After tonight's performance of Bad Penny at City Garage, they had the Q & A session with the audience, the cast, and the director. I usually stay - I think these sessions are interesting, and it's fun to see the cast interact with the audience. Most of the time the audience asks questions about elements of the play that I had never considered or maybe had taken for granted. Coming in like I do, during the last week, to learn the lights and cues and stuff, I never really feel like I get a chance to absorb what's going on onstage the way I'd like to. I only have time to listen for my cues, to calm my own nerves, to do my job of making the show what it's supposed to be.
Tonight, someone in the audience asked the cast what they thought their characters had in common with each other. One of the actors responded with (and my memory is not so good, though I did bust my ass to get down the street to the Santa Monica library before closing so I could snag a public access PC and log on to Blogger... picture, if you will, me rushing down the street... OK, so that's a fat lie - I strolled, walked calmly into the library, renewed my SM library card... anyway, my memory is not so good, so I maybe have the wrong gist of what he said) something along the lines of, though each character is of course different, what they're all searching for is mutual understanding. The script says things along the lines of how life is incomprehensible, and how what you believe (or say you believe) isn't always the point. Shit happens for reasons either you understand... or you don't. The point is not your understanding, the point is that it happened. (That's not what any of the actors said... that's my not-so sophisticated, and probably wrong, interpretation.) Much of what the actors say to each other is what normal people might consider to be "crazy." The character Kat talks about her own experience of "becoming" crazy, and then "becoming" sane... and then doing it all over again, multiple times. That speech, where she talks about people looking at you too closely, sounded very familiar.
What I started thinking about, as I walked out of the theater into the alley and along Santa Monica Boulevard, is yes, that's true: we all want to be understood by each other. It hasn't escaped my attention that I'm here on Blogger, hoping that someone out there reading this understands what I feel based on the way I express myself. Not just understands, but recognizes. As sane? Or just as real. Sure, maybe I'm not the greatest writer, or blogger, or maybe my experiences and comments on them aren't too interesting to other people: strangers! Or non-strangers, even. And maybe I don't really put it all out there, anyway: I've said enough, I think, about my personal feelings without saying all of it. If this were fiction maybe I'd feel more comfortable with the nitty gritty reality of my mind... or if I could say it in a more creative way, to keep some of it for myself, like song lyrics that are both obscure and totally on the mark. But I'm not that talented, and I do need some protection, even I can see that.
What I think, after watching this play, now, for four weeks, is that, if the words coming out of our mouths are weird, or "crazy" or nonsensical or incomprehensible: maybe we're actually saying is preventing so-called normal, sane people from taking the time to figure out how we feel or what the idea that we're trying to convey even is. The words themselves are the barrier.
If what I say is so whacked out crazy, or if you think it's gibberish: is it? Am I?
Or what if, if all I say is the same normal bullshit everyone else says, who will know what the real me is all about?
...
I have 0:05 minutes left on this computer before the library closes, and I have to get home to Patrick, who has been waiting for me. Also I think my rapid, pounding typing is annoying the other people around me, who seem to be mostly pointing and clicking. Won't think about that too much.
You have two more weeks to get your ass into City Garage Theater for this production of Bad Penny - I really think you need to do it. Go see it. It's a wonderful production, the performances are great, and this show, this theater, needs you. Do it.
City Garage Theater
For reservations, call (310) 319-9939
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
I'm not crazy
The title of my blog should alert you to the fact that what I really am is a 15 year old kid trapped in the sub-par body of a 36 year old woman. And if you've been around here for awhile, you will see that I just might think that I'm wittier or more interesting than I actually am, which is yet another clue. Delusional? Yes, that's me. The kid making snarky comments under her breath at band rehearsals: that was me, too. Does a mature person think that other people are interested in her iTunes purchases? Or worse, does a mature person not care if people are interested and posts it anyway?
I mean, the truth is, try as I might (and maybe I just don't try), for the most part and with few exceptions (repeating it like that makes it seem more real, doesn't it), I act and react to life in much the same way as I did in 1988. Ah, a grand year, 1988. Not too many firsts and precious few lasts, but some things that occurred during that year really made an impression on me. And some things that didn't happen that year, too.
It's not something to be proud of, this feeling. I mean, I don't know, maybe it is. Or maybe I should say, I'm proud of it, but I know that by being proud of my immaturity, it's just one more example of said immaturity and another reason to look elsewhere when you need, oh, say, advice about your relationship or the tax code or something. I will listen, I will care, but I am a prime example of "do as I say and not as I do [did]." My friends and co-workers, if they knew my secret thoughts and desires, would probably be shocked and/or disgusted. I CAN conduct myself with some professionalism, it's true: I've just recently told some people in my office (and everyone else heard it through the office grapevine) that I shall soon be leaving them to go work... in another office, and everyone (with the exception of my boss) has expressed (to my delight) dismay, so it's nice to finally be appreciated (and these people seem sincere, which is... awesome); but is it mature to be thinking, at those times, "yep, you're going to have to do ____ [insert task that I do for people that they should be able to do themselves, considering their salary and tenure, here] yourself, you fucking nitwit"? I think not. Is it mature to leave a job after 18 months? Is it mature to long for the days of working at the bookstore where the best part of my job was the daily trip to Rite-Aid for ice cream with Bo?
See, the thing is, aside from work, my thoughts haven't evolved that much beyond "does he know I exist" and "when's lunch." Sure, the "he" is now Stewart Copeland, and sure, lunch is now a big salad*, which I didn't have to scrounge for coins under the car seat to pay for. Sure, I listen to NPR. Sure, I read the New York Times, the Atlantic Monthly, the New Yorker. I don't drink coffee, I don't smoke (anymore), I don't drink to excess (much), and I don't listen to Amy Winehouse or know who Katy Perry is or what the Jonas Brothers sound like. But I also just downloaded "Since U Been Gone" and multiple covers of Pink Floyd songs: 15 year old me would've never admitted to the Kelly Clarkson, but would've been way down with the Pink Floyd.
I think what got me to thinking about all this is that I noticed I've been hanging on to one relationship... and I need to let go of it, I guess. See, even the "I guess" demonstrates a refusal to face facts. That relationship blossomed and tanked when I was 15. I know I think that this relationshipis was something special because I had those special feelings, and because of them (or I should say, in spite of them), somehow I wasn't afraid (and: I was always afraid) to tell the person the way I felt. Yes, I did it in this stupid, convoluted way (that maybe I'm still a little in awe of. I did what? I can't even believe I had the guts to do it at all!), but even that makes it special. Is that mature? Would keeping my mouth shut and waiting and seeing what fate brought me have been more mature? Or going for it? I don't know. Bringing someone else on board my crazy train seems a little immature, to me. And then: I went for it, but then I gave up. I gave up too soon. So without really knowing if the person was worth all the build up and those crazy feelings - I did it anyway, but I let it slip away. And there's no fixing that.
Maybe it wasn't about them, anyway, but more about what I was capable of. What I was feeling. Ah. And is that mature?
No, it didn't work out. But it happened, and I got to see the results, and that was kind of cool. Sure: embarrassing. Sure: in the end, which took decades to come, actually, disappointing. And I get all that, that it's over and there will be no friendship to rise up out of the ashes this time. I get it but I've kind of been acting like I don't. Like a child. Like the next action I might take will involve "I Can't Stand Losing You" and a phone. No, I'm not going to do that - but 15 year old me, did. And thought it was a reasonable reaction.
Today I wrote this person a short, happy email and I signed off this way:
I'm (still) not crazy,
Irene
Just in case this person was worried. It's as if I'm thinking, writing got me into this mess, and maybe writing will get me out. I should remember the disappointment, up there, and that nothing really happened (nothing!), back in 1988, because that was the reality, and it's never going to be any different. And that's okay, I guess. I can let that be okay, if I try a little harder.
Maybe I have been a little crazy, and for that, I apologize. I can't say I won't do it again: maybe my brain will catch up with my physical state and I'll start acting like someone who could be the parent of a 15 year old rather than an actual 15 year old. I'll lay off the email, I promise. We've all done stupid things; I just seem to be carrying on a bit too much about it now. Let it go, Irene. Letting things go is a decidedly mature outlook on life, and I could stand to try it. I need to sit down and think about my actions, see if I can't grow up a little, and change.
No, wait, that's what a mature person would do. Instead, I'm going to go to the movies with Patrick, and maybe get some ice cream. Happy Friday, everybody.
*"Now" being defined as, since I rejoined Weight Watchers (yesterday), after discovering that I have gained 7 pounds. I have also decided that having the thought "goddamn I look tubby" every time I look in the mirror is a bad thing.
I mean, the truth is, try as I might (and maybe I just don't try), for the most part and with few exceptions (repeating it like that makes it seem more real, doesn't it), I act and react to life in much the same way as I did in 1988. Ah, a grand year, 1988. Not too many firsts and precious few lasts, but some things that occurred during that year really made an impression on me. And some things that didn't happen that year, too.
It's not something to be proud of, this feeling. I mean, I don't know, maybe it is. Or maybe I should say, I'm proud of it, but I know that by being proud of my immaturity, it's just one more example of said immaturity and another reason to look elsewhere when you need, oh, say, advice about your relationship or the tax code or something. I will listen, I will care, but I am a prime example of "do as I say and not as I do [did]." My friends and co-workers, if they knew my secret thoughts and desires, would probably be shocked and/or disgusted. I CAN conduct myself with some professionalism, it's true: I've just recently told some people in my office (and everyone else heard it through the office grapevine) that I shall soon be leaving them to go work... in another office, and everyone (with the exception of my boss) has expressed (to my delight) dismay, so it's nice to finally be appreciated (and these people seem sincere, which is... awesome); but is it mature to be thinking, at those times, "yep, you're going to have to do ____ [insert task that I do for people that they should be able to do themselves, considering their salary and tenure, here] yourself, you fucking nitwit"? I think not. Is it mature to leave a job after 18 months? Is it mature to long for the days of working at the bookstore where the best part of my job was the daily trip to Rite-Aid for ice cream with Bo?
See, the thing is, aside from work, my thoughts haven't evolved that much beyond "does he know I exist" and "when's lunch." Sure, the "he" is now Stewart Copeland, and sure, lunch is now a big salad*, which I didn't have to scrounge for coins under the car seat to pay for. Sure, I listen to NPR. Sure, I read the New York Times, the Atlantic Monthly, the New Yorker. I don't drink coffee, I don't smoke (anymore), I don't drink to excess (much), and I don't listen to Amy Winehouse or know who Katy Perry is or what the Jonas Brothers sound like. But I also just downloaded "Since U Been Gone" and multiple covers of Pink Floyd songs: 15 year old me would've never admitted to the Kelly Clarkson, but would've been way down with the Pink Floyd.
I think what got me to thinking about all this is that I noticed I've been hanging on to one relationship... and I need to let go of it, I guess. See, even the "I guess" demonstrates a refusal to face facts. That relationship blossomed and tanked when I was 15. I know I think that this relationship
Maybe it wasn't about them, anyway, but more about what I was capable of. What I was feeling. Ah. And is that mature?
No, it didn't work out. But it happened, and I got to see the results, and that was kind of cool. Sure: embarrassing. Sure: in the end, which took decades to come, actually, disappointing. And I get all that, that it's over and there will be no friendship to rise up out of the ashes this time. I get it but I've kind of been acting like I don't. Like a child. Like the next action I might take will involve "I Can't Stand Losing You" and a phone. No, I'm not going to do that - but 15 year old me, did. And thought it was a reasonable reaction.
Today I wrote this person a short, happy email and I signed off this way:
I'm (still) not crazy,
Irene
Just in case this person was worried. It's as if I'm thinking, writing got me into this mess, and maybe writing will get me out. I should remember the disappointment, up there, and that nothing really happened (nothing!), back in 1988, because that was the reality, and it's never going to be any different. And that's okay, I guess. I can let that be okay, if I try a little harder.
Maybe I have been a little crazy, and for that, I apologize. I can't say I won't do it again: maybe my brain will catch up with my physical state and I'll start acting like someone who could be the parent of a 15 year old rather than an actual 15 year old. I'll lay off the email, I promise. We've all done stupid things; I just seem to be carrying on a bit too much about it now. Let it go, Irene. Letting things go is a decidedly mature outlook on life, and I could stand to try it. I need to sit down and think about my actions, see if I can't grow up a little, and change.
No, wait, that's what a mature person would do. Instead, I'm going to go to the movies with Patrick, and maybe get some ice cream. Happy Friday, everybody.
*"Now" being defined as, since I rejoined Weight Watchers (yesterday), after discovering that I have gained 7 pounds. I have also decided that having the thought "goddamn I look tubby" every time I look in the mirror is a bad thing.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I'm not at work but Patrick is
Day three of no work for me, and I have to say, I could get used to this. I didn't sleep quite so late today; got up around 9:30. Patrick had to go in to work today and move some computers from one library to another, but we had plans with some friends of ours to take them to La Casita Mexicana for lunch, so after visiting the Woodcrest and Compton libraries, he met us out there at 2.
Lunch was awesome, as expected, our friends liked it, and as Patrick drove away (I took our friends home to North Long Beach), I thought, damn, I am so sorry he has to go to work. Sucker!
Then I came home, decided to put some shorts on, and take a book out to the backyard and read.
It's a lovely day, seriously. I need to go do that right now.
Tomorrow I'll do the laundry and clean. Today I read.
Lunch was awesome, as expected, our friends liked it, and as Patrick drove away (I took our friends home to North Long Beach), I thought, damn, I am so sorry he has to go to work. Sucker!
Then I came home, decided to put some shorts on, and take a book out to the backyard and read.
It's a lovely day, seriously. I need to go do that right now.
Tomorrow I'll do the laundry and clean. Today I read.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
I'm still not at work
I'm off again today, and quite frankly, today might be even better than yesterday.
I slept in until 12:30, no phone calls or emails from work, I'm still wearing my nightgown, and I just read a funny story my friend Michael wrote on his blog about his "friend," Angela.
My friend "John" just called. John works for the LA Philharmonic. I told him I wasn't home, and he asked when a good time would be to call me back. Then, before I could answer, he said that he wasn't trying to sell me anything but that he just wanted to let me know about some great opportunities that were coming up. I wanted to say, oh, you mean the LA Phil wants me to audition? Because that's the only "opportunity" I would be interested in.
I don't know what the average NPR listener is (I was just reading this very goofy book about the power of wishing, and the author - Caucasian, 40-ish, drives a Volvo - stated that she was the epitome of the stereotypical NPR fan. I'm pretty different from this lady [reading her book solidified that notion], and I wonder if the LA Phil knows that I'm a 30-something Hispanic who didn't finish college and who just spent the weekend listening to Radiohead, Led Zeppelin, the Birthday Party, the Who, Jamiroquai, N.E.R.D., the Police, and really old podcasts of Fresh Air and This American Life? Do they care? Does NPR?), or what the average LA Phil subscriber looks like, and I'm not really interested in average, anyway. How boring, right? But what's the deal, LA Phil? Unless you're going to offer me a job, I'll call you.
And, hey, John? We already saw Dianne Reeves once. It was enough. Thanks.
I slept in until 12:30, no phone calls or emails from work, I'm still wearing my nightgown, and I just read a funny story my friend Michael wrote on his blog about his "friend," Angela.
My friend "John" just called. John works for the LA Philharmonic. I told him I wasn't home, and he asked when a good time would be to call me back. Then, before I could answer, he said that he wasn't trying to sell me anything but that he just wanted to let me know about some great opportunities that were coming up. I wanted to say, oh, you mean the LA Phil wants me to audition? Because that's the only "opportunity" I would be interested in.
I don't know what the average NPR listener is (I was just reading this very goofy book about the power of wishing, and the author - Caucasian, 40-ish, drives a Volvo - stated that she was the epitome of the stereotypical NPR fan. I'm pretty different from this lady [reading her book solidified that notion], and I wonder if the LA Phil knows that I'm a 30-something Hispanic who didn't finish college and who just spent the weekend listening to Radiohead, Led Zeppelin, the Birthday Party, the Who, Jamiroquai, N.E.R.D., the Police, and really old podcasts of Fresh Air and This American Life? Do they care? Does NPR?), or what the average LA Phil subscriber looks like, and I'm not really interested in average, anyway. How boring, right? But what's the deal, LA Phil? Unless you're going to offer me a job, I'll call you.
And, hey, John? We already saw Dianne Reeves once. It was enough. Thanks.
Monday, August 18, 2008
I'm not at work
I'm not at work, and yet I have answered three phone calls from there this morning, with one more surely to come today, if not tomorrow.
I'm not mad, though.
At the beginning of the year, I created this huge Excel report that probably should've been done in Access (except no one [read, "my boss"] wanted to send me to Access training, not even when I asked for it in a well-written memo) so that we could track the process of hiring a million and one employees of a specific classification we have been tasked to hire by the powers that be. That's an awkward, vague sentence, but it's an awkward, vague world. You know what I am saying, sort of. (I just read an "essay" my friend Michael wrote on his "online journal" where he pretty much filled up a bunch of space by writing all his sentences backwards, and as annoying as that could've been, it actually made me laugh, and start to feel it a little. See, I almost wrote, "Saying am I what know you." Michael Dane, you may have something there. Or, I am your target audience. Pick one).
Anyway. So I created this complicated report with filters and labels and colored tabs and I knew it was complicated (but it does what it needs to do, and frankly, I'm proud of it) but since I have started to explain and give detailed instructions to the person (her name is Lisa, and she's quite competent, just maybe a tiny bit overwhelmed. Join the club, babe) who will be in charge of it now that I am leaving my current job, I'm a little worried that it's overly complicated.
Except it really isn't. Sure, maybe there's an easier way to do it. Sure, maybe Access would keep track of the information in any more readily accessible manner (ah ha! Access - accessible... I get it now) or maybe it would, but once I learned Access, I would be one of only two people in my office who know Access (the other one is my boss, who already irritates me with her, "I could do this better" pronouncements about this and other things that I do. Really? Then WHY DON'T YOU? I am always shocked when she says stuff like that, and I wonder in what leadership training she heard that these types of statements were a good idea), and how would that be better or easier for anybody? There are multiple things that we need to track, and this report was created at a moment of stress: we were being audited, the auditors were there (literally, there, at my desk), I had little time to finesse it. It is what it is, and for me, the creator*, it works just fine.
On Thursday I sat down with Lisa for an hour, and we went over everything, including a 9-page instruction pamphlet I started making last week, complete with screen shots and definitions, and I'm happy to take her calls. It doesn't feel much like a vacation yet, but that's okay. We stayed up late last night watching the Olympics, I slept in and (in between calls from Lisa) read, plucked my eyebrows, and watched TV - I'm not at work and that's what counts. Right? That's what counts.
*I am THE CREATOR. That's pretty funny, right there.
I'm not mad, though.
At the beginning of the year, I created this huge Excel report that probably should've been done in Access (except no one [read, "my boss"] wanted to send me to Access training, not even when I asked for it in a well-written memo) so that we could track the process of hiring a million and one employees of a specific classification we have been tasked to hire by the powers that be. That's an awkward, vague sentence, but it's an awkward, vague world. You know what I am saying, sort of. (I just read an "essay" my friend Michael wrote on his "online journal" where he pretty much filled up a bunch of space by writing all his sentences backwards, and as annoying as that could've been, it actually made me laugh, and start to feel it a little. See, I almost wrote, "Saying am I what know you." Michael Dane, you may have something there. Or, I am your target audience. Pick one).
Anyway. So I created this complicated report with filters and labels and colored tabs and I knew it was complicated (but it does what it needs to do, and frankly, I'm proud of it) but since I have started to explain and give detailed instructions to the person (her name is Lisa, and she's quite competent, just maybe a tiny bit overwhelmed. Join the club, babe) who will be in charge of it now that I am leaving my current job, I'm a little worried that it's overly complicated.
Except it really isn't. Sure, maybe there's an easier way to do it. Sure, maybe Access would keep track of the information in any more readily accessible manner (ah ha! Access - accessible... I get it now) or maybe it would, but once I learned Access, I would be one of only two people in my office who know Access (the other one is my boss, who already irritates me with her, "I could do this better" pronouncements about this and other things that I do. Really? Then WHY DON'T YOU? I am always shocked when she says stuff like that, and I wonder in what leadership training she heard that these types of statements were a good idea), and how would that be better or easier for anybody? There are multiple things that we need to track, and this report was created at a moment of stress: we were being audited, the auditors were there (literally, there, at my desk), I had little time to finesse it. It is what it is, and for me, the creator*, it works just fine.
On Thursday I sat down with Lisa for an hour, and we went over everything, including a 9-page instruction pamphlet I started making last week, complete with screen shots and definitions, and I'm happy to take her calls. It doesn't feel much like a vacation yet, but that's okay. We stayed up late last night watching the Olympics, I slept in and (in between calls from Lisa) read, plucked my eyebrows, and watched TV - I'm not at work and that's what counts. Right? That's what counts.
*I am THE CREATOR. That's pretty funny, right there.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
This must be the place
Patrick and I left Friday morning on our trip north. We got out of the house at around 10 a.m., with me at the wheel. That lasted about 200 miles. We stopped somewhere for lunch at Carl’s Jr. and I guess we should’ve been more aware of how tired we were, because about 20 minutes later, while somewhere on the 5, all my earlier comments about how much I love road trips and how much fun we always have came back to bite me in the ass.
I’m not sure exactly where we were. We hadn’t passed the cows, I can say that much for sure. The road was a four lane highway, and I guess Patrick was getting tired. I was mostly in the left lane, keeping out of the way of the truckers and slowpokes, and, in my opinion, keeping pace with the other cars. A third lane would've made it easier: I didn't want to go as slow as the slow cars, but I wasn't 100% comfortable with the fast cars. Every once in awhile some jerk would show up in my rearview mirror, tailgating, but if I had time to move over out of his way, I would. They would pass, and speed along on their merry way, and everyone was happy. Everyone, that is, except Patrick.
Look, I’m a competent driver. And Patrick is a lovely man. But sometimes his know-it-all Leo nature kicks in: he can’t help it. I’ve been around other Leos, and while they all have varying levels, at some point the things that I love about them (decisiveness, personality, big noses) turn on me. When that happens, a smart person would close their ears and continue to do what they were doing, the way they wanted to do it. If I were a smart person, I would’ve realized that as the driver of the vehicle (my vehicle), I was the one holding all the cards. He was just the peanut gallery, and turning up the music (at the time, we were listening to the Who’s Quadrophenia, which I have been trying to make up my mind about for some time now) would’ve been one of way of ignoring him. Any way of ignoring him was probably better than what I did, which was to get pissed off, which lasted for a split second, and then to get hurt feelings, which last about 73 miles. So instead of continuing to drive, I pulled off, there in nowheresville, turned off the car, got out, and traded places with him.
It all worked out, though, because after awhile, he got too tired to continue to drive, and I took over, changed the Who for Radiohead's "Hail to the Thief," and Patrick fell asleep (note: I can now say, with 100% certainty, that I do not like "Quadrophenia"). When he woke up we were both in better moods, and as we do with all our silly disagreements, were laughing about it later. He apologized, I told him that I hope he realized that most other people would've asked him to shut the fuck up, or invited him to walk to San Jose, and the rest of our ride, and trip, was fine. The funny thing is, I drove most of the way home, and did actually do it the way Patrick was advising me to. So. He may be a bit of a nag, but I'm pretty stubborn, too, about doing things my own way - but in the end, like I said, we can laugh about it. The secret, I think, to our success.
We made it in to San Jose around 4:30, and after checking into the hotel, Patrick took me on a little tour of San Jose. I've been there, but not for many years, and he was just there last year for some computer training. We drove and walked around for awhile, and then went to this restaurant he had visited on his last trip, an Indian restaurant called Mezbaan - and it was exceptional. We had a good time, too, because the restaurant was playing on two big flat screen televisions, old time Indian music videos, which were really entertaining. The restaurant was in this little shopping center across from a pretty condo/town home complex that is adjacent to a beautiful park. We walked around the neighborhood and soaked in the almost-full, gonzaga* moon before going back to our hotel to chill out before the family reunion on Saturday.
It turned out that our hotel, though "only" 40 miles from the party, most of those 40 miles are on the dreaded highway 17. On the way to the party, we stopped at the Starving Musician, a store in Santa Cruz that sells used instruments. We had a little time to kill, and so we looked at everything, and I mean everything.
The reunion itself was a lot of fun, and I'll post some photos later. My cousin Christina, and her husband Michael, have a beautiful home and they are so generous to have hosted us all. It was great to see all my family, and to meet some new people (Michael's father was a very interesting man, and fun to talk to). Most of all it was nice to see my mother with her brothers and sister, and to see her having fun, even though she really hasn't been feeling well lately.
Patrick and I left a little earlier than we planned on, because it got late, dark, and then foggy, and though the party was still going strong, and the outdoor fireplace had just gotten lit, we took off around 9:30. I personally was a little worried about that drive, but Patrick is a pro, and handled it fine.
This morning we slept in, cleaned up, and visited Falafel's Drive In, where we had a lunch consisting of some very fresh and yummy falafel and banana milkshakes, and if I can just put in a good word for this place, I would say, check it out next time you're in San Jose, if not for the falafel, then for the banana milkshakes. Delicious.
The drive home was mostly uneventful: we visited the outlets in Gilroy, where I went to to two stores (Banana Republic, where the service was a bit snotty - these people surely realize that Gilroy is not, say, Beverly Hills, don't they?; and J. Crew, which was better), and Patrick went to one (Sony). After getting back on the road, we hit some really terrible traffic, which set us back about an hour, and we never really figured out what the deal was - it appeared that they had taken two lanes of traffic down to one so that opposing traffic could cross? but at that point we were listening to XTC, and enjoying it, and ourselves, so as usual, despite a rough beginning, Patrick and I managed to have a successful, fun trip. Now that we're home, though, with the kitties and the Olympics on the television... I'm happiest here.
*"Gonzaga" was the name of one of the exits off of one of the freeways we were on during this trip, and I think it's an awesome word. It should be right up there with "gazonga" and "ginormous" and I aim to use it. Look for it here.
I’m not sure exactly where we were. We hadn’t passed the cows, I can say that much for sure. The road was a four lane highway, and I guess Patrick was getting tired. I was mostly in the left lane, keeping out of the way of the truckers and slowpokes, and, in my opinion, keeping pace with the other cars. A third lane would've made it easier: I didn't want to go as slow as the slow cars, but I wasn't 100% comfortable with the fast cars. Every once in awhile some jerk would show up in my rearview mirror, tailgating, but if I had time to move over out of his way, I would. They would pass, and speed along on their merry way, and everyone was happy. Everyone, that is, except Patrick.
Look, I’m a competent driver. And Patrick is a lovely man. But sometimes his know-it-all Leo nature kicks in: he can’t help it. I’ve been around other Leos, and while they all have varying levels, at some point the things that I love about them (decisiveness, personality, big noses) turn on me. When that happens, a smart person would close their ears and continue to do what they were doing, the way they wanted to do it. If I were a smart person, I would’ve realized that as the driver of the vehicle (my vehicle), I was the one holding all the cards. He was just the peanut gallery, and turning up the music (at the time, we were listening to the Who’s Quadrophenia, which I have been trying to make up my mind about for some time now) would’ve been one of way of ignoring him. Any way of ignoring him was probably better than what I did, which was to get pissed off, which lasted for a split second, and then to get hurt feelings, which last about 73 miles. So instead of continuing to drive, I pulled off, there in nowheresville, turned off the car, got out, and traded places with him.
It all worked out, though, because after awhile, he got too tired to continue to drive, and I took over, changed the Who for Radiohead's "Hail to the Thief," and Patrick fell asleep (note: I can now say, with 100% certainty, that I do not like "Quadrophenia"). When he woke up we were both in better moods, and as we do with all our silly disagreements, were laughing about it later. He apologized, I told him that I hope he realized that most other people would've asked him to shut the fuck up, or invited him to walk to San Jose, and the rest of our ride, and trip, was fine. The funny thing is, I drove most of the way home, and did actually do it the way Patrick was advising me to. So. He may be a bit of a nag, but I'm pretty stubborn, too, about doing things my own way - but in the end, like I said, we can laugh about it. The secret, I think, to our success.
We made it in to San Jose around 4:30, and after checking into the hotel, Patrick took me on a little tour of San Jose. I've been there, but not for many years, and he was just there last year for some computer training. We drove and walked around for awhile, and then went to this restaurant he had visited on his last trip, an Indian restaurant called Mezbaan - and it was exceptional. We had a good time, too, because the restaurant was playing on two big flat screen televisions, old time Indian music videos, which were really entertaining. The restaurant was in this little shopping center across from a pretty condo/town home complex that is adjacent to a beautiful park. We walked around the neighborhood and soaked in the almost-full, gonzaga* moon before going back to our hotel to chill out before the family reunion on Saturday.
It turned out that our hotel, though "only" 40 miles from the party, most of those 40 miles are on the dreaded highway 17. On the way to the party, we stopped at the Starving Musician, a store in Santa Cruz that sells used instruments. We had a little time to kill, and so we looked at everything, and I mean everything.
The reunion itself was a lot of fun, and I'll post some photos later. My cousin Christina, and her husband Michael, have a beautiful home and they are so generous to have hosted us all. It was great to see all my family, and to meet some new people (Michael's father was a very interesting man, and fun to talk to). Most of all it was nice to see my mother with her brothers and sister, and to see her having fun, even though she really hasn't been feeling well lately.
Patrick and I left a little earlier than we planned on, because it got late, dark, and then foggy, and though the party was still going strong, and the outdoor fireplace had just gotten lit, we took off around 9:30. I personally was a little worried about that drive, but Patrick is a pro, and handled it fine.
This morning we slept in, cleaned up, and visited Falafel's Drive In, where we had a lunch consisting of some very fresh and yummy falafel and banana milkshakes, and if I can just put in a good word for this place, I would say, check it out next time you're in San Jose, if not for the falafel, then for the banana milkshakes. Delicious.
The drive home was mostly uneventful: we visited the outlets in Gilroy, where I went to to two stores (Banana Republic, where the service was a bit snotty - these people surely realize that Gilroy is not, say, Beverly Hills, don't they?; and J. Crew, which was better), and Patrick went to one (Sony). After getting back on the road, we hit some really terrible traffic, which set us back about an hour, and we never really figured out what the deal was - it appeared that they had taken two lanes of traffic down to one so that opposing traffic could cross? but at that point we were listening to XTC, and enjoying it, and ourselves, so as usual, despite a rough beginning, Patrick and I managed to have a successful, fun trip. Now that we're home, though, with the kitties and the Olympics on the television... I'm happiest here.
*"Gonzaga" was the name of one of the exits off of one of the freeways we were on during this trip, and I think it's an awesome word. It should be right up there with "gazonga" and "ginormous" and I aim to use it. Look for it here.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Someone going berserk
I woke up at 3:38 this morning because someone in my neighborhood was, for some reason, honking their horn. It went on for awhile before I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to try to figure out where it was coming from. Even from over there I wasn't sure, and even if it was somebody on my own street, they were quite a ways away. There seemed to be no other listeners but I didn't go outside. And it was loud and insistent: how could no one else be awake, too? From there I didn't see any lights on (mine were off). Finally after 10 minutes I woke up Patrick.
"Do you hear that," I asked him. (He had been perfectly asleep, barely snoring. He didn't hear anything, except me tripping over someone's shoes.)
"Yes."
"Should I call the police?"
"Someone else will."
"But somebody could be in trouble."
I went out into the living room and my office, but in the dark I couldn't find the phone.
"Irene," Patrick said, tiredly, "It stopped. It was just someone going berserk."
I stopped looking for the phone. "But now they could be dead."
"Good," Patrick said, and went back to sleep. Patrick can sleep through anything, it seems, except when his wife wakes him up. Now I have two hours to think about it before I have to go to work. I fell asleep last night in my clothes at around 8:30 - I spent the day at a boring work thing where my only real job was to set up the laptop and data projector for the presenters at an HR forum, and for some reason the whole day was exhausting (it could be that being pissed off about having to be somewhere helping idiot people with technical shit a child could do, when you have actual work to do is actually tiresome. Will have to study that). I was tired. I'm not exactly wide awake now, but I do feel like I'm in some sort of weird aware state. Weird for 4 o'clock in the morning, anyway.
The sprinklers next door just went on. At least, I hope it was the sprinklers.
"Do you hear that," I asked him. (He had been perfectly asleep, barely snoring. He didn't hear anything, except me tripping over someone's shoes.)
"Yes."
"Should I call the police?"
"Someone else will."
"But somebody could be in trouble."
I went out into the living room and my office, but in the dark I couldn't find the phone.
"Irene," Patrick said, tiredly, "It stopped. It was just someone going berserk."
I stopped looking for the phone. "But now they could be dead."
"Good," Patrick said, and went back to sleep. Patrick can sleep through anything, it seems, except when his wife wakes him up. Now I have two hours to think about it before I have to go to work. I fell asleep last night in my clothes at around 8:30 - I spent the day at a boring work thing where my only real job was to set up the laptop and data projector for the presenters at an HR forum, and for some reason the whole day was exhausting (it could be that being pissed off about having to be somewhere helping idiot people with technical shit a child could do, when you have actual work to do is actually tiresome. Will have to study that). I was tired. I'm not exactly wide awake now, but I do feel like I'm in some sort of weird aware state. Weird for 4 o'clock in the morning, anyway.
The sprinklers next door just went on. At least, I hope it was the sprinklers.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Walking in LA
Google Maps has a new button you can click on - now, you can find out how long it would take to walk to your destination. Is this a direct result of the crazy high gas prices? Maybe they should add a feature: how long it would take to drive there on under-inflated versus properly inflated tires.
I have no idea how long this feature has been in beta - I just noticed it today when I was planning my trip to San Jose (okay, so actually we're visiting Aptos, California. I keep saying Santa Cruz because nobody I know has heard of or can pronounce Aptos). Yes, you read that correctly: we are visiting Santa Cruz/Aptos by way of San Jose (which is a whole 40 miles from our ultimate destination), and I'm not sure if I blogged this already? We couldn't find a hotel room in Santa Cruz, Aptos, Watsonville, Cupertino, or Monterey (there were a few, but they were either of the Motel 6 variety, and as much as I love Tom Bodett [are you surprised?], I will never ever stay in a Motel 6 again, not after the hairy blanket episode; or they were $400/night. Gas prices seem to have plummeted a whole five cents, so what the hell, right? Anyway, so I was plotting my trip when I see the little "by car" or "walking" choice, and being a curious sort, I clicked on "walking."
It's 396 miles to San Jose from Long Beach, and would take about 5 days, 11 hours on foot to get there. Now, I don't know how many hours a day Google expects you to walk (blisters, bunions, what brand of sneaker, etc.), or what kind of pace that requires, but it seems kind of neat to have this type of data at your fingertips. For instance, it's 0.7 miles from my house to the nail salon, and would take 16 minutes. I should get up and go do that.
...
OK, so another thing I've been thinking about is this article I read in yesterday's LA Times about Michael Phelps. First of all, let's just get this out there: Michael Phelps and the other USA swimmers are all gods. Seriously. If I had known swimmers had those kinds of bodies when I was younger...! Well. My best years may be behind me, but still. His sure aren't. Anyway, the article in the Times said that because of the way some sports work, Michael Phelps can't count on making any money from his sport, unlike people like Kobe Bryant or whoever. (I could give more intelligent quotes from the article, but really, who cares?) And then the article went on to talk about Amanda Beard, a female Olympic swimmer who I guess used her popularity in swimming and decided to take a bunch of nude photos and work her way into the public consciousness based on her good looks and not just her swimming ability, and then the author stated that Michael Phelps just can't look forward to the same type of opportunities.
Now. Patrick's comment that Michael looks like McLovin' aside (and look, I'm no weirdo fan of beefcake: I don't have photos of Brad Pitt or Patrick Swayze in my cubicle at work), personally, I think Michael Phelps (and Jason Lezak and Cullen Jones, and the whole French team, yikes) is pretty damn hot. Somebody offer that guy some money to pose somewhere. Clothed or in a swimsuit or whatever, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one interested in him standing still.
Now I have to go drive to the salon, they're closing in 45 minutes. I don't want to waste any more time here.
I have no idea how long this feature has been in beta - I just noticed it today when I was planning my trip to San Jose (okay, so actually we're visiting Aptos, California. I keep saying Santa Cruz because nobody I know has heard of or can pronounce Aptos). Yes, you read that correctly: we are visiting Santa Cruz/Aptos by way of San Jose (which is a whole 40 miles from our ultimate destination), and I'm not sure if I blogged this already? We couldn't find a hotel room in Santa Cruz, Aptos, Watsonville, Cupertino, or Monterey (there were a few, but they were either of the Motel 6 variety, and as much as I love Tom Bodett [are you surprised?], I will never ever stay in a Motel 6 again, not after the hairy blanket episode; or they were $400/night. Gas prices seem to have plummeted a whole five cents, so what the hell, right? Anyway, so I was plotting my trip when I see the little "by car" or "walking" choice, and being a curious sort, I clicked on "walking."
It's 396 miles to San Jose from Long Beach, and would take about 5 days, 11 hours on foot to get there. Now, I don't know how many hours a day Google expects you to walk (blisters, bunions, what brand of sneaker, etc.), or what kind of pace that requires, but it seems kind of neat to have this type of data at your fingertips. For instance, it's 0.7 miles from my house to the nail salon, and would take 16 minutes. I should get up and go do that.
...
OK, so another thing I've been thinking about is this article I read in yesterday's LA Times about Michael Phelps. First of all, let's just get this out there: Michael Phelps and the other USA swimmers are all gods. Seriously. If I had known swimmers had those kinds of bodies when I was younger...! Well. My best years may be behind me, but still. His sure aren't. Anyway, the article in the Times said that because of the way some sports work, Michael Phelps can't count on making any money from his sport, unlike people like Kobe Bryant or whoever. (I could give more intelligent quotes from the article, but really, who cares?) And then the article went on to talk about Amanda Beard, a female Olympic swimmer who I guess used her popularity in swimming and decided to take a bunch of nude photos and work her way into the public consciousness based on her good looks and not just her swimming ability, and then the author stated that Michael Phelps just can't look forward to the same type of opportunities.
Now. Patrick's comment that Michael looks like McLovin' aside (and look, I'm no weirdo fan of beefcake: I don't have photos of Brad Pitt or Patrick Swayze in my cubicle at work), personally, I think Michael Phelps (and Jason Lezak and Cullen Jones, and the whole French team, yikes) is pretty damn hot. Somebody offer that guy some money to pose somewhere. Clothed or in a swimsuit or whatever, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one interested in him standing still.
Now I have to go drive to the salon, they're closing in 45 minutes. I don't want to waste any more time here.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Random Tuesday
Nothing much is going on. Work was 8 hours of hell, but hopefully that's over soon. Many things were said and done at my place of business, and some of them - precious few - made sense, even fewer made any difference. Some of them made me laugh, though, so that's something.
I did get three huge boxes of ink cartridges for the exam unit, which they have been waiting for since February, and I did write one hell of a report on the ability (or inability) of the directors to complete assignments (I used the NETWORKDAYS function in Excel, and can I say it? It worked like a fucking charm), and spelled out exactly how long it takes them to complete their assignments, or how overdue their assignments are: oh, and copied them all on the report, too, so they know what my boss knows when she knows it. Sooner, actually, because she had already left for the day when I delivered that report, so that ought to make their morning meeting nice and squirmy. So, I don't know, while I continue to pretty much be uncomfortable at work and to plot my escape during my every moment there (not unlike high school... but those fantasies always included a boy on a motorcycle - don't read too much into that, people), I am seemingly serving some purpose. And hey, if that purpose is to point out that other people suck at their jobs in subtle and wiseacre ways, well, then. Let's go on with it already.
Went shopping after work - shoes usually help when I get like this. No luck - didn't really need any of the shoes I saw today. (I can tell you, however, that I need the shoes "Woman 1" is wearing in BAD PENNY - I'd send you all over to www.citygarage.org [click on "news" not "current production" - yes, that seems weird to me, too] to check them out but somehow Pauly didn't get any shots of Cynthia's feet in any of the photos. What's up with that, Paulo?) Ended up just buying a pair of pants, a nightgown, and a gift for my co-worker, who will be having a birthday on Thursday. She doesn't read this blog (she doesn't read her own email) so I can tell you: I got her an overpriced, oversize, beautiful blues/whites/browns silk scarf from Ann Taylor, and I'm quite proud of this gift, because I have been thinking that Eileen has "silk scarf" written all over her since we first met, a year and a half ago. It would cover her up quite nicely when she's out in the sun, or tie in a cute bow around her neck - really, it's the perfect.
Yes, I got a gift receipt. Sheesh.
Anyway, came home, we talked about our trip to Santa Cruz/Aptos/San Jose (how'd that get in there?) and then Patrick had the best idea ever: pizza! We had beer, watched two episodes of "Weeds" and now, because I am tired, I am considering going to bed. Common sense, no? I was going to practice, finish the laundry, and make the bed, but I think this plan is better, don't you?
I did get three huge boxes of ink cartridges for the exam unit, which they have been waiting for since February, and I did write one hell of a report on the ability (or inability) of the directors to complete assignments (I used the NETWORKDAYS function in Excel, and can I say it? It worked like a fucking charm), and spelled out exactly how long it takes them to complete their assignments, or how overdue their assignments are: oh, and copied them all on the report, too, so they know what my boss knows when she knows it. Sooner, actually, because she had already left for the day when I delivered that report, so that ought to make their morning meeting nice and squirmy. So, I don't know, while I continue to pretty much be uncomfortable at work and to plot my escape during my every moment there (not unlike high school... but those fantasies always included a boy on a motorcycle - don't read too much into that, people), I am seemingly serving some purpose. And hey, if that purpose is to point out that other people suck at their jobs in subtle and wiseacre ways, well, then. Let's go on with it already.
Went shopping after work - shoes usually help when I get like this. No luck - didn't really need any of the shoes I saw today. (I can tell you, however, that I need the shoes "Woman 1" is wearing in BAD PENNY - I'd send you all over to www.citygarage.org [click on "news" not "current production" - yes, that seems weird to me, too] to check them out but somehow Pauly didn't get any shots of Cynthia's feet in any of the photos. What's up with that, Paulo?) Ended up just buying a pair of pants, a nightgown, and a gift for my co-worker, who will be having a birthday on Thursday. She doesn't read this blog (she doesn't read her own email) so I can tell you: I got her an overpriced, oversize, beautiful blues/whites/browns silk scarf from Ann Taylor, and I'm quite proud of this gift, because I have been thinking that Eileen has "silk scarf" written all over her since we first met, a year and a half ago. It would cover her up quite nicely when she's out in the sun, or tie in a cute bow around her neck - really, it's the perfect.
Yes, I got a gift receipt. Sheesh.
Anyway, came home, we talked about our trip to Santa Cruz/Aptos/San Jose (how'd that get in there?) and then Patrick had the best idea ever: pizza! We had beer, watched two episodes of "Weeds" and now, because I am tired, I am considering going to bed. Common sense, no? I was going to practice, finish the laundry, and make the bed, but I think this plan is better, don't you?
Sunday, August 3, 2008
I had a dream
The earthquake and subsequent events of the past week had made me forget this, but on Monday night, I had a very funny dream.
In the dream, my friend Michael, with whom I have re-connected with on Facebook and used to work with at Rizzoli Santa Monica, who is a stand-up comedian and a singer (though, I have neither seen him sing nor do stand-up. I can say that in real life, his shtick was more or less amusing, and in tune [I'm pretty sure he's not going to like that "more or less" but being equivocal may be my shtick, and I think he's got that by now) - anyway, in the dream, Michael had entered a talent show and was going to sing a song. The talent show was taking place somewhere in this big auditorium I've never been in, it was large, white, square, and modern. Could've been a basketball court. Anyway, Michael's getting ready to go on stage, to sing some song with a band - I have no idea what song it was, or the size of the band, or the genre of the music. I think maybe I never hear music in my dreams. I don't recall hearing anything in my dreams. Maybe I do, and I just don't remember? Whatever, I don't remember this time either. So he's about to go on, and I decide that he can't go on just him and sing. That would be boring, and totally lame, and he, and I are neither of those things (well...).
So in the dream, I go on and do some sort of nutty interpretive dance routine behind him while he sings his song.
Keep in mind: I do not dance. Not since seventh grade PE when Ms. Tuggle made us learn the all these horrible soul-killing dance moves to, I don't know, some Chaka Khan song (wearing these horrible, red polyester shorts and tube socks and this reversible red/grey shirt... who designed PE uniforms, anyway? Satanists?), have I danced in front of people (last year's Christmas party is the one exception... and all those people were drunk, including me), yet there I was, looking pretty good (in the dream), pulling all those moves only my cats and the nosy Asian neighbors have ever seen.
There's gotta be some kind of message there but I haven't figured it out yet.
Or maybe not.
In the dream, my friend Michael, with whom I have re-connected with on Facebook and used to work with at Rizzoli Santa Monica, who is a stand-up comedian and a singer (though, I have neither seen him sing nor do stand-up. I can say that in real life, his shtick was more or less amusing, and in tune [I'm pretty sure he's not going to like that "more or less" but being equivocal may be my shtick, and I think he's got that by now) - anyway, in the dream, Michael had entered a talent show and was going to sing a song. The talent show was taking place somewhere in this big auditorium I've never been in, it was large, white, square, and modern. Could've been a basketball court. Anyway, Michael's getting ready to go on stage, to sing some song with a band - I have no idea what song it was, or the size of the band, or the genre of the music. I think maybe I never hear music in my dreams. I don't recall hearing anything in my dreams. Maybe I do, and I just don't remember? Whatever, I don't remember this time either. So he's about to go on, and I decide that he can't go on just him and sing. That would be boring, and totally lame, and he, and I are neither of those things (well...).
So in the dream, I go on and do some sort of nutty interpretive dance routine behind him while he sings his song.
Keep in mind: I do not dance. Not since seventh grade PE when Ms. Tuggle made us learn the all these horrible soul-killing dance moves to, I don't know, some Chaka Khan song (wearing these horrible, red polyester shorts and tube socks and this reversible red/grey shirt... who designed PE uniforms, anyway? Satanists?), have I danced in front of people (last year's Christmas party is the one exception... and all those people were drunk, including me), yet there I was, looking pretty good (in the dream), pulling all those moves only my cats and the nosy Asian neighbors have ever seen.
There's gotta be some kind of message there but I haven't figured it out yet.
Or maybe not.
Weekend
All week I looked forward to the weekend, to catch up on sleep, do a little laundry, swim in the pool, go grocery shopping...
And it started out that way. We slept in yesterday, then, after my appointment with Carol the eybrow artist at Studio Cie Skin and Makeup in Lakewood, I came home and picked up Patrick and we went to lunch at La Casita Mexican in the city of Bell.
We've been there before, but it's been awhile. A few weeks ago we saw an episode of "Throwdown with Bobby Flay" where he challenged the chefs there to a Chile relleno cookoff, and it got me to thinking about another trip to Bell. We didn't have Chile rellenos, but what we did have was delicious. Patrick got a beautiful bowl of potato soup with his meal, which he graciously allowed me to eat for him, and the food, the service, everything was exactly as we would have wished.
Afterwards we went to WalMart to stock up on pool supplies, and then home to nap and hang out.
Everything was going fine until about 9:00, when my sister called and told me that a very old friend of my parents had passed away. His name was David, and I've known him and his wife Mary my entire life. They grew up with my dad in Santa Monica, and were the witnesses when my mother and father got married in Vegas all those years ago. Angie said of course that my mom and dad were very upset, and it's particularly hard right now because my mother is still uncomfortable thanks to her kidney stone, and she's got something else going on that's pretty painful - it's rough over there. Anyway, Angie and my dad drove out to Palm Springs where Mary and David live, to be with Mary and help her out today and possibly tomorrow. Patrick and I are getting ready to drive up to be with my mom.
David and Mary are very interesting people. They used to live in this crazy house in Venice that was constantly under construction and had all these dangerous rooms that us kids weren't allowed to go into (rooms with french doors that should've led to balconies... but instead were just doors that opened out to nothing but a 20 foot drop). That house was sold and finally finished, and moved to another location (I think it's on Electric Avenue now, and used to be on Main or Abbott Kinney... I don't remember: I was just a little kid). David played the banjo, and Mary some kind of electric harp. They called me, when I was really small (and Mary still does) "Little Miss Knickerbocker." Then they moved to Arkansas, where they hated Bill Clinton (this was when he was only governor) and loved it for awhile, I guess, until they decided to move back to California, and they've lived in Palm Springs for a long time now.
It's pretty sad. I have an old photo of me and David sitting on the couch in my mother's house, and he's dressed all in white, probably smoking his pipe, and I'm wearing one of those funny old-fashioned dresses my mom used to dress me in. I have to find that photo.
...
Update: my day with my mom was nice. I got over there pretty early, made her some vegetable soup (I know! I made soup!) (okay, okay, some of it did involve opening a can, but still), and we pretty much just chilled all day. I played with the dogs, read on the couch, and she napped or tried to. She's on pain medication, and a tiny bit loopy, but not too bad. I have to say, though, my mother isn't that old (68) but is totally fixated on her bowel movements. I don't understand how she can talk about them so much, think about it all the time: the frequency/infrequency of them. It does seem a little nutty, but maybe not. I realized that my task while at their house was to make her laugh, which I was pretty successful at. We talked a little about David, but not much. Later, my sister called from Mary's, and Mary got on the phone a little and talked to me. Her other nickname for me is "Peanut." (okay, so why am I giving out this information?) Angie told her that I said she could come out and live with me and Patrick, and Mary got on the phone. She's very Christian, even more than my mother, and a strict Republican, and she goes, "What!? Democrats and a Republican in the same home?" I said, "Hey, they say the lions will lay down with the lambs..." And she laughed. Making her laugh was pretty special, I think.
Now we're home, and I just put the Obama bumper sticker that I got at the Culver City Pavilions on my car. I think Mary would get a kick out of that, don't you?
And it started out that way. We slept in yesterday, then, after my appointment with Carol the eybrow artist at Studio Cie Skin and Makeup in Lakewood, I came home and picked up Patrick and we went to lunch at La Casita Mexican in the city of Bell.
We've been there before, but it's been awhile. A few weeks ago we saw an episode of "Throwdown with Bobby Flay" where he challenged the chefs there to a Chile relleno cookoff, and it got me to thinking about another trip to Bell. We didn't have Chile rellenos, but what we did have was delicious. Patrick got a beautiful bowl of potato soup with his meal, which he graciously allowed me to eat for him, and the food, the service, everything was exactly as we would have wished.
Afterwards we went to WalMart to stock up on pool supplies, and then home to nap and hang out.
Everything was going fine until about 9:00, when my sister called and told me that a very old friend of my parents had passed away. His name was David, and I've known him and his wife Mary my entire life. They grew up with my dad in Santa Monica, and were the witnesses when my mother and father got married in Vegas all those years ago. Angie said of course that my mom and dad were very upset, and it's particularly hard right now because my mother is still uncomfortable thanks to her kidney stone, and she's got something else going on that's pretty painful - it's rough over there. Anyway, Angie and my dad drove out to Palm Springs where Mary and David live, to be with Mary and help her out today and possibly tomorrow. Patrick and I are getting ready to drive up to be with my mom.
David and Mary are very interesting people. They used to live in this crazy house in Venice that was constantly under construction and had all these dangerous rooms that us kids weren't allowed to go into (rooms with french doors that should've led to balconies... but instead were just doors that opened out to nothing but a 20 foot drop). That house was sold and finally finished, and moved to another location (I think it's on Electric Avenue now, and used to be on Main or Abbott Kinney... I don't remember: I was just a little kid). David played the banjo, and Mary some kind of electric harp. They called me, when I was really small (and Mary still does) "Little Miss Knickerbocker." Then they moved to Arkansas, where they hated Bill Clinton (this was when he was only governor) and loved it for awhile, I guess, until they decided to move back to California, and they've lived in Palm Springs for a long time now.
It's pretty sad. I have an old photo of me and David sitting on the couch in my mother's house, and he's dressed all in white, probably smoking his pipe, and I'm wearing one of those funny old-fashioned dresses my mom used to dress me in. I have to find that photo.
...
Update: my day with my mom was nice. I got over there pretty early, made her some vegetable soup (I know! I made soup!) (okay, okay, some of it did involve opening a can, but still), and we pretty much just chilled all day. I played with the dogs, read on the couch, and she napped or tried to. She's on pain medication, and a tiny bit loopy, but not too bad. I have to say, though, my mother isn't that old (68) but is totally fixated on her bowel movements. I don't understand how she can talk about them so much, think about it all the time: the frequency/infrequency of them. It does seem a little nutty, but maybe not. I realized that my task while at their house was to make her laugh, which I was pretty successful at. We talked a little about David, but not much. Later, my sister called from Mary's, and Mary got on the phone a little and talked to me. Her other nickname for me is "Peanut." (okay, so why am I giving out this information?) Angie told her that I said she could come out and live with me and Patrick, and Mary got on the phone. She's very Christian, even more than my mother, and a strict Republican, and she goes, "What!? Democrats and a Republican in the same home?" I said, "Hey, they say the lions will lay down with the lambs..." And she laughed. Making her laugh was pretty special, I think.
Now we're home, and I just put the Obama bumper sticker that I got at the Culver City Pavilions on my car. I think Mary would get a kick out of that, don't you?
Friday, August 1, 2008
Bad Penny opened tonight
Tonight was the opening of Bad Penny at City Garage Theatre in Santa Monica, and it was a fun night. I did not have to work; Charles did the lights and sound tonight so I could sit in the audience and enjoy the show for once. I loved it.
Call the theater to make your reservations. (310) 319-9939. You won't regret it.
Here's me and Cynthia Mance, also known as "Kat" from the show, hanging out in the alley afterwards. I have no idea what I got on my shirt: it might be hair product, which is hard to believe. She's a little slip of a thing, isn't she? Quite possibly the nicest person alive too.
Call the theater to make your reservations. (310) 319-9939. You won't regret it.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
..."I said that I had not received them YET."
Follows are some emails between me and this lady who works in my department. She obviously doesn't care much for me or my attempts to track down some supply orders. Some of these orders are as old as January, so excuse me for giving a shit. When those old orders weren't received, and the department this lady works for informed us that we were out of money (in March... three months later), they told us we would have to wait until July to start ordering again, and that all the old orders had been canceled and would have to be re-ordered. So. We did that, and it was tedious and time consuming (there are a lot of folks in my unit, and they need a lot of stuff), but we did it. On July 14, my orders were delivered, and when I followed up on July 28, I was informed that they hadn't been received by the person responsible for placing the orders. Her latest message implies that I'm a fool if I think that moving some papers from one desk to another should take anything less than two weeks.
I appreciate her spelling out what their "process" is - overly complicated and slow is all I needed to know, really. Would I be the "end user"? What is it with this language? I didn't "insist" on it because I'm a jerk, I did it because I thought my orders had been lost, which has happened in the past. They're not exactly known for being swift, efficient, or - dare I say it? - friendly. Maybe that reputation is starting to wear thin for her? If so, she's sure doing a great job of proving otherwise. Listen, lady: I just want my supplies within a reasonable amount of time, I didn't think I was starting WW III. That's OK, though. I can take it. And, I can blog about it, because exposing stupid people, even when I protect them by obscuring their real names, is lots and lots of fun. You should try it. Oh, and if I had a "I" after my job title, personally, I would omit it. Just a thought.
Please note: that signature is all hers. I suspect that the "power" behind her might be that of a 1984 Subaru GL.
Most recent message is first. Scroll down and read up for the full effect, as I've experienced it myself. After reading this message I packed up and went to lunch. I suggest you do, too.
...
From: Someone
Sent: Thursday, July 31, 2008 12:22 PM
To: Irene
Cc: Someone's Boss; Irene's Boss's Subordinate Managers
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Irene, I never stated that I didn't get your 1st set of request. I said that I had not received them YET. As I explained in the email below, we have a receiving process where as each requests gets a tracking number. This is all done to protect the end user. I didn't ask for the 2nd copy; you insisted. We're doing the best we can in Procurement to get you the items you need in reasonable timeframes and keep you updated. I will email you the vendor's confirmation as soon as the order is placed.
- Some Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you."
...
From: Irene
Sent: Thursday, July 31, 2008 11:46 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Cc: Someone's Boss; Irene's Boss's Subordinate Managers [All of whom have been waiting since January for their supplies]
Subject: FW: Supply orders
Someone, can you give me any idea when our other orders are going to be processed? I understand that you didn't receive them the first time, but if there is any way to expedite them now that they've been provided to you a second time, we would appreciate it. It does seem to me that this delay could have been avoided. I really need to give my people at status.
Thanks.
...
From: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 12:12 PM
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Irene, I was just given a sizable pile of your requests. I'm sure that it's the items you were inquiring about. If there are any specific items that are considered urgent, let me know what they are and I'll pull them to be processes first. Someone has already marked your request for toners as "Urgent". I'll send you email confirmations as each order is placed so you'll know what's going on. For your future requests, I'd submit them as you did the last time. It's not a matter of them being lost in Procurement [obviously they were lost in Procurement] but a matter of them working their way to the procurement staff member. You should view this last submission as an indication of the delivery timeframes- with the exception of true urgencies.
- Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you."
...
From: Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:59 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Someone, what do you advise that I do in the future? Should I get a receipt? Once I get these to you again, how long is it going to take? There were quite a few.
...
From: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:32 AM
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Supply orders
When I receive orders directly via email, fax or in person, they are time-stamped and handed over to my supervisor, to assign a tracking number. I do not have the authority to place orders given directly to me nor do I recall all items given to me [OK, let's get this straight. She's my point of contact. I give her my orders. She timestamps them, gives them to her supervisor, who... does what, exactly? And then gives them back to her? This is a lame process. They have already been approved by a higher entity than her supervisor. How long do you think it took them to come up with this? Two weeks? Clearly I am working much, much too hard]. Please note some of the items on your request so I can help you.
- Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you."
...
From: Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:20 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Someone, these were hand-delivered to you around July 14, and you called me to confirm that you had received them. My co-worker from another unit submitted orders the same day (she is the one who delivered my orders for me) and she has received confirmation that her items were ordered.
...
From: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not for Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:18 AM
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Good morning, Irene, I don't have any outstanding orders for you. That could mean that (1) it hasn't reached my desk yet or (2) someone else has placed this order when I wasn't here. Please let me know a few of the items on the request so I can query the staff.
- Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you." .
...
From: Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 8:09 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Subject: Supply orders
Someone, can you give me an ETA on my supply orders? We sent them to you two weeks ago.
Thanks,
Irene
I appreciate her spelling out what their "process" is - overly complicated and slow is all I needed to know, really. Would I be the "end user"? What is it with this language? I didn't "insist" on it because I'm a jerk, I did it because I thought my orders had been lost, which has happened in the past. They're not exactly known for being swift, efficient, or - dare I say it? - friendly. Maybe that reputation is starting to wear thin for her? If so, she's sure doing a great job of proving otherwise. Listen, lady: I just want my supplies within a reasonable amount of time, I didn't think I was starting WW III. That's OK, though. I can take it. And, I can blog about it, because exposing stupid people, even when I protect them by obscuring their real names, is lots and lots of fun. You should try it. Oh, and if I had a "I" after my job title, personally, I would omit it. Just a thought.
Please note: that signature is all hers. I suspect that the "power" behind her might be that of a 1984 Subaru GL.
Most recent message is first. Scroll down and read up for the full effect, as I've experienced it myself. After reading this message I packed up and went to lunch. I suggest you do, too.
...
From: Someone
Sent: Thursday, July 31, 2008 12:22 PM
To: Irene
Cc: Someone's Boss; Irene's Boss's Subordinate Managers
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Irene, I never stated that I didn't get your 1st set of request. I said that I had not received them YET. As I explained in the email below, we have a receiving process where as each requests gets a tracking number. This is all done to protect the end user. I didn't ask for the 2nd copy; you insisted. We're doing the best we can in Procurement to get you the items you need in reasonable timeframes and keep you updated. I will email you the vendor's confirmation as soon as the order is placed.
- Some Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you."
...
From: Irene
Sent: Thursday, July 31, 2008 11:46 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Cc: Someone's Boss; Irene's Boss's Subordinate Managers [All of whom have been waiting since January for their supplies]
Subject: FW: Supply orders
Someone, can you give me any idea when our other orders are going to be processed? I understand that you didn't receive them the first time, but if there is any way to expedite them now that they've been provided to you a second time, we would appreciate it. It does seem to me that this delay could have been avoided. I really need to give my people at status.
Thanks.
...
From: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 12:12 PM
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Irene, I was just given a sizable pile of your requests. I'm sure that it's the items you were inquiring about. If there are any specific items that are considered urgent, let me know what they are and I'll pull them to be processes first. Someone has already marked your request for toners as "Urgent". I'll send you email confirmations as each order is placed so you'll know what's going on. For your future requests, I'd submit them as you did the last time. It's not a matter of them being lost in Procurement [obviously they were lost in Procurement] but a matter of them working their way to the procurement staff member. You should view this last submission as an indication of the delivery timeframes- with the exception of true urgencies.
- Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you."
...
From: Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:59 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Someone, what do you advise that I do in the future? Should I get a receipt? Once I get these to you again, how long is it going to take? There were quite a few.
...
From: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:32 AM
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Supply orders
When I receive orders directly via email, fax or in person, they are time-stamped and handed over to my supervisor, to assign a tracking number. I do not have the authority to place orders given directly to me nor do I recall all items given to me [OK, let's get this straight. She's my point of contact. I give her my orders. She timestamps them, gives them to her supervisor, who... does what, exactly? And then gives them back to her? This is a lame process. They have already been approved by a higher entity than her supervisor. How long do you think it took them to come up with this? Two weeks? Clearly I am working much, much too hard]. Please note some of the items on your request so I can help you.
- Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you."
...
From: Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:20 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Someone, these were hand-delivered to you around July 14, and you called me to confirm that you had received them. My co-worker from another unit submitted orders the same day (she is the one who delivered my orders for me) and she has received confirmation that her items were ordered.
...
From: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not for Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 9:18 AM
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Supply orders
Good morning, Irene, I don't have any outstanding orders for you. That could mean that (1) it hasn't reached my desk yet or (2) someone else has placed this order when I wasn't here. Please let me know a few of the items on the request so I can query the staff.
- Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Irene
Procurement Assistant I
"The task ahead of you, is never as great as the power behind you." .
...
From: Irene
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 8:09 AM
To: Someone Who Clearly Cares Not For Me
Subject: Supply orders
Someone, can you give me an ETA on my supply orders? We sent them to you two weeks ago.
Thanks,
Irene
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
A dress rehearsal, a trip to the emergency room, a concert, and a lack of sleep
Friday was the dress rehearsal for the benefit concert at Our Mother of Good Counsel. Joe and I met up with Patty at her house, and together with his mother, Helen, who has been visiting from New Jersey for about a month, we carpooled over to the church in Hollywood. Katrina, our fourth player, had to work that day, so she met us there.
The rehearsal went pretty well, and once we got used to the acoustics (flutes 1 and 4 were only a few feet away from each other, but somehow couldn't hear each other very well), it was just a matter of running our pieces and working out the details.
Afterwards, Patty, Joe, his mom and I went to dinner at Palermo's on Vermont (Katrina had to go home). I've been there before and was really excited to go again. Joe's mom has accompanied him to all our rehearsals, and I've enjoyed getting to know her. She's a very nice lady; the two of them together are very sweet, and he kept us laughing. We all had the lentil soup, and it was very good - even Helen said it was almost as good as her own. And I became a huge fan of lentil soup. Patty and I had ravioli, Joe and his mother had spaghetti, and we all shared some pizza rosa, which was amazing.
On Sunday, Patrick had to head out to Santa Monica early to spend the day with his mom and his brother and his family, and after he left, I got a call from my dad, who had taken my mom to the emergency room. My mom was having a lot of back pain, they'd been there for awhile, didn't really know what the story was, but the nurse suspected it was a kidney stone. I had to get going, and wouldn't have a lot of phone access, so I was a bit thrown off. It wasn't what I wanted to be thinking about on the ride up to Culver City.
The other thing that was really unfortunate about this weekend was, we had found out on Friday that a young man who had been a student of both Joe and Patty at Culver City Middle School about ten years ago had died. It was a shock to them both, and was really very sad. Patty and I carpooled to the church, and I didn't know if I should mention to her about my mom. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but at the same time, I was worried. Then again, she was upset about her former student, and I wanted us to be able to concentrate on the concert. I was nervous, and worried, and it wasn't a good combination. I did tell her, and made sure to call my dad before the concert and to let him know that I wouldn't be able to call until we were finished. Once we got to the church, though, things got better. Joe did his super job, as usual, of getting us all to relax, and it turned out that quite a few tickets had been sold. I sort of had to put my head down and just play, and it worked.
We sounded really good - I was proud of our performance. Everyone said we sounded good, and enjoyed the selections. Patty, as always, did a good job of choosing music that flowed well. So, after all the rehearsing, it worked out well. Afterwards, I stopped at my mom and dad's on the way home. I guess it was a kidney stone, but my mom was still uncomfortable. I ate dinner with my brother and hung out with them for awhile.
On Monday, I started tech rehearsals with City Garage for BAD PENNY, which opens this
Friday. The cast has been rehearsing for several weeks, and I was a little surprised to walk in and find out that we would be using slides during this show. I've done about 6 shows in a row in the booth, and none of them used slides - and you know me with new things: I kind of panic. But that first night, Charles let me get used to the audio and light cues and he ran the slides for me. It was a good idea, because it allowed me to feel comfortable with the show and the cues without having to freak out about the machine, especially because, due to my concert, I missed the cue-to-cue, where they set the cues for the audio and sound cues. It's always a nice chance for me to get re-accustomed to the machinery. The slide machine is a bit scary, though. It's kind of old, I guess, and temperamental - there is a specific order to everything you do and every click of every switch has to come at the right time. But as we run things, I get more comfortable, and as always, I'm even more excited about the show than I was before I saw it. They've done a good job.
The rehearsal went pretty well, and once we got used to the acoustics (flutes 1 and 4 were only a few feet away from each other, but somehow couldn't hear each other very well), it was just a matter of running our pieces and working out the details.
Afterwards, Patty, Joe, his mom and I went to dinner at Palermo's on Vermont (Katrina had to go home). I've been there before and was really excited to go again. Joe's mom has accompanied him to all our rehearsals, and I've enjoyed getting to know her. She's a very nice lady; the two of them together are very sweet, and he kept us laughing. We all had the lentil soup, and it was very good - even Helen said it was almost as good as her own. And I became a huge fan of lentil soup. Patty and I had ravioli, Joe and his mother had spaghetti, and we all shared some pizza rosa, which was amazing.
On Sunday, Patrick had to head out to Santa Monica early to spend the day with his mom and his brother and his family, and after he left, I got a call from my dad, who had taken my mom to the emergency room. My mom was having a lot of back pain, they'd been there for awhile, didn't really know what the story was, but the nurse suspected it was a kidney stone. I had to get going, and wouldn't have a lot of phone access, so I was a bit thrown off. It wasn't what I wanted to be thinking about on the ride up to Culver City.
The other thing that was really unfortunate about this weekend was, we had found out on Friday that a young man who had been a student of both Joe and Patty at Culver City Middle School about ten years ago had died. It was a shock to them both, and was really very sad. Patty and I carpooled to the church, and I didn't know if I should mention to her about my mom. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but at the same time, I was worried. Then again, she was upset about her former student, and I wanted us to be able to concentrate on the concert. I was nervous, and worried, and it wasn't a good combination. I did tell her, and made sure to call my dad before the concert and to let him know that I wouldn't be able to call until we were finished. Once we got to the church, though, things got better. Joe did his super job, as usual, of getting us all to relax, and it turned out that quite a few tickets had been sold. I sort of had to put my head down and just play, and it worked.
We sounded really good - I was proud of our performance. Everyone said we sounded good, and enjoyed the selections. Patty, as always, did a good job of choosing music that flowed well. So, after all the rehearsing, it worked out well. Afterwards, I stopped at my mom and dad's on the way home. I guess it was a kidney stone, but my mom was still uncomfortable. I ate dinner with my brother and hung out with them for awhile.
On Monday, I started tech rehearsals with City Garage for BAD PENNY, which opens this
Friday. The cast has been rehearsing for several weeks, and I was a little surprised to walk in and find out that we would be using slides during this show. I've done about 6 shows in a row in the booth, and none of them used slides - and you know me with new things: I kind of panic. But that first night, Charles let me get used to the audio and light cues and he ran the slides for me. It was a good idea, because it allowed me to feel comfortable with the show and the cues without having to freak out about the machine, especially because, due to my concert, I missed the cue-to-cue, where they set the cues for the audio and sound cues. It's always a nice chance for me to get re-accustomed to the machinery. The slide machine is a bit scary, though. It's kind of old, I guess, and temperamental - there is a specific order to everything you do and every click of every switch has to come at the right time. But as we run things, I get more comfortable, and as always, I'm even more excited about the show than I was before I saw it. They've done a good job.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Monday
Today has been totally cool.
I had an interview this morning. It went well. We'll have to see how well, but either way, I feel good about it.
After that I stopped at Borders and chatted with my friend Bo for a minute, mocked his funny haircut in my mind only (I don't know why, he takes my ribbing really well, and is used to it and gives it right back to me), and bought David Sedaris' book and a new copy of 1984, which I have not read probably since 1984. Then I went to Target and bought $128 worth of cleaning supplies and other household items. My house is a pig sty and I am a pig and if I could just get off the damn computer (Facebook and iTunes are ruining my life, and I mean that in a good way) it might be cleaner. One of the cats had a hairball incident in the office and I said to Patrick, "Don't worry, I'll clean that up real soon," and he goes, not at all sarcastically or meanly, "What do you mean? Won't it just go away if we ignore it?" And that kind of sums up how we've been dealing with most issues around the house for quite some time.
After Target, I ran home to change my clothes and THEN I had a massage with my man, Bruce.
Yes, Bruce is My Man now. We had a lovely time, only it ended, which sucked, and now I'm going to eat some lunch and work up the energy to clean the bathroom. Yep, it's the smallest room in the house, and the dirtiest. After I eat and clean, I plan on writing a thank you letter to the ladies I interviewed with, and practicing, and listening to more music, and maybe, maybe, if there's time, going outside again, 'cause it's a gorgeous day in LB today and why the hell am I sitting here on the computer?
Oh, and I've been listening to Nirvana pretty much non-stop since Saturday when I downloaded "Nevermind." I had that album in 1991 (Patrick bought it for me, even though at the time I was dating Drew. In fact, I think right after he gave it to me, Drew and I had a little fight about something else, and I called Patrick to talk about it, and he got pissed off at me because he said I was abusing our friendship. Now that's a weird thing to remember, isn't it.) but I lost my copy or sold it or something, so I had to download it, and boy am I glad I did. "Lounge Act" is a great song. Somewhere around here I have an old copy of their first album, "Bleach," which, as soon as I find it will be permanently residing on my iPod. I just bought "In Utero" which I never owned in the first place, and I feel like putting on some leggings and a flannel shirt and my black boots and walking around with this shit blaring in my ears.
Listen to a too-short clip of "Lounge Act" here.
GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP
I had an interview this morning. It went well. We'll have to see how well, but either way, I feel good about it.
After that I stopped at Borders and chatted with my friend Bo for a minute, mocked his funny haircut in my mind only (I don't know why, he takes my ribbing really well, and is used to it and gives it right back to me), and bought David Sedaris' book and a new copy of 1984, which I have not read probably since 1984. Then I went to Target and bought $128 worth of cleaning supplies and other household items. My house is a pig sty and I am a pig and if I could just get off the damn computer (Facebook and iTunes are ruining my life, and I mean that in a good way) it might be cleaner. One of the cats had a hairball incident in the office and I said to Patrick, "Don't worry, I'll clean that up real soon," and he goes, not at all sarcastically or meanly, "What do you mean? Won't it just go away if we ignore it?" And that kind of sums up how we've been dealing with most issues around the house for quite some time.
After Target, I ran home to change my clothes and THEN I had a massage with my man, Bruce.
Yes, Bruce is My Man now. We had a lovely time, only it ended, which sucked, and now I'm going to eat some lunch and work up the energy to clean the bathroom. Yep, it's the smallest room in the house, and the dirtiest. After I eat and clean, I plan on writing a thank you letter to the ladies I interviewed with, and practicing, and listening to more music, and maybe, maybe, if there's time, going outside again, 'cause it's a gorgeous day in LB today and why the hell am I sitting here on the computer?
Oh, and I've been listening to Nirvana pretty much non-stop since Saturday when I downloaded "Nevermind." I had that album in 1991 (Patrick bought it for me, even though at the time I was dating Drew. In fact, I think right after he gave it to me, Drew and I had a little fight about something else, and I called Patrick to talk about it, and he got pissed off at me because he said I was abusing our friendship. Now that's a weird thing to remember, isn't it.) but I lost my copy or sold it or something, so I had to download it, and boy am I glad I did. "Lounge Act" is a great song. Somewhere around here I have an old copy of their first album, "Bleach," which, as soon as I find it will be permanently residing on my iPod. I just bought "In Utero" which I never owned in the first place, and I feel like putting on some leggings and a flannel shirt and my black boots and walking around with this shit blaring in my ears.
Listen to a too-short clip of "Lounge Act" here.
GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Actual conversation - now updated with links to topless photos... of musicians old enough to be my father
Patrick and I were watching Electric Prom: The Who the other night. The following is an actual transcript of our conversation.
Me: Am I the only Who fan in the world who doesn't care for "Tommy"?
Patrick: Is this song from "Tommy"?
Me: ... Yes?
Patrick: You don't like "Quadrophenia" either, right?*
Me: And I call myself a Who fan!
[silence]
Me: Who do you think is a better drummer, Keith or Zac?
Patrick: They're different.
Me: Do you think Zac's better than his dad?
Patrick: Probably.
Me: Yeah, but I wish Zac could look like he was actually having fun. Keith made it look fun.
Me: God, does he ever smile?
[silence]
Me: Who do you think would look better shirtless - Pete or Roger?
Patrick: ... Well I wouldn't -
Me: OK, who do you think would look better shirtless, Pete**, Roger or Stewart?
Patrick [Decisively]: NONE.
*I think the song we were listening to was from Quadrophenia, which I'm giving a second chance. And the truth is, I love the music from "Tommy," I just can't stand the movie. There's something really, really gross about that scene with the beans. It kind of makes me sick.
Most importantly to note is, after 10 years of marriage, Patrick is always ready for these types of conversations with me. I also like to ask the following questions when we're watchng TV:
Me: Could you play this?
Me: Could you teach me to play this?
Me: Is Stewart better than this guy?
Me: Is this soundtrack by Stewart Copeland?
Me: Goddamn, is that Sting?
Me: What kind of commentary could Sting provide on John Entwhistle!
Me: Jesus Christ, what happened to Andy?
Me: WHY CAN'T WE SEE THE DRUMMER?
Me: Can we please watch "Everyone Stares" again?
Me: Can you get me a diet coke while you're up?
**Couldn't find a photo of Pete without his shirt; Frank looks pretty good, though. Surprising.
Me: Am I the only Who fan in the world who doesn't care for "Tommy"?
Patrick: Is this song from "Tommy"?
Me: ... Yes?
Patrick: You don't like "Quadrophenia" either, right?*
Me: And I call myself a Who fan!
[silence]
Me: Who do you think is a better drummer, Keith or Zac?
Patrick: They're different.
Me: Do you think Zac's better than his dad?
Patrick: Probably.
Me: Yeah, but I wish Zac could look like he was actually having fun. Keith made it look fun.
Me: God, does he ever smile?
[silence]
Me: Who do you think would look better shirtless - Pete or Roger?
Patrick: ... Well I wouldn't -
Me: OK, who do you think would look better shirtless, Pete**, Roger or Stewart?
Patrick [Decisively]: NONE.
*I think the song we were listening to was from Quadrophenia, which I'm giving a second chance. And the truth is, I love the music from "Tommy," I just can't stand the movie. There's something really, really gross about that scene with the beans. It kind of makes me sick.
Most importantly to note is, after 10 years of marriage, Patrick is always ready for these types of conversations with me. I also like to ask the following questions when we're watchng TV:
Me: Could you play this?
Me: Could you teach me to play this?
Me: Is Stewart better than this guy?
Me: Is this soundtrack by Stewart Copeland?
Me: Goddamn, is that Sting?
Me: What kind of commentary could Sting provide on John Entwhistle!
Me: Jesus Christ, what happened to Andy?
Me: WHY CAN'T WE SEE THE DRUMMER?
Me: Can we please watch "Everyone Stares" again?
Me: Can you get me a diet coke while you're up?
**Couldn't find a photo of Pete without his shirt; Frank looks pretty good, though. Surprising.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Happy birthday, Stewart Copeland
Happy day, Stewart!
Sorry, Dad. And, um, Patrick. Oh, yeah, and Fiona.
But Stewart looks so happy, doesn't he?
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Decisions, decisions
So, it's no secret that things have been a little weird at work lately. I got a promotion, and when I tell people, I sort of make apologies for it (not because I think what I'm saying is so amazing, or from some fake sense of modesty, but because, hey, I am proud I'm not a secretary anymore) - I was promoted from Senior Secretary II to Administrative Assistant II, and I think in most other workplaces, Administrative Assistant is a pretty euphemism for Secretary. However, there are real, actual differences, including but not limited to, pay but also the level of duties, responsibilities. There's a thing called a job spec that if I could share with you, you would understand better what I mean. However, to make a long story short, there is a difference, it is supposed to be a promotion, a raising of the bar. The places an AA II can go are a bit different than what's expected from a secretary.
But because my actual job has some flexibility, I am able to remain in my prior position, working for the same boss, but with a new job title. That's all that's going to change.
To me, though, this seems like a great opportunity to make some changes, some improvements, for me to learn things outside the scope of my job as a secretary... and I have a feeling it's not going to happen. There's a lot of upheaval in my job right now - last week my boss distributed a memo that outlined a lot of movement in our unit, some of which none of us saw coming, though, did she mention my promotion? No, but she did mention the promotions of others. Nice. When I got the promotion, I made a point of asking my boss if she had any plans of changing my job duties or her expectations, but she didn't have the time to meet with me then (she was going on vacation and was slammed that week), and obviously we still haven't met. She did take the time to review the tasks and standards list she'd given me when I first started working for her (I emailed her the Word document), but all she did was change one tiny thing (I don't even remember), and she didn't change the title (the word "Secretarial" is in caps, and bolded, at the top of the page).
I was talking about this with some friends, and some of them I think misunderstood what I'm trying to say, so I'd better be clearer. I am not complaining about my work load, though I do a lot. I don't think I'm doing too much or want easier tasks. But I do think I should be given the opportunity, with a change in title, to learn something, to have the opportunity to gain some skills that if I ever did leave this crazy position and this crazy department would actually be of some use to me. And I also think that my boss's actual secretary, a woman who has been around forever and has a lot of knowledge but is surprisingly inefficient, gets away with murder. She's so totally nice and likable, though, that her total ineptness somehow is charming and sweet. Really, I don't know how she does it. Bottom line, though, she's no help whatsoever.
The upheaval is pretty upsetting to me, too. A lot of people are moving around to different titles and positions, and I'm a little unsure if the changes are for the better or to avoid people from causing a ruckus (people like to cause a ruckus at my job). I don't want a ruckus. I just want a clear direction, and I'm not getting it.
I talked to Patrick about this, and he knows a few other details and we had sort of decided that I would stick it out for another six months to let things settle and to figure things out. Then yesterday, on my way out of the office, I got a call from one of the departments in our area (all the other calls I've been getting have been for departments based in downtown LA, a commute I've done before but would never do again), and now I'm back to figuring out what I should do. On the one hand, a new start would be a relief. There would be no question about what is expected of me. But on the other hand, there's the matter of loyalty, and of finding out what my current job is going to be after crazy time is over. If crazy time is ever over.
So. Thinking. And... craving ice cream.
...
Oh! Over the weekend, Patrick and I went to downtown Long Beach to check out a couple of furniture stores (we really need a new couch). One of the stores we visited was this huge place on LB Blvd. - I found somethng I could've lived with (leather, though, black) but Patrick wasn't sold on it, and then we started debating what it was, exactly, we were looking for in a couch (a conversation that might've been more civil had it not been so goddamn hot in there). Anyway, we were walking through, looking at everything that wasn't a couch, when we both heard it:
Words we sort of recognized, set to a beat and a melody that were totally foreign. Phrases that had been kind of a big deal in our childhoods (is there a plural of "childhood"?). It was disturbing and at the same time, oddly fascinating. We sat down in the middle of the store, even though we were both sweating and my nose was running.
The song? "Comfortably Numb," covered by the Scissors Sisters. Both the best and the absolute worst thing I have ever heard. The clip hardly does it justice.
But because my actual job has some flexibility, I am able to remain in my prior position, working for the same boss, but with a new job title. That's all that's going to change.
To me, though, this seems like a great opportunity to make some changes, some improvements, for me to learn things outside the scope of my job as a secretary... and I have a feeling it's not going to happen. There's a lot of upheaval in my job right now - last week my boss distributed a memo that outlined a lot of movement in our unit, some of which none of us saw coming, though, did she mention my promotion? No, but she did mention the promotions of others. Nice. When I got the promotion, I made a point of asking my boss if she had any plans of changing my job duties or her expectations, but she didn't have the time to meet with me then (she was going on vacation and was slammed that week), and obviously we still haven't met. She did take the time to review the tasks and standards list she'd given me when I first started working for her (I emailed her the Word document), but all she did was change one tiny thing (I don't even remember), and she didn't change the title (the word "Secretarial" is in caps, and bolded, at the top of the page).
I was talking about this with some friends, and some of them I think misunderstood what I'm trying to say, so I'd better be clearer. I am not complaining about my work load, though I do a lot. I don't think I'm doing too much or want easier tasks. But I do think I should be given the opportunity, with a change in title, to learn something, to have the opportunity to gain some skills that if I ever did leave this crazy position and this crazy department would actually be of some use to me. And I also think that my boss's actual secretary, a woman who has been around forever and has a lot of knowledge but is surprisingly inefficient, gets away with murder. She's so totally nice and likable, though, that her total ineptness somehow is charming and sweet. Really, I don't know how she does it. Bottom line, though, she's no help whatsoever.
The upheaval is pretty upsetting to me, too. A lot of people are moving around to different titles and positions, and I'm a little unsure if the changes are for the better or to avoid people from causing a ruckus (people like to cause a ruckus at my job). I don't want a ruckus. I just want a clear direction, and I'm not getting it.
I talked to Patrick about this, and he knows a few other details and we had sort of decided that I would stick it out for another six months to let things settle and to figure things out. Then yesterday, on my way out of the office, I got a call from one of the departments in our area (all the other calls I've been getting have been for departments based in downtown LA, a commute I've done before but would never do again), and now I'm back to figuring out what I should do. On the one hand, a new start would be a relief. There would be no question about what is expected of me. But on the other hand, there's the matter of loyalty, and of finding out what my current job is going to be after crazy time is over. If crazy time is ever over.
So. Thinking. And... craving ice cream.
...
Oh! Over the weekend, Patrick and I went to downtown Long Beach to check out a couple of furniture stores (we really need a new couch). One of the stores we visited was this huge place on LB Blvd. - I found somethng I could've lived with (leather, though, black) but Patrick wasn't sold on it, and then we started debating what it was, exactly, we were looking for in a couch (a conversation that might've been more civil had it not been so goddamn hot in there). Anyway, we were walking through, looking at everything that wasn't a couch, when we both heard it:
Words we sort of recognized, set to a beat and a melody that were totally foreign. Phrases that had been kind of a big deal in our childhoods (is there a plural of "childhood"?). It was disturbing and at the same time, oddly fascinating. We sat down in the middle of the store, even though we were both sweating and my nose was running.
The song? "Comfortably Numb," covered by the Scissors Sisters. Both the best and the absolute worst thing I have ever heard. The clip hardly does it justice.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Attack of the sinuses
I've had pretty bad sinus trouble the last few days. I guess it started Wednesday or Thursday? I've been achy, with a headache, a lot of congestion, occasional fever, coughing, sneezing...
I've had a rehearsal scheduled for about a month for this little quartet gig I'm doing later this month with my flute teacher, my old high school band teacher, and another flutist. It was on Sunday. I worried about this rehearsal since I first started with the symptoms - because my breathing was affected. I mean, if I just had a runny nose, I could deal. But try playing the flute when every inhalation results in some microscopic spot in the back of your throat being tickled, which then sets of a coughing jag that lasts about 10 minutes.
So on Saturday, Patrick went to the store and purchased Tylenol Sinus for me, and I took it that night, and sure enough, it dried me up; I thought I was home free. (Normally I don't like this kind of medication, because even though they put "Non-Drowsy" on the packaging, this stuff usually puts me to sleep instantly.)
Sunday, I get to the rehearsal, hoarse from coughing, armed with Purell hand sanitizer and my own box of Kleenex, and we started to play. I had taken the Tylenol Sinus right before I left the house. I had planned this out, right? Everything went okay for about 45 minutes, and then it started. It was as if all the coughing that had been suppressed was now, with a new audience, ready for its close up. It was awful. It was the kind of coughing where, once you finally stop, you're shaking and weakened and your voice is all jacked up. I wanted to keep going, I needed to rehearse this music, we all did (most of what we're playing is typical flute choir type music - beautiful, square! But Joe, my old high school band teacher, is playing flute 1 on this one piece called "That's a Plenty -I get to play bass, it's fun, and the bass part is all syncopated and funky - I needed the time on this one). Anyway, so bottom line is, we had to find another rehearsal date. And I need to get better before our gig, because coughing on stage sucks.
I've had a rehearsal scheduled for about a month for this little quartet gig I'm doing later this month with my flute teacher, my old high school band teacher, and another flutist. It was on Sunday. I worried about this rehearsal since I first started with the symptoms - because my breathing was affected. I mean, if I just had a runny nose, I could deal. But try playing the flute when every inhalation results in some microscopic spot in the back of your throat being tickled, which then sets of a coughing jag that lasts about 10 minutes.
So on Saturday, Patrick went to the store and purchased Tylenol Sinus for me, and I took it that night, and sure enough, it dried me up; I thought I was home free. (Normally I don't like this kind of medication, because even though they put "Non-Drowsy" on the packaging, this stuff usually puts me to sleep instantly.)
Sunday, I get to the rehearsal, hoarse from coughing, armed with Purell hand sanitizer and my own box of Kleenex, and we started to play. I had taken the Tylenol Sinus right before I left the house. I had planned this out, right? Everything went okay for about 45 minutes, and then it started. It was as if all the coughing that had been suppressed was now, with a new audience, ready for its close up. It was awful. It was the kind of coughing where, once you finally stop, you're shaking and weakened and your voice is all jacked up. I wanted to keep going, I needed to rehearse this music, we all did (most of what we're playing is typical flute choir type music - beautiful, square! But Joe, my old high school band teacher, is playing flute 1 on this one piece called "That's a Plenty -I get to play bass, it's fun, and the bass part is all syncopated and funky - I needed the time on this one). Anyway, so bottom line is, we had to find another rehearsal date. And I need to get better before our gig, because coughing on stage sucks.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
You get what you pay for
On Sunday, I spent most of the day with my family, celebrating my brother Andy and my sister Angie's birthday (they're twins!). Patrick is still pretty sick (he has bronchitis, the big baby), but my mom and dad really wanted to see me, my brother Dan was cooking, and Patrick was 99% guaranteed to sleep all day anyway... so I went without him.
Dan grilled us all steaks, I stopped at Pavilions and bought the makings of a terrific salad (note to Culver City residents: what is up with the NUT BAR in your Pavilions! Seriously! Are you guys eating that many different kinds of nuts that you need a freakin' bar?? Who's buying all those damn nuts?) - that salad took me an hour to make. I am one slow-ass chopper. Anyway, the food was delicious, simple, and having my family together (minus poor, sick Patrick) was fun.
After we played some games and I threw the ball around for Rocco and Goldie, it was time to cut the cake. My mom bought an Angel Maid cake, which of course we all love. Unfortunately my brother Andy had to work (their birthday was actually two weeks ago... we've had scheduling issues, another reason for doing it without Patrick), but don't worry, we saved him a piece. While we're sitting around the dining room table, eating our yummy and perfect cake, my sister says, "Well! I would've preferred a VONS cake!"
A VONS cake?? Or an Angel Maid cake? Really, Angie?
Now, my sister is frugal. She takes frugal to another level, to tell the truth. She believes in the power of her money, and her money has more power the longer it stays in her bank account. So I get that she considers an Angel Maid cake to be "expensive," and that would color her opinion of the cake itself. But sometimes, Angela, you've got to spend a little money for quality. And then my brother Dan basically called her a fool and laughed in her face (but lovingly, honest). So we all gave her the "you get what you pay for, and in the case of a cake from Vons, what you pay for is about 2 inches of solid lard frosting" speech, and then we all shut up because we were having our second pieces of Angel Maid cake.
Yesterday, I decided that the thing I needed most in the world was a haircut. Now, I've had my share of expensive haircuts. I paid $70 for the last one (and I guess that's cheap, too, depending on what you're used to spending on a haircut. I was used to getting my hair cut in Missy's backyard), and while the experience itself was okay (two people blow drying me at once! [this is not a euphemism]), the haircut itself was nothing special. And then the guy (Carlos, I believe his name was) tried to convince me A) to wash my hair every other day (or less! But that's fucking crazy) and B) that I must blow dry my hair AND use hot rollers (this after I explained that I am a wash & go kind of gal, proud of my bed-head). I think I have mentioned that my best haircuts were given to me by someone who now makes a very good living as a dental hygienist? So I figured, hey, Supercuts. They did an OK job last time, right? And I need to clean up my bang-area. Whatever that part of my hair is called. The "fringe."
So... I came home from work yesterday, practiced for 45 minutes, and then set off for my haircut. The girl was sweet, her name was Jen, and I told her that I needed a trim, the bangs cleaned up and that she could "take it up as far as you want." Yes, I said that. I was very tired yesterday.
Well, Jen apparently wanted me to have short bangs (not super-short, but about eyebrow length) because that's what she did. My first reaction was, "oh shit." But now I'm getting used to it. Last time I saw my Irish (Scottish? I never remember. He has a killer accent) friend Barry, he said to me, "nice haircut! You do it yourself?" If I see Barry in the next couple of weeks, I might ask if he'd like to have a go at it. He might clean it up for me.
Now that I've had 24 hours to get used to it, it's not that bad, really. And bangs grow quickly. And my friend Andrea at work said that the rest of my hair actually looked longer, which seems a bit impossible, but hey, I'll take it.
Oh, and I keep forgetting to mention: one of the blogs I read is written by my friend Julie's friend who is going through chemotherapy for breast cancer. It's a nicely written blog, the lady is very brave, and it kind of makes me remember what my mother went through and to not take anything for granted. Anyway, Marla (that's the lady's name) wrote about playing some Wii games with her kid, and showed a photo of the Mii her son had made for her. I like my Mii - photo someday - but her Mii was named "Mommy" and that right there choked me up. My Mii is named, not so surprisingly, "Irene," and I never considered calling it anything else. The cats just call me "meow!" I thought it was very sweet, and probably not very original, but still. I don't know. I've been thinking about it quite a lot lately.
So tonight after a hard day at work, what did I do? I came home and played tennis, bowled, checked my Wii fitness (my Wii age? 36! What a coincidence!), did some target practice, rode a cow...
Dan grilled us all steaks, I stopped at Pavilions and bought the makings of a terrific salad (note to Culver City residents: what is up with the NUT BAR in your Pavilions! Seriously! Are you guys eating that many different kinds of nuts that you need a freakin' bar?? Who's buying all those damn nuts?) - that salad took me an hour to make. I am one slow-ass chopper. Anyway, the food was delicious, simple, and having my family together (minus poor, sick Patrick) was fun.
After we played some games and I threw the ball around for Rocco and Goldie, it was time to cut the cake. My mom bought an Angel Maid cake, which of course we all love. Unfortunately my brother Andy had to work (their birthday was actually two weeks ago... we've had scheduling issues, another reason for doing it without Patrick), but don't worry, we saved him a piece. While we're sitting around the dining room table, eating our yummy and perfect cake, my sister says, "Well! I would've preferred a VONS cake!"
A VONS cake?? Or an Angel Maid cake? Really, Angie?
Now, my sister is frugal. She takes frugal to another level, to tell the truth. She believes in the power of her money, and her money has more power the longer it stays in her bank account. So I get that she considers an Angel Maid cake to be "expensive," and that would color her opinion of the cake itself. But sometimes, Angela, you've got to spend a little money for quality. And then my brother Dan basically called her a fool and laughed in her face (but lovingly, honest). So we all gave her the "you get what you pay for, and in the case of a cake from Vons, what you pay for is about 2 inches of solid lard frosting" speech, and then we all shut up because we were having our second pieces of Angel Maid cake.
Yesterday, I decided that the thing I needed most in the world was a haircut. Now, I've had my share of expensive haircuts. I paid $70 for the last one (and I guess that's cheap, too, depending on what you're used to spending on a haircut. I was used to getting my hair cut in Missy's backyard), and while the experience itself was okay (two people blow drying me at once! [this is not a euphemism]), the haircut itself was nothing special. And then the guy (Carlos, I believe his name was) tried to convince me A) to wash my hair every other day (or less! But that's fucking crazy) and B) that I must blow dry my hair AND use hot rollers (this after I explained that I am a wash & go kind of gal, proud of my bed-head). I think I have mentioned that my best haircuts were given to me by someone who now makes a very good living as a dental hygienist? So I figured, hey, Supercuts. They did an OK job last time, right? And I need to clean up my bang-area. Whatever that part of my hair is called. The "fringe."
So... I came home from work yesterday, practiced for 45 minutes, and then set off for my haircut. The girl was sweet, her name was Jen, and I told her that I needed a trim, the bangs cleaned up and that she could "take it up as far as you want." Yes, I said that. I was very tired yesterday.
Well, Jen apparently wanted me to have short bangs (not super-short, but about eyebrow length) because that's what she did. My first reaction was, "oh shit." But now I'm getting used to it. Last time I saw my Irish (Scottish? I never remember. He has a killer accent) friend Barry, he said to me, "nice haircut! You do it yourself?" If I see Barry in the next couple of weeks, I might ask if he'd like to have a go at it. He might clean it up for me.
Now that I've had 24 hours to get used to it, it's not that bad, really. And bangs grow quickly. And my friend Andrea at work said that the rest of my hair actually looked longer, which seems a bit impossible, but hey, I'll take it.
Oh, and I keep forgetting to mention: one of the blogs I read is written by my friend Julie's friend who is going through chemotherapy for breast cancer. It's a nicely written blog, the lady is very brave, and it kind of makes me remember what my mother went through and to not take anything for granted. Anyway, Marla (that's the lady's name) wrote about playing some Wii games with her kid, and showed a photo of the Mii her son had made for her. I like my Mii - photo someday - but her Mii was named "Mommy" and that right there choked me up. My Mii is named, not so surprisingly, "Irene," and I never considered calling it anything else. The cats just call me "meow!" I thought it was very sweet, and probably not very original, but still. I don't know. I've been thinking about it quite a lot lately.
So tonight after a hard day at work, what did I do? I came home and played tennis, bowled, checked my Wii fitness (my Wii age? 36! What a coincidence!), did some target practice, rode a cow...
Sunday, June 29, 2008
New picture from wedding I attended last weekend
My friends Chris and Denise sent me this photo, and I think it's better than the other ones. I wasn't sweating as much yet, I guess.
And I think this is a more realistic version of the color of my dress. It looked way orange-r in the other photos, but (in my head only, apparently) is more like this.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I actually have things to do - updated
1. Go to Borders and purchase three books - one for my friend Sarah, which I told her about, and now I don't want to give up my own copy; one that Sarah recommended, which I hope I have the right title of; and one I read about in the LA Weekly that looks funnier than shit.
Borders didn't have the Evil NASA book, or whatever it's called. Or maybe they did (the computer at the store said that the book "may be in stock," which I actually liked, enjoying the positive attitude). However, it was shelved somewhere in their Metaphysical section, a section of the store that I have zero business being in. Yeah, I walked by the Metaphysical section, but then I started to get a little itchy - so I left. I purchased this book instead. Got the other two successfully.
2. Burn a CD for my friend Sarah, which I believe she will enjoy more than I do.
Still haven't burned the CD but I did listen to some of these tracks on the way home from Culver City tonight, and it's good stuff. I may just have too many options when I'm in the car, because I have noticed when I have my iPod on shuffle that I skip a lot of really good songs, in hopes, I guess, of hearing something totally amazing that I had forgotten about.
3. Wash my car.
Car is still filthy. The Bubble Machine was closed when I left the concert, and I was running too late to go before.
4. Clean out my car (inside, trunk).
I did do this, threw away a lot of trash, but more attention could've been paid to the trunk. I may have to re-do the trunk tomorrow.
5. Buy juice or whatever we're going to drink tonight at the flute choir concert
I went to Smart & Final for the Martinelli's - they had all six different flavors. I was a bit embarrassed because I couldn't find the right aisle, and so when I asked somebody and he tried to tell me it was on aisle 10, I got a little snooty and asked him to show me "because I've been looking and I can't find it." He walked me over to aisle 10, which, it turns out, I had skipped, and it was right there in plain sight. "Fucking bitch" I'm sure he muttered as he walked back to the frozen food section, but this can't be proven.
6. Finish my laundry, which involves ironing a linen dress I hope I didn't ruin by washing in the machine.
Dress actually survived the wash, and fits better (it was a tiny bit big). Everyone seemed to like it, and I'm glad, because I like it, too. Sometimes I wonder if when I purchase skirts and dresses if I'd just be better off sticking with my khaki pants and black sweaters: if I should be dressing up.
7. (Most important item) Practice my flute and piccolo parts for tonight's concert. I wish I could add, purchase new piccolo to this list - my piccolo, which was a bargain, and therefore, I'm lucky it sounds as good as it does, is kind of a piece of junk. It's just a couple of steps up from a toy. It's 55% plastic, and that, my friends, says it all. It alternates from being very flat to being very sharp. Once in a while I hit it in tune (middle E flat is a relatively good note). It helps when the rest of the flute choir is also out of tune.
My warm up went just fine; my piccolo actually sounded great, if a tad loud. I am a really loud picc player, what can I say? The concert was terrific, and Rachel, our new girl who played a huge solo in Scherhazade (I spelled that wrong) did a wonderful job. She's amazing. Everyone liked the pieces we played, and it was fun.
(That was me being sarcastic, in case you couldn't tell. )
But what have I been doing instead? Instead I have been watching Kathy Griffin on Bravo, eating lunch, playing Scrabulous on Facebook (and mostly trailing my friends Michael, Sarah and Terry) and watching the kid across the street play catch by himself (he truly is quite talented). I did take a shower. There's one thing down. Damn.
Borders didn't have the Evil NASA book, or whatever it's called. Or maybe they did (the computer at the store said that the book "may be in stock," which I actually liked, enjoying the positive attitude). However, it was shelved somewhere in their Metaphysical section, a section of the store that I have zero business being in. Yeah, I walked by the Metaphysical section, but then I started to get a little itchy - so I left. I purchased this book instead. Got the other two successfully.
2. Burn a CD for my friend Sarah, which I believe she will enjoy more than I do.
Still haven't burned the CD but I did listen to some of these tracks on the way home from Culver City tonight, and it's good stuff. I may just have too many options when I'm in the car, because I have noticed when I have my iPod on shuffle that I skip a lot of really good songs, in hopes, I guess, of hearing something totally amazing that I had forgotten about.
3. Wash my car.
Car is still filthy. The Bubble Machine was closed when I left the concert, and I was running too late to go before.
4. Clean out my car (inside, trunk).
I did do this, threw away a lot of trash, but more attention could've been paid to the trunk. I may have to re-do the trunk tomorrow.
5. Buy juice or whatever we're going to drink tonight at the flute choir concert
I went to Smart & Final for the Martinelli's - they had all six different flavors. I was a bit embarrassed because I couldn't find the right aisle, and so when I asked somebody and he tried to tell me it was on aisle 10, I got a little snooty and asked him to show me "because I've been looking and I can't find it." He walked me over to aisle 10, which, it turns out, I had skipped, and it was right there in plain sight. "Fucking bitch" I'm sure he muttered as he walked back to the frozen food section, but this can't be proven.
6. Finish my laundry, which involves ironing a linen dress I hope I didn't ruin by washing in the machine.
Dress actually survived the wash, and fits better (it was a tiny bit big). Everyone seemed to like it, and I'm glad, because I like it, too. Sometimes I wonder if when I purchase skirts and dresses if I'd just be better off sticking with my khaki pants and black sweaters: if I should be dressing up.
7. (Most important item) Practice my flute and piccolo parts for tonight's concert. I wish I could add, purchase new piccolo to this list - my piccolo, which was a bargain, and therefore, I'm lucky it sounds as good as it does, is kind of a piece of junk. It's just a couple of steps up from a toy. It's 55% plastic, and that, my friends, says it all. It alternates from being very flat to being very sharp. Once in a while I hit it in tune (middle E flat is a relatively good note). It helps when the rest of the flute choir is also out of tune.
My warm up went just fine; my piccolo actually sounded great, if a tad loud. I am a really loud picc player, what can I say? The concert was terrific, and Rachel, our new girl who played a huge solo in Scherhazade (I spelled that wrong) did a wonderful job. She's amazing. Everyone liked the pieces we played, and it was fun.
(That was me being sarcastic, in case you couldn't tell. )
But what have I been doing instead? Instead I have been watching Kathy Griffin on Bravo, eating lunch, playing Scrabulous on Facebook (and mostly trailing my friends Michael, Sarah and Terry) and watching the kid across the street play catch by himself (he truly is quite talented). I did take a shower. There's one thing down. Damn.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Standing up for myself, one tiny step at a time
Today I was in a meeting with a couple of managers and their staff discussing ways to make this stupid report I work on all week, better. One of the main issues is that the staff responsible for submitting information to me are largely unresponsive. I waste a ton of time everyday following up with people, and most of the time, my requests require more than one effort from me. I do a lot of following up; I get really sick of following up. I have a hard time understanding why I have to baby-sit people who make at least three to four times the amount of money I do. Mostly the follow up is done through email, which the managers agree is the most effective way to communicate with their staff, but there are times when I need to speak to people. Then it gets messier, because folks at my department are masters of distraction - or they think they are. They think that by not answering the question or by bringing up another topic altogether, I might forget what it was I originally asked them. Generally: I don't forget. My boss has, on more than one occasion, told these people that when I ask for something it's the same as if she asks for it. I have told them that these reports are prepared at the request of the executives: it's not because I have a need for this information! They shouldn't need to be reminded of that. Truth is, I don't have time to monkey around or deal with their bullshit excuses, and I'm sick of excuses or having to make excuses for them. I need what I need when I need it. Period. I can't tell my boss that I don't have what she wants because "they didn't give it to me." She doesn't care about that, and having told her that once and gotten busted for it, will never do it again. It sucks, but that's the way it is.
Anyway, so one of the problems we've been having involves one of the units giving me the date certain candidates are fingerprinted. This problem has a simple solution: the fingerprint technicians need to maintain a log. This was my idea, and even though it's pretty simple (and obvious) I'm quite proud of it. Frankly I'm a bit shocked they don't already keep a log of everybody they fingerprint, but: they don't. It seems like such a common sense solution but okay, they don't. So while I was making this suggestion, one of the other supervisors, no more than 10 words into my sentence, interrupted me. She said, "Well, I can tell you how we used to do it - " and I got pissed off. First of all, this lady always interrupts everybody. She's a habitual interrupter, and it annoys me. Interrupting is rude and in her case, unproductive, because she has a way of bringing up the olden days as if that's going to solve today's problems. She likes to digress, not unlike some of these blog entries, and I know that's a pain in the ass. But where my blog can be read leisurely, on your own time (or not read at all: "Oh, she's rambling again... [click!]"), work stuff is always rushed. Chaos is the standard around here. Information is always needed right now, or better yet, ten minutes ago. How am I going to solve this problem today, lady? Right now? Not yesterday. Anyway, so I got pissed. These are her people who aren't providing me with the info, and she too is notorious for ignoring emails and making me run around after her trying to dig up answers to questions that were originally asked last week. So I said, when she interrupted me, "Can I finish what I was saying first?"
The whole room (there were about five or six of us in the meeting) got very quiet. The managers (one was this woman's supervisor) sort of made a little noise - like "Oh!" I said thank you and continued on. Then people asked questions, we made a decision, and nobody, least of all me, turned to this lady and said anything about what she was going to say earlier. Maybe I should have, but I didn't. Later, we were talking about something else, and she made another attempt ("to go back to what I was saying before,") and eventually I guess she got it out, but it was just as I suspected: ancient history, not going to help us in this situation, and in fact, brought up more questions as to why they stopped doing whatever it was they had been doing all those years ago. When, I might point out, she was the only person in the room working here. Fucking dinosaur.
Afterwards, I felt bad for about a second. It is not my way to interrupt an interrupter! Then I thought about it and decided it was the right thing to do. I needed to get my point across, I deserved to say what I had to say, which turned out to have everyone's approval, and she needs to shut the fuck up once in a while and grow some manners.
Later I said to one of the supervisors who had been in there, who knows this woman fairly well, "Did I make an enemy earlier today?"
He said "No, but you might have gained four friends."
Anyway, so one of the problems we've been having involves one of the units giving me the date certain candidates are fingerprinted. This problem has a simple solution: the fingerprint technicians need to maintain a log. This was my idea, and even though it's pretty simple (and obvious) I'm quite proud of it. Frankly I'm a bit shocked they don't already keep a log of everybody they fingerprint, but: they don't. It seems like such a common sense solution but okay, they don't. So while I was making this suggestion, one of the other supervisors, no more than 10 words into my sentence, interrupted me. She said, "Well, I can tell you how we used to do it - " and I got pissed off. First of all, this lady always interrupts everybody. She's a habitual interrupter, and it annoys me. Interrupting is rude and in her case, unproductive, because she has a way of bringing up the olden days as if that's going to solve today's problems. She likes to digress, not unlike some of these blog entries, and I know that's a pain in the ass. But where my blog can be read leisurely, on your own time (or not read at all: "Oh, she's rambling again... [click!]"), work stuff is always rushed. Chaos is the standard around here. Information is always needed right now, or better yet, ten minutes ago. How am I going to solve this problem today, lady? Right now? Not yesterday. Anyway, so I got pissed. These are her people who aren't providing me with the info, and she too is notorious for ignoring emails and making me run around after her trying to dig up answers to questions that were originally asked last week. So I said, when she interrupted me, "Can I finish what I was saying first?"
The whole room (there were about five or six of us in the meeting) got very quiet. The managers (one was this woman's supervisor) sort of made a little noise - like "Oh!" I said thank you and continued on. Then people asked questions, we made a decision, and nobody, least of all me, turned to this lady and said anything about what she was going to say earlier. Maybe I should have, but I didn't. Later, we were talking about something else, and she made another attempt ("to go back to what I was saying before,") and eventually I guess she got it out, but it was just as I suspected: ancient history, not going to help us in this situation, and in fact, brought up more questions as to why they stopped doing whatever it was they had been doing all those years ago. When, I might point out, she was the only person in the room working here. Fucking dinosaur.
Afterwards, I felt bad for about a second. It is not my way to interrupt an interrupter! Then I thought about it and decided it was the right thing to do. I needed to get my point across, I deserved to say what I had to say, which turned out to have everyone's approval, and she needs to shut the fuck up once in a while and grow some manners.
Later I said to one of the supervisors who had been in there, who knows this woman fairly well, "Did I make an enemy earlier today?"
He said "No, but you might have gained four friends."
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Hot, hot, hot
Without making too big of a deal about it, I just need to state for the record that it's very fucking hot in LA right now and has been for I believe five days. The lady on the radio told me that it's going to be this hot right up through Thursday. I'm just sharing with you my information, in case you, you know, don't have access to the radio yourselves.
...
Yesterday I went to a wedding. My friend Diana got married - I used to work with her at Rizzoli Santa Monica. She introduced me to her current boss as her old boss. I think maybe her dress was too tight or she was too hot, because I don't recall ever being Diana's boss. Yes, I was an assistant manager and she was a "key holder" but wow, if I ever gave her instructions or tasks or did anything "boss like" in her presence or directed at her, I would be very, very surprised indeed.
Anyway, it was an interesting wedding, and very nice to see her so happy, and really great to see all our old co-workers in one place.
Here's a photo.
Tomorrow I'm joining a gym.
...
Yesterday I went to a wedding. My friend Diana got married - I used to work with her at Rizzoli Santa Monica. She introduced me to her current boss as her old boss. I think maybe her dress was too tight or she was too hot, because I don't recall ever being Diana's boss. Yes, I was an assistant manager and she was a "key holder" but wow, if I ever gave her instructions or tasks or did anything "boss like" in her presence or directed at her, I would be very, very surprised indeed.
Anyway, it was an interesting wedding, and very nice to see her so happy, and really great to see all our old co-workers in one place.
Here's a photo.
Tomorrow I'm joining a gym.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
One on one
I think it's funny that someone in the city of Paramount thought it would be a good idea to name their business "Onan." Onan is just one of those words that, once you learn what it refers to, you never forget. I suppose the business is named after, I suppose, Judah's son, from the Bible, but even knowing who "Onan" is doesn't really explain why you'd want your scrap metal (or whatever) business named that.
I've always liked the word "onanism," having learned it the same year I learned the difference between "flatulence" and "flagellation" (it was a good year). It doesn't get used enough, don't you think? To me, though, the minute I first heard the word, I pretty much instantly thought of that Hall & Oates song, "One on One." Now, I realize that's a song about a guy missing a girl, but still. I mean, suddenly, for me, that silly little pop song took on a meaning I don't think either Daryl or John originally had in mind.
I am curious, though: just what does this business do? Next time I go to El Pollo Loco I'm going to check it out. I'll keep you posted.
I've always liked the word "onanism," having learned it the same year I learned the difference between "flatulence" and "flagellation" (it was a good year). It doesn't get used enough, don't you think? To me, though, the minute I first heard the word, I pretty much instantly thought of that Hall & Oates song, "One on One." Now, I realize that's a song about a guy missing a girl, but still. I mean, suddenly, for me, that silly little pop song took on a meaning I don't think either Daryl or John originally had in mind.
I am curious, though: just what does this business do? Next time I go to El Pollo Loco I'm going to check it out. I'll keep you posted.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Oh, and regarding the afore-mentioned change? Ah. I just needed a break. And to think. Thinking is over.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Change is coming...
Watch out for it. Or if not change, exactly, well, a break at least.
...
Oh, and if you've been calling my cell phone wondering why exactly I'm not picking up or calling you, my phone has been missing for about six days now. Give me a day or two and I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere.
...
Oh, and if you've been calling my cell phone wondering why exactly I'm not picking up or calling you, my phone has been missing for about six days now. Give me a day or two and I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Saturday and Sunday - Updated
Without giving you too many details, Patrick and I got hit with some kind of bacteria last night. I woke up at 2 a.m. feeling sicker than I have in my entire life. I was in and out of the bathroom the whole rest of the morning, and didn't fall asleep again until 9:30. Patrick seemed okay when I woke up at 2, but as time went by, he too was sick. Once I fell asleep, I slept until about 4:30.
Body aches, headache, to say nothing of our stomachs - it's been a long day.
The sweetest thing, though, was that during all my trips to the bathroom, while I was feeling the worst, my little cat, Franny joined me. She sat on my lap, or just hung out on the floor and waited for me.
Patrick's gone to the store - he's feeling better already - to get us some juice and soup. I couldn't even think about food until a little while ago, but now I'm feeling a little hungry.
...
So, we had gone to a late lunch on Saturday at the Yard House here in LB with my parents, and then hung out with them for awhile - we walked around Shoreline Village and showed them downtown. After they left, we were home, doing our usual thing of watching TV and making each other laugh. After awhile, we got hungry again, so Patrick broke out some nuts and crackers. We both ate them, but he had more than I did. Then we went to bed. Then disaster struck (see above). I was concerned for my parents, because they don't like going to restaurants they've never been to, and here we are, sick as dogs: I was worried they had gotten sick, too. And they'd planned, on Sunday, to drive up to Palmdale to visit my aunt and uncle, and I hoped we hadn't ruined those plans. So at some point Sunday morning, I called their house to see how they were (I was still in a fog at that point; the phone was so heavy - my arm was so weak), but they didn't answer, so I assumed they were okay, and that the Yard House wasn't to blame. Then later that night my sister emailed me, and I told her what happened. She said they were fine, so I stopped worrying about it, and assumed Pat and I had gotten sick from the nuts and crackers, as strange as that was.
Finally on Monday I spoke with my mom myself, and it turns out that though she wasn't hit with the same problems as Patrick and I were, she did have some pretty major discomfort on Sunday. My dad, who had ordered a burger, was fine. So it wasn't the nuts and the crackers, which is unfortunate, because we still had another bag of them (nuts), and we threw all that stuff away as soon as we had the strength to open the trash can.
Body aches, headache, to say nothing of our stomachs - it's been a long day.
The sweetest thing, though, was that during all my trips to the bathroom, while I was feeling the worst, my little cat, Franny joined me. She sat on my lap, or just hung out on the floor and waited for me.
Patrick's gone to the store - he's feeling better already - to get us some juice and soup. I couldn't even think about food until a little while ago, but now I'm feeling a little hungry.
...
So, we had gone to a late lunch on Saturday at the Yard House here in LB with my parents, and then hung out with them for awhile - we walked around Shoreline Village and showed them downtown. After they left, we were home, doing our usual thing of watching TV and making each other laugh. After awhile, we got hungry again, so Patrick broke out some nuts and crackers. We both ate them, but he had more than I did. Then we went to bed. Then disaster struck (see above). I was concerned for my parents, because they don't like going to restaurants they've never been to, and here we are, sick as dogs: I was worried they had gotten sick, too. And they'd planned, on Sunday, to drive up to Palmdale to visit my aunt and uncle, and I hoped we hadn't ruined those plans. So at some point Sunday morning, I called their house to see how they were (I was still in a fog at that point; the phone was so heavy - my arm was so weak), but they didn't answer, so I assumed they were okay, and that the Yard House wasn't to blame. Then later that night my sister emailed me, and I told her what happened. She said they were fine, so I stopped worrying about it, and assumed Pat and I had gotten sick from the nuts and crackers, as strange as that was.
Finally on Monday I spoke with my mom myself, and it turns out that though she wasn't hit with the same problems as Patrick and I were, she did have some pretty major discomfort on Sunday. My dad, who had ordered a burger, was fine. So it wasn't the nuts and the crackers, which is unfortunate, because we still had another bag of them (nuts), and we threw all that stuff away as soon as we had the strength to open the trash can.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Clock radios - now with photo
A couple of weeks ago, Patrick bought me a new alarm clock for the bedroom. This new one can host my iPod (I like "host" better than "dock," don't you?), and it's got a digital tuner for the radio (the other one had that dial thing). I hated having to search for KPCC (after those rare occasions I had switched to KROQ), I always ended up listening to the dreaded KCRW, wondering what had happened to "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me." My old Dream Machine had bigger numbers (better for viewing without glasses) than the new one, but being able to play MP3s in the bedroom is definitely a plus. I'm slowly getting used to the funny little cricket alarm; it surprisingly discernible through earplugs, which I doubted at first.I took the old clock-radio to work with me this week, and since Monday, have been listening to 91.5 KUSC. In the past, I rarely listened to classical music for fun, but it seemed like a good antidote to my co-workers' music (The Wave on a bad day, K-Earth on a slightly less bad day; they're all sort of bad days around here, sonically speaking). I tried listening to NPR but listening to talk radio at a respectful level is just too distracting during the workday. KLOS or KROQ or another rock station is too iffy: sure, you'll hear a good song now and again, but follow it with 30 mins. of commercials or the new (horrible) Coldplay song, and I'm out. I'm sort of surprised at how much I'm enjoying it - KUSC has sucked me in, and in a remarkably short amount of time. I've recognized many of the concertos and symphonies arranged for flute choir that we've played over the years. The orchestral versions are totally cool and go by at a clip the flute choir could never manage (right now I'm listening to "Night On Bald Mountain," and it's just dramatic enough for the day I'm having). I've also been hearing a lot of dedicated flute music, and it's funny that here I am, at a job I - and let's be frank - hate, listening to stunning flutists and other musicians play away at a lot of music I studied and sort of wish I had taken more seriously. It also should be said that were I home right now, it's pretty doubtful that I would actually be practicing: let's not paint too rosy a picture, Irene.
I got a massage yesterday, and I was talking to Bruce about a bunch of stuff, most of it not really related to what I'm telling you now (we were talking about music, yes, but rock and roll; I love Bruce, and in spite of him already being married - 43 years next month! - and therefore probably 60-something [I haven't forgotten that I too am married, and quite happily: this aside about Bruce is 99.9999% for fun only] and a fan of Bob Seger; I would marry him, if he asked, affection for Bob Seger be damned). Then he mentioned he had gone to a concert at the Carpenter Performing Arts Center at Cal State Long Beach and was impressed mightily by the musicians - students - who performed. Even though he's never heard me play he always speaks about my flute playing respectfully, as if I've told him I'm better than I am (I haven't) or as if he knows something I haven't told him (possible; he's got a way of figuring me out without my telling him anything, based on what, I don't know. The way my kidneys feel, maybe, or the way my musculature [never mind that I have no muscles] feels, or can he read me based on the fact that sometimes I have cool hands and feet but a hot head and torso?), and he always remembers about my performances at City Garage, which I told him about at least two years ago. Yeah, what I'm trying to say is there's a bit of a psychic connection there or something, but so what? I like him. I trust him. It's a good way to feel about someone of the opposite sex who is rubbing you. When he mentioned CSULB, it seemed to go along with some things I've been thinking about lately.
See, I'm kind of trying to make myself make a decision. To move forward. For the last couple of weeks - oh, let's just say months (years) and get on with it - for the last couple of months I have been pretty stuck. I'm not happy at work, and I realized that I've been telling people "I don't want to be a secretary anymore," yet the only job I applied for (and tested for and passed) is as an "Administrative Assistant." Granted, there's a number: I could now be an Administrative Assistant II; the II seems to exist only to allow me to feel superior to all those Administrative Assistant Is, and less good than Administrative Assistant IIIs (I don't qualify, yet, for some reason, for the III). (All of this reminds me of the [mostly ironic] care I used to take when I was the First Assistant Manager at Crown [First being marginally better paid than Second but otherwise holding no other benefit], to ensure that people understood that I was the First and Beth [crazy-ass, mean, Beth] was the Second - back in the days when I was much younger and having keys to anyplace other than my parents' house was pretty exciting). It hasn't yet been fully explained to me, the specifics involved, but it's not rocket science... and what is an Administrative Assistant but a glorified secretary? True, I need to find out what's in store for me, specifically, whether in my current position (my boss has put into motion the steps necessary to promote me; she's requesting to "underfill" an even higher-level position that I'm also not qualified for yet) or somewhere else (next week I have an interview; unfortunately it's downtown), but that conversation - "So, Boss, what's this going to change? What's going to be different?" -- "Different" being my euphemism for "better." - is not one to which I look forward. I would much rather just say, "Sorry, Boss, but I'm leavin'. Thanks for forgetting my birthday two years in a row. See ya!" Don't get me wrong: I'm taking this position, wherever I have to go, and I'll happily accept the difference in pay. Being a Sr. Secretary I (technically I'm a II - I took a voluntary demotion to work at this job, and I don't need you to tell me that was a dumb move. And do you see how good I am at keeping track of this stuff? The funny thing is, I don't care what your title or number is - I'm not comparing me to you, because you probably went to Harvard, or drive a BMW, and seriously, working out the different weights and measurements required for the comparison of me and you would not end well. No, I am comparing me to my own specifications for where I should be, me, with my limited self-confidence but who always thought I'd be somewhere - the specifics are vague - different) is not my goal in life. But what is? See kids? Without a plan, this is where you end up: blogging about your lack of accomplishments at the ripe old age of 36.
On Tuesday, while pollworking, I was talking with this very interesting guy named Kendrick. He's a student at Long Beach City College, and he was reading Ralph Ellison's "Invisible Man," a book I own and never finished - one of the few ("Wuthering Heights" is another). He was telling me how for the last couple of years he had been taking one class at a time while working, and now that he's a couple of units away from getting his AA, he's going full-time. Then I started thinking about our friend Phil, also my age, who just finished at CSULB with a degree in Electrical Engineering, which he accomplished while holding a full-time job and having a wife and two young children and living 30 miles away. And I thought, not for the first time, I am so stuck. I don't want to be stuck anymore. I don't think this is the first time I've referred to this. I want to do something, but I don't want to give up my paycheck. And it's scary, the options. I could be pregnant this year - it could happen, I know it could, if it hasn't already, though, I'm not holding my breath - but if I'm not, soon, I think the way to get unstuck might be school. Having a baby could be scarier than taking a class somewhere. Though I'm not sure what classes I would take.
Or maybe it's as simple as just playing more. Playing more would be easier (and cheaper). I want to play more - but I need to make myself do it, which I suck at. It's so much easier to watch TV, or to take a nap, or to navel gaze: I'm an excellent navel gazer. I should sell tickets. It's funny, too, because "making myself do it" is only necessary for the act of getting my flute out, but that's the hardest part, isn't it? Once I'm started, I'm fine. I might not be good enough to play with CSULB's musicians, anyway; finding that out would be scary, but no scarier than running a show with theater critics in the audience, no? No scarier than driving 95 miles an hour on the 405 at 1 o'clock in the morning? No scarier than posting this entry? I might have hated high school - but what did I hate, exactly? I know I was afraid, and don't get me wrong: I'm still afraid. But I'm also getting old, and with that doesn't there come some wisdom? Otherwise what's the point of all these years behind me, other than to make me feel enormously un-cool?
I don't need to be very wise, I just need a little. I know that I could be an AA II, but an AA II with a BA in something: see how much better that makes me feel? I could be an AA II, but an AA II who practiced last night or read something; instead of an AA II who sat on the couch and watched "Top Chef" and "Groomer Has It." That works, too. I mean, maybe school's not it, I don't know. But I am so obviously treading water right now that trying something seems like a really good idea. Propositioning Bruce is probably a really, really bad one.*
*Totally a joke, calm down.
I know I went a little crazy with parenthesis today. Sue me.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
"More rare than medium"
I just found out that the way I like my steak is actually called "rare plus."
Good to know.
Good to know.
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