I Remember It To A Tee

I posted this as a response to a recent blog by Jason Mraz, but since it's such a good memory I'm posting it here as well. My apologies for the repeat to those of you who may have already read it in the comments of Freshness Factor Five Thousand.

My mom took me with her on a business trip to San Francisco when I was in 6th grade. It made quite an impression on me because it was the first time I was allowed to stay by myself (not even at home!) while she went to the office all day.

The Hyatt Regency in Embarcadero Center (i.e., the hotel we stayed at) is where I developed my love of jazz because there was a piano bar at the bottom of the atrium. I wasn't supposed to leave our room so when things got too boring, I would prop the door open in case Mom called on the phone, and I would stand just outside at the edge of the balcony that overlooked the atrium and listen to the notes float past me on their way to the top. I made up all kinds of scenarios in my head about being a princess in a tower, or a grand lady from 100 years ago on holiday as I listened to the music. My imagination was (is) limitless. Nowadays someone would've probably called the cops on mom for leaving me alone in a hotel at that age. Oh well, we do what we have to as single parents.

Anyway, Mom took me to a magic show one night at this little hole in the wall place. It was kind of late for a 6th grader and there were no other kids in the audience. The people on stage called themselves Asparagus Valley Cultural Society. Most of the comedy material went right over my head and by the end I think my mom was a little sheepish that she didn't know the show was NOT really for kids. I mean who woulda thought? Aren't all magic shows for kids? Even if they don't end until 11pm?

As an aside, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. When Katy was around 7 or 8, we were on a trip to Philadelphia. I took her to the movies to see Beavis & Butthead Do America. I knew it might have SOME jokes that went over her head, but I had NO IDEA what Beavis & Butthead were really all about. I mean, c'mon... it was ANIMATED! Aren't all cartoons for kids? And when they say "DO America" aren't they talking about a road trip?! haha But back to our story...

The Mystery of the Peking Snow Duck (which was actually a rabbit, as made obvious by the punchline "that's Snow Duck!" as the "peeking" rabbit is pulled from under a cloth) was the best trick since it was probably the only one I really got (comedy-wise - magic can be understood at any age :).

The magicians said they would be in the lobby after the show and I begged Mom to let us stay and meet them because I can never get enough magic. (Maybe that's where my groupie nature started!)

The big guy from on stage came out carrying a cage. He let me pet the rabbit and asked if I would like to stick pencils in its ears. (Weird, the things we remember.) I giggled and said no. He thanked us for coming to the show and gave me a green tshirt with their name and logo on the front. It was too big to wear, but I slept in it for years, and I still have it (and it fits now).

The best part of the story? Those magicians were Penn & Teller. :)

Picture was taken in 2008. Click HERE for an account of how Penn & Teller started out (and yes, Wier was still part of the act when I saw them in San Fran). I think it's SO ironic that they spent years performing in Philadelphia (where I grew up) but *I* saw them all the way across the country. Not the first time that's happened. I lived in Arizona for six years before moving to New Jersey. After I moved to New Jersey I started working for a company that was headquartered in Scottsdale, in the same building that I worked in while I lived in Arizona. Nothing like moving across the country to work for the people upstairs!

I Could Totally Host An HGTV Show

I know I've been out of commission for almost a month, but deal with it. It's not that I haven't had any blog-worthy thoughts or stories, in fact, there have been tons; I just haven't made the time to write them down (shame, that). I am blessed with a full life.

Earlier this weekend my friend John and I found ourselves in Ikea looking for a ceiling fan for his living room. We recently refurnished the entire downstairs of his house using craigslist.com, moving his style forward from Early Fuck into something that will buy him some time to slap a ring on a woman's finger before she runs screaming to Pottery Barn. Although I'm good at putting together modern pieces from discount places, there are usually a couple things you just have to spring for to get the right effect in the time frame you want. Even so, "springing" doesn't mean you should ever pay suggested retail. (Please!) It may, however, require lowering yourself to shop in places that increase your karmic debt.

Trust me, Ikea hurts my soul almost as much as Walmart, but occasionally entering the labyrinth is a pain worthy of bearing in the interest of A Good Deal. Don't get me wrong; the original intent of the Swedish company is great: making the most out of limited resources/space/child labor in China. It's our overblown waddling American lifestyle that sodomized the Ikea concept until their giant blue box stores became the monolithic icon of rampant consumerism. But I digress.

Since wandering around with open, outstretched hands waiting for the fans to fall into them didn't work (much like my writing career), we asked a yellow-n-blue-clad stoner Totally Chill Shopping Assistant where their most stylish whirly-gigs might be. He tells us Ikea does not carry ceiling fans. Fan-tastic.

We turn to beat a hasty retreat, but like tourists navigating Manhattan, we realize we have no idea where we are, much less which direction the exit is. And the screeching children running amuck have long since eaten our trail of breadcrumbs.

Have you ever tried to escape Ikea? I think even the Marines would have a hard time finding their way out.

Both of us being humans of above-average intelligence (which ain't sayin' much these days), we follow the signs that say "exit" until we realize there are at least 100 of them and they are all pointing at each other. So much for logical deduction. Instead we make like cattle and follow the herd for about five miles until I'm distracted by kitchen accessories. This is Ikea's evil business plan. They force you (read: women) to walk past every single item they sell, hoping something will trigger the Impulse Buy Button in your head (generally, the male chromosomes lack this mechanism). If it's not bedding or furniture or artwork/plants/useless shelf items that strike your fancy, they'll throw some kitchen stuff in your face as a last resort. No one gets out without paying a toll. Hmm. Maybe Ikea originated in New Jersey, not Sweden.

Amidst the culinary paraphernalia, my eyes zero in on a 1/2 mile wide display of small bowls (probably rice bowls) that are the perfect size for John's nightly dose of ice cream. Did I mention John will keel over and die without this evening ritual? In fact, one night I threw out the melted, watery remains of a sundae because I assumed he was done, and he had such a reaction I thought one of us might end up in the ER. GAH. Did I also mention that my house has no appropriate sized bowls for this sacrament to the frozen snack Gods? (There is no such problem at his house of course. That would be like the Vatican running short on common sense... I mean alter boys... I mean wine glasses.) My cereal bowls are too big and my Pyrex petri dishes are too small. We can't have that. Ikea has won. They flipped my switch. (No, I have never been officially diagnosed with OCD.)

I trip and fall right into the brand marketing assuming the bowls are cheap, so yes, thank you, I'll take four. I justify my potential purchase by pointing out it's possible picking them up with intent to buy will open a space portal directly to the cash registers, shortly followed by the exit. Unfortunately that turns out not to be true. After several moments of debate during which the bland oatmeal color (like the white ones at his house are more interesting?) and lack of identifiable pricing is discussed, we put them back since there was no escape hatch offered with the purchase, and he is immune to The Ikea Brainwashing Technique.

Being the more daring of the duo, he takes a sharp left and whips us through one of the ominous grey doors that surely will set off fire alarms and sprinklers if opened, alerting police and causing mass panic in which we will be trampled by millions of zombie shoppers in their craze to get away from they-don't-know-what-but-it-must-be-bad-if-the-alarm- is-going-off... but hey! Whaddya know? It's a free pass to the exit! Do not pass go, do not spend $200! Go John! I knew I kept him around for a reason.

So we're out and on our merry way, but the seed of having those bowls has already been planted. (Wait, didn't we go in there for something else?) They are cute and convenient and The Brain has already rationalized their existence in my life. This usually means they will end up in my cabinet one way or another.

Today I was at the dollar store checking to see if anything on my grocery list was available there. Dollar stores are widespread here in SoCal and thank God for that. The Universe loves balance so perhaps this is Its way of trying to offset the ridiculous cost of living in Paradise. Of course, this benefit is only available to those who can transcend the belief that Whole Foods is the only grocery store worthy of your presence (it took HOURS of meditation I tell you), and that fluency in Spanish is not really required to shop there (they employ one stoner Totally Chill Manager in each store for translation purposes if you really need him).

Anyway, as I was picking up some pasta and Toasted wheat crackers (ok fine, and a can of the cappuccino flavored cream wafers that look like straws, which I feel sick from because it's so hard to stop eating them), it occurred to me that they may have something similar enough to the Ikea bowls to appease my need to have a perfectly sized dish for every occasion. A quick scan of the assorted "china" (I use that term loosely) revealed some very similar bowls indeed. Same bland oatmeal color, and wow - they're about the same size and shape. I grab four ($4! Beat that Ikea!) and head home.

I sink my new bowls into soapy water to loosen the stickers. As I peel back the first one from the bottom of the vessel, I see a familiar name stamped above all the fine print.

You got it.

Ikea.

Retribution Shall Be Swift and Certain

I have this friend who shall remain nameless to protect the GUILTY. In the short time we've been acquainted, we've become pretty good at playing pranks on each other. I'd just like to say for the record: He started it.

No, really. He sprayed his cologne in my hair dryer so every time I turn it on, it's like a huge wave of Hei in my face. STILL. After a month! (Mostly because he keeps renewing it every time he's here!) Don't worry, his hair dryer smells worse now.

This past weekend I don't remember what prompted his impulse (not that he really needs a reason to feed his devious personality), but he managed to get ice down my pants not once, but TWICE, effectively rendering me without dry underroos while I was 45 minutes from home. The first time we had a good laugh, but the second time I was slightly pissed. Of course he was "sorry" (read: not really) and said so repeatedly in a lame attempt to avoid retaliation. Seriously, does that EVER work?

I played it off like I was mad until I figured out my revenge, then I looked him straight in the eye and said "You're forgiven" in that tone the evil villain uses when he/she's about to attempt killing the Hero. Except I don't give long speeches that offer the time needed for the Hero to form a plan and escape unscathed.

The rest of the day he was on his guard but nothing happened. I mean c'mon, I'm not THAT dumb. It's no fun if they're expecting it.

I helped him do laundry, clean the kitchen, and I made his bed for him. Except when I made the bed, I short sheeted it. :D Big mistake to leave me unsupervised. Short sheeting was not actually my original plan of attack - it was just something that came up while I was making the bed - but it turned out so well, I don't think the original idea would hold a candle to this now anyway.

I left him a note under the pillow too that said, "Still love me?" figuring he'd find it when he had to tear the sheets off to fix them. He usually asks me that after he's done something particularly evil.

That night he wanted to stay over at my house. You have NO IDEA how hard it was to say okay because I am not a patient person. You can run, but you cannot hide. And you gotta sleep at home sometime.

Honestly, today (Monday) I hadn't thought much about it because I was too busy. We talked a few times on IM, but nothing significant. Sometimes he takes a nap in the afternoon but today was not one of those days. I had all but forgotten the entire thing until we had the following conversation just around midnight. I was laughing so hard I could barely type back to him.

Keep in mind this man has a genius IQ and an ego to match (fortunately his ego is a positive, upbeat type - I'll give him that) which makes it that much funnier IMHO.

---

Him: u there?

Me: yep

Him: what did you do the last 15 minutes?

Me: Worked on the compset projects for Pearson

Him: know what I did? I spent it in the dark, trying to figure out how come the fuck I couldn't get under the covers...

Me: HAHAHAHAHAAAAAA

Him: 15 fucking minutes and I had to turn on the light

Me: ::is dying laughing::

Him: ok you so got me there

Me: 15 minutes? really?

Him: I turned off the lights

Me: ::falls out of chair::

Him: so I couldnt see

Him: and was feeling around

Him: and tried and tried

Him: and was "is THIS the edge

Him: no , that must be the edge

Him: wtf

Him: WTF

Him: ok HERE it is

Him: no

Him: not that

Me: OMFG my sides hurt

Him: then I was SURE I got it

Him: and got under

Him: then I was like "no it isnt right"

Him: back to square one

Him: how come my feet are cold and

Him: hmm

Him: ok

Me: OH man, make it stop - my back hurts now

Him: and ginger was meowing all the time
(Ginger is his cat who is just as much trouble as he is, trust me. She tattles on his other cat, Cinnamon, by meowing at my friend until he finds what all the fuss is about - usually something bad Cin has done.)

Him: was pitch black

Me: Tattle tail

Him: yes

Me: Did you find my note?

Him: yes

Him: then I knew what it was

Him: didnt find it until I turned on the light

Me: Now I have tears

Him: you so got me

Me: Damn

Me: 15 minutes

Me: I love it

Him: man I was all ready to get into bed

Him: and was like WHAT THE FUCK CANT FIND IT

Him: and had too much pride to turn on the light

Him: so I know I can find it

Him: I got in and out like 4 times

Me: I can totally see the whole scene too

Me: Oh man, now I need the inhaler I laughed so hard

Him: I am debating if I still love you

Me: No you're not

Him: its a tough one

Me: cuz you respect the skillz :P

Him: hAH

Him: YEAH

Him: ok I admit that

Him: but love is different than respect

Him: but you sooooo got me

Me: and that isn't even what I had originally planned to do to you for that ice cube

Him: sure

Me: It wasn't

Me: the other involved pancake syrup but you might be off the hook with this one because I dont think it could get better than 15 minutes of you fumbling in the dark with your pride and your sheets

Him: Ginger knew

Him: I think she wasn't tattling on me

Him: she was laughing

Me: ::still dying laughing::

Him: I hate you

Me: No you dont

Him: <-- NOT laughing

Him: ok I had a good laugh

Him: as soon as I saw the note

Him: I knew I had been had

Me: hahaha

Him: ok

Him: sheets straight now

Me: Good for you :)

Him: ok now I go to sleep

Me: You sure?

Him: if there are no more boobie traps

Me: I love you :)

Me: <--angel

Him: I love you too

Him: NOT

Me: :P

Me: 15 minutes...

Me: seriously need inhaler

Him: you soo got me

Him: couldnt figure it out

Me: FOUR times

Him: but when I saw the note

Him: man

Perian.org

For anyone using a Mac with OS X 10.4 or higher, I've found an AWESOME little app that will install all the codecs you ever need to playback movies and other files on Quicktime. It is called Perian and it is truly the Swiss Army Knife of codecs. If you've downloaded a movie from somewhere like say... www.thepiratebay.org... (which I NEVER do of course because that would be illegal)... and you get the video but not the audio, try installing Perian. Works like a charm on a Mac. (Windows users will have to find your own codec coolness. :P Not that Quicktime is used much on Windows anyway.)

www.perian.org

Winter in Paradise

A couple Sundays ago I was headed home on the 15* and I noticed the Jeep’s temperature gauge said 80°. In January. How awesome is Southern California? Yeah yeah, I know, global warming, but my mood was too high to let those thoughts take over this time. The farther I went, the warmer it got… 82°… 84°…

When it hit 85° I said forget that To Do list, I’m going to the beach. (“Forget” is so the f word I used!) How often do those days come in the middle of winter? Ok, maybe a little more frequently here than other places, but c’mon! EIGHTY-FIVE and SUNNY. Who wouldn’t go to the beach? I’m not sure which would’ve been more of a waste: shirking responsibility for play time or staying indoors when it’s that beautiful outside. I blame T.S. for egging me on.

Time you enjoyed wasting is not time wasted.
~T.S. Eliot

A left onto the 78 pointed me straight at the afternoon sun. I flipped through the iPod while cars swerved around me until Marley’s melodic beat filled the car. “Is this love is this love is this love is this love that I’m feelin...” Why yes, Bob, I believe it is.

Cruising along I glance at the sky to my left and I see this:

Taking that picture proved even more dangerous than searching for music, so when this appeared:

I actually pulled over on the median to snap the shot. The boys from Miramar must’ve been feeling the groove too. Either that, or God is using our Armed Forces to send us love notes. How ironic would THAT be?

Seriously tho, how awesome is San Diego? Where else do you get hearts in the sky on a gorgeous day?

It’s been months since I had a chat with Big Blue**, and I’ve missed her lots. She was beautifully clear in voice and visage, and left a looking glass for me on the sand so I could reflect on some thoughts as I walked.

Anyone that says there are no seasons here just doesn’t know how to see them. Even on this warm, sunny afternoon, the shoreline appeared greyer, and the water abandoned on the sand gave it a wintry expression. Not unfriendly, just different. A quiet countenance, as if Summer was sleeping.

You see that tall white chimney where land meets ocean in the pic below? I walked all the way there. (Click on the pic to expand so you can see better.)

Strolling along, I found many things. Individuality...

and community…

love…

and some rocky parts…

that led to traps long buried in my thinking.

Sometimes you CAN see the forest for the trees tho,

and once you find the stairway out, it’s easy to step through and close the gate on old patterns.

Then you find more love all around you.

Maybe even enough to transcend the rocky parts.

Someone mentioned there was a big game on that day, but I have no clue what the score was. (Later I heard the Chargers were out of the playoffs, so I guess the score was Us: Some; Them: More.)

Towards the end of my walk, I found proof that all rivers really do lead to the sea,

and even if you're left balancing on one leg, at least you’re standing. And you still have wings to fly.

I am amazed and lucky and grateful to live here. There is truly nothing like watching that big orange ball sink into the ocean and paint the sky, and know while you’re watching the light fade that it is sunrise for someone else.

What an awesome day.

*"The 15" is how Californians refer to the north-south highway that is Interstate 15 out here. All roads are "the" then the number. Not I-15 or Route 15, but "the 15." I'm assuming it evolved from "The Number 15 Freeway" or something of that nature. Etymology majors correct me if I'm wrong.

**Big Blue = the Pacific Ocean