Saturday, July 30, 2005

on and on

i remembered where penelope is... although it doesn't excuse her absence per se... but she is a bit busy painting and moving in to the new house and being pregnant and having a fulltime job- something very similar to having a life. i don't know if amidst that I would pull out the laptop and blog but i might. no mercy. that's what i say. and since she's far away i can't harass her in person.

so the job is off to a slow lumbering start. very typical of my existence of late, easing into working one excrutiating hour after the next. yesterday i was in a funk. i felt like i was being spiritually flayed by demons.

damn that's a nice sentence. i'm just going to let that one stand by itself. needless to say after some ice-cream o'self-loathing i plucked up, dyed my hair and waited to pick up my director from the airport. i had to rush the dye job. so the roots are on the dye side of orange and not "blonde" but WHATEVER. it's not his fault. it's poor planning on my part. but then he had to wait for his bags so i ended up waiting a block away on a dark street reading my bible- bcs it was in reality, the only book i had in the car. as i was reading mark 9 and contemplating my ethereal injuries i decided, to kill time i could clean the car. a bag of trash later and realizing i needed a mini-vac to finish the rest the director called and i was glad he was at burbank and not LAX, although they've got that new cell-phone waiting lot.

two things we commiserated about were: being latch key kids and loving arrested development, which i'm watching a tape of and laughing out loud. the most hopeful thing he said was, if i'm going to stay this busy you'll have a job. good times, i say. good times. but more amusing to you, my loyal if not occassional wry and dismissive readership- on the way to his house, he says, "you're freaking me out." i say, "aw man i'm sorry i'll tone it down." yes, yes, my driving was "freaking" him out... he said it was mainly because he was really tired and his eyes were blurring so everything seemed to be accelerating at too alarming a speed. he says, just act like you have a friend that's tripped out in the passanger seat... amused now at the fact that he thinks i might have a tripped out friend who would ever have cause to be in my passanger seat while high- i tried to slow down and think of all the funny scenarios of he himself being tripped out and needing to be rescued from some errant diversion into la la land.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Tidepools revisited but not for snails...

A word on seaweed pressing from MSM: "During the mid-nineteenth century, the shorelines of England were rife with collectors, many of them women. Relegated by a predominately male scientific community to studying "lower plants", these early enthusiasts waded deep into the tide to collect specimens ..." Seaweed is catagorized by color: green, Chlorophyta; brown, Phaeophyta; red, Rhodophyta. This seaweed is literally "pressed" into 100% rag cotton paper over a few days as moisture is wickt? from the plants while in a press.

Garlic Jack

today the parents left for the gilroy garlic festival. i remember passing gilroy once i think, on the way to san fransisco and there were lots of stinky fields but it's all a distant memory. i have a list of things to do today, none involving garlic- some being basics like laundry and kitchen drawer organization. i was going to apply to be an "extra" today, but i went aw, man. how much do i not want to do that today. (you lazy sob.) at least i organized my bills, did some calc-ulating to see when the money must come or hell- fire and bill collectors. for instance, cingular, pretty hard core apparently. i was only one bill behind and come yesterday i was already getting a VM about "some issues" with my "account"... right.

so yesterday- let me try to lay this out simply... my dad had to go to small claims court bcs his "friend" of 25+ years decided to take him to court. my dad used to have to go to court all the time when he worked for mercedes- he's got testifying "down"... dad sells jack all the car parts in the yard. jack and sam (friends with jack for 35+ years) pick up the parts from the house over a period of 3 months. deal is closed. jack makes payments, jack is late on payments, stops payments... 1 year after the fact dad finds more parts. jack gets mad. dad actually tries to reconcile. their friends mediate. jack refuses. agrees. refuses again. jack thinks he's entitled to the parts. we didn't think so, jack's lawyer friend didn't think so. sam, ben and some other guy didn't think so and neither, apparently, did the judge... jack couldn't explain why he was entitled to the parts either and why he sacrificed his friendship on the alter of greed, and has put in jeopardy the friendships of at least 2 other guys, who might as well be brothers. i can only assume 1 of 2 things: insane or under the devil's thrall... this is one of those cases where "why" is screamed from the rooftops... it actually makes my heart hurt over how sad it is. my dad said, it's like i said, we all tried to tell jack he was wearing a dress but he wouldn't listen and then the judge ruled he was wearing a dress and then he had to listen.

errr? dress? it still doesn't answer the why. but somehow i imagine it with polka-dots.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

rose colored weather

man, i got nothin'. i don't know where penelope is. i want her to get her snark back. i was going to write an essay. i don't know why it's almost august... man. i'm tired. who cares. i don't.

i do know that: i'm 50 pages away from don quixote which is not as good as sliced bread. i've got 12 other books in the que. i'm going to pick up a retail job on the side. maybe. i know that i've got some stuff to do today but really it's not much and then the day is done and then it's the weekend and then what. i don't know. a weekend of hot temps. but you knew that. i knew that. more soon.

after i've regained consciousness. peace. out.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Laugh or ... go mad?

Okay, it's been a busy weekend. The first and foremost adventure is "Topanga Canyon"... this is a great cut through the mountains to the beach (for seaweed collecting naturally) instead of taking the dreaded 405 down to SantaMonica, UNLESS you are stuck behind a car that refuses to go fast. Now when i say fast I mean 1)the speed limit, seriously 2)faster than the speed limit. I have now been stuck twice, in as many weekends behind a WHITE 4 door that refuses to go fast. The first time, I was near road rage. She kept up to 10 cars trailing behind her thru the canyon. I escaped half way thru by racing over a double yellow toward oncoming traffic. I confess- I flipped her off, but I don't even think she saw me. And as I escaped to freedom there was no one behind me for miles. Poor people. Now, my second trip up the canyon, you wouldn't think that this would happen again but maybe the "universe" wanted to see what I would do this time... So almost immediately i find myself in exactly the same position: white car. i, the second car removed. i laugh. My mom gasps- i promise i'll be good, i say. i immediately fill in my friend. Then I start honking. Polite honks, and I laugh I'll the while I'm doing it- enjoying the ride through the canyon and the trailing car train of 6 cars behind this one and wonder, won't anyone else honk? No? Okay. I will. So sporadically I kept honking all the way through the canyon and laughed everytime we had to slow down to 15 miles an hour around a turn. I might've perhaps snapped but I prefer to think I had a good time. People, if you are a slow driver, get the *!$& over to the right! especially if you're in a canyon. There are always turn off lanes.

This is why they're out to get me though: how funny am I going to think this is if it keeps happening? So after escaping the neighbor's mariachi music- damned polka- we go to MOCA and see the Basquiat exhibit and don't get home until quite late. On the way home: I'm on the 5 freeway and I indicate my desire to change lanes: signal: Look, wait, approach. ON the approach a WHITE car starts speeding up. I am already half way in the lane. And as he clearly accelerated, to spite me, I stand my ground and get in the lane anyway. He then cuts over to the right and gets in front of me. Now he's clearly disrespecting me... which I cannot let go unaffronted. So i respond in kind. We do the look over- "yah, asshole, that's right. I see you. and i could give a fuck. you wanna go mary? yah, susie, i do." So I punch it. and so does he- we didn't get past 85mph- bcs I ran up against a truck and he ran up against a car and mine pulled ahead faster than his. I think I won the round. He cut over 3 lanes and took off going 90+. I confess: I thought about his car crashing and laughing, but you know the outcome tempers the reaction.

Let me take you to Sunday: I go to a comedy sketch club. There is an older woman next to me. The show starts. I laugh. I'm a loud, baritone laugher. I see her drilling darts into the side of my face. I think dude, what's her deal. I lean over to a friend, dude, that woman is talking about me to her friends. This is where it gets funny. She keeps doing it. At one point she almost swats my hands down when I clap. Clearly this is all a little too loud for her- the music, the singular laughing styles of me- but then someone else laughs outside the crowd laughter and she glares up behind her. She does this a few times and then the guy says, What's your problem. And she says, You! At this point I start laughing even harder. She starts complaining to her friends about the decibal level. Her head roves around for those errant laughers, those hard fisted clappers. She is not amused. She does not laugh. She grouches, she sticks out her thumb and gestures at me. Everytime I laugh, my friend thinks I'm doing it out of spite, but remember, comedy show. Comedy show funny= me laugh. She says to her friends, "I can't take it." Me neither lady. I'm about to have a talk with your two friends and it's going to involve polite phrases- (I wouldn't cuss at my elders) like, ie. Your friend is totally mental. She needs to go. Cut the chord. Bcs the whole time, God bless them, they were trying to get her to stay. She finally left at intermission, but I kept laughing. I think, when I put this in a movie, no one's going to believe me. On the way out her friends pass by me, looking up, shuffling by. I smile. Hey, no hard feelings smile. I don't know what she told you, but I'm just a loud laugher, seat shifter- and your friend is mental, get her some earplugs!

Quote of the night: from an ex-friend who I ran into by mistake- as I have successfully not seen her for quite a while. I play friendly though, remember, I've been laughing. I smile, I wave- I say, hey how yah been... On the way out she sort of hugs me and says, "It's good to see you again, as usual." I say, "You haven't seen me in 2 years."

Yes, yes I did say it. She was good right up until usual. Our other friends gape and blink and I roll my eyes. She stumbles around that foot in her mouth, says something about oh how time passes, and my isn't she getting old. And then she leaves. I shake my head. We pretend it didn't happen. We go on talking about war of the worlds and march of the penguins- someone refers to me as the Quentin Tarentino of the co-op... I laugh. I shake my head. I think, what kinda crazy weekend was this.

THEN on the way home i get stuck in some f-d up bowl traffic. I'm in the right hand lane, stopped at a light. There is no room between me and the curb. We go. Then a guy cuts into my lane from the right side! I look at him, sort of bewildered and outraged. He backs off, comes up to the left of me- rolls down his window, which I do as well. He starts yelling at me for cutting HIM off. We're stopped again. I say, "What the fuck are you talking about!" There were words. There was him being insane and me being, what the fuck are you talking about! I roll up my window. He speeds off. I speed off. I get ahead of him and continue the internal dialogue of wronged-ness. I shake my head as if my entire life was one bewilderment after another. And I laugh. I think, what the hell.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Confessions of a Clog Girl

Confessions of a clog girl...I just really like to say that. these are actually my second pair of clogs, albiet inferior from my originals that I actually got in Holland. I researched where I'd gotten them and I saved the info. So my third pair I'll get from the source, and not from Solvange. My first pair lasted me 10 years and bcs i abused them they finally met their end by splitting in the foot- when i watered i used to fill the clogs with water and slosh around in them. Well it just took a couple times where they dried out too fast and then, clogs no more, but matchsticks. This second pair however has already developed some horizontal stress fractures at the heel, for no apparent reason, as i have been very good to these clogs, despite their pointy toes and their roughly hewn interior. maybe they know that they're inferior. It's possible. Have i mentioned that clogs have fantastic arch support and because the wood is poplar (a soft wood) it actually conforms to your foot. Yes, good times i know. So this whole clog talk (heh) began when I was watching the movie about BASQUIAT. (David Bowie is really quite fantastic in it by the way.) One of the last scenes is Basquiat shuffling around the streets of NewYork in clogs, and to be ironic of course he labeled the poor clogs "titanic"... and i thought, i don't even need herion to be ironic and wear clogs. That made me feel good, and proud of my strangeness- Originality, it's the anti-drug you know. (that and a lack of insecurity, unfettered rage and despair.)

my chocolate is melting.

it's suppose to be "95" today. what am i suppose to do with that when the outdoor thermostat reads "100" and it's in the shade. this will occur, absolutely, today, as it occured yesterday. it will reach 90 in my ill-insulated house and the fan will feel that it's not even working. it will, in secret, cry, possibly overheat and die. i will take 2 showers. one at 1 and another at 3. i will eat 2 frozen beverages and not fail to have a cup of ice on hand. if you think about it i'm a sissy. it's not even "that" hot. really. and look, i'm not going to whine that i don't have air conditioning... (although i'm crying inside) but those that have it really can't complain about the heat, can they?

anyway that long intro above was really to express how my brain molecules slow down and i become incapable of work or anything nearing productivity. even folding laundry made me dangerously hot. and i only attempted two blankets, that must of course go in storage, lest i get hot from looking at them. it is now 83 degrees. i must get all emailing done soon, as i can feel my brain wanting to slug to a stop soon. exercising is out too. hmm. now that sounds really bad. i can't let a thing like heat beat me. when i was in chicago after a snow, i went jogging- probably not the best thing for my lungs. but eating some fresh fallen snow half way through my jog rocked. it was never so tasty. so i have to exercise. i can't give that up. besides i could just put on some velour jogging suit, grab a gun, and go jogging in a well-traffic'd area in order to lose weight. yes. mmm. yes.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

applause please

que: polite golf clap.
ready: i have a job : go.
yes:yes:yes: i do. sure it's sporadic and uncertain but it has promise.

I'm a "director's assistant" to a friend (tier 4) ie. new, moving from sphere of aquintance to more fully aquianted. Thanks to complaining non-stop to my friends (tier 2/3) that i was jobless, 2 of them, a coupled duo, recommended me and in a matter of a day I am now prospectfully employed. Part-time with a dash of industry vagueness ie. when his projects dry up mine do too. It's sort of like that vine analogy in the bible- hold on, i'll get it. (I'm being attacked by a click bug. A price for having an open window and no screen): "No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." I won't get crazy with the analogy but you get my point. Maybe that's the importance of community too. Hmm. Let's not be wild in our assertions. Now conversely, when his prospects rise mine will too, paycheck, hours, and possible glances at long hours, and trips to covina to pick up dry cleaning or something...

So tomorrow I'm going to go have "coffee" and pick up the key to the office. I feel mad with power. I must remember to tell him my two weaknesses: whining and sarcasm. Okay, they're not exactly weaknesses, but they're powerful and not everyone get's the joke... all sorts of things go wrong in farces, and it never goes well for the one telling the joke in those circumstances. Pies in the face, seltzer, and what not.

Mental noted.

Completely unrelated- I pinched the skin in my finger and a little pool of blood was left. It was there for a couple of weeks and yesterday i scratched at it, like you would a scab, and the skin flaked away and i removed the little disc of dried blood, and stared at the hole it came from. Weird. What's up with that? I should've saved the disc like i did my wisdom teeth...

Alright, I'm off to floss!
molasses disaster

killer molasses...

When I found out about it... you know I had to let you know about it.

The Great Molasses Flood
Commercial Street

If you had to choose how to die, drowning in molasses would probably not rank high on your list. On Jan. 15, 1919, 21 people, a dozen horses and at least one cat had no choice. A 58-foot-high, 90-foot-wide cast-iron tank holding 2.2 million gallons of molasses burst, sending a tsunami of the viscous liquid down Commercial at 35 m.p.h., destroying houses, commercial buildings and a part of the elevated railroad.

Stand here and imagine a molasses tsunami.Today, only a small plaque at the entrance to Puopolo Park commemorates the disaster. But climb up the terrace (which looks like a stone medieval rampart), look out over Commercial Street toward the harbor and imagine a three-story wall of molasses flowing past.

More info:

Dark Tide - Steven Puleo's book is the definitive work on the disaster and places it in its social and political context - in which the Powers that Be of the day were only too willing to blame anarchists instead of shoddy construction.

The Molasses Flood of January 15, 1919 - A very detailed account from Yankee Magazine, 1/65.

The Great Boston Molasses Disaster - Still more.

Monday, July 18, 2005


Okay, i was going to post something but then i decided to email and all my life-force is now gone. that and the cantelope got to me... so now i'm going to go sit outside and read don quixote out loud. people i'm on page 775. you won't have to hear about it for much longer. i will leave you with this latin phrase (bcs that's what dQ does for you): "Est deus in nobis, agitante calescimus in illo." (There is a god in us, he stirs and lo! we feel his fire.) Ovid, Fasti VI. 5.

Friday, July 15, 2005


A definition of Snark : (verb) To snark is to mock something or someone
while being witty, crotchety and quite possibly curmudgeon.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

I own a house

And I ate spaghetti and meatballs to celebrate. It was one of those places that just makes you feel like you're on vacation, with the cheesy Italian music playing, and families walking up in their pressed khakis and light blue polo shirts. And leftovers, lots of leftovers.

More pressing, though, is the recent pinpointing of my problem, the very source of my I Am Boring phase. The phase that makes me never want to write another word again, ever, in the attempts to create anything other than an email, or a grocery list. You see, it's my snarky voice. It went away, I'm convinced. I used to really believe, and maybe I still do, that yup, everything has been written about before, and there's nothing you can do to change that, and really, our common experiences are what bond us together. Basically, anything we ever go through, someone else is or has gone through, too. So you have to make it interesting when you write it down, and the way you do that is through Voice.

I used to have one, or I thought I did. Yet suddenly--well, not suddenly, this is an ongoing affliction--I feel no urge to record anything, because I feel boring. Like, Sub-Soccer Mom, Lump on the Couch, Floating through Life BORING. Everything's going pretty good in life, sure, with a few corporate exceptions, and... who cares. There's no story without conflict.

Yet, if you think about it, other than the particular category of life events I'm experiencing, I'm technically no more boring or interesting than before. The life events I had before, or the lack thereof, were surely just as cliche, even if they felt more tumultuous, or "deep," or whatever, at the time. (What were they, exactly?) That part is all perspective. It's just the voice that I've lost. The snark. Or even the hypersensitivity. Where did that go? The internal freaking out about elevators and having to socially interact. Now that was funny stuff.

I was thinking of leaving out a plate of cookies at night for Snarky Voice, to lure it home. Or shoes on the doorstep, or cheese in a trap, or even a tooth under my pillow. An empty basket? Snarky Voice, come home!I've got Willy Wonka candy, a big bowl of it. Runts, Nerds, a little Laffy Taffy...

I will wait. In the meantime, there are boxes of plates, vases, and rocks (yes, rocks) to be packed.
My dad's new car that he "bought" "for" my mom... it's a '56 Packard... a total boat. It is a commanding presence though, even if it does negatively impact density issues on the street. I have to say though, I preferred my dad's '39 Packard called "Elisabeth". It was burgandy. Now those cars were HOT. If i get married, I'm going to arrive in one of those.
My dog Zeppelin, pretty much what I feel like right now and my dog Bodo (Bow-dough) who is looking beautiful and tragic- since I won't let him come outside...

the mouse lived,

Have you ever had one of those nights that you turn from right to left in a never ending wash cycle- and you feel that maybe, just maybe, unconsciousness will never come. Me too. And even worse I woke up feeling the same way. It was sad. I didn't think about it at the time but I really shouldn't have had a vitamin water specifically slated for "Energy" when I had no intention of using it, and late in the evening- however I did have a spirited bike ride around 9:30 to 10:30pm... but then i didn't do anything else. And thus my caffeine sensitive-self suffered. (Not that it would've mattered, since the crack was already running thru my viens) Who wants to wake up this way. Not I. I could blame "National Treasure" which I did watch. Hey, my dad owns it. And it's hot in my non a/c'd house. I needed a summer flick that I could watch with my frozen energy drink and it worked perfectly. Nicholas Cage is fairly charming, although forever odd looking and that one guy who looked like Topher Grace and wasn't- was funny. The rest of it, ehh.

So today I'm escaping to the beach. Scorching in the southland is not as character building as it sounds.

Jul 14 Mostly Sunny
92°/67° 0%

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


perhaps i'm employing hyperbole. when am i going to be able to use that in a sentence, even if the meaning isn't correct (which it's not)... but it's not exactly amazing is it.

But anyway- I'm sleepy. Probably from dreaming of being in a gigantic warehouse of crap, not literally, but imagine great-aunt millie's garage sale and then merge that with the sort of work and hazard conditions of hauling fish off the coast of alaska and you have my dream. i don't know why i needed to work there but escape was somehow imminent. i actually had to share my bed with 3 other people. i slept on the end, after trying to get out of it by sleeping on the floor but my "superviser" wouldn't have it. i kept looking for things i would want to take and i knew it was only a matter of time- the the thing that struck me most was the impossibility of the job- it was endless. it didn't seem there would ever be an end to sorting. I have to say my dream the night before was waaaay better. I was a Victorian lady and i was strolling about gardens, falling asleep in soft cushy grass in the dappled light of the late day- and also curiously, walking through shops- like odd gift shops and one carpet and fabric shop... what exactly is my sub-conscious trying to tell me. I might have been looking for someone then too- not quite like escape but close.

In other news of the tragic: Satellite tv is OUT in my room.
Actual common place tragedy: My 'mouse' died without explanation or even a swan song 4 days ago. My dad, who is remiss at being my 'tech' support grumbled , and gave me his, giving him an excuse to buy a fancy wireless one... so this morning my cat marley (featured in the 'corners of the garden' pic) decided to rub up against my vase of dahlias and knock it over, all over the new 'mouse' causing it to malfunction- and cease to actually be of use. i tried to pry it open but apparently manufactuers don't think you should be able to do anything and should instead, spend another $25 to relace it. Luckily as it turns out, we had a spare one- but the tally of the day is Cat 1, Mouse O- it's hanging up to dry, but we can't promise you anything.

Levity: Sarah's blog, which she should totally make "public" by the way elevated my jobless spirits. I should probably read it again, as they seem to be sinking... there were tons of little clams at the beach, brightly colored and inching their way into the sand. pretty cool. who knew clams could move so fast. there was a guy in the water, sort of snorkeling and i kept glancing over as if he was a dead body- he was just collecting shells though and i wondered if i wanted to see anything in there that clearly. perhaps i did.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Number Three

PREMISE:...a penguin, a cheeseburger, a lack of sunscreen, and a freakishly large zit named Herb...

12:35 PM

THE STORY: It was suppose to be the most fantastic day ever or at the very least a very good facsimilie. The day started out with promise for Meghan, who usually was fatalistic about such enterprises. But this was her day, a day that was set aside specifically for "me" time. She imagined that if she were to ever have a boyfriend this would be the perfect set of events on which said boy should be taken on for said date. A drive, lunch, an aquarium visit- perfect. But the lack of said boy could never, she vowed, ever, be allowed to stop her from questing on perfectly sterotypical date adventures.

Meghan put on a skirt she would never wear, and a shirt she'd never wear- with that particular skirt- and so assembled, she felt fashionable. And it always worked. She gave herself one last look in the mirror, and approved. Drawing close however, she observed a large, and now that she grimaced, painful bump developing on her chin.

"That's why you shouldn't touch your face," she said, unconsciously scratching at it. "Well hello -erb," (She dropped the H you know.) "So we meet again. I'll bide my time, and when you're not looking, off with your head."

She applied some cover-up and Herb chuckled at his fortune. Just on the right side of suffocating, he would flourish.

Grabbing some cash, i.d. and keys- not to mention the also fashionable sunglasses, she was out the door. The thwack of her flip-flops could be heard receding down the hall, and then coming closer again, as Meghan had decided that, without at least a bag, it would be an ill-fated adventure. And her bag, after-all, had everything.

In her car with gloss applied and the perfect music on, which was just a touch of alternative rock and something that belonged on a soundtrack, she made her way to the aquarium. At a traffic stop she noted that Herb was asserting his presence so she dosed him with some face ointment, and fluffed her hair.

The aquarium was too expensive but it was a worthy indulgance because they had that antarctic penguin display- there was suppose to be some movie about the life of penguins and how cool they were, but she couldn't remember the name. She had until previous, no real exposure to penguins, save from national geographic and cartoons.

Standing in front of the display she waited patiently as the school children, and mothers and fathers, and children and couples clasping hands, and that one creepy guy in the cardigan- they all filtered past. It was dark and all her focus was on what she could see of the penguins, sort of waddling around, not doing much of anything. Her first instinct was too move on but she resisted, sort of hovering and returning to the same spot. Her theory was that most people really didn't pay attention to anything other than themselves, so she was more than likely invisible, opposed to the single freak who keeps staring at the penguins.

"Hey," came the flat voice out of the void.

Meghan squinted into the dark and saw a finger pointing toward the penguin enclosure. She gasped and ran toward the tank. A penguin was floating face down in the water, bobbing with the waves. Some of the penguins began calling out and waddling over to the edge.

"Oh my god, is it dead? We should get someone." said Meghan. She kept hearing someone screaming in the background, and it was her inner child. She turned and shoved the pointy-finger-"hey" guy and said, "Go get someone!"

"Oh, okay," he said startled.

And like that the exhibit was closed- temporarily.

"Ha, you're still here."

She looked up with disgust, her feet curling in outrage- in her flip-flops.

"No, I mean, I just-" He put up his hands, "I did go get help. You really like penguins?"

"Is this going somewhere?"

"One of those PETA freaks, okay, I'll light a candle for the dead bird when I say my prayers tonight. I didn't see you run for help."

He seemed to be goating her- this annihilator of moments- but then she got up and walked out. Without her bag. She was furious and starving, and didn't notice her bag was missing until she went to pay for her taco combo and her wallet wasn't anywhere to be found. After paying for the meal with her precious laundry quarters and the lint filled change from her car ashtray, she thought about driving back to the aquarium. A few tacos later and she couldn't bare the idea, and when she finally did call, they couldn't find her bag either.

The next day after compulsively cleaning her apartment and writing a full intineray of all the missing and potentially exploited items in her bag, she turned on the Tv. And in the local news there was a brief story about a penguin who was saved by a concerned man aka: local hero: who alerted staff to something "amiss" in the exhibit that day- and he had her bag slung around his body like a messanger bag. She proceeded to brainstorm about how to find out where he was and get her bag back. She went to the fridge for icecream and there was a gap of several hours, blocked out and not remembered. She was attempting to annihilate -erb when there was a knock at the door.

She went to the door, but no one was at the peephole. She opened it and stepped out, stumbling over her bag. She slung it around her body and ran out the door, chasing the man who repelled down 2 flights and on down the street- fairly quickly (let's not exaggerate and say like lightening). She gave chase at full speed and finally caught up to him when he stopped for a traffic signal. He screamed, or rather went, "Ahhh." Then, "FUCK!" once he realized it was her. She then proceeded to turn around and retch over a low fence.

Ryan held his hand up to his mouth in horror, but then instinctively went to grab her hair for her, and then hesistated and said, "weird". He backed away slowly and his second instinct was to run, but then he felt bad, because from the looks of it, something was very wrong with her. When she was done, which was a small eternity, he took her by the arm as she feebly stepped back, clutching her stomach. He looked furtively around, and led her to the nearest place with benches, which was a local burger stand. He got some water for her and sat staring at her like he would an injured animal.

"Thanks," she said.

Ryan nodded, not sure how to proceed,"You run fast," he said.

She smiled and said, "You do too."

"Do you normally go all Linda Blair when you run?"

"Only when I've just eaten a- a lot of ice cream."

He nodded, as if that explained everything so far, and the longer they sat there, a small faint rumbling began in his stomach. And she reached into her bag for gum.

"It's all there. I just looked into your wallet to get your address."

"Oh, Gum," she said, "Do you want something," she said getting up and walking over to the menu.

"Oh, um-"

"It's okay, I'll buy. It's least I could do."

He sat there and all he could manage to say was 'okay' and 'cheeseburger', marveling at a girl who'd just spent 10 minutes puking, and then was proceeding to buy him food. He didn't know what to make of it, and she even got him fries and a Dr.Pepper. He then also managed to tell her his name and eat the burger, saying delicious and 'damn' a couple of times, so much so that she laughed and stole one of his fries. He offered her more.

"All I can handle is one I think," she said, eating the fry section by section.

"So, aw man. I think I'm getting burned."

"Here," she handed him a small bottle of SPF and continued to drink her water.

He didn't really need it, but applied it anyway and handed it back. He couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

"So, we should celebrate huh."

"About what?" she said.

"The penguin, you know, it lived."

"Yah. We should. What would be appropriate for resurrected penguins and your new found fame?"

"Well we could, uh, go to a movie or go get seafood or something."

"Okay. So tomorrow is okay?"

"Awesome. Yah. Tomorrow. Can I walk you home?"

Ryan got up and threw the trash away and Meghan swept the crumbs off the table.

"Yes," she said.

"Cool," he said.

(and SCENE)

good morning,

this is a quick post before i

1) do morning yoga- it's a far out concept. i haven't embraced it. i'm just trying it. if only i can get my ass up from in front of the computer. this of course is delaying it, and probably subconsciously in hopes that i won't do it- that i'll find it too late in the morning or too something, anything to avoid the good stretchy-ness.

2) shower, use tangerine scrub in order to go outside and attract hummingbirds.

3) play with dogs

4) take some pictures

5) work on script, website... there's a list of uncompleted bullet points.

6) read (it's a never fail)

Minor Confession: Have post-it-note from year ago up on my desk. It says: Build Website, Finish G-ma photos, Contests/Grants, CA paintings... Good to know I have the same goals as last year and that I'm actually working on them. Sure there was a year delay but perseverence takes a lot of time and there's no accounting for derailments or delays. That light in the tunnel might be an on coming train but I prefer to think there's an access door I jimmie open just in time.

Hopeful Realization: Sure God might be taking me toward a cliff, as in, how much trust is trust before i start the panic, fear and loathing button...(regarding a job, and a number of other things, let's be honest.) but as someone reminded me on Sunday- maybe He's leading me toward water- which would not involve drowning, and involve instead something like living, life-giving, and nourishing- which is something I soak up from the sun daily, or I should anyway.

Saturday, July 9, 2005

war(s) of the worlds

here are some random things we learned from the original and the remake, both viewed within a 24-hour time period:

if the world is in trouble, like serious trouble, with the pavement cracking and giant, laser-beam-shooting tripods emerging from the earth, and buildings toppling, planes crashing, neighbors instantly vaporized, then go to boston. preferably a brownstone in boston. you will be safe there. be sure to don a sweater and smile vapidly.

if the well-dressed lady starts screaming hysterically on a dime, don't worry about smacking her like the lady in birds. she'll snap out of it eventually. and her hair will never move.

if on your quest for safety you end up in a watery, rat-infested basement, knock off tim robbins asap. he's crazy.

when the world is ending, you really don't need to eat, or drink water. ever. priorities, people.

if you absolutely must let your son run over the hill because he "has to see it [the aliens attacking, the death and destruction]," make your sophie's choice as quickly as possible and grab your daughter who needs protecting. your son will actually be fine and meet you in the end at the boston brownstone. even though you left each other somewhere in the vicinity of new york city, and neither of you have a car, or other valid means of transportation aside from your feet, and seemingly only a few days pass, through most of which you're squatting in the rat-infested basement with crazy tim robbins. you'll get there, to boston, the brownstone. on foot.

beating out alien attackers, imploding buildings, humans lasered to dusty bits, and the world as we know it coming to an end, and taking the title of Scariest Thing Ever is...the common cold.

conclusion: these movies both ROCK.

don't be a lemming!

As I work on my 3rd story installment i'm left with the fear that my second story sucked- that's okay, i know it didn't- it wasn't the work of raymand carver but i'm going to have to persevere anyway... that's why i got into flash fiction. always too impatient to get to the end. ( besides my mom likes it ; ) so the weather report is:
Jul 9 Mostly Sunny
82°/60° 0%
82 °F
Don't Forget Your Sunblock

Tuesday is suppose to be 90. Man it sucks to not have a/c some times. I say it builds character but I'd be lying if I said I thought that was a good thing- are we tough by choice or circumstance?

Anyways. I'm going to go eat brk-fast, go to the beach for the completion of my "super-tan" and finish Don Quixote- so help me. Peace out.

Pen, why don't you blog something (the dog who eats fireworks is pretty hilarious, albiet minuetly terrifying- sort of like: how much does THIS SUCK: (a friend passed this along to me, okay it's sort of funny too. I know, i know, i need to be more sensitive.)

450 Sheep Jump to Their Deaths in Turkey

The Associated Press
Friday, July 8, 2005; 9:30 AM

ISTANBUL, Turkey -- First one sheep jumped to its death. Then stunned Turkish shepherds, who had left the herd to graze while they had breakfast, watched as nearly 1,500 others followed, each leaping off the same cliff, Turkish media reported.

In the end, 450 dead animals lay on top of one another in a billowy white pile, the Aksam newspaper said. Those who jumped later were saved as the pile got higher and the fall more cushioned, Aksam reported.

"There's nothing we can do. They're all wasted," Nevzat Bayhan, a member of one of 26 families whose sheep were grazing together in the herd, was quoted as saying by Aksam.

The estimated loss to families in the town of Gevas, located in Van province in eastern Turkey, tops $100,000, a significant amount of money in a country where average GDP per head is around $2,700.

"Every family had an average of 20 sheep," Aksam quoted another villager, Abdullah Hazar as saying. "But now only a few families have sheep left. It's going to be hard for us."

((so now instead of lemmings we can say, "What?! if a sheep jumped off a cliff you would too?!"))

Thursday, July 7, 2005

the woman and the house (it's a story, yes. it's long and no i didn't edit it)

PREMISE: Suppose a woman is restoring an old house, prys back the horrid '70's paneling in the parlor and finds a door...where does it lead? what does she find?


Alex always said she was crazy. She preferred the word, 'driven'... It was after all the work of your hands, and the labor of your heart. This was suppose to be their project. She even remembered saying, I won't touch this horrible shag carpet without you. He had assured her with promises, promises- and none of them fulfilled. Then one day she came back to their new house with a second heap of supplies from Home Depot and Alex wasn't anywhere. The new puppy that he and Janice had just bought was yapping and whining from behind a bathroom door. She let the puppy out, furious, ready to stalk about the house and have an all out screaming match, until she saw the empty medicine cabinet. She ran outside with the puppy yipping at her heels and saw the garage was empty of his car too. She called his cell and it was turned off.

A few hours later she was wandering through the house with a beer in hand, hating all the faux wood cabinets, the shag, the furniture that weighed a ton, the fermica counters. There was instant regret, and all the past indignities surged upon her until her heart was covered with bitter blights, and wronged moments. She pushed her hand to her chest to massage the ache but it remained. She called his cell phone again and still nothing. How, how could he do the leaving? After all- and how was this the last of the last, past the point of not caring. There was a note for her in the empty parlor, taped to the brown wallpaper- it had tiny orange, yellow and white flowers on it. The parlor was one of the last rooms to be renovated because Janice reasoned, it was the easiest.

Janice stood there, struck. She blinked. The audacity! She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and then tied it up in a bun. This was too much. There was a momentary reflex, where she felt like running out of the door or screaming. This filled her with shame. Scared,of a small note, a very intimidating note, taped to the wallpaper she hated, written by the man she wanted to strangle. Affectionately, I'm sure.

She opened the note. There wasn't anything else to do, and disgust can only carry you so far in the course of action. The note, well what did it say after all? Does it matter? Some would say that it does. Because in the context of a life there must be a recorded switch- where you went this way, and i went that way- and this is why, these are all things I can no longer love about you. Wedge upon wedge was placed upon Janice and Alex in the course of their four year marriage- from jealousy and potential marital slips, to disrespect, contempt, and the end result was two people who no longer knew each other, who took each other for granted in all the minuet ways that drive you to despair and rage. The note, in effect, said, because these are the words she took to her heart: I don't want to do "this" anymore. I'm tired. I'm lonely. I hurt and you don't care.

There were other words, cliched ones. Ones that simplify things so painfully that you gasp at the vague absurdity of even having written it. How could this sum up: the end. As she stood there, re reading it and reading it again- trying to glean the why and never fully grasping it, she gave up. It wasn't because it was a long note and his arrogance had made him wordy, which it had, but because she knew whatever it was that was breaking inside her was mostly pride and not love. He had actually dared to break the pretense, but it wasn't all was it? Some of it had to be real- this coming together, their dog, this house... but sometimes things bloom most before they die, and she never wanted to think that of their marriage- that this commitment was a lie and not a promise.

Three years later she lived in the same house, with the same wall paper in the parlor:

"Janice, why is this room empty?" says the sage-like Sam.

"It's the last room," says Janice.

"For what? Your dog or what? This is shit. Don't give me that look. I've been dating you for 2 years and I get to say that!"

"You don't get to say whatever you want!"

"What? Just because you don't like it? Great. Great attitude. Look this, this is something-it's screaming symbolism. I get it. Why don't you?"

Needless to say, there was a lot more yelling, but Sam never let the insults dip to low, seemed to know when he was close and never wanted to hurt her. That was the beautiful thing about Sam, and he loved the dog, which she was sure was something she could trust. This time. He called her Jan too, and Janna Banana, and said things that swept her out of herself. Janice could say, that what she had, was something like love. But what she couldn't give up was, when he left, she wandered around the house with a beer to observe all the perfect things about it- like the paint, the design, the gorgeous molding and the antique fixtures...the work of her hand and the labor of her heart, but she avoided the parlor like the plague. Her chest tightened when Sam lured her in there.

So at the most dramatic moment possible, with a storm gathering outside and the lights surging she stepped into the parlor. She thought about what she could do to it, but didn't want to waste the beer. She didn't have to. A piece peeled off the wall on it's own. That made her sad for a minute but the wall underneath was mesmorizing, just because it wasn't brown. She ripped at the paper all over room until she'd chipped 3 nails, spilled her beer, cursed and caused the dog to go barking all over the house twice.

A couple days later she tackled the paneling, and she tugged at the last piece- she yanked really hard. It came loose, along with a portion of the top wall, and took her down with it. She jumped up, pissed off, and examining the cut in her hand from a nail. She stood there staring at a mysterious door set back into the wall, like she stared at the now forgotten note. There was even a brass handle. She looked around for a witness, but there wasn't any. No Sam, no dog. She tried the door, like it might just swing open to something unimaginable but it didn't. She slammed her shoulder against it and laughed when it didn't budge then either. So over the next couple days she set chipping away at it, and didn't think to call Sam or any of her friends, because it was hers, all hers, until it was opened. Finally with a heavy soaking of oil and a few more shoulder jabs the door opened with a loud groan, and a smell that sent her into a sneezing fit. She did a happy dance, that denotes victory to be sure. She grabbed the mag-flashlight and set foot upon a very dusty landing. There were steps. A long series of steps, that led down. This is a silly place for a basement, she thought.

Janice went down the steps, mindful of each creak and sway of the wood steps. And when her eyes had a adjusted she noticed it wasn't as dark as she thought. There was purple light filtering through, and bits of glass skylight overhead at the far end of the room. She swung her flashlight around and saw random tools, a moldy wicker chair and stacks of newspaper, and many little odd bits of shelves and drawers with who knows what they contained.

"That's a hazard," she said, circling the newspaper with her flashlight.

"This is ridiculous," she said, half disappointed it was just a room that led to nowhere, and one that didn't make any sense. She tried another hatch and rolled her eyes when it didn't bust an inch. She stomped back upstairs and went outside to walk around the house. She hadn't quite gotten to the landscaping yet, even though she'd hired people to do the exterior of the house- and overgrown would've been an understatment, even if she could hack her way around the house. It'd been her great aunts.

Janice went back down the stairs one more time and flung open some of the drawers. A few discarded photographs and unreadable paper.

"What a waste."

The words choked her as she said them. Alex had thought that. He'd thought exactly that.

"That's not the point," she yelled back at herself.

And with each stomp back up the stairs, she said, "It doesn't matter, I'll make it livable. It'll be beautiful," until one of the steps gave way and her foot went through.

She managed to extricate herself and crawl back up and into the parlor.

"Okay, I'm gonna need a little help here." She reached in her pocket for her cell and called Sam. When he came he found her lying on the parlor floor.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Sam said, "What the hell happened to you? You're bleeding on your beautiful wood floors."

"It doesn't matter," she said, "it's just going to take a little longer than I thought. Can you get me a beer, and maybe some bandaids?"

"Anything," he said.

an aside.

i'm working on my second story installation. you can read the complete first story under "comments" of: "dude, come on you guys, don't make me beg."

in other news why do people think sci/fan is horrible? it really isn't. sure when people are talking i'm quietly referencing antecdotes from buffy and angel... and not sharing them. but some of it is actually quite good writing. and just bcs you mock something doesn't mean you don't enjoy it. logan's run for instance... "let's take our clothes off so we don't freeze." come on that's funny... and the plankton from the sea part was frickin scary. i suggest we all go watch the seminal "forbidden planet" and think about what we're saying.

Tuesday, July 5, 2005

Fourth of July Evening Events

1) The black dog cowers. It is the only day of the year one will find her indoors by choice.
2) The chocolate lab does the opposite of cowering. Tries to eat a firework. Has face nearly blown off, twice.
3) Pretty fireworks in the air!
4) Husband pulls out back, worst time in about a year, in effort to pull away chocolate lab from having face nearly blown off (twice).
5) Eat tasty things, like hot dogs and hamburgers! All necessary condiments present, thankfully.
6) Forgot to make brownies, boo.
7) Was sad about not drinking.
8) Had complimentary glass of wine, figuring one every few months can't hurt. Kid won't come out with three eyes or anything, really. But wine tasted like vinegar, sort of. Made stomach all twisty.
9) Looked on longingly at the darts game. Why didn't I play? Was chatty enough, though, which is unusual for Sober Me.
10) Made exit at approximately 10:30 PM...watched fireworks on TV for approximately 5 minutes. What is the point, really? That have to be
and booming
and up close
and real
to be any fun at all.

story, story

keep those story suggests coming! don't rely on other people. think of something! mendacious is depending on you!

Sunday, July 3, 2005

Good Evening.

So we went'a bbq'in' today. Twas a sweet time. I decided to volunteer on the grill and my initial product of meat was substandard- ie. over cooked. I blame the thinness of the meat and the hotness of the grill and the condiment person was late- If you're a condiment person, like, you should never be late. Just a personal philosophy. But perhaps I should've been more patient. The weight of the blame lies on me. I should've apologized to everyone, but I recovered and went on to make well cooked meats. Man, next time I'm bringing my own spices too. Why do I feel bad about overcooked meat. Maybe it's a pride issue. I need to forgive me and feel okay with judgement from my peers. I avow to do better next time.

Saturday, July 2, 2005

Dude you guys, Come on. Don't make me beg.

(sniff) I'm crying inside.

I'm taking requests, If you'd like a story about anything please let me know. It's sort of like those games on those sketch comedy shows... so feel free to give me a couple suggestions. ie. I want a story about or involving [x/y]. Also feel free to demand things of Penelope. I can also do pictures but I don't promise anything... [also, also, so as not to repeat the yearbook fiasco- i am serious about this. i want to write and i want you to help me]...

Sugar, Sugar...

Today I was going to write about the June Beetle- pretty cool harbingers of rotting fruit, the end of fruit season and so on but since we did have such a poor harvest there wont be any in our yard this year. the horror. i know.

Instead I'll comment briefly on how freaky (oh yes.) it is that we're now in July. Sure I may be aghast at times passage frequently, as in every year, but really, this is all just too much. whatever. I'm boring myself with the thought of time. It's redundant isn't it to be constantly surprised by something and then don't you just say, oh get over it? Time is time. That's obviously why I'm not a philosopher.

And on a side note I'm using this fancy tangerine scrub that has sugar as exfoliant. I imagine at any moment i'll be swarmed by hummingbirds. At least if I find sugar granuals that i haven't managed to scrub off I can lick myself clean. Currently I'm on the phone with American Red Cross. Feel free to re-read my story of Jan 16th of 2005 about the wonders of blood donating... I am however resistant to donating blood again, but it is perhaps that I am being childish and cranky. Do read the post and I'll tell you why later. It does save lives you know. A woman I know had to reschedule a surgery bcs they didn't have enough of her bloodtype available at the hospital. Food for thought. Ew.

Friday, July 1, 2005

cat bait: my greedy cat turtle came in quietly, and demurly lurked by the chair in the living room. I passed her 3 times and she was paying very careful attention to me. I knew she had something but i wasn't sure what. Then I heard the little cat cries that make me know she has prey, so I investigated. When she saw me she lunged for the lizard trying to eat it down before I got to her, but she was distracted so the lizard escaped. Safety first you know, so I donned some gloves, picked up the rather sluggish lizard and carried him outside. pretty cool eh? sort of a squishy looking lizard wouldn't you say?