- Twining's Cold-Brew Lady Grey tea. My favorite kind, now also sold in cold-brew bags. Very convenient, particularly during the summer months, though this came out after summer was over. Still, I love having it and will probably keep buying it even in winter, provided they still stock it in winter. And why not? I'm sure some people eat ice cream in winter.
- Hungry-Man fried chicken TV dinner. Jeopardy! comes on, and I go to the dining room table (which is merely the right side of the living room if you're sitting on the couch against the wall on the left, if you're sitting at my place at the dining room table), and there is microwaved satisfaction, three pieces of fried chicken with some crunchiness from the skin. I love turning each piece over, seeing what they offer, which is big enough for me. To me, it's hearty, good-natured simplicity. There's mashed potatoes and corn, and that's easy. The corn goes right into the mashed potatoes, stuffed right in there. The brownie's always been a downer to me. Not that I don't like it. It's chocolate and that says enough. But it always felt to me like they should attempt a cobbler. Apple, peach, just something. Looking at reviews of the meals online, this one had an apple-cranberry crumb dessert in 2007. Now it's a Duncan Hines brownie and I could see why they went with that because first, there's a deal to be made in product placement, and since Duncan Hines makes the brownies, that's one less thing the company has to make and it saves them money. Maybe a cobbler would be asking too much. Besides, whomever pops this in a microwave either doesn't have much time to think about what a better alternative dessert would be, or doesn't care, because it's the end of the day and there's some sitcoms coming on to carry a stressed mind away from the source of that day's stress. I wasn't raised in the true South, but in Florida, I grew up on grits and cobbler. It's just how I think.
- Tortilla chips - This only cropped up again recently. My three favorite foods are fettucine alfredo, quesadillas, and nachos. Fettucine alfredo is always at the top. Doesn't matter if it's with chicken or without. Quesadillas and nachos always fight over the second spot. If my sister makes quesadillas, then nachos have to sit in third place. If the nachos are Cheesecake Factory nachos, then quesadillas have a long way down after they've been pushed. I got into tortilla chips again just to have the basic beginning of nachos. I tried Trader Joe's yellow, organic tortilla rounds and those were very salty. I liked them, but I'd also forgotten that tortilla chips can be had without the salt. In getting tortilla chips from Ralph's (some anonymous brand for $2), I forgot that again, but intend to get them without salt next time. Maybe some salsa too. To me, the crunch of a tortilla chip is far more convincing than that of a potato chip, which always sounds too busy. The crunch of a tortilla chip is decisive. One bite and it's loud.
My pleasures are not only food. Those are temporary moments. Live the moment and then it's gone, being churned into goop and glop and energy and more glop in places unseen, and designs unknown, at least until the next time you enter the bathroom.
There's also:
- Books. General, I know. I love opening different books and finding voices from all around the world. I'm reading "The Tracey Fragments" right now (because it's due again this Sunday (my local library's also open every Sunday from 1-5 p.m.) and I've a feeling someone else has it on hold), and the author, Maureen Medved, is Canadian. I love reading writers from the South, I love reading David Sedaris, I love when a voice emerges that you never imagined could be possible in words. I love disappearing for hours at a time into paragraphs, not at all intimidated by there possibly not being paragraph breaks for pages at a time. I just like to disappear into other words for a while. Not necessarily words. Sometimes a semi-colon in the middle of a wide-ranging thought is enough for me.
- Being out on the patio at 2 a.m. Just to stand outside, look over the wall at the community pool and the still spa, the few lights still on on the mountainside with dozens of houses, the uniform plant life around the area, the trucks parked in the neighborhood lot that I can see from my vantage point, imagining that I own them for those few hours, and especially the stars, which, with less lights now than there were at the condominium in South Florida, I can see more clearly and can easily make out the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. And sometimes I just like to connect the stars with no thought toward constellations.
More of my little pleasures soon.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
"I Want to Flyyyyy Awaaaaay; Yeah, Yeah, Yeaaaaahhhhhh."
Chippy and Chloe, two of our finches, their kind wasn't meant to be caged, or they hadn't been sufficiently domesticated when we got Chippy, who was a baby then, and who didn't mind being in a cage. He didn't have a clear sense of his world yet. Feather-growing and getting stronger were more crucial.
Over the past few weeks, Chippy was more vocal than ever, nipping at Chloe, she nipping back, squawking and squawking when they fought. It scared our dog Kitty (part miniature pinscher, part terrier), who would walk low past their cage (which was between my finch Jules on the right, and my sister's finch Ducky on the left) into one of our rooms because she didn't like the violent noise.
It was apparent even months ago that we had to do something, but it didn't go as far as it did until today. When I woke up this afternoon, I went out to the living room and found Chippy and Chloe's cage gone. Mom, who had found Chippy in a pet store and bought Chloe some time after, had gone to the patio in the morning, opened the cage door, and they bolted into nature. Mom was still broken up about this when I had found her in the living room, because she had also considered possibly finding Chloe a new home, and keeping Chippy, who was her favorite. But these finches' nature could not be quelled. They belonged to the wild. They had obviously been captured from the wild and brought to whichever pet store Mom had found them at. Despite having a moderate number of birds over the years, I'm no expert on birds or breeds of birds, but I posit this: If someone had intended to domesticate whatever breed of finch Chippy and Chloe were, it would take some generations of hatchings. The first group would get used to being in a cage, if that, the second group would be a bit shaky, but would become accustomed, and I think only when the third group came along would you have a breed that was used to that life. When we cleaned the cages of Chippy and Chloe, Ducky, and Jules, we wouldn't have any trouble removing the cage from the tray when we'd begin cleaning Ducky's and Jules's cages. We'd lift and set the cages on the dining room table with newspaper on it, and they'd sit on the perches while they were being lifted and set, no problem.
But with Chippy and Chloe, we needed the portable fan to keep them inside. We turned it on, made sure they were sufficiently planted against the other side of the cage, lifted quickly and set it down quickly. Truly, that should have been the first indication that they didn't belong in a cage. But how were we to know? These were Mom's birds. She wanted them, so there they were in this row of cages
Now that middle cage is gone and there's a direct path for Kitty to her pink couch, set against the glass covering of the fireplace we never use. Her stuffed dogs are there, and so's her Abby Cadabby doll.
Personally, Chippy and Chloe's swift departure has not left me as torn as Mom, but I do wonder where they are. I hope they're safe, I hope Chippy's incredibly happy now, and I hope that they've found another group of wild finches to quickly ingratiate themselves with, maybe have a few little ones of their own. I don't know if they were that way in their cage, but why not in their natural habitat? And I know they might not even be together, that maybe they flew their separate ways, but hopefully they found something. I went out onto the patio an hour and a half ago, looking out at the community pool, looking further out at the trees and the dark mountainside rife with houses side by side, and I thought about where they might be. I hope in a small way that maybe they'll fly back our way, sit on the ledge of our patio, just letting us know that they're ok. But being that they were in a cage for all the time they were with us, I doubt they know the way back here. Like Ducky, Chippy and Chloe were never near a window in their cage. Maybe they saw things from the side of their cage, but not fully.
I'm not sure I really miss them. Granted, the routine of refilling the birds' water dishes is taking less time now with one less to refill, and I only have to refill two food dispensers now, but for the time they were here, there was a comfort to me in having them there. There was a routine to which I was contributing, giving them what they needed, and it felt good. Ducky and Jules are still here, so I still have it, but they contributed a little bit to the centering of my world in times when it was trying. It still is, of course, life always is, but they were there and I appreciated that.
But we had to make a decision. We didn't want Kitty to be scared from them fighting, and she, to be honest, is far more important to us than Chippy and Chloe. Being that she was a rescue dog from Alaska (abandoned in the extreme cold and vicious when first found; on her first night with us after we picked her up from Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, she slept alone on the couch, but she soon got used to us and now she is one of the great good things in our world, along with our other dog Tigger), she's still jittery from many things, despite living with us for a number of years now, and this was one of them.
Strangely, my finch Jules was astoundingly vocal today. He actually jumped to the bottom of his cage, took out a piece of the litter and began playing with it, hopping up and down on his perch and then all around his cage, tweeting incessantly. He never did that during all the time Chippy and Chloe were with us. Mom thought he was a "couch bird," but it turns out that he must have been just as bothered by Chippy and Chloe's arguing as we eventually were.
I won't forget Chippy and Chloe. They were a part of our years here in Southern California. But you can't repress someone's true nature. Chippy and Chloe knew exactly where they were going when Mom pushed up that cage door: Out into the world that they knew so well, even if they didn't know this particular area. It's air, it's trees, it's the promise of other birds or whatever they might have been looking for in their little lives. I also face the reality that something might have happened to them already, a bigger bird snatching up one or both of them, but that's life anyway. What happens, happens. We just have to go where we feel we need to go.
Thanks you two. You did ok by me.
Over the past few weeks, Chippy was more vocal than ever, nipping at Chloe, she nipping back, squawking and squawking when they fought. It scared our dog Kitty (part miniature pinscher, part terrier), who would walk low past their cage (which was between my finch Jules on the right, and my sister's finch Ducky on the left) into one of our rooms because she didn't like the violent noise.
It was apparent even months ago that we had to do something, but it didn't go as far as it did until today. When I woke up this afternoon, I went out to the living room and found Chippy and Chloe's cage gone. Mom, who had found Chippy in a pet store and bought Chloe some time after, had gone to the patio in the morning, opened the cage door, and they bolted into nature. Mom was still broken up about this when I had found her in the living room, because she had also considered possibly finding Chloe a new home, and keeping Chippy, who was her favorite. But these finches' nature could not be quelled. They belonged to the wild. They had obviously been captured from the wild and brought to whichever pet store Mom had found them at. Despite having a moderate number of birds over the years, I'm no expert on birds or breeds of birds, but I posit this: If someone had intended to domesticate whatever breed of finch Chippy and Chloe were, it would take some generations of hatchings. The first group would get used to being in a cage, if that, the second group would be a bit shaky, but would become accustomed, and I think only when the third group came along would you have a breed that was used to that life. When we cleaned the cages of Chippy and Chloe, Ducky, and Jules, we wouldn't have any trouble removing the cage from the tray when we'd begin cleaning Ducky's and Jules's cages. We'd lift and set the cages on the dining room table with newspaper on it, and they'd sit on the perches while they were being lifted and set, no problem.
But with Chippy and Chloe, we needed the portable fan to keep them inside. We turned it on, made sure they were sufficiently planted against the other side of the cage, lifted quickly and set it down quickly. Truly, that should have been the first indication that they didn't belong in a cage. But how were we to know? These were Mom's birds. She wanted them, so there they were in this row of cages
Now that middle cage is gone and there's a direct path for Kitty to her pink couch, set against the glass covering of the fireplace we never use. Her stuffed dogs are there, and so's her Abby Cadabby doll.
Personally, Chippy and Chloe's swift departure has not left me as torn as Mom, but I do wonder where they are. I hope they're safe, I hope Chippy's incredibly happy now, and I hope that they've found another group of wild finches to quickly ingratiate themselves with, maybe have a few little ones of their own. I don't know if they were that way in their cage, but why not in their natural habitat? And I know they might not even be together, that maybe they flew their separate ways, but hopefully they found something. I went out onto the patio an hour and a half ago, looking out at the community pool, looking further out at the trees and the dark mountainside rife with houses side by side, and I thought about where they might be. I hope in a small way that maybe they'll fly back our way, sit on the ledge of our patio, just letting us know that they're ok. But being that they were in a cage for all the time they were with us, I doubt they know the way back here. Like Ducky, Chippy and Chloe were never near a window in their cage. Maybe they saw things from the side of their cage, but not fully.
I'm not sure I really miss them. Granted, the routine of refilling the birds' water dishes is taking less time now with one less to refill, and I only have to refill two food dispensers now, but for the time they were here, there was a comfort to me in having them there. There was a routine to which I was contributing, giving them what they needed, and it felt good. Ducky and Jules are still here, so I still have it, but they contributed a little bit to the centering of my world in times when it was trying. It still is, of course, life always is, but they were there and I appreciated that.
But we had to make a decision. We didn't want Kitty to be scared from them fighting, and she, to be honest, is far more important to us than Chippy and Chloe. Being that she was a rescue dog from Alaska (abandoned in the extreme cold and vicious when first found; on her first night with us after we picked her up from Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, she slept alone on the couch, but she soon got used to us and now she is one of the great good things in our world, along with our other dog Tigger), she's still jittery from many things, despite living with us for a number of years now, and this was one of them.
Strangely, my finch Jules was astoundingly vocal today. He actually jumped to the bottom of his cage, took out a piece of the litter and began playing with it, hopping up and down on his perch and then all around his cage, tweeting incessantly. He never did that during all the time Chippy and Chloe were with us. Mom thought he was a "couch bird," but it turns out that he must have been just as bothered by Chippy and Chloe's arguing as we eventually were.
I won't forget Chippy and Chloe. They were a part of our years here in Southern California. But you can't repress someone's true nature. Chippy and Chloe knew exactly where they were going when Mom pushed up that cage door: Out into the world that they knew so well, even if they didn't know this particular area. It's air, it's trees, it's the promise of other birds or whatever they might have been looking for in their little lives. I also face the reality that something might have happened to them already, a bigger bird snatching up one or both of them, but that's life anyway. What happens, happens. We just have to go where we feel we need to go.
Thanks you two. You did ok by me.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Jesus. What the Hell's Going On, Brain?
A suicide? In my dream? The near-heartsickness of yesterday's dream was harrowing enough, but I think this topped it. I had become enamored of a girl I met in a high-end bookstore, full of rare editions and tables filled with people talking about all kinds of literature. I spotted her at one of the tables, but it's still strange to me how I can't remember any pertinent details about her. I think the most I remember is that she was a brunette. She was also apparently a criminal, the crime unknown to me, yet totally familiar to the heavily-armed law enforcement tracking her that I encountered later on.
She kept eluding my grasp and my attempt at a conversation. I don't know exactly what I liked about her, but I wanted her, and so I followed her, running when she attempted to flee the law enforcement that had caught up to her at an apartment complex. She ran to the roof, I was on the third floor in a hallway, and I saw her jump from there, quickly passing from the roof, right by my eyes on the third, then the second, first, and blammo. Right on top of a car, smashing the roof, killing her. I remember running to the car, totally devastated at this tragic outcome, seeing only black pants and high-heel boots splayed out.
What the hell has my subconscious been taking in lately? This is the saddest any of my dreams have ever been. Mostly, I'm at some variation on Walt Disney World. It's not WDW as you know it, but I know it is, despite different rides and merchandise. Or else my dreams are about mutual attraction and the killer internal buzzing from that, as it was with yesterday's dream. This dream is totally unfamiliar to me, and I hope not to have it again. I don't even have nightmares, but I think this is as close as I'll get.
She kept eluding my grasp and my attempt at a conversation. I don't know exactly what I liked about her, but I wanted her, and so I followed her, running when she attempted to flee the law enforcement that had caught up to her at an apartment complex. She ran to the roof, I was on the third floor in a hallway, and I saw her jump from there, quickly passing from the roof, right by my eyes on the third, then the second, first, and blammo. Right on top of a car, smashing the roof, killing her. I remember running to the car, totally devastated at this tragic outcome, seeing only black pants and high-heel boots splayed out.
What the hell has my subconscious been taking in lately? This is the saddest any of my dreams have ever been. Mostly, I'm at some variation on Walt Disney World. It's not WDW as you know it, but I know it is, despite different rides and merchandise. Or else my dreams are about mutual attraction and the killer internal buzzing from that, as it was with yesterday's dream. This dream is totally unfamiliar to me, and I hope not to have it again. I don't even have nightmares, but I think this is as close as I'll get.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
To the Girl Walking Her Dog with a Multi-Colored Umbrella in Hand
(This isn't in the vein of those Craigslist Missed Connections ads, because this girl is nearby, though some height up from me, and there may be another time that she comes down my way when I'm outside again. Plus, there's no way she'd come upon this entry since she doesn't even know who I am, but there are some thoughts that I feel compelled to write as if she might find it.)
I finally had a dream I'd been wanting for weeks, one where I was clear of mind and emotions and knew exactly what I was saying and feeling like it was right. Basically, the person I'd like to be, but only have the courage to be in my dreams so far.
I was in some kind of a classroom, though it wasn't the kind typical of education. Something was playing on a screen and there were people around, but it seemed like so much was going on at once. Kathryn Joosten, who played Mrs. Landingham on The West Wing was sitting next to me and I thanked her profusely for her invaluable contribution to a TV series that's still my favorite, even with it having been off the air for three years.
Then, a beautiful black girl walked in and took a seat in the vertical row of desks next to mine and there was a spark between us. She felt it, because she looked at me again after she'd passed by me. I was intrigued by her because she walked with such self-confidence. She was sure of herself and the world around her and I liked that. There didn't seem to be any mucking about with her, and that's what I like.
I'm not sure if she and I talked while near each other. We might have, though I believe that based on what came next, it was brief. It may have been an introduction, it may have been a comment on the day so far, it may have just been a simple hello. But I remember that the time had come to leave that classroom and she had come up to me hoping for a more expansive conversation. I think I brushed her off indifferently, but I don't know why. My face fell when I saw her rush out with disappointment on her face and she might have been near tears. I rushed out of the classroom, leaving behind my backpack, my wallet, my cellphone. I never do that, anywhere.
I caught up to her, stopped her and first told her that I left everything behind in that classroom to quickly catch up to her, and I never do that. Then I explained straight out why I had done what I did: I was 25 years old and hadn't had a girlfriend since I was 14. I wasn't sure how to act, I wasn't sure what to do. This surprised her, but also relieved her in showing that it wasn't her personally that made me act like I did. I liked her very much too. Unfortunately at that moment, I woke up. But in that dream, I felt like my heart was soaring when I saw her, like I could make this work. It felt like there was nothing inside my body dragging me down. I could have floated.
And, as if some force of nature had sensed my disappointment in that dream ending abruptly, you were outside, walking past my neighborhood. It was raining and I had just walked both of my dogs because they hadn't been outside since early this morning. I hadn't expected it to rain like it was, thinking that the weather would have held off until early tomorrow morning, as was predicted. But there was the rain, and after seeing the garbage and recycling bin lids open outside, I knew I had to dump the water out of my family's garbage bin (the recycling bin lid was closed), and I had to do it soon.
So I did, right after drying off Tigger (part miniature pinscher, part Italian greyhound). I went to the curb and you were coming up the street, holding a multi-colored umbrella (sections of separate colors in a circle), and walking what looked like an unhappy pitbull. I glanced at you and then put the garbage bin on the ground and pulled up the bottom so the water would fall out. I put the bin back on the ground, pulled it back up and quickly closed the lid. I took the recycling bin and began to roll it back to the house. But I stopped. You intrigued me. You looked to be about my height, 5'5" or 5'6", and perhaps my age, or maybe in your late 20s. I hoped you weren't 44 years old, just to pick a random older number. I still don't know, but you looked like you were about as old as me.
You either live in the development right above mine, taking the road up there, or the one at the top of that mountainside with four houses there. After I rolled the recycling bin back into the garage, I went back out for the garbage bin (always an order: recycling bin first and then the garbage bin because it sits next to the garage door), and I saw a piece of your umbrella from where I was standing. Then, I saw you walk back down with your dog, even though it was still raining. Did you sense me looking at you? Were you possibly interested too? Did I idiotically lose yet another chance with yet another girl? If you were coming back down to complain to me about my staring, I apologize. But to see the sight of you walking your dog, with that umbrella that was happier than my own (stripes of dark colors), in noticeable, though not heavily pouring rain, it was inspiring to me. I wonder if you were out with your dog at that time because he (or she) had to go out or you just liked that weather and wanted a reasonable excuse to go outside to experience it. If the rain starts up again later this morning, I don't think I'd go outside to stand in it, even with a proper coat and umbrella. Not that I think I'd look crazy, but there's much work I have to do and I don't think there'd be another sight as enchanting as you. I don't remember seeing your face, but I think with how you were walking, interested in the rain, that I'd easily give it a chance. I don't walk my dogs in the front that often. I use the patio because it's a simulation of the terrain in Las Vegas, so my dogs are used to it when my family and I eventually move there. I didn't want to reveal that, just in case there might be a chance to get to know you and possibly more, but we've been here six years and there may not even be a job for my dad next year as a business education teacher based on how they keep talking about cutting education in this state.
If we meet each other again and talk, and if there's a connection there, I'll be disappointed only because having lived here in Saugus for five years (our first year was in an apartment in Valencia), you might have lived here around the time I moved here, and maybe even earlier, and I could have had more time with you. It would have made the days in this valley far more interesting than they usually are. And if we don't meet again, you've done well as my temporary muse. I wrote this not only to go over the event in my mind again, but also to get mentally limber to continue my share of a book project. Now I want to write that essay on James Dean just for you. I know you'll probably never read it since you don't know me or my name, but what the heck, motivation to write for you is enough for me.
I love the rain, especially after the hot, dry winds this valley endured some weeks ago, so thank you for making a bright day even brighter.
P.S.: If you were actually attracted to a guy wearing a zipped-up, thin black jacket and red sleep pants with the Dr. Pepper logo stamped all over, then I made a huge mistake in not starting a conversation with you.
I finally had a dream I'd been wanting for weeks, one where I was clear of mind and emotions and knew exactly what I was saying and feeling like it was right. Basically, the person I'd like to be, but only have the courage to be in my dreams so far.
I was in some kind of a classroom, though it wasn't the kind typical of education. Something was playing on a screen and there were people around, but it seemed like so much was going on at once. Kathryn Joosten, who played Mrs. Landingham on The West Wing was sitting next to me and I thanked her profusely for her invaluable contribution to a TV series that's still my favorite, even with it having been off the air for three years.
Then, a beautiful black girl walked in and took a seat in the vertical row of desks next to mine and there was a spark between us. She felt it, because she looked at me again after she'd passed by me. I was intrigued by her because she walked with such self-confidence. She was sure of herself and the world around her and I liked that. There didn't seem to be any mucking about with her, and that's what I like.
I'm not sure if she and I talked while near each other. We might have, though I believe that based on what came next, it was brief. It may have been an introduction, it may have been a comment on the day so far, it may have just been a simple hello. But I remember that the time had come to leave that classroom and she had come up to me hoping for a more expansive conversation. I think I brushed her off indifferently, but I don't know why. My face fell when I saw her rush out with disappointment on her face and she might have been near tears. I rushed out of the classroom, leaving behind my backpack, my wallet, my cellphone. I never do that, anywhere.
I caught up to her, stopped her and first told her that I left everything behind in that classroom to quickly catch up to her, and I never do that. Then I explained straight out why I had done what I did: I was 25 years old and hadn't had a girlfriend since I was 14. I wasn't sure how to act, I wasn't sure what to do. This surprised her, but also relieved her in showing that it wasn't her personally that made me act like I did. I liked her very much too. Unfortunately at that moment, I woke up. But in that dream, I felt like my heart was soaring when I saw her, like I could make this work. It felt like there was nothing inside my body dragging me down. I could have floated.
And, as if some force of nature had sensed my disappointment in that dream ending abruptly, you were outside, walking past my neighborhood. It was raining and I had just walked both of my dogs because they hadn't been outside since early this morning. I hadn't expected it to rain like it was, thinking that the weather would have held off until early tomorrow morning, as was predicted. But there was the rain, and after seeing the garbage and recycling bin lids open outside, I knew I had to dump the water out of my family's garbage bin (the recycling bin lid was closed), and I had to do it soon.
So I did, right after drying off Tigger (part miniature pinscher, part Italian greyhound). I went to the curb and you were coming up the street, holding a multi-colored umbrella (sections of separate colors in a circle), and walking what looked like an unhappy pitbull. I glanced at you and then put the garbage bin on the ground and pulled up the bottom so the water would fall out. I put the bin back on the ground, pulled it back up and quickly closed the lid. I took the recycling bin and began to roll it back to the house. But I stopped. You intrigued me. You looked to be about my height, 5'5" or 5'6", and perhaps my age, or maybe in your late 20s. I hoped you weren't 44 years old, just to pick a random older number. I still don't know, but you looked like you were about as old as me.
You either live in the development right above mine, taking the road up there, or the one at the top of that mountainside with four houses there. After I rolled the recycling bin back into the garage, I went back out for the garbage bin (always an order: recycling bin first and then the garbage bin because it sits next to the garage door), and I saw a piece of your umbrella from where I was standing. Then, I saw you walk back down with your dog, even though it was still raining. Did you sense me looking at you? Were you possibly interested too? Did I idiotically lose yet another chance with yet another girl? If you were coming back down to complain to me about my staring, I apologize. But to see the sight of you walking your dog, with that umbrella that was happier than my own (stripes of dark colors), in noticeable, though not heavily pouring rain, it was inspiring to me. I wonder if you were out with your dog at that time because he (or she) had to go out or you just liked that weather and wanted a reasonable excuse to go outside to experience it. If the rain starts up again later this morning, I don't think I'd go outside to stand in it, even with a proper coat and umbrella. Not that I think I'd look crazy, but there's much work I have to do and I don't think there'd be another sight as enchanting as you. I don't remember seeing your face, but I think with how you were walking, interested in the rain, that I'd easily give it a chance. I don't walk my dogs in the front that often. I use the patio because it's a simulation of the terrain in Las Vegas, so my dogs are used to it when my family and I eventually move there. I didn't want to reveal that, just in case there might be a chance to get to know you and possibly more, but we've been here six years and there may not even be a job for my dad next year as a business education teacher based on how they keep talking about cutting education in this state.
If we meet each other again and talk, and if there's a connection there, I'll be disappointed only because having lived here in Saugus for five years (our first year was in an apartment in Valencia), you might have lived here around the time I moved here, and maybe even earlier, and I could have had more time with you. It would have made the days in this valley far more interesting than they usually are. And if we don't meet again, you've done well as my temporary muse. I wrote this not only to go over the event in my mind again, but also to get mentally limber to continue my share of a book project. Now I want to write that essay on James Dean just for you. I know you'll probably never read it since you don't know me or my name, but what the heck, motivation to write for you is enough for me.
I love the rain, especially after the hot, dry winds this valley endured some weeks ago, so thank you for making a bright day even brighter.
P.S.: If you were actually attracted to a guy wearing a zipped-up, thin black jacket and red sleep pants with the Dr. Pepper logo stamped all over, then I made a huge mistake in not starting a conversation with you.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Ok, It's Probably Time
To balance the sometime-stress of this book project and to have a reason to keep going so I can hopefully finish the majority of the writing by the end of the year, I'm finally going to figure out how to post pictures on here that can be clicked on and maximized. Yes, this is for the titular reason for this blog, to post those library receipts and analyze why people might have checked out what they checked out.
I tried a little bit after I started the blog and thought I'd be content with just having the scanned receipts posted as they were (hoping that you readers would be ok with squinting), but I want them as big as I see pictures on other blogs. That way, you can see every wrinkle from when I either had that receipt in my pocket or in my Two and a Half Men canvas tote bag (received when publicity was high for season 1 on DVD).
I tried a little bit after I started the blog and thought I'd be content with just having the scanned receipts posted as they were (hoping that you readers would be ok with squinting), but I want them as big as I see pictures on other blogs. That way, you can see every wrinkle from when I either had that receipt in my pocket or in my Two and a Half Men canvas tote bag (received when publicity was high for season 1 on DVD).
The Fumes Are Fading
When does childhood end? Is it 18, according to the law of a state, or is it when being a child has ended and becoming a teenager has taken over? I wonder about this because of some major, jarring changes in my past. I obviously still have fond memories of my past, but certain changes in those details make me wonder if childhood reaches all the way to 18, even when you're getting used to being moody and constantly horny. In March 2000, the last time my family and I spent a full day at the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World, I was 16, and I sure didn't look 16 in one of the photos my sister keeps in her scrapbook, taken at the entrance to the Ticket and Transportation Center. I look like I'm 9, not 16. 10, maybe, but that would be pushing it. In that one picture, I don't look like I grew into anything.
That day at the Magic Kingdom was the last day I rode the Tomorrowland Transit Authority in Tomorrowland. During my Grad Nite in 2002, I looked forlornly at the TTA, which was closed because they didn't want rowdy teenagers damaging anything. The same went for the Carousel of Progress, which was being used to put up photo backdrops for graduates (or future graduates; I only know that my class hadn't graduated yet) to have pictures taken and purchase them.
I loved the TTA. I loved the deep, almost robotic voice announcing what the vehicle was approaching ("NOW APPROACHING, SPACE MOUNTAIN," "NOW APPROACHING WALT DISNEY'S CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS."). I loved going past Mickey's Star Traders and as we approached Autopia from on high, hearing, "Hi there, Tomorrowland travelers, this is Mr. Johnson in Skyview Hovercraft One, bringing you the latest Tomorrowland traffic report. As usual, everything is perfect on Tomorrowland's Super Highway. Back to you in TTA Central." Every time we went to Walt Disney World, before that one day, I was always content with spending the day in Tomorrowland. I had Space Mountain, I had the Tomorrowland Transit Authority, and I had the Carousel of Progress. I didn't need anything else. My only regret is not having tried out the Timekeeper, which was closed and replaced with Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor, installed and opened long after my family and I moved to Southern California.
I followed the Tomorrowland Transit Authority on YouTube. Once in a while I'll get bored with whatever work I'm doing and look it up on YouTube, watching onboard videos from 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, sometimes going all the way back to the video from 1991 to see what it was like then. Recently, the Tomorrowland Transit Authority reopened after sufficient time for Space Mountain to undergo refurbishment that would require use of the separate, walled-off track they have for maintenance before you enter Space Mountain. Now when the vehicles go into Space Mountain, there's a lot that's behind walls, such as views of the rollercoaster as well as of the line to board. The TTA underwent a few changes too. Multi-colored lights were installed with red shining on one part of the track, green shining on another, and blue elsewhere. I could live with that. Watching videos post-reopening, that's an improvement.
I know that theme parks will change. Attractions will be taken out, new attractions will be put in to try to attract a bigger crowd. The ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter was eventually taken out because it was deemed too scary (and, to me, it was, but it contributed much to the ambience of what Tomorrowland should feel like), and replaced with Stitch's Great Escape. Based on business, I understand that.
I believe childhood does indeed end at 18, but runs on fumes until at least a few years later. While you're getting used to a bigger, more complex world, you need anchors to keep you in a state of mind conducive to understanding whatever's going on in your life. For me, one anchor was the Tomorrowland Transit Authority, but more specifically, that voice track from the overhead speakers that put you into Tomorrowland. Every video I watched, that narration was always there. And now, it's gone.
It remained after the TTA reopened, but as I've read it, the narration was changed after park closing on October 1. Now it's got one of those hyperactive voices designed to attract the attention of kids who probably already have enough trouble paying attention for a few seconds at a time. It takes you completely out of Tomorrowland by pointing out the many attractions available in Tomorrowland which is completely useless because generally, by the time you've entered Tomorrowland, you know what attractions are there, or if you don't know yet, you probably will because the TTA is not likely to be the first attraction you go on. By the time you go on TTA, you want a break from the crowds, you want to recover after waiting in line for Space Mountain, if that. The idea of the TTA is to ride above Tomorrowland, to take in a different view, to consider different perspectives, not to be told what there is to ride and see and shop at. The old track did also point out what was there, but did it just to point out where you are at that point in the ride, what you're passing over. It never pointed out Stitch's Great Escape. The area that houses Stitch's Great Escape was always called the Tomorrowland Convention Center, and it was convenient at the time of the ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter too. It added more to the imagination, of the possibility of strange new lifeforms showing off whatever they wanted to show off, such as X-S Tech touting their teleportation technology. That was always the point.
I don't expect to cling to anchors all my life. I understand I'm getting older. But there are some things one might establish for themselves as standard-bearers that they hope would remain standard-bearers. For me, it was the audio track on the Tomorrowland Transit Authority that contributed greatly to the experience. It allowed me to use my imagination to fill in the rest of what Tomorrowland could be. I cherished that the most. But I guess since I am 25, 7 years removed from 18, my childhood has stopped running on fumes and has basically stopped completely.
A lesser shock, though still surprising is learning that the Muvico Paradise 24 movie theater in Davie, Florida is now Cinemark Paradise 24, after the financially-foundering chain sold it and a few other theaters to the Cinemark chain. From video I've seen, it looks like they kept the Egyptian theming, not that they had any choice, and I definitely won't have any inkling of whether there's been any change in the service there beyond the cosmetic sort. I spent a few years going to Muvico Paradise 24 every Saturday to see a few movies and write reviews of them for the South Florida Sun-Sentinel's Teentime pages (found in the back of their weekend Showtime section every Friday). I have many fond memories of it, but this change doesn't shake me as much as the TTA change.
I think maybe I wouldn't be so stunned at the audio track change if those in Imagineering had written a track in the same style as the one that lasted for years. They only had to stay within Tomorrowland, point out the attractions, but do it in a way that you're not taken out of the experience. Also, they should have employed a better voice actor. This Disney Channel-type voice is the worst for the attraction.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6EnR8fxcs4&feature=related (this is the new TTA spiel)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWx1oonz4Ik (this is TTA with the new lighting which I wish had been installed years ago. The white lighting was nice, but I could have easily gotten used to this.)
The above link also has the old spiel.
As I said to my sister today, "It's not my Tomorrowland anymore." I should have suspected that when they tore down the Galaxy Theater, where I saw many shows from my Disney World-provided stroller. Back then we lived close enough to WDW that we went every weekend and sometimes during the week just for dinner. Some of the changes being made to the Magic Kingdom, such as a far more interactive Fantasyland (including Gaston's Tavern, the Beast's Castle for dining, activity monitors while in line for Dumbo, and the Little Mermaid ride), are beneficial, but I hope that even with the economy the way it is, some loving attention can be given to Tomorrowland. It needs more. It should have more for a generation as yet unknown that I hope will embrace Tomorrowland as I did, and I hope there are a few kids who do now. And I also hope those kids can at least ignore that inane spiel and just enjoy the experience of riding above that section of the park and into Space Mountain.
That day at the Magic Kingdom was the last day I rode the Tomorrowland Transit Authority in Tomorrowland. During my Grad Nite in 2002, I looked forlornly at the TTA, which was closed because they didn't want rowdy teenagers damaging anything. The same went for the Carousel of Progress, which was being used to put up photo backdrops for graduates (or future graduates; I only know that my class hadn't graduated yet) to have pictures taken and purchase them.
I loved the TTA. I loved the deep, almost robotic voice announcing what the vehicle was approaching ("NOW APPROACHING, SPACE MOUNTAIN," "NOW APPROACHING WALT DISNEY'S CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS."). I loved going past Mickey's Star Traders and as we approached Autopia from on high, hearing, "Hi there, Tomorrowland travelers, this is Mr. Johnson in Skyview Hovercraft One, bringing you the latest Tomorrowland traffic report. As usual, everything is perfect on Tomorrowland's Super Highway. Back to you in TTA Central." Every time we went to Walt Disney World, before that one day, I was always content with spending the day in Tomorrowland. I had Space Mountain, I had the Tomorrowland Transit Authority, and I had the Carousel of Progress. I didn't need anything else. My only regret is not having tried out the Timekeeper, which was closed and replaced with Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor, installed and opened long after my family and I moved to Southern California.
I followed the Tomorrowland Transit Authority on YouTube. Once in a while I'll get bored with whatever work I'm doing and look it up on YouTube, watching onboard videos from 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, sometimes going all the way back to the video from 1991 to see what it was like then. Recently, the Tomorrowland Transit Authority reopened after sufficient time for Space Mountain to undergo refurbishment that would require use of the separate, walled-off track they have for maintenance before you enter Space Mountain. Now when the vehicles go into Space Mountain, there's a lot that's behind walls, such as views of the rollercoaster as well as of the line to board. The TTA underwent a few changes too. Multi-colored lights were installed with red shining on one part of the track, green shining on another, and blue elsewhere. I could live with that. Watching videos post-reopening, that's an improvement.
I know that theme parks will change. Attractions will be taken out, new attractions will be put in to try to attract a bigger crowd. The ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter was eventually taken out because it was deemed too scary (and, to me, it was, but it contributed much to the ambience of what Tomorrowland should feel like), and replaced with Stitch's Great Escape. Based on business, I understand that.
I believe childhood does indeed end at 18, but runs on fumes until at least a few years later. While you're getting used to a bigger, more complex world, you need anchors to keep you in a state of mind conducive to understanding whatever's going on in your life. For me, one anchor was the Tomorrowland Transit Authority, but more specifically, that voice track from the overhead speakers that put you into Tomorrowland. Every video I watched, that narration was always there. And now, it's gone.
It remained after the TTA reopened, but as I've read it, the narration was changed after park closing on October 1. Now it's got one of those hyperactive voices designed to attract the attention of kids who probably already have enough trouble paying attention for a few seconds at a time. It takes you completely out of Tomorrowland by pointing out the many attractions available in Tomorrowland which is completely useless because generally, by the time you've entered Tomorrowland, you know what attractions are there, or if you don't know yet, you probably will because the TTA is not likely to be the first attraction you go on. By the time you go on TTA, you want a break from the crowds, you want to recover after waiting in line for Space Mountain, if that. The idea of the TTA is to ride above Tomorrowland, to take in a different view, to consider different perspectives, not to be told what there is to ride and see and shop at. The old track did also point out what was there, but did it just to point out where you are at that point in the ride, what you're passing over. It never pointed out Stitch's Great Escape. The area that houses Stitch's Great Escape was always called the Tomorrowland Convention Center, and it was convenient at the time of the ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter too. It added more to the imagination, of the possibility of strange new lifeforms showing off whatever they wanted to show off, such as X-S Tech touting their teleportation technology. That was always the point.
I don't expect to cling to anchors all my life. I understand I'm getting older. But there are some things one might establish for themselves as standard-bearers that they hope would remain standard-bearers. For me, it was the audio track on the Tomorrowland Transit Authority that contributed greatly to the experience. It allowed me to use my imagination to fill in the rest of what Tomorrowland could be. I cherished that the most. But I guess since I am 25, 7 years removed from 18, my childhood has stopped running on fumes and has basically stopped completely.
A lesser shock, though still surprising is learning that the Muvico Paradise 24 movie theater in Davie, Florida is now Cinemark Paradise 24, after the financially-foundering chain sold it and a few other theaters to the Cinemark chain. From video I've seen, it looks like they kept the Egyptian theming, not that they had any choice, and I definitely won't have any inkling of whether there's been any change in the service there beyond the cosmetic sort. I spent a few years going to Muvico Paradise 24 every Saturday to see a few movies and write reviews of them for the South Florida Sun-Sentinel's Teentime pages (found in the back of their weekend Showtime section every Friday). I have many fond memories of it, but this change doesn't shake me as much as the TTA change.
I think maybe I wouldn't be so stunned at the audio track change if those in Imagineering had written a track in the same style as the one that lasted for years. They only had to stay within Tomorrowland, point out the attractions, but do it in a way that you're not taken out of the experience. Also, they should have employed a better voice actor. This Disney Channel-type voice is the worst for the attraction.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6EnR8fxcs4&feature=related (this is the new TTA spiel)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWx1oonz4Ik (this is TTA with the new lighting which I wish had been installed years ago. The white lighting was nice, but I could have easily gotten used to this.)
The above link also has the old spiel.
As I said to my sister today, "It's not my Tomorrowland anymore." I should have suspected that when they tore down the Galaxy Theater, where I saw many shows from my Disney World-provided stroller. Back then we lived close enough to WDW that we went every weekend and sometimes during the week just for dinner. Some of the changes being made to the Magic Kingdom, such as a far more interactive Fantasyland (including Gaston's Tavern, the Beast's Castle for dining, activity monitors while in line for Dumbo, and the Little Mermaid ride), are beneficial, but I hope that even with the economy the way it is, some loving attention can be given to Tomorrowland. It needs more. It should have more for a generation as yet unknown that I hope will embrace Tomorrowland as I did, and I hope there are a few kids who do now. And I also hope those kids can at least ignore that inane spiel and just enjoy the experience of riding above that section of the park and into Space Mountain.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Resident Authors/Visiting Authors
Writers come to my house all the time. Granted, they're completely paralyzed up and down, glued between two covers and made up of hundreds of pages rather than flesh, bone, fingers, toes, arms, legs, and all else that makes up a human package. But they're here. Right now, Kazuo Ishiguro is in my room, perched atop a pile of issues of The New Yorker, touting "Nocturnes," five short stories he wrote, the second of which sounds a little similar to the first, but fortunately veers away from what the first was after. Craig Ferguson's on a shelf in the living room, with "American on Purpose." I know about his drug use and his first major role as Mr. Wick on "The Drew Carey Show," but I want to know more. I want him to be completely open and from what I've read elsewhere, he is. If that's the case, he'll make a fine and most welcome houseguest.
E.L. Doctorow is also here, with yet another story to tell in "Homer & Langley." He also has the distinction of being a resident author in my room, as I own a copy of "Ragtime." Most of the time, he's a guest here. I think the only writer who can truly be considered a resident is Charles Bukowski, in poetry, prose and fiction that could only be called fiction with names and some situations changed, but every word is mostly his life. He's set to drop by as a visitor for the first time in years with "Dangling in the Tournefortia," which I had read part of on Amazon.com, and thought about purchasing it, but was glad to find it available through the County of Los Angeles public library system. Bukowski is also residing inside one of my makeshift box bookshelves, many books behind others, and on the floor in front of my closet with "Portions of a Wine-Stained Notebook." I think I need to pull him into the light again. It's been too long since I've paged through his posthumous collection "The Night Torn Mad with Footsteps."
There's also Edmund G. Love, an appreciated resident, with "Subways Are for Sleeping," which I read while attending classes at College of the Canyons for about two years and it sustained me through both those years. I remember sitting in a booth next to a window at the back of the generally empty cafeteria, math homework open in front of me, having given up trying to make sense of any of it. I opened "Subways Are for Sleeping" and read stories of homeless people making their own kinds of homes in New York City through creative resourcefulness and resilience. A year or so ago, I kept the copy I knew I had checked out most often, from the Norwalk library branch (sent to me when I put it on hold), claimed I'd lost it while at a rest stop outside of Las Vegas, and paid $34, $29 as listed for the book, and a $5 processing fee. After the dozens of times I checked it out, I felt it truly belonged to me because during the times I had the copy from the Hawthorne branch checked out (it always depended on which branch picked up my request), the Norwalk copy always remained untouched. Nobody was interested in a basically obscure book from 1957. I felt it should have a home with me and it's here. I like to keep writers alive who may be considered unknown and therefore dead by everyone else. Alive to me at least.
I wonder about the book's origins. Where was it before it ended up at the Norwalk branch? Was the Norwalk branch open in 1957? I don't think that year matters so much because on the inside first page, there are date stamps, four of them, under "Return On or Before" and the first date is "JUL 7 1977." Maybe this copy, perhaps with a book jacket, entered the system in 1977 or maybe earlier. I wonder who it was with when I lived in Casselberry when I was little and then in South Florida when I was older. Back then, was someone as interested in this book as I am? Parallels like that always fascinate me.
I love the resident authors in my room and I enjoy the company of those visiting authors. They always have something to say, and they always give me something to think about, even if I don't like how they say what they say. There's never a shortage of varied voices here.
E.L. Doctorow is also here, with yet another story to tell in "Homer & Langley." He also has the distinction of being a resident author in my room, as I own a copy of "Ragtime." Most of the time, he's a guest here. I think the only writer who can truly be considered a resident is Charles Bukowski, in poetry, prose and fiction that could only be called fiction with names and some situations changed, but every word is mostly his life. He's set to drop by as a visitor for the first time in years with "Dangling in the Tournefortia," which I had read part of on Amazon.com, and thought about purchasing it, but was glad to find it available through the County of Los Angeles public library system. Bukowski is also residing inside one of my makeshift box bookshelves, many books behind others, and on the floor in front of my closet with "Portions of a Wine-Stained Notebook." I think I need to pull him into the light again. It's been too long since I've paged through his posthumous collection "The Night Torn Mad with Footsteps."
There's also Edmund G. Love, an appreciated resident, with "Subways Are for Sleeping," which I read while attending classes at College of the Canyons for about two years and it sustained me through both those years. I remember sitting in a booth next to a window at the back of the generally empty cafeteria, math homework open in front of me, having given up trying to make sense of any of it. I opened "Subways Are for Sleeping" and read stories of homeless people making their own kinds of homes in New York City through creative resourcefulness and resilience. A year or so ago, I kept the copy I knew I had checked out most often, from the Norwalk library branch (sent to me when I put it on hold), claimed I'd lost it while at a rest stop outside of Las Vegas, and paid $34, $29 as listed for the book, and a $5 processing fee. After the dozens of times I checked it out, I felt it truly belonged to me because during the times I had the copy from the Hawthorne branch checked out (it always depended on which branch picked up my request), the Norwalk copy always remained untouched. Nobody was interested in a basically obscure book from 1957. I felt it should have a home with me and it's here. I like to keep writers alive who may be considered unknown and therefore dead by everyone else. Alive to me at least.
I wonder about the book's origins. Where was it before it ended up at the Norwalk branch? Was the Norwalk branch open in 1957? I don't think that year matters so much because on the inside first page, there are date stamps, four of them, under "Return On or Before" and the first date is "JUL 7 1977." Maybe this copy, perhaps with a book jacket, entered the system in 1977 or maybe earlier. I wonder who it was with when I lived in Casselberry when I was little and then in South Florida when I was older. Back then, was someone as interested in this book as I am? Parallels like that always fascinate me.
I love the resident authors in my room and I enjoy the company of those visiting authors. They always have something to say, and they always give me something to think about, even if I don't like how they say what they say. There's never a shortage of varied voices here.
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