Ordinary Extraordinary

Endings and Beginnings

Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on,
with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us.
                                                                         - Hal Borland

Yesterday morning I drove up the 101 to Camarillo, a pretty suburb tucked between the Santa Susana and Santa Monica Mountains at the south end of Ventura County. The weather was absolutely beautiful, clear and bright with a gusty wind that blew puffy clouds across the sky and encouraged the hawks to dip and glide playfully through the valleys. Though it was cold in the shadows, the sun was warm and the air smelled faintly of sweet grass and woodsmoke.

It was the kind of day that would make my friend Travis take a deep breath, tip his face up to the sun, and say with eyes closed "Damn, you've gotta love California in January."

It was the perfect day for his funeral.

If a man's worth is measured by the number of his mourners, then Travis was a rich man indeed. So many showed up that the funeral home had to open a second room and still there were people crowded silently together in the aisles and hallways. Several of us mused at one point that there must not have been any television happening in Los Angeles yesterday; the entire industry seemed to be in Camarillo.

Death at the end of a life fully lived is sad certainly, but death in the midst of life is a tragedy in the truest sense; there are no words of comfort for the loss of a man whose thread was so brutally and unexpectedly cut short.

As I sat with my head bowed at the end of the service, listening to the rabbi saying Kaddish, I let my mind wander through my memories of Travis. No one was better at living life, at being absolutely present to all of its joys and sorrows, than Travis - his light was so bright, and it warmed everyone who crossed his path. When I looked up from my reverie, I could almost picture him standing at the back of the room, eyes twinkling as he waited for the appropriate moment to gesture for all of us to go out, have a drink, and share some good-natured laughs at his expense.

I will miss his joie de vivre so much.

Driving home, I got to thinking about my own life and what I want from it. The New Year is traditionally the time to examine daily life and make changes, but I let my mind embrace more abstract ideas as I drove. Instead of evaluating myself in terms of list and accomplishments, I focused on what type of life I'd like to lead, how I want things to feel. The comfort of my home, the satisfaction of good work done well, the peace and joy of friendship and family, the exhilaration of adventure. These are the things towards which I will strive in 2009.

To that end this New Year I'm doing away with resolutions, carefully worded statements of inspiration, and lists of goals (yes even my latest 101 in 1001 is finished).

In 2009, my intention is simply to fill every corner of my being with pure, unadulterated LIFE.

In honor of Travis.

In honor of myself.

Crossing Things Off

So it's been, uh, four months since my last "montly" update on my 101 in 1001 list... Oops.

Still, I've been busy and have managed to cross several things off my list. Twelve items down with just under two years left to accomplish the remaining eighty-eight, not bad as far as progress goes!

The Omnivore's Hundred

Oooh look, a new post! Excellent!

Don't get too excited just yet... since I've spent the better part of the day lying on an orthopedic pillow icing my neck and upper back (thank you, mutinous trapezius), a meme is about all the creativity I can muster at the moment.

This one's fitting for me, though, since I've spent much of the last couple of months changing my eating habits, reading about the industrialization of the food chain and the development of our counter-intuitive Western Diet, and re-thinking my whole concept of food and what part it plays in my life.

Why yes, there will be more posts about that in the future.

But for now, I've picked up this meme from Andrew Wheeler over at  Very Good Taste:

Here’s a chance for a little interactivity for all the bloggers out there. Below is a list of 100 things that I think every good omnivore should have tried at least once in their life. The list includes fine food, strange food, everyday food and even some pretty bad food - but a good omnivore should really try it all. Don’t worry if you haven’t, mind you; neither have I, though I’ll be sure to work on it. Don’t worry if you don’t recognise everything in the hundred, either; Wikipedia has the answers.

Here’s what I want you to do:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:

A Vegas Story

I woke up this morning in Las Vegas.

That was to be expected, though, since I flew out here yesterday in the 737-of-doom.

Though I'm only doing it a couple of times a year now, I used to fly a LOT. I know from flights. So please believe me when I say that this was one of the WORST flights I have ever taken. Not only was the plane crammed to the brim with obnoxious girls (Karen's 21! WOOHOO! We're gonna party!) and screaming children, it was also stuffy as hell and holy CRAP was the flight choppy. I've never seen flight attendants kneel in the aisles before so the first time it happened yesterday, after a particularly stomach-rolling nose-dive, I swear I thought they were praying. Needless to say that by the time the pilot slammed the plane onto the ground at McCarran, I was barely holding on to my breakfast and I could not get out into the terminal fast enough.

Woo, Vegas.

I'm here for ten days, which sounds awesome at the outset, but being here for work is not at all the same as being here for play. The first thing I did when I arrived yesterday was go to meetings and last night, while the casino in the lobby was full of loud, drunk people lighting money on fire and loving it, I stretched out on my bed to watch a Discovery Channel documentary about India and talk to The Guy on the phone. Party!

Fortunately, the advance work is going really smoothly so far (*knock wood*) and it looks like I'll have a little time to myself today before the rest of the crew arrives. I'll probably use that time to do something really shocking like... nap.

Viva Las Vegas!

100 Things To Do Before I Go, Part V

Questions to ponder:

• What would surprise me if I found out I hadn’t done it by the time I died?
• What are the little things I expect to just unroll in front of me?
• What are the big, amazing things that absolutely wouldn’t happen without some heads-down, teeth-clenched work?
• What things have I been concentrating on that don’t really matter?

Memories that I hope to make before the end of my life; one hundred Things To Do, numbers eighty-one through one hundred.

81. Mentor someone.
82. Buy a deliciously comfortable bed.
83. Endow the New York City ballet.
84. Chair a charity or service organization.
85. Dance in the streets.
86. Live among neighbors I know and like; be part of a community.
87. Give a wedding toast.
88. Write thank you notes.
89. "Unplug" for a week, or a month.
90. Print and frame a series of my favorite photographs.
91. Throw regular dinner parties full of tasty food and snappy conversation.
92. Bonfires on the beach.
93. Repay the teachers who have touched me by sharing their lessons with others.
94. Learn to play guitar.
95. Go rock climbing.
96. Trips with just the girls.
97. Try surfing at least once.
98. Meet someone whose work I admire / appreciate.
99. Spend a day in absolute silence.
100. Be able to look back and think "Yes, I really did live happily ever after."

See also: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV

Whereas the list of memories got easier as I went along, this definitely got harder. I hit a brief streak of inspiration yesterday with all of the travel (thanks, BBC), but I really grappled with the last twenty or so.

What's on your list?

My source of inspiration is, once again, Mighty Girl.

100 Things To Do Before I Go, Part IV

Questions to ponder:

• What would surprise me if I found out I hadn’t done it by the time I died?
• What are the little things I expect to just unroll in front of me?
• What are the big, amazing things that absolutely wouldn’t happen without some heads-down, teeth-clenched work?
• What things have I been concentrating on that don’t really matter?

Memories that I hope to make before the end of my life; one hundred Things To Do, numbers sixty-one through eighty.

61. Lazy summer afternoons spent outside: warm sun and cold lemonade.
62. Throw a party to celebrate the last day that I ever have to work in a cubicle.
63. Buenos Aires.
64. Rio.
65. Havana.
66. Cape Town.
67. The Maldives.
68. Victoria Falls.
69. Dubai.
70. The Galapagos.
71. Angkor Wat.
72. Masai Mara.
73. Iceland.
74. Norway.
75. Hot chocolate in Switzerland.
76. French Polynesia.
77. The Seychelles Islands.
78. The Great Wall of China.
79. Cruise around Alaska.
80. Do a flip on a trampoline.

See also: Part I, Part II, Part III

My source of inspiration is, once again, Mighty Girl.

100 Things To Do Before I Go, Part III

Questions to ponder:

• What would surprise me if I found out I hadn’t done it by the time I died?
• What are the little things I expect to just unroll in front of me?
• What are the big, amazing things that absolutely wouldn’t happen without some heads-down, teeth-clenched work?
• What things have I been concentrating on that don’t really matter?

Memories that I hope to make before the end of my life; one hundred Things To Do, numbers forty-one through sixty.

41. Sing again.
42. Take a specialty cooking class.
43. Learn more about both sides of my family's history.
44. Safari in Africa.
45. The Nile at sunset.
46. Bali at sunrise.
47. Learn to ride a motorcycle.
48. Have a room in my home devoted entirely to books.
49. Decorate my home with artwork created by my friends.
50. Switch completely to eco-friendly cleaning products.
51. Save up enough money in loose change to buy something completely frivolous.
52. Develop a signature style.
53. Make a habit of getting my clothes tailored - all of them.
54. Give out small gifts to celebrate 10, 20, 50 years of friendship.
55. Comfort someone out of tears and into laughter.
56. Walk hand-in-hand under falling leaves, or falling snow.
57. Crosswords in bed on Sunday morning.
58. "What do you do?" "I'm a writer..." (I stole that from Maggie, but it's true for me too)
59. Tie someone's tie for a special occasion.
60. Go shopping for wedding dresses with Firebug.

See also: Part I, Part II

My source of inspiration is, once again, Mighty Girl.

100 Things To Do Before I Go, Part II

Questions to ponder:

• What would surprise me if I found out I hadn’t done it by the time I died?
• What are the little things I expect to just unroll in front of me?
• What are the big, amazing things that absolutely wouldn’t happen without some heads-down, teeth-clenched work?
• What things have I been concentrating on that don’t really matter?

Memories that I hope to make before the end of my life; one hundred Things To Do, numbers twenty-one through forty.

21. Create a cherished new tradition.
22. Have a dog - at least one!
23. Take a year off of work and spend it abroad.
24. Provide the financial support necessary for someone to achieve a goal.
25. Attend a formal masquerade ball.
26. Buy a cottage on Sebago Lake, or Lake Pleasant.
27. Build a deck or patio.
28. Make ice cream in the summer with children.
29. Go wine tasting.
30. Take ballroom or Latin dance classes with a man I adore.
31. Hike more of the Appalachian trail.
32. Go camping every summer.
33. Learn to snowboard, finally.
34. Raise a family.
35. Follow my father's example: document life through photographs and stories.
36. Complete a marathon.
37. Buy another bicycle.
38. Know the best place to see the fireworks on the Fourth of July.
39. Make a habit of doing something new, fun, and adventurous at least once a month.
40. Have my mother autograph a copy of the first book she has published.

See also: Part I

My source of inspiration is, once again, Mighty Girl.

100 Things To Do Before I Go, Part I

Last week I focused on things I've already done. This week, the things I've yet to do - this is sort of a combination (in theory) of the 101 in 1001 and the Mondo Beyondo lists. Questions to ponder:

• What would surprise me if I found out I hadn’t done it by the time I died?
• What are the little things I expect to just unroll in front of me?
• What are the big, amazing things that absolutely wouldn’t happen without some heads-down, teeth-clenched work?
• What things have I been concentrating on that don’t really matter?

Memories that I hope to make before the end of my life; one hundred Things To Do, numbers one through twenty.

1. Fight in a Muay Thai match.
2. Watch a movie that I've written in a theater full of strangers.
3. Get a book published.
4. Buy a house; make it a home.
5. Get married surrounded by a small knot of friends and family.
6. Teach a class or workshop for high school & college students.
7. Go pumpkin-picking.
8. Dive the Great Barrier Reef.
9. New Year's Eve in Sydney, Tokyo, London, Paris, and New York.
10. Skydive.
11. Parasail.
12. Explore Macchu Pichu.
13. Plant & maintain a year round vegetable and herb garden.
14. Visit all fifty states
15. Visit all seven continents.
16. Have a portrait done of myself.
17. Learn conversational Mandarin and Japanese.
18. Send my parents on a wonderful trip.
19. Win an Oscar or Emmy.
20. Continue my family's annual traditions when my parents are unable to do so.

My source of inspiration is, once again, Mighty Girl. There's a reason she wrote a book full of inspiration!

Best Trip Ever

So my Dad's a big rockstar and got flown to Oslo last week for just one day:

Me: How was your trip?
He: Getting there was fine, got everything done that I needed to while I was there, but the trip back was the best business trip I have ever taken.
Me: Why?
He: The plane was hours late, it was packed full, the cabin was overheated, and weather made the turbulence almost constant.
Me: ...? So that was sarcasm, then?
He: No, it was the best trip ever. You see, me and one other gentleman were stuck in the middle of a big block of seats that had been reserved by one group.
Me: That doesn't sound like a good thing.
He: It was a group of Norwegian cheerleaders. 43 Norwegian cheerleaders to be exact.
Me: Aaaaaaah
He: I found myself looking heavenward saying "Lord, I know you don't hear from me very often, but I'd just like to say - thank you."

New Energy

Happy New Year, blogosphere!

My theme for 2008 is living up to my potential. Actually it's not just my theme - it's a theme that my writing partner (aka The Rockstar) and I are sharing. It's a big one (really, is there anything more terrifying/exhilarating/challenging than doing the things that you've always known you could if only you would?) so we decided to tackle it together.

I'm embracing my theme many different ways and the first is by completing or releasing all of the unfinished projects hanging on to the edges of my life. Home improvement projects that have been in the works for two years. Craft projects and gifts that I keep wanting to start/finish /improve. Ideas that The Rockstar and I have discussed but never brought to fruition. And every other thing that I've been meaning to do for the last few weeks, months, years.

The could haves, should haves, and would haves are exhausting; they're like little parasites that attach themselves to our psyches and suck away precious energy, energy that can be applied elsewhere, and I'm done wasting resources. So I'm either going to finish these things or I'm going to let them go, and I am not going to feel guilty about the latter.

Since returning form Seattle, I've spent most of my time working on my house. It's the physical representation of my life / state of mind, so I thought that it was fitting to get some new energy flowing through it in honor of the new year. In addition to the usual cleaning and sorting, I did one of those things that I've been "meaning" to do since I moved in here: I finally stopped using my spare room as a closet-with-windows and instead turned it into a small library.

(I have been referring to this room as an office for the last two years, but it's too small to hold a desk and one wall is now entirely covered in books, so I'm calling it a library from now on. I am very fancy with my private library!)

When I say small I do mean small; the room is less than fifty square feet and somehow I'd managed to stuff two armchairs, two standing fans, 8 plastic storage boxes, a variety of cardboard boxes, and mountains of miscellaneous crap into it. How, I'm not quite sure. I had to unload everything into my (similarly diminutive) living room in order to work on the library and that was an adventure in and of itself.

Thank heavens I'm good at Tetris.

I managed to get the room cleared out enough to put up some curtains and to install the shelves that Teece & I found at Satan's Warehouse Ikea. Then, after two years, I was finally able to unpack my books. I hate having books in boxes - I like to have them out where I can look at their familiar spines, smell their faint mustiness, pick them up and read through favorite passages. I'm so happy to have them out and available that I keep walking into the library just to look at them on their shelves. In addition to my books I was also able to unpack my diplomas (which have been in their packing crate since being shipped from the framer's six years ago) and hang them on the wall. After a few more photos and a new rug, the room was transformed and I am thrilled.

Oscar is also happy with the new arrangement: I left an armchair in the library and now he can look out both windows from the back of it, depending on which way he flops. He's been sleeping there since yesterday afternoon, turning around every few hours to get the view from the other window.

Fifty dollars worth of shelving etc combined with an afternoon of hard work and suddenly there's a fresh, new energy circulating through my house. It feels like an auspicious start to the new year.

*****

And finally, in celebration of the beginning of 2008, I leave you with the following snippet from Carson Daly's coverage of New Year's Eve in Times Square. Pause the video at 01:27 - NBC's cameras caught my friend Kerr sharing a midnight kiss with his sweetheart (they're the couple on the right), and a few seconds later they caught Kerr's friend Mike proposing to his girlfriend. I can't think of a more joyous way to ring in the year, can you?

2007, a retrospective

Holy crap, where did December go? I thought November flew by but damn - I completely missed December! One minute I'm packing to head back east and now I'm in Seattle, packing to head back to L.A. again.

On second thought, where on earth did 2007 go? I swear it was just March.

Ah well, the end of the year can mean only one thing - it's time once again for my favorite 40 questions about 2007!

More Muay Thai!

I am so sore. Breathing hurts. Typing hurts. Hell, I think blinking hurts. And yet, I just can't stay away.

I have not spent less than two hours at the gym any day this week and yesterday I had a private lesson with Chief wherein he kicked my ass up and down the gym. Repeatedly. Right after he told me that I hit like a girl.

Since Chief is the first person ever to describe me as "too girly," I re-doubled my efforts and struck with full strength and speed for the first time since I started this adventure. It felt amazing. Granted, my hands and wrists are killing me today from doing that for 45 minutes straight, but there's something both empowering and freeing about unleashing the entirety of your strength in one well-placed strike. When I'd finally done it correctly once, Chief started to chase me around the room calling out combination numbers for me. I dropped my head, touched my gloves to my cheekbones, and for three 15-minute stretches I didn't focus on anything other than the pads he was holding and the numbers that he was calling.

I don't hit like a girl anymore.

I do, however, walk like an old lady because he also made me do evil leg strikes in which I hold one leg up behind me, femur parallel to the floor, and kick at the heavy bag behind me a couple of hundred times (No, seriously. We do things in sets of 50 or 100). Oh, my poor ass.

Are you guys bored hearing about this yet?

I can't help it - studying Muay Thai is such a strange and wonderful new experience for me that it's all I want to talk about. It's been a long, long time since I found something like this, something that I really love doing even though it's physically and mentally exhausting. I work my body to its limits every day and the first thing I think the next morning is "As soon as I figure out how to sit up without using my ab muscles, I'm totally going back!"

And it's not just about the physical exertion; there's something very spiritual about my training too. Maybe it's the fact that I've been in a bit of an introspective phase since my birthday, maybe it's just the nature of martial arts, but every time I leave the gym I take with me guidance for both my Muay Thai technique and my life as a whole. I always thought the "wise martial arts master veiling life lessons as training advice " was just a movie cliche... until Chief started saying things like this:

• Don't look down; the answers aren't there. If you look down you get blindsided. Look up. Look out. That's where the answers are.
• Hit it, hit it, hit it. You're stopping yourself short at the last second. Don't. Follow through. No mater what, follow through.
• Stop thinking. You're in your head too much and it's messing you up. Feel it. Just let go, and let yourself feel.

Hard to believe the man's only known me a week.

Could Have 2

I'm way too sore & tired to put together one coherent post, so it's time for another random collection of things I could have written about!

• California? Still on fire. Fortunately none of the wildfires are burning too close to me, but several friends have been evacuated already and many others are packed and ready to go. Please send extra special mojo to the Greaser and his wife - the condo that they bought last week is directly in the path of one of the Valencia-area fires.


• I'm finally on the Twitter bandwagon. Follow me, won't you?


• Keith & I nearly got blown onto Santa Monica Blvd when we were at Century City on Saturday night; that should have been a warning about how bad this round of fires was going to be.


• I am a dork, a big one. I was supposed to join my company's team for AIDS Walk Los Angeles on Sunday, but I forgot to set my alarm and slept right through it. I have agreed to repent by offering many rounds of margaritas to the two girlfriends with whom I was supposed to walk.


• I met Paul Joiner at the laundromat on Sunday night. That name won't mean much to you if you're not a college football fan, but if you are you'll remember that in the mid-nineties he was a starting linebacker at Cal and one of the most promising young linebackers of the decade. His career ended when, in the summer between his junior & senior years, he got behind the wheel of a car drunk and high and totaled it. Though the 4 passengers all escaped with minor injuries, he was in a coma for a couple of weeks and had to re-learn everything - even how to swallow. He's doing pretty well, all things considered. He's an interesting guy. My title as Queen of Random Supermarket and Laundromat Experiences is secure.


• Work has exploded all over my life and I'm trying to clean it up because I am doggedly determined to keep some semblance of balance as I head into my crazy season.


• A huge number of my friends have either recently had babies or are due to have them soon. I suspect this is directly related to the zillions of weddings that I went to one spring/summer a couple of years ago.


• I willingly and happily spent 2.5 hours at the gym tonight. I got there early to warm up and have someone show me how to wrap my hands (again), then class ran a little long, and  then as I was hanging onto the heavy bag for dear life after my 100th knee strike (ow) Chief poked his head around the bag and said "Hey, can you stay? I want you to do 30 minutes on the bike before you go." For some reason, I said "Sure!" I blame temporary insanity.
  


• I'm considering starting a separate Muay Thai blog because I want to talk about it all the time, but I don't want to bore all of you to tears. Because my usual posts are soooo riveting. :-)


• What's everyone doing for Halloween? I want to do something, but I am completely devoid of inspiration.

Don't Look Down

Don't look down; the answers aren't there. If you look down you get blindsided. Look up. Look out. That's where the answers are. -Chief

I had a bunch of things to take care of today, so I took the day off work. I ran a couple of errands, tidied up the house, did some laundry, the usual stuff.

Oh yeah, and I took my first kickboxing lesson.

Let me clarify: I went to a boxing gym and took a 90-minute private Muay Thai lesson with one of the first Americans to be certified by both the World Muay Thai Institute and the Muay Thai Institute of Bangkok.

Holy crap, I hurt in places I didn't know I have. No wussy cardio kickboxing for me*! I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to be able to walk tomorrow.

I've wanted to try Muay Thai for awhile (like... twenty years) and last week I just got it in my head that I'd procrastinated long enough. So I did some research, found a gym that looked promising, and signed myself up for a trial lesson. I'm kind of glad that I didn't think about it too much; if I had I totally would have psyched myself out and not gone.

Fortunately I did go and I had a great time. Well, as great a time as you can have when someone is making you jump rope for 10 hours minutes at a stretch and making you strike while holding 15lb weights. (Hello, first lesson. What the hell will I have to do in the second one?)

I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but I went in with my hackles up.  Gyms do not generally welcome fat girls with open arms and I was walking into a place where pro kickboxers & mixed martial artists train, so I was ready to fight for my right to be there, for my right to try. Much to my surprise, the people there could not have been nicer. Not only did everyone know each other, all of them were also genuinely friendly and welcoming.   

(I should also mention here that the men were all ridiculously, brutally gorgeous. It was all I could do not to get distracted by all the abs and quads and fall flat on my face.)

My instructor, whom I'll call Chief from now on, is both the Chief Instructor and the owner of the gym (and is probably under 35, and also distractingly handsome). After he introduced himself he spent a few minutes talking to me to learn a little bit about my background, as well as why I'm interested in Muay Thai and what I want to get out of my training. The point, apparently, was to determine how to teach me because he says that he's never taught two students the same way.

After he'd made that assessment, he kicked my ass for 90 minutes.

Aside from the jumping rope and the hardest push-ups ever, he also taught me how to strike, how to hook, how to knee, and how to do the basic footwork combinations. I like to think of myself as a fairly graceful and coordinated but people, I have never felt less graceful than I did today. Boxing footwork seems like it should be easy, but it's really not. And boxing footwork plus strikes and hooks? Forget it - I was arms and legs all akimbo. I looked like a complete idiot for most of the lesson, but I was surprisingly ok with that.

Once Chief had reduced me to a sweating, panting pile of jelly-filled limbs, he invited me to stay and train with the class that was about to start. I knew I was hooked when I actually contemplated it, even though I could barely lift my legs to get back up to street level.

Did I mention that the gym is down two flights of stairs? Such a cruel joke.

I think it's safe to say that I loved it - my only concern was how to pay for it. It's a private gym so it's a bit pricey and we all know that I'm broke. Going without food didn't really seem like much of an option so I was stymied. Thankfully, my Dad came through with a solution and made me a deal: he and my mom will split the cost with me if I promise to stick with it for at least 6 months. (If I don't stick with it I get to repay them, with interest)

So that's it then. I'll go in on Friday and sign all the paperwork.

And I won't look down.

_____
*If you read through the Wikipedia page, you'll notice that Frank Thiboutot developed cardio kickboxing because Muay Thai is too dangerous to be done in a health club environment. Yeah. That's what I just signed myself up for. I may be insane.

Shake it, baby

I know where I'm going to be tomorrow night, how about you?

Catching Up

It's Tuesday afternoon so I'm just about on time for my DaveL.A recap!

Oh c'mon, cut a girl some slack. Not only did I work 148.5 hours in ten days (and then 15 more yesterday), somewhere in there my dining room ceiling started leaking pouring water, my car battery died, and The Fireman and I called it quits. Oh, and I came home Friday night to find my landlord up on my roof trying to find the cause of the dining room waterfall; when I asked him how bad the problem was he just shook his head and said "Bad, very bad. Very not good at all." Awesome! (Dear Universe, WTF? No love, Me)

Given all that, I think it's safe to say that by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around I was NOT feeling terribly social. In fact, I was feeling like crawling into bed with a bottle of bourbon was the best idea I'd ever had. However, I'd RSVP'd for DaveL.A. weeks earlier and didn't want to be that blogger - the one who tries to attend but mysteriously never makes it (*coughPaulycough*) - so I dutifully threw on some clothes, brushed my hair, and headed over the hill to Lucky Strike.

Boy am I ever glad that I left the house; Dave throws a hell of a gathering, let me tell you. (And he looks awfully dapper while doing it, all dressed up in a zombie t-shirt and snappy blazer)

I'm always a little trepidatious about blogger meet-ups. Though I've had very good luck with the ones I've attended so far, there's something slightly nerve-wracking about meeting people you know (and who know you) only via blog.  A blog is not a person, it is a creative medium that reveals a small, edited fraction of a person. Consequently, gathering a bunch of bloggers together without the safety of an edit feature, or our thin veils of anonymity, can either go fantastically well or horribly awry.

Fortunately DaveL.A. fell into the former category and we all had a smashing time! Smashed being the operative word here as everyone had two or three (or ten) drinks while we ate dinner and bowled threw brightly colored balls in the general direction of some pin-shaped things.

Since the guest list was super-duper top secret, I was curious to see who would attend. I was pretty sure that Hilly would be there (And she was! And we got hit on! And now we're lovahs!), but I was pleasantly surprised by everyone else: the Atomic Bombshell and her Ninja, Neil and his lovely wife Sophia, Liz, SJ and her pro-bowler Bret, Catherine, Foo, Peggy, and of course our Master of Ceremonies - Dave!

(Why do I suddenly feel like Dorothy? And you were there, and you were there, and Toto - you were there too!)

Being in such exalted company, I was surprised and flattered that anyone at the table had ever read my blog; I very nearly blushed myself to death when Neil told me that he'd been reading for a couple of years. Citizen of the Month is one of my very favorite blogs so I was touched to hear that something I'd written so long ago stood out in his memory. Thanks, Neil :-)

We had PLENTY of time to chat both before we ordered our food and while we were waiting for our lanes (Lucky Strike is not known for its prompt service), which worked out well because there wasn't ever a pause in conversation longer than the span of time necessary to take a sip of beer or lemon drop. Since I was sitting in the middle of the table, I actually had the problem of being between conversations and wanting to take part in both! I should have followed Catherine's lead and hopped from one end of the table to the other.

When we finally got down to the lanes we split up into two teams and promptly laughed, danced, and high-fived our way through two games. I did my part to make sure the gutters were working properly and was very proud when I broke 70 on our second game. (Seriously, I cannot bowl. SJ has proof.) It all ended much too soon, but this is what happens when a bunch of old folks like us start drinking at 6pm. We're trashed and ready to call it quits by 11! OK I wasn't trashed, I was driving, but Dave & Hilly were fulfilling that role for all of us. Off we stumbled to our various cars and away into the night we went.

I came away from the evening with an official DaveL.A. lanyard, a handful of fabulous Artificial Duck pins, a gift certificate for an Artificial Duck t-shirt, a nifty Everyday Goddess sticker, some truly fantastic new friends, and a lesbian lovah. It was hands down the best Saturday night that I've had in quite some time.

Thanks, Dave, for giving such good party!

Shooter

My hands are filthy, there's a bright purple bruise spreading across my shoulder, my arm feels as though it's going to fall out of its socket, and I'm covered in a thin film of sand, lead dust, and dried sweat.

It was a good day.

While everyone else was lounging in a pool or huddled around an air conditioner, the boys and I braved the 115 degree weather and headed into the Angeles National Forest.

Specifically, to the Angeles Shooting Ranges.

I'd never handled a gun before this afternoon, but I've wanted to learn to shoot for quite awhile so when Mongo offered to let me join them and to teach me the basics, I gladly accepted. We all met up at his house mid-morning and loaded a veritable arsenal of firearms and ammunition into the cars before setting off. It was about a twenty minute drive to the ranges and I spent the trip wondering what was in store.

A few observations right off the bat:

• Shooting ranges are LOUD.  Sounds pretty obvious, right? Guns are loud and ranges are full of people firing guns. However, you can't really grasp how loud they are until you're standing in the middle of one. We put our ear protection on before we even got out of the car and I still spent the first minute or two jumping and flinching at all the noise (and I don't startle easilyl).


• Ranges are very civilized places. No one's screaming or jackassing around, there aren't any children running wild, there's no loud music or aggressively obnoxious people. Funny how polite people are when everyone around them is holding a loaded weapon.


• They're also very safe places. When I asked Mongo if it was safe to leave my purse in the car he just looked at me and said Seriously, how much theft do you think happens at a GUN range? He had a point.


• They are not messing around with the Release Agreement: I acknowledge that engaging in sport shooting is dangerous. I further acknowledge that no matter what precautions I may take . . . that I could experience injuries of a very serious nature and/or die as a result of an accident or incident. I therefore engage in such activities voluntarily and at my own risk. Well, ok then. *deep breath*
  

I wouldn't have it any other way

I recently got it in my head that I want to learn a fourth language.

Not an easy language, mind you. Not something like Spanish or German where I could just skip on down to PCC and sign up for one of their Extended Learning classes. Oh no. I have to pick a langauge that, though spoken by about 10 million people, is not widely taught. In fact, it's only taught three places in all of Southern California.

Because this is me we're talking about and I can't ever do anything the easy way.

Of course none of those three place are offering classes I can attend (that would be too easy), so I went on the hunt for a private tutor. Google the all-knowing finally provided one and we traded emails for a week or so to work out the details.

Well, as soon as the final detail was worked out he started sending emails to me in the new language.  The language I don't speak yet. The language for which I don't even own a dictionary yet. (Google to the rescue again!) It just took me more than half an hour to muddle through an email that basically said "I know this is difficult, but it's good practice for you to read and write in this language. Meet me at this place at this time for your next lesson." I know immersion is the way to go but... damn.

Holy crap does my brain hurt (in the good way).

Buddhism in the 'burbs

On the last day of his visit, I surprised The Fireman by taking him to Hsi Lai Temple. I didn't even know that Hsi Lai Temple existed, but The Fireman mentioned it wistfully as one of the places he missed most in Southern California so I did some quick Googling to find out more information.

When we arrived, I was completely unprepared for the 15-acre temple complex that springs up suddenly in the middle of residential Hacienda Heights.

The Gateway as seen from Glenmark Drive:

 

Shake it!

Oh yes friends, it's that time of the month again, time for BootieLA, and this month we're rockin' the super special Cinquo de Mayo edition!

Be there, or be square!

Shake Your Bootie

Listen up people, there is only ONE place to be this Saturday night and that place is BootieLA!

All the cool kids are going to be there shakin' it to the sounds of Party Ben & DJ Axel - we're even importing cool kids from Austin for the occasion!

Come on, you've been meaning to join us at Bootie for months - make April the month when you follow through and get your ass out on that dance floor!

I guarantee fabulous music, reasonably priced drinks, an awesome crowd, and dancing until you can't dance no more.

There may even be bacon afterwards. Do you really need more of an incentive than that?

I didn't think so.

Last Weekend Standing

Since this was my last full weekend off until March, I decided that I should do peaceful, relaxing things*. I went to Mongo's house for ribs & wine**, I got my hair cut, I spent some quality time with TC and Keith. I ran some errands, I cleaned my house,  I made a new friend***. I hung my fabulous new curtains, did some reading, and was in bed by 10pm Sunday night****.

Just a nice quiet weekend, really.

_____
*Or... things that may prevent me from ever running for office.
**There may also have been a highly alcoholic beverage that tasted exactly like Hawaiian Punch.
***And gave him my phone number
***Possibly because I didn't get home before 4am on Friday and Saturday night.

2006, a retrospective

My favorite 40 questions about the past year...

Sleeping With Knives, Again

Apparently it was too much to hope that the prowler was an isolated incident. That would just be too easy!

This is me we're talking about, after all.

And really, what I needed upon returning home from a late-night screening and Q&A for Pan's Labyrinth was to become aware of some creepy freak skulking around outside my house. Again.

I'd just sat down to write up a post about the evening when Taylor woke up from a sound sleep to stare intently into the darkness outside one of the southern windows. Her hackles went up and then I heard it too: shuffling and footsteps on the dead leaves outside.

Goddamnit.

Having slightly more presence of mind this time than last, I headed to my bedroom to retrieve my camping knife (since I'm storing it within arm's reach of my bed these days) and flashlight. What I should have done next was pick up the phone and call 911, but suddenly I was very, very angry.

This is my house, motherfucker, and YOU ARE NOT WELCOME.

So instead of picking up the phone, I pocketed my keys, crept outside, and ran around the corner of my house screaming obscenities in my father's voice.

The prowler hit my neighbor's windchime in surprise (I didn't see the impact as I hadn't rounded the corner yet, but I heard the strike and it was chiming & swaying drunkenly with nary a breeze to be felt) and took off running through the shadows of my neighbor's lawn.

Then I called the police, and spoke to one of the six (6!) officers who was dispatched to my house last time. I gave him a full report and was rightfully yet gently scolded for running out of my house to confront the unknown Creepy Guy. He sent a few officers to my house, including Hot Cop from last time (I really should start dressing to be prowled; PJs aren't exactly my best look), who did a sweep of the area, drove around a bit in the direction that Creepy Guy ran, and told me they'd keep my house in the patrol rotation for the rest of the evening. I thanked them profusely and told them that I sincerely hoped I wouldn't have to call them again.

And so, here I am: safe, pissed the fuck off, and very annoyed that I still didn't get a good enough look at this person to give anything but the vaguest of physical descriptions.

Here's hoping that I scared the everloving shit out of Creepy Guy and that he thinks twice about ever coming near my home again.

Crossing Things Off

With a little less than a year left to complete my 101 in 1001 list, I'm steadily crossing things off: One more major thing (Complete the AIDS Marathon Training Program) and a few more minor ones as of today.

I'm doing very well in some sections, but if I don't get started on the "stuff" list I'm going to have to take one heck of a birthday shopping trip this year!

The things that I have removed from the list in the last six months reflect the ways in which my life has changed since November 29, 2004. Hopefully, the things I've added today will compliment the new direction in which I've been heading. 

Hana ho

Me (L) and a fellow Libby Hickman hanging loose at Mile 6,
running past Waikiki beach just after sunrise.

Let me explain.

No, there is too much. Let me sum up:

Went to Hawai'i, relaxed on the beach, swam in the ocean, ran thirteen and a half miles of the marathon, sprained my foot after stepping on a reflector in the road, limped three more miles, got pulled off the course by some very nice paramedics at Mile Sixteen, tried not to feel sorry for myself when I saw all the people coming into triage on stretchers, limped back to the hotel, relaxed on the beach, swam in the ocean, spent an afternoon at the spa, flew home.

Now, I'm off to the East Coast until next week - more details (and pictures) when I return!

Aloha `oe

Elaine (L) and I jogging along at mile 7 of our last group run

By this time tomorrow, I'll be in Hawaii - hopefully with a drink in one hand and a plate of sushi in front of me.

Damn, do I need a vacation.

Granted it's a vacation with a marathon in the middle of it, but it's a vacation nonetheless. I plan to spend as much time as possible laying on the beach, or perhaps by the pool for variety.

I can't believe six months has gone by so fast; it seems just yesterday that I was huffing and puffing my way through three miles. Now I'm headed to Honolulu to run 26.2!!

I'll be offline until next Tuesday night, at which point I hope to return to Los Angeles tanned, sore, and burdened by a shiny finisher's medal. :-)

Wish me luck, and don't forget that there's still time to donate.

Mahalo!

World AIDS Day

Around forty million people are living with HIV throughout the world - and that number increases in every region every day. In the UK alone, more than 60,000 people are living with HIV and more than 7,000 more are diagnosed every year. Ignorance and prejudice are fuelling the spread of a preventable disease.

World AIDS Day, 1 December is an opportunity for people worldwide to unite in the fight against HIV and AIDS. This year, it's up to you, me and us to stop the spread of HIV and end prejudice.

Did you know that in the US two teenagers are infected with HIV every hour?

Wear the ribbon. Light a candle. Talk to people. And donate to the marathon that I'm running for AIDS Project Los Angeles. The deadline for donations is next Friday, December 8th.

Sleeping With Knives

I met a guy last night.

He was about my age, 6'2"-ish with dark hair, a great smile, and a very comforting presence. He didn't leave my house until about 1:30 this morning, but when he did I felt calm and safe.

I'm hoping that I never see him again.

Why?

He was one of the six (6!) members of the Sheriff's Department who were dispatched to my house around 1am this morning to investigate a prowler.

Because having some creepy freak lurking around my house is EXACTLY what I needed this week.

I must have dozed off watching television in my living room because I woke up with a start around 12:30 in the morning - I had that unsettling feeling that I'd been woken by a loud noise even though it was silent in my house. I heard a few leaves rustling below my south-facing windows, but I assumed it was a raccoon or skunk so I didn't think anything of it as I turned off the TV and the lights.

A moment later I was still standing in my dark living room, trying to decide whether I wanted to take a shower or just go straight to bed, when I saw a male figure pop up outside one of the southern windows. He walked across my lawn, froze when my neighbor's motion-sensor light came on, then darted around to the far side of my house. Since there's a window in my bathroom, I crept in there and peeked out to see if I could tell where the guy had gone.

He was RIGHT THERE, no more than eight inches away from the window, and just standing there. It was too dark for me to make out his features (even basic ones), but I did manage to form a mental picture of his build & his clothes before I crept out of the bathtub.

Until then I thought that I was spooking myself unnecessarily, that he was just some guy who'd walked too close to my house on his way to one of my neighbor's houses, but the fact that he was lurking there in the shadows compelled me to retrieve the phone (and my camping knife) and call 911.

As I was on the phone with the operator, I could see the prowler circling the dark sides of my house (he stayed away from the lit driveway in the back and the motion-sensor light in the front) and could hear him rustling around in the leaves below my windows. When the operator asked if I had any weapons she seemed glad to hear that I have several pointy & sharp things in the house and that I know how to use all of them.

Six lovely men with Maglites & guns showed up a few minutes later and searched the entire property as well as the grassy/wooded area behind our garages. Unfortunately they found nothing except a few footprints under my bathroom window, so the Hot Cop told me that they'd drive by the house a few more times during the night and that I should definitely call 911 again if the prowler returned. I thanked them and then barricaded myself inside my home, setting things that would make noise in front of my door and vulnerable windows and taking both my knife and the phone to bed with me.

I'd be lying if I said that I got much sleep, though.

The most unsettling thing, really, is that there's no way to know if this prowler is some random freak who thought my house looked interesting, or someone who targeted me specifically. If it's the former, hopefully the speedy show of police force was enough to scare him off. If it's the latter, I can definitely expect to see him again.

Several friends have offered to let me stay at their houses, but I have declined. I have strong lungs and 200 pounds of muscle to protect me, not to mention many sharp things and 911 on speeddial.

I refuse to be scared away from my own home; this is my sanctuary and tresspassers are not welcome.

So, how was your night?

Addendum (for those of you who have asked): No, I don't think the prowler is related to this incident nor do I think it was my ex skulking around; he has a very distinct silhouette and gait which I can identify in an instant from 50 yards.

Contribute

Those of you who read my blog via its main page rather than RSS feed will notice a new TypeList to the left called CONTRIBUTE. Since the holiday season is now in full swing and people are looking for ways in which to share their time or money, I wanted to list a few of my favorite organizations. Some of these are local - I'm sure those of you in other areas of the world can find similar programs closer to home:

ANY SOLDIER, INC. We talk a lot about supporting our troops, but the military personnel deployed overseas can't read our bumper stickers or see the ribbons on our doors - they can't hear our speeches or read our blog posts. What they CAN do is read letters, and enjoy care packages full of reminders of home.

Started as one family's way to help their son's brigade, Any Soldier, Inc. has expanded to include all branches of the armed services and reaches almost 20,000 active duty military personnel via more than 4,000 military representatives. Because my father was a SeaBee, I've chosen a rep who is the OIC of a SeaBee battalion stationed in the Al Anbar provice of Iraq.

The system is simple: Scroll through the military representatives (all of them post personal messages about what they need, what their conditions are like, etc), and apply to receive that rep's address (because of security concerns they are not posted on the website). Then, fill up a couple of care packages with treats, necessities, and letters and send them off! Warning: Please read the FAQ and sending regulations very carefully - sending mail to a war zone requires a few extra steps and precautions.

PASADENA HUMANE SOCIETY & SPCA The PHSSPCA is one of the oldest animal shelters in Los Angeles County - it was founded in 1903! Not only do they offer boarding, sheltering, adoption and outreach education, they are also very involved in investigating animal cruelty and neglect. Though they're well staffed for volunteers at the moment, they can always use donations and, of course, homes for their orphaned animals!

PHAT GIRLS RUNNING Support me in my goal to run a marathon on December 10! OK, you're really supporting AIDS Project Los Angeles - a wonderful program that is dedicated to improving the lives of people affected by HIV disease; reducing the incidence of HIV infection; and advocating for fair and effective HIV-related public policy. The marathon is less than two weeks away so you only have one more week to donate! (The deadline is December 3, 2006)

THE LIME PROJECT Heather has cancer and we, her friends, think that sucks. We think it sucks more that since her insurance does not cover prescriptions, she has about $20K in outstanding medical bills. So bronxelf decided that we had to do something about it. Fast.

Next thing we knew, fourteen of us were naked and posing for a 2007 calendar! I'm January. We're doing a very limited printing and have already sold out more than half so hurry up and order yours before we run out! If you don't need another calendar, you can also make a straight donation from the order page.

THE ANGELES NATIONAL FOREST If I look out my kitchen window, I can see the peaks that make up the south west boundary of the Angeles National Forest. Many Los Angeles residents don't know that in addition to being a beautiful place for hiking etc, the Angeles National Forest also contains the majority of Southern California's watersheds - an invaluable public resource. There are countless ways to help the Forest Service protect the Angeles National Forest; check out the volunteer page for a few ideas!

VOLUNTEER MATCH Want to volunteer but have no idea where to start? Volunteer Match is the place. You can search by metro area and by interest so you won't be overwhelmed by hundreds of options.

I love the generosity that pours forth during the holidays, but please remember that there are people, animals, and wilderness areas that need help all year - not just in December. If you're too strapped/busy to contribute now, pledge to do it in February, or in May. The need does not stop when the new year rolls around.

8 Miles? Easy!

And now for some happy news: I have fabulous new running shoes! Many thanks to Teece & Tag for the early Christmas present.

I cannot stress enough how important it is to go to a professional running store (Teece & I went to Run With Us in Pasadena) if you're buying shoes for something like a marathon. Since I'd been fit for my shoes at the beginning of this process, I took them in for comparison; I figured I'd just be able to get another pair of the same shoe and be on my way. The salesman looked them over for about ten seconds before:

He: You're having more problems with your left foot than your right, aren't you?
Me: Yeah, actually.
He: Your left knee is bothering you though, isn't it? It's weaker than your right?
Me: Yes, it has been since I hurt it when I was 14.
He: How's your left hip?
Me: Not good.
He: Yeah, we can fix that. You pronate severly when you run. These shoes you've been running in are for moderate pronation, but you need more support - you need a shoe with motion control. Do you like these, other than the blister they're probably giving you on the inside of your left arch?
Me: Yes, I *thought* they were comfortable...

So he brought out another pair of Asics in the same series as my old shoes, just with more motion control and a wider toe box. He also taught me a fancy way to lace my shoes that would provide more support through the heel without bruising the front of my ankle (as tightly laced shoes are prone to do after 10 miles or so).

Who knew running could be so comfortable?

We did 8 miles this morning and I didn't feel any of the pains that usually set in after the first five miles or so. I didn't even get a blister on my big toe! Yes, my feet were sore form the novelty of being properly aligned, and my knees and hips were still tender, but it wasn't the pain that I'd been running through before.

I might be able to walk after this marathon after all!

TSA Press Release

Flying for the holidays? Make sure you're familiar with the latest TSA regulations:

MacGuyverette vs. Mercury

Although *I* intended to run all 26 miles on Saturday, my left shoe apparently had different ideas. It blew out somewhere around mile 12 leaving me with absolutely no arch support. Have you ever tried to run long distances (or really, any distances) without arch support? You don't get very far.

About a mile, in fact, which is just about how far it was from the scene of the blowout to my car.

I also intended to stick around and cheer in the rest of my group, but the volunteers were low on ice and I really needed to get some on my poor arch so I headed home.

My early departure ended up being a very good thing as the guy from The Gas Company showed up four hours early to fix my water heater. If I'd been able to keep running, or had stayed to cheer in the rest of the Libbys, I would have missed him entirely.

That wouldn't have been much of a loss, in the end. The water heater stopped working again about three hours after he left.

I learned my lesson about freezing cold showers last year, so I had to MacGuyver myself a better system this time around.

Tools:

• 1 Large stock pot full of cold tap water (thank you, Val. Best gift ever.)


• 1 Thermal travel mug w/ lid removed


• 1 Chopstick


• 1 sense of whimsy and adventure

Method:

• Heat water on stove until almost too hot to touch. Test periodically by hand; you'll know when you've heated it too much.


• When heated thoroughly, transfer (heavy, hot, dangerous) pot from kitchen to bathroom. Try not to step on cat, or burn him with hot water as he winds himself between your ankles on the journey.
• Balance pot precariously on tub's edge.


• Set thermal mug & chopstick on opposite edge of tub.


• Follow all pre-shower rituals as usual & step into tub.


• Turn on cold water through lower tap only.


• Dip thermal mug into water until half full.


• Fill mug to top with cold water from tap.


• Mix thoroughly with chopstick (this step is VERY important, otherwise you'll end up pouring freezing water over your head followed by scalding water. Not. Fun.)


• Pour water over head until hair is wet.


• Lather. Rinse.


• Repeat as necessary with various body parts, reserving at least a quarter of the hot water.


• Mix last of water with cold water from tap until suitably temperate.


• Pour over head


• Follow all post-shower rituals as usual.


• Hope that The Gas Company can fix your water heater before you have to go through this song & dance again.

Take that, Mercury.

And Then There Was One

Adri will no longer be training for the Honolulu Marathon with me. She'll still be volunteering for the AMTP, keeping us hydrated and fed on our long runs, but she won't be jogging wogging* along next to me anymore.

Adri had a very difficult decision to make and she absolutely chose what's best for her, but I'd be lying if I said that I'm not a little sad to learn that we won't be crossing the finish line together.

At least now I know that there will be someone waiting for me at the finish line, ready to take exceedingly unflattering pictures of me as I stumble through that last two tenths of a mile. *g*

Tomorrow, the Honolulu group runs 23 miles! Bring it on; I am the lone Phat Girl Running.

_____
*The Libby Hickmans have coined the word "wogging" to describe our "running" near the end of our long runs, when our legs feel like lead and we can barely pick our feet up off the ground. At that point we're not quite jogging, but not quite walking either. It's wogging!

Just Another Tuesday In Los Angeles

TV star? Check. Asshole paparazzi? Check. Random run-in with well known actor friend? Check. Just another Tuesday night in the tiny village that is Los Angeles.

In a fit of grown-up recklessness Teece, Tag and I decided to go see The Prestige last night. A movie? On a week night? Try to contain your shock.

Since Teece was stuck at work dealing with a last minute clusterfuck project, I volunteered to fetch Tag so she could finish up and go straight to the Arclight. Tag had never before experienced the Best* Movie Theater Ever, so we killed some time exploring all that the Arclight has to offer. We contemplated crashing the private party that had taken over the upstairs bar, but ultimately decided that Teece might be a smidge cranky if we abandoned her in favor of free booze. Loyal to a fault, we are.

Having successfully resisted the siren call of easily accessible and cost-free beverages, we  wandered back to the lobby and promptly ran into a former co-worker of mine who was also seeing The Prestige. When she admonished us to "hurry up" as she headed for the theater, Tag and I realized that the movie was slated to start shortly and there was still no sign of Teece.

Uh oh.

A quick call confirmed that she was just on her way out of her office. In North Hollywood. Crap. So, we agreed to leave her ticket at the Guest Services counter and pray for speedy traffic (at the end of rush hour on a Tuesday) and Tag & I headed into the theater to find our seats... directly in front of Former Co-worker and two rows in front of Eric McCormack. Apparently, he's good friends with the people sitting a few seats down from us.

Welcome to Los Angeles, Tag.

After managing to perform the nigh impossible task of getting from her desk in North Hollywood to the Arclight in under twenty minutes, Teece slid into her seat just as the lights were dimming during the final preview. Mental note: buy that girl a drink. We breathed a collective sigh of relief and settled in to watch what turned out to be a fantastic movie.

Dark. Twisted. Gorgeously designed & shot. The Prestige is Christopher Nolan & Christian Bale at their finest; I can't wait to see it again.

By the time the movie was over, the private event at the Arclight was in full swing and the lobby was swarmed with a mish mosh of chatting celebrities, mildly annoyed locals, and wide-eyed tourists. I remember thinking to myself that it was odd the paparazzi wasn't swarming the courtyard with so many picture-worthy faces inside.

Ten minutes later as I was about to start backing out of my parking spot, an enormous black pick-up truck screeched up behind me and the driver leaped out, camera in hand. He didn't even bother to turn off his headlights or close his door, simply flew down the stairs and started snapping pictures of whoever was trying to come up them, five other photogs hot on his heels.

I briefly considered getting out of my car and dragging the asshole paparazzo back up the stairs to move his truck. Then I considered "accidentally" ripping off his driver's side door as I backed out of my parking spot. Instead (in a decision that required GREAT maturity on my part), I finagled my car out of its spot with a textbook 46-point turn and drove down to report the guy to the manager of the parking structure.

Then I headed home, and promptly saw a well-known actor friend of mine walking down Cahuenga Blvd with his brother and sister-in-law. I flagged them down and pulled over to chat for a minute. Our conversation was cut short, however, by a photographer who spotted Actor Friend and dodged across four lanes of traffic to try to snap a picture of him leaning into my car (Scandalous!). Actor Friend grimaced and told me he'd call me later before grabbing the other two and diving into a nearby club. Have I mentioned how much I loathe the paparazzi? I took great pleasure in watching the bouncer convince the photog that following Actor Friend into the club would not be in his best interest.

Yep, just another Tuesday night in Los Angeles.

-------
There has been some debate on the award of the title "best" to the Arclight; some maintan that Austin's Alamo Drafthouse is, in fact, the best movie theater. Though I am intrigued by tales of the Drafthouse's themed events and Mystery Sinus Theater, I'm sticking with my hometown favorite for now.

Ground Control

Home from work and in my pajamas by 6pm.

Bliss.

Now before you think to yourself Oh dear, not even 30 and she's living the life of a retiree please understand: I'm so happy to be in my pjs at 6pm because I was out until almost 3am last night and got a whopping total of 2.5 hours of sleep. On a Monday night.

You see, yesterday was the inimitable Chow Yun Smut's birthday and we celebrated at Ground Control, my new favorite spot for alternative karaoke. Seriously, when have you ever heard Cartman's version of Come Sail Away, Suffragette City, The Rainbow Connection and Gay Bar all at the same karaoke night? That's right, you haven't!

Teece, Tag and I arrived bearing bukkupcakes (that's a story for another time) and gift cards to make our long-overdue first appearance at GC. With the exception of the cover and the fabulous & heavy-handed bartender, Ground Control feels more like karaoke in your best friend's basement than it does a Nightclub. Friendly and talkative people, laid-back vibe, and much general silliness (and cowbell).

Of course, the one person I couldn't manage to strike up a conversation with was the cute and vaguely mysterious guy who was sitting a few stools down from me at the bar. He struck me as a cross between Ferris Bueller and Elvis Costello (I know that doesn't sound like a good thing but trust me, it was). We did lots of eye flirting but never managed to exchange more than a few words. Since he started to leave right after he sang, I scribbled my name and number on a song request slip and pressed it into his hand with the explanation that I'd love to have the opportunity to talk to him in a slightly quieter environment. My boldness was rewarded with a big smile; we'll see if it's followed up by a phone call.

Since it was CYS's birthday and I know how she likes people to make asses of themselves on her behalf, I crossed another thing off my 101 in 1001 list and sang Out Tonight from Rent. Considering the fact that it had been a good two years since the last time I attempted that song, it went pretty well. Next time, though, I'll make a point not to wreck my voice by spending the hour and a half before I sing screaming and cheering.

Also, I will have more Jack Daniels first.

Teece had everyone wishing they'd brought their rollerskates with her rendition of Xanadu and CYS brought down the house with her flawless performance of Evanescence's Bring Me to Life. Though the party raged on, the three of us bowed out after that as we were all well past pumpkin time.

My cell phone rang super early this morning with a work crisis so I've been running on coffee most of the day, but it was worth it. Happy Birthday, Bug!

That laughter? It's the Universe.

When I began the AIDS Marathon Training Program for some reason I was under the delusion that if I stuck to the program by doing my maintenance runs and participating in all the long weekend runs, the whole process would be a snap.

What on earth was I thinking? Training for a marathon is hard. REALLY hard.

Particularly when the Universe is out to get you.

• During the 10-miler, I was ambushed by a sprinkler and took a nasty fall that resulted in my having to go back to base camp to nurse my swollen knee.
• At mile 6 of our 12-miler, that same knee gave out and I found myself back at base camp again.
• I had to work the Saturday of our 14-miler so I missed that one completely.

I was bound and goddamned determined to finish the 16-miler on Saturday, even if it killed me.

Things were going pretty well at the beginning of the run: the weather was cool and beautiful, the course did not include the Hill From Hell, and the Libby Hickmans were in good spirits. We sang, we danced as we waited for lights to turn (hey, you have to do something to keep moving), we kept moving. I was feeling pretty good as we jogged down Beachwood, heading for the 9 mile marker - more than halfway there, woo!

Then I felt a tear, and an odd burning sensation along my inner thigh.

I'd blown the seam on my running pants and my right leg was unraveling rapidly.

I turned left at the bottom of the hill and headed back towards the park; everyone else turned right, on to mile 10. By the time I'd hoofed it the two miles back to base camp, my right leg was basically naked and I'd worn most of the skin off of my inner thigh. I was so angry, though, and so frustrated that I didn't care. I drove home, changed my pants, and went right back out my door to run 5 more miles.

Take that, Universe!

Now I'm going to work on finding a way to get out of this chair without using any of my leg muscles. Ow.

The Return of Saturn: The Departure of Apollo

Saturn returned to me this weekend.

I knew he was coming; I'd seen the warning signs, tasted the blood on the wind, but it was culfinglin who calculated his exact arrival: Sunday night.

Right about the time that I was standing outside Apollo's house, watching tears well up in his eyes.

Cronus is not known for his subtlety.

There have been endings before of course, and they have been followed inevitably by more beginnings. This one was different.

I walked knowingly into a trap, ready to fight, but when I comprehended the full scope of the betrayal and dysfunction, I chose instead to withdraw. Had I stayed and engaged the annihilation would have been complete, but the victory hardly seemed worth the effort of the fight.

Apollo followed me to my car in silence. When he did finally speak it was obvious that even he didn't believe the words falling from his lips. When I asked him if he understood the magnitude of the choice he'd made, he responded that it was epic. I told him that I hoped he could live with it because he would never see me again.

When I looked in my rearview mirror, I could see the tears glistening on his cheeks.

Tragically, there was no nobility in The End; mighty Apollo was brought low by the one thing to which I thought he'd never fall: a cliche.

Bon Anniversaire

Since other commitments prevented the Dolphin from joining me for my birthday festivities, he offered to take me out tonight for a belated birthday dinner. Since I'm always up for culinary adventures (and an excuse to catch up with a friend that I don't see nearly often enough), I happily agreed.

At his suggestion we went to Bistro de la Gare, a new French restaurant & wine bar in South Pasadena.

Oh. Mon. Dieu.

I love everything about this restaurant, from the rich red walls of the dining room to the French-accented waitstaff. The food is divine (I wanted to marry the chef responsible for my rack of lamb) and the ambiance is elegant without being pretentious. This is not a place to be seen, but a place to see your companions.

It was so lovely to dine rather than eat... to use both hands and actual silverware... to linger over a glass of wine or a dish of creme brulée... to have an in-depth conversation rather than exchanging a few hurried words over IM or text... to just... relax.

Thank you, Dolphin, for the wonderful post-birthday wrap up that I so clearly needed.