High School Memories

Again, I have to give Julie credit for today's post. I steal all my best ideas from her. Click on the title of this post to see her story.

1. Who was your best friend in high school?
My best friends in high school were Melissa, Rachel, Michelle, Josh, Adam, and Missy. We didn't all hang out together at the same time (maybe Melissa, Rachel, Michelle and I were together the most). Senior year we split up a bit.

2. What sports did you play?
I'm with you Julie: band geeks didn't have to take PE in high school... and so I was saved from my own lack of coordination.

3. What kind of car did you drive?
I didn't drive any kind of car until way after high school. I had a very cool red and white Univega 10-speed bike, though.

4. It's Friday night, where were you?
Definitely at a football game. After some games we'd all head to Shakey's for pizza and fooling around. Westwood wasn't as much fun at night for my age group as it had been in years before.

5. Were you a party animal?
Absolutely not. Rachel and Amber and I had some little mini-parties, and Adam and I too, but never really a party animal. I went to a couple of parties with my 11th grade boyfriend, who I met while I was supposed to be TAing for the band teacher; we were totally different, and our hooking up was kind of weird. Parties weren't my thing, and his friends weren't my friends... So that was short-lived. And then there was "Dick," the guy I've mentioned a few times: I think he took me on as a "project" and in that vein, I went to a few parties with him; his friends definitely qualify as partiers. More awkward than fun.

6. Were you in the "in crowd"?
Again: absolutely not. Some of my friends had potential to be in-crowders - Melissa was loved by everyone (she was smart, sweet and gorgeous), and Michelle was so smart and beautiful that I'm sure they could've crashed the in crowd. However, I thought that my friends were funnier, way less fucked-up, and way more interesting than the so-called "in crowd," who seemed to battle in-fighting, boyfriend stealing, bad haircuts and poor taste in music.

7. Ever skip school?
Many, many times. I would usually make it to school more or less on time, but by senior year, I was vacating campus a LOT. We might go to lunch and then never go back.

8. Ever smoke?
Yes, off and on.

There are stories to go along with this, but not sure how much I should say. Some stupid boy kind of influenced me a lot, and I'm not just talking reading material. Yeah, I was stupid, but: he was really, really cute. My friends didn't like him, though - Rachel had a thing about his feet. And I'd have been better off if I'd just walked away, but what can I say? In his Birkenstocks and shaggy hair cut, he was irresistible. And his interest in me, no matter how fleeting or conveniently timed, made him irresistible.

9. Were you a nerd?
I wasn't good at math, but I loved to read; I wore glasses (usually huge, gigantic glasses); I didn't have the greatest clothes; I worked at the library part of the time... No, I guess I wasn't exactly a nerd, but I was definitely a bit of a geek.

10. Did you get suspended/expelled?
No.

11. Can you sing the alma mater?
Did my high school have an alma mater? Our fight song was "Minnesota Rouser;" I'm not that great at geography either, but I do know that Minnesota is quite a ways away.

12. Who was your favorite teacher?
Mr. Nazzaretta, the band teacher. I didn't really have that great of a relationship with my other teachers. I wanted to, but I don't know. Just didn't.

13. Favorite class?
When we'd do the spring musical. We didn't have an orchestra in high school, so our musical orchestra consisted of a couple of twin girls on violins, a bunch of hired guns, and those of us who could read the music.

14. School mascot?
Centaur. Half-man, half-horse. Sexy.

15. Did you go to the prom?
Yes... told that story weeks ago!

16. If you could go back and do it over, would you?
Maybe. I made some really huge mistakes. I might not have ditched so much. I might've taken more of an interest in going to college. I might've stayed away from certain boys. I might've been less shy with other certain boys.

17. What do you remember most about graduation?
I didn't know what to wear, and wound up in pseudo hippie gear: brown sandals, floaty skirt, and white t-shirt. I wish I'd dressed up more. I didn't get to play in the band, which was weird, because I'd played every graduation since the 7th grade. Alphabetically I was up at the front of the line, so I didn't really know where my friends were, and that was weird. Also there was a rumor that some guy was naked under his graduation robe, but I didn't see it, and I don't know if it was true.

18. Favorite memory of your senior year?
Senior year was kind of a bummer. My friends kind of spread out and school itself was not as much fun as it had been up to then. Being seniors wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be.

19. Were you ever posted up on the senior wall?
I have no idea what this is.

20. Did you have a job your senior year?
I worked since the 10th grade. After the library, I got a job with my friend Tina at Domino's Pizza. She was a little older than me; we had a lot of fun. My friend Todd worked there, too. He was from Texas, and we had pie dough fights and water fights and pizza box fights: lots of fun. There were a couple of other kids from school working there, and the rest of them were either in college or way older. And then I worked at Crown Books, where I was made an assistant manager.

21. Who did you date?
I had a million crushes in high school, starting with Charlie in the 9th grade. My band friends thought it was "cute" because he was a senior and I was totally a goofball about it. I mean TOTAL goofball. We did go out a few times, but I think I ruined it with my total lack of cool. 10th grade was when some other guy got his claws in me, and I wanted so much to be cool that I put up with a lot of shit from him. 11th grade I went out with this guy from another crowd - he was funny and cute and apparently a drunk and a user. 12th grade I realized that friends make the best boyfriends, and it was me and Adam for awhile.

22. Where did you go most often for lunch?
Titos, Taco Bell, McDonald's. Our choices were limited by proximity to school but I don't know why we did it that way, so many times we didn't even go back. Only Missy, Amber and Adam had cars, so that also limited our choices.

23. Have you gained weight since then?
Funny thing - I thought I was fat then, but I would kill for that body today.

24. What did you do after graduation?
Not a whole lot! Went to West LA College where I met the guy I didn't marry. Hung out with him and his friends a lot. Worked at Crown Books as an assistant manager; quit there and then managed a video store for awhile. Went to Santa Monica College. Learned how to drive, took a job in Malibu at another Crown Books...

OK, so that's it.

Home Again

Well, we're home. We left Friday the 16th for Colorado Springs, and have been there ever since. Patrick was attending a conference, and I was... reading, sleeping, and hanging out.

For one thing, we stayed in the most beautiful hotel I've ever been to. Click on the title of this post for more information. Seriously - our room was possibly bigger than our entire house. And the bed - wow. Usually I hate the pillows on hotel beds, but these were lovely. I mean, the pillows were great but everything was terrific. The bathroom, the huge tub, the marble, the views - for five days of doing nothing, I had the time of my life.

The only thing not so great about this trip was, we didn't have a car, and so, were kind of stuck at the hotel for most of the time. Tuesday night we all were able to pile into a bunch of buses and were driven down to "downtown" Colorado Springs for a night on the town. We hit the one main street with David, Patrick's boss, in search of someplace interesting (and cheap) to eat. We ended up at Everest Nepal Restaurant - and I swear to god, it was the best meal in five days. Absolutely delicious.

Anyway, we took a bunch of pictures, but I haven't uploaded them to the computer yet, and so... for now you have to take my word for it. Because it was beautiful there, but I'm very glad to be home again.

Birthday Adventure, Explained

In the town where I grew up, they've been doing a lot of construction on the freeway overpasses. It's a rather quiet little neighborhood, with these overpasses cutting through. No freeway traffic, just the overpasses.

(As an aside, which would be indicated by my use of parenthesis, therefore this explanation is not really necessary; when I lived at home with my parents, and used to stay up at night reading or after coming home from somewhere, I would always hear, every night at 11:45 p.m., what sounded to me like a train whistle. There are no trains in the town where I grew up - it was probably a truck horn, or something else entirely: I don't know. But the town I live in now is pretty much perfectly quiet at 11:45 p.m. I kind of miss the night noises of that town, which was a lot less small-town than the place I live now, a fact I didn't have much appreciation for when I was living there.)

Anyway, when I've driven through, on my way to my parents' house or to flute choir, I've noticed that the construction has involved them using these big white sheets of wood (does wood come in "sheets"?) that are highly illuminated. I usually drive through at night, and the effect of these super bright white wooden sheets seemed to me like the perfect place to have one's photograph taken.

I've been thinking this for awhile, but it's taken me a few months to actually do it.

Tonight, on our way home from dinner with my parents and my brothers and sister, (my mom made my childhood favorite, chicken mole, with corn and mashed potatoes [I know, odd combination; but delicious]) we finally stopped and took the pictures. It was fun, and I'm honestly surprised I didn't fall on my ass - that I-beam thing I'm standing on was about 6" wide, and I was wearing flip flops. Also, I'm not known for my grace!

Anyway, they're sort of what I had in mind; ignore my shabby outfit... I wanted to be comfortable today. I really like the photo here; I just wish my eyes were open. I look a little robot-like, which I like. Hair looks great, double chin - not so much.

Birthday Adventure

Every Little Thing [They] Do is Magic

Watched The Office tonight...

If you haven't seen it yet, I won't spoil it for you, but I wish I'd hired that band to play my wedding.

No need to call the cops (seriously)

How weird would it be if I took this photo to the girl who cuts my hair...?

I mean, here's an email I wrote her on February 4 re: what I wanted done to my hair... which is, essentially, the same hair this lovely woman has. Now, there's no way for you to know when I first viewed this photo, so for all you know, I saw the photo, then emailed my girl.

However, if that was the case, wouldn't I have been a bit more specific?

As it is, I think I'm going to email it to her.

Yes, I am going a little bit psycho here. Perfectly harmless, I promise.

No seriously. This is the last one.

The obsession continues

IPHIGENIA is over

Tonight was the last show. I'm done! It feels bittersweet. I had fun, it was a good show, the people were great, I learned how to work the board, but it's going to be so nice to be totally free on the weekends for awhile.

Last night I was thinking about what I want from my involvement with the theater. I mean, why am I there? I'm not sure if I need to answer this question - it's a good place for me to be right now, and I'm happy doing whatever they ask me to do, but still... it's something to think about. Somebody asked me last night if I was going to workshop - it's what the "real" actors and actresses in the company are required to do; they have "workshops" twice a month. Since I'm not an actor, it's never been an issue - why would I go? They show the director stuff they've been working on; it's their time to show her what they can do. Obviously not the place for me, because what can I do? Anyway, when I was tripping out of the house last night (literally tripping; I'm not referring to a psychedelic experience) the director told me if I wanted to work on something, I could show it to her. Not sure if I'd want my first time showing her something to be in front of the whole company, all of whom know I am *not* an actress, but it was an interesting thought.

A while back I was given, by my friend David, a short thing that the director's husband had written. It's about a "young" woman who has an affair with an older, married guy, who dies at a rather badly-timed moment. The young woman is pretty much a mess, I mean, she's got issues. I've worked on the first couple of pages, and have some ideas, but jeez. I'm not an actor. Would my idea of how it could look really be anything good? Wouldn't it be terrible to have ideas and find out that they all suck? Wouldn't it be embarrassing, and kind of - heart-breaking? Isn't it kind of insulting to the other actors, for me at my age to be thinking I can just start to do this now? Out of nowhere? I mean, acting doesn't seem to me to be something like learning to knit, or paint... the other people in the company are talented, hard workers who know what they're doing... I don't know how any of this shit works.

Then again, what do I know. Yeah, I'm old. But so what. Right?

Is there any other way I can help you?

I'm sure everyone has a similar story, and it's no big deal to talk to people who don't understand what you're asking them or to receive lousy customer service, but here's my story.

I just got off the phone with Citibank; they haven't received a check I mailed on 1/19. I wanted them to stop the payment on the check I wrote, and I would do an online transfer payment (because it's instantaneous and easy) but what I really wanted was for them to not be dicks and charge me a late fee, and a fee for the stop payment. But the woman helping me didn't understand what I wanted, and after I explained what I wanted to do for the second time, she goes,

"Ms. Bean, we have not received your payment. Is there any other way I can help you?"

at which point, I lost it a little, because, in what way have you helped me so far? I was pissed. Then she goes, maybe you would like to call back tomorrow and see if your check comes through? Yes, after explaining my situation to you twice [once at half-speed and double-volume, as if she were deaf and not just being dumb], I think maybe I better try my luck on this call another time. When her shift is over.

I was speaking to my co-worker the other day on a sort of related topic. The phone rings all day long at my job. My boss gets many calls on her line that have nothing to do with her: people call her thinking she can solve their problem, when the truth is, they would be better served by another person. The thing is, now they're our problem, and we have to figure out who that better person is. I haven't been there long enough to know all the answers, but my co-worker has. She quite easily and very nicely will answer any question on the phone. Her attitude on the phone is perfection: sweet but firm, knowledgeable yet friendly. She's got it covered. See, a lot of those calls are from people who call and they say this:

"Could you connect me to...?" They are asking me to connect them to someone who neither works in my office, nor works for my boss. In other words, I have become an operator. You know? With the headset, microphone, multiple phone lines, funny voice? And you know what? I'm not getting paid to fucking transfer a call. The problem is, our department does not have a hard copy of the directory.

I know that's hard to believe. But if you want a phone number you have to go online and search for it by name.

I mean, it would be really nice to have a directory of the entire department, not just alphabetical, but maybe by office? with titles and stuff? but apparently that would be too hard.

(Another thing that bugs me is, we have an area where the mail gets sorted. And everyone [well, everyone except me] has a little cubby. And the cubbies? The cubbies are in some weird order that no one understands. So instead of being alphabetical [my personal choice] or by unit [makes sense, too], you stand there for what feels like forever, searching for the name you're looking for. I asked the girl up front about this today, and she goes, "Oh, everyone asks that. But we have so much movement here with people coming and going, we'd always be having to change the cubbies." OK, so it's tape, and a label. It's not a kidney transfer. But I digress.)

Anyway, I get a little annoyed when someone calls and all they want is for me to transfer them somewhere else. I mean, at least they could ask nicely. It doesn't help that the other secretary is named Eileen, so I'm pretty much pissed off from the moment I answer the phone (oh, and did I tell you that I have to climb over about 3 feet of stuff on the ground in order to answer the phone, which, conveniently, does not ring at my desk? No? I didn't tell you about the mountain o' crap that lies between our desks? Huh. How could I have not mentioned that?) because I do my spiel, which ends with "This is Irene, can I help you?" and the caller goes,

"Eileen?"

And I go,

"No, this is IRene."

"Can you transfer me to so-and-so?"

Jackasses.

Oh, so anyway, when I was speaking to my co-worker (who, by the way, never has to say,

"No, this is EILeen" when she answers the phone),

and complimenting her on how polite she is with people, and saying that I hope one day I will be able to answer the calls with the calm and ease with which she answers them, and she made some comment about having grace, and how she really works at it, and sometimes she fails. She was nice. I've been getting a little bit overwhelmed with the quantity of stuff I've been asked to do at my job (I'm still new, though, and I love being busy, and I expect I'll get used to it eventually), and then having to put down what I'm doing to take a phone call I don't want to take is a pain in the ass...

Grace is something I definitely could use.

Grace.

I gotta look that up, 'cause I think I need some. Now, to just figure out how to get it...

My Secret Name

Earlier this month, I saw my niece (she's 8, in the 3rd grade) at my brother-in-law's house. She was very excited because she'd been assigned to do a "diorama" on the Little House books (Patrick says they're not called dioramas, but isn't that what they are? it's when you make a 3D display of a scene from a book, usually placed in a shoebox. Right? I don't know, that's what we called them when I was little). The library didn't have the first one, Little House in the Big Woods) so she did Little House on the Prairie instead. She illustrated the scene Mr. Edwards describes of running into Santa Claus in town during a big snowstorm (remember? when he has to hike through all the snow to bring the girls their presents, which are shiny new metal cups of their very own?) with one of her old Barbie horses and some stuffed Santa. Anyway, I told her when she was ready, to give me a call and I'd bring her Little House in the Big Woods.

Over the weekend, she called and asked for it, and I dropped it off on Sunday. On Monday, we got a message from her. She's all, "Hi Aunt Irene, I just wanted to know if you had a secret name, what would it be? And I want to know if, can you be in a book club because I have no one to be in it with? Okay? So, bye."

Last night I called her back, and said hell yes I'll be in your book club (okay, well, I didn't say it quite like that). I asked her what her secret name was; I wasn't quite sure what she was getting at, and I'm not sure why we need secret names but I'll go for it. Now I have to think of one.

She said her mom told her that because I'm so busy, what we should do is each one of us read a book, then call the other once a month and tell each other about it. Anyway, I've been thinking about it, and for one thing, Stacey called it: I am busy. But reading a book and then telling my niece about it sounds like the funnest thing I've ever been asked to do. And then I get to hear her tell me about her book? I would almost pay money for that. So sweet.

I think she was surprised because when I was over their house, I was all up on my Little House trivia (I asked her, what kind of dog was Laura's dog, Jack?" She didn't know, but I did!). Maybe she wasn't expecting an adult (who, me?) to be so interested in something that interests her.

I can't wait. I think the thing to do is make sure I know what book she's reading, read it myself (or re-read it...) so I can ask intelligent questions. Our first telephonic meeting is this Saturday - we're going to choose a name for our club, and tell each other what books we're reading. Oh, and I have to come up with a secret name. I have a request of my one reader (hi, Julie!) - if you think of a good secret name for me, tell me. I need some help.

I can't wait for that phone call.

Idiosyncrasies

Julie has tagged me, so I now I have an assignment. I'm supposed to come up with six idiosyncrasies. I've been thinking about this a little bit for a couple of days, and I think I've come up with exactly three. I'm sure Patrick could name a few more, but I'm having trouble.

Anyway, here are my idiosyncrasies. If anybody thinks of any more, send 'em in.

1- I like relish, but I don't like pickles.

2 - I hate telephone books. Patrick, for some reason, likes to stockpile them. If I don't stay on top of it, some day I'll open the cupboard door, and there are like 12 of them in there.

3 - I can't eat alone without something to read. No book or magazine? I'll buy a newspaper. No newspaper? I'll read anything free with words within reach. I always have a book or something in the car. And it takes me like a week to read one days' newspaper, because I read all of it, during lunchtime only. All of it: the sports page, the business section, all of it.

4 - And on that note, I've been known to read the Lysol can (and other similar handy objects) while in the restroom. Public restroom with no spray cans nearby? I'll see how many words I can make out of whatever's in there with me, usually the toilet seat cover box. How many words can you make out of "PROTECTO"?

5 - I cannot stand Oprah, Larry King, Barbara Walters, Katie Couric, Andy Rooney, Rachel Ray, Giada De Laurentis, or Huell Howser.

6 - I can't stand the following words or phrases:

"whatnot"
"good times"
"happenstance"
"anyways"
"it's all good"
"ditty"
"tune"
that sound people make when they think other people are being "catty"
"shout out"
"props"
"mad skills"

An Actor Prepares...?

My friend Bo, before the show. He plays Menelaus, and does a wonderful job being a bad-ass. He's a good actor, because most of the time, in real life, he's a bit of a clown.

No, wait, I don't mean that the way it sounds. He's terrific.

The other photo is of the feet of my friend Paul. He too is terrific. I'm blessed with good friends, aren't I? He runs the place some of the time, writes a lot of stuff, works hard onstage and off, and is generally (do I mean "generally"?) indispensable to the theater. He's also "Ask Paul." I hope he doesn't mind being shown here. Guess I could've asked him, but where's the fun in that?

He got hit with way too much flash in this picture, but I like the sort of half-smile he's wearing here. His feet are my way of saying, listen, even the feet - even the floor at City Garage has character.

P.S. Dude, get a haircut.

Maybe this is a good time to remind you that IPHIGENIA closes next weekend. So get off your butt and get down to Santa Monica to see it.

Tonight's Pictures of Me

My friend Paul took this one and the next one, at the theater tonight. This is me, in the light booth. Patrick wondered why you can't see more of the light booth. Well, it's pretty small. Paul took the photo from below - you have to step up about 4 steps to be where I am, and there's not a lot of room to maneuver. Maybe Sunday I'll have him take another.















The light board is right behind me. It's not very large... maybe the size of a 3 regular-size computer keyboards. One night it did this really wacky thing on me, before (thank God) the show started. Not sure if you can see, but there's a teeny tiny light attached to the board. It's got some kind of wiry, bendy thing, so you can move it. During the show, I use that light and another goose-neck lamp on the wall by the audio equipment (to my left in this picture, not sure if you can see it). Anyway, one night (before the show, thank god) I needed to move the teeny tiny light. That's the one that shines on my notes (I wondered, the other night, if I could do the show by heart, and I think maybe I could, now). So I nudged it a little with my finger.

Nudging that light was a BAD idea, because somehow (and I hear you saying, Irene, there's no "somehow" in electronics) that caused the board to shift into the next lighting cue, and took the thing out of the right mode, WITHOUT my touching the "go" button.

Needless to say, that freaked my shit out. I got it all back to normal in time for the show. But you bet your ass I didn't touch anything on that board other than the "go" button all night.




















Self portrait in car, after dropping off Bo. We carpooled tonight. I enjoy carpooling with him more when he drives.




















This one was taken while in line at El Pollo Loco. I found out minutes after taking this photo that they were out of ice cream. Needless to say (have I been saying, "needless to say" a lot?), I got out of line and drove to another Pollo Loco. Because ice cream? Totally necessary tonight.

Franny's been spayed

I picked up Franny from the vet today while on my lunch break. I took her yesterday morning to be spayed.

God, I missed her in that one day she was away from home! Anyway, I took off a little early from lunch to pick her up and settle her in at home. She sat in my lap while I ate my lunch (her favorite, a turkey sandwich. Of course she had some, too) and now she's sleeping on the chair in the office with her teddy bear and a blanket (and shaved tummy... she's had a hysterectomy, which seems funny to me, because she's only 7 months old! Never to be a woman, and no longer a little girl, could Britney Spears write a song about her?). I have to take her back in 4 days to get the pain patch thing removed. And then in 2 and 1/2 weeks to take them a stool sample: fun!

I wish I could stay home with her but I have to get back to work. If you saw the stack of stuff I have to do today... You would know that this week I definitely earned my money.

Oh, and there are only 19 days until we got back to Colorado! I can't wait (except... if I missed Franny this much in 24 hours, how much will I miss her in a week and a half!?).

[Photo added at 12 a.m. Dora is taking good care of the kitten, isn't she!]

The Day I Stopped Watching "Gilmore Girls"

Well, it had to happen someday (didn't I use those words elsewhere in my blog this week?)... After something like six years of watching "Gilmore Girls" and not-so secretly aspiring to be Lorelai Gilmore (minus the 21-year old daughter), last night I taped GG and watched only 15 minutes before stopping the thing and deleting the episode.

Yes, I was tired (and therefore punchy).

However, in my defense (I may have also been menstrual), the show sucked. After being off forever, they return to... Rory coming home from visiting her punk-ass boyfriend in London (and she still has those goddamn bangs, and the Prius from a hundred years ago. Hello, all the cool kids are driving the Civic Hybrid), and she finds that Mom and Dad (newly married, remember?) have refrained from celebrating Christmas, denying Dad's other little daughter (Lorelai's step-daughter) from celebrating Christmas (and, this child apparently still believes in Santa Claus, so what horrendous lie did they tell her, anyway, and do you think that qualifies as child abuse? And if so, if I call it in to DCFS, will this show GO AWAY?). Anyway, Lorelai and Rory (party of two) dig up all their hundred year old Christmas crap (one box was overlowing with that paper garland stuff you make, you know, with a stapler, and I want to know: what kind of people re-use that? I mean, you make it, you staple it together, and come New Year's Day, you throw that shit away), and talk about their very precious Christmas traditions, and pull the "oh, Christopher, you don't know anything about what we do, so don't come to us with your crappy nouveau riche velveteen Christmas stockings and rain on our Christmas parade."

Argh! I mean, fuck, the guy's your dad, your husband, and he's living there, and he wants to participate, so would you PLEASE ACCEPT HIM INTO THE FAMILY ALREADY? God they were both annoying the crap out of me, and this is only like, I don't know, 10 minutes in.

Then sometime later (time seemed to pass in strange ways during this episode), we're at the Dragonfly, where Lorelai still pretends to work, and Luke shows up, practically in tears, begging her to write a character reference for his lawyer. He needs it for when he takes Sherilynn Fenn to court to sue for some kind of partial custody of his daughter, which is fine, but I don't know, why does Luke have NO other friends? It's a small town, and he's the town grinch, but come on. Maybe he could've gotten Jess-the-small-press king to do it. I mean, the guy's a writer, is he not?

Anyway, I watched about 10 seconds of beautiful Lauren Graham struggling to write the letter (while Sookie slaved over a hot kitchen. Lorelai seems to be going to work merely to get dressed in pretty clothes these days) before I stopped caring about anyone and everyone. Oh, there was a scene in there with a very pregnant Lane harassing the diners at Luke's (who must go there for the salt that gets poured in their wounds by either Luke or Lane) but I refuse to write about it anymore than I just have, because... This. Show. Sucked.

And now? I am FREE! Free of Star's Hollow and Rory and her dumbass friends with their dumbass nicknames for people (Boyfriend!) and fucking Gramma and Grampa and Logan and Taylor and oh, my god, no more goddamn Kirk, and Pat Sajak the dog (whatever)...

Hooray for me!

The Short List

To-do

1. Finish the never-ending laundry. Not sure how I'm going to accomplish this; but it must be done. Maybe will have to enlist the help of Franny the kitten.

2. Practice more than once a month. Seriously. My flute teacher wrote these words on my sheet (it's the reminder page she writes out with stuff for me to do on it) last week: "Practice! The World Deserves It!" Pretty cool, no? And she believes it. So, hey. Whatever tiny part of the world that hears me play the flute better watch out because I'm going to start practicing. Tomorrow, though, 'cause it's way too late now.

3. Watch more movies. The last movie I went to the theater to see was "Little Miss Sunshine." It was terrific, but had already been out for like 4 months by the time I got off my ass to see it. There are a ton of great new movies, but we never go. Honestly, I think we're too cheap, and that's just wrong.

4. Drink more beer. I've started drinking Newcastle again, and I think I'm hooked.

5. Be better about keeping the house clean. I've made this comment about my mom's house: "You could eat off the floors." Normally I follow it with, "But why would you want to?" because I've been pretending to be a slob. But actually, and this was proven by Damon in the 10th grade, I'm pretty damn uptight. And what are uptight people? Uptight people are clean (or they should be; messy uptight people tend to be suicidal. It's been proven in studies). So if I want to embrace me as I really am (the me I am today, not the me I could be tomorrow) I gotta take the uptight by the hand and make it make me clean my bathroom more than once every six months.

6. Remember that I can be funny! This post may not be an indication of my sense of humor. Or it may be an excellent indication of my sense of humor; I'm not sure. I'm very tired, you see, and it's been a long day.

Prom 1990

OK, so my friend Julie posted her prom photo on her blog (click on the title, and you will see what I mean; by the way, GREAT HAIR Julie! You really knew what you were doing with that curling iron! I paid someone for my Cher hair, and had to come home and flatten it out before prom because I looked like a fucking valley-girl, which would be okay, I guess, if we'd lived in the valley), and I figured since I took down all the pictures from my now-defunct Yahoo! blog, I could maybe get away with re-posting my own prom photo. Also, maybe I never told the (mostly boring) story of my prom night. Nobody's fault, but we just weren't the type of kids to go crazy. Oh, well, maybe we were, but I think we had our own schedule for stuff like that: group activities like the prom weren't really our scene.

So here's the story. Me and Adam have known each other since Mrs. Smith's 5th grade class. He was a little punk-ass smart kid, and I was developing my slacker tendencies. I went to his birthday party, and wore this horrible outfit that I can't even bring myself to describe. His mom served sloppy joe's. I didn't know him very well.

He hadn't shot up to the height he is here (tall, man! and I'm wearing heels!). Tall is good, just in case you're wondering.

Junior high: we knew each other, were friendly, but (sorry if I'm totally remembering this wrong, Adam) but not exactly friends. We were in band together. There were other boys I couldn't talk to as easily as I could talk to him, but those were the boys that interested me at the time. It took awhile, but I eventually learned my lesson.

High school: we had a lot of friends in common. Jay, Damon, Sean, Josh, Rachel, etc. We were still in band. Total geeks (well, I guess I should just speak for myself). He lived across the street (the big street, not the little one) from me and at some point in our high school lifetime we started walking to school together. These were the days he used to listen to "The Wall" on his Walkman. I recall biking to school myself, but not sure if we did that, too. We left our hand/footprints in the freshly poured cement when they re-did the bridge by our neighborhood. At some point he made me a mix-tape.

In the 80s, giving a girl a mix-tape meant only one thing, and if you don't know what that one thing was, well, you weren't a kid in the 80s. Also, if you don't know what a mix-tape is, go read a book or something.

I loved that mix-tape.

I wish I still had it. It was decorated and written in his cool writing, and very sweet. I can remember only a couple songs (Adam, write a comment if you can remember any of the other tunes on that tape, because it would be fun to recreate a play list for the two people who read my blog):

"Best of Times," by Styx
"Got My Mind Set on You," by George Harrison

Anyway, that mix-tape kind of came at me from left field, because up to then, I was used to me liking guys who either didn't like me (or know me), or liked me but turned out to be, oh, I don't know, rapists, or drug addicts or something. Or engaged. Me and Adam had known each other forever, and I had no idea you were allowed to like someone you were actually friends with. Adam was in all the smart-kid classes (since I slept through all my AP classes in the 10th and 11th grades [or drew pictures of Sean], I figured out that I didn't want to work that hard anymore by the 12th grade), and the smart-kid classes were full of the pretty girls with pretty hair and pretty clothes, who were in sororities and had cars, and oh my fucking god, I'm sure my life was not a John Hughes movie. I just didn't have any kind of self-awareness in those days, didn't know where or if I fit in anywhere. I knew I was smart (if very lazy), and that I could sometimes make people laugh (people other than Melissa, Michelle, and Rachel - we had fun, didn't we), but I was still too awkward around boys to understand that laughter breaks all the barriers.

So one thing led to another (I don't remember the exact way it worked. We must've discussed it, but ? I don't remember) and we were a couple. Senior year was fun, because he was fun, and had good taste in music, and took me to shows (Firehose!), and to Mama Pajama (a funky little coffee-house/vintage clothing store) for the coolest open-mic nights that a couple of high school kids ever went to, and he put up with my teenage girl emotional problems, and inability to learn to drive. I think we had a lot of fun, actually.

Around this time I met up with Patrick, at my job as a page at the local library. Patrick was 22, and - I have to say it because it still kind of blows my mind, as it did then - apparently in love with me. He was also a little bit scary looking, and did I mention how old he was? I was very happy to be able to say to him, "I have a boyfriend!" The three of us were sort of friends, and Adam and Pat actually wound up playing music together (Patrick had some evil plan to befriend my boyfriend and then make his move. It took awhile, but in the end, it did kind of work).

Adam and I went on road trips (again, how I got away with this is totally beyond me), and hung out in the park, and played flute and clarinet duets (he could count better than I could), and ditched school to watch Mr. Rogers, and went to the drive-in, and the Marina, and the library parking lot, and the movies, and the arcade to play Tetris and Centipede. We went to orchestra rehearsal (the LA Jr. Phil), and were still in band together. He wore plaid pants or shorts with a different Fishbone t-shirt almost every day. He had this really soft paisley shirt from the Gap. He wore Birkenstocks and made me laugh. He never ever commented on my clothes which were probably atrocious. And we had no plans whatsoever to go to our prom.

Then his mom found out about it, and she got involved, and Adam was set because he had a tux for the orchestra, and she somehow managed to borrow this kind of ugly off-white dress for me (strapless! I had never worn strapless anything; and haven't since) from someone at her work, and the person who loaned it to me allowed me to alter it (it was too big and too small in certain key areas). I bought some cheap-ass shoes, some pantyhose, and a strapless bra. I got my hair done. I wore lipstick and the world's biggest glasses. And he picked me up in either his mom's red Datsun/Nissan or his own beige Chevy Citation with the Colorado plates and the KXLU sticker (I can't remember which car he had at this point), and we posed for all the requisite pictures (there are actually better ones than this one, but I like the reflection in the window). He bought me a very beautiful red wrist corsage with a sparkly ribbon thing and a minimum of baby's breath (I despise baby's breath), and it was actually a little bit romantic.

Our prom was absolutely nothing like anything I had imagined. There was no live band. The music sucked. It was 1990: music sucked in 1990. It was held at the LAX Hilton, a truly disgusting hotel (since remodeled and quite nice; my in-laws had their 50th wedding anniversary there). The food was awful. I felt self-conscious and unpretty and kept worrying that I had lipstick on my teeth or that I would trip in my heels. The popular kids were dancing their weird dances and acting like assholes. Afterwards, we went to an after-prom party at this kid Charlie's house. I forget where we told my mom and dad we were going. In any case, it wasn't memorable in any way, shape, or form. I don't know what Adam was expecting; I remember being tired, and falling asleep on the floor.

So anyway, nothing lasts forever, because eventually we graduated, yes, even me, with my 42 truancies in 5th period (thank you, Mr. Girls-Basketball-Coach/History-Teacher for not failing me). Adam and his folks had moved to another part of town: near the Trendy Contemporary New Age Furniture store... we still saw each other of course, but he was getting ready to head off to college, and I was making plans to, um, work at the local bookstore and take a few classes at SMC or West LA.

And then off he went to college, and that was that.

[There's a story about a trip I made to his college with Sean and his girlfriend that is rather memorable for it's sheer awful-ness, but I'm not gonna tell that story now. For one thing, it's a hundred years ago and doesn't really paint anybody in a very nice light, except maybe Sean. And for another thing, I'm telling a nice story, not a shitty one. And for another thing, it turned out that what happened had to happen and if I could make it not happen, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't. So there.)

And we're still friends, and Patrick and I went to his wedding (where Patrick uttered the most awesome words my man has ever said in my presence, which were: "Thank you for leaving Irene for me," which, by the way, he said in the receiving line after we shook hands with the new married couple), and he and his wife came to ours, and all is right in the world when you can still be friends with people like that. I grew up with Adam, and that's no small thing, knowing the people who knew you when you were young and stupid.

And thin.

Control-V

I received the following message in my Yahoo inbox. I've copied and pasted it below for your enjoyment. (Control-V seems to be playing an important role in my life these days. I'm not going to explain that actually, but will just tell you to be careful when you "copy" and "paste." Pay attention.)

Anyway, re: the following message. I don't know what to say, except, why would anyone in their right mind A) reply to such a message, and B) WRITE such a message? I realize that English is not everyone's first language. I get it. But the text below kinda screams wacko to me, and I hope to you too. I mean, who hasn't seen those stories on TV about lonely women falling in love with some guy on the Internet based on a photo? And then it turns out that the photo is some model who had no idea his image was being used to lure people into online "relationships" they end up literally paying for? I mean, jeez. I'm sorry people are so naive. And I'm kind of sorry I'm so cynical.

And I mean, god, spelling and grammatical errors aside, just what does this person want, anyway? Video? Pictures? To be my "friend"? Honey, I have friends, thanks.

(Several hours after posting this message:)

I've had some time to look up the dude who sent me the following message (the message came through via my now defunct Yahoo! 360 blog, so it was easy to link back to his page). He has 27 friends, all of them, um, let's just say, zaftig. They're big girls. And kinda slutty. But it all seemed sort of stupid and totally un-sexy. I'm wondering what it was about my photos or blog that led him to believe I might fit in with his other "girls" (I mean, yeah, I could stand to lose 10 pounds but "Emmanuelle" is not listed in my "Favorite Movies" list). Anyway, fuckin' creep. What is it with people?

Here's his message:

very important for the pretty queen hello pretty queen ..i was very lucky to see your profile on yahoo your pic attracted and excite me soo much ...ohh iam sorry my name is Ahmed iam 37 years old , bussines man from Dubai ,single, i wish that you add me to your yahoo messanger and to join my dear freinds who gives me cam shows and of course it is payed ones as i do pay for each 1800$ + special Gifts per month for 10 shows each show is 30 minutes and they do recive money throw western union so i wish that you do accept to be my freind add me in your yahoo messanger... [email address deleted by Irene the Bean]...and we will be both lucky but if you are not intrested then ignore that message and we will lose both of us but belive me you are lucky to recive my offer ...[Guy's name deleted by Irene the Bean] - Dubai

Top Chef

So, last night I didn't watch everything (I DVR'd it, though, and will watch when I get a chance), but I did see the second half, which is where all the action was.

Really, I couldn't believe what I was watching. It almost seemed like a set-up. When I turned it on, I didn't realize that Ilan was filming when Elia shaved her head. I even said, "who's filming that?" Because then when he shaved his head, I figured she was the one holding the camera. I knew something bad was going to go down, and in Marcel's direction, but I never would've imagined it would've gone that far. Cliff was stupid but Ilan, Sam, and Elia (my precious Elia! Damn, girl!) fucked up too. Didn't look like any of them got the talking-to they deserved for just sitting there. I mean, what's up with that? Were they so wasted they couldn't help him? And then for Marcel to apologize to Cliff later - that was unbelievable.

OK, so here's a couple of comments I left on Harold Diterle (last season's winner)'s blog on Monday. I'm posting them here because, I don't know, I like what I said, and I'm glad I said it before I knew what was going to happen.

Irene wrote:

The judging on this show is just so unfair. Gail and Tom are completely unlikable. Their comments are never helpful, and come off as accusatory, every time. On Project Runway, when a designer fails, the judges never really seem to lose faith in that person as an artist. Here, it's a total hanging at the judges table. Needles to say, watching that is no fun. Only Ted Allen has any air of fairness and thoughtfulness, and he needs to be on more. And I'm not sure if it's true, but Padma's opinions seem to flow with what the rest of the group says. These chefs are mostly just being slammed. The thing with Marcel is ridiculous. I wish someone would stand up for him (Elia, what's up with that?). I'm not sure any of these people deserve to win. I love Elia, but the Marcel-baiting isn't proving that they (Sam, Cliff, Ilan) have the maturity to handle running a business, and watching them melt down into spite and petty childish acts only makes me like Marcel more. They may be talented chefs but this show is proving that they will crack under the pressure of real life, if they can't handle the unreality of this reality TV show.
posted on January 13, 2007 at 1:24 PM

Irene wrote:I just wanted to add one more thing. Harold called the guest judge's food "dog food," which I took to mean, food you serve TO dogs, not food made of dog. I understand that there could be some sensitivity there but perhaps a little closer reading of Harold's original comment would show that he was dissatisfied with the guy's product, not bashing him because of his nationality.

posted on January 13, 2007 at 1:46 PM

And so continues my new neverending fascination with Tammy Faye (Bakker) Messner

Last week's "One Punk Under God" was really sad. I guess it was filmed in the summer, and so I'm taking comfort in knowing that "Celebrity Death Beeper" hasn't notified me of anything bad having happened to Tammy Faye, but boy, by the end of the episode, I had to go check to make sure she was still, you know, alive.

During this episode, Jay was over there, visiting with his mom before the move to NY with his wife, and she (Tammy Faye) was doing an interview with some guy, and in the middle of the interview, she had to stop because she couldn't breathe. I mean, she was sitting there on her couch in the middle of her very middle-class looking living room, with her eight tons of makeup on, the tiniest person, ever (smaller than Nicole Ritchie), and she was holding on with both hands, to her composure, to dignity, to life, to God. She seemed afraid, but not-afraid. In her weakness she seemed, I don't know, not resigned to whatever's next, but up for it, in some weird way. Like she knows she doesn't have to go through it alone. Maybe all that is bullshit, my own dream of what a real born-again Christian would think at what is probably the end of their life (because it's the opposite of how I imagine I will be), but wow, she totally had me in tears.

And right there in the middle of her living room, with the Sundance cameras rolling and the guy sitting there (granted, I think he was from some religious publication), without any kind of warning or "excuse me while I pray," she closed her eyes, did the palms-raised-to-heaven move I've seen my own mom do thousands of times, and started praying to Jesus to heal her body... speaking to him like she was on the telephone. No - speaking to him like she was sitting at his feet and he had his hand on her head.

I'm telling you, I was pretty much a mess at this point. I mean, I couldn't talk. Actually, I couldn't talk right now, and I'm sure this post is going to be extra-gooey sentimental, and I'm sorry, if I don't write about it all cleverly and to the point. Can't do it.

But.

I am so lucky. I am sooooo lucky my own mother made it through chemo and radiation, and all the shit she went through last year. My own mother who believes in the same guy Tammy does, who prays the same way she does, who maybe didn't go through the same exact shit she did in life, but still - my mother made it, and I am so lucky, and thankful.

If you click on the title of this post, you will be taken to Tammy Faye's official website.

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to do

Wait, did I misquote that...?

We've done absolutely nothing today. This is the most glorious day in my recent memory:

• I took a shower.
• I ate lunch.
• I ate several (you know, several: more than ten) Oreos.
• I played with the kitten.
• I read a little from my book (The Ghost Map).
• I read Television Without Pity's recaps of all of last season's Top Chef episodes.
• I played a game of online Sudoku at latimes.com.
• I ate.
• I watched the guys making our new redwood fence in the backyard finish (they did a great job, and yes, I did feel slightly guilty for doing nothing while they did something but in the end, I had another Oreo and forgot about it).
• I Googled "harold dieterle," "stephen aspirino" and "tiffani faison."
  

Oh, and I appear to be coughing up little tiny bits of blood. I'm not going to think about that anymore, though.

I slashed my ankle shaving in the shower and now have a hand towel strapped to my leg with rubber bands because we ran out of band aids. Fucking cheap-ass single blade razors. What was I thinking? Oh, and it's not like I've never cut myself in that same exact spot before, either, so I'm sure the scar will be extra thick and yummy.

I also listened to Dr. King's speech on NPR - they've been playing a recording from an appearance of his at a temple in Hollywood back in 1965, and I've been thinking about that quite a bit, but I think I'll leave the details out of this silly blog entry.

It's nice to have this day off to chill and re-charge and just stay home from everything; I haven't forgotten why I'm here, though.

Ted Allen Should Replace All Three Judges On Top Chef

While I seriously doubt that online petitions effect any change in this world, here's something totally silly that I am behind, 100%; because, well, if you're going to get behind something, why not make it something totally ridiculous?

We've been watching Top Chef since Harold Dieterle won the first season. Last season wasn't perfect, but this time around, it's even worse. I mean, I don't know, maybe chefs just aren't nice people. Maybe lack of sleep does turn everyone into backstabbing, petty, tantrum-throwing jerks. What do I know?

Anyway, I've developed a serious dislike for the judges this season, and would love to see all of them get thrown under the Top Chef bus. These people should not be called upon to judge a peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich making contest. They suffer from the same malady as Rosie O'Donnell, Katie Couric, and Donald Trump: they take themselves way too seriously. Except that, the accomplishments of Rosie, Katie, and The Donald trump (get it?) the accomplishments of Gail, Padma, and Tom: I mean, they have at least some excuse. This season's Top Chef (and I'm not even talking about the total circus that breaks out whenever the cheftestants have to actually interact with each other) has just been dismal.

The best episodes have been the ones that have Ted Allen taking the place of Gail Simmons. Gail may be a nice person in real life (again, what do I know) but on this show, she has her nose in the air and a look of disgust on her face the entire time, and she seems to consider herself an expert on everything. Tom seems to let his preconceived notions get in the way of judging things that don't go the way he thinks they should go fairly, and Padma, well, don't get me started on Padma. I think all in all, I prefer Katie Joel.

Can't believe I just wrote that.

Anyway, so there's this online petition (click on the title of this post) that seeks to install Ted as Top Chef's "Tim Gunn," relieving Tom of the need to spy on the chefs backstage during the challenges. "I am not here to mentor anyone," he says on his blog. Well, good, because it's pretty clear that you'd suck at it. Ted, on the other hand, who treats everyone fairly, and critiques the work of the chefs with integrity and dignity, would bring a level of class to this show that it's totally lacking.

Oh, and please accept my sincere apologies for the typos in the comment that I left on the petition's website. It was an accident.

P.S. I forgot to add Kelly Ripa to the list of insufferable famous people who think people care what they think or do.

Let this be a lesson to you!

Tonight was our first show since the holidays, and all went well. However, as I have developed

\\The Cough//

I was a bit anxious about making unseemly noises in the booth.

So after work, I zoomed home and took my medicine (Entex LA), threw on more layers, and headed off to the wilds of Santa Monica, where the weather tonight is 44 degrees. Not freezing, but it feels like it could be close. I also threw into my pocket, my little liqui-gel packet of Nyquil.

OK, so Nyquil makes me sleepy, and I knew I didn't want to be sleepy in the booth, but I also knew I didn't want to be coughing, and

\\The Cough//

doesn't care if I'm driving, in a meeting with my boss, or what. \\The Cough// lives to make me stop breathing. \\The Cough//'s only joy is to make me make the hacking sound - the oh, so lovely hacking sound that my co-workers recognize even if they cannot see me (yesterday, I was hiding out in the restroom, coughing \\The Cough//, sounding as if I'm about to expel a lung, and this very nice woman, two stalls down, said, "Is that Irene?" She identified me by my fucking \\The Cough//).

All day long people have been leaving me little gifts of cough drops on my desk, not knowing that the drops make \\The Cough// only stronger. \\The Cough//, it laughs at your "cough" drops.

\\The Cough// sucks.

So I took one of the Liqui-Gels (C), thinking one might just prevent me from hanging myself, put on my Dickensian gloves with the fingers cut out, and got into the booth to run the lights for a show I haven't seen in something like six weeks.

It could've been a disaster. But those performers are good, and they did an excellent job, and it was a great show.

Me, too, man, I did a good job.

Then, on the way home, I was feeling fine, but I started getting drowsy, and the discussion about the new Apple iPhone, on KPCC, was interesting, but not quite interesting enough - so I switched to KLOS (usually a fatal mistake), but Jim Ladd has a theme, and tonight's theme is apparently songs with the word "bad" in them. (Who sang that "She's a bad mamajama" song? Bet you won't be hearing that on KLOS tonight.) Anyway, the song playing when I switched over was by the Grateful Dead, and now, I understand.

Thanks to the pharmaceutical assistance provided by 1/2 dose of Nyquil, I now understand the Grateful Dead. I believe the song Jim was playing was "Two Miles of Bad Road," but I could be wrong. It was one of those songs that's really two songs (two, two songs!) in one, and I forgot the name of both of them.

All I know is, I felt that song. My hands on the wheel felt that song. My left foot, pressed up against the little foot rest thingy, felt that song. My eyes, focused on the back end of the car in front of me, felt that song. It was amazingly beautiful.

And then I thought, Oh, shit, am I having a psychotic episode from NYQUIL?

What a lightweight I am.

And the funny thing is, I saw the Grateful Dead, at Cal State Dominguez, with Adam, sometime in high school, and while I guess my lack of fun time can only be blamed on myself, it just wasn't my scene. Truthfully, I am not a hippie-chick. (However, there was this girl, Lisa Jackson, who I knew in the 9th grade. She was sort of scary-nice, and for about two weeks, she sort of took an interest in me. She was a senior, I think. Anyway, she tried to get me to go to a Dead show with her, way back then, but I knew my folks wouldn't go for it. For one thing, she had long dreadlocks and smelled like patchouli. They would've known something was up. But I've always wondered if going with her to that concert - or anywhere - would've changed my life at all. I doubt it.) So here I am, many years later, having a breakthrough moment on the freeway, not far, actually, from the site of that very concert, and finally, finally I got it.

I'm just happy that I got home safely, and in time to blog again. I'm sure we're all glad. Heh, heh.

I'm doing it again... eBay here I come!

Click on the title of this post, and you can see the four eBay auctions I have going.

Seriously, I want to sell these so I can go to DSW and buy some new ones.

I also spent a good deal of time today working on my Amazon Wish List, so I'm posting it here, too. As obnoxious as that is.

Also, just as a reminder: after taking a hiatus for the holidays, IPHIGENIA will re-open at City Garage this Friday (1/12), and will continue running every weekend until sometime in February. Meaning... you still have a chance to check it out. I haven't asked for any nights off yet, so most likely it's gonna be me in the booth. It's a very good show, and I recommend it. But don't take my word for it, read the reviews on the website.

Spike Feresten

We just started DVR'ing this show, and I am in love with this guy. He's really funny. His show is on once a week, and it's only a half hour - you'd think it was too short but 30 minutes is just long enough. I think they're operating off of the "leave them wanting more" principle, and it works. I mean, we've all sat through the super-long, super unfunny SNL segments, grinding our teeth and itching to change the channel, but there's none of that here. He's good. Check him out.

He's totally wearing lip gloss in this photo.

Click on the title of this post, and it'll take you straight to the official website.

Saturday nights on Fox, after Mad TV.

Early to rise, early to bed*

(Actually we stayed up until 10 last night, watching "Iron Chef America." Then, once we turned out the lights I couldn't sleep. I also couldn't breathe. My nose is totally stuffed. And when it's not totally stuffed, it's totally running. It's not a good scene, here. Oh, and once I finally did fall asleep, I had a weird dream about living on a boat. And my dad was making counterfeit quarters.)

Today I got up early because I have to be downtown in two hours to take a test. If I do well, I could get a promotion. I wouldn't have to leave the job I've only been at one month, though: they could just promote me.

I have no idea what's going to be on this test. They provided no study materials or even subject matter. Since I'm still sick, I don't really care. I just want to get it over with, with the least amount of coughing and nose-blowing possible. And then I have to go back to work, but we'll see. If I'm feeling like crap it would be nice to just go home.

This weekend we all went to the Castaway in Burbank for my brother's birthday. If you haven't been there, drive up. There's an amazing view. The food was fine... we went for brunch, which in my opinion, was just OK. Then again, I'm not a huge brunch fan. The place was very crowded, and I'm also not a fan of weaving through people's outstretched legs and oversized purses in the aisle on my way to the food.

Anyway, I'd better go. I have to finish getting ready. I used to work downtown, near where I'm going to take this test, but I haven't been there in a long time, and I have to remember how to get there from here (cue R.E.M.'s "Can't Get There From Here").

*And seriously, if that title doesn't have you humming the theme to "Alice," I don't know what I'm going to do with you. You can, "kiss my grits," I guess. Oh, and click the title. You won't regret it.

The Big Apple

I think I've mentioned before the big caramel apple we get every Christmas? It's from Williams-Sonoma. My sister-in-law's brother and his wife started giving it to us several years ago; it's awesome. It's this huge apple, dipped in caramel and chocolate and then almonds - it's delicious. The apple is actually the best part - it's always so crunchy and yummy. The only thing is, you have to take it out of the refrigerator an hour before you want to to eat it, to make it easier to cut.

I can never plan ahead that far, so we end up eating half the apple at like 10:30 at night.

Hey, check the time: gotta go.

One Punk Under God

Patrick and I have been watching this show on the Sundance Channel, called "One Punk Under God.: It's pretty entertaining. I grew up watching Jim and Tammy Faye with my mom on TV. I had their kids' album when I was really little, and I really liked it. In fact, I'm bummed because I don't know what happened to it. But then my mom started dragging me to church with her all the time, and making me sing in front of people, sometimes dressed as a cowgirl (I swear I don't know why I had to wear a cowgirl costume; however, it's not the outfit that's the problem. It's the fact that I was actually singing in front of people. "Let the Sun Shine In," was a big favorite of mine. You can hear somebody with slightly more talent that I had singing it here), and she would have people in these weird store-front churches [usually next door to vacuum repair shops] lay hands on me for problems I didn't have, and it just got all weird and uncomfortable, and I hated it.

Don't get me started on Pioneer Girls, or Vacation Bible School... Being dragged somewhere I didn't want to go, doing things I didn't want to do (mostly because at Pioneer Girls, they made us play games before the Jesus stuff kicked in, and I sucked at dodgeball) didn't make me want to buy what they were selling. It was just so not cool.

I mean, when I think about it, I realize that all this stuff was new to my mom, too: she'd been Catholic all her life, where they avoided touching her - touching her physically (my mom was lucky) or touching her heart. She was looking for something different, and boy, did she find it. She's settled into a church that's not as wacky as some of those first places we went to, but yeah, they still stage the Crucifixion every Easter: you can always see some guy dressed as Jesus with a fake crown of thorns, walking down the aisle of the church with fake blood dripping out of his side. I mean, it's still out there. But it's not supposed to be acceptable to me. I have to find my own thing, or determine whether or how I even want it.

I'll tell the truth: all that Christian stuff bugs me. Really, really bugs me. I distrust those televangelist people, and because of their mistakes and what looks like hypocrisy, it's hard for me to take any of it, even the sincere people. And please don't even get started in on religion + government. I turn away from it. I don't like discussing it, because I feel like I always take the defensive side, even if that's not how I really feel. I don't like having it foisted on me (unless the person doing the foisting is Anne Lamott. When it's her I'm pretty much on board. But her last book was disappointing), some medicine that will save my ruined life.

And then, you know, in spite of "having faith," sometimes my mom seems to not have a whole lot of peace. And it seems to me, I mean, if you believe as hard as she does, you should have a little peace from it. But I don't know, maybe I'm wrong. I mean, I don't know how it really works.

I used to make my mom mad, because whenever she said something I took as "judgmental," I would "remind" her (with what was probably a really annoying manner) what the bible says about judging. I used to tell her: You don't know what God thinks. You don't know what God has in store for you, or me, or that person: you don't have the authority to tell me that I'm going to hell. Or that because people don't believe as you do, those people should be converted, or argued into submission, made to believe what you believe. She used to get really pissed off, because there I was, telling her that her faith wasn't good enough for me.

So the thing is, we've been watching this show. At first I wasn't sure how I was going to like it. I mean, the only thing punk so far about Jay Bakker is his look (his wife is a really interesting character on the show, and very pretty). The show basically has no soundtrack (or else I've been too busy listening to him talk to the music... on the Sundance website, his bio lists his favorite music, and there's not much punk listed there). Anyway, last week he made an announcement... he told his church, his financial backers, his father, that he doesn't believe that homosexuality is a sin.

It was interesting to see that the immediate result was that his church lost pretty much all of it's funding. I'm waiting to see if he can back it up - if he can make it, thinking these inclusive thoughts and saying things like this - or if he's going to be beaten down and silenced. I want to see him fight this one out, and succeed.

I'm not sure about him still. I mean, I'm not jumping on the bandwagon just yet. But I think I'm getting close. This guy really seems to have an attitude about religion, something I've always been drawn to, in spite of my wanting it to look like I've rejected it, that's kind of attractive. I don't know. Don't expect me to get all weird about it. In fact, I hope to not mention it again. I guess the thing is, I have preconceptions about it too. And they're based on my experiences, but that doesn't mean that I'm judging it fairly: "it" being - God, Christianity, religion. I mean, I could be wrong about it, too.

I have to really think about it - just because I had a crappy experience when I was nine doesn't mean that's what it is now. Or that I'll stop saying "fuck." Or that I'll be unafraid. Or change.

I don't know. We'll have to wait and see.

Block Party* + Allergies

We went to the holiday party our neighbors have... we've been attending these parties since we first moved to this neighborhood, and they're good, clean fun. Usually they're before the holidays, but this year with everyone traveling and stuff, they had to postpone it until New Year's Eve. Fine with me, as we weren't planning on going anywhere.

This year our neighbor John broke out his bartending skills, and made a few very good apple-tinis. Me and our other neighbor Jim were the only other ones drinking them, but I thought they were quite delicious.

Our other neighbor's daughter, Melissa, blended up some pretty good margaritas. I may have to hire her for my next party - she did a good job.

Usually these parties consist of our eating, drinking, and hanging out. This year, our neighbor Jim bought his boys the Wii game thing - so some people (not me, not with several martinis and a margarita in me) played that. Patrick surprised everyone by hitting a home run during the baseball game. It was fun - they like to tease and we like to tease, and they're all pretty funny and receptive. It was a good time. Now I think we're just going to hang out here and maybe watch a movie. I'm a little drunk, to be honest with you.

Tomorrow, I plan to get up and watch the Rose Parade in my pajamas, and maybe eat some See's candy, if there's any left. I'm looking forward to seeing the llamas.

Anyway, we've been home for about an hour, and during that time, I have been fooling around with my new blog. Also during that time, my allergies have started full-on acting up. Yesterday I had the worst sinus headache I've ever had - we both had headaches, and went to bed at 7:30.

*Click on the title of this post, and you can read a very short story about the llamas. I couldn't find a better one.

Ask Paul

Hey, Paul,

I'm thinking about the tradition of making resolutions at the beginning of the new year, and was just wondering if you had a take on this.

Personally, I've never really taken it seriously - I have made efforts to try to think of things I would like to change or do differently come January 1st, but they're usually the same old things everyone thinks of (eat better, eat less, work out more, practice my flute more, etc.). Plus, for me, the end of the year and the start of the new one has never really been that exciting. I've never really looked forward to starting over again. I mean, what's different but the date?

Anyway, this year, I'm trying to think about it differently. I'm actually a bit excited about the prospect of starting over, of saying goodbye to some bad habits, and growing up a little. I'm not saying that you should except to see a visible difference in me. I'm not saying that there will even be a change, just that I'm not afraid of what the future has in store for me. Or not as afraid, as I have been in years past. Or trying to not be afraid, which in itself seems to me to be a good thing.

I hope all with you is fine, and that you are well, and over your cold.

Happy new year, my friend!

All the best in 2007,
Irene

...

[Paul's response:]

I'm not fine or over my cold. I went home and got sicker than ever and am still congested and coughing. Merry freakin' Xmas. Doctor diagnosed a virus and prescribed Flonase>, but said if I'm not 100% better in two weeks, come back for a chest x-ray.

I applaud your resolve for the new year, and more than that I applaud your hopefulness. Resolve and hope are pre reqs to happiness. Hold fast to them and you'll make progress that you will feel before others can see it.

Having said that, I think New Year's Resolutions are basically crap. But then I feel that way about almost anything that's arbitrary and "traditional." Rather than making resolutions on January 1 that will be forgotten by January 14, we need to try to live as consciously as we can throughout the year. Didn't Socrates -- or somebody equally wise and dead -- say the unexamined life is not worth living? I don't think taking stock once a year counts. And considering nothing else ends and begins now except the calendar (not the personal tax year [which really ends April 14], not the season, not the fiscal year),it doesn't even seem like a good time to take stock and make changes.

The Romans had it right -- springtime is for new beginnings. So even if I were going to do it once a year, I'd probably do it with the natural world in March (or September if I lived in Australia).

Happy New Year, Irene. I hope you get what you deserve, not just what's coming to you.

The Acid Blues

(I have no idea who this band is, pictured. I was looking for a photo of Zen Sushi online, and this is what I found. It shows the angle I was talking about, and the white vinyl walls.)

We checked out The Acid Blues tonight, at Zen Sushi, in Silverlake. The evening started off great, with an incredible bento-box dinner of tempura, salad, miso soup... and then the band totally wowed us - they were really good. We met up with Patrick's cousin Adrian and his girlfriend Candace, both visiting from El Paso, and they're very sweet. It was nice getting to talk to them, and hang. And eat.

After dinner, we headed into the main room at Zen Sushi, and what a cool place. The room the band played in is kind of trapezoidal - the corner where the stage is, the two walls meet at a sharper angle than you expect, and the walls are covered with this white, tufted vinyl: very cool. The rest of the room is painted red. I felt a little bit like I've been there before, but I think not. Anyway, the set was mostly full of classic blues, with some Jimi Hendrix thrown in. Adrian was called up by Art to sit in on guitar, and it was totally cool to get to hear him play again. He's such a pro: fits in anywhere, can play anything, is such a gentleman, and amazingly talented. The rest of the band was good, too - the drummer played some really nice things, and the bassist sang a couple of songs for a different feel. All in all, I was impressed and I'm really glad we went.

Yeah, I'm full of superlatives tonight, what can I say?

Christmas

So, it's over. It was fun while it lasted, but I do remember thinking at least twice yesterday, "man this day is long."

On Friday, Patrick and I went to the Knitting Factory to see his cousin Adrian rock out with El Vez. It was a fun show. Adrian's car has been parked in our driveway for about a month... he drove down to LA from El Paso just after (or before?) Thanksgiving, stuck around for rehearsals, and then set off on a whirlwind tour. El Vez has quite an act... you should check him out at least once if you ever get the chance.

On Sunday, after Patrick picked up Adrian in Silver Lake, and brought him home, the two of them went back to sleep (I might've awakened momentarily but I don't recall much about those moments of not-sleeping), and once they got up, we went to "lunch" (it was 11:30 a.m.) at the Yard House in downtown LB. Yummy, yummy, yummy: the feeding frenzy that has been this holiday season continued. I had the Mac & Cheese(2), which is quite possibly the best thing, ever. Then we came home, and honestly, I don't know what we did. Watched TV? Played with the kitten? I don't remember. Oh, I think I ran out to the store to pick up a pie for my mom, and ran a couple of errands. I watched "Stop Making Sense," and wished I had been a teenager in 1984. Or at least the kind of 12-year old allowed to go to concerts.

That night we went over to my brother-in-law's house, and hung out with him and his wife, their kids, my sister-in-law's brother and his wife, their kids, her dad, and my mother-in-law. The kids were all very excited about tracking Santa online. We stayed over there for quite a while, ate some tamales, visited, and it was a nice night. Then home again, to bed early, got up early, and headed over to my parents' house.

It was a nice day with them, and I have to say, I haven't been the best about visiting with my mom and dad lately. I'm glad we went, and I am determined to go more often. I got what I asked for, which is a new hand-held vacuum, from my dad. I am very much in love with it.

Oh, and we had the traditional Christmas meal again: tamales and fried eggs (which, by the way, I just had again, for dinner. It doesn't get old, for some reason).

Is Everything Here Connected...?

I don't really know what this post is about. It just sort of starts in the middle, doesn't it.

A TALE OF TWO JOHNS - I bought this ages ago, and never watched it (if I said I did on any prior recaps, well, I guess I was just being hopeful). However, I finally sat down and watched it, and while it's a tiny bit long, I really enjoyed it. I was sort of a fan of these guys but never saw them live or anything, just enjoyed what came my way and what I picked up on cassette back in high school. I guess I had Apollo 18, Lincoln, and of course Flood, but where those cassettes are now, well, I'd give a dollar to know that. Also I'd give a dollar to have the CDs, because I don't have any way of playing cassettes anymore.

THE WAY WE WERE - This was on TCM a while back, and I taped it, and finally watched. I liked it, but I didn't like that Hubble and Katie don't end up together. I know: I wanted the happy ending, that's the only "happy" ending that would do, but it was a fine movie, otherwise. I didn't fall asleep.

RAGIN' FULL ON - Well, what can I say. This is probably the album I know the best, where nothing is a surprise and I know every hook, every beat, and (almost) every lyric, and it's still as good as I remember. I first heard this thanks to Adam, who willingly (I think) went along with listening to it pretty much non-stop back in high school. We went to a bunch of shows to see these guys; we were just teenagers, and I had never seen live music before (not like this), and there are some pretty powerful memories of being a dumb kid wrapped up with this album. I never even knew about the Minutemen until years later. Patrick kind of scoffs at my affection for Firehose (he's a big ol' Minutemen fan), and while Ed certainly was no D. Boon, the Minutemen will never hold the same place in my heart as this album.

104

Yesterday was the flute recital, for which I worked very hard. For about 1 hour.

I swear to god that's the last time I leave learning my solo for THE MORNING OF THE RECITAL.

After we finished our finale (8 flutes performing a very cheesy version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas"), and everyone was applauding, an older gentleman stood up. He was seated next to my dad.

Anyway, this guy stands up, and says, "I just want to thank you for this concert today. I'm 104 years old and in all my life I have never seen an exhibition like this!"

ONE-HUNDRED-AND-FOUR!

He looked pretty good for 104. It was very sweet of him to say that. I hope some of his long-lifedness rubbed off on my folks.

So I'm sitting here...

on the group w bench...)

I just got home from work, and I've changed into my comfy clothes. Today's comfy clothes = a pair of Patrick's sweats from Old Navy that I bought for him but wear more often than he does. They're perfect; way too big for me but so what; my very old EuroDisney sweatshirt, also too big for me, over a t-shirt; and some cozy socks.

Oh, I am tired.

Last week was the flute choir concert, and it was a success, all three times we performed. We had our regular concert on the last night of class, then this past Saturday, we went out to LAMP Village in downtown LA and played there. There were some lovely people there; one of them, a man named Robin, stood up and led the singing when we did our traditional "sing-along." He was very nice, and sang well, and I think they enjoyed all of our flutes. After that we played at the retirement home, and that was nice, in a different way.

It was a fine weekend, but busy, and way too short. I'm beginning to look forward to January, when I have nothing to do.

Because I've been a terrible blogger this week, I thought I'd revert to my old tricks and post a somewhat amusing email to my friend Paul. Because apparently he brings out the writer in me?

I don't know, maybe he does.

This message edited for public consumption.

...

Hey, Paul,

No goddamn internet at work sucks big time. I just thought you'd like to know that. I'm busy, though, so checking my g-mail and sending the evite for the Rizzoli Bash Version 2007 (which I was supposed to do this weekend, oops) would probably not be a very productive use of my time. This email to you however is serving a very important function, i.e., moving at least one part of my body. My hands, are they one part or two? Or ten? I'm tired, man. I'm feeling a little woozy, actually. That can't be good.

So I'm discovering that my new co-workers possess the computer literacy skills of, I don't know, a room full of zygotes. I'd say "infants" but infants are more technically adept than some of these people. And gametes, well, everyone knows gametes don't know their heads from their tails.

How are you? Feeling better?

Be well,
Irene

P.S. Our ISO offices just contacted me with my Internet password. Timing really is everything.

Sleep? What's that?

I am sleeeepy. Got home from rehearsal at around 11:10 p.m.... tried to get right in bed but had a few things to do. Then when I did get in bed, I couldn't sleep. Antsy. I hate that feeling.

Rehearsal last night went OK. I'm getting better but I feel the clock ticking down on my really doing it right. This show opens in 3 days! Being anything but perfect does not appear to be an option. I don't think that's just my own thing, either. I mean, everyone is still being nice, but this is not amateur hour here. It's a tiny theater but still. It matters that it's done right. Yeah, I'm getting all weird about it, but they've worked hard and I really feel the need to prove I can do this. Oh, man, gotta stop writing about it or I'm going to totally screw up just because I'm building it up so much.

Once we turned off the lights and the radio and the fan and got down for some serious sleeping, I just couldn't get comfortable. Then when I finally did fall asleep, I had a weird dream about my friend Bo getting a Toyota Prius (in reality he drives a beat up old red Ford Tempo. Bo, who is a dear friend, has issues with reality) and in the dream, I had to listen to his long explanation of the engine... There was something else in there but boy, I can't remember now. Anyway, I was fine all morning but now I am tired.

Last week I decided to give up the fast food. However, that resolution lasted exactly 8 days, because today I went to McDonald's for lunch. Yeah, it could've been because I only had $4 but it could've also been because I'm cold in my office (as I am every day... it's really really freezing up in there) and it's cold in the cafeteria, and I wanted to get out of the building and soak up some sun. Anyway, I cut back on my usual order (you really don't want to know what my "usual order" is) but I'm sure it's more fat and crap than I should be eating. Well, no dinner tonight due to rehearsal (and I am staying away from the huge container of redvines, put out by the director for us to snack on, because it might've been those that kept me up last night. Well, I can't think of anything else to blame it on), so that's something. Something bad, yes, but something.

My last day is in two days. All day people have been cruising through the office to see other people and they all stop and say to me, "What are you still doing here?" Ha. Like that joke never gets old. I'm nervous about my new job. They better be nice to me or I'm coming back here. I keep thinking of when I left the Rizzoli in SM for the one in Costa Mesa, which was supposedly closer to home. Not only were the people full of themselves (David managed to hire people in SM with mostly normal attitudes and egos), the girl showing me around announced that, along with the regular supplies, she would order candy because "we deserve it." And that the staff would expect me to do the same. Um, hello? Could this be the reason these stores all closed? Anyway, I lasted there one day, and wept on the way home (by the way, the traffic going north on the 405 at 6 p.m. is way worse than the traffic going south), after calling David and Bo and weeping on them too, begging to be allowed back.

Which I was, because David was the nicest boss, ever.
I miss those guys!

Lighting/Sound Operator

Tonight was my third time in the booth (but the first time doesn't really count). I've run the complete show twice now, once last night and once tonight. It seems to get easier each time; and the word from the director's husband (the lighting designer, and expert) has been encouraging. I'm enjoying seeing this show (IPHIGENIA), which is so different from my show (THE BACCHAE), and I really do like being in the booth. It's interesting, and challenging, and actually a lot more nerve-racking than being on stage was, but I think in time I'll feel more comfortable. There are a couple of things I still need to work out, but after just twice in there, I'm feeling like I'm starting to get it. There are a few scenes we ran more than once, not just for me, but for the actors, and every time we re-did something it seemed smoother and my breathing seemed more normal. Funny how nervous and antsy I get up in there.

And I really want to please these people.

That hit me tonight: how much I want to do a good job. Yeah, for me, but also: to please them. I think that's something I need to think about some more.

Recap

I'm not reading anything, watching anything, listening anything, or thinking about anything I haven't already listed in this space previously.

Well, maybe I am, but not going to tell you about it today. Ha!

Instead, I think I'm gonna go have an entire mini watermelon all by myself for breakfast. Delicious.

"All clear"

My mom told me, briefly, this morning - her CT scan was evaluated, and her doctor has proclaimed her "all clear." While the words "no more cancer" weren't exactly spoken, still! All clear!

All clear. All clear! All clear, all clear!