AND A THREE...

So today is day three on the migraine train. My darling Frova is keeping the worst of it at bay, e.g. I can function enough to be vertical and look at the computer, but light is really bugging me. I feel like Marlon Brando in the Island of Dr. No - I just want to throw my arm over my eyes and moan "Nooooooo. The light. Noooooooo." I have been reading and writing all morning so that isn't helping. I've got a story I'd love to tell her, but the time required would render me nauseous. I can only stare at the computer screen for about 15 minutes and then I need to avert my eyes.

This morning was interesting:

I got up and worked out on the Stairmaster and while I did so I channel surfed to distract myself from the fact that I was exercising so I watched a bit of Driven: Ashton Kutcher and also the end of Malibu's Most Wanted, then I switched over to VH1's 40 Least Metal Moments. Clearly I find the most mindless TV available to distract myself. This is because I once got involved in something on the history channel and when I finished working I out I sat down and finished watching the show. You can't do that when you have to go to work.

So I am probably the least metal fan and I had no idea who most of the people were that they trotted out to comment on the least metal moments. They mostly looked like old men with long hair who are now pathetically resisting middle age and are willing to relive their glory days of AquaNet and eyeliner back in the latter six months of 1986. Whatever. They had Tawny Kitaen who's big moment was straddling a corvette in a rock video, and more recently was beating the shit out of her baseball playing husband during their contentious divorce.

These unknown to me folks are bagging on Alice Cooper for doing a CompUSA commercial in a cardigan - clearly doing a send up of himself. They're bagging on some dude that hosted the metal show that was on MTV who I also didn't recognize. They were unironically making fun of his hair! It was apparently too poofy and akin to hair on the band Uh-Huh to be metal. He clearly didn't take the boys in leather pants and hairsprayed hairdos as seriously as they took themselves. And as these people still do. I did learn that Gene Simmons was briefly Liza Minelli's manager - how weird is that? Can you even imagine the conversations? Do you think he did her? I think he might just to say he did. He's got a HUGE.....ego.

Thankfully my 30 minutes in hell ended and I turned off MTV before they got to Michael Bolton trying to be metal, but I couldn't help but think, as I have always thought, that people in metal bands and people who are fans of metal music are really the last people who should be passing judgment on anyone. For anything. The last thing they want is the glaring light of scrutiny blazing back on them. Cuz it ain't that good and it's certainly not attractive.

I got dressed and since I was at home I decided to pull another historical item of clothing from the closet. Amazingly it fit since my butt just seems to be getting bigger, but I haven't done laundry in a while and with my schedule it doesn't appear that I will have time to do so until Sunday. Even more amazing is that as I was getting into my car I heard the loud and obnoxious honking of a car horn. Since I hadn't even got my butt on the seat much less pulled into traffic I couldn't imagine why someone was already giving me shit. I looked up and glared as a man in a Mercedes Benz passed me by leering and hollering loudly out the window that I was looking fine this morning.

Dude - seriously. Grow up.

And that's how I know that even though the Frova is working I am suffering from the effects of three days of underlying pain. It makes me cranky. Because I am always up for a woohoo of appreciation from a random guy in traffic. A compliment is a compliment. Especially when you feel like your ass is HUGE.

This morning I was ready to kick some ass.

I SHOULD KNOW BETTER

There are things that I do that are really dumb. Things I should know better than to do. Like for instance:

Putting the bottle of nail polish in my purse after I go for a pedicure. It rolls around in there and the top comes off and it's not long before I put my hand in my purse and find that everything is stuck together. And I've got nail polish on my hand.

Putting a pair of pants in my gym bag that I haven't worn in a while. These days those pants aren't fitting me so great and at the gym, after a workout is not the best time to discover the sad fact.

Bringing a slightly wrinkled blouse into the steam room with me so that the wrinkles will be steamed out. Yes, they are steamed out, but the blouse is also soaking wet by the time I'm finished and the room is so full of steam I knock the hanger off it's precarious balance as I fumble around looking for it and it falls on the floor taking the blouse from soaking to dripping wet.

Wearing pointy toed shoes and not bringing my lunch. My hunger has not reached a place yet where I am motivated to walk across the lot in my uncomfortable pointy toed shoes and I'm pretty damn hungry which gives you some idea about how uncomfortable these shoes actually are.

Spraying on perfume during the 4-day migraine cycle. It should stand to reason that if perfume on other people, or even on someone who has just recently vacated an elevator, or someone who is standing in front of me on line, can trigger a migraine, then perfume sprayed on my own body will most definitely trigger a migraine. and it did.

And these are just the things that happened today that made me think I should know better.

MIGRAINES AND MEMORIES

Today I woke up with a migraine. Never a good sign because it means I wake up tired. I've been having a headache and even unconscious it kicks my ass. Thank God for Frova. Last year, about this time I finally went to see a neurologist - to rule out a brain tumor - and he hooked me up with all kinds sample packs for literally, about five different kinds of migraine medications. Apparently there's a need because migraines are as diverse as the people who have them.

Like baby bear I worked my way through the chemical buffet. Relpax worked but not for long and I could only take three in a 24 hour period. Once I'd taken that third pill I was pretty much fucked. Imitrex had me under my desk in a fetal position with dizziness and a racing heartbeat, and experience akin to a ride in the "Valley" section of Magic Mountain - the area where all the pretend streets have names like Van Nuys Blvd and all the rides make you puke. I wonder if they were being ironic. Finally I found Frova.

Frova is time released over 12 hours and I can take it in the midst of a full blown migraine and it makes it go away. This is important because I am a headachey person and I'm never sure if I'm having a sinus headache, an allergy headache, a tension headache or a migraine. I usually figure it out if I take Excedrin and get no relief, Tylenol allergy and sinus and still no relief and by that time I'm usually blind and nauseated and my super sharp deductive powers finally identify that I am having a migraine. Bring on the Frova.

I go through the same process with my insomnia. I have no problems falling asleep. None. In fact, I often pass out with television remote in my hand or with my face in a book. I don't even realize I've traveled to nod. My insomnia is the kind where I wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning and I'm wide awake. I can't go back to sleep. I lie there and will my self back to sleep with yoga breath and meditation, but my brain has engaged and it will not submit. It's like a puppy that's recharged it's batteries and now it wants to play. Only in the case of my brain - it wants to engage in catastrophic thinking. Which only makes it harder to get back to sleep, what with images of myself in old age pushing a shopping cart full of books and shoes.

After a few early mornings of pre-dawn thinking sessions that lead into days of complete exhaustion and crying jags, I take Ambien. This miracle drug ensures that I get 8 hours sleep, well 6, but for me that's a full night's sleep. And I will usually take it several nights in a row to get my circadian rhythms back on track. That whole wake/sleep thing that our brains are wired to do via our own natural biochemistry. And then I'm all good again. I can wake up at 6:30 a.m. and fiddle fart around with a smile on my face.

If were going to have children their names would be Frova and Ambien.

It's probably good I'm not going to have kids.

So it's time to take another Frova because I can feel the railroad spike heading into my brain and my left eye is starting to squint from the light coming through the closed blinds and the glare of the computer screen.

But I just have to give a shout out to Gary because today is his birthday. I miss the boy - and I often wonder what kind of a man he would've become. But maybe he lived exactly as long as he was supposed to because I can't really get my head around him as a grown up. I will always remember the 10 minute teeth brushing sessions that left the bathroom wall and mirror dripping with water, the enthusiastic love of music and all things music accompanied by tone deaf caterwauling, the exploration and deep love of wine and food - thank you for introducing my palate to phenomenal worlds of wonder, when I think of a '71 Chateau Margeaux I will always think of the last birthday party - 12 years ago today.

Happy Birthday Gary - we'll remember you always with much love.

PLOP!

I live in L.A. where it's not unusual to see someone walking around with a phone stuck to the side of their head having an animated conversation. More recently, with the advent of earpieces I see people walking around appearing to be talking to themselves, holding the little microphone piece close to their mouth so the person they're talking to gets a consistent volume level as the walking talker moves quickly down the sidewalk, or drives their car, or runs on the treadmill.

Those people disconcert me because living in L.A. I also find myself standing or walking next to the schizophrenic homeless population who also walk along and talking and waving their arms. The difference being that they don't have phones, though some of them hold their hands up close to their mouths - cupping the secret transmitter and making sure that "they" can't hear.

Not that long ago I was in a doctor's office and a guy came in and sat down. The waiting room was quite crowded and he took the seat right next to me. My personal space bubble is not that big, meaning I'm pretty okay with people being in my personal space, so I didn't really think anything of it. I just kept reading my book. When he started talking on his hands-free phone and getting agitated I felt a little bit of anxiety, but they called my name so I didn't have time to think about it too much. As I stood, I looked over and noticed that he didn't actually have a hands-free cell phone. He didn't have a phone at all. He was most likely talking to the voices in his head and when I thought about it I realized that he never checked in at the little window. He just came in and made a bee line right over to sit down next to me.

Why do the crazy people always sit next to me?

I'm not a fan of cell phone use for myself personally, but I have friends who use them as their primary source of communication. One of my best friends has taken me along via cell phone to concerts and other events that I couldn't attend because, well they were in other states. Or countries. It's pretty cool when she does that, although I was once at a Wilco show and I saw Jeff Tweedy, who normally doesn't really talk, totally flame on someone who was holding up a cell phone. I would've hated to be the person on the phone having that experience.

The other day this same friend was talking to me as she went to the bathroom. Like I said, this is one of my best friends, we have that pee with the door open level of friendship. As she was speaking, all of a sudden - midsentence - I heard her voice receding. And then I heard a splash and from a distance, as though I was at the bottom of a well, I heard her say, "oh shit!"

I'm thinking, "Why, I do believe I'm in the toilet! I have poop POV!"

The next thing I heard was the scruffffle, scruffffle of paper towels.

"Did I just fall in the toilet?"
"Yes - I didn't want you to know! I was holding the phone between my shoulder and my ear and it slipped out and went right in the toilet."
"That was weird."
"Well, I hadn't flushed yet."
"Um, eeeeuuuww, for some reason that makes it weirder."

Wow! Another novel experience provided by the wonders of innovative technology!

Plop!

NATURE OR NURTURE?

Okay, so TODAY is Veteran's Day! Read yesterday's post which is much more meaningful today. Geez. I knew something was up this morning when there were no kids screaming on the schoolyard at 7:30 a.m. - they are my snooze button. But they weren't there so I overslept until eight, but I still got in my work out and made a healthy lunch to bring to work. I am however, wearing no underwear or stockings because I ran out of time when I was getting dressed.

Oh well.

My plans for last night cancelled at the last minute, thank GOD!, and so I decided to hit Trader Joe's and the market. Two places I've been meaning to get to since last week, but I've been busy. And lazy. And everytime I thought about stopping on my way home from wherever I was, something I can do because the Ralphs by my house is open 24 hours, I always had to pee. I drink about 3 - 5 liters of water a day so I pretty much always have to pee and I have to carefully plan my intinerary. For instance I always pee before I leave work at the end of the day because at the end of the 35-45 minute drive home I'm going to have to go again. And last night was no different. By the time I got to Trader Joe's I knew I had to go, but I was just picking up a few things and I'm a very efficient shopper so I was in and out in less than 20 minutes.

Once back in the car I briefly considered stopping by home and dropping off the frozen brocoli, BBQ Teriyaki chicken and brown rice, that were not on my list, but that I just had to get after tasting this delicious combo at the sample counter, but I thought, "No, you can run in and out of Ralphs, why bother with an extra step." So I quickly dashed into Ralphs, which wasn't at all crowded considering it was after work time, and picked up everything I needed - in and out - in less than half an hour. It was now an hour and a half since I'd left work and wetting my pants was becoming a definite possibility, but I live three blocks from the market and I figured I could make it.

For some reason I slowed down at this point, all the while acutely aware that my bladder was about to burst, I sloooooowly and methodically placed the groceries in my trunk, unlocked the door, sat down and put on my seat belt before I even started the car. Then I drove those three blocks very carefully, with proper use of the turn signals and everything. No one observing me would ever have guessed that I was a woman on the verge.

When I got home, I unloaded the groceries from the trunk and got my gym bag out of the front seat and then I backed the car into the tiny garage perfectly. As I closed and locked the door I started to do the potty dance, I was practically having an out of body experience. I shut the garage door and reached the point of no return. Leaving everything on the ground I ran full speed into the house and just barely made it to the bathroom.

And once my vision cleared and my brain function returned to normal I started to giggle because I remembered back when I was a kid, my dad used to do the same thing. We would hear him coming from down the street, the engine roaring, although he always turned it off and coasted up the driveway. He would slam on the parking break, hurl his body from the car and hit the front door going full speed (we never locked our front door when we were home - lucky for him). He'd leave the door open and run into the bathroom where he'd give a huge sigh of relief at having made it.

We used to tease him mercilessly about always waiting till the last minute.

But here I am doing the same thing and when I think about it I've done it my whole life. I've always thought that it was just due to extreme laziness on my part. Going to the bathroom is a hassle until you really have to go and then it becomes a priority, but if I'm busy I don't want to stop and go. I do the same thing when it comes to putting gas in the car. I can see that it's down near empty but I just can't be bothered to stop. I always try to get those last few miles in.

I should ask my dad if he does the same thing. Maybe I'm not lazy. Maybe it's genetic?

SOMETHING POSITIVE

I am, by nature, a positive person. I have drama queen tendencies for sure, but my glass is mostly half full. It's hard to think of a positive thing to say about the doings in Iraq. As I've mentioned before I feel that this country was lied to and consequently sons and daughters, mothers and fathers are being killed on foreign soil for no good reason. Not to mention what's happening to innocent Iraqi's - who have to live through this war. Unlike those who pulled the lever for 4 more years of lies and smirks, I don't believe that Saddam Hussein ever represented a terrorist threat to this country, nor do I believe that there were any WMDs.

BUT ANYWAY!

Today is Veteran's Day and sadly, there are Americans in military service, just doing their jobs, in Iraq. I have discovered a way to do something positive by going to the USO website, where I donated $25.00 to sponser a care package. These care packages are put together by the USO who are in the know about what people are requesting, e.g. the troops in Iraq were asking for flea collars because the bug problem. They send them to members of the U.S. military all over the world.

Even if I didn't know anyone over there I would still do this because regardless of how I feel about the war I still feel a lot of compassion for those people who are over there. It sucks. And it will change their lives forever. And not in a good way. They are seeing things that no one would want their child to see. Anything I can do to make that experience even a tiny bit more humane I will happily do.

And I hope you do too.

SO WHAT DO YOU DO?

This is a question that people seem to ask each other almost immediately upon meeting. I never noticed this until I spent two years on disability after the "crate" incident. The thing that was most apparent to me is that my value as a person seemed to be irrevocably linked to what I did for employment. Because that's what people were asking about. Not what do you do for fun, or in a random moment, questions that can actually tell you much more about a person than how they earn a living. I discovered this because since I didn't have employment during that time I would answer the "what do you do" question with, "I dance in the supermarket aisles and sing along when they play Elton John," or "I read," to which the response would be a blank stare, or a rephrasing of the question in the super ennunciation that one uses to speak to the mentally slow, "No, I mean what do you do for a living."

So I started to make shit up. It was amazing how people would treat me so very differently depending on whether or not I said I was a neurologist, or a cafeteria lady. I was raised in the house of bullshit so I know how to deliver a line like it's the God's truth. Oddly no one ever questioned me when I claimed to be a doctor, but they had a really hard time with the idea of me as a cafeteria lady - something I actually did when I was 15 and worked the line at Clifton's Cafeteria in the Lakewood mall.

A while ago I was at a Press Club event at the Standard Hotel downtown. It was a booksigning for some super hip and trendy guy who'd written a super hip and trendy book, but I'm not super hip or trendy so I have no idea what the title of the book was. I was there with my friend Elizabeth who knew someone who was throwing the event. My motivation was free drinks and food, plus I'd never been to the downtown Standard. Like I said, I'm not trendy. Anyway, Elizabeth and I are standing there amid the throng of trendoid, artsy types with our first drink of the evening and I'm trying to check out the crowd without having to whip out my glasses.

I spotted two guys over near the railing, standing away from everyone else, and they clearly didn't belong. They were crashers who'd somehow made it past the clipboard lady with the headset and the "list". It was still fairly early because I'm a front loader - get to the bar and buffet table before the crowd gets out of hand, and leave when there's no longer any room to move. I looked these two guys over and their Brooks Brother's apparel led me to the assumption that they worked in the financial industry and since we were right near the financial district of downtown L.A., they had infiltrated this uber-hip party but stood out like a couple of frat boys at a poetry reading.

Sans glasses I was staring, well okay squinting, intently at them and the little one must have thought I was wanting him to come hither, because he did. He introduced himself as Matt and his friend was Mike. I asked if they were crashing and they admitted they were. I admitted to being on the list, but feeling like I was crashing all the same because these were not my people. We started chatting, the way you do and Mike took off to go get a drink. As he walked away Matt disclosed that Mike's wife had left him 8 months ago and he was badly heart broken and needed to get laid. I immediately started to not like Matt. He was oily and a good friend doesn't disclose personal business. As far as I was concerned Matt was now fair game for mind fucking.

I suggested we go sit in the nearby super cool patio chairs in dayglo orange and bright white and wait for Mike to return. Elizabeth looked at me like I was crazy. She didn't want to spend anymore time talking to this guy, but she did want to sit down, so she came along. I was sitting across from Matt as he stared down my shirt and asked with a smirk, "I know this is forward, but are your breasts real?" "No," I replied, "I bought them and they're spectacular." Matt's mouth hung open and his eyes glazed over, Elizabeth smothered a laugh. Then Matt asked the question, "So what do you do?" I turned the question back to him without answering and he replied that he and Mike were male exotic dancers at the Spearmint Rhino. And I'm thinking to myself that Mr. Hairplugs, because yes, they were obvious, probably ate lunch at the Spearmint Rhino everyday - and dude, it was so totally on from that point forward. Elizabeth replied that she's a writer and then he turned to me, I looked him straight in the face and said with complete sincerity and just the right amount of enthusiasm, "I'm a sexual surrogate."

Elizabeth was mid-gulp when I said it and she snorted and choked - her drink almost came out her nose. I patted her on the back and smiled at Matt who was doing those cartoon eyes that Yosemite Sam does when he finds gold.
"Whaddaya mean? Like you have sex with people? Did you go to school for that?"
"Yeah, I've got a degree in psychology with a speciality in human sexuality."
"So you go to people's houses and have sex with them?"
"Well I can make housecalls, but generally people with sexual dysfunction come to my office and we do our sessions there."
"Whaddaya mean sexual dysfunction?"
"Well, you know, premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, women who are anorgasmic."
"You have sex with women?"
Matt's voice went up about four octaves when he asked me that question.
"Of course. About 40% of all women are unable to reach orgasm, even through masturbation. I show them how."

Matt was about to come in his pants at this point he was so excited. Elizabeth had recovered enough to go along with it but everytime she spoke her voice trembled - she was like Jimmy Fallon on Saturday night live. And right then Mike came back and sat down and said, "So what are you guys talking about? Matt turned to him and practically shrieked, "She's a sexual surrogate and she has sex with women." Mike looked taken aback and said, "really?" and he was such a nice guy, you know those guys that you meet and you just know they're cool, even if their friends are smarmy, and I couldn't lie to him.

So I copped to making it up and Matt deflated, but he was unwilling to let it go.
"So how do you know so much about what a sexual surrogate does?"
"Because I was reading an article about it today."
"Oh man, I really wish you were telling me the truth."
"Yeah, I bet. That would be masturbatory fodder for at least a week."

At this point I turned my attention to Mike and asked him if he wanted to walk me to the bar. As we walked I apologized for being a bitch and he said, "That's okay, Matt can be an ass, I'm sure he probably deserved it. I don't know how his wife puts up with him sometimes." Matt suddenly plummeted from a harmless lech to a repulsive waste of space. We talked a bit more about how Mike was having a hard time getting "back out there" post divorce, and that's why they'd crashed this event. He was still in love with his wife and really didn't understand why all of a sudden after 8 years of marriage she decides she doesn't want kids. Matt came up at this point and said wanted to "show me something". I was like, you're not going to take me into a stairwell and pull your pants down are you? He smirked again, God, have you ever just wanted to slap someone across the face, and led me over the waterbed pods that are scattered about the patio of the rooftop bar. As he climbed in, showing grandpa sock, (you know how when old men sit down their pants ride up and you can see the skin between their pant cuff and their black socks?) I looked at his tiny little feet encased in their tassle bedecked loafers, and felt incredibly grateful that I was old enough to see him for what he was, an early mid life crisis in full bloom. I tried to feel compassion for him as he bobbed around in the pod looking like a total idiot, exhorting me to "just climb in, c'mon", and I flashed forward twenty years to Matt in his fifties still slipping off his wedding ring and groping strippers at the Spearmint Rhino and attempting to pick up random women where ever he went. All I could come up with was contempt.

It turned out I was right, both Mike and Matt work in the financial industry. And Matt does eat lunch at the Spearmint Rhino everyday.

And his wife has no idea.

WINE & TRACTOR RIDES

This weekend was absolutely wonderful although I was so exhausted this morning I was unable to get up and go work out. I totally overindulged and had a tummy ache - but it was worth it. Totally.

Friday Roseanne picked me up and we headed off to the airport. I had gotten everything into my fashionable green bag and was feeling very proud of myself. The fact that the bag is fashionable was confirmed on the flight home last night when the man sitting next to me commented on how great my bag is as I shoved it into the teeny tiny spot between two massive black bags that selfish inconsiderate people carried on - luggage that should have totally been checked and that's just one more thing I hate about flying coach.

Anyway - we arrived about 6pm into Oakland and had to board a BUS that drove us practically to another town, to the rental car center. I had rented a car in Oakland before and I could've sworn that I had just walked across the street to get it so I was feeling a tad freaked out and disoriented. Turns out that this was just the temporary center - so I wasn't making it up! We got a zippy little Toyota Corolla, turned down the Buick SUV because gas is just as expensive up there as it is in L.A. and we were going to be doing some traveling. The Toyota had a CD player so we rocked the PM Dawn as we headed up to St. Helena to stay with the Greens.

I haven't seen Dave and Renee and their kids since Jack was a baby and now he's a 2 year old who has very strong opinions and can melt your heart when he says, "I wuv du," or "wead me a stowy," in his deep, raspy voice. Hannah is almost a teenager, very mature and super fashionable. Dave had run out and picked up dinner from a place around the corner and damn! that was good food. We drank a wonderful wine called Roth which is a new label that he's launched at Lancaster Estate, where he is general manager. It was so great to see them and hang out. They've been living up there for about 4 years and I forgot how much fun it is to spend time with them in their home.

The next day we walked over the new house that they are building. A house that Renee has designed from top to bottom. Even with just the framing up I could feel that this was going to be a wonderful space for them to entertain and raise their family. St. Helena is a small town at the north end of the Napa Valley, about 9 miles south of Calistoga which is the top. Hannah had a soccer game in Calistoga so Roseanne and I went and hit a couple wineries and then met the Green's for lunch at Wappo Taco. If you go to Calistoga and eat there I recommend the delicious Carnitas tacos with the lemon garlic sauce and grilled onions. Yum!

I love Hwy. 29 between St. Helena and Calistoga because the trees bower overhead and the road is lined with vineyards. They had an early crush this year so the rows of vines were devoid of fruit, are starting to turn light green and golden. When we went tasting we looped around through Calistoga to the Silverado Trail which is one of my favorite roads anywhere. There were miles and miles of vineyards and fall foliage was in full color. Unfortunately I didn't eat a substantial enough breakfast, and got more buzzed than I wanted to be at Cuvaison so that was pretty much that for me.

After lunch we headed down the valley to the Sullivan Estate. Shaun Sullivan and Dave knew each other when they were kids growing up in Hancock Park. Shaun's father Jim was a graphic designer back then (he designed the logo for American Bandstand) with a love of wine and a passion for winemaking. In 1972 he moved his family up to 30 acres in Rutherford and started making wine. Dave called Shaun and made an appointment for Roseanne and I to meet him at 3pm. We pulled down the gravel road between the rows and rows of vines and drove toward the large house at the edge of a pond. Actually more like a small lake. Shaun wasn't there when we first arrived so we started tasting and their wines are excellent. The walls of the tasting room feature art created by Shaun's sister Kelleen. She is, quite simply, an amazing artist. I fell in love with a piece that hangs over the tasting table of wine bottles with special labels calledQueen of Hearts. She works with paint and collage which gives her work a depth and texture. I would love to live with something she made in my home.

Shaun showed up and I immediately asked him if he had a tractor. I was pretty sure he did and I really wanted a ride. I LOVE farm equipment and riding a tractor through rows of grape vines is my idea of bliss. He laughed - apparently when you ride a tractor all the time it's just not that exciting, in fact he said that the hum of the motor makes him sleepy - but he agreed to take me for a ride. Yay! First we went around the house to the pond where we were met by Zaza their beautiful golden retriever. She was carrying a lemon that she very much wanted someone to throw for her. We meandered over to a block of Merlot grapes and Shaun explained the difference between the Merlot and Cabernet grapes - you can tell by their leaves and if I had any botany vocabulary at all I would explain, but I don't so just take my word for it - they're different. Nex we walked over to the Cabernet vines and there were still some small, dark purple grapes which we plucked and ate and he explained that when the seeds in the grape are brown then they are ready for picking. Not knowing there were seeds I had pretty much decimated the grape and had nothing to look at, but I figured he'd know.

The tractor ride was wonderful - the sun was low in the sky and the light over the rows was golden. A flock of geese flew overhead. Apparently they can destroy a harvest, but it was very picturesque. I stood on the tractor step and hung on as he drove me down the rows and I imagined what it would be like to wake up early in the morning and watch the sun come up and the mist dissipate over the vineyard. Roseanne didn't want to take the ride but I made her because how often are you gonna get the chance to do something like that?

Next Shaun took us into a huge barn where the wine was fermenting in huge silver vats. We got to smell "lees" , it smelled like heaven, a combination of current and berry. Apparently it is made up of the skin and seeds that are left in the bottom curve of a wooden cask when the wine has been bottled. It has the consistency of yogurt and tastes very sweet. We got to taste wine from the vats in various stages of fermentation. It was just such a special experience and Shaun is a wonderful, knowledgeable and funny guy. I could go on and on about everything I saw and learned, but you kinda had to be there.

It was after 5pm by the time we left the Sullivan Estate and we had to go all the way down valley to Napa and then a bit west to Carneros. The wedding, the reason I was up there at all, was to be held at the Carneros Inn and it was dark by the time we arrived. The property is set up in regimented blocks of cottages and when we were driving through trying to find reception Roseanne commented that it looked like military housing with all the corrugated tin fences. And it did because it's so new that none of the landscaping has really grown in yet. When it does it will look like a community of cottages similar to what housed the migrant workers that historically work the vineyards.

Except when you get inside those cottages they are vastly different from how the migrant workers lived. There are plasma screen televisions in every room. The bathrooms have heated stone floors. The beds are dreamy and the linens are cushy - lots and lots of huge feather pillows. There is a fireplace in every cottage and a private patio, where you can use the outdoor shower should you choose. And if it's not 40 degrees outside. It's cold in the valley this time of year. I forgot about that.

We were late for the champagne reception but got in with enough time to say a quick hello before the families took off for their rehearsal dinner at Angele. We headed back to our room and sprawled on our beds and I so could've gone to sleep right then. It had already been a very long day and it was only 6:30. Eventually we rallied and headed into downtown Napa for dinner at Zuzu, a tapas restaurant that was very crowded. Which seemed strange because that is one sleepy town. We didn't want to wait so we walked around the corner to a place called Tuscany and grabbed seats at the bar that ran along the open kitchen. The restaurant was cozy for such a large room. The food was delicious and our waiter was a hoot. I love him lots because he packed my dessert to go - a bowl made of chocolate and filled with white chocolate hazelnut mousse. I was too full to eat it, but just had to have it.

When we got back to the hotel about 10pm, Shaun called and wanted to know if we were up for going out as the birthday party he was attending was over. I was in my p.j.s but willing to entertain if he wanted to come all the way down. It's funny, to drive a half hour to go somewhere in L.A. is expected and normal, but it felt like he was having to make quite a haul coming down from St. Helena. But he did. And he brought a bottle of 1999 reserve Cabernet that is probably some of the best wine I've ever had. Roseanne and Shaun and I hung out and watched Harold and Maude on the flat screen as the fire burned and shot the shit till 1a.m.

I completely passed out and didn't move until about 8a.m. the next morning when I put on my coat over my pajamas and went over to the Boonfly Cafe to get breakfast and coffee and bring it back. Most likely I was hungover, but I was moving really slow. And once back in the room proceeded to pour coffee down the front of me - like all over - as I lay in bed and watched football. It would've been great to just lay there all day, but there was a wedding to attend so I jumped in the shower, a large room with enough room for about six people and shower heads coming out of everywhere. It was kind of like bathing in a carwash - fun!

Our friend, my old roommate Richard showed up, having driven in from San Francisco and got ready with us and then the three of us walked over to the orchard and watched the guests arrive. There were two rabbis and one of them had on the wide brimmed hat that the Hasidic guys in my neighborhood wear when they're walking around. They were both sporting extreme beards. The rabbi who performed the ceremony had a beautiful voice as he sang the prayers. As I looked at the bride I nudged Richard and said, "Is she pregnant?" Because this is a woman who has a tiny little dancer's body and she had lost her waistline sometime in the last couple of months. The ceremony ended with the crushing of the glass and cries of Mazel Tov (and that song started up in my head again - damnit!)

As we sat around the beautiful pool on the patio of the Inn's bar/restaurant the bride came over and told us she was indeed pregnant - and this is a good thing because they've been trying. They're having a healthy boy! The food was delicious... and probably too rich because I ended up with the aforementioned tummy ache and found a bottle of Tums in my bed this morning. I think I was eating Tums in my sleep! We drank even more wine. Oy. And left about 5pm to head back to Oakland so we could fly home.

The far away car rental center was surprisingly easy to find and we jumped on a bus that dropped us off at the airport where we got our boarding passes, cleared security and were able to get on an earlier flight. This was a very good thing because when they gave us our new boarding passes for the new flight they told us that our 8pm flight was delayed till 10:30! I was in my wedding clothes and if I'd gotten stuck on the delayed flight I would've pulled my coffee stained pajamas out of my fashionable bag, put them on, gotten in the fetal position and cried.

As it was I was home by 9:30 with a sick tummy, but it was from having a really great time so it was worth it. I am going back soon! And next time I hope Shaun let's me drive the tractor!

BOTTLE OF WINE - FRUIT OF THE VINE

I'm taking off tomorrow for a "destination wedding" up in Napa. I'd never heard that term before this past weekend when a girl in Victoria's Secret wings said that she and her fiance had wanted to have a destination wedding, but that he had such huge control issues they had to pick someplace that was close by.

At least she knows what she's getting into.

I am thrilled to be going to the wine country as it is one of my favorite places. I've been going there for years. Gary and I used to go all the time through the 80s when he started collecting wine. I will never forget when we stopped at Heitz Cellars and he asked for a tour. The winery isn't open to the public for tours, but Gary was the kind of guy that always got what he wanted. Probably because he asked for it. So, they made a phone call and said that someone would come and take us around if we could wait about 10 minutes. Sure, no problem. We tasted and bought some wine and then Joe Heitz himself came out and barked at us to come on back. He was probably in his mid-60s and he reminded me of a math teacher I once had who scared the shit out of me because he always sounded mad. Would that be crotchety or cantankerous? Gary was impervious to people like this - bless him, because he kept asking all kinds of interesting questions as I scurried along trying to avoid doing anything that would turn Joe's attention to me. He really was quite nice and a very good teacher. I still remember much of what he said about the wine business and how it had evolved.

Besides the wineries there are fabulous restaurants like the world famous French Laundry. Someday I will go eat there. And there are wonderful places to stay. There are also bed and breakfasts, but, you know, I'm not quite sure why people think that staying in an old house with super thin walls and strangers that you have to eat breakfast with, even when you're not feeling like a morning person, is fun. One of the few times I did the B&B things was up in St. Helena with Gary, when we stayed at the Ambrose Bearce house. I thought it would be very romantic, but it was a restored Victorian with loud plumbing. As someone who is not opposed to a little exhibitionist sex once in a while I have to say I just couldn't get in the mood. Maybe I'm a considerate exhibitionist but I was so aware that every little noise was traveling through the vents and I didn't want to have to sit at breakfast with people who were pissed off from lack of sleep. So we had silent, inhibited sex which, if you think about it, kind of goes with the Victorian theme.

B&B experience - over rated.

I usually stay up in Calistoga or St. Helena because my favorite wineries are up there - Clos Pegase, Chateau Montelena, Cuvaison, to name but a few. I love to stay at Indian Springs, a spa type place with little cottages that have back porches and bbqs and hammocks. They sit at the edge of a glider field. How cool is that? I go up to the Paradise Market and stock up on cheese and salami, apples and spicy nuts - a few bottles of wine, and I spend the majority of my time snacking and floating in the biggest pool I've ever seen which is fed with piping hot natural spring water. It's one of the oldest hot springs in the area, reportedly originally used by Indians back in the early 19th century. There's also shuffleboard and croquet if you'd like to partake. I thought about it once, but ended up taking a little nap on the shuffleboard court. I would deny it - but there are pictures. I was just super duper relaxed, you know? Okay I was majorly buzzed - but hey it was midnight and it was my birthday.

This weekend I will be going to visit friends who live in St. Helena and then wine tasting my way down the valley to Napa proper as the wedding will be at The Carneros Inn. It looks like a cool place to stay and I've never really explored the town of Napa. I am so looking forward to getting out of town. And celebrating at Kate's destination wedding. I'll probably feel a little sad because Gary and I spent so much time there and I can't help but think about him and the missing of him will sharpen some.

But I will discover and drink lots and lots of wonderful wine.

And make a toast to his memory.

MOURNING HAS BROKEN

I have more than one friend that is absolutely devastated and shocked by the outcome of yesterday's election. I would imagine that there are large groups of voters who are wondering what happened? I had pretty much resigned myself to four more years with this administration after I saw a presentation of this documentary. My friend Robert has been working on it for months and he has been educating me on the realities of touch screen voting since even before that.

Quite simply I believe that this election was a done deal before anyone ever went to vote. Karl Rove has been stealing elections since he was in college. He's really good at what he does. All those revved up citizens for change never had a chance. No matter how many people showed up to vote the reality is that there was electronic voting with no paper trail in all of the swing states. The software is not secure and, as shown in the election in Georgia just a few months ago, the numbers can be changed to reflect whatever outcome is desired by people who are nefarious enough to subvert the democratic process.

So yesterday I picked up my Rx for Valium and spent the evening drinking wine and riding a mellow buzz. I watched a little election coverage, but news journalism ain't what it used to be so I turned to "Manhunt" on Bravo. An insipid show about the search for the most gorgeous male model in America, the alter ego of America's Next Top Model. An insipid show yes, but it's cute 20-something boys who spend a lot of time showing off their pecs as they're drenched in water or oiled up.

And I prefer to know that my reality is being edited for my entertainmnet and highest dramatic impact.

The craptastic election coverage was still pretending it's got credibility when actually it's just a really mediocre reality show edited to spin whatever opinion the White House wants the viewer to have.

However, I was so incredibly relaxed last night that the last thing I remember is the commercial break as the announcer said, "stay tuned for the surprise elimination!" I totally missed the elimination of Paolo who was hot, but annoyingly into his hair and his body. The kind of singlemindedness that can cool the heat. I tried to imagine what it would be like to date a man who was so into the way he looked. Um, yuck. Even so it was way better than falling asleep listening to Tucker Carlson, James Carville and whoever that weird looking man was with the white hair, black eyebrows and vulture-like posture, all sniping at each other.

And I guess the surprise elimination announcement accurately described how many people felt when they woke up this morning. But they were relating it to Kerry, not Paolo.

AND ON A DIFFERENT SUBJECT:

As I was driving around running my errands last night - the pharmacy and dinner to go - I was so aware of the people who were out and about in my neighborhood. They were all Korean (pharmacy) and Hasidic Jews (dinner to go). I am fascinated by both cultures but lately I've been really fixating on the Hasidic community.

This may be because I take a short cut on my way home through a neighborhood that is chock full of shulls and boasts a very high population of Hasidic jews and now that it's dark at night I am hyper vigilant not to accidently run them over as they walk across the street in their very dark clothing. I feel protective of them as they walk in groups of men and boys, and women and girls. The littlest boys walk with their moms, but the sexes don't mix, even when they're walking down the street. I love the boys, not yet men, in their too large suits and seemingly oversized hats balanced over beards still sparse. I can't help but stare at the husky men in their fur hats and their stolls hanging to their knees, their full beards, some shot through with grey resting on their barrel chests. I imagine their resonant voices raised in prayer.

It's as if they came from another time. Or from the cast of Fiddler on the Roof.

Which was on the other night. The night I couldn't sleep last week. I got caught up in watching Fiddler and it brought back memories of seeing it over and over again with my friend Debbie when I was in fifth grade. Her family was Jewish. Her father was a German Jew who had survived the concentration camps. Everything I know about Judaism I learned from spending time with Debbie and her family. I loved going to Friday night supper - the ritual of her mother with the lace scarf over head singing the prayer over the candles. I loved going to temple after dinner. I loved Mickey Greenberg.

So anyway, I'm watching Fiddler on the Roof and there's the scene, my favorite scene actually, where Tevye has to tell Golde that even though their daughter is promised to the butcher, Lazer Wolfe, a gross old man, in a marriage arranged through the matchmaker, he's promised her that she can marry her true love, the tailor, Motel Camzoil. He looks over at his sleeping wife and then screams as though awakending from a horrible nightmare. Golde wakes up and asks him what's wrong and he tells her that Fruma Sarah, the butcher's wife came to him and told him that any woman who marries her widowed husband will die! There's a song in this dream sequence sung by Golde's dead Grandmother and all the other deceased family members as they dance around the cemetery and it goes:

A blessing on your head,
(mazel tov, mazel tov)
To see you daughter wed,
(mazel tov, mazel tov)
And such a son-in-law
Like no one ever saw,
The tailor Motel Camzoil

It's a really catchy tune. And last night I watched a group of Hasidim cross the street as I waited at a stop sign and I started singing it. Out loud. The windows were closed THANK GOD!

And I've been singing it, silently, in my head all day.

Which, I suppose is better than being devastated by the outcome of this "election". Of course it could just be that I am a weirdo and this is my supressed stress related reaction.

FINALLY I GET TO VOTE

When I was a kid my dad used to take me with him when he went to vote. Back in those days voting booths were much more booth-like. They were like small rooms with walls built on three sides from the floor to over the voters head. Back then they had curtains! To ensure privacy! When I was a kid, standing inside the booth clutching my dad's leg and standing on my tip toes to see exactly how this voting thing was done, I could not wait to be able to go into a booth and pull the curtain and vote.

By the time I was old enough to vote there were no more curtains to pull and the walls of the booth began at mid calf and extended to over my head. I was so excited to vote. I had done all kinds of research on the candidates and the ballot measures. I was in college at the time and there was lots of talk of the election in my classes. I felt so incredibly adult. So powerful.

And then Reagan won.

In subsequent elections it became clear to me that just because you vote it doesn't mean that your candidate will win. In fact most of the people that I have voted for have lost. And I have come to understand that the person that gets elected is very often the one who reflects the consciousness of this country.

The other night Bill Maher called George Bush a retarded cowboy.

I'm just sayin.

At any rate, this morning I went and voted and I'm happy to say that I still get excited. But the booths are pretty much just tables with little two foot dividers.

I miss the cool booths with the curtains.

BOO! SCARY!

It’s Halloween weekend and that means today is the day that kids, and many adults, get dressed up in costume for school and for Halloween parties. This morning when I took the trash out I paused to look through the chain link fence at the playground next door. The kids were more squealy than usual because it’s really fun to be out in public wearing a costume! I saw butterflies and ballerinas, firemen and baseball players, and some kid that was wearing a square, bulky cardboard contraption that will inevitably make this a really long day for him before it falls apart completely.

Adults like to dress up for Halloween too. I have a friend, R. who would dress up as woman every year. He’s an architect who is married and straight, but he sure makes a purty girl. His best female rendition ever was when he came as a stewardess complete with jaunty cap and rolley bag. No matter what kind of girl he dresses as he's really into the garter belt action. I've got lots of pictures of R. flashing his various garter belts. He BUYS these things! Consequently anytime I see a guy dressed up as a girl I think that he’s probably a closeted transvestite enjoying his one night of “free” girl time.

Halloween has always been the corner I turn into fall. It's true, the actual first day of autumn was back on September 21, but living in California, summer doesn’t seem to really be over until Halloween rolls up on us. Historically Halloween is based on a pagan celebration of the end of the summer and the beginning of the dark nights. They also believed that loved ones who had died would come back for the bonfire and a last meal with them on this night and advise them. A sort of last day of summer/farewell bonfire that was called Samhein.

Is it an accident that we turn our clocks back around Halloween, plunging ourselves into darkness at 4:30 in the afternoon? Or are we just acting on a dim pagan memory?

The Catholic church celebrates All Souls day November 2nd, unless that falls on a Sunday and then it’s the 3rd, and I do believe this is where the “ghost” stories come in – the belief being that everyone who died the year before, who still have a little sin on them are barred from the “beatific vision”, which I think means heaven, and they’re stuck in purgatory, which even I know is a horrible and scary place (not so very different than this week before the election) and they need a little help from the folks back in the land of the living via prayers. The night before All Souls Day is All Hallows Eve. Get it? All Hallows Eve! Halloween! Say it with me, "Ohhhhhhhh!"

I love how Mexican culture has kept a little pagan flavor in their celebration of All Souls Day, or Day of the Dead. They honor their dead loved ones by heading out to the cemetery with flowers and a feast and have a party to remember and reflect on those who are no longer with them. They also build altars or shrines in their homes to commemorate that person. People in Mexico have been doing this since 1800 B.C. I love to go out to East L.A., to Self Help Graphics where they have the coolest Dias de los Muertos festival. The altars are amazing works of art and the food is off the hook.

Because I am not Catholic or Mexican I grew up thinking of Halloween as the grand night of candy! And dress up!! When I was a kid I liked the candy yes, but more than that I loved the opportunity to dress up. An opportunity to creatively express my inner fantasies in costume. I loved being a ballerina, a queen (never a princess), a cowgirl, a flamenco dancer – pretty much anything that called for fabulous dresses and lots of make up. These were the years when mom was a total buzz kill and made me wear a sweater over my tutu so I didn’t catch a cold. When I got a little older it was all about high heels and sexy outfits and lots of make up. Tomorrow night I’m going to a Halloween party and I haven’t got a costume. I went here for some ideas, and Jenna’s liver is looking like it would be easy and still allow me to be warm and comfortable, my current priorities when it comes to costume consideration.

Oh my God! I'm pretty sure that means I’m old!! That’s scary.

VIRAL DISRUPTION

I spent most of today running various scans on my computer. Trendmicro found six viruses, none of which could be "cleaned", so I deleted them and hope that they are gone for good. Panda software found two viruses and disinfected one. The other one is not disinfected but I have no idea what that means. I've done three Ad-aware scans today and removed 90 "items" - and after all that my computer is working a little more efficiently. The Norton antivirus that runs periodic scans hasn't indicated that there were any problems - I'm not impressed with Norton anti-virus. It costs a lot of money and it seems like all kinds of things slide past it.

I also didn't sleep last night. I don't know why, but it was one of those nights where you lay there aware of the fact that you aren't asleep, but you're not awake enough to get up and read. I probably should've taken an Ambien, but by the time I realized that sleep wasn't going to come it was about 3 a.m. and I didn't have eight hours to sleep. I had to get up in about 4 more hours. Note to self: renew Rx for Valium.

Anyway, I just basically wanted to give a shout out to the Boston Red Sox who made their fans so very happy last night. I didn't watch the game. I am just not a baseball fan. And I also got involved in a conversation and didn't realize they were even playing until the game was already over. I watched a couple of the playoff games and game one. I realized that waiting for a hit, waiting for the outs, it just gives me anxiety and angst. And I also get grossed out when they show the guys sitting in the dugout spitting and I start imagining what it's like in that dank hole with all the tobacco scented saliva. Yuck.

But still way to go Red Sox! Congratulations on sweeping the world series. After 86 years the curse is broken!

THE WHEELS ON THE BUS

Last weekend I decided to explore the L.A. transit system. There’s a bus stop right around the corner from where I live and I wanted to go downtown to check out the Dios de la Muerte doings at Olvera street. I have lived in Los Angeles for almost 14 years, but I have never taken the bus or the Metrolink train anywhere. Ever.

This is mostly because when using the transit system in others cities I have ended up hopelessly lost. I have ended up in scary neighborhoods where people looked at me funny like, “What you doin’ here bitch?” Like the first time I ever attempted to use the subways in New York City and ended up in Harlem. This was about ten years ago, before the recent gentrification of the neighborhood and when I climbed to ground level I found myself in a neighborhood full of burned out buildings covered with grafitti. Then there was the time, more recently, when I decided to take the bus to get around San Francisco because all those hills intimidate me when I'm driving a stick shift. Plus, I didn't want to lose my parking place. Everyone said it was really easy to use the bus system, but I still ended up in the Tenderloin, a neighborhood where I once watched a pimp chase a ho through traffic with a machete.

So while I had often thought about what it would be like to take the bus around Los Angeles, I also worried that I would end up in crack alley near the lofts inhabited by the artsy and bohemian. An area that I am scared to drive through in my car with the windows rolled up, much less walk through without a clue about how I got there. Plus, I’m so used to the convenience of my car there was never a good time to give the bus a try. That’s why last weekend I set aside Saturday, found a friend who was willing to go with me, and did some research to reduce the chances of getting lost.

There’s a great website provided by the Metro Transit Authority where you can type in your starting point and then where you want to end up and even the time you want to leave, or arrive by, and it will tell you exactly where to go, the number of the bus or train and how much it will cost. It’s a very cool tool. I plugged in all the pertinent info and printed out instructions because I am way more interested in not being lost than I am in looking cool. I don't mind walking around with directions damp with nervous sweat. It's way better than running around hyperventilating because I'm lost! And besides, the fact that I consider taking public transportation an interesting and entertaining way to spend my day pretty much puts me at the head of the class in the school of uncool.

Alex and I walked to the store to get a disposable camera with which to document our journey on the LA Metro, because, you know, it might be like the only time I ever ride the big red bus. We also got lots of singles and quarters for the $1.25 fare. That seems really high to me, but then the last time I was taking the bus, was in 1975 when I rode it down to Seal Beach for 50 cents. Or at least I did until we discovered that we could meet cute boys by sticking our thumbs out when we saw a car with surf racks approaching. But anyway, armed with my instructions and lots of bus fare we went to the corner of Wilshire and Dunsmuir, just around the corner from where I live. And sat next to Bill, the homeless schizophrenic who is my neighbor, as he read and talked to whoever it is that talks to him in his head. If you didn't know Bill he would be scary to sit next to because he occasionally shrieks and moans and it's really loud.

The bus arrived right on time and it was almost empty when we boarded it. As we hurtled east on Wilshire Boulevard I realized something, and that is that buses really do drive fucking fast. It’s not just an optical illusion that I experience while driving my car due to the disproportionate size of the bus vs. my car. The bus we were on was going so fast that I couldn’t even see the names of the streets as we blew past. This was a bad thing because the red bus only stops when you pull the cord and the “stop requested” sign lights up. We wanted to get off at Western so that we could board the Metro Red Line train that would take us to Union Station. We were flying down the street at about 50 m.p.h. and I was so busy trying not to be thrown from my seat that I almost missed Western. Actually I did miss it. Alex yelled out, “Western!,” and we pulled the cord causing the bus to come to a quick stop which almost left me sprawled on the floor.

We got off the bus and found ourselves at Oxford. I figured Western might be up a ways. When I’m driving my car I use the Wiltern theater as a landmark for Western. And I didn’t see it. So we walked for a mile or so, during which time I felt more and more bewildered because the Wiltern is hard to miss, so where did it go? Alex finally asked someone which way Western was and we were told that it was seven blocks west – basically back in the direction we’d just walked from. So basically I had gotten off the bus and walked the wrong way! Luckily for us we figured out that we had already passed THREE metro stations so if we could find one we could get on the train. By now my feet hurt and I was hungry and thirsty. When I do things like this I find it amazing that I've lived this long without getting into serious trouble.

The train station is underground and it’s weird because it is almost entirely devoid of people. Like it’s a secret or something. You buy your ticket from a vending type machine and you must have a ticket to go into the train area. At least that’s what the sign says, but there’s no security or train cops, or anyone who looks like they’re enforcing that rule. And in fact, once we got on the train we started chatting with a Red Sox fan who said that a lot of people don’t even buy tickets. I wouldn’t want to screw with my karma like that – I mean you’re underground. In a hole. In earthquake country. And besides that random bit of reasoning there's a sign that says you'll get a $250 fine for riding the train without a ticket.

This guy said that he used to live on the west side and he had a car, but that as a transplant from the east coast he couldn’t take all the driving. Plus he found the westside boring. So now he lives at Wilshire and Normandie and takes the bus and the train everywhere. It can be a hassle but he feels that the quality of life is much better. He told us that you can take the bus all the way down Wilshire to Santa Monica. Where the parking sucks if you’re driving a car. I was dying to ask him if he’d lost his job or something because I’m all about quality of life, but I’ve been to Wilshire and Normandie and those aren’t the words that come to mind when I drive through that area. But then I also grew up in the the suburbs and when I first moved to L.A. I was afraid to leave my apartment in Beverly Hills, so I suppose it’s all relative. I just can’t imagine voluntarily giving up my car. My car is like an extension of my home. It’s like my purse on wheels.

Like I said it’s all relative.

The train ride is fun, kind of like something you’d find at Disneyland. It travels along very quietly at quite a clip, and unlike the bus there is no jerking or swaying. It glides to a stop at empty terminals that have sci fi lighting and signs flashing the location. It's really a shame that no one is using this groovy way to get around town, especially when you consider what it cost to build it. But on the up side the lack of people has rendered the train stations the cleanest public spaces I've ever been in. It's like Singapore down there. When we arrived at Union Station there were a bunch of people waiting to get on and this time when I got off I was determined to figure out where I was exactly as opposed to wandering off through the tunnels.

One of the nice things about public transportation is that you actually get to interact with the public. And for the most part the public is really nice. We asked for directions to the street and a charming man escorted us up to the main waiting room at Union Station and once I was there I knew where I able to orient myself by spotting Trax restaurant. Having arrived it was time to take a picture to commemorate the event – at this point it was feeling pretty eventful, you know, like FINALLY. I asked an older gentleman who was sitting there waiting with his suitcase and a bouquet of flowers that looked like they had been cut from his yard, as they were wrapped in wet newspaper, if he would do the honors. He jumped up and said, “Well I directed your favorite movie when you were a child I suppose I could take a pretty good picture of you now.” Wha?

Mel Stuart took not one, but three great pictures of us in Union Station, AND he directed Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory back in the early 70s, so he was right on both counts.

By this time both Alex and I were dehydrated, and I was starting to get hungry/cranky, so we found a restaurant and slammed about four glasses of water, then we ordered margaritas, chips and salsa and enjoyed a leisurely lunch. It was a lot like being on vacation because we were at a tourist attraction and we had no car!! It’s a little sad that getting around without a car is such a big deal to me when I think about it, because there’s a sense of freedom to not having to think about your car. But I say that as person who has a choice and maybe that’s where that feeling comes from.

The trip back was fairly uneventful. We met another homeless guy who wanted to sell me the ticket that he'd bought so he could sleep in the station. Like I said you gotta have a ticket to go past a certain point. I figured I'd give him the money since he wasn't going to use his ticket for train riding. He said we had made his day. Us and Jesus. Um, okay. I got disoriented on the train because it felt like we were still traveling east even though we ended up at Wilshire and Western. The bus ride from there pretty much sucked because the bus was full when it arrived and there were a whole bunch of us waiting to get on. I don’t have public transportation “skills” so everyone just kept pushing past me like I was holding the door open or something. I finally got assertive and hauled my ass up the stairs with Alex following in my wake and there was no place for us to go. We stood in the aisle clinging to those metal poles as the bus once again went flying down Wilshire. I stood there trying not to think about all the germs I was being exposed to, all the people who didn’t wash their hands after they went to the bathroom who gripped the same exactly pole that I was precariously hanging onto. I tried to banish the vision of the bus crashing and rolling with all those people on it.

Luckily for me a very small Korean woman barreled into my midriff, her head connecting with my diaphragm, and that pretty much distracted me from catastrophic thinking. I braced myself so I wouldn’t fall onto the tiny Latina woman that was standing over her sleeping child. And that crazy old lady hit me again butting me like a billy goat. She jammed her way past me and knocked Alex off her feet. The driver hit the brakes and she shoved her way through the guys standing on the stairs – in that area that you’re not supposed to stand in for safety reasons – and got off the bus.

We were almost home, but I wanted to get off that hell ride so we disembarked at La Brea and walked the three extra blocks. That was a little more of the public than I wanted to commune with and I was a little too cranky for intercultural experiences like getting gut punched by a small, but very strong, Asian lady. I walked in the door and collapsed on the couch. There was some discussion about going out, but I was overcome by exhaustion.

My first thought was that I’d caught a cold from all that exposure to the public. Which is completely ridiculous.

I don't have this kind of reaction when I travel to other cities or countries so it was weird to be wiped out by a day in a L.A. When I think about it I realize that I have a perception that I have some kind of control over my life and my experience and when I go outside my known realm of experience by doing things like taking public transportation, thereby immersing myself in a lot of unknown public, I end up spending the day much like the gazelles on the Serengetti Plain. Those animals that graze around, but they’re never completely relaxed because they're always on Cheetah alert. I was never consciously worried about anything bad happening, and in fact, when I think about it what I liked best about using public transportation was that I got to talk to all kinds of great people. People that I wouldn’t ever normally get to chat with. But subconsciously my primal brain went into fight or flight ready alert mode and I was one exhausted gazelle at the end of the day.

I can’t wait to do it again.

CIVIC DUTY

I arrived late and did the potty dance all the way up the stairs. The meet and greet with Bobby Shriver was in full swing and the downstairs bathroom at Elizabeth’s house was too close to the party for my shy bladder. So I went upstairs. And by the time I came out Bobby had been introduced and was in the midst of what he had come to say to the citizens and he was standing right by the landing. I froze at the top of the stairs. Elizabeth has no railing on the open staircase and I usually need to wave my arms for balance as I descend like a 2 year old just learning to walk. It’s not graceful and it’s not an entrance that would go unnoticed.

What to do?

Tom came running up the stairs looking for a way to turn off the music that was booming out of the speakers on the deck and in the bedroom. Unable to find a volume knob he settled for closing the doors and then headed back downstairs. I was going to follow him, but he tripped on the way down and almost took a header out over the dining room table – having no hand rail is very stylish, but is it worth the liability risk? Oh geez. I decided to just sit down at the top of the stairs and listen from there rather than make like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard in the middle of the guy’s speech.

Bobby Shriver is a good speaker. Very natural, well organized, stays on point and he makes eye contact which is how good speakers connect with their audience. So I had to wonder what the people downstairs were thinking, those who couldn’t see me copping a squat at the top of the stairs, when they saw his eyes stray up toward the ceiling as he spoke in order to speak directly to me. I know I would’ve been wondering, “Who is he talking to? What’s he looking at?” I would’ve been distracted by that. So my attempt at stealth probably only served to make me more of a distraction. Way to go!

As I listened to him speak I was really impressed when he stated that he isn’t good at multi tasking seven or eight projects at one time so he was going to focus on, what he saw as the three top areas affecting the quality of life in Santa Monica. The reasoning being it’s better to actually get something done about three issues than to just talk and talk and talk about all the things that need to be done. Now that's a level of self awareness that you usually don't find in a politician, or in most people, when you think about it. It makes sense, but it’s not something that an aspiring politician will usually cop to. Most people who want your vote will tell you whatever you want to hear, kind of like a guy who wants to get laid – they have the ability to make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world and that what you think and feel matters and it will be addressed.

And then after the election, or the seduction – well, you often find that you’ve just been fucked.

So what I liked about this guy is that he identified and acknowledged numerous problems and challenges that are confronting the city of Santa Monica and the people who live there, but he is actively looking to find solutions for a select few: the homeless situation, the traffic issues, environmental challenges and funding for schools. Those are some big issues and if he can make any dent in any one of them that would be doing more for the community than the current city council has done.

I am one of those geeks who listen to the Santa Monica city council meeting on KCRW on Tuesday nights. They are incredibly monotonous meetings, but being an eavesdropper who is fascinated by all that is mundane I find myself sucked into the drama of mediocrity. I don’t know if it’s because the meetings are featured on NPR, but everyone seems to speak in that sleep inducing public radio drone. Except for the, shall we say, more excitable residents who’ve worked up a head of steam waiting three hours for their two minutes of speaking time. And the city council members usually shoot down whatever that person is saying in the most pompous manner evoking images of the city council in a production of The Music Man.

Pick a little, talk a little.

In other words the terms “contemporary” and “action” do not come to mind when listening to the activities of the Santa Monica city council on Tuesday nights. I imagine that this is probably true of all city councils to some extent, but the Santa Monica city council consists of six members, currently all white men, who are basically volunteers. They do not get paid to do the job. And they are somewhat hindered in doing the job because the city rules, or charter, is in my view, antiquated. For instance no member of the city council is allowed to talk to the head of any department like say, housing, or urban planning, because it could lead to graft and corruption. There are no districts in Santa Monica, although anyone who has been there can tell you that there are certainly areas that are delineated by economics, at the very least. The city council has no office and no phone, just an e-mail which leads me to the question – what service can the city council actually provide in its current incarnation?

One factor is that the citizens of Santa Monica are predominantly renters, because it costs a lot of money to buy a home there and you don’t get much real estate bang for your buck. Renters have different wants, needs and desires than homeowners do. And Santa Monica is famous for “rent control” that allows people who were living there years ago to continue to rent apartments that are hundreds of dollars below market value. These people are easily manipulated by fear, which the powers that be capitalize on whenever there is an election. Thing is that real estate values have gotten so high that a lot of landlords are selling their buildings and a lot of developers are buying with the intention of tearing down that charming building from 1920 and building condos. So you have tenants not only losing their homes, but a quality of life, urban blight issue at the same time for people who own homes on the street where these charming buildings stand. Who wants to own a home next to a huge cement condominium?

Yeah, if I had plunked down $800,000 for a charming 3 + 1, 1200 square foot craftsman cottage I’d be pretty bummed about having homeless people bathing in my hot tub, and getting $30 parking tickets every time I parked my car anywhere in town, and getting pink eye from swimming in the ocean where 24 storm drains dump garbage from L.A. proper. Or a staph infection. That was what put me off of swimming off the beaches in Santa Monica.

Santa Monica is a beautiful city, but I don’t want to live there. The quality of life, the ride, isn’t what it should be for the price you pay. I hope that when people vote a week from today, they take the time to pay attention to the municipal race in Santa Monica and that they vote for Bobby Shriver because he’s about more than just identifying and talking about the problems. He’s about finding solutions and that’s the kind of person you want sitting on your city council.
And maybe, if he's elected, Santa Monica might, one day become a city that I would be willing to spend lots of money to live in.

A week from today we will all have the opportunity to make some changes when we do our civic duty and vote.

Or as our president said this morning on the radio - our doody.

God, I'll be so glad when it's a week from tomorrow.

NO EXCUSE FOR BAD BEHAVIOR

I read today that Ann Coulter was speaking in Arizona and two people came out of the audience and hit her with pies. And they were arrested. I have received e-mails from friends who were jubilant at her public humiliation. I don't like Ann Coulter. Quite frankly I think she's a little unhinged and possibly diagnosable. She espouses hatred and seems to have zero respect and compassion for people in this world who think and believe differently than she does.

Perhaps that is why she is so unattractive.

Perhaps people throwing pies at her is just the manifestation of her own negativity, what she creates with her talk of treasonous liberals and death to muslims.

But I am appalled by the juvenile bad behavior of the pie throwers. I really cannot countenance rude and graceless behavior. It makes me irritated and uncomfortable. To throw things at someone, to spit at someone is to act childishly and it pretty much destroys any credibility that one might have. I understand the frustration and even the rage that would motivate someone to do something like throwing a pie at someone in public, but at the end of the day I think less of the people who did that than the person they were aiming at.

I might not like her or agree with her, but no one deserves to have things thrown at them. It's uncivilized.

She has a right to speak her mind. It's an inalienable right that people died protecting. Yes, she supports a government and an ideology that would like to censor that right, but we've all still got it. The way I look at it the more she talks and spews her bile the more sane people will be able to discern that she is not one of them. Did the pies stop her from speaking? Did the bit that hit her on the shoulder make her audience less receptive to her message? Probably not. If anything they probably felt sympathy for her.

Hell, I felt sympathy for her. She's a human being with feelings and even though she may not acknowledge that the feelings of all people have equitable value, I do. That means that when people I don't like or don't agree with are wronged I will still say, "Badly done," to those who have wronged them.

So badly done pie throwers - all you did was make Ann Coulter a sympathetic figure in the eyes of many and that's saying something since she's pretty much this adminstration's version of Joseph Goebbels with tits.

HOW ABOUT THEM RED SOX!

Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t particularly like baseball. But I love a good story. And last night the Red Sox win over the Yankees was a fantastic chapter in a really great story. So for the rest of this season I’m officially in. I also have a crush on the hairy Damon guy. I don’t know why because I’m not particularly into the hirsute, but he looks a little bit wild and I like it.

My favorite book, The Brothers K by David James Duncan, addresses the obsessive love of the game by a true fan. It’s a book about a family, but their love of baseball and each other is woven throughout the book. They’re Yankee fans and it was in this book that I learned about Roger Maris and his record of 61* homeruns. There’s actually an interesting conversation between the characters about whether the * belongs there or not. Baseball fans are different from fans of other games. Their dedication and love for their teams run deep. I they can discourse passionately about things like that asterisk. They remember all the endless stats from over the years and they never ever forget. That Cubs fan that accidentally deflected the ball – I don’t know his name, but every single Cub fan out there does. I guarantee it.

The last time I watched a World Series was probably in the late 90s. I think it was the second year in a row that the Yankees won. And while I’m not a Yankee hater like some, that’s part of why I got bored with baseball. Kind of like the Lakers and basketball. You know let someone else win every once in a while.

Like the Red Sox.

I love the underdogs – when they win. Watching a team lose badly year after year gets really old. But the Red Sox were apparently cursed. And they just won. So I’m keeping the faith that they will go all the way.

On Monday night I was watching the game, well THE game and also the St. Louis v. Houston game and Monday night football as too. I realized that baseball is slow and therefore more suspenseful. There is suspense around the pitcher going against each batter trying to make it through the inning without giving up a hit. Which leads to the suspense of waiting for a hit to happen. Or a stolen base. Or pretty much anything. There are only short staccato bursts of activity in baseball. I am easily bored and distracted. It’s not a good match.

Last night I watched the game as long as I could and then started channel surfing when the tension of waiting got to me. I would flip back and forth and was lucky I caught the grand slam. Woohoo! That was cool. I also tuned into ESPN later and just caught all the highlights which was just as good.

And I still have football on the brain because after the game I called the friend I watched the Monday night game with and left a message, “How about those Redskins.”

Oh well, I got the first part right.

And he knew what I meant.

PHILOSOPHY 100

When I returned to college there were a couple of classes that I was very challenged with. Like I didn't think I was going to be able to graduate. One of these was philosophy. I thought it would be a piece of cake because I had smoked lots of pot and done all sorts of hallucinogens. I'd sat around for hours having meandering conversations and thinking deep thoughts. But none of the classes I enrolled in, and there was more than one, ever came close to approximating those exhilerating experiences.

No. Philosophy 100 was boring. This may have been because I was attending a commuter school by the beach so my fellow students were like 19 and totally tan dude, wearing their dayglo beachware and a visor because they'd just rolled in right off the volleyball court. And because they were there to primarily memorize and vomit the information required by the syllabus, the professor was not all that excited about philosophy either. And you could tell.

Like totally.

So after my fourth semester with a "W" in philosophy I finally decided that I might do better with some kind of linear context upon which to frame the various and sundry ideas. I signed up for a political philosophy class and whadda you know? I not only got it, I really enjoyed it.

The class was taught by an Iranian man who had grown up under the oppressive dictatorship - a form of fascism - of the United State's very own puppet, the Shah of Iran. That's my editorializing not his. Although he didn't disagree with me when I raised the point one day in class. I think he liked having me in there amongst the 18-20 year old Republicans because I would say things he could only think. Like, "I bet you all vote the way your parents vote and have no idea what the party platforms or ideologies are. Why don't you think for yourselves?"

For the first time in my life I really studied and got to understand the philosophy that a democracy is built on - part of the reason I get so upset by this administration and the fact that our government is beginning to approximate a fascist dictatorship. I got the low down on socialism and the fact that although Russia had always been spun as a communist threat, they had never actually achieved communism, or pure socialism in the USSR. They didn't have the industrial foundation that was necessary for it work.

I also found Nietszche in this class and developed big love for him. He has been spun as an anti-semite (that was his sister) and a mysoginist, but neither is true. His ideas challenge the foundation of traditional morality and Christianity and affirm life, creativity, health, reality. And this world can't handle that so those who are most threatened make the thinker wrong in order to get people to dismiss the ideas.

And it's astonishing that today's media still functions to do the same thing to those who would disagree with this president and his cabal, I mean cabinet.

According to this site me and Nietszche still got a thing going on. I took the test and was 100% in alignment with the dude. Of course I was 80% in alignment with Ayn Rand, and that's just plain distressing. So I don't know how accurate the ethical philosophy selector is, but you should check it out. See where you fall. If you like Nietszche too, give me a call and let's share a bottle of wine, maybe a puff of pot - just for fun.

ACCESS TO THE PUBLIC

I love Public Access television. And it’s only available on cable so I no longer get to watch it. Luckily for me, back when I had cable I had a tape that I would throw in the VCR in order to record “classic moments” over the years. Even though I believe there is some kind of schedule for programming it was pretty much hit or miss because I would only find stuff when I went surfing past it - and if it was odd enough I'd stop and tape it. I recently watched the tape again and the following are some of my favorite “shows” on public access:

Francine Dancer – Ms. Dancer is of an indeterminate age, although there is a black and white photo of her as a younger and more nubile young woman sporting a pancho over what appears to be a leotard. Her make up and hair indicate that it’s sometime in the late 60s so I’m guessing Francine is in her late 50s. She’s still wearing her blonde fall from the good old days but she’s now pushing about two hundred pounds. Her show takes place on the Public Access set in Eagle Rock, basically two chairs and a coffee table, but in the back there is an easel set up with a painting of, I guess Francine herself. Although she looks kind of like a cartoon Cinderella. Francine’s whole show features her singing along to music and dancing in various outfits like a white dress made of crushed velvet accented with silver jewelry like you’d buy in Albuquerque. Then she moves onto a mini dress, apparently a left over from her golden years. It’s about 4 sizes too small and you see a lot more of Francine than you’d really like, but it’s still better than the harem girl outfit, which is basically a bikini with some gauzy scarves hanging off of it. Francine shouldn’t wear a bikini. She especially shouldn’t roll around on the floor while wearing a bikini. But she does. And she accompanies herself as she sings off key to the music, on various instruments, like the symbol from a drum set, or a badly strung guitar, and sometimes she just shakes her charm bracelet as the fat under her upper arm swings wildly in time to her beat. Francine looks like a very large 6 year old so I can’t help but feel affection for her. Plus, she’s having the time of her life.

And she’s got her own cable access show.

Lately I’ve been seeing Francine on the streets of Hollywood. She’s obviously homeless and she sits in a wheelchair and propels herself around with her feet. I think there’s a good chance that Francine may be mentally ill. And I guess that’s why her show fascinated me so much. How often can you just sit and observe someone who is a little nuts? These are people you don’t normally want to make eye contact with.

Like Billy Ray who tapes his show in his living room with his three computer monitors on the desk that surrounds him. He wears what appears to be a shirt pulled up over his head, but not taken off, so that if flows down his back. He also wears sunglasses. And boxer shorts. And that’s it. He’s hocking the CDs he makes. At least I guess that’s what he’s doing because I think he’s on crack and I can’t really understand what he’s saying. He has a hard time getting the words out. He keeps saying something about Bungo’s CD sales and Klaritymusic.com. He has a really hard time spelling Klarity. The letter 'K' comes out Klay. He gets up and moves out of frame for a minute and then comes back and sits down and starts chair dancing to his “beats”. They sound like noises you’d hear in a submarine. I think Billy Ray is hitting the pipe.

Next up is Mutant Press and their presentation of some weird sci fi cartoon where bald people with red eyes and fins for ears have a human baby as a pet. This precedes the introduction of a band called 500 Feet of Pipe. They’re standing in someone’s basement or garage. It’s paneled. And the guys all have long hair. It looks like 1975 stopped here, in this place. The guys start to play and a smoke machine goes off and it’s a truly horrible noise. Worse than Billy Ray’s music. These guys are all playing power rock, but they’re not playing the same song. With the smoke machine and the paneled walls and the bad 70s hair it looks and sounds like hell.

The Who’s Next TV Show is hosted by a guy named DJ who is the head of the "theater department". He informs viewers that it is a thee-ater of party or disco. DJ sits on a very low couch and there appears to be tie-dye art on the wall above him. He has a couple of awards, one of which is a Black History trophy that he received for this very TV show. Or so he says. It's hard to tell exactly what is on the trophy. He is looking for people who don’t “have any projects going on currently” in hopes that they would want to come and be in a play with him. The current skit that they’re doing is “My CD Player is Broken.” Although he points out that his CD player is currently working. When I first saw this it was at about this point that I realized that DJ was probably stoned – like all the time. As the “show” progressed there was no doubt since the next choppy bits featured him playing the bongos the way that stoned people do. Hearing a rhythm that only he can hear. There are lots of very rough special effects on this show. Yep. DJ’s a stoner.

Next there is a very gay guy naked from the waist up in front of a fake fireplace who tells viewers that he’s going to go get made up in drag. I thought this might be interesting. But it’s not.

Bill Right is a black man in a white suit standing at a podium in front of an American flag thanking voters for making him the first black president of the United States. He particularly wants to thank all his white brothers and sisters for voting for him and giving him a chance to rule the country. He rambles on for a while outlining all of his plans for making American beautiful by chopping down cherry trees and getting counterfitters off the street. This is one crazy dude. But evenso, he is still more articulate than our current president.

The last thing I taped was a show called Enslaved Souls, "your S&M B&D show", as introduced by a Latino man who is shirtless and tattooed with big nipple rings. He tells us that today we’re going to visit Torturella who has an internet TV show that airs every Tuesday. I only got a few minutes into it because Torturella has some guy completely encased in a rubber suit. I mean he’s got on a rubber hood and she’s in the process of duct taping rubber mittens on him. I couldn’t watch it without feeling like I was going to hyperventilate. Torturella looked like she was very good at what she does and she was very concerned about what the camera was recording because this is a lady that doesn’t want to give anything away for free. A fascinating look at a dominatrix and her, what? Customer? Demo volunteer? I’m not sure who the guy was, but he kind of looked like Iggy Pop and she does some really crazy stuff to him. I kept having to run from the room.

This was the most professional production on my tape. Apparently I was more intrigued by the nuts who sit in their homes and videotape themselves rambling insanely and inanely. I really like the productions that are reminiscent of those performances that children do for the neighborhood. Unorganized, improvised, just for fun foolishness. And a glimpse into some really strange and different worlds. There is a lot more public out there than I could ever imagine.

HAPPY SATAN DAY!

The other night I was having dinner with a friend. She was telling me about a guy that she had gone out with a couple of times. Among the numerous things he had said and done to turn her off, it was his comments about Halloween that I found most strange. He was talking about how Halloween was his favorite holiday and then said two things that pretty much snapped the rope that was holding up her interest in him.

He starts going on about how being born Catholic the whole "Devil" thing has always been so scary! She asked him what he meant. He explained that Halloween is when the devil can get you. What? She believes in Evil, yes, but a humanoid manifestation of evil, some guy named Satan who chases you around on Halloween. No! And we sat there and laughed about how ridiculous it is that a grown man believes in such a silly fantasy. I mean, everyone knows that Halloween is the "dress up and get candy from your neighbors holiday," right?

Wrong!

Apparently there's a whole bunch of people in this country who consider Halloween to be a celebration of the devil, or something. And since it's on a Sunday this year, which is the only day of the week they give it up for God, they're all freaking out. So there are kids all over this country who aren't going to be able to go trick-or-treating on Halloween. This logic is so insane to me. So it's okay to celebrate Satan and go trick-or-treating on any other day but Sunday? Because you're so God fearing? If that's really what you believe then it stands to reason that it's never okay to go trick-or-treating and "Satan celebratin" EVER! And if you REALLY think that Halloween celebrates Satan, well, in my opinion - you're just a dumbass! And it explains a lot about why this election is so close.

What I think is scary and wrong, is this guy goes out to the valley on Halloween night, and he and his best friend like to drive around and look at all the kids in their costumes. I stopped my friend when she told me this. What do you mean? Like two grown men? Slowly cruising the streets? Looking at little kids in costumes? Yes! But his best friend's wife goes with them. So that makes it okay? Why don't they stay home and hand out candy where you can actually see the children under the porch light. Oddly enough what bothered her more was the fact that he's a grown man who refers to one of his grown man friends as his best friend. And people say I'm picky!

But now I can't stop thinking about three adults slowly cruising the dark streets in their car looking at little kids. Because that's scary!