I got up at 12:51 this afternoon, after going to bed a little after 3 this morning. I felt down because I didn't want that to happen. If I got up at 11, that's fine because I'd have most of the day ahead of me, including one hour left of the morning. But 12:51 already puts me squarely into the afternoon and what can I possibly do with just the afternoon and the evening? Come to think of it, do I really need the morning that much if I'm in a state of flux right now what with waiting for the day to come when we finally escape from the Santa Clarita Valley for good? Yes, I do, because I need to transition myself back to the morning so I can wake up early during that one time or two more times that we're in Henderson and Las Vegas and not feel like I did after we got home. (More to come in a future entry.) That of course entails going to bed earlier, which I will do because I need to be up earlier in those instances, and after we move, when I've got a job again that requires me to be up at 6:30 or perhaps even earlier.
To have a fulfilling day in this valley, you have to ignore your surroundings. There is nothing interesting here during the day to inspire you, to make you feel secure. After I got up and thought I would probably accomplish absolutely nothing today, I immediately thought about that, how there's nothing here, how's there everything in Henderson and Las Vegas. I'm tired of just thinking about the Galleria at Sunset mall, about finally getting a library card again after what will be a little over a year, about driving roads I know I can drive and street names worth memorizing. I want to be there. I want to do all those things.
Still we have to wait. But not too much longer. Late this afternoon, Mom and Dad signed a paper, an approval of the appraisal, or something else related to the house. Well, I know it was something related to the house, but I only paid attention to its significance of bringing us to the point of handing this place over to a realtor when we're ready, when Dad's assured of a job over there, which we think will come soon, because we are not spending another year here. We're done.
It's overwhelming to me, though, and not in an emotional way or feeling like there's so much to do and I'll never get it done. Suddenly, I have all these options coming to me, all these things I can do in my two new hometowns, all these sights to see, all these roads to explore, all these Nevada history books to read (and once I have my library card, I'm going to ransack the Nevada history sections). If we had stayed in Valencia instead of moving to Saugus, the transition from Santa Clarita to Henderson would have been easier because at least we would have remained in a hub of things to do, things going on, and it never took long to walk to the library from our apartment. But having been starved of genuine parks, of shopping centers that feel like they're centered on a sense of community, of living somewhere that has just one high and low temperature for miles and miles (not eight or nine different climate zones as it is here in Southern California), that's why I'm overwhelmed. I can have my favorite mall whenever I want, and also set out to explore new malls. It takes a mere 20 minutes to reach the Pinball Hall of Fame on East Tropicana Avenue in Las Vegas. And I was serious when I told my mom I want to explore every single inch of Henderson and Las Vegas, and then Summerlin. I want to know everything about my two hometowns.
When we lived in Florida, I had Walt Disney World every weekend and sometimes during the week for a few years, and then we moved to South Florida, where I occasionally had the Sawgrass Mills Mall (take a helicopter above it and it's in the shape of an alligator) in Sawgrass, the Coral Square Mall in Coral Springs, and the Pembroke Lakes Mall in Pembroke Pines. It wasn't only malls, though. I had Publix and Winn-Dixie and parks and other points of interest as well, but I never had them in any one place because we moved so many times throughout Florida. I never had a home base from which I could go to other places and then come back to it. This time I will. I know I can make a great life in Henderson. And I know that when I travel throughout New Mexico in the years to come and go to all those presidential libraries, I can always go back to my home base in Henderson.
I know I'm only 28, and that things can change in life, but I don't think so with this. Maybe I'll visit Walt Disney World again one day, but at this point in my life, I can't only have Walt Disney World nearby. I need a lot more now, and Las Vegas fits it with a hedonistic lifestyle I passionately believe in. Whatever pleasure you want, you can probably find it there. And that's another huge load of history I want to study. Plus, the Midwest and East Coast would be far too cold for me in winter. So Henderson and Las Vegas are it. It's where I truly belong, and I feel it all the time. When we walked through the Galleria at Sunset mall, I thought to myself, "I think I've had dreams about this mall." Considering the dreams I do have often about malls and amusement parks and Walt Disney World, I belong there. All of it, including the rollercoaster at New York-New York and the Pinball Hall of Fame and various other arcades I've not seen yet, should be part of my waking life too. I wake up from those dreams, look around, and think, "I'm still here?" Here in Santa Clarita. But waking from those dreams there, I'd think, "I'm still here!" Huge difference to a soul seeking daily vibrancy.
The word "home" has only four letters, but it's big. In those four letters is everything I've ever hoped for, everything I never considered when I lived in Florida because I felt secure even with being relatively rootless from so much moving. I never knew how much I was missing in Florida until I came here. I want roots, finally. I need roots. I want to know that where I am is where I can always be. It's there. I can feel that vibrancy every minute I'm there, looking to that Las Vegas skyline, going to Chinatown there, passing by the airport and watching planes take off and land. I loved it when we drove past Fort Lauderdale International and planes would take off and land above us, and when we'd go to Miami International to park and watch the planes, and experience the same thing. I can have the same thing all the time now at McCarran International. It's there for me whenever I want it, even when I'm not thinking about it, seeing planes seemingly hovering in the air as they're on approach to land at McCarran.
As much as I think right here about what home will mean to me, I will fall right into its rhythms once I become a resident. I will begin to know it right at the start, making up quickly for these eight years, and it'll be like I've never lived anywhere else, which is what I want. I'll always appreciate Florida for making me what I am, but this is where I want to be, where I know I'll thrive, where waking up from a dream leads to living a dream. What better hope for life?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
New DVD Review
This review, posted today, is the one that has truly made me feel at home at Movie Gazette Online. I truly feel like I can do this without worry about my writing now, since I've got nothing at stake anymore.
Tidbits from the Third Issue of The Henderson Press
One of these days I'll write more about my trip to Henderson with my family back in January, hopefully by the time we go again, either in April or a little later. As it stands now, and as it likely will be, we'll probably be residents of Henderson by late August, at least before the new school year starts.
I have a guest post I wrote for Janie Junebug's blog that I want to post, but only after I've written everything I want to about Henderson (including me and Meridith's first movie in Southern Nevada, and the Galleria at Sunset mall), since most of it takes place after we got back, with quick flashbacks to certain points during the trip.
Since I don't feel like writing about any of that tonight, I present what I've learned from the third issue of The Henderson Press, dated November 19 - December 9, 2010. This feels different for me because before we went back to Henderson in January after two years away from Meridith and I, I'd forgotten the layout of Henderson and thought it to be a quaint, peaceful town near Las Vegas, small enough to really feel like a close-knit community. The articles from the previous two issues gave me that impression too, but actually being in Henderson again, I was dead wrong.
It's huge, but it's still peaceful. As busy as certain areas of Henderson can get, they're always welcoming. And I've come to realize that the way The Henderson Press is written is perfect because it does bring Henderson together more closely. The Las Vegas Review-Journal can't possibly report on every single thing going on in Henderson unless it's as big as the police chief of Henderson announcing her retirement last month. For everything else, including that huge story, I go to The Henderson Press. Even as a weekly paper, it's still very thorough.
So here's what I've gleaned from the third issue, Vol. 1, No. 3:
- There's a Veterans Memorial Wall at City Hall. I will visit it, since I want to know all the history of Henderson, including its people.
- There are apparently two Nevada State Railroad Museums: One in Carson City and the other in Boulder City. As of 2011, according to yelp.com reviews, it was still open, but there's no website for the Boulder City one.
- A quarter-page ad at the bottom of page 3 announces an online business directory on The Henderson Press website. It's still there, and I guarantee I'll read every listing. I want to know about all the businesses I might pass by on my way to and from work once I'm there.
- At the time of this issue, the Henderson police department was building a joint training facility with the Boulder City police department.
- Las Vegas Natural History Museum. As long as there's exhibits about Nevada's natural history, I'll be there.
- Nevada State Museum on South Valley View Blvd. in Las Vegas. I want this!
- Phillips Furniture in Henderson sells "clean used furniture," as they advertise. I think I know where I'm going for bookcases hopefully in good condition.
- Henderson has the Henderson Symphony Orchestra, and I will only attend a concert if works by Schubert or Gerswhin are included.
- On South Water Street is an Italian restaurant called Emery's La Barrista. The menu on its website has fettucine alfredo, and, as a resident, I want to find as many great fettucine alfredos as I can.
- A column by Dr. Robert Fielden on page 15 states that "Henderson was built under the Roosevelt administration specifically to manufacture magnesium bombs for World War II in 1942. To keep the plant from being sold off as war surplus after the war ended, the State of Nevada authorized the Colorado River Commission to purchase the facilities. In 1953 the city was incorporated and named and named after Nevada's US senator Charles B. Henderson. Its population then was approximately 7400 people, and the city covered 13 square miles. Today the city has grown to serve more than 250,000 people living within a 94 square mile area." Ok, so it's not as quaint as I thought after two years away from it, but it's still approachable. Not only will I ransack the Nevada history sections of my local libraries after I get a library card, but I also want to know more about Charles B. Henderson.
- I love this final paragraph in Fielden's column: "From time to time, in future pieces I'll report on other influential Henderson pioneers and the role they played in making Henderson the best place in Nevada today for all of us to live." I hope he delivered what he promised in later issues.
- The "Upcoming Events" calendar lists a children's program at the Henderson Bird Viewing Preserve featuring education about roadrunners and sandwich terns. The website mentions that the "Preserve is home to thousands of migratory waterfowl as well as numerous resident desert birds." It's generally only open until 2 p.m. throughout the year, except for June, July and August, when it's open until noon due to the heat.
- Two and a half pages of coupons. I hope that's still prevalent in current issues.
- In the "Transportation" ads, a 2009 Toyota Corolla Sedan is being offered for $14,967. Findlay Toyota. I should have known it's from a dealership. No used Corollas this time.
- There's also houses listed for rent and for sale, houses that I'll never know because an apartment rental seems much more reasonable. I'd rather someone else fix a fussy toilet for me, costing less than it would if the toilet was in a house.
- Full back page ad for Johnny Mac's. I really want to try their wings.
By the time this move begins to get really serious, I want to have read every single issue up to the latest one. Time to catch up.
I have a guest post I wrote for Janie Junebug's blog that I want to post, but only after I've written everything I want to about Henderson (including me and Meridith's first movie in Southern Nevada, and the Galleria at Sunset mall), since most of it takes place after we got back, with quick flashbacks to certain points during the trip.
Since I don't feel like writing about any of that tonight, I present what I've learned from the third issue of The Henderson Press, dated November 19 - December 9, 2010. This feels different for me because before we went back to Henderson in January after two years away from Meridith and I, I'd forgotten the layout of Henderson and thought it to be a quaint, peaceful town near Las Vegas, small enough to really feel like a close-knit community. The articles from the previous two issues gave me that impression too, but actually being in Henderson again, I was dead wrong.
It's huge, but it's still peaceful. As busy as certain areas of Henderson can get, they're always welcoming. And I've come to realize that the way The Henderson Press is written is perfect because it does bring Henderson together more closely. The Las Vegas Review-Journal can't possibly report on every single thing going on in Henderson unless it's as big as the police chief of Henderson announcing her retirement last month. For everything else, including that huge story, I go to The Henderson Press. Even as a weekly paper, it's still very thorough.
So here's what I've gleaned from the third issue, Vol. 1, No. 3:
- There's a Veterans Memorial Wall at City Hall. I will visit it, since I want to know all the history of Henderson, including its people.
- There are apparently two Nevada State Railroad Museums: One in Carson City and the other in Boulder City. As of 2011, according to yelp.com reviews, it was still open, but there's no website for the Boulder City one.
- A quarter-page ad at the bottom of page 3 announces an online business directory on The Henderson Press website. It's still there, and I guarantee I'll read every listing. I want to know about all the businesses I might pass by on my way to and from work once I'm there.
- At the time of this issue, the Henderson police department was building a joint training facility with the Boulder City police department.
- Las Vegas Natural History Museum. As long as there's exhibits about Nevada's natural history, I'll be there.
- Nevada State Museum on South Valley View Blvd. in Las Vegas. I want this!
- Phillips Furniture in Henderson sells "clean used furniture," as they advertise. I think I know where I'm going for bookcases hopefully in good condition.
- Henderson has the Henderson Symphony Orchestra, and I will only attend a concert if works by Schubert or Gerswhin are included.
- On South Water Street is an Italian restaurant called Emery's La Barrista. The menu on its website has fettucine alfredo, and, as a resident, I want to find as many great fettucine alfredos as I can.
- A column by Dr. Robert Fielden on page 15 states that "Henderson was built under the Roosevelt administration specifically to manufacture magnesium bombs for World War II in 1942. To keep the plant from being sold off as war surplus after the war ended, the State of Nevada authorized the Colorado River Commission to purchase the facilities. In 1953 the city was incorporated and named and named after Nevada's US senator Charles B. Henderson. Its population then was approximately 7400 people, and the city covered 13 square miles. Today the city has grown to serve more than 250,000 people living within a 94 square mile area." Ok, so it's not as quaint as I thought after two years away from it, but it's still approachable. Not only will I ransack the Nevada history sections of my local libraries after I get a library card, but I also want to know more about Charles B. Henderson.
- I love this final paragraph in Fielden's column: "From time to time, in future pieces I'll report on other influential Henderson pioneers and the role they played in making Henderson the best place in Nevada today for all of us to live." I hope he delivered what he promised in later issues.
- The "Upcoming Events" calendar lists a children's program at the Henderson Bird Viewing Preserve featuring education about roadrunners and sandwich terns. The website mentions that the "Preserve is home to thousands of migratory waterfowl as well as numerous resident desert birds." It's generally only open until 2 p.m. throughout the year, except for June, July and August, when it's open until noon due to the heat.
- Two and a half pages of coupons. I hope that's still prevalent in current issues.
- In the "Transportation" ads, a 2009 Toyota Corolla Sedan is being offered for $14,967. Findlay Toyota. I should have known it's from a dealership. No used Corollas this time.
- There's also houses listed for rent and for sale, houses that I'll never know because an apartment rental seems much more reasonable. I'd rather someone else fix a fussy toilet for me, costing less than it would if the toilet was in a house.
- Full back page ad for Johnny Mac's. I really want to try their wings.
By the time this move begins to get really serious, I want to have read every single issue up to the latest one. Time to catch up.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
My Latest Review
My latest review for Movie Gazette Online was posted on Thursday. It's about the History Channel documentary, The Presidents, which is being rereleased on DVD on April 17 in thinner packaging, with the addition of the A&E Biography episode about Barack Obama. What better time than an election year to push it out into the market again? I really liked it. And I've stuck to what I said about reviewing only what truly interests me.
Meridith's Birthday at Souplantation
Thursday evening, nearing the end of the one day of separation between my birthday and Meridith's birthday, Meridith decided on where she wanted to go for dinner on her birthday: Souplantation.
Across the country it's known as Sweet Tomatoes, but in Southern California, it's called Souplantation. I don't know why. Tax reasons come to mind, but then that's always the case when I learn of changes in business between states.
When we first went to this Souplantation last September, I loved it. I loved the blueberry muffins full of tiny blueberries that burst blue inside, the chocolate muffins with syrupy centers, the fettucine alfredo with enough four-cheese sauce to make me get two more bowls. What may also have made the difference was going there on a late Wednesday afternoon rather than a late Friday afternoon, when the Valencia Town Center mall shopping district becomes the premier social hub of the Santa Clarita Valley. Add to that four regular screens and an IMAX screen given over to The Hunger Games at Edwards Valencia 12, and it was easy to see why the tables were crowded so.
Souplantation starts at the entrance with a loooooooong salad bar with spinach and various hand-tossed salad, including a Caesar salad that's made every 20 minutes that Meridith waited for. She loves freshly-made everything, so watching lemons squeezed and garlic pressed and cheese sprinkled on was worth the wait. I didn't take any, but she really went for it.
Along the salad bar are various accessories including shredded cheddar, crumbled blue cheese, and pasta dishes, including tuna tarragon and country macaroni salad with ham. Keep this in mind.
When you reach the end of the salad bar, nearest to the tables, you pay your $10+. You can go back to the salad bar while you're there without having to pay again, since you're already there and somehow the people at the two registers opposite each other (there's two salad bar lines, left and right) know if you've been there for a while. Perhaps it's from walking slower and slower as you eat more and more.
We found the ideal table, directly across from the soup bar, in front of the soda machines, diagonal from the door through which employees go carting trays of dishes, and pushing carts with containers of cut vegetables for the salad bar placed on both levels. That door would be annoying to some, especially with the banging of dishes in the back, an employee slamming soup bowls atop other soup bowls near the soup bar, and people walking up to the soda machine that sits behind the table, a partition in between. We didn't mind it, since Meridith loves hearing the activity of a kitchen, and it was easier for Mom than walking across the main dining room to get soup, buttermilk cornbread, and pasta.
The soup bar had many different kinds of soup, such as a New England clam chowder that had very few clams and a lot of potato, Irish leek potato soup, broccoli cheddar soup, tomato basil soup, and a chicken noodle soup in which all the noodles and chicken sat at the bottom of the pot, which I suppose is the best way of it if you want more broth than noodles, but there wasn't enough chicken. The thick noodles, however, were good. And there was a vat filled with baked potatoes with appropriate condiments on the side.
The bread station, in between the soup bar and the pasta station, had those chocolate brownies, the blueberry muffins, grilled cheese focaccia and four-cheese focaccia, and slices of sourdough bread wrapped in red cloth, with small paper cups of butter on the glass shelf above it, and a squeeze bottle of clover honey next to the butter.
To the right of the bread station, the pasta station, with four-cheese fettucine alfredo, the same disappointing, watery macaroni and cheese like last time, and penne arrabiata.
Potatoes. Starch. Pasta. Starch. Breads. Starch. The pasta salads at the salad bar. Starch. What's the best way to keep turning over tables, to make sure that no one stays too long? Give them potatoes and pasta and breads and pasta dishes at the salad bar!
It is nice at the start, with a lot of selection, but then is easily seen as a genius scheme at the end. It's obviously not a buffet restaurant that can easily offer seafood (my favorite kind of buffet), but there is no food there to lighten the load while you're eating. You're there for a short time as a result, and then you're gone. Considering its location, near the mall and closer to the movie theater, I'm not surprised. Eat and go. Eat and go.
It was nicer on that Wednesday last September, being that it was fairly empty, and felt leisurely. Meridith liked it, though, and that's what mattered most. But geez, sitting at that table, watching people pour out of the parking garage to walk across the street to the movie theater, wow! However, I won't read The Hunger Games until sufficient time has passed, if I read it at all. I don't like to ride hype. I decide what I want to read in my own good time.
Across the country it's known as Sweet Tomatoes, but in Southern California, it's called Souplantation. I don't know why. Tax reasons come to mind, but then that's always the case when I learn of changes in business between states.
When we first went to this Souplantation last September, I loved it. I loved the blueberry muffins full of tiny blueberries that burst blue inside, the chocolate muffins with syrupy centers, the fettucine alfredo with enough four-cheese sauce to make me get two more bowls. What may also have made the difference was going there on a late Wednesday afternoon rather than a late Friday afternoon, when the Valencia Town Center mall shopping district becomes the premier social hub of the Santa Clarita Valley. Add to that four regular screens and an IMAX screen given over to The Hunger Games at Edwards Valencia 12, and it was easy to see why the tables were crowded so.
Souplantation starts at the entrance with a loooooooong salad bar with spinach and various hand-tossed salad, including a Caesar salad that's made every 20 minutes that Meridith waited for. She loves freshly-made everything, so watching lemons squeezed and garlic pressed and cheese sprinkled on was worth the wait. I didn't take any, but she really went for it.
Along the salad bar are various accessories including shredded cheddar, crumbled blue cheese, and pasta dishes, including tuna tarragon and country macaroni salad with ham. Keep this in mind.
When you reach the end of the salad bar, nearest to the tables, you pay your $10+. You can go back to the salad bar while you're there without having to pay again, since you're already there and somehow the people at the two registers opposite each other (there's two salad bar lines, left and right) know if you've been there for a while. Perhaps it's from walking slower and slower as you eat more and more.
We found the ideal table, directly across from the soup bar, in front of the soda machines, diagonal from the door through which employees go carting trays of dishes, and pushing carts with containers of cut vegetables for the salad bar placed on both levels. That door would be annoying to some, especially with the banging of dishes in the back, an employee slamming soup bowls atop other soup bowls near the soup bar, and people walking up to the soda machine that sits behind the table, a partition in between. We didn't mind it, since Meridith loves hearing the activity of a kitchen, and it was easier for Mom than walking across the main dining room to get soup, buttermilk cornbread, and pasta.
The soup bar had many different kinds of soup, such as a New England clam chowder that had very few clams and a lot of potato, Irish leek potato soup, broccoli cheddar soup, tomato basil soup, and a chicken noodle soup in which all the noodles and chicken sat at the bottom of the pot, which I suppose is the best way of it if you want more broth than noodles, but there wasn't enough chicken. The thick noodles, however, were good. And there was a vat filled with baked potatoes with appropriate condiments on the side.
The bread station, in between the soup bar and the pasta station, had those chocolate brownies, the blueberry muffins, grilled cheese focaccia and four-cheese focaccia, and slices of sourdough bread wrapped in red cloth, with small paper cups of butter on the glass shelf above it, and a squeeze bottle of clover honey next to the butter.
To the right of the bread station, the pasta station, with four-cheese fettucine alfredo, the same disappointing, watery macaroni and cheese like last time, and penne arrabiata.
Potatoes. Starch. Pasta. Starch. Breads. Starch. The pasta salads at the salad bar. Starch. What's the best way to keep turning over tables, to make sure that no one stays too long? Give them potatoes and pasta and breads and pasta dishes at the salad bar!
It is nice at the start, with a lot of selection, but then is easily seen as a genius scheme at the end. It's obviously not a buffet restaurant that can easily offer seafood (my favorite kind of buffet), but there is no food there to lighten the load while you're eating. You're there for a short time as a result, and then you're gone. Considering its location, near the mall and closer to the movie theater, I'm not surprised. Eat and go. Eat and go.
It was nicer on that Wednesday last September, being that it was fairly empty, and felt leisurely. Meridith liked it, though, and that's what mattered most. But geez, sitting at that table, watching people pour out of the parking garage to walk across the street to the movie theater, wow! However, I won't read The Hunger Games until sufficient time has passed, if I read it at all. I don't like to ride hype. I decide what I want to read in my own good time.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
An Instead-Of Birthday
Yesterday, I had an instead-of birthday.
Instead of continuing to be frustrated with my finicky mp3 player that only ever plays half the songs I put in it, my parents and sister got me a new mp3 player, the same model, with 8 gigabytes instead of 4. You'd think it would be the space issue that prevents me from hearing all the songs I put on that player, but when I did sync songs from the computer onto the mp3 player, I'd have to give it at least an hour to put half of the songs on the mp3 player. Before our trip to Henderson in mid-January, I deleted every song from my mp3 player and started again. It took two and a half hours for over 200 songs.
This time, I have a better-made version of this mp3 player. When I transferred 204 songs from the computer, it only took 20 minutes. Much, much faster. Plus, all of them are there because after it turns on, it shows "204" under the # song that I'm on. If I'm on the 43rd song on this mp3 player, it shows "043" above "204."
My only quibble is that after I speed past 40 songs while it's paused, it doesn't skip as fast. I have to push the tiny lever to the side once, then wait a few seconds while it goes to the next song. I was annoyed with this at first, but in a way, it reminds me to appreciate the unfolding of music. I don't have to rush from song to song, even if I don't want to listen to a certain one at that very moment. Just cruise along to the next one in good time. It'll be perfect for when we go back to Las Vegas and Henderson so I can get back into the habit of just letting life flow by, as it is when we're there, and surely as it will be when we're residents.
Instead of Chronic Tacos in Saugus, I decided on Athena's in Canyon Country for two reasons. First, I looooooove feta cheese. Can't have it often because of how fattening it is, but there was the opportunity to have it in spanakopita and in pastichio. Second, Athena's has been in business for all eight years that we've lived here and probably earlier than that. No matter the state of the economy, it has lasted. And I wanted to do something different as a transition into the life we'll live in Henderson and Las Vegas.
The restaurant itself is large enough to hold a good-sized crowd, depending on how many tables are pushed together for some parties, but it fortunately doesn't have that feeling of being too crowded, too overextended. Everything there is made fresh. Mom and I ordered chicken noodle soup with our entrees, as is given, and then Meridith got the dinner salad she ordered with her quarter dark meat rotisserie chicken, and still my spanakopita had not come out. I first thought the waitress forgot about it, and then I realized that everything here is truly fresh, a rarity in the Santa Clarita Valley where factory-line creation seems common.
And oh, was it worth the wait! I'd been thinking about this ever since I first read the menu last Friday, lingering over the words "spinach cheese pie" in the appetizers section, fantasizing about spinach and feta cheese in phyllo dough. It was a triangle of pure heaven. I first reveled in such a heavenly taste, and then wondered why we hadn't tried Athena's in the eight years we've lived here. And it made sense yet again: We only discover the good places in an area just as we're about to move, which means we'll be moving soon. That's always how it happens and fortunately, we'll always have good places in Henderson and Las Vegas, without moving again.
The pastichio was layers of pasta with ground beef and cheese in between. To me, this pasta tasted lighter than what I usually experience in Italian dishes, which makes me like Greek food even more. I would like to find something like this in Las Vegas as well.
Instead of letting this only be a day of celebrating my 28th year, I still thought about my writing projects, especially my novel. While waiting for the soup, I looked out into the parking lot (we were seated next to the window that looks out on a few lanes of traffic, and from where I was sitting, I got a pretty good view of the parking lot), and saw two guys talking, one smoking, and thought about the two main characters in my novel. I watched these two guys because they seemed to have the rapport I was looking for, even though I had no idea what they were saying.
Then they came into the restaurant, took a table at the back, and a few minutes later, more family and friends belonging to a birthday party in the restaurant arrived, and so did other patrons. I liked the setting right then as I surreptitiously listened to the conversations around me without turning my head. Here was this birthday party with a lot of excited chatter, and there were those two guys at a back table, eating. One of the things I want to show in this novel is that these guys are part of society as anyone is, but they exist more on the edges of it. Where birthday parties go on, where crowds are, they stay to the side, mainly because of one's obsessed mission. At the same time I glanced at these two in the back, I also looked out at the traffic on the street next to us. I've been thinking about a truck for the road trip that these two will take, and intend to research miles per gallon on these trucks. It's not so much overkill as wanting to figure out where these two will go and how in their search.
Instead of a standard birthday cake, I went for an Oreo ice cream roll that I found at Walmart Supercenter back in late February. We got home and relaxed for a bit, letting the food settle before we had it, and it was perfect. Whenever Dad gets a frozen Claim Jumper chocolate silk pie, I usually grab the bulk of it because I love the sturdy chocolate crust and in fact, I only eat the pie for that. So to have Oreo crumbs all around and inside a roll of ice cream was definitely for me.
This was the perfect final birthday in Santa Clarita for me. It felt looser than past birthdays, I think because we know we're moving on, whereas past birthdays just signified another year here. That everything was perfect was a terrific farewell. It was the best birthday I've had here.
Instead of continuing to be frustrated with my finicky mp3 player that only ever plays half the songs I put in it, my parents and sister got me a new mp3 player, the same model, with 8 gigabytes instead of 4. You'd think it would be the space issue that prevents me from hearing all the songs I put on that player, but when I did sync songs from the computer onto the mp3 player, I'd have to give it at least an hour to put half of the songs on the mp3 player. Before our trip to Henderson in mid-January, I deleted every song from my mp3 player and started again. It took two and a half hours for over 200 songs.
This time, I have a better-made version of this mp3 player. When I transferred 204 songs from the computer, it only took 20 minutes. Much, much faster. Plus, all of them are there because after it turns on, it shows "204" under the # song that I'm on. If I'm on the 43rd song on this mp3 player, it shows "043" above "204."
My only quibble is that after I speed past 40 songs while it's paused, it doesn't skip as fast. I have to push the tiny lever to the side once, then wait a few seconds while it goes to the next song. I was annoyed with this at first, but in a way, it reminds me to appreciate the unfolding of music. I don't have to rush from song to song, even if I don't want to listen to a certain one at that very moment. Just cruise along to the next one in good time. It'll be perfect for when we go back to Las Vegas and Henderson so I can get back into the habit of just letting life flow by, as it is when we're there, and surely as it will be when we're residents.
Instead of Chronic Tacos in Saugus, I decided on Athena's in Canyon Country for two reasons. First, I looooooove feta cheese. Can't have it often because of how fattening it is, but there was the opportunity to have it in spanakopita and in pastichio. Second, Athena's has been in business for all eight years that we've lived here and probably earlier than that. No matter the state of the economy, it has lasted. And I wanted to do something different as a transition into the life we'll live in Henderson and Las Vegas.
The restaurant itself is large enough to hold a good-sized crowd, depending on how many tables are pushed together for some parties, but it fortunately doesn't have that feeling of being too crowded, too overextended. Everything there is made fresh. Mom and I ordered chicken noodle soup with our entrees, as is given, and then Meridith got the dinner salad she ordered with her quarter dark meat rotisserie chicken, and still my spanakopita had not come out. I first thought the waitress forgot about it, and then I realized that everything here is truly fresh, a rarity in the Santa Clarita Valley where factory-line creation seems common.
And oh, was it worth the wait! I'd been thinking about this ever since I first read the menu last Friday, lingering over the words "spinach cheese pie" in the appetizers section, fantasizing about spinach and feta cheese in phyllo dough. It was a triangle of pure heaven. I first reveled in such a heavenly taste, and then wondered why we hadn't tried Athena's in the eight years we've lived here. And it made sense yet again: We only discover the good places in an area just as we're about to move, which means we'll be moving soon. That's always how it happens and fortunately, we'll always have good places in Henderson and Las Vegas, without moving again.
The pastichio was layers of pasta with ground beef and cheese in between. To me, this pasta tasted lighter than what I usually experience in Italian dishes, which makes me like Greek food even more. I would like to find something like this in Las Vegas as well.
Instead of letting this only be a day of celebrating my 28th year, I still thought about my writing projects, especially my novel. While waiting for the soup, I looked out into the parking lot (we were seated next to the window that looks out on a few lanes of traffic, and from where I was sitting, I got a pretty good view of the parking lot), and saw two guys talking, one smoking, and thought about the two main characters in my novel. I watched these two guys because they seemed to have the rapport I was looking for, even though I had no idea what they were saying.
Then they came into the restaurant, took a table at the back, and a few minutes later, more family and friends belonging to a birthday party in the restaurant arrived, and so did other patrons. I liked the setting right then as I surreptitiously listened to the conversations around me without turning my head. Here was this birthday party with a lot of excited chatter, and there were those two guys at a back table, eating. One of the things I want to show in this novel is that these guys are part of society as anyone is, but they exist more on the edges of it. Where birthday parties go on, where crowds are, they stay to the side, mainly because of one's obsessed mission. At the same time I glanced at these two in the back, I also looked out at the traffic on the street next to us. I've been thinking about a truck for the road trip that these two will take, and intend to research miles per gallon on these trucks. It's not so much overkill as wanting to figure out where these two will go and how in their search.
Instead of a standard birthday cake, I went for an Oreo ice cream roll that I found at Walmart Supercenter back in late February. We got home and relaxed for a bit, letting the food settle before we had it, and it was perfect. Whenever Dad gets a frozen Claim Jumper chocolate silk pie, I usually grab the bulk of it because I love the sturdy chocolate crust and in fact, I only eat the pie for that. So to have Oreo crumbs all around and inside a roll of ice cream was definitely for me.
This was the perfect final birthday in Santa Clarita for me. It felt looser than past birthdays, I think because we know we're moving on, whereas past birthdays just signified another year here. That everything was perfect was a terrific farewell. It was the best birthday I've had here.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
My Lights at Night
I've been thinking a lot about the novel I want to write, to the extent that I paced the dark living room at 2 this morning, talking to myself, trying to figure out why one of my two main characters wants so badly what he wants. In that half a chapter I didn't even know I wrote, I have what he was like in high school with his passion. The other main character, the narrator of this novel, saw him in action in high school, watching in awe how he didn't seem to be there. It's like he was one with what he loved. It may be the reason why the narrator decides to join him on this vast road trip. It's something he can't see himself, but he wants to understand it. In idle moments, the narrator has occasionally thought about this guy, and here is this chance to see firsthand perhaps why he is what he is.
Vague, I know, but I'm still working out countless details. Last night, before the pacing, before talking myself through different scenarios, I looked up the website of a mall here in Southern California that I want to use for my novel. Before a certain restaurant closed in the town where this mall is located, we used to go to that restaurant and then to the mall. That mall retained the heavy historical feeling of that area, like the ghosts of the past were always there, and I loved that because the mall was honest. There are few frills to it. There were no outlandish decorations to try to attract people (perhaps during Christmas, but I've not been there then, and from what I know of this mall, I think they'd do a few things for the holiday, but not everything), no gigantic signs pointing to this side of the mall and that side of the mall, no enticements beyond what the stores sometimes offer in sales. There's also a pizza place/arcade/amusement center in that mall that replaced the whole downstairs area, which included a uniform store. Strange as it is for these two men to be going there without any kids with them, the obsessed main character has his reason and he thinks it might be in the arcade there.
Whenever Mom, Dad, Meridith and I went to that mall, it was always either in the late afternoon or in the evening, after it got dark. That's when I want these two to be there. The restaurant I mentioned has been closed for a while now, but I'm thinking of setting this novel in a time when it's still open, or keeping it open anyway, which reminds me that I should get its old address from Yelp.
Before thinking more about this novel that's been in mind for two years, I never realized how much an author puts him or herself into a novel. Obsessions, curiosities, past pain, favorite things, it can all be there unless the author decides to write a different novel entirely. But even then, even in another genre, you still find pieces of the author because what they've written has obviously interested them enough to spend a few years with it alone.
It also got me thinking about why nighttime is my favorite part of the day. I don't need a lot of night. I just need enough before I go to bed. But in thinking about that restaurant and that mall, I thought about them at night, seeing the streetlights, the lights in the parking lot of that mall, the lights inside the restaurant seen from the outside, how brighter they are at night.
I don't think I could have my characters living entirely at night, but I do want those moments where they're looking at the lights around them at night, thinking about something, thinking about this search that they're on.
When we lived in the apartment in Valencia, when I walked Tigger at night, I always took him to the edge of sidewalk next to one of the apartment buildings that faced the closed and locked maintenance shed, where the golf cart was kept in the garage there, the one that the women in the sales office would use to take prospective renters around the property to empty apartments. I stared at this maintenance shed, with the same mindset I have whenever walking through a Walmart or Target or strip mall or outlet mall or outdoor shopping center: I wondered who the electrician was who installed the light above the maintenance shed's office door. I wonder who installed the hoses that allow people to wash their cars inside two separate stalls next to the maintenance office. I thought about how amazing it was to me that this maintenance shed, and those two car wash stalls just sit here, totally still, while the rest of Santa Clarita and Los Angeles rush about, doing whatever they must because this seems to be the only time to do it. I think I went to that particular spot at night because it felt like the calmest place in the universe, the zen-like center of the whirlwind.
My lights at night do include the Las Vegas Strip, but to a lesser degree. It's only part of my life in Vegas and Henderson. On our most recent trip to Henderson in January, I remember us driving through Victorville at night, and at the far end of one side of the road, where you could see buildings lit up, there were trees in front of all that and it seemed like fairies were flitting about, or just a deluge of fireflies. To me, there's a kind of magic in the night because during the day, everything is exposed. You can see the roads, you can see the houses, you can see where you put your garbage and recycling bins for pickup. But at night, you can imagine that the roads lead to new lands hitherto undiscovered in your state, perhaps those of a different dimension that's only accessible by making a specific wrong turn.
It's why I only keep the light on in the kitchen that's above the sink when it's my night to wash the dinner dishes, and I keep the blinds open. When it's dark enough that you can see all the house lights on the mountainside above us, I look below that, past the rail top iron fence that's at the back end of the pool, down to a neighborhood below us where there's one bright white light on, attached to a garage. I of course think about the electrician who installed it, where their job has taken them now, if they're even still an electrician. But I also think about the darkness in that neighborhood, of the trees so still, of the flowers sitting there, of there being some adventure out there in the darkness, something to see that you can't know in the daytime. It's there.
I don't think I'd have my characters roaming the darkness all the time, but I do want to put in there those memories of nighttime being so fascinating to me. It's that mall, and also that motel we stayed at in Alabama when we moved from South Florida to Southern California in August 2003. It's that maintenance shed in Valencia, and it's those late Friday afternoons at College of the Canyons after my once-a-week cinema class ended. It's so much I'd want to include in whatever night scenes I produce for this novel, and what I can't, lest it be overkill. But it's all about seeing what I can use, what would be good for the story I want to tell. That's why I talk to myself at 2 in the morning, and why I sometimes act out my characters, getting to know them and understanding what they want. It's my adult playground.
Vague, I know, but I'm still working out countless details. Last night, before the pacing, before talking myself through different scenarios, I looked up the website of a mall here in Southern California that I want to use for my novel. Before a certain restaurant closed in the town where this mall is located, we used to go to that restaurant and then to the mall. That mall retained the heavy historical feeling of that area, like the ghosts of the past were always there, and I loved that because the mall was honest. There are few frills to it. There were no outlandish decorations to try to attract people (perhaps during Christmas, but I've not been there then, and from what I know of this mall, I think they'd do a few things for the holiday, but not everything), no gigantic signs pointing to this side of the mall and that side of the mall, no enticements beyond what the stores sometimes offer in sales. There's also a pizza place/arcade/amusement center in that mall that replaced the whole downstairs area, which included a uniform store. Strange as it is for these two men to be going there without any kids with them, the obsessed main character has his reason and he thinks it might be in the arcade there.
Whenever Mom, Dad, Meridith and I went to that mall, it was always either in the late afternoon or in the evening, after it got dark. That's when I want these two to be there. The restaurant I mentioned has been closed for a while now, but I'm thinking of setting this novel in a time when it's still open, or keeping it open anyway, which reminds me that I should get its old address from Yelp.
Before thinking more about this novel that's been in mind for two years, I never realized how much an author puts him or herself into a novel. Obsessions, curiosities, past pain, favorite things, it can all be there unless the author decides to write a different novel entirely. But even then, even in another genre, you still find pieces of the author because what they've written has obviously interested them enough to spend a few years with it alone.
It also got me thinking about why nighttime is my favorite part of the day. I don't need a lot of night. I just need enough before I go to bed. But in thinking about that restaurant and that mall, I thought about them at night, seeing the streetlights, the lights in the parking lot of that mall, the lights inside the restaurant seen from the outside, how brighter they are at night.
I don't think I could have my characters living entirely at night, but I do want those moments where they're looking at the lights around them at night, thinking about something, thinking about this search that they're on.
When we lived in the apartment in Valencia, when I walked Tigger at night, I always took him to the edge of sidewalk next to one of the apartment buildings that faced the closed and locked maintenance shed, where the golf cart was kept in the garage there, the one that the women in the sales office would use to take prospective renters around the property to empty apartments. I stared at this maintenance shed, with the same mindset I have whenever walking through a Walmart or Target or strip mall or outlet mall or outdoor shopping center: I wondered who the electrician was who installed the light above the maintenance shed's office door. I wonder who installed the hoses that allow people to wash their cars inside two separate stalls next to the maintenance office. I thought about how amazing it was to me that this maintenance shed, and those two car wash stalls just sit here, totally still, while the rest of Santa Clarita and Los Angeles rush about, doing whatever they must because this seems to be the only time to do it. I think I went to that particular spot at night because it felt like the calmest place in the universe, the zen-like center of the whirlwind.
My lights at night do include the Las Vegas Strip, but to a lesser degree. It's only part of my life in Vegas and Henderson. On our most recent trip to Henderson in January, I remember us driving through Victorville at night, and at the far end of one side of the road, where you could see buildings lit up, there were trees in front of all that and it seemed like fairies were flitting about, or just a deluge of fireflies. To me, there's a kind of magic in the night because during the day, everything is exposed. You can see the roads, you can see the houses, you can see where you put your garbage and recycling bins for pickup. But at night, you can imagine that the roads lead to new lands hitherto undiscovered in your state, perhaps those of a different dimension that's only accessible by making a specific wrong turn.
It's why I only keep the light on in the kitchen that's above the sink when it's my night to wash the dinner dishes, and I keep the blinds open. When it's dark enough that you can see all the house lights on the mountainside above us, I look below that, past the rail top iron fence that's at the back end of the pool, down to a neighborhood below us where there's one bright white light on, attached to a garage. I of course think about the electrician who installed it, where their job has taken them now, if they're even still an electrician. But I also think about the darkness in that neighborhood, of the trees so still, of the flowers sitting there, of there being some adventure out there in the darkness, something to see that you can't know in the daytime. It's there.
I don't think I'd have my characters roaming the darkness all the time, but I do want to put in there those memories of nighttime being so fascinating to me. It's that mall, and also that motel we stayed at in Alabama when we moved from South Florida to Southern California in August 2003. It's that maintenance shed in Valencia, and it's those late Friday afternoons at College of the Canyons after my once-a-week cinema class ended. It's so much I'd want to include in whatever night scenes I produce for this novel, and what I can't, lest it be overkill. But it's all about seeing what I can use, what would be good for the story I want to tell. That's why I talk to myself at 2 in the morning, and why I sometimes act out my characters, getting to know them and understanding what they want. It's my adult playground.
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