The Santa Clarita Valley and I have always been at odds, as has been well-documented. But last night, we agreed on a permanent truce, triggered by a simple act.
I've never believed that there are any truly good people living here, just vapid, shallow people, with the great exception of former Signal columnist and weekend Escape editor John Boston, who was my mentor at the newspaper for a time, who showed me through his methods of writing and editing how to feel truly free in one's work, to explore anything, and to write about it too. He was just one person, though. What about the rest of the valley, which to me has never had heart, never compassion, never any indication that it cares?
I could say that tonight was just coincidence, but I like to believe that it was the valley's doing, offering the end of our always-fractured relationship. The Showtime series Episodes turned me from an unfortunate resident back into a very happy tourist, but I also needed to emotionally disconnect from this valley. And I have.
Throughout the evening, I heard splashes and little-kid voices from the community pool that the right side of our large patio overlooks. Also some adult voices, but mainly the shouts of those kids. As nighttime officially arrived with a near-to-8 p.m. darkness, I heard a thump on our patio, across from our kitchen window facing the "neighbor" across from us (not really a neighbor in that sense, just the standard definition of one who simply lives across from you). I opened the door that leads to the patio and heard the little boy of the group tell his grandfather that he wanted to draw things, be an animator, and his grandfather jokingly replied, "Are you going to make enough money to take care of your grandfather?" These kids sounded like the most well-behaved group that ever visited the pool in the nearly seven years we've lived in this place.
I turned on the patio lights and found a new, green tennis ball on the ground. I picked it up and wondered where it came from: Was a nearby neighbor too overzealous with throwing the tennis ball a short distance to their dog? Then I realized that it must have come from the kids because it sounded like they were also playing on the path that leads from the pool area to the pool gate, which passes right by the high wall of our patio. So they threw it, and it landed there.
I debated whether to keep it, give it to Kitty, but she loves her orange tennis balls. I had no use for it because I don't play tennis and the basketball in my room is my ball of choice. I walked over to that wall and threw the ball back down the path toward the pool area. I heard one of the kids exclaim, "Someone threw it back!" and in unison, whether two or three kids, I heard "Thank you!" I called back, "No problem!", and went back inside.
Living in Santa Clarita for nearly eight years and experiencing other parts of Southern California, you learn a lot about who people are, how to tell right away whether they'll help you or harm you in some way, what they want from you, and if they're sincere. I am grateful to this region to have learned all that without having to play poker to learn, but hated all the baggage that came with it, all that I had to endure.
This was nice. This felt to me like the valley's truce. And it came after learning that Dad's job interview went well, that Mom and Dad may very well have found our home in Las Vegas. All I'll say so far is that it's in Las Vegas. They'll probably look at more developments tomorrow to have a backup plan just in case, but if this works out, we'll be residents of Las Vegas. There are enough stores nearby to please Mom, so we have the basics in food shopping and anything else we might need; it's eight miles from the Strip, and Mom told us that you can't see it from inside this development, but when you pull out, there it is: My desert dream. I've also learned about my potential home library branch, and received the happy news that my beloved Pinball Hall of Fame is only four miles from there.
Perhaps the valley knows before I do that we'll be leaving very soon. I hope so. I'm still not happy that we spent all these years here, but what happened last night makes me reconcile the fact that that time is gone and now it's time to make up for it, quicker than I ever imagined. Because there will not only be a lot to make me quickly forget about the unhappy experiences I've had here in Santa Clarita, but I'll be so busy with research for books and novels I want to write about Las Vegas that it may be like I've never known anything else but Las Vegas, save for our happy years in Casselberry, Florida up to 1992, of which I see Las Vegas as a continuation after a very long interruption.
From Santa Clarita, I take only my detailed education in how to read people. And I'm grateful that it let me go easy. My heart, mind, and soul are already in Las Vegas, and my body is just waiting to get there.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Gentle Waves of Soy Milk, Not Rip Currents
I'm trying to remember the last time I had corn flakes, and the year doesn't come to mind. I've always been a Cheerios fanatic, ever since I was little, when my parents used it to keep me quiet in stores (sometimes I screamed because I liked to hear my voice). They always kept a steady supply on hand. Maybe corn flakes were for vacations, in keeping with exploration of things not part of daily lives. I'm sure I've had it sporadically throughout my life, but not enough to remember one key rule about corn flakes filled up to near the top of a bowl: Don't pour milk (or soy milk, in my case) as heavily as with Cheerios, which each have a hole in the middle and can therefore handle a deluge of milk with grace.
I realized this on Tuesday when I poured soy milk over Kellogg's Corn Flakes, but moreso yesterday. Pour your milk of choice too fast, and it fairly dives off the flakes and belly flops onto the counter, exploding in different directions. Before the first bite, I had to mop up the Olympic Diving Team with a paper towel.
It's a good lesson not only in proper milk pouring depending on the cereal, but also in life: A gentle touch in everything, always. Or else you have to mop up more than you ever expected.
I realized this on Tuesday when I poured soy milk over Kellogg's Corn Flakes, but moreso yesterday. Pour your milk of choice too fast, and it fairly dives off the flakes and belly flops onto the counter, exploding in different directions. Before the first bite, I had to mop up the Olympic Diving Team with a paper towel.
It's a good lesson not only in proper milk pouring depending on the cereal, but also in life: A gentle touch in everything, always. Or else you have to mop up more than you ever expected.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
The First Farewell Tour
Mom and Dad set out for Las Vegas in a rented Chevy HHR yesterday afternoon, a little after 2. They'll be back on Saturday, which leaves Meridith and I to do whatever we want, but without use of the PT Cruiser since we don't drive the roads here, and it's the only car we have right now between the four of us. Even if they were home, we still wouldn't use it, because it has to be treated very delicately, and even if we would, it's not worth it because we still need it to get around and it can't go great, great distances. Plus we're looking to trade it in for a younger car when the time comes. It's aging rapidly.
So, with time to ourselves, what to do....
Basketball?
Check.
Sunscreen?
Check.
A water bottle for each of us?
Check.
A plastic bag for the basketball and the water bottles?
Check.
Meridith wanted to go to the Circle K near our place, so that was our first stop. She was looking for new spicy-flavored Slim Jims: Chili pepper, jalapeno, and habanero. Circle K had them, but they were only the monster sizes.
Next was Circle K and they only had mild Slim Jims, since the customers they get are often mild-mannered.
Then we walked through the Seco Canyon Village shopping center, which looks nothing like a village, but of course the name of a shopping center or a strip mall is never supposed to reflect what it is. It's supposed to be more than the setting actually is, with the hope of blinding people to how dull it is. Or at least that's how it is with Seco Canyon Village, which offers a veterinarian, dry cleaners, Papa John's, dentist's office, a vaguely Italian restaurant, and a credit union bank. CVS is the anchor of this shopping center. Very small. Doesn't feel at all like a home shopping center.
To walk from our apartment to way out to the intersection next to Rite Aid is about 1.9 miles. 1.9, and it took us three hours to walk there and back with many stops on the way. We walked from CVS through that shopping center, past many neighborhood entrances, to the park to see if anyone was playing basketball. If the court was empty, we were going to shoot some hoops. We're not that good that we can play a full game.
The hoops were being used, so we kept on walking, past the elementary school, to the 7-11 on that side of the street where we also didn't find the regular size spicy Slim Jims Meridith wanted. After that, we crossed the intersection to the Shell gas station convenience store to check, and nothing there either.
Then Rite-Aid, first to look for the Slim Jims and finding the same mild ones that CVS had, and then, hey! How about some ice cream? They've got that Thrifty ice cream with scoops that look like rounded squares. A scoop of butter pecan for me in a sugar cone and a scoop of Circus Animal Cookie ice cream in a regular cone for Meridith, with the frosted cookies mixed into the ice cream. Not pieces; whole. Meridith found three in her scoop.
We walked the length of that Rite Aid shopping center, remembering that the Goodwill store was in the back. Once we got to the corner of it, Meridith called Mom and told her about our walk so far and that we got ice cream, and Mom said to her that we sure know how to make the most of our time. We sure do. Plus, she and Dad were going to Golden Corral in Hesperia, a buffet we haven't seen since Florida, so it was only right that we did something good for ourselves, and that was ice cream at Rite Aid. But that wasn't all.
I love the old books at Goodwill, seeing what people owned before that's now in these stores. When we walked past the kitchen items to get to the books, I said to Meridith that it's like looking in other people's houses, except it's legal!
I was also looking for a VHS copy of Neil Simon's I Ought to Be in Pictures, since it still hasn't been released on DVD, and I wanted to own it on VHS since I still have a VCR, and it's the same reason I own The Glass Menagerie, starring Joanne Woodward, John Malkovich, Karen Allen, and James Naughton, on VHS. I want these two movies on DVD already and I think that day may be coming soon since Warner Bros. has the Warner Archive and Sony has its own made-on-demand disc service, releasing previously unreleasable old movies for fear that they wouldn't turn a profit. But here's a way for people to have them and for the studios to still make money.
The walk to this intersection and the long walk back, through those neighborhoods, past a blue clapboard house with a country feel that I want to find a variation of in Las Vegas one day (not as a house, but as an apartment or something of that ilk), was to look at this area more closely, to see what we didn't see very often because we always drive right by it, to feel more the fact that this valley can never rise from what it is. I know it even more now. It seems to be fine with what it is, but it's not my kind of fine, so that's good enough reason to finally move on out. And yet, it was also to do what we've never done in these 7 and 3/4 years we've lived in Saugus: To get ice cream from Rite Aid and just walk around. To sit at a picnic table at the park to rest our feet after a long walk, which was much more out of necessity than a wish, but we've never sat down at those tables, just to sit and watch the little scenery there is, the cars blazing by, the people walking around the park, the people walking past us with dogs who it turns out were headed for a dog obedience class being held in a nearby section of the park.
It didn't increase the goodwill I've never had toward this valley, but it made me realize that somehow, people have found their lives here. I don't know how they do it, and certainly they're made of different material than I am, and that's good. It's home for them, and they treat it as they please. Their ways don't jibe with my ways. Therefore, still no connection to this valley after all these years, which is as expected. I will leave with no regrets, nothing to reconsider. I found the limited scenery peaceful at least, even with the traffic right near me. So there was that, but still never enough.
On the walk to 7-11, Meridith and I planned what I call our Second Farewell Tour. It may or may not be tomorrow, depending on if someone comes out to fix our broken washer, but it will definitely be either Thursday or Friday. We were originally planning to go to Valencia Town Center Mall to try the burgers from Burger King's summer BBQ menu, since we both tried the bacon sundae last Sunday, and we'll still do that, but we also want to walk to College of the Canyons and walk around the campus to see how our old haunts have changed (the library and a table far in the back at the cafeteria for me; that same table for my sister since she hung out there with her friends) and how the campus has changed in general from when we both went there at separate times. We haven't been back since we each graduated from there, and I would like to go to the bookstore once without hyperventilating over how much I have to pay for a textbook, which I did every time I went there as a student. Now I can do it as an outsider and laugh at those prices. But if they have any Sam Shepard plays for the theater classes again, I'll buy them used, or new if the price is reasonable. Plus I want to see what the English department is pushing these days. Plus I'd like to see the old journalism newsroom which they might be using for something else, since student journalism classes were cancelled in 2009 and the Canyon Call newspaper was disbanded, long after I left. Apparently, there's an online news publication, so they may be using that newsroom now.
Mom and Dad are in Las Vegas for a job interview Dad has on Thursday, and starting today, they're going to look at mobile home parks they've researched. Nothing barren or hopeless-looking. They've found a few that apparently have a community feel and they want to investigate further, including a senior mobile home park that allows Meridith and I there too, since we're over 18. That's Mom's first stop, and she'll go from there. She's hoping that it'll be as easy as when they found the Super 8 that they're staying at on the Strip, across from Bellagio, with views of Planet Hollywood, the Cosmopolitan, and a slight view of New York-New York. I think it will be, because it happened exactly like this 7 and 3/4 years ago. They went back to Southern California in late July 2003, while Meridith and I stayed home with Tigger in our condo in Pembroke Pines, Dad had a job interview then too, got the job, and they found our apartment in Valencia. We're hoping that it plays out exactly the same way because this will be the first time we've felt at home anywhere since 1992, when we sadly left Casselberry in Central Florida for Coral Springs in South Florida, after having spent many happy years there. Happiness is coming again!
For now, the Second Farewell Tour is coming, and it's necessary. When I needed to find some kind of footing in Santa Clarita, to get clear of that frenzied cross-country move from South Florida to Southern California, to figure out who I was in Southern California, that library at College of the Canyons was there for me, and so was the empty campus at 3:50 p.m. every Friday afternoon, after my cinema class, which I loved to walk before I began my walk from the campus to the bus transfer station across from the mall property. Peace in the middle of a vortex. That's what it was. I need to see it one more time, to see what changed, and to remember and to appreciate again. Besides my family, at least that was there.
So, with time to ourselves, what to do....
Basketball?
Check.
Sunscreen?
Check.
A water bottle for each of us?
Check.
A plastic bag for the basketball and the water bottles?
Check.
Meridith wanted to go to the Circle K near our place, so that was our first stop. She was looking for new spicy-flavored Slim Jims: Chili pepper, jalapeno, and habanero. Circle K had them, but they were only the monster sizes.
Next was Circle K and they only had mild Slim Jims, since the customers they get are often mild-mannered.
Then we walked through the Seco Canyon Village shopping center, which looks nothing like a village, but of course the name of a shopping center or a strip mall is never supposed to reflect what it is. It's supposed to be more than the setting actually is, with the hope of blinding people to how dull it is. Or at least that's how it is with Seco Canyon Village, which offers a veterinarian, dry cleaners, Papa John's, dentist's office, a vaguely Italian restaurant, and a credit union bank. CVS is the anchor of this shopping center. Very small. Doesn't feel at all like a home shopping center.
To walk from our apartment to way out to the intersection next to Rite Aid is about 1.9 miles. 1.9, and it took us three hours to walk there and back with many stops on the way. We walked from CVS through that shopping center, past many neighborhood entrances, to the park to see if anyone was playing basketball. If the court was empty, we were going to shoot some hoops. We're not that good that we can play a full game.
The hoops were being used, so we kept on walking, past the elementary school, to the 7-11 on that side of the street where we also didn't find the regular size spicy Slim Jims Meridith wanted. After that, we crossed the intersection to the Shell gas station convenience store to check, and nothing there either.
Then Rite-Aid, first to look for the Slim Jims and finding the same mild ones that CVS had, and then, hey! How about some ice cream? They've got that Thrifty ice cream with scoops that look like rounded squares. A scoop of butter pecan for me in a sugar cone and a scoop of Circus Animal Cookie ice cream in a regular cone for Meridith, with the frosted cookies mixed into the ice cream. Not pieces; whole. Meridith found three in her scoop.
We walked the length of that Rite Aid shopping center, remembering that the Goodwill store was in the back. Once we got to the corner of it, Meridith called Mom and told her about our walk so far and that we got ice cream, and Mom said to her that we sure know how to make the most of our time. We sure do. Plus, she and Dad were going to Golden Corral in Hesperia, a buffet we haven't seen since Florida, so it was only right that we did something good for ourselves, and that was ice cream at Rite Aid. But that wasn't all.
I love the old books at Goodwill, seeing what people owned before that's now in these stores. When we walked past the kitchen items to get to the books, I said to Meridith that it's like looking in other people's houses, except it's legal!
I was also looking for a VHS copy of Neil Simon's I Ought to Be in Pictures, since it still hasn't been released on DVD, and I wanted to own it on VHS since I still have a VCR, and it's the same reason I own The Glass Menagerie, starring Joanne Woodward, John Malkovich, Karen Allen, and James Naughton, on VHS. I want these two movies on DVD already and I think that day may be coming soon since Warner Bros. has the Warner Archive and Sony has its own made-on-demand disc service, releasing previously unreleasable old movies for fear that they wouldn't turn a profit. But here's a way for people to have them and for the studios to still make money.
The walk to this intersection and the long walk back, through those neighborhoods, past a blue clapboard house with a country feel that I want to find a variation of in Las Vegas one day (not as a house, but as an apartment or something of that ilk), was to look at this area more closely, to see what we didn't see very often because we always drive right by it, to feel more the fact that this valley can never rise from what it is. I know it even more now. It seems to be fine with what it is, but it's not my kind of fine, so that's good enough reason to finally move on out. And yet, it was also to do what we've never done in these 7 and 3/4 years we've lived in Saugus: To get ice cream from Rite Aid and just walk around. To sit at a picnic table at the park to rest our feet after a long walk, which was much more out of necessity than a wish, but we've never sat down at those tables, just to sit and watch the little scenery there is, the cars blazing by, the people walking around the park, the people walking past us with dogs who it turns out were headed for a dog obedience class being held in a nearby section of the park.
It didn't increase the goodwill I've never had toward this valley, but it made me realize that somehow, people have found their lives here. I don't know how they do it, and certainly they're made of different material than I am, and that's good. It's home for them, and they treat it as they please. Their ways don't jibe with my ways. Therefore, still no connection to this valley after all these years, which is as expected. I will leave with no regrets, nothing to reconsider. I found the limited scenery peaceful at least, even with the traffic right near me. So there was that, but still never enough.
On the walk to 7-11, Meridith and I planned what I call our Second Farewell Tour. It may or may not be tomorrow, depending on if someone comes out to fix our broken washer, but it will definitely be either Thursday or Friday. We were originally planning to go to Valencia Town Center Mall to try the burgers from Burger King's summer BBQ menu, since we both tried the bacon sundae last Sunday, and we'll still do that, but we also want to walk to College of the Canyons and walk around the campus to see how our old haunts have changed (the library and a table far in the back at the cafeteria for me; that same table for my sister since she hung out there with her friends) and how the campus has changed in general from when we both went there at separate times. We haven't been back since we each graduated from there, and I would like to go to the bookstore once without hyperventilating over how much I have to pay for a textbook, which I did every time I went there as a student. Now I can do it as an outsider and laugh at those prices. But if they have any Sam Shepard plays for the theater classes again, I'll buy them used, or new if the price is reasonable. Plus I want to see what the English department is pushing these days. Plus I'd like to see the old journalism newsroom which they might be using for something else, since student journalism classes were cancelled in 2009 and the Canyon Call newspaper was disbanded, long after I left. Apparently, there's an online news publication, so they may be using that newsroom now.
Mom and Dad are in Las Vegas for a job interview Dad has on Thursday, and starting today, they're going to look at mobile home parks they've researched. Nothing barren or hopeless-looking. They've found a few that apparently have a community feel and they want to investigate further, including a senior mobile home park that allows Meridith and I there too, since we're over 18. That's Mom's first stop, and she'll go from there. She's hoping that it'll be as easy as when they found the Super 8 that they're staying at on the Strip, across from Bellagio, with views of Planet Hollywood, the Cosmopolitan, and a slight view of New York-New York. I think it will be, because it happened exactly like this 7 and 3/4 years ago. They went back to Southern California in late July 2003, while Meridith and I stayed home with Tigger in our condo in Pembroke Pines, Dad had a job interview then too, got the job, and they found our apartment in Valencia. We're hoping that it plays out exactly the same way because this will be the first time we've felt at home anywhere since 1992, when we sadly left Casselberry in Central Florida for Coral Springs in South Florida, after having spent many happy years there. Happiness is coming again!
For now, the Second Farewell Tour is coming, and it's necessary. When I needed to find some kind of footing in Santa Clarita, to get clear of that frenzied cross-country move from South Florida to Southern California, to figure out who I was in Southern California, that library at College of the Canyons was there for me, and so was the empty campus at 3:50 p.m. every Friday afternoon, after my cinema class, which I loved to walk before I began my walk from the campus to the bus transfer station across from the mall property. Peace in the middle of a vortex. That's what it was. I need to see it one more time, to see what changed, and to remember and to appreciate again. Besides my family, at least that was there.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Be Open to Everything
The smaller double-decker cart filled with what we needed, Dad, Meridith and I went to the emptiest checkout lane at the usual Sprouts in Valencia. Only one person ahead of us, and the last of their items were being scanned. Dad took up his post at the check-writing counter, watching the prices, Meridith stood next to him, and I wheeled the cart next to the bagging area, next to a bagger named Alex. I found that out from her nametag.
The employees at Sprouts range from indifferent (stockers) to friendly but guarded (those behind the vast meat counter) to they'd-move-in-with-you-if-you'd-let-them (checkers and baggers). It's not a disturbing friendliness, like they've been watching you for all the months you've been shopping there and know exactly what you're getting, just the kind of friendliness you know from those you're friends with.
After I stopped the cart, Alex asked "Paper or plastic?", and I immediately answered "Paper," before Dad started in on his well-worn question to Meridith and me: "Kill a tree or choke a pelican?" I usually don't have a reason to decide what the groceries should be bagged in since we have enough plastic bags for the garbage pails around the house, and enough paper bags to collect the full bags from those pails every Friday. But I knew we were getting low on the paper bags, so I got there before Dad.
What happened next, I'm not entirely sure. She first held up Dad's bag of pretzel nuggets, saying, "These look good," directed at me. I could only smile the smile of a guy who doesn't know what the hell is happening. Then she saw the book in my hand ("The Loop" by Joe Coomer, which I'm loving enough to cart around with me in places I don't usually carry books, including Sprouts. I brought it in on the off chance I'd have a minute to read a few lines), asked what it was and I showed it to her. She asked if it I liked it, and I said I did. Then she said she loves to read, and I should have chimed in, should have asked what she liked to read, who her favorite authors are, what her favorite novels are. Not really as an "in," since we're moving, but just to find out what kind of reader she is.
I didn't ask any of that, though. All I could manage was "I'm a speed reading nut," and I don't think she even heard that. I felt awkward. Her comment about the pretzel nuggets, looking at my book, the question about what I was reading and if I liked it, were not at all part of the usual bagger service. Other female baggers at that store just bag and move on. Was she flirting with me? Did I miss my chance by not following up immediately by asking her what her favorite books are?
I mulled this over after we left and went to Pavilions, and spent an hour there, then when we went home and all throughout this evening. I may have been flirted with, but I'm not sure, since my only experience has been in 11th grade when I know for sure that Stefanie Markham flirted with me while we were at the South Florida Sun-Sentinel's school newspaper awards at an auditorium in the Fort Lauderdale Museum of Art. She had the best pair of legs I'd ever seen, and put them against my pant legs. I was just joking around with her, didn't think that I was flirting, but I was wondering then what the heck was going on.
I still can't tell if Alex was flirting with me. But I do know that I don't know how to flirt back. Does it just happen? Is there a rhythm to it to be established from the start? I figure that if you happen upon a person that attracts you, then it comes easily. But I've had minute experience with that, and that's not really the focal point for me anyway.
If she was flirting, and even if she wasn't, Alex indirectly reminded me to always be open to everything. In Santa Clarita, you become set in your ways as a matter of survival. You have to go to work, you have to go food shopping, you have a set of chores to do on this particular day, and you only go to this movie theater in the afternoon because it's less crowded than the other one, and more pleasant. It's the only way to combat the ennui before it overwhelms you.
Alex showed me that in being able to reinvent myself when I move to Las Vegas, I need to open wide my heart and mind. There are books to read, those that will come from my new home library, books to write, states to travel to, experiences to have in my home city. What has always worked here in Santa Clarita as a matter of survival won't work there, and I'm ecstatic about that. I can become the person I was never able to be here. I need to go wider, be fully open to anything and everything that will happen in my life. I have my plans, but those plans should also be flexible. What I'm so sure of now, I might not be so sure of later depending on what happens there. Just go with it. I thank her for that because I needed that reminder. It's going to happen soon, we're going to move, and I need to be ready right at the start of what I've wanted again ever since we left Casselberry in 1992, when I was 7.
Besides all that, Alex was strikingly beautiful, sporting dirty blonde hair. If she was flirting with me, I was really lucky.
The employees at Sprouts range from indifferent (stockers) to friendly but guarded (those behind the vast meat counter) to they'd-move-in-with-you-if-you'd-let-them (checkers and baggers). It's not a disturbing friendliness, like they've been watching you for all the months you've been shopping there and know exactly what you're getting, just the kind of friendliness you know from those you're friends with.
After I stopped the cart, Alex asked "Paper or plastic?", and I immediately answered "Paper," before Dad started in on his well-worn question to Meridith and me: "Kill a tree or choke a pelican?" I usually don't have a reason to decide what the groceries should be bagged in since we have enough plastic bags for the garbage pails around the house, and enough paper bags to collect the full bags from those pails every Friday. But I knew we were getting low on the paper bags, so I got there before Dad.
What happened next, I'm not entirely sure. She first held up Dad's bag of pretzel nuggets, saying, "These look good," directed at me. I could only smile the smile of a guy who doesn't know what the hell is happening. Then she saw the book in my hand ("The Loop" by Joe Coomer, which I'm loving enough to cart around with me in places I don't usually carry books, including Sprouts. I brought it in on the off chance I'd have a minute to read a few lines), asked what it was and I showed it to her. She asked if it I liked it, and I said I did. Then she said she loves to read, and I should have chimed in, should have asked what she liked to read, who her favorite authors are, what her favorite novels are. Not really as an "in," since we're moving, but just to find out what kind of reader she is.
I didn't ask any of that, though. All I could manage was "I'm a speed reading nut," and I don't think she even heard that. I felt awkward. Her comment about the pretzel nuggets, looking at my book, the question about what I was reading and if I liked it, were not at all part of the usual bagger service. Other female baggers at that store just bag and move on. Was she flirting with me? Did I miss my chance by not following up immediately by asking her what her favorite books are?
I mulled this over after we left and went to Pavilions, and spent an hour there, then when we went home and all throughout this evening. I may have been flirted with, but I'm not sure, since my only experience has been in 11th grade when I know for sure that Stefanie Markham flirted with me while we were at the South Florida Sun-Sentinel's school newspaper awards at an auditorium in the Fort Lauderdale Museum of Art. She had the best pair of legs I'd ever seen, and put them against my pant legs. I was just joking around with her, didn't think that I was flirting, but I was wondering then what the heck was going on.
I still can't tell if Alex was flirting with me. But I do know that I don't know how to flirt back. Does it just happen? Is there a rhythm to it to be established from the start? I figure that if you happen upon a person that attracts you, then it comes easily. But I've had minute experience with that, and that's not really the focal point for me anyway.
If she was flirting, and even if she wasn't, Alex indirectly reminded me to always be open to everything. In Santa Clarita, you become set in your ways as a matter of survival. You have to go to work, you have to go food shopping, you have a set of chores to do on this particular day, and you only go to this movie theater in the afternoon because it's less crowded than the other one, and more pleasant. It's the only way to combat the ennui before it overwhelms you.
Alex showed me that in being able to reinvent myself when I move to Las Vegas, I need to open wide my heart and mind. There are books to read, those that will come from my new home library, books to write, states to travel to, experiences to have in my home city. What has always worked here in Santa Clarita as a matter of survival won't work there, and I'm ecstatic about that. I can become the person I was never able to be here. I need to go wider, be fully open to anything and everything that will happen in my life. I have my plans, but those plans should also be flexible. What I'm so sure of now, I might not be so sure of later depending on what happens there. Just go with it. I thank her for that because I needed that reminder. It's going to happen soon, we're going to move, and I need to be ready right at the start of what I've wanted again ever since we left Casselberry in 1992, when I was 7.
Besides all that, Alex was strikingly beautiful, sporting dirty blonde hair. If she was flirting with me, I was really lucky.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Another Batch of DVD Reviews
Looking at the list of my DVD reviews for Movie Gazette Online, I noticed that I lean heavily on documentaries and TV shows. I want more foreign films and stand-up comedy, but they don't come my way often. Not that anyone else snaps them up like I do, but that various labels release them too slowly. There's one in this new batch of DVD reviews, and I received a Dutch movie on DVD called Miss Minoes. I'm not sure yet about how much longer I'll be writing DVD reviews, what with a new job coming and research for the books and novels and plays I want to write, but for the time being, I keep hoping for more foreign films and stand-up comedy. I don't think my current leanings will change a great deal right now since I'm watching That '70s Show: Season Four for review, and Designing Women: The Final Season is coming in the mail for me to review. I really don't mind it since it's fun to jump around various episodes, not watching all of them, but enough to get a good feel for a series.
So here's the latest:
Zero Bridge
Law & Order: Criminal Intent - The Seventh Year
Love is On the Air
Trial & Retribution: Set 5
That '70s Show: Season Three
So here's the latest:
Zero Bridge
Law & Order: Criminal Intent - The Seventh Year
Love is On the Air
Trial & Retribution: Set 5
That '70s Show: Season Three
Monday, June 11, 2012
What I Want
First and foremost in Las Vegas, I want a home. I know I'll have it, but I'm still amazed that I can finally have it. I can settle into Las Vegas and know that I belong, know that the roads, the landscapes, the buildings will not shift into the forms found in another state. I can firmly plant myself and not move ever again, except for travel, which is always temporary movement anyway.
I want real bookshelves. I've used former moving boxes as bookshelves because it's what we had. Sure I could have bought some bookshelves for my smallish room, but it wouldn't have felt like home because it didn't feel like my room. It was just where I lived part of my day. I didn't feel close to it. Now that I know I'll be home, I can find bookshelves I know will be an important part of my life, and mean a great deal to me, not just for the books on it, but the bookshelves themselves because I'll have bought them in my home city.
I want a library card, and I know I'll have that, but I also want to find a library that I can go back to over and over because I love it, like I did the Pembroke Pines branch of the Broward County libraries, and also the Southwest Regional library of the same system, in the same city. I loved getting lost in those stacks, finding my way to books I didn't even know I wanted to read until I found them. I remember walking through the Boulder City library on our trip in May 2010 and it felt cozy. Everyone was welcome to seek the knowledge they wanted, and many books were old, but well-cared for. I want to find a library like that in Las Vegas and feel that it's mine.
I want to try to grow basil. I love the smell of it, a kind of saltiness. Windowsill basil. Basil that I can get right up to and examine the leaves. No small garden.
I've heard about disc golf, and want to try it. You throw a flying disc to a target. I don't think I'd ever strive to be professional at it. Just have fun. There's a few disc golf courses in Henderson. I'd like that.
Most of all, I want peace. I want to enjoy every day, knowing that I love where I am. I can't wait to have that again. I haven't had it since I was a little kid in Casselberry, Florida, in a house that had a tangerine tree on the right side of the house, a basketball hoop next to the driveway, and a huge tree in the front yard. There were space shuttle launches, with the space shuttle lifting off so close that you could see the American flag and "USA" on the wings, and glass-shaking sonic booms when it returned to the atmosphere. And there was Old Town in Kissimmee, Walt Disney World, of course, the Bubble Room restaurant, and Stirling Park Elementary, my elementary school in my neighborhood with the rotunda in the middle, and entrances to grade levels circling around, with tall bookshelves next to each entrance, serving as the library for the school, with the check-out desk on the circle in the middle after you walked down three carpeted steps that wrapped around that check-out desk.
That's all. I welcome anything else with the widest open arms, eager to take in everything, even the summer heat. I'll adjust, and remain just as happy as on any other days.
I want real bookshelves. I've used former moving boxes as bookshelves because it's what we had. Sure I could have bought some bookshelves for my smallish room, but it wouldn't have felt like home because it didn't feel like my room. It was just where I lived part of my day. I didn't feel close to it. Now that I know I'll be home, I can find bookshelves I know will be an important part of my life, and mean a great deal to me, not just for the books on it, but the bookshelves themselves because I'll have bought them in my home city.
I want a library card, and I know I'll have that, but I also want to find a library that I can go back to over and over because I love it, like I did the Pembroke Pines branch of the Broward County libraries, and also the Southwest Regional library of the same system, in the same city. I loved getting lost in those stacks, finding my way to books I didn't even know I wanted to read until I found them. I remember walking through the Boulder City library on our trip in May 2010 and it felt cozy. Everyone was welcome to seek the knowledge they wanted, and many books were old, but well-cared for. I want to find a library like that in Las Vegas and feel that it's mine.
I want to try to grow basil. I love the smell of it, a kind of saltiness. Windowsill basil. Basil that I can get right up to and examine the leaves. No small garden.
I've heard about disc golf, and want to try it. You throw a flying disc to a target. I don't think I'd ever strive to be professional at it. Just have fun. There's a few disc golf courses in Henderson. I'd like that.
Most of all, I want peace. I want to enjoy every day, knowing that I love where I am. I can't wait to have that again. I haven't had it since I was a little kid in Casselberry, Florida, in a house that had a tangerine tree on the right side of the house, a basketball hoop next to the driveway, and a huge tree in the front yard. There were space shuttle launches, with the space shuttle lifting off so close that you could see the American flag and "USA" on the wings, and glass-shaking sonic booms when it returned to the atmosphere. And there was Old Town in Kissimmee, Walt Disney World, of course, the Bubble Room restaurant, and Stirling Park Elementary, my elementary school in my neighborhood with the rotunda in the middle, and entrances to grade levels circling around, with tall bookshelves next to each entrance, serving as the library for the school, with the check-out desk on the circle in the middle after you walked down three carpeted steps that wrapped around that check-out desk.
That's all. I welcome anything else with the widest open arms, eager to take in everything, even the summer heat. I'll adjust, and remain just as happy as on any other days.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Anchored, But Adrift
I haven't written as often here because I'm starving, and I'm hungry. Starving because of the limitless emptiness of the Santa Clarita Valley, unsuitable for anyone whose health is bolstered by happiness and imagination. With Las Vegas coming soon, I can ignore it well enough, but what had only been just part of daily life in the years before this upcoming move becomes more vivid when thinking about what lies ahead in Las Vegas. Hungry for my new home, which is coming soon, and so I fill myself with bananas and other healthful foods for my physical being, and books and the occasional movie for my mental and spiritual being, currently reading Star Trek and other sci-fi books, and the rest of my Las Vegas book stack.
I could write about memories made during our most recent trip back in January, being stunned by the discovery of healthy-looking people at the Galleria at Sunset mall in Henderson, compared to the emasculated, miserable-looking masses here. And that private screening of Beauty & the Beast 3D at 9:30 at night with my sister, just downstairs from our room at Fiesta Henderson. Just take the elevator, walk a few hundred feet upon reaching the ground floor, and there you are in front of Regal Fiesta Henderson 12. I will get used to movie theaters being inside hotel-casinos, but my fascination with that will never fade. I want to write more about the latter and in fact have written part of that entry, and will write it in full soon.
I should write more, though, about Brooklyn Bagel, about Popcorn Girl (their nacho cheese popcorn is dead-on. Are you in a popcorn shop or a madly wonderful laboratory?), about Smith's supermarket in that same Henderson shopping center where I got my toy flour truck (brown with model bags of flour stacked in the back) in 2007, and my toy fast food truck most recently. I haven't felt a sense of community in a supermarket in years, and there it was, part of a neighborhood, part of meaningful lives.
I've written at length about what I plan to do after I become a resident of Las Vegas, and compared Santa Clarita and Las Vegas enough. I feel like there's not a great deal of energy while waiting for that momentous day of finally going home. I've never been more excited about anything in my life, truly, so maybe not writing as much is a way of building up my creative energies to burst when I finally arrive, constantly replenished by the unreal-yet-so-very real sights, sounds, smells, and tastes I experience, and then experience again and again in a city in which I hope to spend the rest of my life.
Even with my hesitancy to believe that I have more in me to write about on here when there sure would be based on that recent trip alone, and of writing projects I'm pursuing, something slips in like our visit to the Goodwill store yesterday, where I saw enough VHS Emmy consideration screeners to make me even more happy that I'm leaving this valley. I've been too close to Hollywood in this valley and I don't like it. It's funny to think, though, that parts of King of California were filmed here while I was living here and I didn't even know about it, because I still didn't have an inkling of what this valley was all about, until finding out that it was about nothing, that anyone could come through here, turn this valley into anything they please, and it would fit because it has no personality of its own. But I've said that before, I know. At least I found one useful screener in that collection, of Don Quixote, starring John Lithgow. I want to write a modern-day adaptation of it, and it serves as some of the research I have to do for it.
Creative energy should not only come from place, but it's damned hard to be inspired where you don't like to be. Nevertheless, I'm always thinking about Las Vegas, of all the streets I've yet to see, all the casinos I've yet to walk around in, the buffets, the restaurants, the arcades, and going back to the Pinball Hall of Fame on East Tropicana Avenue, of course.
Yesterday, I thought about a novel I really want to write, about a famous Las Vegas historical figure's encounter with a famous visiting historical figure. The famous visiting historical figure actually did visit Las Vegas, but his encounter with that famous Las Vegas historical figure is an urban legend, hence my desire to turn it into a novel. I received a book in the mail about that famous Las Vegas historical figure that I originally thought was a biography. I found out that it's a novel, but I'm encouraged by this, because its author had to have done some research on the figure before writing this novel. I can read it and get a feel for this figure in this historical fiction and go from there. And perhaps this author even wrote about that encounter, however briefly. I can't write any part of that novel right now because I need the newspaper archives at a few key Clark County libraries, in addition to ransacking the Nevada history sections for my own knowledge, as well as research not only for this novel, which will take place in either late '40s or early '50s Las Vegas, but also for another book I want to write about a certain aspect of Las Vegas history. Nothing shady, although some of the figures around it were shady, but that's not the overall emphasis.
Still, inspiration doesn't come easily while waiting, though I should ignore all that because really, I can write anything I want here. I'll try to do better, even when the errands are the same ones we always do. I won't have to deal with this for much longer. It's why my mom bought a snowglobe with the Luxor pyramid inside, and "Luxor Las Vegas" on the side. It's her beacon of hope. It's mine too. We'll soon be there, and I'll be writing more than I ever have. Best maybe to just do it leisurely for now, much like that 2:30 a.m. walk through the casino floor at Fiesta Henderson on our first night there, totally empty, Sara Bareilles' "Vegas" playing on the overhead sound system, and me not reacting to it in any way because I knew I was home. Yet when I got back to our room, I went to Amazon on Dad's laptop and downloaded the song to my cloud drive on there, to be downloaded and put on my MP3 player when we got back here. The endless energy will come.
I could write about memories made during our most recent trip back in January, being stunned by the discovery of healthy-looking people at the Galleria at Sunset mall in Henderson, compared to the emasculated, miserable-looking masses here. And that private screening of Beauty & the Beast 3D at 9:30 at night with my sister, just downstairs from our room at Fiesta Henderson. Just take the elevator, walk a few hundred feet upon reaching the ground floor, and there you are in front of Regal Fiesta Henderson 12. I will get used to movie theaters being inside hotel-casinos, but my fascination with that will never fade. I want to write more about the latter and in fact have written part of that entry, and will write it in full soon.
I should write more, though, about Brooklyn Bagel, about Popcorn Girl (their nacho cheese popcorn is dead-on. Are you in a popcorn shop or a madly wonderful laboratory?), about Smith's supermarket in that same Henderson shopping center where I got my toy flour truck (brown with model bags of flour stacked in the back) in 2007, and my toy fast food truck most recently. I haven't felt a sense of community in a supermarket in years, and there it was, part of a neighborhood, part of meaningful lives.
I've written at length about what I plan to do after I become a resident of Las Vegas, and compared Santa Clarita and Las Vegas enough. I feel like there's not a great deal of energy while waiting for that momentous day of finally going home. I've never been more excited about anything in my life, truly, so maybe not writing as much is a way of building up my creative energies to burst when I finally arrive, constantly replenished by the unreal-yet-so-very real sights, sounds, smells, and tastes I experience, and then experience again and again in a city in which I hope to spend the rest of my life.
Even with my hesitancy to believe that I have more in me to write about on here when there sure would be based on that recent trip alone, and of writing projects I'm pursuing, something slips in like our visit to the Goodwill store yesterday, where I saw enough VHS Emmy consideration screeners to make me even more happy that I'm leaving this valley. I've been too close to Hollywood in this valley and I don't like it. It's funny to think, though, that parts of King of California were filmed here while I was living here and I didn't even know about it, because I still didn't have an inkling of what this valley was all about, until finding out that it was about nothing, that anyone could come through here, turn this valley into anything they please, and it would fit because it has no personality of its own. But I've said that before, I know. At least I found one useful screener in that collection, of Don Quixote, starring John Lithgow. I want to write a modern-day adaptation of it, and it serves as some of the research I have to do for it.
Creative energy should not only come from place, but it's damned hard to be inspired where you don't like to be. Nevertheless, I'm always thinking about Las Vegas, of all the streets I've yet to see, all the casinos I've yet to walk around in, the buffets, the restaurants, the arcades, and going back to the Pinball Hall of Fame on East Tropicana Avenue, of course.
Yesterday, I thought about a novel I really want to write, about a famous Las Vegas historical figure's encounter with a famous visiting historical figure. The famous visiting historical figure actually did visit Las Vegas, but his encounter with that famous Las Vegas historical figure is an urban legend, hence my desire to turn it into a novel. I received a book in the mail about that famous Las Vegas historical figure that I originally thought was a biography. I found out that it's a novel, but I'm encouraged by this, because its author had to have done some research on the figure before writing this novel. I can read it and get a feel for this figure in this historical fiction and go from there. And perhaps this author even wrote about that encounter, however briefly. I can't write any part of that novel right now because I need the newspaper archives at a few key Clark County libraries, in addition to ransacking the Nevada history sections for my own knowledge, as well as research not only for this novel, which will take place in either late '40s or early '50s Las Vegas, but also for another book I want to write about a certain aspect of Las Vegas history. Nothing shady, although some of the figures around it were shady, but that's not the overall emphasis.
Still, inspiration doesn't come easily while waiting, though I should ignore all that because really, I can write anything I want here. I'll try to do better, even when the errands are the same ones we always do. I won't have to deal with this for much longer. It's why my mom bought a snowglobe with the Luxor pyramid inside, and "Luxor Las Vegas" on the side. It's her beacon of hope. It's mine too. We'll soon be there, and I'll be writing more than I ever have. Best maybe to just do it leisurely for now, much like that 2:30 a.m. walk through the casino floor at Fiesta Henderson on our first night there, totally empty, Sara Bareilles' "Vegas" playing on the overhead sound system, and me not reacting to it in any way because I knew I was home. Yet when I got back to our room, I went to Amazon on Dad's laptop and downloaded the song to my cloud drive on there, to be downloaded and put on my MP3 player when we got back here. The endless energy will come.
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