Crystal Jackson

Archive for the ‘travel’ Category

like camp, only with booze

In running away, theatre, things that make me happy, travel, writing on June 4, 2013 at 1:47 pm

Great Plains Theatre Conference. Nine days in Omaha. Spirited conversations with witty, articulate people from all over the country. Warm Midwestern hospitality. Lots of wine, good food and new friends. No sleep, quiet time or tornadoes. And I would happily do it all over again (but let me take a nap first).

When The Singularity was chosen for the GPTC, I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into. I’d never been to Nebraska. The conference dates included my ten-year anniversary with James. The only planes that fly non-stop to Omaha are tiny. I didn’t know any of the people who were going to be there, including the director and cast of my play.

Whatever fears I had were quickly washed away during the first breakfast at the hotel when I met the other playwrights. They were a welcoming group, and we had instant chemistry. Within a day or two, I felt like I’d known some of them for years. We fell into easy friendships the way you do when you’re a kid, spending the entire conference laughing, telling stories and supporting each other. A bit of magic in an otherwise indifferent world.

Intellectually, the concept of seeing three or more full-length play readings each day sounded difficult but doable. And it was, though I was surprised at how mentally and emotionally taxing it is to hear so many stories in a row. This wasn’t passive theatre watching. We were filling out response forms and giving feedback during the talk backs, and because we wanted to be supportive of each other we really concentrated on what we were listening to. My playwright’s brain was stretched from seeing so many new pieces that incorporated different themes, language and structure than the plays I write. I look forward to seeing how that exposure will impact my writing going forward.

I owe a debt of gratitude to the people who make the GPTC happen. I’ve never before had this sort of opportunity to let the day-to-day worries and responsibilities of my life go and just concentrate on something I love.

It was camp, for adults.

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I received helpful and positive feedback after my reading that identified a few moments that could use some tweaking – changes that, once made, will hopefully help this play find its first production (St. Fortune, a theatre collective in NYC, provided the cast and director for my play – they are a talented bunch – if you live in New York, go see them perform)

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an unfortunately named apartment building near the hotel

;lkj

the tornado siren outside my hotel room – it sounded for about two minutes on the third night (around 1AM), and my heart almost made it all of the way out of my body via my mouth – I thought its cry meant there was a tornado skipping down the street and heading straight for my room – in fact, the warning siren will go off 15 minutes or more before a tornado might hit – freakout time comes when the siren continually blares (I found this out when I got dressed and went down to the lobby where I sat with the old folks and watched the weather radar until the threat had passed, quizzing them about how the sirens work and whether or not it was odd for tornadoes to be forming in the middle of the night) (it was)

look at those happy faces

just like camp, we were carted around in a big yellow school bus – interesting to note: this photo was taken on the first day of the conference – everyone is already bright and happy

;lkj

the Friday night fringe festival took us to places all over the Metropolitan Community College campus, which I’d wager is the nicest community college campus in the country – it’s on the site of an old fort and is full of 1800s-era buildings with tall ceilings, ornate woodwork and wraparound porches (and probably a few ghosts)

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in addition to the historic buildings, there’s also a bright and shiny new culinary institute – the chef/professors fed us delicious and healthy lunches each day, and they let the conference use their culinary theater for the fringe festival

;lkj

I submitted a short play I wrote during one of the workshops to be read at the play slam on the last day of the conference – this lovely octogenarian agreed to read a part in my play, which caused her to say words she’d probably never uttered before (at least not in polite company) – it was a great feeling to throw something on stage that had been written in a hurry just a couple of days before – everyone was so supportive, I felt totally comfortable letting it all hang out

;lkj'lj

the mainstage playwrights and other special guests stayed on campus in some of the historic homes – porch parties organically erupted some nights, providing a break from the theatre and the chance for music and conversation – this was taken on the last night of the conference, which was bittersweet

LINKS OF INTEREST
Great Plains Theatre Conference
St. Fortune (the kickass company that presented my play)
Fort Omaha campus of the Metropolitan Community College (our gracious hosts)
Element Omaha Midtown Crossing (our spacious digs – each room came with big windows and a kitchen with full-size fridge, dishwasher, microwave, oven and stove – they also provided a great breakfast, never repeating the same item in the nine mornings I was there)
House of Loom (hipsters abound in Omaha – this place features delicious craft cocktails served by the hip and tatted)

trip: the images

In running away, the outdoors, travel on April 25, 2013 at 3:53 pm

(see previous post for some exposition)

traffic...so much fucking traffic

traffic…so much fucking traffic

remember Wienerschnitzel? a long time ago, one of Houston’s two dailies (the Post, I think) ran a snippet about my grandfather Ted’s visit to a Wienerschnitzel in Bellaire – he ordered “ein wienerschnitzel” at the drive-thru, trying to be funny, and the non-German-speaking person who took his order thought he wanted NINE wienerschnitzels – he had a hard time explaining why he wasn’t going to pay for nine hotdogs once his order arrived – and, yes, this made it into the paper (I have the clipping) – there weren’t as many mass killings and celebrity nip slips to cover back then, so newspapers had room to share anecdotes

remember Wienerschnitzel? a long time ago, one of Houston’s two dailies (the Post, I think) ran a snippet about my grandfather Ted’s visit to a Wienerschnitzel in Bellaire – he ordered “ein wienerschnitzel” at the drive-thru, trying to be funny, and the non-German-speaking person who took his order thought he wanted NINE wienerschnitzels – he had a hard time explaining why he wasn’t going to pay for nine hotdogs once his order arrived – and, yes, this made it into the paper (I have the clipping) – there weren’t as many mass killings and celebrity nip slips to cover back then, so newspapers had room to share anecdotes

orange trees were everywhere

orange trees were everywhere

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Joshua Tree National Park: in the middle of this picture, you’ll see a ridge – that would be the San Andreas Fault – it runs right through the park – I felt some trembles during my visit, but I think it was just my usually dormant leg muscles responding to hiking up a mountain rather than anything earthly

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the park is full of huge boulders strewn about like they’re in a giant’s sandbox and weird trees reaching for the sky (can’t tell if they’re asking “why?” or saying “you kids, get out of my yard”)

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this was my first trip to the desert, and I was very taken with the unusual (to me) plant life – we only saw a few lizards here and there and the occasional bird – any other wildlife remained hidden from sight

a bit Seussian, dontcha think?

a bit Seussian, dontcha think?

mine

Lost Horse Mine: sadly, the mine is all fenced off, which takes away from the magic of the machinery (and probably also takes away from potential lawsuits), check out the solar panel installed on top (?) – the hike was four miles, and because it was so hilly and curvy we felt like we were alone in the wilderness most of the time

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Rorschach effect: I tried to keep my boulder interpretations to myself, but I did point out to James the two huge, round rocks that formed a big butt (not pictured)

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Joshua Tree Inn: we stayed at this funky little inn right off the highway – the guitar is part of a memorial in the courtyard dedicated to Gram Parsons (who ODed and then died there) (he died in room 8 – we stayed in room 9) – he was supposedly going out in the desert to hunt for UFOs – there were weird noises in the room the entire night, probably pumped in by the owners to heighten the haunted feel of the place

Gram Parsons' memorial at Joshua Tree Inn

this bird liked hanging out on top of the guitar – we saw him/her at night and then early in the morning

I was really excited about being able to get so close to a couple of sea lions when James pointed out that there was probably something wrong with at least one of them

Newport Beach: I was really excited about being able to get so close to a couple of sea lions when James pointed out that there was probably something wrong with at least one of them

these cats mostly just sat on their boards and gossiped about work (we were standing on a pier and could hear their conversation as if we were right next to them)

these cats mostly just sat on their boards and gossiped about work (we were standing on a pier and the wind brought us their conversation) – I could get into that form of surfing

this image reminds me of an Ocean Pacific t-shirt I had in the 80s

this image reminds me of an Ocean Pacific t-shirt I had in the ’80s

trip: the narrative

In people be trippin', running away, travel on April 25, 2013 at 3:52 pm

(for those of you who like to read)

For a change of pace, James and I directed our annual trip to California (which we took in March) to the southern end of the state. We’re diehard fans of the more northern reaches, so we weren’t sure what we’d find on the other end. Traffic aside (horrible, horrible traffic) (just fucking brutally, apocalyptically horrible), southern California ended up being quite nice.

On the flight out, we sat about five rows in front of this irritating, stereotypical Texan. She was from Sugar Land, wore multiple animal prints and high heels and had slapped on a thick coat of make up. The whole flight, she talked about Jesus. She was trying to convert the Indian woman she was sitting next to (who she probably thought was a terrorist). When the plane landed, she threw her hands in the air and praised the Lord. Effusively and loudly. I said something shitty in response, loud enough for her to hear, but I think the buzz from her diet pills probably drowned out anything I had to say.

We didn’t escape her once off the plane. She stood behind us in baggage claim, giving a blow-by-blow to whatever poor bastard was on his way to pick her up, most likely cursing the eHarmony gods and box wine for his fate. Once we had our bags, the woman was quickly forgotten. Ah, but when we were back at the airport six days later, guess who we saw clip-clopping her way toward our gate. Of all the days and all the flights… She was remarkably subdued compared to the flight out, which means things with eHarmony didn’t go so well, or she found a slightly different way to get spiritual while she was in California.

Our first stop after landing was to see my friend Bree in LA. We walked from her cute apartment to a place that only serves grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, which is a great idea. On the way there, we saw the Hollywood sign, a few crazy people (one was singing–rather well, in fact) (and, unlike San Francisco, I didn’t see anyone asking for money) and lots of blue skies and sunshine. We sat outside the restaurant at a table next to the sidewalk. The only “Hollywood” behavior I saw in my short time in LA was this: many of the people who walked by our table *looked.* Not like a passerby checking out the scenery. They looked like they wanted to make sure we weren’t somebody. They’d look at James (in his super funky sunglasses) and Bree (who’s a super cute actress) and me (and then there’s Maude), and they’d decide that we probably weren’t somebody important. With which I beg to differ. We’re just using different currencies.

From there, we drove east. We’ve all heard people bitch about the traffic in southern California, but until you’ve experienced it you really can’t quite grasp the situation. It took us three hours to go 60 miles. On the freeway. Everyone would be going 85, driving with just a few feet between their car and the next, and then suddenly it would all grind to a halt. Stop and go. For miles and miles. If some shit ever goes down out there and people try to evacuate, they’d be better off on foot or bicycle (or boat and ocean) because cars aren’t going anywhere.

We headed into the mountains. Then the desert. Then the beach. We did this over a period of days, but you could seriously do coast-mountains-desert-coast in one day if you wanted to. Now that’s variety.

Pictures are next.

a few things

In books, family, travel, writing on April 17, 2013 at 11:46 am

- Each day, to and fro, my 13-mile commute features heavy traffic. Sometimes it’s stop and go, and other days it’s just slow going. What I never understand is why people tailgate during heavy traffic. We’re all not going anywhere fast, and riding my ass is not going to make me disappear or make the cars in front of me get out of the way. One dude in an SUV (of course) was all up on my back bumper this morning. I didn’t move. So he got on the bumper of a Toyota. Real close. So close, it looked like the cars were going through a haunted house together. The SUV didn’t want to be more than an arm’s reach from the Toyota so when the chainsaw killer popped up out of nowhere, SUV dude would be able to grab onto the Toyota’s jacket. Like a bitch.

- I watched a trailer for the new Superman movie last night. It made me think of the 1978 version, which I saw in the movie theater with my best friend (Renee) and grandfather (Papa). It was the first movie that gave me, uh, tingles, and I was in love with Christopher Reeve for a long time after that. Maybe that’s why I joined the newspaper staff in high school. Or maybe I was/am a dorknerd.

- In the midst of my semi-annual belongings purge, I ended up with about 20 books I was willing to let go. Rather than take the books to Half Price and have some snarling hipster roll his eyes at what I’ve brought and then offer me 50 cents/book, I thought I’d check out other options. Ends up, you can donate books to the Houston Public Library (put them in a box, label it “To the Friends of the Houston Public Library” and drop the box at any area public library). You can also donate your books to Better World Books (there are collection boxes all over town).

- During this purge, I finally tackled the file folders full of stuff from my brother Mason’s belongings and organized everything in a scrapbook (though I am NOT a scrapbooker) (just a scrapper). There were a number of short film scripts he’d written and the first 8 or 10 pages of what I think was intended to be a full-length screenplay. The start to the screenplay is great, and the story really grabbed me. I keep thinking about it and how we always talked about collaborating. And I wonder how he’d feel if I were to write the rest of that story, listing him as co-author.

- Finally, I’ll do a write-up of our recent trip to southern California in the next post. For now, here’s a sneak peek.

Gram Parsons' memorial at Joshua Tree Inn

Gram Parsons’ memorial at Joshua Tree Inn

basketball goal: 2, sweet little birds: 0

In animals, awkward, Houston, luddite vs. iDevice, the internets, travel on March 13, 2013 at 10:30 am

First: my radio silence of late. I think this site is in transition. To what, I’m not sure. Rather than just let things dangle, eventually to wither and fall off, I’m going to redesign cryjack.com. Which, I hope, will make my goals for my blog a little more clear. It’s not that I don’t have things to tell you–I’m just not sure how I want to get my message across.

In the meantime, it’ll probably look a little jinky around here as I try different designs and move things around. I’ve been writing this blog since 2005 and am closing in on 900 posts–no small feat in the fickle world of blogging–and I don’t plan to stop anytime soon. I just need to regroup. Please bear with me.

On to the title of this post. This morning whilst skipping to my car to go to work (#sarcasm), I saw two dead birds in the driveway. They didn’t look like they were attacked by a cat or angry squirrel. They were pretty and the same sort of bird–brownish-gray with a yellow-tipped tail. Probably cedar waxwings. James was still home, so I called him out to see the carnage. He smartly identified the likely culprit. Not a cat. The basketball goal.

Closer inspection showed their little heads were slightly askew on their necks, and they were just a couple of feet from the base of the goal, inches from each other. They must not have seen the plexiglass backboard as they zipped around eating berries and singing their little bird song. It likely was instant, so I suppose in the cedar waxwing world there are shittier ways to go. Small consolation.

Finally, Home Depot. Do they have some kind of work-release partnership with a late-middle-age-inappropriate-white-guy farm? The last two times I’ve gone, I’ve had an awkward interaction with an employee. (I realize that awkward interactions stick to me like pollen on a black car, but still.) The Home Depot by our house is rarely busy, so you don’t spend much time wandering around before someone asks if they can help you.

A couple of weeks ago, I was looking for furniture bumpers, only I didn’t know that’s what they’re called. When a guy asked if he could help me, I said, “I need those squishy things you put on the back of furniture.” He didn’t know what I was talking about. So I got more descriptive. “Like, to keep the bedframe from scraping the wall–I just painted it.” I didn’t say this in a scandalous way. There was no raised eyebrow or heh-heh to my delivery. You should have seen the raised eyebrow and heh-heh and oh-yeah coming off the guy, though. Super fucking awkward.

And then last night after work, I stopped in to get a new aerator for my bathroom faucet. The guy helping me said they were near the floor. “They want us to lay down on the floor to get ‘em.” Which he proceeded to do. Got down on his side, bent his elbow and propped his head on his hand, as if he were reading a romance novel on the beach. “Do you need a female or a male?” Really, all I needed was for him to get out of my way so I could pick up what I wanted. By squatting, not lying on the floor. When he’d handed me the item, I said thanks and quickly walked away, unsure if I was supposed to help him up. I passed another customer and wondered what he thought about the dude on the floor.

James says that no one offers to help him when he’s wandering around Home Depot. I responded with one word: tits.

brain dump

In civility is dead, lists, travel on November 14, 2012 at 11:25 am

is it still an honor if they spelled it wrong?

  • Does it seem like it’s getting dark really early? I know we just switched from daylight saving time (an outdated irritation), and that’s certainly part of it. But it starts getting dark around 4:30PM. By 6PM, it’s night. I don’t remember it getting dark so early in past years. This is probably a stupid question, but it’s really been bothering me.
  • Saw the same car on the way to work Monday and Tuesday mornings this week. I remembered it because its license plate reads EVIL E. On Monday, I wondered whether that stood for Evil Eye, Evelyn, Evil Erin, Ice T’s DJ… Then I saw it again on Tuesday, about fifteen minutes later than Monday but in approximately the same spot, and it made me think that the cosmos was repeating patterns. That theory was validated when I got to work and did the exact same thing I’d done on Monday. To change things up today, I didn’t wear pants to work. Didn’t see EVIL E either, so maybe it worked.
  • We’ve had a natural gas leak at the end of our driveway for two weeks. We called it in on Halloween night. Someone came out around 11:30PM, said he couldn’t fix it but it wasn’t a “bad” leak. A few days later, when no one had come to fix the leak and I was tired of smelling it every time I exited my driveway, I called it in again. This prompted a hillbilly voicemail letting me know we were “on the list” and I shouldn’t call it in again because we were “on the list.” He said “on the list” approximately 734 times in the sixty-second message. He called again two more times, finally catching me on the third round, and again told me about the list. I asked if he could give me an indication of when we’d be at the top of the magical list, and he said that all he could tell me was “We know about the leak. It ain’t bad because it ain’t sputterin’ or hissin’ or nothin’, so you don’t need to worry about it. You’s on the list.” Well, hillbilly gas man, you’re on my list too. Now come fix my fucking gas leak. Please, with NASCAR on top.
  • I like to hand wash my car whenever possible, but a recent day found me with a muddy car and no cash. I went to Bubbles for a quickie no-touch wash. Since I was last there (months ago), the place has become almost completely automated. There used to be a guy who took your order and swiped your card, then another two or three who directed you into the machine and scrubbed the front and back bumpers. On this trip, I took my own order and swiped my own card. There was one guy cleaning the front and back bumpers and another guy lurking in the vacuum area, but that was it. Though I am at times hermit-like and don’t mind limited human interaction, I thought this kind of sucked. Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto. Thanks for taking our jobs.

UPDATE: A number of you expressed concern here and elsewhere about my gas leak (har har), so I wanted to provide an uneventful update. I called Center Point and had a bit of a chat with a lovely young man who seemed to understand the bad PR possibilities of a CP employee telling me to quit calling about an active gas leak that I can easily smell whilst walking by.  I told the dude that after those houses blew up in Indianapolis (either from a gas leak, asteroid or missile), it made me afraid that we might have a bigger leak underground that will show itself in dramatic fashion. I hope it’s as inconsequential as the hillbilly suggested it was, through a mouth full of Skoal and not teeth, but I’d rather be on the safe, non-explosive side.

The guy on the phone said that customers should never feel like they can’t call a leak in and that he’s put our work order on the fast track. We’ll see what happens. In the interim, don’t wear your skates over to my house.

no exit

In civility is dead, douchebags, stupidization, travel on September 27, 2012 at 7:53 pm

My first mistake was not going to the gym after work. That’s what I’d planned to do. Had my gym clothes in the trunk and my iPod was fully charged. But when I left the office, I was distracted and got on the freeway instead of heading under it into downtown. As soon as I realized my mistake, it was too late. I was committed. No exit.

So I did what I often do on the drive home–I called my brother. I drive a stick (that’s what she said) and don’t like to tie one of my hands up with phone bidness, so I put in earbuds when I’m rolling.

The traffic was more stop than go. I grabbed my buds out of the glovebox, stuck them in my ears and picked up my phone to call Tohner. How long does it take to glance down, wake the phone up, go to FAVORITES and hit a button? Maybe five seconds? I’ve never really paid attention because it’s never been an issue.

Just as the line started ringing, I heard honking behind me. Beep-beepbeepbeep-BEEP-beepbeep. I looked in my rearview to see what was up. Was my car on fire? Was a cow on the road? Did someone fall asleep at the wheel? (That last would have been hard to determine because we weren’t really moving.) Then I saw him. The smug fart-smeller in the car behind me (a Volkswagen with out-of-state plates). He was gesticulating my direction.

He did the two-finger thing, where you point at your eyes and then at someone else to let them know that YOU’RE WATCHING THEM. Then he made like he was texting on an invisible phone. He said, “I SAW YOU” and kept making the same movements. I think he may have been semi-erect, he was so excited.

Thing is, this self-righteous prig didn’t realize that I wasn’t, in fact, texting and was, in fact, doing what I could to minimize the impact of my phone on my driving. I considered responding to his shitty theatre with some of my own but decided to leave him in his misery. I mean, what kind of situation do you have to be living in to get such delight in acting like a little bitch?

Here’s a photo that sums up how I feel:

Hey! Fuck off!

PS – Tohner didn’t answer.

the city and the country (California trip – May 2012)

In books, travel on September 9, 2012 at 9:38 pm

easy way to remember where you left your car at the airport – guess you could also write this information down, but that’s less interesting – this was our first time to fly out of Hobby Airport – much easier/faster to navigate than IAH

behind the bar at Tosca (I took the same shot last time we were there, in 2009) – we stayed just up the road at Columbus Motor Inn – super economical digs that are in a great location with FREE parking – while waiting for the bus outside the motel, we were engaged in conversation with a “colorful” old lady who said that I smelled good (just the right amount of scent, not too overpowering) and that I must be a good woman so James should occasionally wear “the thong” if he wants to keep “getting that poonanny”

SEXI

for something different, we spent a couple of nights in Pacifica, a hamlet about 15 minutes south of SF – we stayed at the Seabreeze Motel, an old school beach motel that is located next to Nick’s Rockaway, the happening place for the entire town – the dance floor was hopping both nights, with locals dancing to a surprisingly good cover band playing typical drunk middle aged white people fare: “Brick House,” “Play that Funky Music White Boy,” etc.

we usually get a Hyundai – this car’s bigger engine was nice for all the driving we did in the mountains, though I was a little skeered when we were driving through “warning: falling rocks” areas where you could actually see the rocks rolling down toward the road as you zipped by

we were having a nice picnic at Lake Berryessa when James laid it on me that the Zodiac killer did some of his nasty business there – how romantic

on the back deck of the house we borrowed from friends in Napa – we did a lot of this

we did a lot of this, too

sweet Hana, the dog next door – she stopped in to see us each morning and again in the evening – she was also good for taking care of leftovers

Jarvis Winery, thanks to two passes from our friends Philip and Jonathan – it’s in a fucking cave – seriously, the entire operation (except the vineyard) is inside a cave that was dug with the same machinery that dug the Chunnel – I wanted to rollerblade down its hallways, inevitably falling on my ass and probably cracking my head open in the process

it’s so fancy, there’s a waterfall inside – our tasting group included five drunk Iraqis and a rich couple from Boston – the lady part of the couple and I took a bathroom break – she carried on our conversation throughout our time in the water closet, even as she let loose a rather prodigious fart – didn’t miss a beat

perspective

fighting stupidization

Terrapin Crossroads in San Rafael – this was the first Ramble that Phil Lesh (bassist from the Grateful Dead) put together with the blessing of Levon Helm (who did his own Rambles at his place in Woodstock) – they played the Band’s “The Band” album all the way through because Levon had died just a few weeks before – the night featured Chris Robinson from the Black Crowes plus a lot of weed

back at Hobby, they couldn’t offload the luggage because of lightning on the tarmac – the bad thing about having wifi on the plane is I was watching a serious storm move into Houston as our plane was doing the same – we ended up stuck there for over an hour waiting for our luggage, then drove through a monsoon to get back home – welcome back!

the haul from City Lights (SF) and Moe’s Books (Berkeley)

skip to the loo (of MURDER)

In awkward, people be trippin', travel on August 27, 2012 at 8:34 pm

(I have so many unfinished, half-baked, lump of clay blog posts in the queue, when I opened my drafts folder tonight I had no idea what the title of this post referred to. But it caught my eye and made me want to open it up, so hopefully it had the same effect on you. On to the post.)

CLICK HERE

If you don’t like clicking on unnamed things, I’ll give you some details. That’s a link to CLOO.

What’s CLOO?

From the site: “CLOO’ is a community of registered users who choose to share their bathrooms and make city-living easier, while earning a small profit. Using social media connections, CLOO’ shows what friends you have in common with the host, turning a stranger’s loo into a friend of a friend’s loo.”

Yeah, so, basically, you’re in the midst of a large city. You have to pee but can’t find a bathroom. Even though you’re in a hustling, bustling place, there’s no Starbucks, McDonald’s, office building with lazy front desk staff, gas station, grocery store or public toilet anywhere nearby. Or if there is one, for some reason it has a long line of people already waiting. That’s when CLOO comes to the rescue (or sends you to your impending death) (six of one).

You whip out your hand computer and log in to CLOO, which then–through the power of facebook, twitter and the like–shows you the nearest friend-of-a-friend who is willing to let you use their toilet. For a nominal fee. You send them a request, which they receive like a text message. They then have the option of letting you into their home to use their toilet or denying your request. If they accept, you get the details on where they live and how to get into their building.

The fuck? How awkward is it to dash into someone’s apartment to pee (or worse)? And what kind of person would be willing to let strangers (no! friends-of-friends!) come into their home and immediately pull their pants down and let loose? Because in this situation, I’m guessing there’s not a lot of time for chatty introductions. “Oh, so you know Bob?” “Uh, yeah (squeezing).” “I’ve known him since high school, but I haven’t seen him in ages and ages. Does he still live in Albuquerque?” “I really don’t know, um, could I, uh.” “Albuquerque is such a funny word. Makes me think of Bugs Bunny. ‘Should’ve made a left at Albu’” “COULD I PLEASE USE YOUR FUCKING BATHROOM?”

I don’t know which of these two groups would be most populated by murderers, but I can pretty much guarantee this situation is not setting anyone up for success. Murder aside, what happens when you let the person in to pee, they give you a dollar or whatever, do their thing and then want to hang out and chat? Maybe have a cup of tea? And what if they need to pee again while they’re there, from drinking the tea? Do you charge them again?

My bladder is well-known to the poor souls who’ve been on a road trip with me. I gots to pee, pretty much all the time. In fact, as soon as I squeak out this long-overdue post, I’m going to celebrate by peeing. I’ve been in numerous tight situations, needing to go but having no place to do it. But even at my most full, even at my ’bout to piss my pants worst, I would still never use CLOO. Because you know at least one of these bastards has a little hole in the wall with a video camera behind it.

(and yes, it occurred to me that this might all be bullshit – it’s supposedly real but in the “prototype” stage)

THE SINGULARITY sees the light of day (in a dark theater)

In Houston, theatre, travel, weather, writing on June 24, 2012 at 2:15 pm

pre-reading – I was entirely too distracted to take a decent shot, but you get the idea

THE SINGULARITY. My first full-length play experienced its first public reading last Saturday. This was in Dallas at Kitchen Dog Theater during their new play fest. They read six new plays over two weekends. And it was fanfuckingtastic.

THE THEATER. I didn’t know what to expect. The communications from the artistic directors (Tina and Chris) had been friendly and laid back. My director and I had exchanged a few emails, and she was responsive and nice. Once I saw the cast list, I googled the actors (because I’m a stalker), and they all looked talented and experienced. But you never know until you see people in action. Let me say this: Dallas has some talented mofos. In addition to my reading, I also watched the reading that followed, and the actors and directors in both casts were top notch. I totally plan to steal a couple of their actors the next time we do a show here. The Kitchen Dog people were great, and I’m not just saying that because they plied me (and everyone else) with bloody marys and gourmet popcorn. Though it did kind of make me feel like we were soul mates.

THE READING. There’s nothing like getting your work in front of an audience for the first time. You hope it goes well, there’s a chance it won’t, and you have to relinquish control and just ride the wave right along with the audience. You imagine this world, populated with these people who are trying to reach some sort of destination. And you try to get the audience invested enough in the story that they’ll give a shit about what they’re watching. And if you’re on your game, the people in the audience begin to see the world that you saw in your head when you wrote the script. And if the actors are on their game, and the director has given them the roadmap they need, the audience sees these characters coming to life before them. And the whole lot of you, in that dark, cold theater, go on a journey together. If everyone–playwright, director, actors, crew and audience–has done their job, everyone feels good about the journey once it’s over. If not, they leave the theater saying, “Well that was a piece of shit. Want to grab a drink?” It’s a terrifying and magical situation to be in.

THE DIRECTOR. Rhonda Boutté, the director of my script, did things with the reading that I’ve never seen done before. I already told her that I plan on ripping off her style (as best I can) the next time I’m involved in a reading. She had the actors doing sound effects that were so good, you couldn’t believe they were coming from the people sitting right in front of you. And the effects made the performance feel like so much more than a reading. My script was lucky to have been teamed up with her.

THE TALK BACK. Discussions with the audience after a reading can be terrific or terrible or some nether region between the two. For this reading, I asked my director if I could not talk so much, letting her and the cast address questions from the audience. Glad I made that request because the answers they gave provided me with insight into my play. I already know what I think, so if I’d done all the talking I wouldn’t have learned anything. I’m in the midst of tweaking the script now (does that make me a tweaker?) based on the reading and discussion that followed. Plan on finishing that up today while the performance is still fresh in my mind. Plus, it’s 100 degrees out, James and the dogs are taking a nap and the house is quiet, and I’m waiting to see if TS Debby out in the Gulf is going to grace us with her presence (and rain). The perfect ingredients for playing with my play. Hope you’re having an equally nice Sunday.

[One final thing - if you haven't taken my past suggestion to read The Trailer Park Cyclist's blog, I really recommend you at least read yesterday's post. Where my blog is generally a step or two above a fart joke, the TPC is fucking WRITING. And it's beautiful and heartbreaking and tapping into both good and bad things that are oh so familiar.]

Matt’s back

In things that make me happy, travel on June 20, 2012 at 7:09 pm

I first wrote about Matt Harding back in January 2007. I was taken then, as now, by the simplicity of his mission: to see the world and do a little dance here and there, with or without someone in the vicinity. I’ve shown this video from 2006 to numerous people over the years, and it never fails to bring tears to my eyes. Which begs the question: why? I think the post I linked to at the beginning of this paragraph pretty much spells it out, but I know a lot of you fuckers don’t click on things so I’ll give you the 2012 version.

This guy used to work in an office (like me!). When it was time for lunch, he’d do a little happy dance (like me! except I only dance in my head). He quit his job to go on a trip around the world (like…nevermind). While he was on his trip around the world, he decided to film himself doing his happy lunchtime dance, only this time with the incredible backdrop of Easter Island, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Great Wall, the great barrier reef or other great shit instead of the fluourescent glow of an office.

Sometimes he’d dance by himself, often with passersby or traffic or a train blazing through the shot. And sometimes people who probably didn’t speak the same language as Matt would join in. Because the physical expression of dance is pretty universal (though the specifics vary by locale). And the universality of this dude doing his little dance with people he didn’t know and probably couldn’t communicate with verbally is just…so…perfect. It’s a simple expression of happiness to be alive, awake, aware.

Matt just posted a new video today. I’m glad that the vibe is still there and he’s not wearing a sandwich board advertising Viagra or Chase Bank. He’s like the US’ dorky ambassador. We’re not all gun toting hillbillies, shooting into the ground like Yosemite Sam while chowing down on a greasy burger as we wait for our liposuction appointment. In fact, most of us are pretty alright.

(if you read this post and don’t click on one of the two videos linked here, you’re missing out) (I wouldn’t steer you wrong)

vehicular relations

In theatre, travel on June 14, 2012 at 1:09 pm

screw you, summer (and dust)

Man, it’s a little too early in the summertime for the outside temp to read 100 degrees. What the hell is August going to be like? (shudder)

Driving through downtown earlier, I executed a particularly spiffy move. I knew that the left lane up ahead always gets backed up, so I zoomed around the backup and cut over past the jam just before the entrance to the freeway. (I didn’t cut anyone off. This was a victim-free maneuver.) I was pretty pleased with myself, but that joy was short lived because I almost immediately expected to get side-swiped by a car. Or maybe get smushed by the giant foot from Monty Python. “Aye, yoove crushed me pointy lih-ull haid.”

I wasn’t raised Catholic, but I do occasionally suffer from Catholic-esque guilt. It’s weird. Peer pressure doesn’t phase me. If everyone were jumping off a bridge, I’d probably take pictures and then go through their shit. But self pressure is quite in service in my brain.

See, I realized when I was congratulating myself on my awesome driving that I was being kind of an asshole. So my brain gave me a little slap upside the head by making me worry for a split second that my bravado would be repaid with sudden death. Which is, perhaps, a bit of an over-reaction.

(shifting gears) (get it? because this is about cars!) (ahem)

Headed on a road trip to Dallas this weekend for a staged reading of my play at Kitchen Dog Theater. This will be its first time in front of an audience, and I’m really excited to see/hear how it’s received. Will report back.

sky blogging

In travel on May 11, 2012 at 8:42 pm

Using wifi on the flight home from California. Was watching  scary radar images of the weather in Houston on weatherunderground.com (great name for a site) when it occurred to me that I could write my first post from space. Or not on the ground, anyway.  And I could also avoid being worried about the pink and purple radar blobs I’m seeing that usually  indicate hail and tornados. After almost a week and a half in the California sunshine (even San Francisco was clear and unseasonably warm), Houston is offering up a kind of shitty welcome home.

That being said, I’m ready to get back. My liver has requested a break from the wine, and my ass has requested a break from the driving. I’ll give a full report about the trip once I’ve gone through my photos.

Stories to look forward to:

- woman at a bus stop in SF offering James advice about getting that poonanny (mine, presumably)

- jackass at concert wearing a Ren-fest leather vest over his massive, quivering flesh who tried to give me a high-five, which I rejected with a slow shake of my head and steady eye contact (marking what I think is the first time I’ve ever not given a high-five) (pictures to come)

- a girl in City Lights talking on her cellphone about her intestinal health problems (loudly) while I’m trying to pick out scripts to read

- a guy in Berkeley who owns “over 2,000″ tee shirts proclaiming he had never seen one with Fight Stupidization on it

- Hana, the dog who will eat anything and her boyfriend Don Juan

- Mexican food in N. California

co-pilot

In food and drink, travel on April 29, 2012 at 11:20 am

safety first

We had our monthly birthday celebration at the office last week. It involved queso, margaritas and music. And also champagne. At the end of the party, there was a half bottle of champagne that had no home. Couldn’t let it go to waste–renew, reuse, recycle–so I took it home with me. I’m all about safety (of my upholstery), so I strapped that baby into the passenger seat before making the drive. I’m glad I wasn’t pulled over by the over-zealous cops in our neighborhood. I wasn’t drinking and driving (I was drinking, THEN driving), but this certainly qualifies as an open container.

James and I are leaving for our almost-annual pilgrimage to N. California soon. In addition to the travel binder we always take on trips, some new technology is coming along. My parents gave me a fancy iPad for my birthday last month, and it was already in the queue to take the place of my much heavier laptop (which I mostly use for checking email and writing trip notes when there’s a break in the action).

We’re lightening the load on this trip. Physically and metaphorically. And I realized yesterday that an app on my iPad (Evernote) could actually be the collection point for many of the things I typically print out and put in the binder. I’ve been spending time this weekend creating google maps and saving webpages with tips about trails we’re going to hike. It’s a thing of beauty. Nerd happiness.

Bob and Linda

In awkward, running away, travel on April 13, 2012 at 3:42 pm

James and I are traveling to N. California soon for vacation. We’re going to stay at a friend’s house in Napa for part of the trip. We’ve never been to the wine country before (since we tend to stay on the coast), so I’m excited about seeing some new sights.

Before realizing half our trip would be spent in Napa, I was checking out yurts and cabins for us to stay in near Point Reyes/Marin County. I read a lot of reviews of these places, trying to find one that would be the right balance of funky-yet-no-bedbugs. As I researched, there was a surprising (but maybe not) thread that seemed to run through many of these independently owned dwellings. Bob and Linda.

Bob and Linda (or Jim and Sally or Barry and Mel) are the owners of the yurt/cabin. You know their names because they are mentioned–frequently–in the reviews. As in, “Bob and Linda couldn’t have been more gracious hosts. They joined us each evening for a glass of wine and a chat.” Or, “We were a little nervous about staying so far out in the woods by ourselves, but luckily Bob and Linda stopped by to check on us and ended up hanging out for dinner.”

I’m sure Bob and Linda are perfectly lovely, and I’m sure they are full of stories about the time they went to the nudist resort or their commitment to veganism (helps move the bowels!). But going on vacation is like a long exhale. And if I’m staying in a yurt or other non-traditional dwelling, I don’t want to make small talk. I want to breathe green air and let my gaze go as far as my corrective lenses allow without being short-stopped by a building or parking lot or smog. I want to sit in comfortable silence or laugh with James or listen to good music or the ocean or the wind in the trees.

We’re in San Francisco for the other half of the trip, where I will be happy to engage with whomever and whatever awkwardness we come across. But that time out in the country is valuable stuff.

Here’s a simple pictorial explanation from our last trip to San Francisco/Big Sur:

standing in the Big Sur River breathing that clean country air = no Bob and Linda

getting drunk in a bar across from City Lights, high on books (and a bit blurry) = bring it on, Bob and Linda

three-ring binder

In family, travel on March 8, 2012 at 12:41 pm

For the first time in over a decade, I purchased plane tickets on a carrier other than (former hometown bidness) Continental. Nevermind that Continental doesn’t exist anymore – until a few days ago, you could still buy tickets on continental.com with the Continental name on them. You could, but I didn’t. Their price just wasn’t right, especially when you add in $50 each in bag fees. Southwest doesn’t charge you for your bag. In fact, they don’t charge you if you check TWO bags. I’m practically making money on this deal.

We have gone to the Bay Area every other year for the past little while, and we always fly Continental out of IAH. There’s a system in place. But this time, it’ll be Southwest out of Hobby. I haven’t even been to Hobby in probably 15 years. I may like surprises and seat-of-the-pants action for some things, but when it comes to traveling I like my little ducks in their little row, each wearing appropriate footwear, sunblock and layered clothing in case it gets hot/cold. But, change is good.

My friends have long made fun of my vacation planning. For a couple of months before we go anywhere, I am all over the interwebs looking for shit to do, food to eat and cool places to sleep. This information is poured over and distilled into a three-ring binder that serves as the bible for our journeys. I won’t show you the inside of the binder (it might scare you), but I will show you the photo that sits in the sleeve of the outside of the binder, which has gone on a lot of trips. It’s a totem, of sorts, that helps guarantee a good time on our travels.

par-tay

I love this photo for so many reasons. For one, my grandparents Ted and Elsie (who are on the right) are kicking fashionable ass. I love her shoes and his tie. And the fact that it looks like he just threw out some bullshit and they are all looking at the other guy for his response. And the other dude doesn’t know what to say. Runs in the family. My grandfather was a journalist and then an ad man. I went to an awards show for Houston ad agencies a couple of weeks ago (since I’m now in the ad biz). It was a 100th anniversary celebration, and at one point they did an in memoriam video that flashed the names of ad hotshots who’d passed over the past 50 years. It was cool to see Lloyd Gregory, a man my grandfather worked for, flash on the screen. Connection.

spell check, mofos

In Houston, stupidization, the internets, travel on February 15, 2012 at 8:16 pm

Were my driving and photography skills better able to coexist, the photo above would have captured what I wanted to show you. Instead, you’ll have to take my word for it.

That electronic sign there on the right is supposed to let people know that, since the 45 N exit is closed, they should use the Heights exit. Only it says Heigths instead. And it has been misspelled since Friday last week. Either they don’t know, don’t show or don’t care about what’s going on in the hood.

(insert pithy segue) I’m glad Valentine’s Day is over. Facebook was intolerable yesterday. I kept waiting to see a photo of a chick with a bouquet of flowers poking out of her ass, an ugly tennis bracelet blinging on her arm and a row of chocolate stained teeth grinning wide with the comment, “OMG! BEST BOYFRIEND EVER!! I LUV U BOO♥” underneath it. These are usually the same chicks who are masters of passive-aggressive facebook commentary the rest of the year. You know, things like, “Well that’s the LAST time I’m going out of my way to do something nice for someone WHO OBVIOUSLY DOESN’T CARE enough to say thank you.” I’m glad guys don’t feel the need to wax poetic about the blow job or oil change gift certificate or tie or whatever they get on VD.

Here’s a nice thought. Tomorrow (hopefully) I’m going to announce the next book giveaway on this blog. Watch this space. Tomorrow. Or maybe Friday. But soon.

And Happy Valentine’s Day. I may not have sent flowers you could show off to your bitter coworkers, but I did send sweet thoughts. To most of you.

what’s the haps, google maps?

In luddite vs. iDevice, travel on September 24, 2011 at 11:56 am

going beyond just mapping streets, Google is also sending bikes on hiking trails, college campuses and other places that cars can't (or shouldn't) drive - watch for one to zip through your bathroom any day now

I’ve been “driving” around on google maps street view, checking out a few different places to visit on our next trip. If you use the arrow keys on your keyboard, you can go forwards or backwards and left or right when a street catches your fancy. This allows you to see places in a sort of stop-motion video.

If you do this virtual traveling long enough, you’ll find that sometimes there is a marked difference in the mapping (video) quality from section to section. I’ll be driving down a street–the sun is shining, there’s a person on a bicycle (whose face is blurred), birds are in the sky. Life is good. Then I’ll turn a corner and suddenly the image is dark and grainy. The sky is overcast, and no one is outside. It’s like unexpectedly entering the forest in Hansel and Gretel. I keep looking over my shoulder for the wicked stepmother as I go ever deeper into the darkness. Then I turn another corner and things are bright and sunny again. Just like real life.

The google must have upgraded their recording equipment over the past couple of years. I checked on our old place in the Heights, which was on google maps fairly early in the process, and it has that same dark/grainy/depressing/an old witch is going to put your fat ass in the oven look. I wonder if they’ll go back and remap those earlier places? Once they’ve made the rounds, seems like they’d have to start over again since things tend to change. At least around here.

It’s truly amazing (and scary) that every inch of urban and suburban America seems to be available for anyone’s perusal. Guess the moral of the story is: when leaving an x-rated store or your mistress’ house or the STD clinic, look both ways before you cross the street. And keep your garage doors shut when you can. And don’t parade in front of your front windows in the nude. All good things to do whether the google mapping car is nearby or not.

a slightly different way to go green

In random, things that surprise me, travel on September 2, 2011 at 1:06 pm

a new option in mudflaps

At the airport about a month ago, while waiting for a small, propeller-powered plane to bring me back to Houston, I met a young woman who cut a tough swagger. Covered in tattoos. Face, neck, arms, legs. Probably other places. And she had that “don’t fuck with me” look on her face. So I didn’t.

An unsupervised little girl ran up to her and said something about her tattoos. Her tough demeanor cracked a bit as she chatted with the girl, who eventually ran off. She said, “Kids are so honest. They always ask me about this stuff while other people just stare.” We started to have a conversation.

She mentioned that she’d graduated from trucker school earlier that day and was heading to Houston to visit with her son before going on the road. She wasn’t sure yet what her route would be or what she’d be hauling. Until meeting this woman, I didn’t realize how many pent up questions I have about the truck drivin’ life.

I guess it’s the open road thing. There’s a certain romanticism about it. Long haul truckers see America. They travel through different seasons in the same day. They eat at funky places along the interstate full of other people from elsewhere, everybody moving moving moving and all on a schedule. They spend most of their time alone, and I’ll bet they think some weird thoughts. There are long stretches of road – like I-10 once you get out in west Texas, where the speed limit is 80 and it looks like you’re on another planet – that lend themselves to reflection, imagination and, probably, paranoia.

We’ve made huge leaps forward in so many areas of our lives in the past decade, but someone still has to physically haul all that cheap shit from China that you buy at Walmart. And bring food from ports around the country because we don’t grow our own and we want to have apples in February. So, while blue collar jobs that pay a living wage are disappearing by the bushel, truckers are still in demand. A hold out, at least until teleportation is mastered.

None of this is the interesting part of this story. The newly-minted trucker told me that one of the last lessons she learned in truck driving school was not to put anything green on her truck. It seems that something green, say, tied to the antenna, is a sign to truck stop hookers to come calling. Not having green on the truck doesn’t get you off the hook, necessarily. The students were told that if they were approached by a prostitute whose services they were not interested in, they should politely decline. Otherwise they might wake up with a slashed tire or two. In addition to truckers, I don’t know much about prostitutes. But I would wager that the ones who service truck stops are probably some tough mofos.

Next time you find yourself at a truck stop in the evening time, take a gander at the trucks. See who’s sporting the green. If this cab’s a rockin, don’t come a knockin.

(PS – a quick google for this factoid has not been successful – all I know is that this chick believed it, and I believed her – in my googling I did learn that asking on CB if someone wants “commercial company” is another solicitation tactic) (The More You Know™)

in media res

In the arts, travel on August 21, 2011 at 8:07 pm

Remember when I used to write in this blog regularly? I really liked doing that, and I miss it a lot. One reason for the low blogging output is because I changed jobs and haven’t been writing over my lunch break. I could do it, but I just haven’t felt moved to. One difference is location. Instead of being in the back corner of the building in my own office (which often featured a closed door and my bad attitude), I’m in the middle of a somewhat bustling office full of high energy people. I’m too busy interacting with them to sit quietly and write in this thing. And we’re pretty freaking busy, so it just doesn’t seem right to write some bullshit here when I could be working. I need to get back in the habit of blogging at night after a couple of glasses of wine. That’s when the good shit comes out anyway.

The hold up with that plan? The blogging at night? We recently got Uverse. All of the channels. Until getting Uverse, television was background noise while surfing the web or writing. I rarely actually watched anything, you know, with both eyeballs and my brain. Then came Uverse. Beyond the fact that we have access to a number of channels I’ve never had before (HBO, Showtime, etc.), the on demand selections are pretty spectacular. For instance, when I’m done writing this, I’m going to watch American: The Bill Hicks Story. And I will watch it with both eyeballs and my brain and will not have my laptop in my lap.

Something you should watch with your eyeballs/brain is Louie. It’s the best thing on television. If you aren’t watching it already, get on that. It’s on FX, but if you don’t have cable (or if you don’t have a television, which you tell people as often as possible) you can also watch it for free on Hulu. If you don’t at least try Louie, I’m not sure we can continue our relationship. Come on. Give it a shot. If you don’t like it, I’ll give you your money back. (I realize I’m late to this game as the show is in the middle of its second season – if you’ve been watching from the get-go, well goody for you.)

Okay, I’m off to watch the Bill Hicks movie and fantasize that in another life, I was a stand up comic.

Oh – speaking of stand up comics – check out the Whiskey Brothers podcasts. They are four Houston-based comics who are equal opportunity offenders. While they are always funny as shit, I’ve actually found myself cringing at some of the things they say (no small feat – I’m not what you would call sensitive). A couple of weeks ago I started listening to their podcasts on the way to/from work instead of listening to music, and my already short commute flies by. Most of the time, they make me laugh at least five times on the way to work. I’m talking a for real, laugh out loud, hearty guffaw. It’s a great way to get the brain juiced up before having to interact with people. I do wonder if any of the other people on their way to work think I’m crazy to be driving down the road, alone, laughing. Perhaps they think I’m watching a DVD or masturbating.

The Whiskey Brothers purposely stay away from politics, but pretty much any other topic is fair game. They will go from talking about Britney Spears’ vajayjay in one segment to how it’s bullshit that a restaurant isn’t letting in children under six years old in another segment. What I’m saying is, if they’re going off on something (boxing, my god, the boxing) that you don’t find interesting, just give it a few minutes. They’re bound to engage/enrage/enthrall you with the next item on the list. And repeat visitors are rewarded with knowing the inside jokes that move from one podcast to the next.

But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

crack horse

In animals, travel on July 19, 2011 at 12:51 pm

a horse is a horse, of course, of course, that is, of course, unless the horse is on some fucking crack

We traveled up the country weekend before last to chill with Tohner’s family and bring my niece Molly a bunch of presents for her 1st birthday. Her special day fell on the Wednesday before our visit. Since she has not yet grasped the concept of time, nor has she learned to read a calendar, we were able to have a celebration with her a few days after the fact with no repercussions. And really, what kind of person gets mad when they get presents a few days late? Let me go on record stating that I’m happy to receive a present at any time.

Somewhere past Katy, we saw a truck and trailer combo. At first I thought there was some loose fabric on the front end of the trailer because I kept seeing something flapping around in the breeze that would disappear for a bit before popping back out again. As my car got closer to the trailer, I realized it wasn’t fabric. It was a horse’s head. Read the rest of this entry »

the word

In luddite vs. iDevice, sartorial issues, the outdoors, travel on June 7, 2011 at 2:44 pm

James had a gig in Austin Friday night. It was just a few days past our eighth (!) anniversary, so it seemed a good excuse to have a weekend away. I haven’t spent much time in Austin the past few years and was a bit surprised by all of the road construction. It could have been that we just happened to choose routes that were under construction and the rest of the town was flowing right along, but it seemed everywhere we went the roads were completely closed or were suffering from severe congestion. Day and night. On the weekend. If not for the iPhone’s handy map, we would have driven around in circles more than we did, which was a lot. The word for the weekend was DETOUR.

Saturday morning we decided on a whim to go to Hamilton Pool, which James had rhapsodized about the previous evening. Typically when we travel I have a three-ring binder full of maps, itineraries, information on various diversions, etc. It sounds rigid, I know, but our trip planning has allowed us the chance to see some cool shit we wouldn’t have known about otherwise. We hadn’t planned anything for our Austin weekend (other than his gig and a trip to Book People), so the last minute journey to Hamilton Pool required the purchase of a couple of towels, sunblock and a cooler. I’d only brought flip flops with me on the trip (because I like to dress classy), not realizing we’d be doing outdoorsy stuff. Luckily the short, rocky hike down to the water was doable as long as I was careful about where I stepped. James shot some video Read the rest of this entry »

teenage diplomat

In civility is dead, Houston, people be trippin', things that make me want to punch someone in the face, travel on April 20, 2011 at 8:41 pm

(I’ll be back to dick jokes in the next post, so forgive me this droopy one.)

It began as usual. On the drive home after work last week, I stopped at the corner near my office. The last light before the freeway. The same woman was there with her change cup, just as she’s been every day since shortly after I started working this job. She waved, as she always does, and I waved back, as I always do. And I experienced the same conflicting emotions that I feel every day as we exchange pleasantries, wishing I could help her and not knowing what to do. I do nothing.

When she first showed up on this corner about three years ago, she looked to be close to my age. Average weight, average height, above average temperament.  In fact, I think she was the originator, at least in this area, of the panhandle wave.* Now everyone is doing it. Since her arrival, her skin has become reddened and dried by the wind. Her face has taken on the sunken appearance of someone who’s lost all their teeth. Her body mass has melted earthward from what is most likely a diet of nothing but fast food. But she still waves at every car, and sometimes she smiles. That last happens less and less often, though.

[*side note: I like the panhandle wave because it allows you to acknowledge the fact that a human being is standing there, even if you choose not to give them money. Otherwise, you're forced to try to look busy, have prolonged uncomfortable eye contact with someone just outside your car window or dig around for the cash you never seem to have, shrugging your shoulders in sympathy and awkwardness. The wave says, "I see you. I don't have any money to give you, but I recognize your humanity and wish you well." Maybe that's overstating it, but you know what I mean.]

So I was sitting at the light last week, having given and received my daily wave, when I noticed another panhandler on the other side of the street. I’ve never seen anyone else working this intersection. This other girl was young and healthy looking, clean blonde hair dancing in wind. She was wearing a flannel shirt and short shorts behind her hand-lettered cardboard sign (which I couldn’t read). It didn’t compute. Then I noticed the camera crew. Yeah, she and a couple of friends were making a film, and from the way she was wagging her ass and laughing between takes, I don’t think it was a serious documentary about the homeless problem in Houston.

I looked at the dumbass chick, just across the intersection. I looked at the tattered woman, just outside my car window, who was most likely in the background of their shots. I couldn’t understand how the kids with the nice video camera could be so oblivious of the situation they were, what, mocking? documenting? reenacting?

Maybe they weren’t oblivious. Worse, maybe they just didn’t give a shit. I stifled my strong desire to get out of my car and kick each of them in the ass, realizing a lot of my frustration has to do with the situation. I’m sad for this woman to be in the shape she’s in. I’m disappointed with myself for remaining on the sidelines, doing nothing except waving like an impotent monkey and then driving off. I’m worried that as the economy continues to be shit (or get shittier than shit), more and more people will find themselves in the same situation.

I don’t know what the kids were up to. And I don’t know what the future holds for the woman who waves. I doubt it is very bright. She seems to be on the downward slope of her story. The denouement. And there’s nothing I can do to help her. So I witness her decline, and when she stops showing up, I’ll notice. It is, literally, the least I can do.

When the light changed, I drove on.

So it goes.

Travels with Charley, redux (the conflicted edition)

In books, question, running away, travel on April 12, 2011 at 1:42 pm

I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin’ ’bout the way things sometimes are. - Dylan

I’ve been caught up in thoughts about honesty and writing, specifically honesty in writing, after my father alerted me to the new-ish controversy surrounding my favorite read of late, Travels with Charley.  A writer set off to follow Steinbeck’s route across the country to document how America had changed over the past 50 years since Steinbeck’s trip. And what he found was that Steinbeck’s timeline didn’t match up (he couldn’t have had the conversations he claimed because certain historical events that were referenced had not yet happened when the conversation supposedly did), he didn’t sleep in the back of his truck, Rocinante, all that much (because he was mostly staying in inns and resorts along the way) and, perhaps most egregious of all, he wasn’t alone with his dog on the majority of the trip (because his wife was sitting next to him in the cab of the truck more than half the time).

Steinbeck says in the beginning of the book that he didn’t take notes on his journey, so I expected that the conversations he printed were a writer’s creative recreations. Unless you have a court reporter or a tape recorder, you can’t accurately write down exactly what you and the other person(s) said five minutes after the conversation, much less days, weeks or months later. So I forgive him any artistic flourishes as long as the sentiment of the thing was accurate. Getting your dates screwed up on a three month trip – also not a big deal. But omitting the part about your wife being along much of the time and staying at inns rather than in your home on wheels, which you had built to your specifications just for this trip? Uncool. And blatantly dishonest, because Steinbeck makes a display of talking about the loneliness of being out on the open road with no one to share the journey or talk to other than the dog. Making up people (characters) encountered along the way when the stated purpose of the book was to get in touch with America?  That’s not an omission of information or a flourish of creativity – that’s plain bullshit.

See, the power of the story is that it was a true tale of a man and his dog, seeing the country and meeting the people, checking in on humanity and the self. It’s a romantic image and an archetype that obviously resonates with a lot of us who’ve read the book. You can see Rocinante in your mind, and you wonder if maybe you could build something like that in the back of your Mazda. Doesn’t have to be fancy because you’ll mostly use it for sleeping. The rest of the time, you’ll be driving the back roads, talking to folks along the way as you stop off for coffee or Cheetos, breathing different air than that to which you are accustomed, letting your mind wander the way it can only when you’re alone and the open road is stretched out before you, beckoning…

The book stoked my extant desire to take my own trip across America while also scratching that itch to get out (just a little bit) because I felt like I was along for Steinbeck’s journey. Travel by proxy. Travels with Charley and Mrs. Steinbeck Across America, Staying at the Finest Inns Along the Way wouldn’t have been the same book. And it most likely wouldn’t have impacted me and so many others to the great degree it did, encouraging each of us to take our own journeys some day. So as a piece of art, it was very effective. And that matters. It counts. Steinbeck and/or his editor knew this, so the parts that didn’t work toward the purpose of the art were dropped. But then, so was the honesty.

I think the book could have been almost as effective if there had been a disclaimer at the front. “This book is mostly true.” You would go into it knowing that maybe he didn’t really meet a Shakespearean actor in the middle of nowhere, and maybe he bathed more than he claimed. And that would be okay. This wasn’t a travelogue or journalism. So the blurring of lines would have been acceptable had it been acknowledged up front instead of exposed half a century later.

This is what I said at the end of my initial post about the book:

After reading Travels with Charley, I’m left with this. Travel. See the countryside. Interact with the people. Take their temperature and, by extension, yours. Note the similarities and differences of place. Enjoy the beauty that the land has to offer. Spend time communing with your dog and with the earth. Take the old highways (not the interstate or the toll road) so you can actually see the countryside. Know when it’s time to go home. And return there gladly.

Those sentiments are still valid. I’m grateful for having read the book. This bit of knowledge doesn’t change the emotional journey I experienced, and it doesn’t change my desire to get out on the open road and see America. But I will make you this promise – when that day comes and I write about my experiences, I will be as honest with you as I can be. I may write myself as thinner and more witty than I am, but I will not lie to you about who else is with me, where I slept, whom I met or what I saw.

Links:

it’s a gas gas gas

In tip, travel on March 7, 2011 at 4:41 pm

(for those who subscribe to this blog – doing a bit of housekeeping, and it seems that a couple/few old posts republished themselves – sorry about that)

My car was almost out of gas. I probably could have gone another 20 or 30 miles after the light comes on, but I don’t like to take things to such a dramatic conclusion. I consider the situation to be getting pretty serious when the little needle is creeping up on the outer corner of the E. James was in the car with me, and I told him I needed to stop to fuel up. He wasn’t much in the mood for shenanigans, which is probably why things turned out the way they did.

There’s a gas station right before the on-ramp that begins the freeway part of my journey to work, so I usually buy my gas there. The gas costs at least 10 cents more per gallon than the dicey looking place across the street. I’ve always felt that with a little detective work, I could find a decent station with a much better price per gallon. Aren’t gas stations right off the freeway higher priced than those in neighborhoods? But desperation often finds me in need of gas NOW, so I tend to fill up there on my way to wherever.

We happened to be near my usual gas stop when the light came on, so I pulled in. Their pumps were closed. I wasn’t going to go to the dicey place across the street, so I headed off down the feeder. As gas prices get more and more obscene, paying even 10 cents more per gallon than I need to starts to seem like a bad idea. A shitty investment. The next gas station down the feeder has gas that is TWENTY cents more per gallon than my usual place, which is ten cents more than the dicey looking place. Dammit. James is like, just get the fucking gas, but now I’m like a dog. Determined to find cheaper gas.

I head into the neighborhood, thinking of a Shell station that is off the beaten path. I’m sure it’ll be cheaper than all of the places we’ve seen so far, thereby making the 20 minute journey money saved. You can imagine my shock and horror when I get there and the gas is five cents more than the place down the feeder, which was twenty cents more than the place that is ten cents more than the dicey station. Bugger. I could tell that things were going to get ugly if I drove to yet another station, so I sucked it up and paid the price. Had I been alone, I would have kept driving until I found cheaper gas or ran out of it.

I needed this app.

you bet your biffy and other news

In Houston, lists, travel on February 22, 2011 at 1:03 pm

While perusing a travel catalog that arrived in the mail, I ran across an item called a “biffy bag.” It’s a personal disposable toilet. I couldn’t understand how it works, exactly, because it looks like a trash bag with a piece of foil attached to it. After a google, I was happy to find this helpful information page on the product’s website. You tie the top of the biffy bag around your waist then pull the other part between your legs and tuck into the top, let ‘er rip into the hanging bag, wipe, put your pants back on and you’re done. The website lists numerous situations in which this might be useful including long car trips when you don’t want to stop. I may like to burn miles, but I would much rather stop at the next Buc-ee’s than be in a car with someone who’s shitting into a fancy trash bag in the seat next to me.

While getting my oil changed yesterday, I was surprised to note that the garage employee who drove my car in and out of the bay doesn’t know how to drive a stick shift. He wasn’t letting out the clutch enough to really drive the car and was barely able to get it up on the racks. Then when he backed it out of the bay and pulled it in front for me, he almost hit the little old lady who was sitting there waiting for her car. I wonder if his coworkers make fun of him. Maybe I should offer some free tutoring (though not in my car).

I got my oil changed in the Heights because I still return there for a number of basic services. I spent decades finding the places I like, so it’s easier to go back there than start over where I live now. The construction all over the neighborhood sucks, though. Guess the roads are worn out from all of the valet-only restaurants and nanny traffic that arrived with the most recent yuppie invasion.

Speaking of the neighborhood, check out this video of Fred Rogers (Mr. Rogers) defending support of public television back in the ’60s. How rare to hear someone speak with such deliberation, and even more rare for that person to be listened to and treated with kindness and respect. Can you imagine that scenario playing out in today’s climate? Today, someone would yell “He’s a LIAR” while others would be busy checking their email or playing Angry Birds. “What do you do with the mad that you feel / When you feel so mad you could bite?” Indeed, Mr. Rogers, we don’t seem to know anymore.

(a quick) Friday list

In holidays, lists, the arts, things that make me happy, travel on January 28, 2011 at 2:02 pm

yeah, you know you're jealous

Before getting to the Friday list, I wanted to share with you the awesomeness that entered my life just a few minutes ago. Today over lunch my department had its much-belated holiday party, which included a white elephant gift exchange. I was able to pass along the gaudy necklace I received at a white elephant earlier this month, and through some negotiating today am now going home with the item you see above. Yes, that is a knitted armadillo holding an old can (pull tab) of Lone Star Light. What is sad is that, while everyone at the table was remarking about how gaudy it was, all I could think was, “Man, that’ll go great in my house.” Draw your own conclusions.

On to the short list (because my lunchtime is over):

  • If you want to do some traveling in the US or abroad but don’t have much money and aren’t weirded out by sleeping in a stranger’s house, check out couch surfing. You sign up on this site as a couch host or couch sleeper, and you can basically travel all over the place without paying for overnight accommodations. They expect that the sleeper will make dinner or chip in with chores in exchange for a free place to sleep, but nothing is mandatory. And if you sleep on some creep’s couch, you can leave a shitty review of the experience to save others from having to experience a host who walks around in his underwear and offers a “back rub” in the middle of the night.
  • Posted on facebook this morning, a TED performance of Bohemian Rhapsody on ukulele. Fantastic. Looks like Houston will have another TEDxHouston conference this summer. I really enjoyed it last year and hope this year’s list of speakers is just as varied and interesting.
  • Finally, for my theatre people, check out Arena Stage’s new play blog, which is chronicling what’s happening this week at From Scarcity to Abundance, a conference about new work for the theatre. Really interesting conversations are happening about the health of today’s theatre and possibilities for the future.

please report suspicious behavior/cheese enchiladas

In food and drink, travel on January 26, 2011 at 11:09 am

I’ve had this running joke with my coworkers over the years that if they see me walking down the hall with a can of gasoline, they should grab their shit and get out of the building. It’s a harmless little joke, meant to show that we’re all down in the trenches together. Obviously I’m not being serious. Obviously.

Inappropriate jokes in the workplace make me think of the signs at the airport that expressly tell you not to make jokes about the ridiculous security measures. As in, don’t say, “Man, I’m sure glad I stuffed that bomb up my ass where the rapescan machine can’t see it.” It’s the immature child inside me, but every time I see that sign, I have to clamp my mouth shut to not say something stupid. Which, in turn, makes it look like I have something stuck up my ass.

I flew in/out of the San Jose airport last month. A recorded announcement on a loop stated that, among other things, one should report “suspicious behavior.” The thing is, one person’s suspicious behavior is another person’s Tourette Syndrome. Or hangover. Or fear of flying. Or stifled inappropriate joke. As the bombing at the Russian airport shows, you can’t totally secure the airport. Or the train station. Or the subway. It doesn’t mean you should give up trying, but it does mean that security theatre is just that – something designed to make you feel safety that isn’t really there. Someone making a stupid joke is the least of your worries.

Unrelated:

I’m taking that cheese enchilada class at Robb Walsh’s house this weekend. I can’t wait! Enchiladas are not something I’ve had very good luck with – I always end up breaking the corn tortillas when I roll those bitches up, so I’m looking forward to learning from the master. The other thing I’m interested in is seeing exactly who will be taking this class with me.

There are twelve slots total. I figure there’s bound to be a Comic Book Guy guy in the group, someone who thinks he knows just a little more than everyone, including the host. Worst. Enchilada class. Ever. There will be one or two long-in-the-tooth fan girls (who haven’t been “girls” for many decades), who will wear their cutest cat sweatshirts for the occasion. A couple of foodie types who are there in part to learn Robb’s method but really just want to see his kitchen so they can snark/praise it in their blogs later that evening. Maybe one or two lonely people who just like to do stuff and aren’t necessarily that interested in the particular topic. And then the rest will be people like me – home cooks who like to get they grub on. You know I’ll report back after the fact.

suddenly, my faith in humanity was restored

In douchebags, food and drink, stupidization, travel on January 14, 2011 at 12:45 pm

Leaving work yesterday, I saw a bumper sticker on a car in our parking lot (a visitor’s car, not staff) that said:

Annoy a Liberal
Work, Succeed, Be Happy

I stood by the car for a moment, hoping the person would exit the building so I could ask if they really believe that “liberals” want non-liberals to be unemployed, unsuccessful and unhappy. Because, though I do hope that anyone who spurts hateful, divisive political rhetoric gets a bad case of explosive diarrhea and ass pimples, I don’t wish  unemployment, failure and misery on them. Or anyone else. And I think that most people, regardless of their political affiliation, generally hope that their fellow citizens have fruitful, happy lives.

The person didn’t exit the building (or saw me standing there and decided I wanted to make them unhappy) (which, now that you mention it, is sort of true), so I got in my ride and drove homeward (with my own bumper sticker on the back exhorting people to fight stupidization – I guess maybe that could be insulting to stupid people).

On the freeway, I saw a black Corvette with the license plate: bone md.

Then I stopped at Spec’s to get a bottle of wine. There were only two employees running registers, so each line had two or three people in it (the usual post-work rush). The guy in front of me wanted to pick out some cigars and a lighter, so my checker had to go open a case for him while he stood there trying to decide what he wanted. On the other register, there was an issue determining the price of an item. So both lines became backed up. And you would have thought that, in the midst of a famine, we’d been in the bread line for 8 hours and when we got to the front they said they were out of bread. The people behind me were sighing and bitching and moaning and rolling their eyes and stomping their feet like this was the worst fucking thing to happen to them in their lives. And all I could think was: REALLY?

In my usual yin/yang approach to things, the more irritated they became, the more at peace I became. And, this probably says something bad about me, but I sort of enjoyed how pissed they were getting. Because it was so ridiculous and unnecessary and melodramatic and American. I turned around and smiled at their scrunched up, angry faces. They didn’t smile back.

I walked back to my car (parked in the usual no ding zone), and there was a black Corvette parked next to me. It wasn’t the bone doctor, sadly. Because that would have been awesome.

Anyway, I was not impressed with my fellow citizens by the time I completed my 30 minute journey home. But today is a new day. When I arrived at my office this morning, there was a little surprise waiting for me.

two tastes that taste great together - the marriage of two of life's infinite pleasures

That would be chocolate covered bacon, handmade by my coworker Shannon. A little parcel of the stuff was dangling from the handle of my office door, wrapped in red cellophane–reminiscent of uncooked bacon–with a twisty silver star ribbon wrapped around it for that extra splash of panache. And just like that, my faith in humanity was restored. By surprise bacon and a thoughtful friend.

Yes, of course it was delicious. Do you even have to ask? The saltiness of the bacon was balanced by the sweetness of the chocolate. The bacon was thick and just a bit chewy and the chocolate was thin and smooth.

Is this a great country or what?

want a copy of Travels with Charley?

In books, running away, travel on January 3, 2011 at 8:59 pm

I so enjoyed John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley: In Search of America that I just purchased two copies to give away on this blog (see end of post for more information). Steinbeck not only identifies something similar to my deep down desire to just Forrest Gump it out of town, but he also gently suggests that being “away” only satisfies for a bit before you find yourself longing for your own bed and your people.

The first few sentences:

When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job.

Instead of waiting on senility, Steinbeck decided to go on a 10,000 mile road trip around the country with his dog Charley, starting and ending his journey at his home in Sag Harbor. He knew he’d need a special vehicle for this trip, so he had a truck manufacturer build a home on wheels (not wanting the hassle of pulling a trailer). Having a compact unit made it easier for him to just pull over in a pretty area or when he was too weary to keep driving and camp for the night.

this is Rocinante, the truck and camper that served as Steinbeck's home on the road - he special ordered the camper, asking that its builder create something like the cabin on a small boat - Charley the dog generally rode in the passenger seat of the cab

Steinbeck describing himself:

For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I’ve lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment.

Awesome. He says similarly righteous things about his dog Charley, a standard poodle that was blue in color. That man loved his dog. I, of course, kept envisioning my own Travels with Stella: Seeing America with a Ratdog. Coming soon.

Steinbeck and Charley

After reading Travels with Charley, I’m left with this. Travel. See the countryside. Interact with the people. Take their temperature and, by extension, yours. Note the similarities and differences of place. Enjoy the beauty that the land has to offer. Spend time communing with your dog and with the earth. Take the old highways (not the interstate or the toll road) so you can actually see the countryside. Know when it’s time to go home. And return there gladly.

the interior of Rocinante, now stationed at the National Steinbeck Center in Salinas (if I'd read this book just a few weeks ago, I would have taken the time to visit Rocinante when we were in California - the museum is just 20 or so miles from Carmel) - love the dog-themed curtains and great use of space

Links:

  • National Steinbeck Center
  • Not even in the same universe as Rocinante, but you can get a tent for your pickup (so you don’t have to sleep on the ground) for amazingly little money. If you don’t have a pickup, you can get a tent that sets up on the ground but attaches to the ass end of your SUV (the back doors of which would open directly into the tent).
  • I’ve shared a link to this site before – it’s a place to buy a small pop up camper trailer that can be pulled by a motorcycle or small car. Even my Mazda!

BOOK GIVEAWAY: If you’d like a copy of Travels with Charley, please leave a comment on this post about your wanderlust – tell me where you want to go and why or share a story about where you’ve been and what you found. If, by the grace of something, more than two of you share a story, I’ll find some way to randomly choose two of you and will email you for your mailing address.

a quiet week off (and that’s just fine)

In books, holidays, travel on December 30, 2010 at 8:01 pm

This has been a quiet week off. James is under the weather, so things in the house are abnormally quiet. No music playing, no TV in the background, very little talking.  I’ve spent my time reading, relaxing and not being online. When I have been at my computer, I’ve been working on my new play and not doing much in the way of blogging or emailing. And I’ve gotten together with friends for lunch every day this week – some are in town from points elsewhere and others are, like me, using the holidays as an excuse to get together. It’s been fun. Laid back and fun, just as a vacation at home should be.

Today I finished reading Portnoy’s Complaint by Philip Roth. I picked it up at the Henry Miller Library on vacation a couple of weeks ago. The girl who checked me out said it was her favorite book, which I took as a compliment to my good taste at the time,  but I’ve since realized that my father might have stopped by before I got there and told her to say that. (see: this blog post – next to last photo caption – for that comment to make sense). What a delightful read. Well, “delightful” probably isn’t the right word. It was a scathing read. An uncomfortable read. A painfully funny read. I haven’t read something with that much masturbation in it in my life. My eye is still stinging…(inside joke).

The book was published in 1969, and I have to assume it raised more than a few eyebrows at the time. It’s full of sex, but it’s not sexy. Especially because of Portnoy’s ever-present, mood-killing parents. [Larry David had to have at least partially based George Costanza's parents on Seinfeld on Portnoy's parents. As I read I kept thinking of this scene from Seinfeld, which I still quote.] If this book hasn’t been done as a stage play yet, it should be. It’s basically a really terrific, hours-long monologue. The narrator is a great character. He’s a self-involved asshole who’s fairly honest with himself about his self-involvement and assholeness. And he wants to change. He just needs to meet the right girl…or…maybe not. I’m pretty sure I dated a 1990′s version of Portnoy. At least one.

Next vacation-purchased book in the hopper: Travels with Charley: In Search of America by John Steinbeck. Dude, he traveled the country with his DOG. I love it already.

A final note about the holidays: I have a highly honed ability to be annoyed by stupid commercials, so it was nice when James found one that bugged the shit out of him. If you don’t feel like clicking, it’s the Hyundai commercial with the hipsters singing monotone Christmas carols, the singer chick having vacant eyes/bangs and the drummer guy wearing skinny jeans/beard. They’re stupid singing hipsters, sure, but the commercial didn’t register on my annoy-a-meter until James said something. The duo is actually a band and not just actors – I just tried watching a video on their website but couldn’t deal with the twee song and the singer chick’s soulless eyes. (Get off my lawn!)

Happy end of 2010. I hope 2011 is a happy and healthy year for you and yours.

Part Three: Big Sur, the digs

In cabin in the woods, family, things that make me happy, travel on December 20, 2010 at 7:44 pm

You know how I'm always talking about that writing cabin in the woods? You can imagine my delight when we entered our second floor dwelling at Deetjens - Upper Creek - and I saw this view. The window is just behind a little desk with a lamp. Perfect. Tohner and his family stayed in the lower half of the house - Lower Creek, natch - so we were able to access their fireplace, and they could hang out on our balcony.

Here's the same view after the fog rolled in. We were lucky to have experienced rain/fog on only half a day during our trip. Unusual for Big Sur this time of year, I think. It provided the opportunity to take a break from the hiking. Though James and I both lead fairly sedentary lives, when we go on vacation we're all about hiking and being in nature as much as possible.

Here's the foggy view from our balcony.

In Upper Creek, in order to sit on the terlet you have to sort of turn sideways. The shower is also pretty small. If you drop the soap, you either have to hit your head against the wall or hang your ass out the shower curtain to retrieve it. All part of the fun.

This is the main room of Upper Creek, which is also the bedroom. It opens onto the balcony. The foundation of the little two-story house sags on one side, which means the floor tilts on both levels. Which further means that the bed has quite a pitch to it. I had to fight to stay on the bed. I know the small bathroom and pitched floor makes our stay sound like no fun, but it really was. Deetjens is a rustic place with a great vibe. You're not staying there for modern conveniences and things like level floors...

Here's the other room of Upper Creek, which features the writing desk and window shown above. Another cool thing about Deetjens is they have journals in each room that date back a couple of decades and are specific to each room. Visitors are encouraged to write an entry when they stay, though not everyone does. We've stayed in the same place at Deetjens two times, so my previous entries are in the journals of New Room. When I wrote my entry for this trip, in Upper Creek, I sat at the cool little writing desk, stared out the window and wrote about Mason. While the journals of some of the other rooms are often full of sex stories (Deetjens has that sort of vibe to it), the journals for Upper Creek were a little more tame. I think because the floor creaks when you sneeze, and many families stay in both storeys together, so... you know.

We didn't just hike.

Links

  • Deetjens Big Sur Inn Each time it gets more enjoyable.
  • Nepenthe Restaurant Meals with an awesome view. If you get there before sunset, the view goes on for miles.
  • Trader Joe’s Why oh why doesn’t Houston have a Trader Joe’s? I’m sure it relates to distribution issues and bullshit like that, but come on. We bought 12 bottles of wine, a bottle of Macallan, fruit, pumpkin bread and a number of snacks for $150. Wine is much cheaper in California, just as gas is much cheaper in Texas. Suppose it’s a supply thing. I’d prefer to be in the place with cheaper wine though I’m pretty sure I use more gas on a volume basis.

Part Two: Big Sur – the parks

In family, things that make me happy, travel on December 20, 2010 at 7:42 pm

Point Lobos park, just south of Carmel, is the first big park you hit on your way to Big Sur. The wide beaches of Carmel begin to give way to rocky shores.

Since our last visit (May 2009), parts of Point Lobos have become covered with some sort of orange fungus that is killing the trees. It is so thick and so orange, it looks like the park has a bad case of Cheeto-finger.

Alien invasion? I think these guys were spraying pesticide, probably trying to get rid of the orange fungus among us. When we went to Grand Canyon in 2008 there was a similar attack on the trees, though I think that invader was red rather than orange.

Nice physical representation of the passage of time and the differences from one era to the next. This is in a part of Point Lobos that I hadn't visited before. It was full of oddly colored rocks and weird rock formations. Felt like you were walking on the moon (with earth's gravity).

About 30 miles south of where we stayed in Big Sur there's a place called Jade Cove where you can, surprise, find jade. In fact, the cliff sides are full of the stuff, which makes for a lovely green cove. The trail to the bottom was washed out in a few places, so I was feeling like a badass (or stupid) the further we went. Then we got to the area you see James descending below, using an old rope that was anchored in the ground. It was the only part of the trip where I chickened out. My tennies were already slipping in the mud before we reached this area (I'll never try hiking in New Balance again), and I was worried I wouldn't be able to get back up to the trail once I got down there. Who knew how old that rope was, and the bottom half of it was actually an old strap that had been tied to the rope. No thanks. Figured it was better to be a pussy than to have to get air-lifted out of a park on my vacation (though it would have made a good story).

Andrew Molera Park has a trail with a little bit of everything. First you have to wade across the Big Sur River - it's only knee-high and not that far across but is cold cold cold. Then you walk through a meadow full of deer and bunnies (and, judging by the copious amount of hairy poo, some sort of canine carnivore - probably wolf). After about a mile of walking, you reach the beach. Just as we were leaving the meadow trail and walking on sand, we saw this nest... Um, what the hell kind of animal or bird lives in something that big? It was four or five feet tall and up in a tree. While we stood there looking at it, I was waiting for a skinny naked hobo to pop out and tell us to get off his prop'ty (a la Monty Python's Life of Brian - the guy who lives in the hole - see link below)

Garrapata State Park is a series of 19 turn offs on Highway 1 that are not marked. It seems that's the case with many of the parks in Big Sur. Not sure why. Trying to keep out the riff-raff? As you see in the shot above, Tohner was briefly marooned on a large rock. This beach was full of surprises. We were walking along, doot dee doo, when the tide suddenly rolled in way further than it had been. We had to run toward land to keep from being dragged out to sea. The wave action of this part of the Pacific isn't exactly "peaceful sea."

On each of the beaches we visited, there were these huge funky ass kelp that had been washed ashore. They are like PVC pipe, only instead of white plastic they are made of light brown, flesh-like material. Each of them ends in a bulbous "head" that is a little too animal-like for my taste. So I did what I could to avoid ever touching one. Not everyone feels this way, as evidenced by the two gentlemen here who were whipping each other with them.

Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park is another park that has a little something for everyone. There's a waterfall, views like this and a canyon trail that takes you through huge redwoods beside a clear stream.

This is a prime example of the lack of signage for Big Sur Parks. This is the entrance to Partington Cove, and if you hadn't done your research, you'd assume this is private property. To all of my friends who make fun of my three-ring vacation binder and the months I spend researching our trips, suck it.

Partington Cove has a wooden bridge, a tunnel that leads to a cove and a trail that goes down to a beach. The beach is full of rocks, and a number of people (or maybe one OCD person) have built cairns. The longer we were there, the more I noticed.

I've never gotten into Henry Miller, but I did check out the Henry Miller Memorial Library on this trip. It's really more of a bookstore with some Miller stuff sprinkled about. They have a tight selection of books by California writers (among others). Good place to grab a cup of tea and settle in among the redwoods for some reading.

One of the main reasons for our visit to California was to spread some of Mason's ashes at the one-year anniversary of his death. He traveled to California multiple times (both northern and southern) and was married in Big Sur, so it was an appropriate area to return part of him to the earth/wind/sea/sand/river. Each of us had our own container of ashes, and the trip provided a nice opportunity to commune with him and let him know how much he's missed in our own way. Here, Tohner and I spelled his name with rocks found on Andrew Molera beach, which is somewhat remote this time of year. I hope his name stays there for some time.

Links:

Part One: Carmel-by-the-Sea

In family, things that make me happy, travel on December 20, 2010 at 7:41 pm

My niece Molly (5 months old) and my pops (slightly older) on the flight to California. Yes, they are both as cool as they look. Molly and Rowan both did remarkably well on the airplane. Even without having spiked their food with Benadryl (my suggestion).

Carmel is full of storybook cottages. Instead of numbered addresses, each home has a name (here's Snug as a Bug in a Rug), and that's how you address mail to people who live here. Such as: Crystal Jackson, Ratdog Hideaway, Main Street, Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA

Dinner our first night in town was at a tasty Mediterranean restaurant. Check out the job the waiter did with the corkscrew, which he repeated on each of the bottles we drank. This is just one small example of the extreme attention to detail paid in this town, from the mailman (long white hair, jet black handlebar mustache that ended in twirls) to the hospitality (many restaurants feature specific seating areas for people with dogs).

As soon as we got back to our room, I tried my hand at the cork-holder trick. Not as delicate as the work of the waiter, but it got the job done.

My brother outside of Tor House, the compound built by the poet Robinson Jeffers. They don't allow you to take pictures once inside the fence, so I'm sorry to not be able to share more detail with you. The building in the background is Hawk Tower, which Jeffers built for his wife. There's a "hidden" stairway inside the right half of the tower that you have to go up sideways because it's so narrow. Not good for the claustrophobic or big-assed among us. Of course I was worried I'd get stuck or freak out on my journey upward, so as always when I'm in a situation that makes me nervous, I giggled the entire way.

The view from the back yard of Tor House. Funny story: my parents did the tour before us so they could then watch my brother's kids while the rest of us did the tour. When we arrived for our turn, the docent said that we were the one millionth visitor/reservation to Tor House and that our admission was free. Because I was in vacation mode with people I love and breathing that sweet N. California air, it didn't occur to me that it was an unbelievable claim for a place that limits tours to six at a time. I just thought it was a sign of our specialness. So imagine my surprise when I later found out that it was my father who crafted that little bit of fiction. He was pre-paying for us and suggested the "millionth customer" thing instead of the less exciting "your father already paid for your tickets." I'm not as cynical/jaded as I sometimes think I am, which was a nice discovery.

The blogger and James walking on the beach in Carmel. The town is VERY dog friendly (but not very kid friendly), so there are dogs everywhere - on the beach, on drivers' laps in cars, next to your table in a restaurant. I liked it because I love dogs, but it did make me miss my rat dog even more.

Links:

  • information on Tor House
  • Dametra Cafe, Carmel Warning: though the food was delicious and they have great presentation, they occasionally break into song and try to get you up from your table to dance with them. If you just want to get your eat/drink on, look elsewhere. We would have eaten there a second night had there not been a floor show.
  • Candle Light Inn Located in the middle of downtown Carmel, Candle Light Inn is a delightful little place. They deliver a complimentary breakfast each morning in a small cooler – juice, yogurt, pastries, fruit, cereal – and each morning featured a different selection of goods. There’s also a big outdoor fireplace in the courtyard. We ran off a number of people with our nightly raucous conversation around that fire.
  • the listing claims it’s “art deco” I don’t know about that, but I do know that this house mars the view from Tor House (it’s just to the left of the shot I posted above). A cool $19.2 million and it’s yours. Please buy it and tear it down, or at least alter the roof line. It looks like it’s shooting the finger to the entire area. More like fart deco.

back in the saddle

In travel on December 18, 2010 at 10:13 pm

The thing about constantly bombarding people with your bullshit online is that when you aren’t doing so, they start to wonder what’s wrong. Is she hiding? Did she get tired of the sound of her own voice? Go out of town to a place with no internet access? No. No. And yes. My family–my parents; my little brother, his wife and their two kids; James and I–traveled to Northern California. My parents treated us to this trip, the reason for which was two-fold. We marked the one-year passing of my brother Mason, who loved that part of the country, and we had the rare opportunity to spend a big chunk of time together without the distractions of our regular lives. I’m writing up a couple of posts about the trip that I’ll probably post tomorrow.

When we flew out of IAH, it seemed that none of the body scanners were in use though plenty were in evidence. On the way out of San Jose, there were multiple scanners but only one in use. I just got in a metal detector line and skipped the drama (plus, I didn’t have a chance to order one of these yet). You have to wonder if they’re very slowly phasing in the scanners in an attempt to keep a lid on the protesting, waiting until everyone’s attention is on something else. It’s hard to keep issues on the front burner with the constant barrage of information and the typical early energy investment that quickly fades as people move on to the next conflict.

First they came for my bottle of water, and I said nothing because I try not to drink too much when I fly. I hate having to use the awkward, stinky little bathroom. The sink is always wet even though they have the sign that says you should wipe it off out of consideration for the next passenger but no one ever does.

Then they came for my shoes, and I said nothing (well, I probably bitched a little) because there were so many other things to worry about like getting out my laptop and taking off my jewelry and not making jokes about airport security, which they’re pretty much begging you to do with all of the signs telling you not to joke about airport security.

Then they made me submit to a body scan (or a grope), and I wrote about it in my blog and on facebook but otherwise did nothing because I’m just as lazy as everyone else.

Then they said you have to submit to a full cavity search, just to be on the safe side, and I said, “Fuck this, I’m driving.”

Friday list

In lists, stupidization, the internets, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, travel on November 19, 2010 at 1:37 pm

 

kill your TV

(Please note: the Fight stupidization. blog does not condone shooting – of televisions, living creatures or anything else. But it does commiserate with people who are fed up. And full of beer. And wearing an awesome mustache.) (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, click the picture for the story.) (Man bites TV.)

- If you’re on twitter, you should follow Humble Brag. Retweets of people who name drop and otherwise try to show how special they are, often disguising their true intention through fake self-deprecation or faux displeasure. Good stuff.

- Need a little camper for your small car/motorcycle? Actually, even if you don’t you should check out this site. I especially enjoyed the homemade videos that show off the company’s various products. Seriously – if you were going to travel the country and didn’t want to have to set up a tent every night, this is a pretty cool way to do it.

- Yesterday’s post by The Bloggess was ridiculously funny. If you’ve never taken my advice to read her blog before, now is a good time to give it a go. It’s worth the click.

- I’m flying next month, so body scans and hard core pat downs are on my mind. Security theatre, of which we are all players, has finally reached the ridiculous. When will we have to wear government-issued coveralls and paper slippers like they do in jail in order to board an airplane? If you check out this story from the Houston Chronicle, you’ll note the pained expression on the woman whose right tit is being firmly squeezed by a TSA worker. Pat down or breast exam? The gubment sho does like to keep us skeered. We’re so much easier to control that way.

This overstepping of bounds by the TSA is one hot topic that my conservative friends (I have one or two) and I can agree upon. Check out what Ron Paul had to say (not suggesting he’s a friend but he is a conservative):

Until I watched this video, I didn’t realize that Michael Chertoff had a financial stake in the machines that he’s been pimping for years. Huh. How you like them apples?

The scanners are called Rapiscan. I think they should change that “i” to an “e.”

assumptions, beer

In food and drink, random, travel on October 7, 2010 at 12:38 pm

written yesterday at the coffee shop :
Taking artistic license here, but I’m pretty sure I can nail the situation going down at the table next to me. There’s an attractive young lady – looks to be 25 at the most – and a not so attractive “old” guy – who’s probably just slightly older than I am but in comparison to the woman looks old enough to be her dad. And, technically, someone slightly older than I am is old enough to be her dad. When I first sat down, he was laying an unimpressive line of bullshit on her, and she seemed taken with it. She keeps touching his arm. I’m guessing he’s a professor. Most likely her professor. You grow out of that eventually, buying the bullshit of a guy like this – something he already knows and she’ll find out.

I must be relaxed right now. A huge leaf just landed on me, and I didn’t freak out. My heart rate didn’t change. I didn’t immediately assume it was a rat falling on me or an extra-large tree roach. Didn’t jump up out of my chair with a yelp. I just casually grabbed the leaf and tossed it aside. This is highly unusual behavior. Especially after so much caffeine. Must be the fresh air and blue sky.

written today at my desk:
On my way to work this morning I saw a sticker on the back of a Budweiser truck that suggested I visit www.beeresponsible.com. Now that can really go a couple of different ways. I can read it as BEEResponsible, which tells me that if I visit this website I’ll find tips on how to drink beer responsibly. I can also read it as BE-eresponsible, which, though spelled incorrectly, makes me think I’ll find a website that gives tips on stupid things I can do while drinking beer. Like I really need any ideas in that category.

Okay, so I just visited the website. Looks like they’re going more for the former interpretation of beeresponsible. The site has images of healthy young college kids hanging out and a mom/dad/boy/girl combo smiling and looking at the camera. I don’t know what these people are happy about since not a single one of them is holding a beer. They should show the “after” pictures of these same groups. The college kids are puking and making bad decisions about whom to sleep with. The mom and dad are fighting over the light bill and how they never go out to dinner anymore while the boy and girl are sneaking sips of warm Budweiser. Ahhh, America. Love it or leave it, commie.

happiness vortex

In Houston, travel on September 28, 2010 at 1:08 pm

Life is mostly full of little things with the occasional big thing here and there to give you some perspective. So the little things matter. Until the end of last week, each morning’s drive to work invariably included me sitting in my stalled lane of traffic on I-10 waiting to get on 45 South (you’ve heard this before). And just as regularly, I would watch car after car (driven by people way more important than the rest of us) cut over at the last minute to get in my lane. Even subtracting a suitable percentage of people who didn’t realize that was their exit until the last minute and others with actual emergencies, there were still plenty of dickheads who just didn’t want to wait.

So, instead of getting bothered each morning by the lack of civility shown by my fellow Houstonians, as of the end of last week I decided to take Memorial in to work instead of the freeway. Not just when I-10 is backed up. Every day. It may or may not be faster, but more important than that – it’s a much nicer drive. First, the fancy houses. Then pure forest with a road cutting through the middle. Then the commercial section, full of the fuels (coffee and gas) that drive America. Then a winding road above the bayou that takes you around a curve and suddenly you’re greeted by the skyscrapers of downtown, like rounding a corner and finding a mountain where you weren’t expecting one. Certainly a much more interesting drive and a nice journey through the micro-climes of Houston.

As I waited at the light this morning to take a right to go to Memorial and away from the freeway, I was thinking that this change in the journey (but not the destination) was a positive one for the sake of my mental health. Then something in my rear view mirror caught my eye. The guy driving the car behind me was singing a song, very animatedly, with his young daughter whom I could see in the back seat. They were both having a great time on their way to daycare/work, and it made me happy. It’s like there’s a little happiness vortex on that stretch of road. Maybe I’ll do something one morning that will make someone else laugh.

I hope it’s not me picking my nose.

the fight has gone international

In things that make me happy, travel on September 21, 2010 at 12:30 pm

Fighting stupidization in Singapore

My friend Larry Winters on 90.1 KPFT’s Spare Change program has a friend, John, in Singapore who listens to Larry’s show over the internet. John requested a sticker after I was on Larry’s show, and here he is posing with it on his car. In Singapore. I LOVE IT! John is officially the most far-flung ambassador of the fight stupidization movement. Awesome.

Next stop: the moon. Or maybe Mars.

In other fight stupidization news, my friend Andrea spotted a sticker while on the road in Houston last weekend (and captured a picture while stopped at a light – see below). I’m still waiting to have that experience (friends’ cars don’t count). Around the same time, she saw a guy on a motorcycle who was riding without a helmet AND texting  while in motion. Someone needs to give that guy a sticker. And a helmet. Probably a helmet first.

Fighting stupidization in Houston

(I’m not really sure why I always blot out people’s license plates when I post pictures of their cars, but it just seems like something that you’re supposed to do. Does it matter? I have no idea.)

it’s the little things

In travel on September 14, 2010 at 1:17 pm

I-10 backed up in a bad way this morning, so, last minute and last exit, I darted off the freeway to take an alternate route. The road that I took from I-10 dead ends on Memorial, so it was a bit stagnant as people waited for the Memorial cross traffic to cease so they could hang a left to head downtown. As I sat there waiting for my turn to turn, my iPod selected Stayin’ Alive for my morning drive. Then I saw the guy. He was walking on the sidewalk, going the same direction I was, with his jacket slung over his shoulder. And – best part – his walk was perfectly timed to the song. I mean dead on. Ah (step) ah (step) ah (step) ah (step) stayin’ (step) alive (step) stayin’ (step) alive (step). You get the idea. The traffic moved perfectly so that I stayed just behind him, which allowed me to openly enjoy this little bit of kismet without the guy being creeped out by my staring/smiling/nodding.

I listen to that song sometimes when I’m out on a walk, and I move entirely too fast to hit the beat like this guy did. He must have been ambling his way to point B this morning. Wherever he was going, he made my morning and didn’t even know it.

It’s the little things.

didn’t even have to use my a.k.

In family, theatre, things that make me happy, travel on September 13, 2010 at 12:45 pm

Mailed out fight stupidization stickers this weekend to people in: Massachusetts, California, Hawaii, Washington, New York and England. Word is getting out. In a bit of a trickle. Spreading like…a damp fire.

Headed up to the country yesterday. Had some of that ridiculously tasty chicken from the Fayetteville K of C. I also had the opportunity to witness this:

you have to be comfortable with your masculinity to pull this off

That would be my little brother riding his daughter Molly’s Radio Flyer tricycle. She’s only two months old, so she won’t need it for a while. It came from our uncle, who also gave Tohner a blue one for Rowan. I didn’t see the blue one, but the pink one is awesome. It has “diamonds” embedded all around the front tire. I’m not sure how old these bikes are, but I’d guess they belonged to my cousins (rather than my uncle’s grandkids). They have the sturdy, well-made look of something that was crafted 40 years ago from steel rather than the plastic fantastic design of something more current.

not even close

Here’s a photo of a new Radio Flyer pink tricycle. Even the pink paint job seems cheaper. This little girl looks like she’s happy, but imagine how much happier she’d be with diamonds on her front wheel. Poor bastard doesn’t even know what she’s missing.

Just heard from a theatre company in NYC that Flagellating the Boss (my newest play) is going to be part of a reading next month. This will be its first life outside of Six of One doing it in the Houston Fringe Festival in May. It’s fairly dark, so I wasn’t sure how other companies would receive it. My actors are used to walking the fine line between despair and hilarity. As am I, in my life. But sometimes other people don’t want to touch it.

burning sensation

In civility is dead, douchebags, stupidization, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, travel on September 7, 2010 at 1:38 pm

PPBBBBT!

Whenever I read stories about instigating assholes like the “Christian” pastor in Florida who is calling for his congregation of 50 members to burn copies of the Quran on the anniversary of 9/11, I wish that the big foot from Monty Python would come down and crush the jerk. In what I find a fairly odd coincidence in this particular case, the “pastor” is named Terry Jones, not to be confused with the Terry Jones who was in Monty Python. Furthering the Terry Jones envelope, it would also be acceptable for the Terry Jones from the “church” to eat a wafer thin mint and explode like the Terry Jones from Monty Python.

Terry Jones the “Christian” is quite transparently hoping to instigate some sort of backlash from the militant Muslim community. Guess he figures maybe he can add a few more sister-fucking hillbillies to his church if there’s another terrorist attack. Says Jones, “We think it’s time to turn the tables, and instead of possibly blaming us for what could happen, we put the blame where it belongs — on the people who would do it.”

So what he’s saying is that it’s not his fault if his aggressive, disrespectful actions incite the very people he is trying to incite. It’s the fault of the people who get angry for allowing themselves to, uh, get angry. Following that line of reasoning, I could drive to Florida, find Terry Jones, and shit on his head. If he were to get mad about that, that’s his fault, not mine.

Road trip?

this is Galveston?

In the outdoors, travel on September 4, 2010 at 9:41 pm

In no particular order, here are the top seven reasons why today’s impromptu trip to Galveston was fantastic.

THE BEACH. Since today's trip was completely spur-of-the-moment, I didn't take the time at home to figure out which beach would be best. So as we approached the seawall and had to turn left or right, I headed left toward Apfel Park. Look at that lovely sand. No seaweed. No tar balls. No jelly fish. Just clean sand as far as the eye could see. Quite different from the last time I went to this beach over a decade ago.

THE WEATHER. Just a few puffy white clouds and sunshine. There was a constant breeze, but it wasn't the kind of breeze we've been feeling for the past few months where it feels like someone opened a hot oven that has a fan inside that is blowing 400 degree heat in your face. This was a caressing breeze, and when damp from being in the water it actually cooled you off.

THE WILDLIFE. James was out in the water, and I was relaxing on the beach. I saw him waving and pointing a bit farther out in the water from where he was standing. Then I saw the FIN. I thought it was a shark, so I was waving for him to come back in. Not surprisingly, he didn't. The four young dudes who were right by him headed for the beach with no small amount of panic, but James just stood there, watching. Then, as the fin gracefully moved in an arcing motion in and out of the water, I realized it was a dolphin. Cool.

THE TUNES. I have this ridiculous old school jam box that includes a KEYBOARD. Oh yeah. In a lovely marriage of old and new technology, James hooked his iPhone up to the jam box and played music from iTunes.

THE REFRESHMENTS. We brought a cooler full of Tecate and, oddly, Little Kings cream ale. You aren't supposed to bring glass on the beach, so we had to sneak the Little Kings. They are the sort of beer my grandmother would have liked - she adored anything that was small. She was small, too. Also, we ate Cheetos.

THE WATER. I don't ever remember going to Galveston and being able to see my feet in waist-deep water. But today, the water was clear. Which was great because when seaweed brushed across my leg, I didn't have a heart attack.

THE COMPANY. Last but not least. James was up for a last minute, random trip to the beach this morning. We had a great time and have gained a renewed appreciation for Galveston.

ADDENDUM. Check out this shot James took with his iPhone. Vortex?

waving, not drowning

In awkward, travel on September 1, 2010 at 3:57 pm

I work from home on Wednesdays (when I don’t have a meeting or some other thing that requires my physical presence rather than my electronic one). I like working from home for numerous reasons, including the fact that I can quickly run an errand in the middle of the day instead of joining the throngs after work. Rather than hit the grocery store late morning today as was my plan, I ended up not going until after 2PM. Which meant that school let out around the time I was coming back home.

Taking the back roads through a neighborhood, I ended up behind a school bus full of elementary school kids. We were sitting at a stop sign, and I noticed that three of the kids were peering at me over the back of their seats at the rear of the bus (where the bad kids sit). I waved and smiled, fully expecting one of the kids to shoot the finger or slowly lift up his shirt, flashing a gun in his waistband. To my delight, the kids waved back and laughed. This was evidently so much fun for them that they told other kids on the bus that there was some lady in the car behind them that would wave if you looked at her. So other kids popped up in the back window and waved. How cute, right?

We turned out of the neighborhood and onto a busy street. I was about to zip around the bus when it suddenly stopped in front of an apartment complex. So I stopped too. Only now, I have six or seven little kids who are staring at me and waving. And it seems that – literally – the entire bus load of kids is getting off at this stop. Every last one. So we sat there for at least three or four minutes though it felt like 15 or 20. Even the kids seemed to sense the awkwardness because they stopped waving. But they didn’t stop staring. We just looked at each other in our awkwardness, no one willing to look away. That is, until it was time for them to exit the bus. They popped up without another thought my direction and got off the bus. Then the bus lurched forward, and I headed home.

One of the nice things about being a woman isn’t I didn’t have to worry about the po-lice being called…

I’m special (special), so special (special)

In civility is dead, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, travel on August 19, 2010 at 4:08 pm

two examples of special in one shot

I gotta have my own lane in traffic…give it to me.

The drive to work was congested this morning. According to the radio, in addition to an accident at I-10 and Washington, a woman went into labor. I think they were two separate incidents, but who knows. What I do know is the shit was backed up, which of course meant that all of the special drivers differentiated themselves from us regular folk. In the shot above, you will see two examples of what I’m talking about.

The car on the left is a regular HOV driver + passenger. No problem. The car in the middle is a solo driver who decided, rather than wait in traffic like a dumbass, she’d go ahead and cross through the barrier to drive on the HOV lane. A number of people did this, which caused the HOV folks who were clipping right along to have to slam on their brakes as these idiots pulled in front of them with little warning. Finally, the car on the right is driving on the shoulder. A lot of people did this, which is why it was so easy to capture both of these dillweeds in one shot. In my continuing quest to chill out when driving and not get so worked up (aka screaming obscenities in combinations never before heard), I thought I’d take some pictures as these people went flying by my non-moving car. Did it work? Meh.

Though I’m certain some of the people who were hotfooting it illegally down the highway had valid reasons – job interview, woman in labor, Beiber (beaver?) sighting, I’m pretty sure that most of these people think they are just too damn special to have to sit and wait.

There is such an abundance of special people in the world today that you are actually special if you do not think you are special. You dig?

[By the way, I took these pix with a new app in my iPhone. The colors are all weird. What's funny, though, is that it captured my state of mind on the drive in. Now that's an app!]

changing lanes

In stupidization, the internets, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, travel on August 13, 2010 at 3:28 pm

On my drive to work this morning, a man driving a big black Range Rover was riding my ass, inches from my back bumper. Perhaps he wanted to get a closer look at my fight stupidization sticker. After tailgating for a while, he made a few herky jerky moves to stumble through thick traffic, only to end up two car lengths ahead of where he was in the pack. I wanted to yell obscenities his direction – tailgating is such a dangerous, not to mention assholish, thing to do – but I’m trying to curb that bad behavior. My irritation doesn’t make the other guy drive any better and only serves to raise my blood pressure. Lucky for me, my iPod saved the day. Just as this guy made another stellar traffic move and ended up right in front of me, the chorus to the Beatles’ Girl started. Instead of yelling at the guy in hopes that he was looking in his rear view and could read lips, I sang “jackass” instead of “girl” at the appropriate time. (just take a moment to do that – it fits perfectly – “ohhhhhhhh jaaaackaaassssss…(inhale) jaaaackaaassssss”) It was surprisingly cathartic, didn’t raise my blood pressure and lessened the chance that the guy in the Range Rover might pull out a gun and shoot me.

There’s an article on chron.com today about the ridiculously hot summer we’ve had. As per usual with any post related to weather, there are the “global warming is real” crowd and the “global warming is bullshit” crowd tossing poop at each other in the comments section. What’s funny is that both sides have switched arguments from back in January when they were commenting on the unseasonably cool winter.

COMMENTS DURING SUPER COLD WINTER

AlGoreSucks: So where’s that global warming, huh? It snowed in Houston yesterday! Lemmings. You’ll believe anything some politician tells you.

Prius4Eva: There’s a difference between weather and climate. Temperatures for one season have little to do with the bigger picture.

COMMENTS DURING SUPER HOT SUMMER

Prius4Eva: Now do you believe in global warming? I fried an egg on the sidewalk yesterday. You science haters need to get with the program.

AlGoreSucks: There’s a difference between weather and climate. Temperatures for one season have little to do with the bigger picture.

It would be funny if it wasn’t so painful.

dilettantes and assholes

In food and drink, stupidization, the internets, travel on August 10, 2010 at 12:04 pm

Recent search terms that brought visitors to my blog:

  • big naturals brandy
  • untightened lug nuts
  • dilettante psychology
  • dilettante prostitute
  • what to do with a dabbler dilettante
  • my husband is a dilettante and an asshole
  • don imus throat fungus
  • something rotting in the walls
  • masochist getting in a fight
  • dead fish galveston july
  • local houston armwrestling

I like the new variations on the dilettante-related searches – my favorite is “my husband is a dilettante and an asshole.” You have to wonder what the motivation was to search for that. Was the person looking for other people who are married to asshole dilettantes? Was the husband the one searching, trying to figure out what his wife meant when she yelled that at him after the wine tasting/company party/class reunion?

[imagine a smooth segue here]

Back when I was a bartender, I always worried about getting in a pickle like this. I did my best to cut people off when they’d had too much, and I drove many a drunk regular home in an attempt to keep them (and the cars they would have swerved past on the way home) safe. But when you’re working in a busy bar, you can’t keep an eye on everyone, you don’t always know who is driving and you hope that at least some patrons are able to handle their business like adults.

If you don’t feel like clicking the link, here’s the story. A drunk guy hung out at a bar after hours. Well, he hung out upstairs from a bar after hours with the bar owner and other people. While hanging out up there (and continuing to drink), he fell through an opening on the second floor to the street below. Instead of blaming the fall on his own drunkenness (assuming the guy is smart enough when sober to not fall through an opening in the wall), he decided to sue the owner of the building for not providing a “safe” place.

This story reminds me (tangentially) of the trip I took to Grand Canyon a couple of years ago. I was amazed at the fact that the potential for certain – and sudden – death greeted me at every turn. Being an over-protected American, I’d grown used to “stand behind this line” and safety rails and “do not enter.” At Grand Canyon, honey, you’re on your own. There are a few places that have waist-high railing, but for the most part it’s just you, the edge and a steep drop. It was invigorating to be in a situation where I was responsible for myself. I appreciated the challenge to not do something stupid, which is harder than you’d think. At least for me.

There’s an interesting book (Over the Edge: Death in Grand Canyon) that chronicles all of the deaths at Grand Canyon. There are stories about deaths from early trips down the Colorado to falls as recent as a few years ago. There’s the tale of a father who was trying to make his family laugh by “pretending” to jump off the edge – he’d planned to land safely a few feet below the path but ended up falling to his death. That’s the kind of stupid shit I am prone to do, though I was glad to find that I had enough sense to save the jokes for a time when I wasn’t standing near the edge of the world.

What I’m saying is – if you are an adult, stay away from the edge. It’s your fault if you fall off.

[and another segue here]

Finally – my favorite part of this story is the fact that he grabbed a beer on the way out. Way to go, Steve Slater! You, sir, are awesome.

lug nuts

In stupidization, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, travel on August 3, 2010 at 9:07 pm

As soon as I saw the hickey, I should have known how the rest of the transaction would go. I needed to replace a tire on my car. I bought the tire on tire rack and had it shipped to an NTB five miles from my house. Even with $18 shipping, the tire was still $50 less than what NTB wanted for it. All they had to do was put the thing on.

The guy who initially waited on me had a hickey on his neck. It has been so long since I’ve seen one of those things, I’d literally forgotten that they existed (much like the time I was reading plays at the Alley that were submitted by teens for a summer program, and one of the plays mentioned “fingering,” which is a concept that you sort of forget about once you start having the sex) (not that fingers are never used again, just that they are part of a larger piece of work rather than the destination, so to speak).

So the hickey guy asked me – in front of other customers – “Why did you buy your tire from Tire Rack instead of directly from us?” I told him about the whole price thing. In other words, I gave Tire Rack a free commercial in front of tire customers because hickey guy asked a dumb question he should have known the answer to. You know, since he works at a tire place. Maybe a better response would have been, “Because I have access to a computer, the internet and a debit card.”

It takes a good hour and a half for them to finally get to my car, though they pulled it into a bay right away. I like to keep an eye on things, so I made phone calls and stood in the parking lot (and 100 degree heat) to watch my car. For an hour and a half. Lucky I did because a) I got to see the lovely bird at the top of this post in the field next to the parking lot and b) they jacked up the wrong side of my car as if to replace the wrong tire. I had to go up to the guy to let him know it was the other fucking side. Sigh.

So I stood out there, talking to Tohner and then James and then my dad. Then I noticed one of the guys screwing a lug nut onto my car (without the tire having been put back on) and then taking the lug nut over to another guy. Obviously there’s a problem. I get off the phone, and they tell me that one of my lug nuts got stuck in the…lug nut remover (I don’t know what it’s called). When the guy beat on the machine with a hammer, the lug nut went flying.

Yeah? So what? So what that means is, they lost the lug nut. Oh, but they have another one. Sure, it’s longer than the rest of my lug nuts, but it’s pretty much the same otherwise. I suggest to the guy who lost my nut that we take a gander at the floor of the garage to see if we can find it. My car is only two years old, so I’m still sort of into it having matching parts. The duct tape and praying comes later. This search turns into me crawling on hands and knees around a dirty garage with my ass crack showing, and then standing up and hitting my head on a car that is jacked up to head-hitting level while sweat is pouring down my back and pooling in my bra. For fuck’s sake. Still no lug nut.

Two hours have passed at this point, and I just want to get out of there. So they go to put the mismatched lug nut on my car with promises to buy me a new one after I (gently) demanded they repalce the one they lost. The guy who lost the lug nut said, “Okay, I’ll pay for it. But I didn’t have to be honest with you.” I suggested to him that honesty should be a given in a business transaction and should not be something that you get a cookie for. Then I remembered where I was in time/history/location, we had a good laugh and moved on. At this point the lug nut replacer realizes that, hey, there’s already a mis-matched lug nut on this same fucking tire! So they’re getting all smug like ha ha, you already have one lug nut that doesn’t match, you can’t get mad at us. Uh, yeah I can. Because since I bought this car, I’ve only taken it to NTB to have the tires rotated and replaced. So that means one of those fuckers replaced one of my lug nuts at some point in the past two years but didn’t tell me.

They’re buying me two new lug nuts, but until they can be replaced I’ll have to drive with mismatched nuts.

I think if you added up every single time I’ve uttered/written the words “lug nut” prior to today, it would not equal the number of times I’ve used them in this post.

Lug nut.

belaboring the point

In luddite vs. iDevice, spooky, things that surprise me, travel on July 12, 2010 at 5:08 pm

featuring black flowy blob

taken 90 seconds later, free of black flowy blob

I feel like this issue got lost in the shuffle of my blog (and I’m not willing to let it go), so let’s revisit this topic. Above, you will see two pictures taken at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York in 2006. The image on top features some sort of large, black misty blob while the photo on the bottom (taken 90 seconds later, according to the info imbedded in the photo) is free of the black blob. Don’t know about you, but I see a face on the right half of the blob. (click on the photo and then click again on top of the blob to see what I’m talking about)

Though the lighting was subdued in the church, it wasn’t so dark that my camera would have made a person walking by into a blob – if the “shutter” on my digital camera were open that long, other aspects of the shot would be blurry because I was holding the camera in my hand. Also, the thing appears to be about three pews in front of where I’m sitting, so it’s a little big to be a person.

So the question remains – what the hell is that?

(By the way, this is just now an issue because I didn’t notice the black thing when I initially loaded the pictures – it wasn’t until last week that I found an old thumb drive and reloaded them on my laptop that I saw this…thing.)

Galveston, oh Galveston

In family, things that make me happy, travel, weather on July 10, 2010 at 7:38 pm

Spur-of-the-moment, James and I decided to go to Galveston for lunch yesterday. Neither of us had been down there since before Ike hit, so we weren’t sure how much the town might have changed. The first thing you notice as 45S turns into Broadway is that it feels very wide open. Almost naked. It’s because all of the lush old oaks that used to live in the esplanade were devastated – and then chopped down to grass-level – leaving the palm trees standing alone. Definitely changes the vibe right at the start. Once on Seawall Blvd, we saw that a number of the smaller businesses remain closed and don’t look likely to reopen. At least not any time soon. That being said (especially considering the oil disaster in the Gulf) there were a lot of people on the beach and even more in the chocolate colored water. If I’d had a boogie board with me, I would have been tempted to join them.

When I was a kid, my family used to get up before the crack of dawn and head down to the beach. My parents had a van with a retractable awning that was built right into the side of the vehicle (was it sort of like this, Dad? I remember it being more flat on top). So you could park – on the beach – unroll the awning and open the side door of the van, giving you a great indoor/outdoor, beach-ready environment. [Keep in mind, this was before the ozone was shot to shit and you could get a sunburn just being outside for 30 minutes with no sunblock on (which is what happened to me yesterday).] I would love to have a rig like that now, plus a place to drive it. There might still be a couple of pocket parks where you can drive on the beach, but mostly you have to park and walk with all your crap through the seaweed and dunes to get to an over-populated area full of beach chairs/umbrellas for rent. No more vans blasting competing Led Zeppelin and Moody Blues…the world moves on, but sometimes I stay behind.

As an adult, my trips to the beach have often been solo efforts. I’ve always enjoyed going to Galveston when I needed a break – each time the water rolls back out, just send your shit with it. I used to go to a pocket park a few miles away from the activity of the seawall. I’d take a book that I wouldn’t read, bring a journal that I wouldn’t write in and a radio that I did play, but on low. And I’d just sit on a blanket, listening to the sound of the water, sometimes dipping a toe in. In more recent years, James and I borrowed a friend’s beach house every summer for a couple of days. He sold it a few years ago, so we haven’t been down there in a while. I didn’t realize how much I miss doing that until we were there yesterday. I’ve gotten nautically spoiled, having been to northern California twice over the past few years. Hard to look at the water in Galveston without having a slightly calloused eye. But that eye was softened by childhood memories and past good times. Plus, it’s our beach. I don’t make it out to Big Sur very often, but I can get to Galveston in less than an hour.

Since this was a last minute trip, I posted a question on facebook asking for recommendations for a lunch spot. My friends came through with quick responses, with two people recommending Benno’s. It’s a small, old school Cajun/seafood place on Seawall at 12th. Been there for almost three decades. Even though almost all of their customers were inside in the AC, we opted to sit on the deck in the sun so we could listen to the water and watch the gulls. The cold beer in frosty mugs helped balance out the sun, which was already somewhat blocked by a green awning. The food was great and just what we wanted. Then we parked on the seawall and walked down to a jetty. Instead of the usual treacherous trip on wet granite with foot-grabbing gaps between each rock, the jetty now has a strip of concrete going down the middle. Made for a much easier trip to the end, where we found this couple fishing.

The fish was caught on something and the pregant woman walked out on the rocks a little to try to help the fisherman. James and I were caught between wanting to help him get the fish and having enough sense to know not to walk out on rocks that are wet and slimy with seaweed. He finally landed it – a red fish. Which was, actually, not red at all. After that excitement, we headed to the Strand to hit Col. Bubbie’s (army surplus). They had a few items with peace signs on them, something I’ve never seen there before. The place doesn’t have AC – that combined with residual flooding issues made for a hot and stinky experience. It was actually a relief to reenter the 93-degree weather outside.

So that was the big journey to Galveston. I’d like to go back down there and spend the night. It may not be the Pacific, but that’s okay.

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