confused with Drew Carey...had a really hard time with that one for awhile, just because their names sound so similar), is HILARIOUS because of the music video in the opening credits, which may be viewed here. Seriously, hilarious.
Anyway, so recently I wrote a song. A rather simple song, but decent. The lyrics go like this:
My heart was shuttered and I walked along the street, head down
I was trying to decide whether to try to fly or stay on the ground
To stay safe on the curbside or to give myself a new start
And then I stumbled off the sidewalk and fell into the path of my heart
Where are you? I've been searching for you
Where are you? I've been looking for you
Where are you? I've been waiting for so long
to find you so I can belong with you
My path to you is set like a story in a fairy-tale book
I want a love to fill my whole heart, not just the breakfast nook
My eyes and heart are open and I'm starting to see color
Life was dull and grey before but now I know I want you and no other
chorus
Sometimes I wonder if I'll know you when I first see your face
Or if I'll bump into you one day showing off my lack of grace
Until the day I find you I will daydream of your smile
Hope you're also searching for me or I'll be in this sad state for awhile
I'm going to perform at Rocktoberfest tomorrow night. There will be video of the performance forthcoming.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
"Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair"
As the 60s song goes, I went to San Francisco. No flowers were present, but millions of sea lions, ubiquitous seasickness, and one girl with a bright-red-sunburnt face were.
Saturday in San Francisco: Whalewatching in S's
seasickness: what I experienced all day. I would receive an A if seasickness were a class and our boat trip was the final exam.
sunburn: the result of being a redhead out on the water for eight hours, one of which was fully sunny. Note to self: hats, sunglasses, and sunscreen application do not matter: you will be lobster-faced the next day regardless, so come prepared with aloe and lotion!
sea lions: a gajillion of them. First in the bay, following the boat, then in the ocean, on the buoy, then on Pier 39, barking away. Sea lions, not to be confused with seals, have an 'elbow' joint and very small ears.
shivering: wh
at I did on the boat. Layers on the Bay are good...the more, the merrier. Undershirt, then shirt, then jacket, then coat, then blanket, are all good. More is better. Further note: shivering consciously is a good way to distract your body from being nauseated.swatter: what I wished I had for the millions of flies which descended on our boat at the Farallon islands.
small islands: the Farallons. okay, so I cheated. Give me a break; one cannot be perfect at alliteration. Commonly known as the Devil's Teeth among sailors along the SF coast, the
Farallons are basically small
mountains of pure bird droppings about 20 miles west of San Francisco. Millions of birds roost on the islands. No non Ph.D people are allowed.Shark, great white: what we did not see at the Farallons. :( Their breeding ground is very close, and the captain saw one earlier in the week, but our luck was not with us.
species, new fly, discovered: The flies on the islands are very odd - they're football shaped. That is, most flies are paper-airplane shaped, but these flies folded their wings over each other, instead of side-by-side. Apparently bird leavings are excellent for fostering exotic fly species. Who knew? They also flew diffe
rent. I'm no physicist so I'll leave the velocity stuff to others.smelly: what I was at the end of the day. Nothing beats being on the ocean, seasick (praise be fore boat railings to lean over), and an all-you-can-eat-cook-it-yourself-Korean barbeque.
So here are some pictures of the trip
1. Passing Alcatraz
2. Sea lions on a buoy (if I were a sea lion, I'd be one of the ones on the buoy, not one of the ten or so hovering around waiting for one to get off to have a turn)
3. Going under the golden gate bridge
Monday, September 8, 2008
What's in a Name?
So, taking a page out of my sister's book, I decided to make a post. each picture represents a name of mine,
or a nickname i've been called at one time or another. I just 
googl
ed the names, and here they are! Got some quite interesting results. Just have one thing to say: about the picture of the man and the woman, I hope I look more like the man (he's got a soft, contented look about him) than the woman in fifty years!!!
The Secret of Life
is enjoying the passage of time...
right. So James Taylor is not really my favorite, and I think that song is kind of lame, but there is something to being able to enjoy the moment. Lately I've had a few 'moments.'
Events: Saturday, I went to my first MLS game ever. I used to play the glorious game a bit when I was a kid - never got really good at it though. Something about aiming while moving was just too difficult to master...:D to those of you familiar enough with me to know that that's how it's always been for me, and it's not gonna change anytime soon. It was at the Home Depot stadium...Galaxy vs. Real Salt Lake. Beckham wasn't there though. World cup qualifier, shmollifier, is what I have to say. Let me see a cute man who's ace at what he does run around in shorts and look attractive while doing it! (He is one of only a few people I would actually encourage to wear shorts.) In the end, it was a lackluster tie. It was interesting to note that the better team (Salt Lake) had control of the ball almost the whole time, and yet they didn't win. Weird how those team sports work! Also, I thought it was weird how many of them had long hair. I've played soccer with long hair, and trust me, it is no fun. So why these people who get paid tons more than I do would run around all day after a ball sweating in their super long hair when they could conventionally wear it super short makes absolutely no sense to me (the hair part, and the salary part).
Complaints: Today, I'm tired. My throat feels like it got scrubbed with acid, I didn't perform super well at work, and I slept oddly - woke up knowing I had slimy, unnatural dreams. Ick. Made me want to take a shower. Usually I don't even remember a thing about my dreams, but this time, i just remembered the feeling. My room is a mess, and my resume won't tweak properly, and I found a rather large flying bug in my shower. further, there is no decent food in the fridge OR in the pantry.
Plans: Saturday, I'm going on my first-ever (and, depending on how well my stomach performs, the last-ever) whale watching cruise with my brother. Whee! I'm so excited. He's going to be my personal documentary narrator, and I'm going to bring the blanket and the snacks, and we're going to drink lots of fizzy ginger ale and have a general old good jolly time. I'm seriously praying that we get to see a blue whale. Of course, it would be nice to see anything at all, but I would really love to see a blue...they're so big and awkward, but so rare and unique. Kind of like me, only downsized about a hundred feet and about a hundred thousand pounds. Imagine this: blue whales are 23-27' long when they're born. They gain an average of 8 lbs per hour for the first few months of their lives!
Things I would like to be, professionally, theoretically speaking:
1. a photographer
2. a gardener
3. a writer
4. an organizer
5. a professor
6. a mom
7. a storyteller
8. a listener
9. a singer
10. a sleeper
Which do you think I'm most likely to actually break loose from the banking noose and do?
right. So James Taylor is not really my favorite, and I think that song is kind of lame, but there is something to being able to enjoy the moment. Lately I've had a few 'moments.'
Events: Saturday, I went to my first MLS game ever. I used to play the glorious game a bit when I was a kid - never got really good at it though. Something about aiming while moving was just too difficult to master...:D to those of you familiar enough with me to know that that's how it's always been for me, and it's not gonna change anytime soon. It was at the Home Depot stadium...Galaxy vs. Real Salt Lake. Beckham wasn't there though. World cup qualifier, shmollifier, is what I have to say. Let me see a cute man who's ace at what he does run around in shorts and look attractive while doing it! (He is one of only a few people I would actually encourage to wear shorts.) In the end, it was a lackluster tie. It was interesting to note that the better team (Salt Lake) had control of the ball almost the whole time, and yet they didn't win. Weird how those team sports work! Also, I thought it was weird how many of them had long hair. I've played soccer with long hair, and trust me, it is no fun. So why these people who get paid tons more than I do would run around all day after a ball sweating in their super long hair when they could conventionally wear it super short makes absolutely no sense to me (the hair part, and the salary part).
Complaints: Today, I'm tired. My throat feels like it got scrubbed with acid, I didn't perform super well at work, and I slept oddly - woke up knowing I had slimy, unnatural dreams. Ick. Made me want to take a shower. Usually I don't even remember a thing about my dreams, but this time, i just remembered the feeling. My room is a mess, and my resume won't tweak properly, and I found a rather large flying bug in my shower. further, there is no decent food in the fridge OR in the pantry.
Plans: Saturday, I'm going on my first-ever (and, depending on how well my stomach performs, the last-ever) whale watching cruise with my brother. Whee! I'm so excited. He's going to be my personal documentary narrator, and I'm going to bring the blanket and the snacks, and we're going to drink lots of fizzy ginger ale and have a general old good jolly time. I'm seriously praying that we get to see a blue whale. Of course, it would be nice to see anything at all, but I would really love to see a blue...they're so big and awkward, but so rare and unique. Kind of like me, only downsized about a hundred feet and about a hundred thousand pounds. Imagine this: blue whales are 23-27' long when they're born. They gain an average of 8 lbs per hour for the first few months of their lives!
Things I would like to be, professionally, theoretically speaking:
1. a photographer
2. a gardener
3. a writer
4. an organizer
5. a professor
6. a mom
7. a storyteller
8. a listener
9. a singer
10. a sleeper
Which do you think I'm most likely to actually break loose from the banking noose and do?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Keep on tryin'
/I'm tired of lying/ just like the sun above, I'll come shining through
Well, lately my sun has been shining, but rather weakly...I think I'm running out of hydrogen to turn into helium...but I digress. Here are some things I've been trying lately...I figure I've got to shake the mix up a bit in order to dislodge the permahaze that's been in my head for the last eon:
1. Auditioning! Last week I tried out for "Don't Forget the Lyrics," hosted by Wayne Brady and shown on fox, for those of you who don't know what it is. It had been a very long time since I'd auditioned for anything and frankly, I was a bit nervous. I passed a written test, got in a tiny box-room and sang a few songs and interviewed in front of a camera, and then had my picture taken, and was told they'd call me back if the producers liked me. Apparently they didn't, since I didn't get a callback. But I'm totally fine with it, because I really thought I did well, and was happy with the audition, so I'm not crestfallen that I didn't make it. Thankfully, I do have a day job, so I wasn't pinning all my financial eggs on the Fox basket (yes, I realize that was mixed). It was in Hollywood, and it took forever to get there.
2a. Making it to Sea World: Okay, I still haven't gotten there. But at least I have now found a partner in crime willing to make the hours-long trip down there to see the oceania!
2b. Well, in order to get down to San Diego, I wanted to ride Amtrak...something I've never done before. Ha ha, I totally choked when I saw that prices, one-way, from Union Station to Sea World was $40! talk about adding up quickly. I mean, I guess parking is $12, plus gas...let's see...well, perhaps it comes out even, but still. eeps! Snack car aside, I am a bit shocked at the price.
3. Thawing out. My apartment is growing permafrost. Seriously. I am a little icicle. I am threatening to become the little egg on March of the Penguins which cracks and freezes the tiny chick inside within seconds. Okay, well, not. It's taken me months to get here, but I'm sick of paying to be cold, and my roomies keep turning the stupid thing on. garbage.
4. Recycling. I have to do it clandestinely, so my roommates won't know. Sometimes this involves picking their diet coke cans out of the top of the garbage can. Seriously, people, the recycling bin is 30 feet further than the trash...can we not help save our environment? I go to extremes just to get a few pieces in the bin every week. I'd tell you how I went about it and why, but that's really embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as the fact that I published that I feel like I need to get my would-be non-trash out the door under the radar!!!!!!
5. Making lists on my blog. I would like for everything I write to be either a poem or a list. That way I'm outlined and organized (supposedly). The posts, I think, will be more meaningful because I will really have had to ponder each line and each item, instead of letting my fingers rocket along typing babble, nonsense, and hearsay (NOT heresy) in Dickensian proportions and sentence length.
Well, lately my sun has been shining, but rather weakly...I think I'm running out of hydrogen to turn into helium...but I digress. Here are some things I've been trying lately...I figure I've got to shake the mix up a bit in order to dislodge the permahaze that's been in my head for the last eon:
1. Auditioning! Last week I tried out for "Don't Forget the Lyrics," hosted by Wayne Brady and shown on fox, for those of you who don't know what it is. It had been a very long time since I'd auditioned for anything and frankly, I was a bit nervous. I passed a written test, got in a tiny box-room and sang a few songs and interviewed in front of a camera, and then had my picture taken, and was told they'd call me back if the producers liked me. Apparently they didn't, since I didn't get a callback. But I'm totally fine with it, because I really thought I did well, and was happy with the audition, so I'm not crestfallen that I didn't make it. Thankfully, I do have a day job, so I wasn't pinning all my financial eggs on the Fox basket (yes, I realize that was mixed). It was in Hollywood, and it took forever to get there.
2a. Making it to Sea World: Okay, I still haven't gotten there. But at least I have now found a partner in crime willing to make the hours-long trip down there to see the oceania!
2b. Well, in order to get down to San Diego, I wanted to ride Amtrak...something I've never done before. Ha ha, I totally choked when I saw that prices, one-way, from Union Station to Sea World was $40! talk about adding up quickly. I mean, I guess parking is $12, plus gas...let's see...well, perhaps it comes out even, but still. eeps! Snack car aside, I am a bit shocked at the price.
3. Thawing out. My apartment is growing permafrost. Seriously. I am a little icicle. I am threatening to become the little egg on March of the Penguins which cracks and freezes the tiny chick inside within seconds. Okay, well, not. It's taken me months to get here, but I'm sick of paying to be cold, and my roomies keep turning the stupid thing on. garbage.
4. Recycling. I have to do it clandestinely, so my roommates won't know. Sometimes this involves picking their diet coke cans out of the top of the garbage can. Seriously, people, the recycling bin is 30 feet further than the trash...can we not help save our environment? I go to extremes just to get a few pieces in the bin every week. I'd tell you how I went about it and why, but that's really embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as the fact that I published that I feel like I need to get my would-be non-trash out the door under the radar!!!!!!
5. Making lists on my blog. I would like for everything I write to be either a poem or a list. That way I'm outlined and organized (supposedly). The posts, I think, will be more meaningful because I will really have had to ponder each line and each item, instead of letting my fingers rocket along typing babble, nonsense, and hearsay (NOT heresy) in Dickensian proportions and sentence length.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
These are a Few of my Favorite Things
1. cinnamon stack biscuits, hugs
2. flannel pj bottoms, snuggling
3. cell phones / chargers, gardening
4. homemade spaghetti sauce, laughing
5. corn on the cob, clean hands
6. singing with katherine, Christmas rumpuses
7. going to bed after a good day's work, a good day's work
9. quilting, reading
10. scrapbooking, photography
11. guitar playing, time with family
13. gaming (includes: Thistle, Ticket to Ride, Blokus, Rook, and Settlers, not to mention StarMunchkin, Mario, etc.), alone-time
2. flannel pj bottoms, snuggling
3. cell phones / chargers, gardening
4. homemade spaghetti sauce, laughing
5. corn on the cob, clean hands
6. singing with katherine, Christmas rumpuses
7. going to bed after a good day's work, a good day's work
9. quilting, reading
10. scrapbooking, photography
11. guitar playing, time with family
13. gaming (includes: Thistle, Ticket to Ride, Blokus, Rook, and Settlers, not to mention StarMunchkin, Mario, etc.), alone-time
Friday, July 25, 2008
Neverending Story
Things which seem interminable but which (hopefully) produce positive results:
1. Job hunting, also known as: (a) the art of tweaking & fine-tuning resumes for each application, (b) not getting cover letters mixed up, (c) finding jobs that one is actually qualified to apply for, (d) not admitting that to be qualified for one’s dream job is often a dream.
2. Weeding a garden, or rather, persevering through: (a) the bugs and the bees, (b) the sun and the sweat, (c) the aches in the back from bending over.
3. Practicing the Piano—“torturing the siblings”: (a) chopsticks, (b) heart & soul, (c) the opening five bars of Fur Elise, (d) the first two lines of Moonlight Sonata (e) freedom to play whatever! (Note: I never did get this far; I never even properly learnt my scales—see next entry.)
4. Learning theory: the endless vis a vis marker ‘erasing’, the constant scales, sharps and flats
5. Reading Numbers in the Bible: benefits include: (a) math skills improved (b) concentration span is broadened (c) nap time provided.
6. Listening to CCR: the only bright spot I see in this cloud is perhaps the fact that the next ten airtime minutes are free of the stuff.
7. Scrapbooking: one page, even in the bare-bones version that I do, seems to take forever! But if my kids get a laugh out of it, it will be worth it.
1. Job hunting, also known as: (a) the art of tweaking & fine-tuning resumes for each application, (b) not getting cover letters mixed up, (c) finding jobs that one is actually qualified to apply for, (d) not admitting that to be qualified for one’s dream job is often a dream.
2. Weeding a garden, or rather, persevering through: (a) the bugs and the bees, (b) the sun and the sweat, (c) the aches in the back from bending over.
3. Practicing the Piano—“torturing the siblings”: (a) chopsticks, (b) heart & soul, (c) the opening five bars of Fur Elise, (d) the first two lines of Moonlight Sonata (e) freedom to play whatever! (Note: I never did get this far; I never even properly learnt my scales—see next entry.)
4. Learning theory: the endless vis a vis marker ‘erasing’, the constant scales, sharps and flats
5. Reading Numbers in the Bible: benefits include: (a) math skills improved (b) concentration span is broadened (c) nap time provided.
6. Listening to CCR: the only bright spot I see in this cloud is perhaps the fact that the next ten airtime minutes are free of the stuff.
7. Scrapbooking: one page, even in the bare-bones version that I do, seems to take forever! But if my kids get a laugh out of it, it will be worth it.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Everyone Knows it's Windy
and Windy has wings to fly/above the clouds...
this is how I feel about the air in LA and the ingenius, if elementary, scheme I devised to survive the hot weather here while my A/C is broken.
the brownish yellow haze, hydrated, leaves a caramel colored glaze
on the rolls of Beverly Hills, and Valley choc-smog pools o'erspill
their contents on the drab, dry flats of downtown, which lingers for days;
obscuring views, clouding moods, choking jobbers like me with workdays to fill
i join the throng of worker bees hovering on the interstate
to give their honey (worktime) to the Queen of Life (the Industry),
while our lifesource (petrol) drains, we perpetuate the smogful state
our vehicles are streams of large black beetles, glaring painfully
teamed with eastern sun, the brackish air robs me of my vision--
my ventilation's busted; hot sun boils me as I inch forward
I must choose between inhaling laden air and suffocation.
Overheated, I inhale and push the the window buttons downward
Front and back, passenger side: two three-inch vent cracks should do the trick
suddenly the traffic breaks-- I sigh, relieved, then accelerate
at sixty, traffic peaks; the odometer starts its quiet tick
the physic phenomenon starts its workings-- cooling down can't wait
The roaring road noise is eclipsed by airy, cool, pleasure tendrils
as a swirl of softserve ice cream (air) begins to lick my elbow
No wind-whipped hair for me today! I crow as my lungs start to fill
Genius! I will drive my faithful, ailing car until tomorrow.
this is how I feel about the air in LA and the ingenius, if elementary, scheme I devised to survive the hot weather here while my A/C is broken.
the brownish yellow haze, hydrated, leaves a caramel colored glaze
on the rolls of Beverly Hills, and Valley choc-smog pools o'erspill
their contents on the drab, dry flats of downtown, which lingers for days;
obscuring views, clouding moods, choking jobbers like me with workdays to fill
i join the throng of worker bees hovering on the interstate
to give their honey (worktime) to the Queen of Life (the Industry),
while our lifesource (petrol) drains, we perpetuate the smogful state
our vehicles are streams of large black beetles, glaring painfully
teamed with eastern sun, the brackish air robs me of my vision--
my ventilation's busted; hot sun boils me as I inch forward
I must choose between inhaling laden air and suffocation.
Overheated, I inhale and push the the window buttons downward
Front and back, passenger side: two three-inch vent cracks should do the trick
suddenly the traffic breaks-- I sigh, relieved, then accelerate
at sixty, traffic peaks; the odometer starts its quiet tick
the physic phenomenon starts its workings-- cooling down can't wait
The roaring road noise is eclipsed by airy, cool, pleasure tendrils
as a swirl of softserve ice cream (air) begins to lick my elbow
No wind-whipped hair for me today! I crow as my lungs start to fill
Genius! I will drive my faithful, ailing car until tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Time in a Bottle
I've been thinking about time lately, and how time means absolutely nothing to most of us until we don't have enough of it...just like sugar when you're making cookies, or air when you're at the bottom of the pond. For example, if I'd been even a half second faster on August 9, 2007, my car would not have been totaled by a garbage truck.
But it's come to my attention recently that timing is everything. Example: two months ago I went to the beach with some friends. It was a zillion degrees out, and I was super hot and sweaty, and looked horrid by the time I got home. While I was fishing all my beach junk out of M's trunk, a car pulled up behind us, and a couple guys jumped out. I thought nothing of it, and went on piling my towel, bag, book, and other beach necessities onto the lawn, and I waved at my friend as she drove away. The guys approached me, and said, "Are you Mormon?" which I thought was totally weird, but I nodded, and they said, "Oh, we saw the BYU license plate holder, so we pulled over."
Turns out they in town for the weekend, and were looking for a place to live, and there just happened to be a vacancy in my building. They wanted to get a feel for the building, so I (foolishly?) let them in and showed them my apartment, and they called the manager and got a quick show-through of the empty unit. They flirted it up, and said since we had 3 apartments of LDS girls in the building, we needed some guys to protect them, blahdyblahdyblah, which I thought was an odd stab at a pickup line, but whatever. In the end, they didn't get on the stick, and the place was taken...end of story.
Or so I thought. A month later I had just parked my car after getting home from work, and I was totally amazed because the same guys were sitting on the side of the road, doing nothing. I walked up to them and said, hey, fancy meeting you here (was tempted to add "Judith Tremaine", for those of you familiar with Thoroughly Modern Millie, but refrained)! They were STILL looking for a place, as all the others they'd looked at had fallen through. So I recommended some places to look...none of which worked out, by the way. I was beginning to think that they were (a) cursed, or (b) had no idea how to lock in housing. (Notice it didn't even occur to me until just now that I might be giving them bad advice.)
However, through the grapevine, I heard they found a place in Inglewood (better them than me). On Sunday, I was invited to dinner, and couldn't get in because the doorman said the inhabitants weren't answering the phone, so we (two other girls and I) decided to wait around for ten minutes. Ten minutes expired, and lo and behold, as we were walking out the door, starving, who is standing there, but those guys! Turns out by some weird fluke the guy whose apartment we were having dinner at had only had met those three dudes in LA, and no one else...so I randomly had dinner with them.
If I'd gotten home from the beach a few minutes later, I never would have met those guys. If I didn't take so long deciding what to wear in the morning, I would be earlier to work. And if I don't take time to say "I love you" to the people who matter most, it may be too late. Because you can't keep time in a bottle to save it for later, as if it were a jar of home-canned peaches, so I'm going to stop blogging and go tell them how I feel, because if I don't, it might be too late.
But it's come to my attention recently that timing is everything. Example: two months ago I went to the beach with some friends. It was a zillion degrees out, and I was super hot and sweaty, and looked horrid by the time I got home. While I was fishing all my beach junk out of M's trunk, a car pulled up behind us, and a couple guys jumped out. I thought nothing of it, and went on piling my towel, bag, book, and other beach necessities onto the lawn, and I waved at my friend as she drove away. The guys approached me, and said, "Are you Mormon?" which I thought was totally weird, but I nodded, and they said, "Oh, we saw the BYU license plate holder, so we pulled over."
Turns out they in town for the weekend, and were looking for a place to live, and there just happened to be a vacancy in my building. They wanted to get a feel for the building, so I (foolishly?) let them in and showed them my apartment, and they called the manager and got a quick show-through of the empty unit. They flirted it up, and said since we had 3 apartments of LDS girls in the building, we needed some guys to protect them, blahdyblahdyblah, which I thought was an odd stab at a pickup line, but whatever. In the end, they didn't get on the stick, and the place was taken...end of story.
Or so I thought. A month later I had just parked my car after getting home from work, and I was totally amazed because the same guys were sitting on the side of the road, doing nothing. I walked up to them and said, hey, fancy meeting you here (was tempted to add "Judith Tremaine", for those of you familiar with Thoroughly Modern Millie, but refrained)! They were STILL looking for a place, as all the others they'd looked at had fallen through. So I recommended some places to look...none of which worked out, by the way. I was beginning to think that they were (a) cursed, or (b) had no idea how to lock in housing. (Notice it didn't even occur to me until just now that I might be giving them bad advice.)
However, through the grapevine, I heard they found a place in Inglewood (better them than me). On Sunday, I was invited to dinner, and couldn't get in because the doorman said the inhabitants weren't answering the phone, so we (two other girls and I) decided to wait around for ten minutes. Ten minutes expired, and lo and behold, as we were walking out the door, starving, who is standing there, but those guys! Turns out by some weird fluke the guy whose apartment we were having dinner at had only had met those three dudes in LA, and no one else...so I randomly had dinner with them.
If I'd gotten home from the beach a few minutes later, I never would have met those guys. If I didn't take so long deciding what to wear in the morning, I would be earlier to work. And if I don't take time to say "I love you" to the people who matter most, it may be too late. Because you can't keep time in a bottle to save it for later, as if it were a jar of home-canned peaches, so I'm going to stop blogging and go tell them how I feel, because if I don't, it might be too late.
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