Reading is an even more heavenly pleasure when there's nothing technological surrounding you, when you have nothing to do.
Before she left with Dad for Las Vegas, Mom told Meridith to go to one of the two nail salons near our neighborhood and get her cuticles cleaned. Mom got her nails done at a salon at the Henderson Galleria mall.
Meridith chose the Ocean Nails Spa, near the Grand Panda Chinese restaurant, a Starbucks, and a Subway. I don't like the fumes in those places, so I took a bench at the far end of that chunk of commerce building (There's also a dentist's office, and a dry cleaners) and opened to where I had left off in Cornbread Nation 1: The Best of Southern Food Writing. I brought along some tape flags with me since I usually copy down titles and authors on a yellow legal notepad on a small clipboard, and I didn't want to bring all that with me.
There was only the sounds of traffic and a hydraulic hiss from inside the dry cleaners, what sounded like a "tee", and then a scant few seconds later, a "tah," and a noticeable cool wind which made me glad, after about 10 minutes, that I had brought my jacket. I looked up occasionally to see if Meridith had come out, but I was deep into reading about southern food and food culture. I was gone. Solid gone. I loved that I was in this one spot in the entire world, doing exactly what I wanted to do. That's all I needed.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The Run of the House: Day 2
Mom and Dad found a condo in Boulder City, and a comparison to living in Santa Clarita.
It turns out that there's more to Boulder City than just its main street area, which is small enough to truly be called a small town. There's no casinos, no bars, and it feels so relaxed, not faux-relaxed like big cities sometimes try to do with small spaces. It is genuinely quiet, with that peaceful feeling everywhere. The bowling alley, with four or five lanes, is only open for a few hours in the afternoon. There's the Historic Boulder Dam Hotel, which feels like the Dragonfly Inn on Gilmore Girls. Really.
And there's a museum on the second floor of the Boulder Dam Hotel called the Boulder City/Hoover Dam Museum that covers the history of the city and the dam, since they're both interconnected. Boulder City was begun by the federal government to house the workers building the Hoover Dam. The nearby Hacienda Hotel and Casino (outside city limits, naturally) has a small screening room where they run the government film about the Hoover Dam on a loop, and looking at the website for the museum reminded me that I want to see that film again, besides the actual Hoover Dam itself of course, more than we've seen in the past by just standing at the side. Especially the new bridge that goes over Hoover Dam, right into Arizona, into another time zone.
We knew all this about Boulder City (except for the museum. I don't think we went far enough into the building to find it, or maybe it was closed that day), but not about how far Boulder City stretched in housing, which is more than just the immediate area surrounding the town heart and joints and skeleton.
So, this condo. It's two floors, with relatively steep stairs, as Mom tells us. There's a game room, an office for Dad, and a balcony on the second floor, with enough room for me to claim it as my new reading and writing space. This Saugus apartment has been so small that I've had to use the left side of the couch in the living room and the arm of that side as my reading and writing space when I'm not using the computer for book writing or blog entries. I'm thinking of a small bookcase on that balcony.
It's three bedrooms, three-and-a-half bathrooms. Mom said that there's either one bedroom downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs, or two bedrooms downstairs and one bedroom upstairs. I'll get it right later.
The garage is a four-car garage, and there's a small room in the garage. Mom excitedly told us that the garage is bigger than our entire apartment. Well then, I'm ready right now! All I've got to do is see if I can get away with taking a few more books than I had intended. My 50-book collection is going, but as to the rest, only what I want to read so badly but haven't yet.
Dad had the job interview yesterday, and this morning at 10, they want him to come back and teach a lesson in Microsoft Word to 6th graders for 10 minutes. This is a big test for Dad, because for the past seven years, he's taught only 7th and 8th graders. But he can do it. Mom got him a proper shirt for the occasion from Kohl's at the Henderson Galleria mall. It was intended to be a Father's Day present, but Mom told us that Father's Day has been covered, since he didn't bring a shirt with him that would be appropriate for this. He didn't know that it was going to happen, so luckily he has Mom there.
They went to the house last night (I should say "condo", but considering how big it is, I'm calling it a house) and talked with the 89-year-old man who owns it, and is hard of hearing. He's selling it because his wife died not too long ago. She loved living in Las Vegas, and died four months after they moved to Boulder City. It's sad, but 89 years old, and however old his wife was, I attribute long living to Las Vegas. I feel happy about this great chance, nothing physically bothering me, and I know I'll flourish there.
Now here's where the comparison to living in Santa Clarita comes in: Mom and Dad left the house and not far out, the PT Cruiser started gushing coolant. We don't have a proper mechanic in Santa Clarita, certainly not the one Dad's used for all this time, and now realizes that he has to find a better one, who knows exactly what he or she is doing. Fortunately, the car started again, and since they were close enough, they went back to the house and asked the man if they could use his phone to call AAA. He agreed, and at the same time, his neighbor from across the street was making him dinner.
In Santa Clarita, no one would be that gracious to let you inside their house to use the phone. Here, you'd better be carrying your cell phone. And a neighbor making dinner for another neighbor? You mean, we have neighbors in this area? I thought those were just empty houses with lights that come on automatically at dusk and click off before midnight comes.
You will never find a neighbor making dinner for another neighbor like that, certainly not an elderly one. If they're old, there's the Santa Clarita Senior Center and a few senior living facilities around. Never will you find it like that here. And that kind, gentle act shows that we're finally moving to the right place.
So not only does Dad have the big teaching test this morning, but they're probably up right now to take the shuttle that Fiesta Henderson (where they're staying) provides to the nearest car rental facility, only a few blocks away. They'll tell me which one it is later. I keep thinking Hertz. I might be right. It sounds familiar.
(Addendum: I just talked to Mom. It's an Enterprise shuttle from Fiesta Henderson. We've used them before when the PT Cruiser has undergone repairs at that lack of a mechanic.)
This necessitates staying another night. With that test, and the car rental, and whatever else might transpire after the test, Mom doesn't want Dad driving back here today. We're fine. When we went food shopping on Friday and Saturday of last week, we made sure we got enough just in case this happened.
For Meridith and I, yesterday was quiet. Meridith cleaned out her closet, filled two bags with clothes she wants to donate to Goodwill, gave me a huge load and a half of laundry to put in the machine for her (I added to the second load the shirts I intend to wear this weekend), and then went to the other side of her room and began putting what she wanted to throw out into a black garbage bag and what she wanted to donate into a white garbage bag, which became three full white garbage bags. At the same time, she had 1220 AM on her radio, which is the "Hometown Station", as they call themselves, in Santa Clarita. Decent music in the afternoon, news often, and it kept up the quiet rhythm of her working in her room.
Meanwhile, I wandered between couch and computer. Right now is exactly how I started yesterday morning, with webcomics, with writing on my blog, with seeing if there's Advanced Reader Copies (ARCs) of books on abebooks.com which interest me. Nothing lately. I'm hoping there'll be ARCs of It's Classified by Nicolle Wallace, the sequel to her "Eighteen Acres" some time soon. It's coming out in September, which means it should be available as an ARC soon enough, if one of the sellers of ARCs that I like picks it up. Recently, I snatched up Harold: The Boy Who Became Mark Twain by Hal Holbrook, and that's being published in September, too. I was hoping that I'd find It's Classified soon enough, and have it to read on one of our future road trips to Las Vegas. I've already got one book ready to go for that purpose called On the Volcano by James Nelson, the author of The Trouble with Gumballs, which I loved, and you can see how much I love it (http://scrapsofliteracy.blogspot.com/2011/04/first-lines-from-books-i-love-2-trouble.html). It's Nelson's first novel and holding it yesterday, it felt like I should read it on the way first to the Grewal Travel Center rest stop in Baker, and then to Las Vegas. I'm also thinking that the biography I have of Diamond Jim Brady by H. Paul Jeffers. And I've also got all of Tessa Hadley's novels and short stories (I became hooked on her writing after reading a short story of hers in an issue of The New Yorker), so it's going to be a lot less difficult to figure out what to bring with me to read on a road trip. I used to bring a 20-pound bag of books with me on those trips. No more. I've become more efficient.
The arm of the couch holds White House Diary by Jimmy Carter, which I still have to finish, Cornbread Nation 1: The Best of Southern Food Writing, Bookmark Now: Writing in Unreaderly Times, a January/February 2011 issue of Saveur called "100: Chefs' Edition" in which chefs reveal their favorite things, foods, restaurants, ingredients, tips, etc. etc., and In Nevada: The Land, the People, God, and Chance by David Thomson. I still have the books I mentioned in a previous entry for that crash course ("The Final Library Holds"), and I might start on that today. There's still time. Not as much as years ago when the Valencia library was still fully connected to the County of Los Angeles system, but I'll make sure that I'll at least read The Sagebrush State: Nevada's History, Government, and Politics: Third Edition by Michael W. Bowers, to learn about the state's Constitution, and The Money and the Power: The Making of Las Vegas and Its Hold on America 1947-2000 by Sally Denton and Roger Morris, which I've wanted to read so badly ever since Las Vegas became a possibility, but never found the space for it in my immediate reading list. It has that space now.
Meridith worked on her room with breaks for lunch and dinner. Yep, all day yesterday. I was assigned to take the full white bags to the living room and the black garbage bag to our garbage bin at the curb. That arrangement worked for me.
Mom's insistent that Meridith get her nails done, especially to get her cuticles fully cleaned out, and there's a nail place that's a short walk from us, so she might do that today. I think I'll go with her, not to sit inside with all those fumes, but just to take a walk. I'll bring a book with me and wait outside, since it's supposed to be relatively warm today at 73 degrees. As to what else, I don't know. Reading is obvious, and I'm happy that Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune are on tonight, since they were pre-empted last night for game 1 of the NBA Finals, which I'm not watching very closely.
For me, it's enough that I have this time, which may be all I get before the militaristic regimen of moving begins. We've still got more things to throw away, to donate, and I've got to figure out exactly what I want to bring with me and get rid of, which will likely involve a few more DVDs.
This is the first time I've felt at peace with this apartment. I don't feel like I'm fighting it, like I used to, and I'm ready to let it go, because I never felt anything for it in the first place. Let it go to someone or a few people who can give it more than I ever could.
It turns out that there's more to Boulder City than just its main street area, which is small enough to truly be called a small town. There's no casinos, no bars, and it feels so relaxed, not faux-relaxed like big cities sometimes try to do with small spaces. It is genuinely quiet, with that peaceful feeling everywhere. The bowling alley, with four or five lanes, is only open for a few hours in the afternoon. There's the Historic Boulder Dam Hotel, which feels like the Dragonfly Inn on Gilmore Girls. Really.
And there's a museum on the second floor of the Boulder Dam Hotel called the Boulder City/Hoover Dam Museum that covers the history of the city and the dam, since they're both interconnected. Boulder City was begun by the federal government to house the workers building the Hoover Dam. The nearby Hacienda Hotel and Casino (outside city limits, naturally) has a small screening room where they run the government film about the Hoover Dam on a loop, and looking at the website for the museum reminded me that I want to see that film again, besides the actual Hoover Dam itself of course, more than we've seen in the past by just standing at the side. Especially the new bridge that goes over Hoover Dam, right into Arizona, into another time zone.
We knew all this about Boulder City (except for the museum. I don't think we went far enough into the building to find it, or maybe it was closed that day), but not about how far Boulder City stretched in housing, which is more than just the immediate area surrounding the town heart and joints and skeleton.
So, this condo. It's two floors, with relatively steep stairs, as Mom tells us. There's a game room, an office for Dad, and a balcony on the second floor, with enough room for me to claim it as my new reading and writing space. This Saugus apartment has been so small that I've had to use the left side of the couch in the living room and the arm of that side as my reading and writing space when I'm not using the computer for book writing or blog entries. I'm thinking of a small bookcase on that balcony.
It's three bedrooms, three-and-a-half bathrooms. Mom said that there's either one bedroom downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs, or two bedrooms downstairs and one bedroom upstairs. I'll get it right later.
The garage is a four-car garage, and there's a small room in the garage. Mom excitedly told us that the garage is bigger than our entire apartment. Well then, I'm ready right now! All I've got to do is see if I can get away with taking a few more books than I had intended. My 50-book collection is going, but as to the rest, only what I want to read so badly but haven't yet.
Dad had the job interview yesterday, and this morning at 10, they want him to come back and teach a lesson in Microsoft Word to 6th graders for 10 minutes. This is a big test for Dad, because for the past seven years, he's taught only 7th and 8th graders. But he can do it. Mom got him a proper shirt for the occasion from Kohl's at the Henderson Galleria mall. It was intended to be a Father's Day present, but Mom told us that Father's Day has been covered, since he didn't bring a shirt with him that would be appropriate for this. He didn't know that it was going to happen, so luckily he has Mom there.
They went to the house last night (I should say "condo", but considering how big it is, I'm calling it a house) and talked with the 89-year-old man who owns it, and is hard of hearing. He's selling it because his wife died not too long ago. She loved living in Las Vegas, and died four months after they moved to Boulder City. It's sad, but 89 years old, and however old his wife was, I attribute long living to Las Vegas. I feel happy about this great chance, nothing physically bothering me, and I know I'll flourish there.
Now here's where the comparison to living in Santa Clarita comes in: Mom and Dad left the house and not far out, the PT Cruiser started gushing coolant. We don't have a proper mechanic in Santa Clarita, certainly not the one Dad's used for all this time, and now realizes that he has to find a better one, who knows exactly what he or she is doing. Fortunately, the car started again, and since they were close enough, they went back to the house and asked the man if they could use his phone to call AAA. He agreed, and at the same time, his neighbor from across the street was making him dinner.
In Santa Clarita, no one would be that gracious to let you inside their house to use the phone. Here, you'd better be carrying your cell phone. And a neighbor making dinner for another neighbor? You mean, we have neighbors in this area? I thought those were just empty houses with lights that come on automatically at dusk and click off before midnight comes.
You will never find a neighbor making dinner for another neighbor like that, certainly not an elderly one. If they're old, there's the Santa Clarita Senior Center and a few senior living facilities around. Never will you find it like that here. And that kind, gentle act shows that we're finally moving to the right place.
So not only does Dad have the big teaching test this morning, but they're probably up right now to take the shuttle that Fiesta Henderson (where they're staying) provides to the nearest car rental facility, only a few blocks away. They'll tell me which one it is later. I keep thinking Hertz. I might be right. It sounds familiar.
(Addendum: I just talked to Mom. It's an Enterprise shuttle from Fiesta Henderson. We've used them before when the PT Cruiser has undergone repairs at that lack of a mechanic.)
This necessitates staying another night. With that test, and the car rental, and whatever else might transpire after the test, Mom doesn't want Dad driving back here today. We're fine. When we went food shopping on Friday and Saturday of last week, we made sure we got enough just in case this happened.
For Meridith and I, yesterday was quiet. Meridith cleaned out her closet, filled two bags with clothes she wants to donate to Goodwill, gave me a huge load and a half of laundry to put in the machine for her (I added to the second load the shirts I intend to wear this weekend), and then went to the other side of her room and began putting what she wanted to throw out into a black garbage bag and what she wanted to donate into a white garbage bag, which became three full white garbage bags. At the same time, she had 1220 AM on her radio, which is the "Hometown Station", as they call themselves, in Santa Clarita. Decent music in the afternoon, news often, and it kept up the quiet rhythm of her working in her room.
Meanwhile, I wandered between couch and computer. Right now is exactly how I started yesterday morning, with webcomics, with writing on my blog, with seeing if there's Advanced Reader Copies (ARCs) of books on abebooks.com which interest me. Nothing lately. I'm hoping there'll be ARCs of It's Classified by Nicolle Wallace, the sequel to her "Eighteen Acres" some time soon. It's coming out in September, which means it should be available as an ARC soon enough, if one of the sellers of ARCs that I like picks it up. Recently, I snatched up Harold: The Boy Who Became Mark Twain by Hal Holbrook, and that's being published in September, too. I was hoping that I'd find It's Classified soon enough, and have it to read on one of our future road trips to Las Vegas. I've already got one book ready to go for that purpose called On the Volcano by James Nelson, the author of The Trouble with Gumballs, which I loved, and you can see how much I love it (http://scrapsofliteracy.blogspot.com/2011/04/first-lines-from-books-i-love-2-trouble.html). It's Nelson's first novel and holding it yesterday, it felt like I should read it on the way first to the Grewal Travel Center rest stop in Baker, and then to Las Vegas. I'm also thinking that the biography I have of Diamond Jim Brady by H. Paul Jeffers. And I've also got all of Tessa Hadley's novels and short stories (I became hooked on her writing after reading a short story of hers in an issue of The New Yorker), so it's going to be a lot less difficult to figure out what to bring with me to read on a road trip. I used to bring a 20-pound bag of books with me on those trips. No more. I've become more efficient.
The arm of the couch holds White House Diary by Jimmy Carter, which I still have to finish, Cornbread Nation 1: The Best of Southern Food Writing, Bookmark Now: Writing in Unreaderly Times, a January/February 2011 issue of Saveur called "100: Chefs' Edition" in which chefs reveal their favorite things, foods, restaurants, ingredients, tips, etc. etc., and In Nevada: The Land, the People, God, and Chance by David Thomson. I still have the books I mentioned in a previous entry for that crash course ("The Final Library Holds"), and I might start on that today. There's still time. Not as much as years ago when the Valencia library was still fully connected to the County of Los Angeles system, but I'll make sure that I'll at least read The Sagebrush State: Nevada's History, Government, and Politics: Third Edition by Michael W. Bowers, to learn about the state's Constitution, and The Money and the Power: The Making of Las Vegas and Its Hold on America 1947-2000 by Sally Denton and Roger Morris, which I've wanted to read so badly ever since Las Vegas became a possibility, but never found the space for it in my immediate reading list. It has that space now.
Meridith worked on her room with breaks for lunch and dinner. Yep, all day yesterday. I was assigned to take the full white bags to the living room and the black garbage bag to our garbage bin at the curb. That arrangement worked for me.
Mom's insistent that Meridith get her nails done, especially to get her cuticles fully cleaned out, and there's a nail place that's a short walk from us, so she might do that today. I think I'll go with her, not to sit inside with all those fumes, but just to take a walk. I'll bring a book with me and wait outside, since it's supposed to be relatively warm today at 73 degrees. As to what else, I don't know. Reading is obvious, and I'm happy that Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune are on tonight, since they were pre-empted last night for game 1 of the NBA Finals, which I'm not watching very closely.
For me, it's enough that I have this time, which may be all I get before the militaristic regimen of moving begins. We've still got more things to throw away, to donate, and I've got to figure out exactly what I want to bring with me and get rid of, which will likely involve a few more DVDs.
This is the first time I've felt at peace with this apartment. I don't feel like I'm fighting it, like I used to, and I'm ready to let it go, because I never felt anything for it in the first place. Let it go to someone or a few people who can give it more than I ever could.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
The Run of the House: Day 1
Yesterday, a little after noon, Mom and Dad started out for Las Vegas and Henderson, what we fervently hope will finally be the promised land, a new life that lets us enjoy life instead of trying just to survive it day after day as it generally has been the seven years we've lived in the Santa Clarita Valley. They stopped at a McDonald's in Victorville, which Mom said was the dirtiest she had ever seen (Understandable, since Victorville is mostly for just passing through on the way to other places from Southern California), and at the Grewal Travel Center in Baker where they did get the weekend section of the Las Vegas Review-Journal (It's called "Neon", as I learned. I either must have not noticed before what it had been called or I forgot), but I'm still not sure if they got me a Las Vegas Weekly. There's plenty of time for that because first, I wouldn't expect to find it in Baker, just Neon, and secondly, it'll be somewhere in Las Vegas. And if they don't find it, well, with luck, I'll have a lot of years to enjoy it as a resident, and actually read it, not skim through it like I do with the L.A. Weekly, in which only a few pages each week interest me. Everything in the Las Vegas Weekly interests me. In the late afternoon, they reached Fiesta Henderson, where they're staying. Mom was keyed up about Villa Fresh Italian Kitchen, in the food court there (they also have a Denny's, a steakhouse, a Mexican cantina, and a casino buffet) because they sell pizza by the slice and she hasn't had that in years. However, Mom seemed a little disappointed on the phone when Meridith asked her about it. I'll get the full details either later today or when they get back.
Meanwhile, all this activity means that Meridith and I have the run of the house. But with responsibilities of course. Yesterday morning, even though it was the start of the week, I decided to laze about in my bed and watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, since I read Julie Dawn Cole's book, I Want It Now!, about the experience of making the film (She played Veruca Salt), and I wanted to see it again to remember the details she had revealed. Right now, having slept about an hour and 20 minutes longer than yesterday (The dogs woke me up at 5:55 to let them out in the back, but I told them to let me sleep a little longer. No luck since my body had had enough of sleeping, so I rested until 6:20, let them out, fed them, then went back to bed to read until a little after 7, when I have breakfast), I've determined that I'd rather leave movies in bed for the weekend. I didn't feel like it this morning. Sure I want to rewatch the entire series of The West Wing, with as much as I can take of seasons 5 and 6 (the worst of the series because the production team never really regrouped after Aaron Sorkin and Thomas Schlamme were fired. Of course without Sorkin, the show will nosedive in quality, but the only writer to come close to Sorkin was Debora Cahn, who wrote the late season 5 episode "The Supremes", which guest-starred Glenn Close and William Fichtner, and she let the series save face with that one and a few others she wrote, in order to let it stand up wobbly and then regain some footing for season 7), but I don't want to lay there for most of the morning.
Meridith wrote down a list of what Mom wanted us to do while they were gone. Dust Mom's bedside table, dust around their bedroom, pull weeds, throw out old food from the cabinets and from the counter at the right side of the oven (expired stuff), scrub the toilets, the microwave, the tubs, the mirrors; put lotion on Tigger and Kitty's pads, brush Tigger and Kitty, put the bug repellant on their necks (It's done every month), and clean their ears. Also on her list is to clean her room and her closet.
As soon as Mom and Dad left, I got out the broom, and the dustpan, and a white garbage bag, put on gloves and went out to the patio to sweep around there. Dead pine needles fall on our patio, and so do these red things that crumble into the pebbles when you touch them. They can be swept up, and I did just that, sweeping it all into one big pile. The whole thing, since it was only on one side, took about half an hour, but it was quite a round of exercise.
Meridith did the dusting while I was sweeping, we had lunch, and then we threw out the old food into a white garbage bag so we could put it in the bin. Usually, the bins are picked up on Tuesday, but because of Memorial Day, we were told that if we had pick up on Monday or Tuesday, it would be the day after. I decided to roll them out anyway just in case, because you never know with this garbage company.
Fortunately, the day wasn't all chores. I spent part of the day and evening reading Cornbread Nation 1: The Best of Southern Food Writing. I still intend to embark on that crash course in Nevada history, either later today or in the morning tomorrow, but yesterday just felt like a day to bask in loving writing about Southern food culture and traditions. I wish the Oxford American had a food issue every year, since I became hooked on it with the 2005 issue, but missed out on the 2010 issue since it was sold out.
Dinner was unique for Meridith and I. It'd been so long since we got dinner from anywhere in the immediate area, and the first thought was Pizza Hut's Ultimate Stuffed Crust pizza, with the toppings also inside the crust, but we found out that the Pizza Hut nearest to us doesn't do that, even though that concept has only been around for a few weeks. We thought about Papa John's, and Meridith called to ask something, and found out on the recording that they had a deal for a medium pizza, four 20-oz. drinks, 10 wings, and a dessert pie for $20.99. So that's what we did, and we walked there to pick it up. The pizza was good, the wings were, too, and that dessert pie (called a cinnapie, cinnamon all over, along with white icing) was fascinating. They must have used pizza dough for that, too, but it didn't taste like pizza dough usually does afterward. I liked it all, but was also reminded about why I don't do this often anymore. When I was overweight and didn't really care, I ate like that all the time. But now, I know I can't, and I felt it.
I also found out that I can walk the hill up to our place much easier. I didn't even notice the hill was there and my legs didn't hurt after we'd reached the top. That is a major, most welcome change.
Today, Tigger and Kitty have to get brushed, then we have to put that bug repellant stuff on their necks, clean their ears, and that's it for me. The whole list is done on my end, and Meridith has to clean her room and closet. I'll probably finish White House Diary by Jimmy Carter, along with some time for the rest of Cornbread Nation 1. It's my ideal day.
Meanwhile, all this activity means that Meridith and I have the run of the house. But with responsibilities of course. Yesterday morning, even though it was the start of the week, I decided to laze about in my bed and watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, since I read Julie Dawn Cole's book, I Want It Now!, about the experience of making the film (She played Veruca Salt), and I wanted to see it again to remember the details she had revealed. Right now, having slept about an hour and 20 minutes longer than yesterday (The dogs woke me up at 5:55 to let them out in the back, but I told them to let me sleep a little longer. No luck since my body had had enough of sleeping, so I rested until 6:20, let them out, fed them, then went back to bed to read until a little after 7, when I have breakfast), I've determined that I'd rather leave movies in bed for the weekend. I didn't feel like it this morning. Sure I want to rewatch the entire series of The West Wing, with as much as I can take of seasons 5 and 6 (the worst of the series because the production team never really regrouped after Aaron Sorkin and Thomas Schlamme were fired. Of course without Sorkin, the show will nosedive in quality, but the only writer to come close to Sorkin was Debora Cahn, who wrote the late season 5 episode "The Supremes", which guest-starred Glenn Close and William Fichtner, and she let the series save face with that one and a few others she wrote, in order to let it stand up wobbly and then regain some footing for season 7), but I don't want to lay there for most of the morning.
Meridith wrote down a list of what Mom wanted us to do while they were gone. Dust Mom's bedside table, dust around their bedroom, pull weeds, throw out old food from the cabinets and from the counter at the right side of the oven (expired stuff), scrub the toilets, the microwave, the tubs, the mirrors; put lotion on Tigger and Kitty's pads, brush Tigger and Kitty, put the bug repellant on their necks (It's done every month), and clean their ears. Also on her list is to clean her room and her closet.
As soon as Mom and Dad left, I got out the broom, and the dustpan, and a white garbage bag, put on gloves and went out to the patio to sweep around there. Dead pine needles fall on our patio, and so do these red things that crumble into the pebbles when you touch them. They can be swept up, and I did just that, sweeping it all into one big pile. The whole thing, since it was only on one side, took about half an hour, but it was quite a round of exercise.
Meridith did the dusting while I was sweeping, we had lunch, and then we threw out the old food into a white garbage bag so we could put it in the bin. Usually, the bins are picked up on Tuesday, but because of Memorial Day, we were told that if we had pick up on Monday or Tuesday, it would be the day after. I decided to roll them out anyway just in case, because you never know with this garbage company.
Fortunately, the day wasn't all chores. I spent part of the day and evening reading Cornbread Nation 1: The Best of Southern Food Writing. I still intend to embark on that crash course in Nevada history, either later today or in the morning tomorrow, but yesterday just felt like a day to bask in loving writing about Southern food culture and traditions. I wish the Oxford American had a food issue every year, since I became hooked on it with the 2005 issue, but missed out on the 2010 issue since it was sold out.
Dinner was unique for Meridith and I. It'd been so long since we got dinner from anywhere in the immediate area, and the first thought was Pizza Hut's Ultimate Stuffed Crust pizza, with the toppings also inside the crust, but we found out that the Pizza Hut nearest to us doesn't do that, even though that concept has only been around for a few weeks. We thought about Papa John's, and Meridith called to ask something, and found out on the recording that they had a deal for a medium pizza, four 20-oz. drinks, 10 wings, and a dessert pie for $20.99. So that's what we did, and we walked there to pick it up. The pizza was good, the wings were, too, and that dessert pie (called a cinnapie, cinnamon all over, along with white icing) was fascinating. They must have used pizza dough for that, too, but it didn't taste like pizza dough usually does afterward. I liked it all, but was also reminded about why I don't do this often anymore. When I was overweight and didn't really care, I ate like that all the time. But now, I know I can't, and I felt it.
I also found out that I can walk the hill up to our place much easier. I didn't even notice the hill was there and my legs didn't hurt after we'd reached the top. That is a major, most welcome change.
Today, Tigger and Kitty have to get brushed, then we have to put that bug repellant stuff on their necks, clean their ears, and that's it for me. The whole list is done on my end, and Meridith has to clean her room and closet. I'll probably finish White House Diary by Jimmy Carter, along with some time for the rest of Cornbread Nation 1. It's my ideal day.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The Changed Dynamic
Every week, I have a set routine. Mondays through Fridays, I get up between 7 and 8 a.m., occasionally later than 8, and Mom's up long before that, so I say good morning and see if she needs anything. Then I have breakfast, always Cheerios and a banana. I'll probably deviate from that when I'm in Las Vegas with my folks, depending on if we stop at a 7-11.
Lately, Mom hasn't been on the computer in the living room before me, so I go on there, check my e-mail, read the DailyLit e-mails I get ("Poems of Emily Dickinson", stories about Abraham Lincoln, and "Many Thoughts from Many Minds", which is a 2,000+ collection of quotes that I use as a quote-a-day thing), visit MiceAge and Mouseplanet every Monday and occasionally during the week, also screamscape.com, themeparkreview.com, westcoaster.net, and I check the booksellers on abebooks.com who sell advanced reading copies of books. The latest one to come to me was Harold: The Boy Who Became Mark Twain, Hal Holbrook's autobiography. It's being published in September.
I've spent less than the three hours I used to spend on the computer in the morning because I don't have anything else to look at, anything to transcribe, and I'm not doing online research for my next books yet.
Lunch is always after 12 p.m., sometimes 12:30, the latest being 1. Then there's a lot more reading, and then after 5, I begin working on the Freelance Daily newsletter, which is always full of job listings. I get paid for this, so it's why I do it. Plus I can see what freelance jobs are being offered and if any relate to me. Not lately.
Weekends are different. The dogs wake me up to let them out to the patio to do their business, then I feed them, have breakfast, and go back to my room to watch a movie or two. Those are the only days I watch movies now, save for this week, with all the movies I recorded on the Tivo from all those channels that included the Showtime package, the Sundance Channel, and the Documentary Channel. Saturdays and Sundays are always more relaxed because the routine is more relaxed. It'll no doubt change after we move, because I'll be in pursuit of a full-time job, and that's fine. A new life, a new routine.
Because the school year is over and Dad and Meridith are home, the routine changes. Do I watch movies in the weekday mornings? Do I keep to what I always do? I may do the former tomorrow morning, but to finish the episode of The West Wing I was watching, the one from season 3 with the missing nuclear submarine, which guest-starred Hal Holbrook. Mom and Dad are going to be more rushed than I am, since they're looking to leave for Las Vegas and noon. And then on Tuesday and Wednesday, what? Well, lots of reading for one thing. I want to finish reading White House Diary by Jimmy Carter, since I've spent some time away from it and can now approach it more relaxed, since I broke that routine of researching all the time.
But movies on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, too? I can't really think of anything I'd want to watch, anything that I feel that pull for like I do for a few of the movies on the Tivo. So I'll just watch in the living room instead of my bedroom. Meridith will likely sleep later than I do, so I've got a few hours to myself. I like that.
Breakfast, lunch and dinnertime will all remain the same, but I like the change I feel, the opportunity to spend the day differently. You keep a routine in the Santa Clarita Valley just to feel sane with the isolated feeling this valley gives off. A routine in Las Vegas is just so you have the chance to experience everything around you and not miss a thing.
Lately, Mom hasn't been on the computer in the living room before me, so I go on there, check my e-mail, read the DailyLit e-mails I get ("Poems of Emily Dickinson", stories about Abraham Lincoln, and "Many Thoughts from Many Minds", which is a 2,000+ collection of quotes that I use as a quote-a-day thing), visit MiceAge and Mouseplanet every Monday and occasionally during the week, also screamscape.com, themeparkreview.com, westcoaster.net, and I check the booksellers on abebooks.com who sell advanced reading copies of books. The latest one to come to me was Harold: The Boy Who Became Mark Twain, Hal Holbrook's autobiography. It's being published in September.
I've spent less than the three hours I used to spend on the computer in the morning because I don't have anything else to look at, anything to transcribe, and I'm not doing online research for my next books yet.
Lunch is always after 12 p.m., sometimes 12:30, the latest being 1. Then there's a lot more reading, and then after 5, I begin working on the Freelance Daily newsletter, which is always full of job listings. I get paid for this, so it's why I do it. Plus I can see what freelance jobs are being offered and if any relate to me. Not lately.
Weekends are different. The dogs wake me up to let them out to the patio to do their business, then I feed them, have breakfast, and go back to my room to watch a movie or two. Those are the only days I watch movies now, save for this week, with all the movies I recorded on the Tivo from all those channels that included the Showtime package, the Sundance Channel, and the Documentary Channel. Saturdays and Sundays are always more relaxed because the routine is more relaxed. It'll no doubt change after we move, because I'll be in pursuit of a full-time job, and that's fine. A new life, a new routine.
Because the school year is over and Dad and Meridith are home, the routine changes. Do I watch movies in the weekday mornings? Do I keep to what I always do? I may do the former tomorrow morning, but to finish the episode of The West Wing I was watching, the one from season 3 with the missing nuclear submarine, which guest-starred Hal Holbrook. Mom and Dad are going to be more rushed than I am, since they're looking to leave for Las Vegas and noon. And then on Tuesday and Wednesday, what? Well, lots of reading for one thing. I want to finish reading White House Diary by Jimmy Carter, since I've spent some time away from it and can now approach it more relaxed, since I broke that routine of researching all the time.
But movies on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, too? I can't really think of anything I'd want to watch, anything that I feel that pull for like I do for a few of the movies on the Tivo. So I'll just watch in the living room instead of my bedroom. Meridith will likely sleep later than I do, so I've got a few hours to myself. I like that.
Breakfast, lunch and dinnertime will all remain the same, but I like the change I feel, the opportunity to spend the day differently. You keep a routine in the Santa Clarita Valley just to feel sane with the isolated feeling this valley gives off. A routine in Las Vegas is just so you have the chance to experience everything around you and not miss a thing.
Do These New Scents Portend a Hoped-For New Life?
Maybe it's the onset of summer, or maybe I just never paid attention until now. Our garage, which smelled like my paternal grandparents' garage in Paramus, New Jersey--a musty gray smell that included not only their car, but also the metal tracks of the garage door, the big freezer, a few tools, and that concrete floor that got cold enough at night--no longer has that scent. It smells as if it's freshening up, the high winds of recent days pushing wisps through the small screens at the bottom, near the door in the back. I never recall it smelling like that at any other time. Does this place anticipate our intentions? Does it know that Mom and Dad are off to Vegas on Monday afternoon for that job interview on Tuesday? Is it aware of the success that will likely come in this venture and therefore is propping itself up for prospective new owners?
I hope that's what it means. I certainly feel differently. I no longer occasionally feel trapped by the patio walls, looking over at the community pool behind one of those walls, thinking that that's the only poetry to be found here, those empty chairs framed around the pool, one of the tables on the other side, near the bathrooms. I feel at peace with the place, no more conflict. I can let it go. I can forget and concentrate on what I've wanted for so long, what will finally happen. Meridith reminded me that one of the Henderson library branches is inside a mall. It's true. And since there are no polling stations in Henderson, voting also happens at the two malls in the area. I've wanted to live in a unique area so badly. And this fits my definition.
I feel no regret at giving up the DVDs I must, giving up the books I must give up in order to move with relatively fewer things. I know there are libraries there, and used bookstores there, and I know that I will find new authors there that I never thought about here. I am ready for my room to belong to someone else. I spent more time outside it than inside it anyway. It was painted particular shades of blue, the walls painted sky blue, the door painted a dark blue, but that's all I had that was me. I have framed prints by Chris Consani of Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, and James Dean together at a coffee bar and in a movie theater. I never got to hang those up. No room. I'll finally have that chance and my new room will finally be mine, will bear all the hallmarks of my personality. I can seek out bookshelves and finally place my books on those; no more boxes as bookshelves. I can feel settled, content, ready to explore every facet of my new home, inside and outside.
I think this apartment feels the same way. We'll have a gracious parting, and then new people can move in, who I hope will love it more than I ever did. It deserves that after these seven years. Maybe it'll have someone or a few people who love Saugus as much as I love Las Vegas. These walls should have that.
I hope that's what it means. I certainly feel differently. I no longer occasionally feel trapped by the patio walls, looking over at the community pool behind one of those walls, thinking that that's the only poetry to be found here, those empty chairs framed around the pool, one of the tables on the other side, near the bathrooms. I feel at peace with the place, no more conflict. I can let it go. I can forget and concentrate on what I've wanted for so long, what will finally happen. Meridith reminded me that one of the Henderson library branches is inside a mall. It's true. And since there are no polling stations in Henderson, voting also happens at the two malls in the area. I've wanted to live in a unique area so badly. And this fits my definition.
I feel no regret at giving up the DVDs I must, giving up the books I must give up in order to move with relatively fewer things. I know there are libraries there, and used bookstores there, and I know that I will find new authors there that I never thought about here. I am ready for my room to belong to someone else. I spent more time outside it than inside it anyway. It was painted particular shades of blue, the walls painted sky blue, the door painted a dark blue, but that's all I had that was me. I have framed prints by Chris Consani of Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, and James Dean together at a coffee bar and in a movie theater. I never got to hang those up. No room. I'll finally have that chance and my new room will finally be mine, will bear all the hallmarks of my personality. I can seek out bookshelves and finally place my books on those; no more boxes as bookshelves. I can feel settled, content, ready to explore every facet of my new home, inside and outside.
I think this apartment feels the same way. We'll have a gracious parting, and then new people can move in, who I hope will love it more than I ever did. It deserves that after these seven years. Maybe it'll have someone or a few people who love Saugus as much as I love Las Vegas. These walls should have that.
The Final Library Holds
On Friday, I had an idea for Meridith that I wish I had thought of much earlier. She's wanted to read Abandon by Meg Cabot for so long, Cabot being the only author she reads regularly. She has nearly all her books.
I didn't reveal this, because you never know who's sneaking about online, and it's not paranoia that fuels this, but rather the need to keep my library card as it was. But since the last day to check out books from the Valencia branch is June 4, ahead of the transfer of control of this valley's three libraries from the County of Los Angeles to the City of Santa Clarita, and since all items have to be returned by June 10, I can put this forth now since nothing I can put on hold now would get there in time for me to have time to read it, and I lessened the number of books I put on hold so I wouldn't be bombarded by the end. On June 1, the County of Los Angeles is opening the Stevenson Ranch Express Library, which is a much smaller library with shorter hours, a more limited selection, but they allow holds. I could make my home library that one in order to keep my County of Los Angeles library card, but after Tuesday, after Dad's job interview in Henderson, it might not matter anymore, and instead, I would be learning about the policies of the Henderson library branches, and of the Clark County Library system.
On March 14, the County of Los Angeles cut off Santa Clarita residents from the other libraries in the system. Patrons could only put items on hold that were at the Valencia, Newhall or Canyon Country libraries. It became true on my sister's card, when she couldn't put books on hold because those books weren't at either of those three libraries.
Maybe it was because of my reputation of always putting a lot of books on hold at once, and especially the great number of books about the presidents for my research. The librarians at the Valencia library knew me well. And maybe someone working within that computer system sensed the avid reader I was, and left my card alone because of the high volume. After all, I've done this for the past seven years. Always a large number of books, always reaching the 50-item limit, though for the first two years, it was mostly movies, because I was still very much into movies. Actually, thinking about it further, the first policy was that you couldn't check out more items if you had reached a $500 limit. They assessed the value of the items, as all libraries do, and the system added it up, so there were times when I had to take the prices from the inner flap of the books and add it all up to see if I had reached $500. I was relieved when the policy changed to 50 items. It became a lot easier to manage.
My library card never changed. Any book I put on hold always came from other branches, such as West Hollywood, Agoura Hills, Hawthorne, San Dimas. I never had the trouble that Meridith had.
So on Friday, I asked Meridith if she could read Abandon by June 10th, if it came in before June 4. Whenever she gets a Meg Cabot book, she zips right through it, finishing it either the day she got it or the day after. She could do the same with this one. So I put Abandon on hold, counting on it to come in before Saturday. When it does, we'll make a rare during-the-week stop at the Valencia library to pick it up. I don't remember the first book I ever put on hold on my card all those years ago, but it's appropriate that the last book I put on hold should be for Meridith. I'd rather the last time be to help out, instead of the continual benefit for myself, which ended yesterday with six books I picked up that were on hold:
The American Presidency: An Intellectual History by Forrest McDonald - It's about the evolution of the presidency throughout history, what it has become, the power that has emerged, relations with Congress, thinking about where it is and what it is at that moment in time (1994).
American Original: The Life and Constitution of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia by Joan Biskupic - I decided to keep the Sandra Day O'Connor biography by Biskupic. I have plenty of time this week, what with Mom and Dad's trip to Las Vegas, and surely that'll be good for part of a morning and most of an afternoon. Scalia has interested me because of his love of opera and his dramatic, egotistical flair, and taste for life.
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz - On Friday, graduating 8th grade students from Dad's school went on the yearly Disneyland trip for the day. On the trip before this one, I brought along The Signal newspaper and an issue of The New Yorker. In that issue, which absorbed me on the entire bus ride to Disneyland (The Signal takes a mere two minutes since there's that little readable content in it), there was a short story by Junot Diaz that made me only partially aware that we were in the parking garage at Disneyland, waiting to get past the guard booth to the bus parking lot. The language of that short story was so real, so raw, so deeply felt. Not long after, I checked out his short story collection, Drown. I decided it was finally time to read his first novel.
Lyndon B. Johnson by Charles Peters - This is one title in the American Presidents series, published by Henry Holt and Company. Yes, the exact series I said I was tired of, but I'm psyched to read Robert Caro's massive three-volume biography of Lyndon Johnson, and I'd like to have an overview of his life and presidency. However, reading the first few sentences of the first chapter, I'm iffy. I don't like the writing. I'll see if I can get through it by the few pages after that first page.
How Stella Got Her Groove Back by Terry McMillan - I've always been curious about Terry McMillan's works. Now's the time.
Alphabetter Juice or, The Joy of Text by Roy Blount, Jr. - I also have Alphabet Juice by Blount from the library, so I might make a double reading out of both.
I had picked up seven books, but I returned 15 books. And thinking about Mom and Dad's impending trip to Las Vegas, I decided that I could use a crash course to refamilarize myself with what had become faded as we waited and waited for word in Nevada about a job for Dad. I went to the shelves against the wall at the back left side of the library, to where the few Nevada books are kept, and I grabbed all of them, except for The Last Honest Place in America by Marc Cooper, about Las Vegas, which I read and it didn't impress me.
Among the books I picked up was The Sagebrush State: Nevada's History, Government, and Politics: Third Edition by Michael W. Bowers. It's from 2006, but I'll take it. I want to finally learn everything about the history of a state, about its government and its constitution. I lived in and loved Florida, but I never paid a lot of attention to the state legislature. And all I know about California government, beyond there being the governor, a senate, and an assembly, is that they're so good at pushing all these propositions for voters. I want Nevada to be my next and final home. And I want to be deeply connected to it.
I've also got Nevada: A History by Robert Laxalt, from 1977; Las Vegas Babylon: True Tales of Glitter, Glamour, and Greed by Jeff Burbank; and the hardcover edition of The Money and the Power: The Making of Las Vegas and Its Hold on America 1947-2000 by Sally Denton and Roger Morris. I've eyed this book so many times, checked it out so many times, but still haven't read it. I was even thinking of buying the paperback edition from abebooks.com, but I'm going to take the chance now.
I also decided to check out one Charles Bukowski book I've read often from the Valencia library: Ham on Rye. I'm intimately familiar with this particular copy, one of the only Bukowski books I've not bought yet, even though I have many books of his poetry, as well as Post Office and the screenplay for Barfly. I know that the City of Santa Clarita is buying all the books in the Valencia, Canyon Country and Newhall libraries from the County of Los Angeles, and I hope this copy of Ham on Rye is treated well by whoever reads it next. I hope that that person is 20 years old, the age I was when I discovered Bukowski. I hope he or she is grabbed by the throat and pulled violently into these words, like I was.
I also decided to check out Supreme Courtship by Christopher Buckley, since I was thinking of buying it to read. Yeah, yeah, I know that's what libraries are for, and certainly when I reach Henderson, I'll check out a lot more books than I buy, because I want to explore every aspect of those libraries in Henderson and definitely the ones that make up the Clark County system (Henderson is not connected to the Clark County system. It's like Santa Clarita disconnecting from the County of Los Angeles system. But at least, unlike here, there's always other places to go.)
I appreciate what the Valencia library has done for me for these seven years, but I will not miss it. I need my libraries stable, not beholden to the whims of a wayward City Council so gung-ho on cutting the valley off from the rest of the world, since Los Angeles is pretty much the rest of the world in this region of California. We're already isolated by distance. We didn't need to be isolated any further.
When we visited the Boulder City library, I found librarians so pleasant, so willing to help, pointing out everything the library had for us for-now tourists from Southern California after learning of our intent to live in Nevada. I'm excited for more of that when we become permanently installed there.
I didn't reveal this, because you never know who's sneaking about online, and it's not paranoia that fuels this, but rather the need to keep my library card as it was. But since the last day to check out books from the Valencia branch is June 4, ahead of the transfer of control of this valley's three libraries from the County of Los Angeles to the City of Santa Clarita, and since all items have to be returned by June 10, I can put this forth now since nothing I can put on hold now would get there in time for me to have time to read it, and I lessened the number of books I put on hold so I wouldn't be bombarded by the end. On June 1, the County of Los Angeles is opening the Stevenson Ranch Express Library, which is a much smaller library with shorter hours, a more limited selection, but they allow holds. I could make my home library that one in order to keep my County of Los Angeles library card, but after Tuesday, after Dad's job interview in Henderson, it might not matter anymore, and instead, I would be learning about the policies of the Henderson library branches, and of the Clark County Library system.
On March 14, the County of Los Angeles cut off Santa Clarita residents from the other libraries in the system. Patrons could only put items on hold that were at the Valencia, Newhall or Canyon Country libraries. It became true on my sister's card, when she couldn't put books on hold because those books weren't at either of those three libraries.
Maybe it was because of my reputation of always putting a lot of books on hold at once, and especially the great number of books about the presidents for my research. The librarians at the Valencia library knew me well. And maybe someone working within that computer system sensed the avid reader I was, and left my card alone because of the high volume. After all, I've done this for the past seven years. Always a large number of books, always reaching the 50-item limit, though for the first two years, it was mostly movies, because I was still very much into movies. Actually, thinking about it further, the first policy was that you couldn't check out more items if you had reached a $500 limit. They assessed the value of the items, as all libraries do, and the system added it up, so there were times when I had to take the prices from the inner flap of the books and add it all up to see if I had reached $500. I was relieved when the policy changed to 50 items. It became a lot easier to manage.
My library card never changed. Any book I put on hold always came from other branches, such as West Hollywood, Agoura Hills, Hawthorne, San Dimas. I never had the trouble that Meridith had.
So on Friday, I asked Meridith if she could read Abandon by June 10th, if it came in before June 4. Whenever she gets a Meg Cabot book, she zips right through it, finishing it either the day she got it or the day after. She could do the same with this one. So I put Abandon on hold, counting on it to come in before Saturday. When it does, we'll make a rare during-the-week stop at the Valencia library to pick it up. I don't remember the first book I ever put on hold on my card all those years ago, but it's appropriate that the last book I put on hold should be for Meridith. I'd rather the last time be to help out, instead of the continual benefit for myself, which ended yesterday with six books I picked up that were on hold:
The American Presidency: An Intellectual History by Forrest McDonald - It's about the evolution of the presidency throughout history, what it has become, the power that has emerged, relations with Congress, thinking about where it is and what it is at that moment in time (1994).
American Original: The Life and Constitution of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia by Joan Biskupic - I decided to keep the Sandra Day O'Connor biography by Biskupic. I have plenty of time this week, what with Mom and Dad's trip to Las Vegas, and surely that'll be good for part of a morning and most of an afternoon. Scalia has interested me because of his love of opera and his dramatic, egotistical flair, and taste for life.
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz - On Friday, graduating 8th grade students from Dad's school went on the yearly Disneyland trip for the day. On the trip before this one, I brought along The Signal newspaper and an issue of The New Yorker. In that issue, which absorbed me on the entire bus ride to Disneyland (The Signal takes a mere two minutes since there's that little readable content in it), there was a short story by Junot Diaz that made me only partially aware that we were in the parking garage at Disneyland, waiting to get past the guard booth to the bus parking lot. The language of that short story was so real, so raw, so deeply felt. Not long after, I checked out his short story collection, Drown. I decided it was finally time to read his first novel.
Lyndon B. Johnson by Charles Peters - This is one title in the American Presidents series, published by Henry Holt and Company. Yes, the exact series I said I was tired of, but I'm psyched to read Robert Caro's massive three-volume biography of Lyndon Johnson, and I'd like to have an overview of his life and presidency. However, reading the first few sentences of the first chapter, I'm iffy. I don't like the writing. I'll see if I can get through it by the few pages after that first page.
How Stella Got Her Groove Back by Terry McMillan - I've always been curious about Terry McMillan's works. Now's the time.
Alphabetter Juice or, The Joy of Text by Roy Blount, Jr. - I also have Alphabet Juice by Blount from the library, so I might make a double reading out of both.
I had picked up seven books, but I returned 15 books. And thinking about Mom and Dad's impending trip to Las Vegas, I decided that I could use a crash course to refamilarize myself with what had become faded as we waited and waited for word in Nevada about a job for Dad. I went to the shelves against the wall at the back left side of the library, to where the few Nevada books are kept, and I grabbed all of them, except for The Last Honest Place in America by Marc Cooper, about Las Vegas, which I read and it didn't impress me.
Among the books I picked up was The Sagebrush State: Nevada's History, Government, and Politics: Third Edition by Michael W. Bowers. It's from 2006, but I'll take it. I want to finally learn everything about the history of a state, about its government and its constitution. I lived in and loved Florida, but I never paid a lot of attention to the state legislature. And all I know about California government, beyond there being the governor, a senate, and an assembly, is that they're so good at pushing all these propositions for voters. I want Nevada to be my next and final home. And I want to be deeply connected to it.
I've also got Nevada: A History by Robert Laxalt, from 1977; Las Vegas Babylon: True Tales of Glitter, Glamour, and Greed by Jeff Burbank; and the hardcover edition of The Money and the Power: The Making of Las Vegas and Its Hold on America 1947-2000 by Sally Denton and Roger Morris. I've eyed this book so many times, checked it out so many times, but still haven't read it. I was even thinking of buying the paperback edition from abebooks.com, but I'm going to take the chance now.
I also decided to check out one Charles Bukowski book I've read often from the Valencia library: Ham on Rye. I'm intimately familiar with this particular copy, one of the only Bukowski books I've not bought yet, even though I have many books of his poetry, as well as Post Office and the screenplay for Barfly. I know that the City of Santa Clarita is buying all the books in the Valencia, Canyon Country and Newhall libraries from the County of Los Angeles, and I hope this copy of Ham on Rye is treated well by whoever reads it next. I hope that that person is 20 years old, the age I was when I discovered Bukowski. I hope he or she is grabbed by the throat and pulled violently into these words, like I was.
I also decided to check out Supreme Courtship by Christopher Buckley, since I was thinking of buying it to read. Yeah, yeah, I know that's what libraries are for, and certainly when I reach Henderson, I'll check out a lot more books than I buy, because I want to explore every aspect of those libraries in Henderson and definitely the ones that make up the Clark County system (Henderson is not connected to the Clark County system. It's like Santa Clarita disconnecting from the County of Los Angeles system. But at least, unlike here, there's always other places to go.)
I appreciate what the Valencia library has done for me for these seven years, but I will not miss it. I need my libraries stable, not beholden to the whims of a wayward City Council so gung-ho on cutting the valley off from the rest of the world, since Los Angeles is pretty much the rest of the world in this region of California. We're already isolated by distance. We didn't need to be isolated any further.
When we visited the Boulder City library, I found librarians so pleasant, so willing to help, pointing out everything the library had for us for-now tourists from Southern California after learning of our intent to live in Nevada. I'm excited for more of that when we become permanently installed there.
An Accurate Portrayal of Las Vegas
Las Vegas differs for all kinds of people, so I can only speak based on my own experiences.
I watched "Lucky You" this morning, or rather fast-forwarded through most of it. I loathed the screenplay, but Curtis Hanson got it as a filmmaker: Las Vegas isn't a rushed edit as other movies show it. It is meant to be taken in slowly, a sensual experience that builds, evident in the pan-down shot from the Eiffel Tower replica at Paris, to the synchronized waterfalls at the Bellagio.
I watched "Lucky You" this morning, or rather fast-forwarded through most of it. I loathed the screenplay, but Curtis Hanson got it as a filmmaker: Las Vegas isn't a rushed edit as other movies show it. It is meant to be taken in slowly, a sensual experience that builds, evident in the pan-down shot from the Eiffel Tower replica at Paris, to the synchronized waterfalls at the Bellagio.
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