On with the story…where was I? Oh, yes, I had decided to join the tech crew since I was not selected to appear in the fall play of my freshman year (our school had a fall play and a spring musical). That autumn the play was Miracle Worker. What part I thought I was fit to play I cannot say, but there was no way that Helen Keller was going to be portrayed by a teenager with the chest that I have. Suspending disbelief would be damn near impossible. And I was far too young to take on the character of Annie Sullivan with any semblance of veracity. So, I was billed in the program as the sound operator, a title that suited me, strangely enough, very well.
Miracle Worker was a difficult play to do sound for. There were 4 microphones on the two story set. Two overhead to handle scenes on the second floor of the set (Helen’s bedroom) and any action taking place from the middle to the back of the stage. There were also two floor mics for scenes down on the stages apron and proscenium area. Over a decade later, I am loathe to tell you how useless those floor mics were in a play with all the banging, brawling, and hand slapping that our Miracle Worker contained.
Second semester found me auditioning yet again, this time for the musical, Anything Goes. I was confident that with my dance background (I had ballet and gymnastics as a youth) I would be a perfect choice for the chorus since there were several phenomenal song and dance numbers in the show. How wrong I was. Sadly, my hopes and dreams were crushed when the cast list was posted and my name was nowhere on it. Soldiering on, I once again volunteered to join the tech crew and run the sound board.
Suffice it to say I was not the most popular kid in school, I was a quickly turning into a total drama dork, but I did have something the other kids did not, a Mackie 12 channel console. With it, I could control performers’ vocal volume over the pit orchestra. Yes, we were a well enough off school district that our High School had a beautiful theater complete with orchestra pit, downstairs dressing rooms, and a messy room piled high with props, costumes, and sets from show’s past that we called lovingly, the green room (although if memory serves, it was actually a light blue color with various paint samples from numerous sets).
The theater was not a space one could easily fill with just your speaking voice. It was bigger then a 99 seat theater, but not by much. The balcony was difficult to see from due a design flaw that required a wood railing directly in the sight line to the stage. The musical brought me more responsibility and really sparked my interest in audio as a career. I had 3 small radio frequency microphones that I mapped out between the actors so each would wear it during their big singing numbers. I felt so important handing out those battery powered mics to the students starring in the show. The mics transmitted their voices to my console where I could affect the pitch and volume…oh the heady power trip I embarked on with this duty.
Throughout rehearsals I grew more adept at hitting the proper level with the faders on the mix board. My confidence grew as did my fascination with sound. There were two men who came to school to set up the microphones, speakers, and give me a crash course in handling all of it. For this blog, I will call them C and J. These guys were kind enough to volunteer their time and experience to our High School even though their kids were not in the productions (they did have children my home town’s school district, just not in High School at that time).
Man, did I admire these guys! They were knowledgeable and what-more; they treated me like an intelligent adult capable of handling any situation that arose with their audio equipment. In retrospect, I now understand that most of the gear was rented, but it bolstered my confidence to feel their confidence in my abilities. Two years ago J even contacted me on one of his trips to the LA area and we had a lovely reunion. I thanked him for changing my life and sparking my ambition and interest in audio, a passion that inspired and lead me through an exciting decade of learning and working.
To be continued
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Working: Part 1
When I was 16 and had my driver’s license it became apparent that I could also take on the responsibility of having a job. Thankfully, I had the trust and encouragement from my parents to pursue a rather odd profession, that of a theatrical sound designer.
At 16 I had been running the sound board for my High School’s various plays, musicals, music recitals, and other odds and end productions for 2 years. It was an interest I sort of fell into during the first semester of my freshman year. Upon entry into high school I had the dream, as many of us do, that I would audition for the school play and wow the director into offering me the lead role. This was not to be…not even close for many reasons.
To start, exiting seniors are chosen as leads in plays and musical, sort of their final grand “hurrah” before heading out into the world. Second, my looks are not what anyone thinks of when you say, “Leading lady”. Short, curly haired, big busted Jewish girls are not what Cole Porter had in mind for Anything Goes. Now, we get to the true crux of why I was not chosen…my acting, my singing, and my dancing. As a child and even early adulthood I took private singing lessons and was also fairly active in gymnastics and dancing. It would be a stretch of the imagination to say that I was remarkable at either. I was mediocre, but I insisted on believing it was favoritism that led to my career in technical theater rather then being in the spotlight.
So when the callbacks were posted for the Fall play, it was with great disappointment that I did not see my name on the list. What I did see was a flyer requesting people for backstage help. My daydreams took flight once again. I would be backstage for opening night. The show’s young female lead would suddenly be gripped by stage fright at the last moment temporarily throwing the future of the show into chaos. Based on this irrational, I gladly signed up for backstage duty.
Long story short, 3 people were selected from the tech crew (as we were called) to work the sound board and the 2 spot lights (the lighting board was operated by a professional). I presume that the people the drama teacher chose were special in some way, perhaps more intelligent then the other people teching the show. Hindsight being 20/20, I now see that she just wanted the big burly young men to push the set pieces around and deal with props while the weaker sex was relegated to lights and sound. Harsh of me to surmise, yet wholly accurate.
This story is to be continued….
At 16 I had been running the sound board for my High School’s various plays, musicals, music recitals, and other odds and end productions for 2 years. It was an interest I sort of fell into during the first semester of my freshman year. Upon entry into high school I had the dream, as many of us do, that I would audition for the school play and wow the director into offering me the lead role. This was not to be…not even close for many reasons.
To start, exiting seniors are chosen as leads in plays and musical, sort of their final grand “hurrah” before heading out into the world. Second, my looks are not what anyone thinks of when you say, “Leading lady”. Short, curly haired, big busted Jewish girls are not what Cole Porter had in mind for Anything Goes. Now, we get to the true crux of why I was not chosen…my acting, my singing, and my dancing. As a child and even early adulthood I took private singing lessons and was also fairly active in gymnastics and dancing. It would be a stretch of the imagination to say that I was remarkable at either. I was mediocre, but I insisted on believing it was favoritism that led to my career in technical theater rather then being in the spotlight.
So when the callbacks were posted for the Fall play, it was with great disappointment that I did not see my name on the list. What I did see was a flyer requesting people for backstage help. My daydreams took flight once again. I would be backstage for opening night. The show’s young female lead would suddenly be gripped by stage fright at the last moment temporarily throwing the future of the show into chaos. Based on this irrational, I gladly signed up for backstage duty.
Long story short, 3 people were selected from the tech crew (as we were called) to work the sound board and the 2 spot lights (the lighting board was operated by a professional). I presume that the people the drama teacher chose were special in some way, perhaps more intelligent then the other people teching the show. Hindsight being 20/20, I now see that she just wanted the big burly young men to push the set pieces around and deal with props while the weaker sex was relegated to lights and sound. Harsh of me to surmise, yet wholly accurate.
This story is to be continued….
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
A Tale of Two Stories
As some of you may know I am currently in the process of moving. I will be going from a one bedroom apartment where I have resided for the past 7 years to half of a duplex. Now, there is something, I must confess that has been weighting on my mind about this particular residence. It is 2 stories high. Not a big deal to many, and I did indeed live on the upper floor of a condo one summer in Northridge, but in this case, the second level fills me with dread. This is all rooted in my childhood, as many neuroses are.
Our family lived (and my parents still live) in a ranch style home, we did not have to climb stairs on a daily basis, never huffing and puffing up and down to get this, that, or the other thing. Our delicate constitutions never bothered by lifting our knees to waist level to rest in an upstairs bedroom.
So where did this utter phobia of stairs develop?
I give you the two story house.
My best friend’s family lived in a two story house, the source of my angst. If we were upstairs we needed to be down, if we were downstairs we needed to be up. We were the equvilent of cats, always on the wrong side of every door. And Heaven forbid if we needed to go anywhere because there was always something left behind in the dreaded “UPSTAIRS”. Little kids racing from the car, to the house, and up those miserable stairs then snatching the missing item and doing the race in reverse. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, ready to pass out…that is what I associate those DAMN stairs with.
Not to mention the dubious habit the boys in the family had of leaving a multitude of sharp edged or hard cornered doodads on one or two steps so that when you were in a hurry you would smash your foot on one or land right on top of it either breaking it or injuring yourself.
Anyone who has lived with me, and there are few and far between in that category, know that I’m the sort of gal who likes neat piles of stuff, close at hand. Easily accessible items to entertain myself, none of this upstairs/downstairs nonsense. Plus everything you ever want to use downstairs is inevitably upstairs so once you use it you have to then haul it back up. I tell you, people were not created to climb stairs on a regular basis.
Perhaps my archnemisis....the stairs will become my friendly advocate by helping tone and tighten my miniscual glut muscle and then again, perhaps I will camp out in the living room with the dog when I feel too lazy to travel to my bedroom...
Our family lived (and my parents still live) in a ranch style home, we did not have to climb stairs on a daily basis, never huffing and puffing up and down to get this, that, or the other thing. Our delicate constitutions never bothered by lifting our knees to waist level to rest in an upstairs bedroom.
So where did this utter phobia of stairs develop?
I give you the two story house.
My best friend’s family lived in a two story house, the source of my angst. If we were upstairs we needed to be down, if we were downstairs we needed to be up. We were the equvilent of cats, always on the wrong side of every door. And Heaven forbid if we needed to go anywhere because there was always something left behind in the dreaded “UPSTAIRS”. Little kids racing from the car, to the house, and up those miserable stairs then snatching the missing item and doing the race in reverse. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, ready to pass out…that is what I associate those DAMN stairs with.
Not to mention the dubious habit the boys in the family had of leaving a multitude of sharp edged or hard cornered doodads on one or two steps so that when you were in a hurry you would smash your foot on one or land right on top of it either breaking it or injuring yourself.
Anyone who has lived with me, and there are few and far between in that category, know that I’m the sort of gal who likes neat piles of stuff, close at hand. Easily accessible items to entertain myself, none of this upstairs/downstairs nonsense. Plus everything you ever want to use downstairs is inevitably upstairs so once you use it you have to then haul it back up. I tell you, people were not created to climb stairs on a regular basis.
Perhaps my archnemisis....the stairs will become my friendly advocate by helping tone and tighten my miniscual glut muscle and then again, perhaps I will camp out in the living room with the dog when I feel too lazy to travel to my bedroom...
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Secrets in a Foreign Tongue
Today a co-worker of mine moved to the office outside my cube. The thing is, she speaks Hebrew. ALL THE TIME. I understand weird snatches of her conversations. I feel like I should know more. I took Hebrew in college and also in my early teens for the perpous of being Bat Mitzvah. Most, if not all, people know what a Bar Mitzvah is, but a startling number of people have no clue that there is the female counterpart known as the Bat Mitzvah. Weird, but true.
And now I reveal to you, dear reader one of my most embarassing revelations. My parents were not strict about Hebrew school. In fact they very liberally sought my advice on whether I wanted a Bat Mitzvah. Feeling competitive as many younger siblings do, I figured if my brother did, then I should too. Besides there was delicious food, new clothes, a band, and most important of all to a child, gifts. Also, in my youth, I was a bit of a show-off, a performer, a ham (some would say that I have yet to grow out of this annoying trait).
Now, on to my great secret. Which ironically, is no secret at all to the Rabbi, my father, and many of the participants on that fateful day one month before my 13th birthday. I faked my Haftorah Portion, this is the selection from the Prophets, not from the actual Torah, but it often relates to the Torah portion in some manner. Now, this would not be a big deal except A. I was entering Jewish adulthood on a pretense, B. the Rabbi surely knew that I was faking it, and C. the 2 pages of Hebrew that I never learned still haunts me to this day.
Some might say that I am trying to find things to feel guilty about, but that is not it at all. I am merely chagrined that no one ever spoke with me about this rather evident faux pas. Did no one notice? Were people so polite that they did not want to spoil my day? Were they so taken with my incredible guitar playing and singing (yes, I had a captive audience, so I took advantage of that fact) that they didn't see the evident look of demonic concentration on my face up at the bima (the Jewish equivalent of a holy platform on which the ark that holds the Torah is kept and by ark, I mean cabinet).
So, here I am almost 2 decades later exposing my own fradulence. Why? Because that day meant more to me then just the Haftarah Portion. It meant my whole extended family coming to see ME and it made me feel important and loved. I look back on it with joy and happiness because no one said anything bad, they loved me and that feeling has not been mitigated by anything. It's a good feeling, and it's funny to me how much I worried about it beforehand.
And now I reveal to you, dear reader one of my most embarassing revelations. My parents were not strict about Hebrew school. In fact they very liberally sought my advice on whether I wanted a Bat Mitzvah. Feeling competitive as many younger siblings do, I figured if my brother did, then I should too. Besides there was delicious food, new clothes, a band, and most important of all to a child, gifts. Also, in my youth, I was a bit of a show-off, a performer, a ham (some would say that I have yet to grow out of this annoying trait).
Now, on to my great secret. Which ironically, is no secret at all to the Rabbi, my father, and many of the participants on that fateful day one month before my 13th birthday. I faked my Haftorah Portion, this is the selection from the Prophets, not from the actual Torah, but it often relates to the Torah portion in some manner. Now, this would not be a big deal except A. I was entering Jewish adulthood on a pretense, B. the Rabbi surely knew that I was faking it, and C. the 2 pages of Hebrew that I never learned still haunts me to this day.
Some might say that I am trying to find things to feel guilty about, but that is not it at all. I am merely chagrined that no one ever spoke with me about this rather evident faux pas. Did no one notice? Were people so polite that they did not want to spoil my day? Were they so taken with my incredible guitar playing and singing (yes, I had a captive audience, so I took advantage of that fact) that they didn't see the evident look of demonic concentration on my face up at the bima (the Jewish equivalent of a holy platform on which the ark that holds the Torah is kept and by ark, I mean cabinet).
So, here I am almost 2 decades later exposing my own fradulence. Why? Because that day meant more to me then just the Haftarah Portion. It meant my whole extended family coming to see ME and it made me feel important and loved. I look back on it with joy and happiness because no one said anything bad, they loved me and that feeling has not been mitigated by anything. It's a good feeling, and it's funny to me how much I worried about it beforehand.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Equus 11/20/05 East-West Players
On Sunday I attended a performance of the critically acclaimed play, Equus by Peter Shaffer. This performance starred George Takei or the Original Star Trek series. For those of you unlike myself, who do not gobble up science fiction television, writings, and blogs, Mr. Takei played Mr. Sulu on Star Trek. Reluctantly I admit to a fascination with asian culture and found out about the show from Mr. Takei's blog (as I am fascinated by celebrity blogs too,. my favorites being Margaret Cho and Kevin Smith for their insights and conversational tone).
Also, when I was a theater student at USC, before switching to Cinema-Television, I had read and discused Equus in a class there. It's interwoven dialog style did not make sense to me when I was reading it so I wanted to see how it came together onstage. To give you a sense of the extremities of this play, I make mention of the sign on the theater's box office, "This show contains graphic nudity, loud noises, and coarse language." This is paraphased, but you get the point. To further drive it home, my friend sitting next to me looked over at me at intermission and said, "You're weird", as if somehow I was responsible for the playwrite's words and director's actions. I laughed heartily.
George's performance as psychiatrist Martin Dysart was at turns represssively British, breathtakingly frustrating, and rapturously jealous. He displayed such a range of emotions while treating his fragile, distraught patient, an adolescent, named Alan who possesses a unorthodox obsession with horses. Mr. Takei's voice is distinct and captivating. His words with their bass resonance and slight accent transport me to the office where he does his psychiatric work. I was in heaven closing my eyes and listening to him.
The nudity in the play was less shocking then I expected. It was far less shocking then the scenes with men as horses interacting with Alan in his devotion and defilement. The horse costumes and men playing them were beautiful. They showed the splendor and majesty of the animals with proud tosses of their heads. A great piece of theater for adults to enjoy.
Also, when I was a theater student at USC, before switching to Cinema-Television, I had read and discused Equus in a class there. It's interwoven dialog style did not make sense to me when I was reading it so I wanted to see how it came together onstage. To give you a sense of the extremities of this play, I make mention of the sign on the theater's box office, "This show contains graphic nudity, loud noises, and coarse language." This is paraphased, but you get the point. To further drive it home, my friend sitting next to me looked over at me at intermission and said, "You're weird", as if somehow I was responsible for the playwrite's words and director's actions. I laughed heartily.
George's performance as psychiatrist Martin Dysart was at turns represssively British, breathtakingly frustrating, and rapturously jealous. He displayed such a range of emotions while treating his fragile, distraught patient, an adolescent, named Alan who possesses a unorthodox obsession with horses. Mr. Takei's voice is distinct and captivating. His words with their bass resonance and slight accent transport me to the office where he does his psychiatric work. I was in heaven closing my eyes and listening to him.
The nudity in the play was less shocking then I expected. It was far less shocking then the scenes with men as horses interacting with Alan in his devotion and defilement. The horse costumes and men playing them were beautiful. They showed the splendor and majesty of the animals with proud tosses of their heads. A great piece of theater for adults to enjoy.
Bitter, Party of One
Last week I was in Target looking around for some necessity items, cat litter, cat food, dryer sheets, underwear and the like. It was a normal shopping trip until I noticed the aisles upon aisle stocked full of Christmas geegaws.
There were stockings, fake trees, ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and themes, wrapping paper, cards, lights, and various household knicknacks to decorate with. So, getting into the spirit of this early holiday ambush I decided that I should find some Hanukkah items to take home (since all the ones at my local party store looked cheap and garrish screaming "Happy Hanukkah" in canary yellow and basic blue). I was hoping to find some classy silver and blue tinsel, maybe some lights, wrapping paper with the Star of David, and some card with a generic seasonal greeting.
Boy, was I outta luck. At first I inquired gently to one of the red vest wearing teens unloading tinsel from boxes in front of a plastic Santa Claus. "Excuse me, where are your Hanukkah decorations?" She looked up, shrugged her shoulders and said, "They might be downstairs?" and went back to her task. At this point there was only mild annoyance at poor customer service amidst the festive atmosphere.
Since I had more regular shopping to do, I chalked this interaction up to age and inexperience. Next I tried a gentle men passing by pushing a palette of toilet paper. He was little more help and instructed me to try Customer Service. Ah-ha, I thought, this will be perfect, they will point me in the right direction and I'll just throw some stuff in my cart and be on my way.
Sadly, things often do not work out the way you imagine. Customer Service was not very customer friendly and pointed me back upstairs with the comment that, "All holiday materials are upstairs and (I) must've missed something."
Coming off the escalator on the second floor my spirits were low and my anger beginning to boil. I was starting to feel marginalized and unimportant to one of the US's gigantic retailers. Silly I know, but this sums up my feelings for so many years about the December Dilemma. It is unclear to me when my "bah humbug" menatality started. Whether it was fostered doing Christmas themed art projects in Elementary School or if it was feeling disappointed that my parents wouldn't put lights on our house (although we did have an electric menorah in the window).
Whatever the reason, the epiphany I experience in that Target last week was the realization that I did not accept who I was and am. It is a deepseated self-loathing of this difference that I am a Jew in an American Culture that has taken Christmas and turned it into a hugely commercial holiday. Basically, I suffer from feeling left out. Pity party, table for one?
Standing, staring up at the flocked and decorated trees the department manager simply stated, "We don't have any Hanukkah stuff, but you might try Party City." My feelings were depressed and introspective as I checked out with my small pile and trudged to my car. In the safety of my drivers seat a wave of guilt and shame overcame me and I cried for all the children that love Santa. Wow, I thought, I am being selfish and small, what a horrible irony that during this season, a time of year for peace, love, joy, and family should cause me such angst.
Change can be inspired by many circumstances and this was one of them. It is time to work on my attitude, to be more accepting of myself, and enjoy the holidays with my friends and family instead of sitting in judgement on the trappings of those same holidays, be they trees, lights, or snowmen. These elements only have the power that we imbue them with and I am not going to let myself be manipulated by these negative emotions anymore. Happy Holidays to all whatever you may celebrate!
There were stockings, fake trees, ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and themes, wrapping paper, cards, lights, and various household knicknacks to decorate with. So, getting into the spirit of this early holiday ambush I decided that I should find some Hanukkah items to take home (since all the ones at my local party store looked cheap and garrish screaming "Happy Hanukkah" in canary yellow and basic blue). I was hoping to find some classy silver and blue tinsel, maybe some lights, wrapping paper with the Star of David, and some card with a generic seasonal greeting.
Boy, was I outta luck. At first I inquired gently to one of the red vest wearing teens unloading tinsel from boxes in front of a plastic Santa Claus. "Excuse me, where are your Hanukkah decorations?" She looked up, shrugged her shoulders and said, "They might be downstairs?" and went back to her task. At this point there was only mild annoyance at poor customer service amidst the festive atmosphere.
Since I had more regular shopping to do, I chalked this interaction up to age and inexperience. Next I tried a gentle men passing by pushing a palette of toilet paper. He was little more help and instructed me to try Customer Service. Ah-ha, I thought, this will be perfect, they will point me in the right direction and I'll just throw some stuff in my cart and be on my way.
Sadly, things often do not work out the way you imagine. Customer Service was not very customer friendly and pointed me back upstairs with the comment that, "All holiday materials are upstairs and (I) must've missed something."
Coming off the escalator on the second floor my spirits were low and my anger beginning to boil. I was starting to feel marginalized and unimportant to one of the US's gigantic retailers. Silly I know, but this sums up my feelings for so many years about the December Dilemma. It is unclear to me when my "bah humbug" menatality started. Whether it was fostered doing Christmas themed art projects in Elementary School or if it was feeling disappointed that my parents wouldn't put lights on our house (although we did have an electric menorah in the window).
Whatever the reason, the epiphany I experience in that Target last week was the realization that I did not accept who I was and am. It is a deepseated self-loathing of this difference that I am a Jew in an American Culture that has taken Christmas and turned it into a hugely commercial holiday. Basically, I suffer from feeling left out. Pity party, table for one?
Standing, staring up at the flocked and decorated trees the department manager simply stated, "We don't have any Hanukkah stuff, but you might try Party City." My feelings were depressed and introspective as I checked out with my small pile and trudged to my car. In the safety of my drivers seat a wave of guilt and shame overcame me and I cried for all the children that love Santa. Wow, I thought, I am being selfish and small, what a horrible irony that during this season, a time of year for peace, love, joy, and family should cause me such angst.
Change can be inspired by many circumstances and this was one of them. It is time to work on my attitude, to be more accepting of myself, and enjoy the holidays with my friends and family instead of sitting in judgement on the trappings of those same holidays, be they trees, lights, or snowmen. These elements only have the power that we imbue them with and I am not going to let myself be manipulated by these negative emotions anymore. Happy Holidays to all whatever you may celebrate!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Fight Night
Tonight I had a fantastic time releiving the stress and pressure of everyday life by beating the crap out of a guy dressed in head to toe protective gear. I attended an Impact Personal Safety Fight Night. Three hours of whatever kinds of fights the participants want to practice to feel more confident about their verbal and physical abilities to defend themselves.
Looking back it's incredible to me that I actually completed 3 self defense classes. I mean I am astonished that I was able to accomplish something that I set my mind to. When I first learned about Impact the class that truly appealed to me was the Weapons class. It teaches the students to defend themselves against an assailant who is armed with a knife, club, or gun. It took a full year to go through Basic and complete Advanced and finally move on and do weapons.
Some of the amazing aspects of these classes are the people who teach them. Our instructor tonight teaches self defense at two all girl high schools. This is a valuable resource that I feel should be available to all teenage girls. A friend of mine used to be a kids class instructor. What a tremendous honor it must be to instill confidence and protection in children.
Looking back it's incredible to me that I actually completed 3 self defense classes. I mean I am astonished that I was able to accomplish something that I set my mind to. When I first learned about Impact the class that truly appealed to me was the Weapons class. It teaches the students to defend themselves against an assailant who is armed with a knife, club, or gun. It took a full year to go through Basic and complete Advanced and finally move on and do weapons.
Some of the amazing aspects of these classes are the people who teach them. Our instructor tonight teaches self defense at two all girl high schools. This is a valuable resource that I feel should be available to all teenage girls. A friend of mine used to be a kids class instructor. What a tremendous honor it must be to instill confidence and protection in children.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Halloween
10/23/05 I always thought that the girl’s bathroom in the bottom of the music building in our high school was haunted. For some odd reason I believed that one day I would go in there and there would be a person hanging from the rafters. Perhaps it was the dank, cloying odor of must and mildrew that had accumulated over the many years the building had stood through hard rains and the pathetic ventilation that the bottom level received. It just always gave me the creeps going down there to change into our choral outfits for a nighttime performance or to quickly use the bathroom (since choir was right after lunch). That's really all of the scary thoughts I have, no wonder I gooble up books by Dean Koontz and Stephen King so much. No, my first book would NOT be part of the horror genre.
I'm thinking that for next years Halloween costume I am going to be either an Iron Chef (preferrably Chef Masaharu Morimoto since he's the only chef that has been in both the Japanese and the American versions of the show). It would be fun to just run around wearing silver and carrying around a fake butcher knife and rubber chicken. It's either that or I'm dressing up as Diana (played by Jane Badler) from the 80s show "V". I could put a little scrape in my "skin" and put on some fake snakeskin to make it look like I'm a lizard underneath. Plus who wouldn't look fabulous in a bright red jumpsuit with a gigantic black vinyl "V" in a standup collar around their neck extending to their crotch rather suggestively.
I was uber-lazy this year and didn't even bother with a costume...of course, since I wasn't going anywhere for the holiday, it didn't really matter.
Yep, that's right, I opted out of celebrating the one holiday that you can pretty much get away with anything that you want...weather it be looking or acting unlike yourself. Sadly, ever since those rosy days of old when my mother spent hours on Saturday sewing my costume and my siblings costumes have I felt that magically transformed.
Music Review
10/27 Danger Doom: The Mask and the Mouse
For those of you who know me, this will come as no surprise; I am a rampant fan of Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim block of cartoons. My favorite shows feature old Hanna Barbara cartoons that have been revamped with new shots, characters, and voices to create animated entertainment that is absurd in nature and inappropriate for children. There are many different shows on during this time period, usually only asking 9 -15 minutes attention from their audience of adolescents that have fulltime jobs, mortgaqges, car payments, and kids fast asleep. The best three series in my opinion feature old Hanna Barbera cartoon characters revamped and thrust into new and exciting adventures. The fact that these adventures usually consist of very unsavory situations that frequently make no sense at all is beside the point. Even their titles suggest absurdism; Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law, Aqua Team Hunger Force, and Sealab 2027. Not exactly your Penelope Pitstop or Snaglepuss kinda show.
But enough about my adoration of FCC challenging cartoons, this new release uniting MF Doom and Dangermouse is a not to be missed collaboration. It is equally nutty and non-senseical as the shows that it integrates into the dozen plus tracks. I cannot chose which is my favorite, since each song is so different , but I admit that the one that sticks in my head the most (maybe more due to the lyrics then the actualy music)is Sofa King.
Below is a list of the song title, for your enjoyment of their tongue-in-cheek humor.
01 El Chupa libre
02 Sofa King
03 The Mask (feat. Ghostface)
04 Perfect Hair
05 Bizzy Box (feat. Cee-Lo)
06 Old School (feat. Talib Kweli)
07 A.T.H.F.
08 Basket Case
09 No Names (Black Debbi)
10 Crosshairs
11 Mince Meat
12 Vats of Urine
13 Space Ho's
14 Bada Bing
Thursday, October 27, 2005
A Tale of Charles Dickens – A Radio Play by The Antaeus Company (L.A.s Classical Theater Ensemble)
The Los Angeles theater scene never fails to amaze and excite me. Especially in a genere that has sadly faltered since the advent of television, the radio play. My friend, the Brown One, invited me to accompany her to the Skirball Cultural Center to see A Tale of Charles Dickens presented by the award winning Antaeus Company. Let me steal from the program to tell you what this evening’s performance entailed, “16 actors portraying more than 50 characters. London in the 1830’s—the most colorful and chaotic city in the world—and young journalist Charles Dickens is uncovering a dark conspiracy of arson and murder. A fanciful look at the man before he became the iconic author we know today.”
What a treat this was! Murder most foul, burgeoning romance, a courtroom drama, bawdy drinking songs, and a cast of talented actors capable of populating all of England. So, basically, I am saying that I enjoyed the show immensely. It was a creative take on the early life of Charles Dickens with foreshadowing of how he would become the acclaimed writer that everyone knows today. Apparently this show is based on a script that runs 6 hours. I would be most intrigued to find out the other components of his writings that are alluded to in that missing 4 hours.
While out in the lobby at intermission I purchased several of the company’s previously performed plays that were available on CD and cassette. I bought Neil Simon’s great story, The Prisoner of Second Avenue which won a Grammy for Best Spoken Word Comedy Album in 2000. Agnes of G-d was another casette I picked up, since I did scenes from it back in college (that very short time when I was a theater major), but never actually read the entire piece. I’m looking forward to listening to all of them in my car since I do a lot of driving and the stories keep me from getting irritated at traffic. In fact, last nights performance was recorded and can be heard this weekend on public radio and satellite.
May I take this opportunity to again speak to you, my dear readers about being a good audience? One of my friends, we’ll call him Mr. Know-it-all (I chose this name with affection of course, for those of you who are horrified that I would call a friend this-afterall, it is a fact, he simply knows everything) actually left because the person behind him was laughing uproariously whenever the players said anything remotely amusing. Now I don’t blame Mr. Know-it-all since I was also sitting in front of said rude person. I’m certainly not suggesting that it is not okay to enjoy the show with laugther and tears where appropriate, but this was out of proportions to what was actually going on onstage. It was distracting and what-more you could not hear the actor’s lines over these gigantic guffaws. In the future, if we were all just a little more aware of those around us…you get the point.
What a treat this was! Murder most foul, burgeoning romance, a courtroom drama, bawdy drinking songs, and a cast of talented actors capable of populating all of England. So, basically, I am saying that I enjoyed the show immensely. It was a creative take on the early life of Charles Dickens with foreshadowing of how he would become the acclaimed writer that everyone knows today. Apparently this show is based on a script that runs 6 hours. I would be most intrigued to find out the other components of his writings that are alluded to in that missing 4 hours.
While out in the lobby at intermission I purchased several of the company’s previously performed plays that were available on CD and cassette. I bought Neil Simon’s great story, The Prisoner of Second Avenue which won a Grammy for Best Spoken Word Comedy Album in 2000. Agnes of G-d was another casette I picked up, since I did scenes from it back in college (that very short time when I was a theater major), but never actually read the entire piece. I’m looking forward to listening to all of them in my car since I do a lot of driving and the stories keep me from getting irritated at traffic. In fact, last nights performance was recorded and can be heard this weekend on public radio and satellite.
May I take this opportunity to again speak to you, my dear readers about being a good audience? One of my friends, we’ll call him Mr. Know-it-all (I chose this name with affection of course, for those of you who are horrified that I would call a friend this-afterall, it is a fact, he simply knows everything) actually left because the person behind him was laughing uproariously whenever the players said anything remotely amusing. Now I don’t blame Mr. Know-it-all since I was also sitting in front of said rude person. I’m certainly not suggesting that it is not okay to enjoy the show with laugther and tears where appropriate, but this was out of proportions to what was actually going on onstage. It was distracting and what-more you could not hear the actor’s lines over these gigantic guffaws. In the future, if we were all just a little more aware of those around us…you get the point.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Great Party and Musings on Parenthood
This weekend I attended a tea and dress-up birthday party for 2 sets of 3-year-old twins. Both sets of twins are little girls, one fraternal, and one identical (well mostly). What a blast this party was, cute kids, great food, cool clothing to dress in, and an incredible homemade cake that tasted good and looked fantastic. The children were the biggest joy to me. Their delight in wearing play jewelry, oversized hats, feather boas, and fancy high heels was magical to experience.
Plus, they were all so helpful to eachother, it was like a happy mini-utopian soceity. No sex or violence to complicate things. I’m certain that I am simplifying here, since I am wont to do that, especially when writing. I’m certain I over-romanticize parenthood since I want children very much. The older I get the more I appreciate the many sacrfices my parents made to give me a good childhood and the choices the continue to make so I have a good life.
When you are young I think you have this idea that everyones family is just like yours. At some point you realize that other kids have more or less then you do. Whether it is money, family, or standard of living, it is a difficult realization to assimilate. Some of my friends lived in apartments, some kids I knew lived in the “projects” of our town. We all wore hand-me-downs at some point. Me, I just loved “borrowing” my brother’s clothes because I wanted to look like a “skater” chick. Other kids had tvs, videogames, and phones in their room. I never did, I guess I felt that with the cordless phone I could get as much privacy as I needed in my own bedroom.
There always seemed to be more then enough in our house. Food and beds were in ample supply to any kids from the neighborhood who needed to crash at our house. My father cooked enough food for an army and with my brother’s quickly growing teenage friends, it was necessary. My parents never minded the extra kids hanging around. I guess they must have figured it was better we were all close by then getting in trouble roaming the town. It was a cool house to grow up in, one where you never felt alone.
Plus, they were all so helpful to eachother, it was like a happy mini-utopian soceity. No sex or violence to complicate things. I’m certain that I am simplifying here, since I am wont to do that, especially when writing. I’m certain I over-romanticize parenthood since I want children very much. The older I get the more I appreciate the many sacrfices my parents made to give me a good childhood and the choices the continue to make so I have a good life.
When you are young I think you have this idea that everyones family is just like yours. At some point you realize that other kids have more or less then you do. Whether it is money, family, or standard of living, it is a difficult realization to assimilate. Some of my friends lived in apartments, some kids I knew lived in the “projects” of our town. We all wore hand-me-downs at some point. Me, I just loved “borrowing” my brother’s clothes because I wanted to look like a “skater” chick. Other kids had tvs, videogames, and phones in their room. I never did, I guess I felt that with the cordless phone I could get as much privacy as I needed in my own bedroom.
There always seemed to be more then enough in our house. Food and beds were in ample supply to any kids from the neighborhood who needed to crash at our house. My father cooked enough food for an army and with my brother’s quickly growing teenage friends, it was necessary. My parents never minded the extra kids hanging around. I guess they must have figured it was better we were all close by then getting in trouble roaming the town. It was a cool house to grow up in, one where you never felt alone.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Underratted
Free or cheap things that are severely underrated:
The Public Library: I adore the library. It’s a surefire good time for me whenever I go there because I know that not only do they trust me with books, audio books (both CD and cassette), DVDs, and VHS tapes of a wide variety, but they are filled with some of the nicest people you will ever meet. Since I work in customer service, it is a pet peeve of mine to encounter people who are surly, crass, or unhelpful in their interactions with people who use their services. The library branch that I frequent is staffed by kind, patient, generous people who look like they really enjoy what they are doing. My mom used to work for the public library in our home town and her co-workers were intelligent, articulate people who really loved their jobs and the beneficial effects that their place of work had on their community was heartening.
So many people come together at the library. Young, old, rich, poor, there is no criteria that you have to meet to be a member. That’s my kinda club. Plus they let you take home all sorts of movies and books that would cost you precious money at Blockbuster or Barnes and Noble. That’s right, there is still is a place that people can go to get something for nothing (as long as you return it on time, of course). In my opinion that sort of thing is a mini-miracle that I appreciate every time I walk through the doors of that magical place called the library.
Thrift Shops:
Wow, are these terrific stores to browse in and find all sorts of hidden treasures. Thrift Stores combine the random kitsch of garage sales with the excitement of products from eras past all at discount prices. About a month ago I purchased 2 books (almost brand new condition, popular titles) and a cool T-shirt at my local Good Will for less the $4. It’s not just the shopping that is so neat about these stores, but the premise behind them. The idea that when you are finished using something, it can still be useful to others.
They provide a central location to donate household goods, furniture, clothing, books, and various other articles of daily life that are in good condition. Tzedakah or the concept of Jewish giving is a large part of my affection for Thrift Stores since they are convenient locations for me to take items that are in good condition for donation. Many times I have found myself no longer fitting in skirts or tops that are still in fine condition, but I do not have a sister or friend to hand them down to, so giving them to an organization that provides them to people in need or sells them to raise money is a solution that satisfies the commandement to give perfectly.
The Public Library: I adore the library. It’s a surefire good time for me whenever I go there because I know that not only do they trust me with books, audio books (both CD and cassette), DVDs, and VHS tapes of a wide variety, but they are filled with some of the nicest people you will ever meet. Since I work in customer service, it is a pet peeve of mine to encounter people who are surly, crass, or unhelpful in their interactions with people who use their services. The library branch that I frequent is staffed by kind, patient, generous people who look like they really enjoy what they are doing. My mom used to work for the public library in our home town and her co-workers were intelligent, articulate people who really loved their jobs and the beneficial effects that their place of work had on their community was heartening.
So many people come together at the library. Young, old, rich, poor, there is no criteria that you have to meet to be a member. That’s my kinda club. Plus they let you take home all sorts of movies and books that would cost you precious money at Blockbuster or Barnes and Noble. That’s right, there is still is a place that people can go to get something for nothing (as long as you return it on time, of course). In my opinion that sort of thing is a mini-miracle that I appreciate every time I walk through the doors of that magical place called the library.
Thrift Shops:
Wow, are these terrific stores to browse in and find all sorts of hidden treasures. Thrift Stores combine the random kitsch of garage sales with the excitement of products from eras past all at discount prices. About a month ago I purchased 2 books (almost brand new condition, popular titles) and a cool T-shirt at my local Good Will for less the $4. It’s not just the shopping that is so neat about these stores, but the premise behind them. The idea that when you are finished using something, it can still be useful to others.
They provide a central location to donate household goods, furniture, clothing, books, and various other articles of daily life that are in good condition. Tzedakah or the concept of Jewish giving is a large part of my affection for Thrift Stores since they are convenient locations for me to take items that are in good condition for donation. Many times I have found myself no longer fitting in skirts or tops that are still in fine condition, but I do not have a sister or friend to hand them down to, so giving them to an organization that provides them to people in need or sells them to raise money is a solution that satisfies the commandement to give perfectly.
Crash, A film by Paul Haggis
If you have not seen the groundbreaking film, I urge you to add it to your Netflicks account or pick it up some night at Blockbuster. Better yet, go out and buy it since after seeing it once you will want to see it again to glean some new aspect of its multi-layered, complex story. Many reviews have already been written, most, by author’s much more adept at film analysis then I am, especially with such a difficult topic as a film that covers racial stereotypes and interconnecting character arcs.
Many aspects of the film both horrified and fascinated me since seeing human nature in varying shades of grey is not all that common for US Cinema. It was shockingly ordinary how the verbal slurs and stereotypical assumptions were used so offhandedly. I have to say, it made me question my own use of language and my behaviors around people in every circumstance, be it in a brief interaction at the gas station to the times I am with friends who are different colors, religions, and gender preferences then mine. I remain convinced that morality and ethics are far more important then any of the differences that can be seen or acted on. Being a compassionate person has so little to do with others, yet can have a far reaching impact on them.
Take the recent disasters that have happened the world over, from tsunamis, to hurricaines, to earthquakes, people and nations have put aside diversity to lend a helping hand. I know that this has not always happened in a timely manner and I am not going to defend or dispute it, but so much good has been seen from those near the devastated areas and those who live half a world away. My company has matched donations with their employees, they are having clothes, food, and various hygeine product drives, they are sending children books and movies to help them cope with losing so much. It is an honor to be a part of so much good.
The Plot Against America by Phillip Roth – Audio Book
Since I did not enjoy my first time reading Phillip Roth's The Human Stain, I can honestly say that I had no expectations whatsoever for my second outing with this author. That is why The Plot Against America proved to be such a delightful surprise. In this novel, Roth imagines an alternate history for America during World War II. In this frightening imagining, Republican, Isolationist candidate Charles A. Lindbergh defeats Franklin Roosevelt in the bid for the presidency. Under Lindbergh's administration, America is kept out of WWII and anti-semitism flourishes from coast to coast with Roth's family caught in the middle. Phillip Roth the author write about Phillip Roth the young boy which makes me wonder how many of the occurrences and characters are based on Roth's real life. This is an effective plot device that really involves the reader in the very dire circumstances that the main character is put in.
Ron Silver reads this audio book and although his differentiation between character voices is fair, he excels at the many soliloquies and political speeches Roth writes with such panache. This is one of the many reasons why I am such a rampant fan of audio books. They remind me of my parents reading to me at bedtime or my 6th grade teacher reading out loud to us such masterpieces as The Phantom Tollbooth and The Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson. There is a connection made during the reading that conveys what the author’s meaning is for the book. I urge you to read out loud and see for yourself how it changes your reading experience. In my life I have had the pleasure of co-reading books with several friends where we take turns reading to each other. It broadens the experience of the book. I believe this is also the reason that book clubs are so popular.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
The Music Man
Yesterday I saw the closing performance of the Stepping Stone Player’s The Music Man. Now, this show is so nostalgic for me since it was the first musical I watched that inspired me to audition for plays at my High School. Sadly, I was not cast until my junior year, but it did begin a 10 year love affair with all audio, be it sound reinforcement in live theater or dialog editing for television. Both of which I enjoyed for a time, but left behind to pursue a more traditional (as well as dependable) desk job.
This production of The Music Man started out a bit slow, but gained moment with each amazing song and dance number. The joy and vibrancy of the elementy school aged and high school aged performers were incredibley humbling to watch. Their execution of complicated dance moves and layered singing was a delight to watch. A friend of mine has been participating in community theater for 6 years and he was the reason that I attended the show that day. This friend, we’ll call him Blondie, because he is blonde, has been in productions ranging from joyously fun to monstrously unwatchable (sorry my friend). However, Blondie has always shined with his commitment to each roll he has been cast in.
Especially memorable to me during Sunday afternoon’s show was seeing Blondie go from being onstage as a concerned towns person in the song “Trouble” to being the Well’s Fargo Coachman complete with full length duster and burned down cigar, flipping his blond locks for the little girls to mimic. Also, his stint as a fez wearing Mason in a previous mucial (I think it was Bye, Bye Birdie) was hysterical. Blondie is a good looking, guy and here he was nerding it up as with a fez and thick glasses, very funny. I am simpley thankful that he continues performing so that all his friends can enjoy the many fantastic musicals out there.
In my distant past I worked for a professional musical theater company in the Bay Area. Musicals have always spoken to me in a way that I cannot define with mere words. The huge dance numbers amaze me and the singing is stupendous with songs that range from nonsense to broad comedy, to touching ballads. My parents spoiled me by taking me to musicals, concerts, and ballets from a young age (although they did wait until I was able to sit still and appreciate what I was seeing). Jedi also enjoys musicals and concerts, I’m not sure about ballet, but he seemed to enjoy Moving Out (that was my big gift last year from my best friend and it was AWESOME). I’m planning to try and get tickets to see City of Angels (I saw it years ago and remember the staging being extremely creative). When I took tap during the summer while in High School we danced to two songs from this show, they had witty lyrics.
This production of The Music Man started out a bit slow, but gained moment with each amazing song and dance number. The joy and vibrancy of the elementy school aged and high school aged performers were incredibley humbling to watch. Their execution of complicated dance moves and layered singing was a delight to watch. A friend of mine has been participating in community theater for 6 years and he was the reason that I attended the show that day. This friend, we’ll call him Blondie, because he is blonde, has been in productions ranging from joyously fun to monstrously unwatchable (sorry my friend). However, Blondie has always shined with his commitment to each roll he has been cast in.
Especially memorable to me during Sunday afternoon’s show was seeing Blondie go from being onstage as a concerned towns person in the song “Trouble” to being the Well’s Fargo Coachman complete with full length duster and burned down cigar, flipping his blond locks for the little girls to mimic. Also, his stint as a fez wearing Mason in a previous mucial (I think it was Bye, Bye Birdie) was hysterical. Blondie is a good looking, guy and here he was nerding it up as with a fez and thick glasses, very funny. I am simpley thankful that he continues performing so that all his friends can enjoy the many fantastic musicals out there.
In my distant past I worked for a professional musical theater company in the Bay Area. Musicals have always spoken to me in a way that I cannot define with mere words. The huge dance numbers amaze me and the singing is stupendous with songs that range from nonsense to broad comedy, to touching ballads. My parents spoiled me by taking me to musicals, concerts, and ballets from a young age (although they did wait until I was able to sit still and appreciate what I was seeing). Jedi also enjoys musicals and concerts, I’m not sure about ballet, but he seemed to enjoy Moving Out (that was my big gift last year from my best friend and it was AWESOME). I’m planning to try and get tickets to see City of Angels (I saw it years ago and remember the staging being extremely creative). When I took tap during the summer while in High School we danced to two songs from this show, they had witty lyrics.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Remembering Part 2
I know my Grandma lived a full and amazing life and is now with my Grandpa, but I still find it difficult to believe she is gone. Until last year, she was my last surviving grandparent, my Father's Mother. She was the woman that I looked up to and admired so much. It really reminds me to appreciate people around me and each day that I have. Never know how long that may be. Growing up my mother and father told me how very much I resembled my Grandma when she was in her youth, I hope that is true, because if I am anything like her, it means I will be strong, beautiful, and stubborn for the rest of my life.
My Grandmother outlived my Grandfather, but he was the one that she spoke of most. They had spent over 5 decades together as husband and wife. Their devotion to eachother is something that has always warmed me and filled me with a sense of pride and nostalgia. Their lives were not easy, but they choose the best path they could despite suffering through WWII.
Grandma was a beautiful woman who immigrated to the United States from Germanyto settle in New Jersey. Her mother, brother, and sister also came here. In Germany she had worked as an au pair, in New Jersey she continued that work. Her love of children was evident to me along with her strong sense of devotion to family. Grandpa called her mousel, meaning little mouse, it was a term of endearment and she had a small collection of mice made of crystals, ceramic, and even plastic in their china cabinet. I always wanted to know the origin of that nickname, at one time I may have, but now I do not.
Grandma’s cooking was amazing. While I was never a fan of the rare roast beef that was bloody in the middle, my Papa (my mother’s father) enjoyed with horseradish, I adored the many pickled items that appeared as a staple on lazy susan at the center of the table of my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Pickled cucumbers, vinegar coleslaw (a recipe handed down to my father that is delicious with a yellow hue from the turmeric…I still have never mimicked it well enough to do it justice), homemade dill pickles, and my favorite pickled beets. A holdover from that time that delights me still is to buy seedless rye from Solley’s, real mayonaise, and small tins of anchovies wrapped around capers. This simple sandwich can take me back to my childhood.
My sister-in-law’s family is from Russia (just like my Mother’s) and they are also extremely fond of pickled items, including fish. My brother and sister-in-laws wedding was catered by a traditional Russian chef and began with a tremendous array of smoked fish and an incredible assortment of pickled items, I was in hog heaven! LOL, I digress, as usual!
There were many summers that my family visited Grandma and Grandpa in their small, neat home in Northern New Jersey. What was so wonderful about their place was the enormous plot of land it was situated on. There was room for a large garden to plant a variety of vegetables and herbs. Fruit trees and even grape vines grew there alongside lush berry bushes and vibrant flowers.
During the spring and summer months there would be several bird feeders strategically placed throughout the property. They would attract a myriad of aviary life to watch with delight. There were vibrant hummingbirds and impossibley loud, belligerant blue jays. One year there was an especially inventive squirrel that would not leave the bird seed alone no matter how ingeniusly my Grandpa tried to squirrel-proof it. I remember watching the squirrel take a flying leap off the roof once just to land in the middle of the feeder spraying seed and squaking bird everywhere. The feeder weighted down with squirrel perched precariously inside weighted down the thin tree limb from hung swaying back and forth hypnotically as it sunk lower and lower towards the ground. By this time Grandma was shouting at it from the window to "get down" and "scram", but that foolhardy squirrel would do no such thing, he was finally exactly where he wanted to be and was making the most of it.
"FWAP", birdfeeder and squirrel where swatted from the tree. My Grandpa had come up behind them and knocked that rampaging squirrel from it's roost. I was flabbergasted, having never seen my Grandparents carry out such violence. Working as a team they refilled and rehung the birdfeeder with an alacrity that belied their ages. They would be ready when the squirrel returned.
My Grandmother outlived my Grandfather, but he was the one that she spoke of most. They had spent over 5 decades together as husband and wife. Their devotion to eachother is something that has always warmed me and filled me with a sense of pride and nostalgia. Their lives were not easy, but they choose the best path they could despite suffering through WWII.
Grandma was a beautiful woman who immigrated to the United States from Germanyto settle in New Jersey. Her mother, brother, and sister also came here. In Germany she had worked as an au pair, in New Jersey she continued that work. Her love of children was evident to me along with her strong sense of devotion to family. Grandpa called her mousel, meaning little mouse, it was a term of endearment and she had a small collection of mice made of crystals, ceramic, and even plastic in their china cabinet. I always wanted to know the origin of that nickname, at one time I may have, but now I do not.
Grandma’s cooking was amazing. While I was never a fan of the rare roast beef that was bloody in the middle, my Papa (my mother’s father) enjoyed with horseradish, I adored the many pickled items that appeared as a staple on lazy susan at the center of the table of my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Pickled cucumbers, vinegar coleslaw (a recipe handed down to my father that is delicious with a yellow hue from the turmeric…I still have never mimicked it well enough to do it justice), homemade dill pickles, and my favorite pickled beets. A holdover from that time that delights me still is to buy seedless rye from Solley’s, real mayonaise, and small tins of anchovies wrapped around capers. This simple sandwich can take me back to my childhood.
My sister-in-law’s family is from Russia (just like my Mother’s) and they are also extremely fond of pickled items, including fish. My brother and sister-in-laws wedding was catered by a traditional Russian chef and began with a tremendous array of smoked fish and an incredible assortment of pickled items, I was in hog heaven! LOL, I digress, as usual!
There were many summers that my family visited Grandma and Grandpa in their small, neat home in Northern New Jersey. What was so wonderful about their place was the enormous plot of land it was situated on. There was room for a large garden to plant a variety of vegetables and herbs. Fruit trees and even grape vines grew there alongside lush berry bushes and vibrant flowers.
During the spring and summer months there would be several bird feeders strategically placed throughout the property. They would attract a myriad of aviary life to watch with delight. There were vibrant hummingbirds and impossibley loud, belligerant blue jays. One year there was an especially inventive squirrel that would not leave the bird seed alone no matter how ingeniusly my Grandpa tried to squirrel-proof it. I remember watching the squirrel take a flying leap off the roof once just to land in the middle of the feeder spraying seed and squaking bird everywhere. The feeder weighted down with squirrel perched precariously inside weighted down the thin tree limb from hung swaying back and forth hypnotically as it sunk lower and lower towards the ground. By this time Grandma was shouting at it from the window to "get down" and "scram", but that foolhardy squirrel would do no such thing, he was finally exactly where he wanted to be and was making the most of it.
"FWAP", birdfeeder and squirrel where swatted from the tree. My Grandpa had come up behind them and knocked that rampaging squirrel from it's roost. I was flabbergasted, having never seen my Grandparents carry out such violence. Working as a team they refilled and rehung the birdfeeder with an alacrity that belied their ages. They would be ready when the squirrel returned.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Katrina Benefit hosted by Tenacious D 9/22/05
Last night my boyfriend and I attended the Tenacious D Benefit to help victims of Katrina. This was a fantastic show and I felt humbled by the outpouring of love, money, and energy that was swirling around inside that venue. Jack and Kyle who makeup the band Tenacious D were wonderfully informal with their guest performers and audience. The event didn’t feel too polished or rehearsed which made for a vivacious spontaneity that translated to the audience. Jack Black was a total maniac, handling most of the hosting duties since Kyle was sick that night. He tumbled, rolled, flew, pirouetted across and around the stage in a manic frenzy that put me in the mind of a whirling dervish. Honestly, I wanted to go onstage with him, what a fantastic opportunity he has to unleash this great capacity to captivate an audience with music, comedy, and spirit.
If you ever have the opportunity to see the D live, take it! You'll be in for a treat.
If you ever have the opportunity to see the D live, take it! You'll be in for a treat.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
The death of a hero: Simon Wiesenthal
For those of you who are young or not of Jewish decent, the name Simon Wiesenthal may not mean much. To people like me, a second generation American on my father’s side and a third on my mother’s side, both of European Jewish descent, he was a hero. He was a survivor of the Holocaust and spent the years after it hunting Nazi war Criminals with great success. What I find so fascinating about Wiesenthal was his reinvention of himself after the war. He had been subjected to the atrocities of 12 concentration camps (5 were actual death camps), he had attempted suicide twice without success while imprisoned by the Nazis, he and his wife lost 89 relatives through the actions of the Third Reich, yet after being liberated by American Forces Wiesenthal reinvented himself.
After the war, he reunited with his wife (who had been hidden in Poland, using her blonde hair to pose as an Aryan), had a family (which was such a significant act of hope after the pain and horror of the Holocaust), and began seeking justice for the many people who lost their lives at the hands of the Nazi regime. There is great controversy over his involvement in the capture of Adolf Eichman, but I feel that regardless of the truth (which can never be known), the fact that Eichman was found is a feat worthy of accolades to whoever negotiated his capture.
The dedication that Wiesenthal showed spending 50 years of his life pursuing the men and women who perpetrated the madness of genocide is startling to me. I don’t ask myself why he did it; I ask myself why more people didn’t. Retribution is not what was sought, but justice for crimes against humanity. The Nuremberg trials were incomplete with the escape of many top ranking Nazis. If given the same circumstance would I handle my life with such focus and purpose? This is a question I never want to be forced answer.
I leave you with this quote from the Council of Europe chairman Terry Davis,"Without Simon Wiesenthal's relentless effort to find Nazi criminals and bring them to justice, and to fight anti-Semitism and prejudice, Europe would never have succeeded in healing its wounds and reconciling itself... He was a soldier of justice, which is indispensable to our freedom, stability and peace."
Wiesenthal passed away on Tuesday, September 20th, 2005. He was 96.
A Sidenote:
I am looking into getting the HBO film in which Ben Kingsley plays Wiesenthal, called Murderers Among Us: the Simon Wiesenthal Story. If I can’t find it, I’m certain I can get my hands on the book from which it is based. Imagine being Ben Kingsley who has not only played Gandhi with such grace, complexity, and character, but to also have such a rich roll as Wiesenthal to flesh out. Kingsley is indeed talent, if you doubt my love of his acting abilities, please see Sexy Beast or House of Sand and Fog.
After the war, he reunited with his wife (who had been hidden in Poland, using her blonde hair to pose as an Aryan), had a family (which was such a significant act of hope after the pain and horror of the Holocaust), and began seeking justice for the many people who lost their lives at the hands of the Nazi regime. There is great controversy over his involvement in the capture of Adolf Eichman, but I feel that regardless of the truth (which can never be known), the fact that Eichman was found is a feat worthy of accolades to whoever negotiated his capture.
The dedication that Wiesenthal showed spending 50 years of his life pursuing the men and women who perpetrated the madness of genocide is startling to me. I don’t ask myself why he did it; I ask myself why more people didn’t. Retribution is not what was sought, but justice for crimes against humanity. The Nuremberg trials were incomplete with the escape of many top ranking Nazis. If given the same circumstance would I handle my life with such focus and purpose? This is a question I never want to be forced answer.
I leave you with this quote from the Council of Europe chairman Terry Davis,"Without Simon Wiesenthal's relentless effort to find Nazi criminals and bring them to justice, and to fight anti-Semitism and prejudice, Europe would never have succeeded in healing its wounds and reconciling itself... He was a soldier of justice, which is indispensable to our freedom, stability and peace."
Wiesenthal passed away on Tuesday, September 20th, 2005. He was 96.
A Sidenote:
I am looking into getting the HBO film in which Ben Kingsley plays Wiesenthal, called Murderers Among Us: the Simon Wiesenthal Story. If I can’t find it, I’m certain I can get my hands on the book from which it is based. Imagine being Ben Kingsley who has not only played Gandhi with such grace, complexity, and character, but to also have such a rich roll as Wiesenthal to flesh out. Kingsley is indeed talent, if you doubt my love of his acting abilities, please see Sexy Beast or House of Sand and Fog.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Lunch with a Friend
I have a standing lunch date on Fridays with a friend of mine who is a college speech professor (we’ll call him GBD). We often go to a restaurant conveniently located close by my work; since I am now required to punch in and out with a time clock mechanism. GBD is a cousin of The Brown One who lives with my boyfriend. We began hanging out due to our mutual love of books. In fact during one of our first lunches together he leant me a copy of Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach while I loaned to him a copy of Robert Ketchum’s book, Red.
GDB and I share a sense of the morbid along with an appreciation of good wine. He does not find it horrible if I discuss my fascination with dead bodies or true crime while shoveling food in my mouth (I mentioned previously about the whole time clock thing). Nor does he dismiss my assertions that women are crazy and therefore I would never become a lesbian. There is no irony when he asks my advice about dating., which I find rare since many of my friends know that I will hijack their social lives in the blink of an eye and spend my time regaling them with my list of single friends of the opposite sex with varying attributes to recommend them by.
In the class that GBD teaches he gives this one fascinating assignment called Scar or Star. Since the students are required to talk about themselves, they are given a choice of whether they want to share with the class a scar they have on their body and how they got it or a celebrity they met and how this meeting changed their opinion about said celebrity., I love this idea. In fact, I am thinking of asking my friends to do something similar for my birthday coming up in a week and half.
In the past I have requested more personal items from people, a recipe they loved from childhood, a mix tape that contained songs that reminded them of me, or a book that was that held a special memory. This year I thought about requesting my friends to join me in a volunteer activity, but the timing of events wasn’t working out for me so I am scraping those plans. Now I am thinking of requesting people to share a story about me from their personal experiences on my blog. Hmmm…perhaps with my friends that would not be such a good idea I might end up finding out things about myself I’d rather not know…LOL!
GDB and I share a sense of the morbid along with an appreciation of good wine. He does not find it horrible if I discuss my fascination with dead bodies or true crime while shoveling food in my mouth (I mentioned previously about the whole time clock thing). Nor does he dismiss my assertions that women are crazy and therefore I would never become a lesbian. There is no irony when he asks my advice about dating., which I find rare since many of my friends know that I will hijack their social lives in the blink of an eye and spend my time regaling them with my list of single friends of the opposite sex with varying attributes to recommend them by.
In the class that GBD teaches he gives this one fascinating assignment called Scar or Star. Since the students are required to talk about themselves, they are given a choice of whether they want to share with the class a scar they have on their body and how they got it or a celebrity they met and how this meeting changed their opinion about said celebrity., I love this idea. In fact, I am thinking of asking my friends to do something similar for my birthday coming up in a week and half.
In the past I have requested more personal items from people, a recipe they loved from childhood, a mix tape that contained songs that reminded them of me, or a book that was that held a special memory. This year I thought about requesting my friends to join me in a volunteer activity, but the timing of events wasn’t working out for me so I am scraping those plans. Now I am thinking of requesting people to share a story about me from their personal experiences on my blog. Hmmm…perhaps with my friends that would not be such a good idea I might end up finding out things about myself I’d rather not know…LOL!
Lobsterfest San Pedro 9/18/05
The boyfriend and I just came home after spending the better part of the day at the Lobster Fest in San Pedro. Having never been to this event before I can most definitely surmise that it will be a yearly occurrence now on my calendar because it is so delicious and conveniently located, not to mention the outta this world price! Admission was $6 each since we used tickets that we printed out from the Lobster Fest Website. If you were interested in getting lobster, there was a deal for one lobster with melted imitation butter, coleslaw and bread for $17 or two with the same fixin’s for $29. These were fairly good sized lobsters too with meaty tails and huge well developed claws full of sweet meat.
I got only one, but a friend, who I’ll call Blinky gave me the upper half of his second crustacean because he was already full. HA, as if I would let any of that amazing meat go to waste. Now the lobsters served were a bit more watery then I would like, but they lacked that saltiness that often mars the more delicate flavor. I could not believe Blinky was passing up the most amazing parts of a lobster that he paid his hard earned cash for, but as a good friend I made short work of lobster #2. Suffice it to say, we made short work of the giant cockroaches smothering them in butter and sucking out the meat from their swimmerets.
Being the gourmands that we are this was not nearly enough food to celebrate this unique event. Next on the menu was Holy Guacamole voted best by Food Network and the California Avocado Association and who am I to argue with two such lauded organizations? Assisted by another pint of beer I indulged in a chewy, salty, buttery delight of roasted corn that had just the perfect amount of butter and salt to really enhance the sweet and crisp corn flavor. While I was washing my hands to dive back into the flurry of food, Jedi was getting a sausage with a friend of his who is to be married in October.
Still not satisfied with this culinary picnic we next ordered fried catfish, cod, shrimp, oysters, hush puppies, and fries complete with ketchup, tartar sauce, and hot sauce (for Jedi since I cannot partake). The crust on these fried items was incredible; not too thickly coated, crunchy and a tad bit sweet like cornmeal can be. Not a bit greasy, but still moist. For dessert I had an amazing ooey goey sweet potato pie that had a jelly-like consistency that resembled the inside of a pecan pie. You know that one, that caramel flan like layer that’s achingly sugary and reminds you of Thanksgiving with the folks.
Scarecrow by Matthew Reilly
I have read an incredible amount of action novels in the years that I was growing up. Considering that I was raised with an army of male friends and relatives around, it’s a miracle that I still want to read the likes of Mack Bolan, James Bond, or Dirk Pitt, and yet I find myself returning to these novels again and again as touchstones of my pulp filled literary past. That’s is why I was delighted to discover and new and exciting action hero created by a 26 year old author from Australian named Matthew Reilly.
It was in 2000 that Reilly published his book Ice Station which introduced readers to marine hero, Shane Scofield. In Scarecrow we are reunited for the third time with Scofield to accompany him as he is targeted for assassination by a man who wants to begin World War III. Scarecrow, the codename given to Scofield due to the vertical scars running over each eye is a terrific name for this book since it gives more insight into the hero then any of the previous installments of this unbelievable action series.
If I were to compare Reilly’s writing style, I would be forced to say that he is the John Woo of writers. He is guilty of forcing his character up against unbelievable odds to do inhumane feats of strength, skill, cunning, and courage. This is a non-stop heart thumping ride of a book that has jets racing across the world, tanker ships sinking, man-eating sharks, and even a guillotine.
With the returning characters of Book II, Mother, and Libby Gant joined by the mysterious bounty hunter, The Black Knight and his sidekick Rufus this headlong plunge into saving the world is more rapid fire then Ice Station or Area 7. What I appreciated the most about Scarecrow was the obvious growth of the author as a writer. Reilly is no longer reticent to let his emotions show in more complex ways including the very risky soft side of his main character. Scofield is allowed to draw the reader out with his growing familiarity with his Delta Force Squad, it is a charming plot twist.
If you never like putting a book down unless it is finished then Scarecrow is the book for you my friend. Non-stop action oriented sequences featuring a parade of guns, rockets, jets, and missiles that no army buff should miss out on. Yet even with all the technical information the humanity and storyline remain strong and focused even if they are so over-the-top as to be almost silly. This book is worth a look in my humble opinion.
The Human Stain by Phillip Roth
Now I began this book already knowing the “big secret” that is revealed about halfway through. I should note that although aware of the existence of a movie version, I had not seen it, nor did I know anyone who had. The reason I picked this book up was because it was 99 cents at my local Good Will Store (thrift stores, the underutilized place for funky clothes, cheap books, and weird knickknacks, I suggest you check out yours other then just around Halloween), for that price, it has to be a book worth reading. Apparently, I was wrong.
Roth is a writer of dense, detailed prose that contain multi-layered information for the reader. Being that this was my first experience with this world reknown author I felt it was only fair that I give credit where credit is due. The story is about a Dean of Faculty, Coleman Silk, who is dismissed under a shadow of disgrace for making a comment that is purposely seen to be racist in nature. That the protagonist should been misunderstood to make such a remark when it is precisely against his own nature is the irony of this story. It is also very much the tragedy of it. To see that a man would rather live with dishonor then expose himself as a liar due to the shame in his lie is a tricky situation to write with all of the transitory emotions that are involved. Roth is masterful with his creation of men and women who are very much not what they seem on the outside.
Despite the masterful storytelling, I still found this book to be too difficult for the audience to find someone to identify with. The accessibility factor was low with so many different moralities at play and yet Roth tried to use his alter ego, Nathan Zuckerman, from I Married a Communist and American Pastoral. Having not read those books, I cannot comment on whether this would’ve been an easier read if I was already familiar with one of the main characters. Regardless of my feelings about this book, I am currently halfway through The Plot Against America, also by Roth, and admit that I am incredibly thrilled by the poetic and heartfelt writing. Once I finish look for my review of that novel here.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Labor Day Crab Boil
For Labor Day this year a friend of ours wanted to fly in blue crabs from Maryland. Since my boyfriend, Jedi (a fake name to protect the innocent, although why I am using it for him, I haven’t a clue), is from Maryland he was more then happy to join in and make this idea a reality. For this adventure, more equipment then
then usual was necessary which called for a visit to the local Smart and Final for a large pot and outdoor propane burner. Next was a trip to William Sonoma for crab mallets (surprising difficult to find here in Los Angeles) and finally Surfas for the perfect clarified butter to accompany the sweet little crustaceans and make our purchases complete. A bushel of medium blue crabs arrived on the doorstep of Jedi’s house on Saturday morning and he was aglow with the excitement to come. Out of 6 dozen crabs, there were surprising few that gave up the ghost during their 6 hour flight from the East Coast. Although not lively when we first opened the box due to the cold (they were packed in dry ice), as we cooked more and the remaining in the box got warmer they began to wake up and show their feisty side. The crabs were ordered live from Harbour House in Maryland , they also specialize in soft-shell blue crabs and sending already steamed hard shell ones. Jedi was in his element with 3 lbs of Old Bay and gloves to protect his fingers from the crab’s pinchers he got down to the serious business of steaming.First he made an intoxicating brew of heated beer on the outside propane burner which was gently brought up to boil. When the steam started filling the pot, a dozen blue critters were added alternating with heaping portions of Old Bay. Once the crabs were steamed to perfection, they were lifted from the pot and spread out on the brown paper covered tables for their last orange coat of Old Bay. Jedi even provided me with my very own portion of steamed crabs sans Old Bay due to my lichen planus (a condition on my lips and mouth that makes it painful to eat spicy or hot food…sad, I know!). Let the cracking, slurping, digging, and dipping BEGIN!!!
Throughout the daylong crab boil, there was so much food to be had that we felt slightly ashamed of our overindulgence. Jedi’s friends and neighbors and mine too stopped by from 2pm until 10 to pull up a seat at the paper covered feast table in the duplex’s backyard to talk, pick crabs, and eat a variety of delectable dishes. One friend, who’s originally from Georgia, to everyone’s delight made hush puppies. Later in the evening he created even more incredible fried food by spoiling us with beignets from a Café du Monde mix. They were scandalously good even though he though some were half cooked. I opted on the un-fried side and made traditional cornbread and honey butter to accompany the crabs. I used the recipe on the side of the cornmeal box which resulted in moist delectable bread. Jedi’s roommate (or as we call her, The Brown One-it’s not what you think) created a scrumptious caprese salad using the tomatoes and basil from their garden.
For those of you unfamiliar with the Maryland Blue Crab (and I was pretty much a Blue Crab virgin until dating my wonderful, gourmet beau, Jedi) this kind of crab is more delicate tasting and sweeter then it’s cousins the Dungeness and Alaskan King Crabs. It’s also a challenge to shell the smaller ones. Luckily we received mediums that were on the higher side of that size category (51/2-6 inches). You see blue crabs come in 5 different sizes for the males, which are the preferred type to eat, they are in descending order; Heavyweights, Jumbos, Large, Medium, and Small and then there are the females (usually not eaten due to the fact that they can produce up to eight million eggs in one mating season, so their capture and consumption is limited). It’s my inner desire to someday go out with crabbers in Maryland to catch my very own blue crabs. Imagine the freshness!
I find it very amusing that my boyfriend should love crabs so much given the fact that his star sign is Cancer, The Crab. People of this star sign are considered to be gentle and nurturing despite the irony that Crab is used to describe someone who is a grouch. I am very skeptical about astrology, but in this instance I find it amusingly fitting.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
A Cooks Tour by Anthony Bourdain (Of Kitchen Confidential Fame)
What a wise-cracking, hilarious look at both foreign travel and delicious, yet sometimes frightening foods around the world. If you have ever seen chef Anthony Bourdain in his Food TV series A Cook’s Tour or more recently on Travel Channel series Anthony Bourdain :No Reservations then you know that this New Jersey boy speaks like a native often being bleeped out by Broadcast Standards people for his penchant for using 4 letter words. He brings this irreverent quality to his writing as well, often citing his excessive drinking, excessive smoking, and hippie pot-smoking youth.
Yet, what differentiates this book from many travel books is the eccentric characters Bourdain visits around the world. He is both willing and able to eat and experience other cultures with sensitivity, humor, and infinite joie de vive. This is more then a travelogue or a foodie tome, it is a celebration of the differences that make everyone so similar. I know that my assessment may strike people as trite, but I was captivated by Bourdain’s boyish delight at eating a roasted pig in Portugal. His wonder and admiration at seeing every piece of the animal used made me think about the animals I take for granted everyday.
Describing firing an automatic weapon during his visit to Cambodia Boardain has this to say:
Firing bursts from heavy weapons at paper targets of charging Russians is fun. I did surprisingly well with the AK-47 and the .45, hitting centre body mass almost every time. At one point, his hands over his ears to protect them from the racket of my discharging weapon, my waiter tugged my sleeve, “So ... whey you from?”
“New York,” I said.
“What you do?” he inquired.
“I’m a chef.”
My waiter looked at my target, which I’d pretty much shredded from neck to crotch, smiled encouragingly, and said, “You could be a killer!” That’s what passes for a compliment in Phnom Penh, I guess.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Sea Glass by Anita Shreve (Audiobook)
I have read two prior books written by this author and am delighted to say that this third book that I have indulged in was even better then the predecessors. Taking place again in a small town on the beach of New Hampshire this book shares the same house used in Fortune’s Rock and The Pilot’s Wife (coincidentally the exact novels of Shreve’s that I have read). However, this time the year is 1929 and the beach houses residents are newlyweds Sexton and Honora (pronounce with a silent “H”). Shreve is an artist with the English language. She has a talent for weaving together complex characters with secretive motives that entice the audience into reading more to discover the truth behind the actions.
Sea Glass is an intricate tale told by five very diverse narrators. First in Honora, who starts out naïve, yet hopeful in a marriage to a man she has only met 8 times over the course of a courtship that could be called superficial at best, shallow at worst. Then there is Sexton, her ambitious salesman husband, with questionable scruples and an identity tied closely to his ability to sell. Vivian, the socialite from down the beach who is looking for excitement and purpose to fulfill her empty life or at the very least fill the hours of her long days. McDermott, a twenty year old who has become almost completely deaf working in the garment mill in Ely Falls, he helps the striking workers organize and stay motivated. Alphonse, a young boy on the verge of manhood, who has been taken in as a sort of mascot by McDermott and the other workers at the mill to help them with the various menial tasks to keep the strike going.
Shreve's talent is getting inside her character's heads. She reveals their hopes, dreams, motivations, fears, and rationalizations with clarity and precision. The aspect I relish the most in her writing is the complex, very human thoughts and feelings that we, the reader, are privy to using this form of narrative. These diverse perspectives give us the chance to experience the beginning of the depression, the crumbling of a marriage, the unionization of workers, and the budding of love with the people as they each are impacted by these event.
Sea Glass is a vivid book; full of mundane lives lived in not so quiet desperation. The hunger and desperation of laborers prior to Unions and livable wages was truly miserable. Food looms large as the basic needs of everyone in the book are hardly ever met until the strike takes place. The climax of the book is sadly unsurprising and keenly realistic for the era. Consider listening to this one on tape since it captures the speech patterns and dialect of the earth 20th Century in a way that I certainly could not duplicate in my head.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Riding for MS
This October I am doing something I have never done before, I am participating in a charity ride. Yep, me, on a bicycle peddling for 30 miles, not something I have remotely considered myself capable of, but I’m beginning to see that there is much I can do to help other’s while helping myself along the way. Last year, my boyfriend took part in the ride and I went along to volunteer. Never having met anyone with Multiple Sclerosis, I was unsure what to expect. Would I see people in wheelchairs that couldn’t speak with me? Would the atheletes participating be like the men I saw riding at the beach, heads down, helmets to the wind?
Much like the 3 Day Breast Cancer walk that I participated in 3 years ago, I found that the day was filled with people from all walks of life, with a diversity of reasons for riding and volunteering. Some were there because they were avide bicyclyst, and just wanted the opportunity to ride a century (100 miles). Some had been touched by MS in their lives and wanted to make a difference through donations. My boyfriend has been touched by a courageous woman who raised her 3 children with love and patience, while MS raged through her body making the smallest tasks difficult. A wonderful man that I worked with at the registration table had MS and was doing this to help other’s avoid the treatment and care that he has faced since his diagnosis in his twenties. Moron that I was, I didn’t even realize he had MS until he pointed out to me his cane and explained his motives for joining in the MS fundraiser.
Sure, there were women and men in wheelchairs or driving little electric carts, suffering from a variety of aspects of the disease. What stood out for me was the smile and vivaciousness of one of the women with her electric wheelchair. Her sheer force of personality, her positive energy and outlook was so much stronger then what her body could or could not do with MS. It was inspirirng, which is why I’m going back, which is why I am riding and fundraising this time. I’ve raised over $700 so far, a fact I am very proud of. Think about donating, if you have a spare $5-10. Not to me, but to the cause. Here is where your tax deductible donation can be made, and if you do particpate, please let me know.
Much like the 3 Day Breast Cancer walk that I participated in 3 years ago, I found that the day was filled with people from all walks of life, with a diversity of reasons for riding and volunteering. Some were there because they were avide bicyclyst, and just wanted the opportunity to ride a century (100 miles). Some had been touched by MS in their lives and wanted to make a difference through donations. My boyfriend has been touched by a courageous woman who raised her 3 children with love and patience, while MS raged through her body making the smallest tasks difficult. A wonderful man that I worked with at the registration table had MS and was doing this to help other’s avoid the treatment and care that he has faced since his diagnosis in his twenties. Moron that I was, I didn’t even realize he had MS until he pointed out to me his cane and explained his motives for joining in the MS fundraiser.
Sure, there were women and men in wheelchairs or driving little electric carts, suffering from a variety of aspects of the disease. What stood out for me was the smile and vivaciousness of one of the women with her electric wheelchair. Her sheer force of personality, her positive energy and outlook was so much stronger then what her body could or could not do with MS. It was inspirirng, which is why I’m going back, which is why I am riding and fundraising this time. I’ve raised over $700 so far, a fact I am very proud of. Think about donating, if you have a spare $5-10. Not to me, but to the cause. Here is where your tax deductible donation can be made, and if you do particpate, please let me know.
Strange Wine by Harlan Ellison
This collection of short stories I picked up at a wonderful little store in Santa Monica, CA called Every Picture Tells A Story. This is captivating store for children of all ages. It’s full of large watercolor paintings of favorite bedtime story characters, prints of Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendek, a contemporary print from the cartoon Boondocks, and many books from a variety of genres. That afternoon I was drawn to a large coffee table book of Ray Harryhausen’s work called An Animated Life. However, for the price of that one book, I ended up purchasing 4 books, one of which was Harlan Ellison’s collection called Strange Wine. It’s definitely a book that bends towards horror with a little mix of fantasy, extremely entertaining with stories that could appeal to a wide audience of people. I have to say that the shear fact that the author has another collection of stories called Angry Candy pleases me no end. The image that appears in my head of an enraged Hershey bar just entreats me to smile widely.
Prior to this collection, I had actually read Ellison’s screenplay for the Isaac Asimov tomb I, Robot. A wonderful adaptation of the imagery and humanity Asimov intended for his masterpiece (instead of that travesty with Will Smith). Ellison is also associated with my all time favorite comic book creator and author, Neil Gaiman. Ellison wrote and introduction to one of Gaiman’s Sandman series and I believe Gaiman has returned the favor. Brilliant minds both of them with creativity to create and populate worlds beyond my imagination. Luckily, since I cannot think them up, I can always grab a book by these authors and read about them.
Strange Wine is wonderful because the stories are so diverse and still manage to have the same creepy anticipatory feel that horror or mystery work should (in my opinion) have. The short story entitled Mom is definitely one of my favorites since it deals with a man’s relationship with his VERY Jewish, VERY annoying, as well as VERY dead mother. This one gave me nightmares for a week since I am Jewish and can relate to his plight making this work of fiction far too close for comfort. THE Diagnosis of Dr. D'arqueAngel was another fascinatingly addictive read in which a doctor injects her patients with small amounts of death so that they will build up a tolerance and henceforth live longer. This addresses both the fear of growing older and of the unstoppable force of death which we are all vulnerable to. The writing raises it to horrific level that makes us consider death not such a bad thing afterall. By far my favorite short in this collection is Lonely Women are the Vessels of Time, the characters are fleshed out and relatable. I will definitely be picking up another collection from Ellison in the near future.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Oh Deer!!! At the Hollywood Bowl
I must tell you about the most surreal experience on Sunday at the Hollywood Bowl. I am still in utter disbelief that it happened at all, but since my boyfriend verifies it, my eyes must not have been playing tricks. My boyfriend and I, along with a friend of ours were walking away from the venue towards where the buses are parked (To those of you who are familiar with the bowl, we were nearly to the parking lot right where Barham becomes Highland). Suddenly, faster then my eyes could focus the two people, a mother and her teenage son where knocked down in front of us, just violently hurled to the ground. At which point I hear someone behind me say, “That was a 10 point buck”. Darting away from the people on the ground with tremendous force and speed is indeed a huge male dear with beautifully pronged antlers.
The teenager has responded with alacrity. Thinking he was being attacked, he has arisen quickly and is looking for the person who struck him, ready for revenge. His mother is far more dazed, having taken the brunt of the frightened animals getaway and although she is not severely hurt, she is shaken and repeats to my boyfriend, “A deer?” when he explains what hit her with such energy to send her sprawling. Doubtfully, there is a lesson here. About the cohabitation of people and animals, but I am loath to extrapolate it for you. Since I saw no articles on the incident, I figured I would post one myself. If you were witness to this rather bizarre occurrence, please let me know.
The teenager has responded with alacrity. Thinking he was being attacked, he has arisen quickly and is looking for the person who struck him, ready for revenge. His mother is far more dazed, having taken the brunt of the frightened animals getaway and although she is not severely hurt, she is shaken and repeats to my boyfriend, “A deer?” when he explains what hit her with such energy to send her sprawling. Doubtfully, there is a lesson here. About the cohabitation of people and animals, but I am loath to extrapolate it for you. Since I saw no articles on the incident, I figured I would post one myself. If you were witness to this rather bizarre occurrence, please let me know.
Monday, August 29, 2005
KCRW Nights Continue with Reggae
Last night I attended the Hollywood Bowl, enjoying songs from groups I would not have heard of if it weren’t for this diverse, eclectic Public Radio Station. On the bill was Israel Vibrations, Maxi Priest, The Hepcats, and Culture. A tremendous conglomeration of both old and new Reggae artists, both traditional and bordering on jazz or hip-hop, all contributing to a fun, relaxed ambience of fellowship and love for the evening. Sitting next to us on the right-hand side was an older man and his wife and teenage daughter. This man was decidedly not comfortable with the goings-on around him as there were a pair of twenty-something young men semi-covertly smoking marijuana in front of him. There was also a small family of a mother with her 2 teenage sons and older daughter. They seemed completely at peace with the groove and funky flow of the environment. The elder man and his family left before the headliners took to the main stage, but he did not leave my mine. I wonder what would have happened had he let go of the judgmental shroud that prevented him from reveling in the loving nature of the evening. Was it the illegalities happening around him that caused his skin to grow tight and let its discomfiture seep into his every move? Or was there something more then the naked eye could see?
I’ll never know, yet always wonder.
I’ll never know, yet always wonder.
DMB Concert
I went to my first Dave matthews Band Concert…wow, what an experience! There was a tremendous amount of energy feeding electrically between the audience and the musicians. It was one of the best concert experiences of my life, between the pure love pouring from the stage to seeing each and every expression cross the performers faces. We were 10 rows from the front enjoying the explosion of sound from the front house speakers. There were one song that just poured from Dave’s mouth with such sincerity that it captivated everyone: Grey Street. The band seemed to be humming with the loneliness of the main character of the song…aching with it in fact. Matthews has such an odd voice, somewhere between a growl and a whine. Animalistic, primitive in a way that is both exciting and frightening.
The last time I remember feeling that connected to someone onstage was with Danny Elfman from Oingo Boingo. I must’ve seen them over a decade ago in Northern California at the Warfield. This was pre-security days where there were only maybe 2-4 guards on the actual sides of the stage, so I was pressed against the apron of it staring deep into the blue-blue eyes of Danny Elfman as he sang to me, “If we don’t try to hard, we might start falling in love”. At which point he touch my outstretched hand and drifted back to stage center to finish the song while time stood still for me.
The two things that stand out to me about these moments in my life is seeing the absolute joy on the singers face and seeing the echo of that force of personality penetrating and entrancing the people seeing the show. The essence of spirit, of soul that unites the musical encounter. For a brief interlude you feel not as alone, as if there are no boundaries between your soul and those of everyone around you. It’s an realization of our shared hopes, dreams, fears, needs, and love. I have no doubt we seek out these communal events all the time. It’s why movies are so popular. The mutual expression of a vast dynamic of feelings.
Here's a funny article about Dave from the Onion.
The last time I remember feeling that connected to someone onstage was with Danny Elfman from Oingo Boingo. I must’ve seen them over a decade ago in Northern California at the Warfield. This was pre-security days where there were only maybe 2-4 guards on the actual sides of the stage, so I was pressed against the apron of it staring deep into the blue-blue eyes of Danny Elfman as he sang to me, “If we don’t try to hard, we might start falling in love”. At which point he touch my outstretched hand and drifted back to stage center to finish the song while time stood still for me.
The two things that stand out to me about these moments in my life is seeing the absolute joy on the singers face and seeing the echo of that force of personality penetrating and entrancing the people seeing the show. The essence of spirit, of soul that unites the musical encounter. For a brief interlude you feel not as alone, as if there are no boundaries between your soul and those of everyone around you. It’s an realization of our shared hopes, dreams, fears, needs, and love. I have no doubt we seek out these communal events all the time. It’s why movies are so popular. The mutual expression of a vast dynamic of feelings.
Here's a funny article about Dave from the Onion.
Book Review
The Confessions of Max Tivoli by Andrew Sean Greer-Audio book
This book is quite possibly the most beautifully written book on the human condition that I have ever read. Greer’s writing is remarkably observant, stark, and spot on when it comes to the emotions people experience throughout their lives. From the joy of a first lovers tryst to the unexpected death of a best friend, the writing puts you in the crashing feelings of the moment with such realism; it is difficult to remember this is a fictional novel.
The story is this: a young child (Max Tivoli) ages the opposite of his emotional and spiritual growth. That is; he is a boy when his body is that of a man and when he is 50 he is in the body of a 12 year old boy. This character development serves to highlight how much old age and infancy are similar. It also serves as a backdrop to the 3 times Max shares with his true love Alice. Once he is with her as a father-figure, once as a lover and husband, and finally as a son to her. He faces the frightening aspects of life; being alone, becoming an infant, and love itself with beautiful inevitability which makes the life so precious.
There is a heartbreaking epiphany for our main character very late in the book. He discovers that he was the “great love” of his best friend and only confidant’s life. He, Max Tivoli, while loving Alice since meeting her, has been loved by Hughie Dempsey, who in turn was Alice’s “great love”. All of these loves are strangely unfulfilled. For Max it is enough to be the one in love, which strikes me as alternately selfish and naïve. Yet, it is also moving and compelling, as love almost always is. This is a wonderfully written book, I highly recommend it.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Book Reviews of My Most Recent Reads
I have been reading a lot lately, well if you count books on tape that is.
Into the Wild by Jon Krakaur (audio book from the library)
I know that the author became a controversial figure for his recent work regarding the Mormon community, but in this earlier work he does an admiral job of conveying a marginalized portion of society, the urban nomad. People who take to their cars, campers, trains, or hitchhiking to explore the vanishing American frontier. These was a captivating read for me, since I have mostly lived a straight and narrow existence and have little contact with those on the fringes of society. The sparkling way that Krakaur tells the story of Chris McCandless and his unorthodox adventures prior to his ultimate demise in Alaska makes me yearn to travel and see the world without the constraints of money, family, or responsibility. If this book does not put wanderlust into your blood then I do not know what would. By equal measure this is a cautionary tail as well. What can happen when humans lack the humility to carry with them simple implements that allow one to navigate the wilds (ie. compass, basic map, adequate water and food). The writing is sensitive and illuminating, I highly recommend this for anyone who has wanted to “drop out” of suburbia.
Filthy Rich by Dorothy Samuels (lent to me by a friend in my book club)
This book is a spoof of the 15 minute fame that accompanies TVs new reality boom. Stealing from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire fame, the heroine of this story is Marcy Mallowitz who is dumped on national television when she answers the final $1.75 million Lifeline question wrong on the show for which the book is named. From there the story only gets wilder as Marcy is courted by every big name newsperson and talk show host in today’s media packed market place. Marcy becomes an American sweetheart and her 15 minutes of fame is exceedingly light and comical. Revealing in the hilarious prose used to describe the “adults only” orthodontist who broke off their relationship while lampooning the instant celebrity of reality TV Dorothy Samuel’s expertly engages the reader. This is an ideal book to take to the beach or read out by the pool.
Into the Wild by Jon Krakaur (audio book from the library)
I know that the author became a controversial figure for his recent work regarding the Mormon community, but in this earlier work he does an admiral job of conveying a marginalized portion of society, the urban nomad. People who take to their cars, campers, trains, or hitchhiking to explore the vanishing American frontier. These was a captivating read for me, since I have mostly lived a straight and narrow existence and have little contact with those on the fringes of society. The sparkling way that Krakaur tells the story of Chris McCandless and his unorthodox adventures prior to his ultimate demise in Alaska makes me yearn to travel and see the world without the constraints of money, family, or responsibility. If this book does not put wanderlust into your blood then I do not know what would. By equal measure this is a cautionary tail as well. What can happen when humans lack the humility to carry with them simple implements that allow one to navigate the wilds (ie. compass, basic map, adequate water and food). The writing is sensitive and illuminating, I highly recommend this for anyone who has wanted to “drop out” of suburbia.
Filthy Rich by Dorothy Samuels (lent to me by a friend in my book club)
This book is a spoof of the 15 minute fame that accompanies TVs new reality boom. Stealing from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire fame, the heroine of this story is Marcy Mallowitz who is dumped on national television when she answers the final $1.75 million Lifeline question wrong on the show for which the book is named. From there the story only gets wilder as Marcy is courted by every big name newsperson and talk show host in today’s media packed market place. Marcy becomes an American sweetheart and her 15 minutes of fame is exceedingly light and comical. Revealing in the hilarious prose used to describe the “adults only” orthodontist who broke off their relationship while lampooning the instant celebrity of reality TV Dorothy Samuel’s expertly engages the reader. This is an ideal book to take to the beach or read out by the pool.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
NPR Story Project
In my car I have been listening to a fascinating audio book called I Thought My Father was G-d. It is a compilation of tales written by everyday people for the NPR National Story Project. What makes this book so incredible is that it was a simple idea by someone to pool nationwide tales without pretense or any particular subject qualification and read them on the air. I’m so glad that I have the opportunity to listen to them at my leisure (my special thanks to the Public Library, a holy and incredible temple to literature and equality-since most anyone can obtain a library card). These small glimpses into people’s lives are at time joyous, painful, ironic, shocking, and magnificent. There are morality plays, passionate love stories, agonizing reflections on losing a loved one, and strange cicumstances of unbelievable coincidence. For a moment I become each and every author, taken in by the simplicity of the language. Seduced by the voyeuristic quality of the “I” narrative.
It is because of this that I’m looking at people a little differently. Wondering what small life experiences they would write about if asked. Or is each person waiting to tell their story and they have merely been unaware that there is an audience waiting with open ears to hear it. “Inquiring minds want to know!” With so many people experiencing life in vastly different ways, how can anyone not be intrigued and indeed captivated by this book.
It is because of this that I’m looking at people a little differently. Wondering what small life experiences they would write about if asked. Or is each person waiting to tell their story and they have merely been unaware that there is an audience waiting with open ears to hear it. “Inquiring minds want to know!” With so many people experiencing life in vastly different ways, how can anyone not be intrigued and indeed captivated by this book.
Monday, August 08, 2005
My man can cook!
Woo-boy, he put together some of the best ribs I have had in my entire life this weekend. Pork ribs, of course, cause he knows how much I like them. I am spoiled indeed. Especially since this isn’t a simple BBQ recipe. He marinates the ribs in mango juice before rubbing them with spices and then braises them in white wine. They are moist, tender, fall off the bone good. He made 6 racks, 2 on Saturday, 4 on Sunday, and they were incredible.
And guess what he has marinating in the fridge for tonight? Pork chops! Mmmmm!
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Update on Mom#2
Your prayers and good thoughts have worked. My second mother saw an oncologist who specializes in bones and he said that the type of cancer she has is EXTREMELY slow growing. Therefore he advised her completing the chemotherapy, but holding off on any further treatment (radiation or surgery) until and unless it became neccessary. Whew! This man has given us back hope and possibilities. How wonderful is that news? I honestly feel a thousand pounds lighter.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Personal Hero: Dr. Henry C. Lee
I am only 54 pages into my new book; Cracking Cases by Dr. Henry C. Lee and am already thoroughly immersed in the fascinating world of science that is used to solve crimes. Dr. Lee is one of my favorite people; he also has a highly regarded television show about his work called Trace Evidence which airs on Court TV. His method of objective fact-finding and dispassionate assessment of crime scenes is both dynamic and marvelous to watch or read about. He is a consummate professional in his work and his friendly manners in his TV Show mark him as a remarkable human being. That he has devoted so much of his life to speaking for those dead by criminal acts is a testament to his courage to speak the truth no matter what the outcome. This is why he is both a heroic individual and a compassionate man among men.
Forensic pathology has always fascinated me, perhaps it’s because I have a deep appreciation of death being part of the process of living. Don’t be deceived into thinking that acceptance of death as part of life means that I am any more looking forward to it then anyone else. My interest in merely clinical and I often considered going back to school to pursue my MD so that I could work in the Los Angeles Coroner’s Office. Being calm, detail oriented and not squeamish, I thought this would be an admiral job without glory, but much satisfaction. However, it appears that I got caught up in life and have neither the time nor money to go back to school. As time continues to pass, it is clear that I enjoy watching other’s do this job and related criminology work, their dedication and indeed the efforts they go to in order to obtain justice for those who have been murdered or abused is something that I can only imagine and admire.
This is the reason that Dr. Lee is a person I both respect and look up to. He is someone who shows a great deal of thoughtful analysis and unspeakable tenacity when faced with complex cases. He has testified in the O.J. Simpson Case, examined Laci Peterson’s remains, and worked on the JonBenet Ramsey investigation. He has a strong stance against spousal abuse and domestic violence, which I find honorable. I imagine he must have a difficult time working on such tragic circumstances, but in all that I have read about him he appears to cope well. It’s a difficult job and in many respects he is the perfect candidate to do the forensic With his PhD in biology along with his experience as a police officer his knowledge and experience go hand in hand. We need good people like this in the world to help victims of violence acheive some level of justice.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
More books!
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowlings
Last night I had the slight displeasure of finishing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. This is sad since now there is only one book left to read in the series currently available. This past read was very enjoyable yet J.K. Rowlings left me disappointed that Harry was unable to see the big picture. I think the book did a remarkable job exemplifying what it is like to be caught between childhood and adulthood. A time when adults do not give you the necessary tools you need to take care of yourself. This was a loss of innocence book in many ways and it was well written, especially when describing Harry’s conflicting emotions about his place in the world and his relationships with those around him. All together, this book presented a more grown up feeling for the three main characters and their friends. It will probably turn out to be a fast paced film, and so far it is my favorite of the series.
The Eyre Affaire by Jasper Fforde
The above was a Tuesday Next mystery, the first in the series and I admit, I was disappointed with the overall writing structure. I found the new world that Fforde created to be so different from ours that it was hard to take this books characters seriously even within the context of the story. Perhaps this is my deficiencies as a reader since I do have an enormous taste for fiction written about established franchises like Star Wars and Star Trek. No doubt, I will find that having the background of this book sees me perfectly prepared for Lost in a Good Book, the second book in the series. I’m willing to try it since this was if nothing else, an intriguing lesson in literature that has me re-reading Shakespeare and Dickens in my spare time.
Last night I had the slight displeasure of finishing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. This is sad since now there is only one book left to read in the series currently available. This past read was very enjoyable yet J.K. Rowlings left me disappointed that Harry was unable to see the big picture. I think the book did a remarkable job exemplifying what it is like to be caught between childhood and adulthood. A time when adults do not give you the necessary tools you need to take care of yourself. This was a loss of innocence book in many ways and it was well written, especially when describing Harry’s conflicting emotions about his place in the world and his relationships with those around him. All together, this book presented a more grown up feeling for the three main characters and their friends. It will probably turn out to be a fast paced film, and so far it is my favorite of the series.
The Eyre Affaire by Jasper Fforde
The above was a Tuesday Next mystery, the first in the series and I admit, I was disappointed with the overall writing structure. I found the new world that Fforde created to be so different from ours that it was hard to take this books characters seriously even within the context of the story. Perhaps this is my deficiencies as a reader since I do have an enormous taste for fiction written about established franchises like Star Wars and Star Trek. No doubt, I will find that having the background of this book sees me perfectly prepared for Lost in a Good Book, the second book in the series. I’m willing to try it since this was if nothing else, an intriguing lesson in literature that has me re-reading Shakespeare and Dickens in my spare time.
Book Review: The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum
What a horrifically engaging suspense novel, yet tragically it is based loosely on the fact of an incredible child abuse case from the 60s. This is the third book by the author that I have read and be warned that you must have a strong stomache to read the graphic prose that depict such suffering. It’s s true testament to Jack Ketchum that he is able to construct a terrifying novel with such amazing facets of human emotion making his books truly engrossing. The Girl Next Door was at times sad, disgusting, perplexing, and thought provoking. I suggest it highly to those of you who enjoy true crime even though it is fiction based closely on fact.
Mr. Ketchums focus for this story is David, a 12-year-old who is the witness of an entire neighborhoods violation and dehumanization of Meg. Ketchum puts his story in a 1950s context where although the crime is no less outrageous the naivite of this period in America gives a contrast that shocks the reader into wondering how such heartless child abuse could happen with half the neighborhood participating or knowing about it. It is a wakeup call in many ways that these blatant horros could be happening right around the corner from your house or mine this very instant.
Sylvia Likens is the real life 16-year-old that was tortured and ultimately murdered by the woman who was suppose to be caring for her. It’s a heartbreaking case that is featured in the Crime Library. When her body was found she had over 100 cigarette burns and multiple bruises from months of torture by one adult woman and various children who lived in the area (some as young as 11). The sick brutality that happened in this case makes me wonder at human nature and I’m reminded of my visit to the London Dungeon which contains numerous instruments of torture from the middle ages. It’s depressing to find that people are still hurting eachother, let alone children in this fashion. However, I will remain unpolitical at this time and not make mention of the many violations of the Geneva Convention that have occurred in recent times.
Mr. Ketchums focus for this story is David, a 12-year-old who is the witness of an entire neighborhoods violation and dehumanization of Meg. Ketchum puts his story in a 1950s context where although the crime is no less outrageous the naivite of this period in America gives a contrast that shocks the reader into wondering how such heartless child abuse could happen with half the neighborhood participating or knowing about it. It is a wakeup call in many ways that these blatant horros could be happening right around the corner from your house or mine this very instant.
Sylvia Likens is the real life 16-year-old that was tortured and ultimately murdered by the woman who was suppose to be caring for her. It’s a heartbreaking case that is featured in the Crime Library. When her body was found she had over 100 cigarette burns and multiple bruises from months of torture by one adult woman and various children who lived in the area (some as young as 11). The sick brutality that happened in this case makes me wonder at human nature and I’m reminded of my visit to the London Dungeon which contains numerous instruments of torture from the middle ages. It’s depressing to find that people are still hurting eachother, let alone children in this fashion. However, I will remain unpolitical at this time and not make mention of the many violations of the Geneva Convention that have occurred in recent times.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Books: The Great Love of My Life
This month the book club has wisely selected to read any of the already released Harry Potter books (since almost everyone was reading one already or about to purchase the newly released book, 6th in the saga). What a love of reading this series has inspired in children and for that I consider it to be a blessing to all of us. These books are inventive, imaginative, dark, and a little more grown-up then your run of the mill Sweet Valley High novella. What a joy to me to have more people discovering their love of reading. Out of all the many elements of my life, books have been the consistent source of learning, self insight, motivation, comfort, and entertainment for me.
Books are my best friends. They take me so many places, giving me the all access pass to people’s thoughts, feelings, dreams, and experiences. I am ever grateful to my parents for instilling in me the voracious adoration of the written word. Some days I dream about taking writing classes and making the leap from reader to author. There have been many times where I have been reading and thought to myself, “This could be my story”. It’s just so wondrous to know you are never alone when you have a good book.
The book club that I belong to meets once a month. Mostly we chat, eat delicious food, and share the stories of our lives. Beyond that we share a passionate love of literature. This has created such an appreciation of mine for what other’s read and tell me about. It’s as if it has quadrupled my reading capacity to hear other women share the latest book they are diving into.
Speaking of sharing, my cat tried to share Harry Potter last night by jumping onto the book and lying smack down in the middle of what I was reading. It was super-cute! That would be the most depressing thing about being a cat in my next life (jury is still out on whether I actually believe in reincarnation, but if I do, I want to come back as a cat, specifically one that is spoiled).
I’m going to figure out how to list some of my favorite books on this page for all of you dear readers. However, be warned that I like a myriad of books from rather diverse genres; sci-fi, non-fiction medical, biography, popular fiction, suspense, horror, and true crime. Not to mention my small collection of well illustrated children’s books.
Books are my best friends. They take me so many places, giving me the all access pass to people’s thoughts, feelings, dreams, and experiences. I am ever grateful to my parents for instilling in me the voracious adoration of the written word. Some days I dream about taking writing classes and making the leap from reader to author. There have been many times where I have been reading and thought to myself, “This could be my story”. It’s just so wondrous to know you are never alone when you have a good book.
The book club that I belong to meets once a month. Mostly we chat, eat delicious food, and share the stories of our lives. Beyond that we share a passionate love of literature. This has created such an appreciation of mine for what other’s read and tell me about. It’s as if it has quadrupled my reading capacity to hear other women share the latest book they are diving into.
Speaking of sharing, my cat tried to share Harry Potter last night by jumping onto the book and lying smack down in the middle of what I was reading. It was super-cute! That would be the most depressing thing about being a cat in my next life (jury is still out on whether I actually believe in reincarnation, but if I do, I want to come back as a cat, specifically one that is spoiled).
I’m going to figure out how to list some of my favorite books on this page for all of you dear readers. However, be warned that I like a myriad of books from rather diverse genres; sci-fi, non-fiction medical, biography, popular fiction, suspense, horror, and true crime. Not to mention my small collection of well illustrated children’s books.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Energy Crisis Averted!
Stupidity visits corporate America…yet again
We are all aware of the energy crisis affecting the great state of California. Let me tell you what the brilliant people who own the building I work in are doing to contribute to this dire situation. First let me set the scene for you, dear reader. I work in a 13 story office building in the heart of the impossibly hot San Fernando Valley. There are medium to large offices on the perimeter of the building with nice window views while the center of the floors are taken up with cubicles of workers, kitchens, copying areas, and conference rooms.
What has the management of my building chosen to do to help avert the rolling blackouts that are affecting so many of us (strangely enough I experienced one last night at my apartment complex-why do they always strike residential areas instead of the industrial center….hmmm, safety and security, perhaps. Hospitals are a gimmee, but then again, they have their own generators, so please do not lecture to me on why rolling blackouts are not applicable to one and all.)? No, they are not turning down the air conditioning. Not one bit. If anything it is colder then ever inside. Ironically people at most of their cubicles are using their heaters (more energy being used!). The geniuses here have turned down the lighting in all of the bathrooms. Hmmm…I wonder how much energy saving that is promoting. Do I sound unimpressed?
Seriously, people, how bad does the energy/oil situation in this country have to be before we change our ways? No, I do not drive a hybrid, but that is because I frequently drive long distances and these cars are not manufactured to last (remember electric cars? You can see why I am waiting for a “next generation” of hybrid to invest in this technology. Okay, okay, I'll get off my soapbox already.
We are all aware of the energy crisis affecting the great state of California. Let me tell you what the brilliant people who own the building I work in are doing to contribute to this dire situation. First let me set the scene for you, dear reader. I work in a 13 story office building in the heart of the impossibly hot San Fernando Valley. There are medium to large offices on the perimeter of the building with nice window views while the center of the floors are taken up with cubicles of workers, kitchens, copying areas, and conference rooms.
What has the management of my building chosen to do to help avert the rolling blackouts that are affecting so many of us (strangely enough I experienced one last night at my apartment complex-why do they always strike residential areas instead of the industrial center….hmmm, safety and security, perhaps. Hospitals are a gimmee, but then again, they have their own generators, so please do not lecture to me on why rolling blackouts are not applicable to one and all.)? No, they are not turning down the air conditioning. Not one bit. If anything it is colder then ever inside. Ironically people at most of their cubicles are using their heaters (more energy being used!). The geniuses here have turned down the lighting in all of the bathrooms. Hmmm…I wonder how much energy saving that is promoting. Do I sound unimpressed?
Seriously, people, how bad does the energy/oil situation in this country have to be before we change our ways? No, I do not drive a hybrid, but that is because I frequently drive long distances and these cars are not manufactured to last (remember electric cars? You can see why I am waiting for a “next generation” of hybrid to invest in this technology. Okay, okay, I'll get off my soapbox already.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Self Defense and Pet Peeves
Some of my sweet readers are aware that I have taken some hands-on self-defense classes. Hands-on mean the kind where you are encouraged to engage in full force physical combat kicking, punching, kneeing, and elbowing the male instructor who is wearing a full body protective padded suit with headgear. Over the course of 9 months I took the Beginners, Advance, and Weapons classes. Weapons is also known as defense against the armed assailant (someone who has a club, knife, or gun).
Having taken these classes, I find myself far more aware of my surroundings then I was B.C. (Before Classes). Perhaps that is why I have developed a special irksome pet peeve about the new stickers I see on the back of people’s mini-vans, trucks, SUVs, and cars. These cute little stickers identify the members of the family that, I presume, owns the vehicle. They show Mommy and Daddy, Big Brother, Little Sister, and even the Family Dog with their names printed neatly underneath. Have you seen them? They’re very popular here in L.A.
Each time I see these stickers I want to chase the owners down and have their IQ checked. Call me paranoid, but if some strangers knows your childs name from the back of your car, they have a better chance of persuading said child to come with them. To add to my point, mind you, I am not an alarmist, but these stickers could make a criminal aware of how many people live in your home.
There is enough needless information about all of us floating around out there on the internet, in the phone book, the library, the DMV, any number of services, systems, and sites. I am fully aware that if someone wants to hurt you or get to you the means are out there, but why hand it to them on a silver platter.
Alright, I’ll get down off my soapbox now. However, if anyone is interested in taking self defense classes, whatever your age, gender, or skill level, I highly recommend Impact. They have chapters in many different cities and train mostly women, but men too. It is highly challenging because of the verbal work, since your first line of defense is using your mind to talk your way out of having a physical confrontation. The bonding that happens in the classes is an incredible experiece because it is such a supportive environment that fosters emotional growth and self esteem. I wish very much that I had the opportunity to take the class prior to going to college, I think it would have helped me be wiser in some of the decisions I made then. Ah, hindsight is always 20/20 huh? Thankfully, there are a lot of parents having their teenage daughters take it.
Having taken these classes, I find myself far more aware of my surroundings then I was B.C. (Before Classes). Perhaps that is why I have developed a special irksome pet peeve about the new stickers I see on the back of people’s mini-vans, trucks, SUVs, and cars. These cute little stickers identify the members of the family that, I presume, owns the vehicle. They show Mommy and Daddy, Big Brother, Little Sister, and even the Family Dog with their names printed neatly underneath. Have you seen them? They’re very popular here in L.A.
Each time I see these stickers I want to chase the owners down and have their IQ checked. Call me paranoid, but if some strangers knows your childs name from the back of your car, they have a better chance of persuading said child to come with them. To add to my point, mind you, I am not an alarmist, but these stickers could make a criminal aware of how many people live in your home.
There is enough needless information about all of us floating around out there on the internet, in the phone book, the library, the DMV, any number of services, systems, and sites. I am fully aware that if someone wants to hurt you or get to you the means are out there, but why hand it to them on a silver platter.
Alright, I’ll get down off my soapbox now. However, if anyone is interested in taking self defense classes, whatever your age, gender, or skill level, I highly recommend Impact. They have chapters in many different cities and train mostly women, but men too. It is highly challenging because of the verbal work, since your first line of defense is using your mind to talk your way out of having a physical confrontation. The bonding that happens in the classes is an incredible experiece because it is such a supportive environment that fosters emotional growth and self esteem. I wish very much that I had the opportunity to take the class prior to going to college, I think it would have helped me be wiser in some of the decisions I made then. Ah, hindsight is always 20/20 huh? Thankfully, there are a lot of parents having their teenage daughters take it.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Life Lessons
This morning I was blessed to find survivor stories on the American Cancer Societies website. You see, my second Mom, my Italian Mother, the woman who has cheered me on, cooked me dinner, celebrated the wonderful moments with me and cried with me over the bad, her cancer is back. Nine years ago she fought a heroic battle against breast cancer. Five years after that everyone cheered her for finally being “cancer free”.
Ultimately that has not proved to be the case. This year the cancer has come back, but this time it is in her femur. Speaking with Mom#2 last week she was in good spirits, eating nutritiously, walking during the cool evening hours, and even joining a light fitness class encouraged by her oncologist. More then anything she sounded like she expected it. As if the big “C” had been pacing her through the spanning years, waiting to see her again. Her resolve and determination are there, but not her anger or denial like last time. Having beaten this before, she sees no reason why her success is not predetermined despite the severity of the situation.
She began her chemo medication this week and has not begun to feel any adverse reactions. There is talk of her having a metal rod inserted into her leg to reinforce the femur, but she will be getting a second opinion on this procedure next week to see if is the course of action that is best for her kind of cancer. Illness teaches us patience, appreciation for what we have, and the amazing power of people coming together to make the best of difficult circumstances. If you have the time or the inclination, please include Mom#2’s health and recovery in your prayers.
Ultimately that has not proved to be the case. This year the cancer has come back, but this time it is in her femur. Speaking with Mom#2 last week she was in good spirits, eating nutritiously, walking during the cool evening hours, and even joining a light fitness class encouraged by her oncologist. More then anything she sounded like she expected it. As if the big “C” had been pacing her through the spanning years, waiting to see her again. Her resolve and determination are there, but not her anger or denial like last time. Having beaten this before, she sees no reason why her success is not predetermined despite the severity of the situation.
She began her chemo medication this week and has not begun to feel any adverse reactions. There is talk of her having a metal rod inserted into her leg to reinforce the femur, but she will be getting a second opinion on this procedure next week to see if is the course of action that is best for her kind of cancer. Illness teaches us patience, appreciation for what we have, and the amazing power of people coming together to make the best of difficult circumstances. If you have the time or the inclination, please include Mom#2’s health and recovery in your prayers.
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