Monday, June 30, 2008

Gone

I helped them pack up their things. We went to lunch and now they're probably on the road off to a new life on the other side of the country. I remember the first day AJ started at work 5 years ago. It's crazy how quickly time passes. First AJ's girlfriend moved out here from New York, then PR moved to New York, and now AJ's gone to Atlanta.
All these people I know, going places, getting married, having babies, settling down, getting new jobs. It's all the things I've seen in movies as people struggle with life moving on and it's happening all around me. Life just seems to keep happening. No matter how much I lock myself away, the world keeps on turning.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Come & Go

I went to a going away party last night. Someone I met out here who's now leaving. It's a strange feeling watching people come and go. It kind of makes me feel like I'm standing still as everyone else moves on with their lives. I'm well aware that things have changed in my life, but when things are happening to you, it's hard to be aware of them.
I went to a psychic at the end of the year. She knew a lot of very weird, specific details about my life but she also made some predictions about changes that I'm still waiting to happen. I think they've expired but part of me wonders if I've had chances that I've ignored or if I keep putting blinders up to things that I should be paying more attention to.
So, I'm at this party at this bar and seeing people I haven't seen in a while and explaining what I've been up to and so hesitant about it. Someone there had been in South America for 4 months, another had gone to Panama, another had a new job. I've been... playing tennis... not leaving the house...
I guess actually going somewhere is a big change when it comes to my life.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Safin & Dechy

There was definitely some magic today at Wimbledon. One of the best days of 2nd round matches I've seen. One match was a very talented Russian, who has fallen by the wayside, taking on the 3rd ranked player and another was a Frenchwoman with limited talent against the world's #1 player. They both were amazing for different reasons. Both involved some luck and ups and downs and fight, but what I loved most was the heart involved. I was brought off my seat. I screamed into my pillow repeatedly. I cried.
What was most amazing was the composure and class of the people involved. Everyone was throwing everything they could at each other. Everyone was faced with amazing circumstances but remained cool.
In the end, someone I wanted to win won, and someone I wanted to win lost. But I hope to take away the spirit of the matches I saw today, to realize it's best to stay cool and do your best and you never know what might happen.

M. Safin def. N. Djokovic (3) 6-4, 7-6, 6-2
A. Ivanovic (1) def. N. Dechy 6-7, 7-6, 10-8

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

"I like to sing 'Blue Velvet'"

I know the exact moment I became picky about movies. I had set the VCR to tape something off of HBO late at night. I can't even remember what it was, but when I taped, I used to set the tape to stop way after the movie ended just to make sure I got everything. Well, the tape recorded and I watched whatever movie it was and then started to watch what was after it, "Blue Velvet." I had never seen anything like it. Unfortunately, as the movie moved towards its climax, the tape cut off!
Before "Blue Velvet" I remember liking almost every single movie I saw, no matter what it was, no matter how stupid or bad. I enjoyed pretty much everything. I would go to the video store and rent movies or watch them on cable and enjoy them all.
Well, I went crazy needing to see the end of "Blue Velvet." I begged my mom to take me to the video store. Blockbuster had the movie and I rented it and watched it and was changed. I was amazed by what I saw, so moody, so different, so atmospheric. I really feel at that moment, I started to look at movies more critically. I wanted something more from the movies I saw. I wanted them to take me somewhere, I wanted them to make me feel and if they didn't, I didn't enjoy them. I become more interested in atmospheric failures than successful movies that didn't do much for me. I became dismissive of what seemed like formula, popcorn movies.
Lately, though, I reminded of how I used to like everything I saw. I've been watching HBO. A lot of it. I've recently watched movies like "The Lake House" and "Georgia Rule" and "Sister Mary Explains it All" and "Mannequin," and I've enjoyed them. I'm aware of how these movies have been received and wondering what has changed. I think the me of the last couple years wouldn't have given these movies a first chance, but in the state I'm in now, I'm enjoying them.
Am I softening up? Am I getting old? Have I lost my critical attitude?
I would always tease my parents when they told me they watched something like "Wild Hogs" and enjoyed it. I would think, why aren't they using their movie watching time to watch something a little more... substantial.
I don't know. Maybe I'm just a little emotional and responding to everything I see and hear. Maybe my mind is breaking down. All I know is that "She-Devil" is saved on my DVR.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Playing with Fire

After about 10 match points saved, B and me went down in the finals of the doubles tournament. For some reason, we were seeded 2nd and only had to play one match to get into the finals. That one match was crazy, though. We lost the first set quickly 6-2, the second set started to slip away just as quickly and we found ourselves down 5-2, 0-40. 3 match points. I don't know what happened, but we ended up winning that game, and the next. In the next game we were down 2 more match points, and saved them again. From then on, the other team just seemed to lose their confidence and we got more steady as we all baked in the sun. We ended up winning 2-6, 7-5, 6-2. It's crazy when you realize you can be so far out of a match, you're practically at home in the shower, and you win it.
I thought the final might go the same way, we were down quick in the first set and made a surge but it wasn't enough and we lost it 6-4. The second set started out the same as the last match and I ended up being down at least five match points on my serve. Luckily, my serve had picked up and we kept in it, but it wasn't enough. We played with fire too much and finally got burnt, losing the final 6-4, 6-2.
Still, it's always fun on the court with B. He's so unlike me, not really caring if he wins or loses. He tries and has fun, but he realizes it's not life or death. It's a good balance to my over-dramatic attitude. After the match, someone commented that he thought it was too much that we played together. I wouldn't want to play with anyone else.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

The Heat Is On

The temperature, and the Mississippi, is still rising. I peel off my shirt and venture outside in a see thru tank top and shorts not meant for stranger's eyes. At 10pm it feels like afternoon as I pass little girls in bathing suits and families lying on blankets in their front yards.
I wonder if they feel as restless as I do. I feel like the Santa Ana's are about to blow in from the desert, they always make me crazy. The Santa Ana's usually appear unexpectedly. When the weather is hot and calm and everything seems peaceful, they blow through the city, throw people off their game and leave them asking, "Where did that come from?" They remind me of my life right now. Just when things appear calm and peaceful and I begin to feel "normal," a wind blows in, throws me off my game and leaves me asking, "Where did that come from?"

Friday, June 20, 2008

Reality Really Does Bite

Oh my goodness, I just randomly flipped to a channel and "Reality Bites" is playing. I remember I was in high school when it came out and didn't really get what the big deal was, although I did appreciate the shout out to "Melrose Place." All these years later and I'm watching it and realizing that it does make some interesting points. Maybe it's just today or this week or something, but seeing Winona Ryder just sit on the couch and watch endless hours of tv and moan about her life makes me cringe. I'm cringing because it's annoying and I'm cringing because I see a little bit too much of myself in the character. And her character is a lot younger than I am!
At least we both have our Ethan Hawke's. Although mine's A LOT better than hers.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Focus

I think it's good to just take a step back sometimes. To try to listen to voices in the stillness. Unfortunately, a lot of times when I take a step back, instead of listening to voices, I fill my head with things to keep me away from listening to them. I'm easily driven to distraction. Like a new kitten who goes from focusing on one thing to another from second to second.
I think some people are more able to focus than others. Other people just tend to pick up the skill. I can focus on some things and not others for some reason. I remember when I first started my job logging, another logger jokingly put a bunch of post-its on my desk that spelled out "F-O-C-U-S" since it was obvious that my mind would wonder.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
Maybe I'm afraid of what the voices might say.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Black & White

Thinking about my post yesterday, I was suddenly reminded of something my therapist told me over and over and over again. Session after session. She would always say that my tendency was to want to see things in black and white, as one option OR another, yes OR no. She always warned that thinking like that is a danger because there's a whole lot of gray area in between the extremes that I tend to move things towards.
She tried to drill it into my head that there's a whole lot more options in the world, things that I kind of block myself off from seeing. Just recently I've been reminded how much I've forgotten about that, and how easy it is to fall back into dangerous ways of thinking.
Just like my tennis matches this weekend. My first 3, I played completely defensively, my last 1 was completely offensive. I couldn't figure out a way to do both, to take the best qualities from them and create something better.
An answer can be yes AND no. I can like someone AND dislike them. I can be happy AND sad. It seems so simple, but I'm so skilled at polarizing things--so skilled at choosing to make something the absolute, wrong thing to do.
It's one thing to be irrational. It's another to realize I'm being irrational and continue doing it. To still keep taking huge swings at the ball even though it's a losing game I'm playing.

Monday, June 16, 2008

6-3, 6-2, 6-1, 3-6, 6-3, 6-2, 6-0, 1-6, 4-6

My calves are killing me. This weekend I played in my second tournament and ended up playing 9 sets of tennis over 2 days. What's strange is that I'm used to playing tennis for hours and hours but something happened on Saturday that took me to the brink.
My first match went well. I wasn't really nervous and played not to loose, the guy I played was more willing to make mistakes and he did and I won. My second match was against someone I had played once before a while ago. The first time we played it ended in a tiebreak, which I barely one. This time I got off to a great start and thought I was going to get by easily. I was really, really wrong. The second set was a complete reversal of the first and he took over, I put up some fight towards the end but it wasn't enough and he won. The third set seemed never ending. The points went on and on and on and on. Almost every game went to deuce. Then came the cramps. I would be running and my right leg would just lock up. I would try to do whatever I could just to stay in the point without moving much. Then my left leg starting cramping, then my right arm and then my left arm! I have never experienced anything like it. Strangely, I was never really nervous during playing. Yeah, there were a few hesitant shots, but not strings of them. I think my nerves have moved from my mind to my body. Anyway, after almost 3 hours, I was able to win the match.
The next morning, I had a little bit easier time. What's strange is through the 3 matches, I wasn't playing to win. I was playing not to loose. I barely hit winners and would just loop the ball up in the air. Everytime I intended to hit through the ball, it would just be the same shot as any other, a looped ball up in the air, just hoping not to make a mistake and hoping my opponent would make one. Even trying to warm up, my shots just didn't seem to be there anymore.
Well, it was enough and I made it to the final. I knew the guy I was playing was pretty good, so I just made and effort to go for it. Somehow my shots were there. The guy I was playing had a good mix of offense and defense and he was able to counter mostly everything, but I played pretty well. I went down swinging and had my chances--a lot of chances that my opponent kept me from capitalizing on. For the first time in a while, I wasn't devastated by the loss. I had hit some good shots. Although I lost, I played the way I wanted to play. I had control over my shots, it just wasn't enough.
I'm trying not to get too much in my head about how I played. I don't want to think about how it was to play with nerves now that I know what it's like to play without them. I just want to continue finding my game, one match at a time.

WIN 6-3, 6-2
WIN 6-1, 3-6, 6-3
WIN 6-2, 6-0
LOSS 6-1, 6-4 (FINAL)

Saturday, June 14, 2008

A ( Not So) True Story

By the time I was ten, my mother had tried nearly every gadget on the market to put an end to the hoarse, harsh noises that exploded from my father’s mouth each night. I remember a time in my life not by grade or age, like most people; I remember by what contraption my mother had my father hooked up to. My mother even referred to herself as a snorologist. She said it was because she had done so much research on the subject and practically knew more than any doctor or scientist ever could. I think it was because she was a housewife and never had a job title besides stain remover or dish washer. In any case, it became an obsession. My father never really seemed to mind, though, and seemed content serving as my mother’s guinea pig. The only one that ever worked was the snore eliminator. It was basically just a sweatband with some sensor strips on it. The idea was to rub specific essential oils on the sensors and then wear the headband while you were sleeping. The essential oils were supposed to send out calming currents of energy resulting in your throat muscles relaxing and viola...no more snoring. All I recall is that on that night, for the first time in ten years, I fell asleep in silence. But that only lasted one night. The next morning, the snore eliminator was being eaten for breakfast by our black lab, Mike. Neither of my parents mentioned it again. Hundreds of new inventions made their way to our doorstep throughout the years after, but never anything resembling the snore eliminator, nor anything that came close to working. I never asked how Mike got the headband or why they just didn’t order another one. I guess I knew the answer. I learned a lot about my parents that day...especially my mother.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Tire-d

Uh, very unfortunate that a flat tire leads to replacing all the tires which leads to debt in my jobless existence. But, what can you do? It's not like I even drive that much, but I do drive sometimes and I just have to suck it up. I was thinking about this as I walked home from the tire place. I passed a woman on the "banks" of the Los Angeles River. She had a pillow and a blanket and was making a bed for herself in the dirt in the middle of the day. I can usually fall asleep most places, but I don't know if I'd be able to do it on the banks of the Los Angeles river in the dirt in the middle of the day. What brought her there? She she have to charge a set of tires? Did her bills get out of hand? Did she just watch as it all slipped away?
Looking at her I was reminded of how precarious life is. Sometimes just one choice can set you down a path you never saw coming. I know I can look back on my life and see seemingly simple things I've done that have altered all that came after it. Lately I'm beginning to think it's easier to hide away than deal with any changes or anything the least bit stressful. It's scary out there. Or the idea of out there is scary.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Can't Cry Anymore

I saw Sheryl Crow at the Greek Theater last night. As I was walking to the concert from Los Feliz Boulevard, I was reminded of my first trip out to Los Angeles eight years ago. I came out to visit my former roommate from Brooklyn for a week to check out the city I was planning on moving to. I remember driving from the rental car place to the Los Feliz without really knowing what I was doing. I remember it smelled like skunk. I remember the gas station I had to call from because I didn't have a cell phone.
I didn't do much on my first trip. I saw Hollywood, I went to the Griffith Park Observatory, I drove around. I took an impromptu trip to Las Vegas with some friends of my former roommate. I don't think the trip really made that much of a difference concerning my decision to move. I had already pretty much made up my mind.
Eight years have passed and sometimes it feels like I just got here, like I've been in some sort of suspended animation year after year waiting for my life to start. Some things have gone well, some not so well. I think I used to make decisions by impulse and things would happen. Now I'm so much in my head about things, I tend to get bogged down with reasons not to do things.
The concert was pretty good. Sheryl seemed in good spirits, although sometimes it feels like she's forced to do her hits and doesn't have time for some of her more interesting songs. It's another rush of memories listening to songs I've known since high school. And "Leaving Las Vegas" still has one of my favorite lines of all times: "Such a muddy line between the things you want, and the things you have to do."

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Suburban Dreams

A Pasadena housewife
With a crack pipe in the kitchen.
The milk and eggs and iced-tea
Hide a different recipe.

She drops the kids at school
And pours herself some coffee.
She turns off the lights
And finally starts to see.

A couple hours later
She wakes and wipes her eyes.
She lets the dog outside
And awakens from the ride.

She picks the kids back up
And her husband's on the phone.
She closes her eyes and dreams
For the next moment she's alone.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Goodbye, Pookie

I found him on my way home from church. He was struggling across the street and not able to jump the steep curb onto the sidewalk. I was on my bike and nearly ran him over. A small, feathered bird that couldn't yet fly. I couldn't just leave him out for a car or a cat or something to take him away, so I called B, who came with a bowl to transport him back to the house with. I went to Petco. I got a cage, food, worms, whatever I thought I needed. I put him in and he seemed fine. I gave him water from a dropper, I gave him worms from a tweezer. He seemed fine. My cat sure liked him, liked him a little too much, but I made sure that Pookie was in a high place away from claws and teeth. Pookie made it through the night. He woke up chirping and chirping and looked like he pecked at some of the food in his cage. I took him out on the rooftop and let him out of the cage. He could fly a few feet but couldn't get completely airborne. "Just a few more days," I told myself, thinking that he would just need a little time to get the strength up to make his way into the world. He seemed fine.
But I came back from playing tennis in the afternoon and found Pookie on his side in his cage. He wasn't fine. He was dead! I had tried my best to take care of him but failed miserably and wondered what I could have done differently. I guess I'll never know.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

My New York City Circle

My house smells like a crack pipe. That just occurred to me yesterday, after days of sniffing the air like a bloodhound and coming to no certain conclusion regarding the familiar smell. I was emptying the kitchen trash when an Evian bottle fell on the floor and rolled under the refrigerator. I was crouched on my hands and knees peering under the stainless steel appliance and using a wooden spoon to try and lure the water bottle to it’s impending doom in the recycling bin, when it hit me. I said it out loud, "A crack pipe!"
I’m sure you’re wondering how I know what a crack pipe smells like. I smoked crack. Not often, or habitually, just on occasion...for recreation. It sounds a lot worse than it is. I know a lot of people who have smoked crack. Granted, most of them were the pimps and prostitutes I passed every night walking from the subway to my apartment on 102nd and West End. Okay, so I didn't really know them...it’s not like we were friends, or even acquaintances. We didn’t chat about our careers or love lives on the corner of Broadway. And yet, I still considered them in my circle. Whether I liked it or not, those crack smoking pimps were apart of my life.

Daughters of Alcoholics

I heard a song the other day called "DOA" and I wondered if my life to this point had been on spycam. Are mini cams installed in my bedframe? Is the songwriter in the control room watching my broken life unfold all for the sake of "art"? How does he know about my "sad eyes" and inabilty to love? How does he know that I like to pick fights and stay in my pajamas?

http://www.myspace.com/wirgo

Friday, June 6, 2008

Flat

I knew my bike tire was flat. It wasn't a big flat. It was one of those that slowly leaks out. Fill it up, and you can go for a few more days but then it goes down again. I finally went out to change it today and then I noticed something about my car tire. Somewhat flat. Not a big flat, it just looked like some air had slowly leaked out.
Changing the bike tire proved kind of daunting. After going round and round, I finally discovered what had caused the subtle flat, a super-tiny metal spike. So small, so thin, I'm surprised I found it. But I if hadn't had found it, I wonder how many more inner tubes would I have gone through. Riding day after day and losing all that air so slowly. Pulling it out was almost impossible. It was too small to grab onto and was so think, it kept breaking off.
I think there are so many factors that make up a life. Things from the past, people from the present, ideas about the future. Maybe the smallest betrayal has a similar impact, it drains the will out so slowly that you don't even notice. Maybe the wrong step has made me veer just enough from my course to make things more difficult than they should be. How does one recover? It's luck that led me to that little piece of metal, but these days, I'm not sure how lucky I'm feeling.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

No More Big Fish

The humbling on ice skates continued last night. It was my first Beta A class and I was ready to impress. My new ice skates were on and I took to the ice. I knew about the process of breaking in new boots, but I didn't know the extent of it. The skates were hard and rigid and although the sharp blade was a major improvement, the boot would not give and made what used to be easy moves a lot more difficult. To add to that, there was a new person in class. While everyone else was struggling to go backwards, she was literally skating circles around us all. I could barely pick up my foot to begin a backwards crossover and there she was--around and around and around. I tried to focus on myself, remembering all the troubles I had with front crossovers and realizing it would be the same but probably even harder doing them backwards, but still this woman kept circling. I couldn't stop staring at her, she was good, real good. Light years ahead of anyone else in class. My teacher, Kelly, noticed my fascination. "Looks like you're no longer the big fish in a small pond," she laughed as I tried without luck to pick my new blade off the ice.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

The Takedown

It's a strange feeling when it's going on. Thinking I've got it all figured out and things are in line when the unexpected happens. And then my mind starts spinning. Like today, the figure skates I've been waiting for for months finally come in. I get them, I get skate guards... and there are all these screws and things to be put together. Sometimes things appear to be so simple but end up being much more complicated. It's even worse when something complicated appears when you had no idea it was coming.
I'm thinking a lot lately about the idea that how someone handles one thing in their lives is usually representative of how they handle most things in their lives. In relationships, at work, with family, with friends, at the grocery store, on vacation, at the tennis court, on the skating rink. I can certainly see lots of parallels all too clearly. How I react to traffic, people, situations... It's strange and daunting. Thinking that if I want to make a change for the better that it's not just one thing that has to change, but everything, my entire outlook. I guess it's just something else that ends up being a lot more complicated than it initially looks.

When You Care Enough To Send The Very Best

Why do I have to go to the bathroom every time I enter a Hallmark store? My legs immediately begin jiggling before I even have the first card off the shelf. I'm like Pavlov's dog and greeting cards are my bell. But instead of being rewarded with a giant steak, I get an overwhelming desire to lift my leg in the birthday card aisle.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Smog and Burgers

I walked off the plane and looked around, smog was covering the San Fernando Valley as a light breeze blew past. I walked through the airport, glancing at the news on television as I walked. Another car chase. Does it happen anywhere else in the world as much as here? And how come there never seems to be any traffic during car chases, no matter what the time? I walked out to claim my bag and the mob scene ensued. I decided not to get involved. I would be the one to make a stand and stay back a few feet. Wouldn't you know, my bag was one of the first to come out. I grabbed it and walked to my gas-guzzling Jeep and drove through the Valley to the nearest In-n-Out Burger. Oh In-n-Out Burger, a reason by itself that Los Angeles is a superior city.
I arrived home to my nice size apartment and a sweet cat that kneads my leg. There were some unwelcome surprises, but nothing that's not manageable.
It's time to get adjusted back to the being home.

Goodbye NYC and such as

Seeing that Manhattan skyline fade off into the distance always brings a tear to my eye. It's so beautiful, so iconic. There's nothing like it. But my time in the city is over and now I sit in the airport waiting to return to Hollywoodland by way of Burbank Airport.
Ah, Burbank Airport. Yes, it takes so much longer to get your luggage, but it's so much closer to home and there's so much less traffic to deal with. Speaking of luggage, it's so strange to me how much of a mess people make of picking it up. There's this conveyor belt and everyone crowds around just watching bags passing by and waiting for theirs. Then they grab it and they're in the middle of a mob. I always wonder why everyone doesn't stand a few feet back and then step in when their luggage comes around, it could be so much more efficient and time saving and just put me in a better mood. The same thing seemed to happen time and time again on the elevators at the Hudson Hotel. People would be waiting to get on an elevator and start to barge in as soon as one arrived, not paying attention to people trying to get off the elevator with luggage in tow. It happened a few minutes ago as I was getting off an elevator from the JFK Skytrain. People are always in a rush. But I can't blame them, I know I do it sometimes too.
I'll have plenty of time to go somewhere and get stuck in traffic and all of a sudden a different person comes out. I don't curse much in real life, but alone in my car in traffic, it's a different story. It's so easy to get caught up in the franticness of it all. I'm always in a much better state when I take the time to take a deep breath and remind myself that I am where I am and I'll be better off not to cause myself undue stress over all the things that are out of my control.
So, here I am. Terminal 6, Gate 9, JFK Airport, Queens, New York. Waiting for boarding for my flight. I saw some shows, I saw the city, saw my dearest friend, got to spend some quality time with the most special someone in my life. And despite the buzz around me, all the people going to and fro, I realize how lucky I am in this moment in time.

Monday, June 2, 2008

NYC

The energy. The lights. The people. The people, I don't remember this many people. They're everywhere, running in bunches with cameras, with cell phones, with bags, with children, with smiles, with scowls, with attitude, with bewilderment. It's daunting, but I still love it. I wonder if I left Los Angeles would I feel for it how I feel for NYC if I came back to visit?
I still got that eerie feeling when I was wondering around the west side late at night and happened upon a neighborhood where no one was walking around. It's always strange and wonderful in New York, to be walking on a street where no one else is walking. It's a feeling of presence, a feeling that anything can happen.
There are so many memories in this city. Places I used to live, work, study, wander around. I passed by 10th Street and Broadway where my parents left me in front of my dorm and walked off. I remembered sitting outside Brittany Residence Hall and crying for an hour as they walked out of my life (only later to find out that they had watched me the entire time, the horror). I went looking for my favorite Polish restaurant, Theresa's, which has vanished. I walked into the depths of Chinatown trying to find a roving push-cart that sold amazing "Hot Mini Cakes" with no luck. I passed the Williamsburg Bridge that I used to cross every day, good for them for finally fixing up the rusty metal slats that I always imagined I would fall through as I rollerbladed over them. I gave people directions. I got lost after bragging about my superior knowledge of the city.
I'm always making lists in my head comparing the pros and cons of NYC versus LA. Not that I've ever seriously thought about moving back, but it's so easy to romanticize the city when I'm visiting. It's so easy to remember how wonderful it is without calling into my mind my bedroom in a kitchen, my other closet-like bedrooms, the amazingly high rents, the lack of open space, the huge rats jumping out unexpectedly in broad daylight, the incident coming home late one night in Williamsburg...
There feels like there's such a difference in who I was when I was here compared to who I am now. Some things for better, some for worse. I think at the very least, I should try to remember some of the lessons this city taught me that maybe I left behind and shouldn't have. I think maybe I left part of the dreamer in me behind in this city. I didn't realize it at the time, but it wasn't with me in my Uhaul stuck in traffic on the 101 Freeway as I arrived in Hollywood.
I think that's why there's this rush visiting NYC. It reminds me that I still have that in me... somewhere.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Just Another Vacation

I watched grown men compete to beat an 8 second record on the lido deck water slide. I watched a seventy year old man strip off his shirt and shake his booty, slightly off beat, to a live Jamaican version of Sir Mix-a-lots "I Like Big Butts" while 30 year old women grabbed his chest hair and squealed with excitement. I watched a hypnotized newlywed moonwalk across the stage better then he ever had, swearing he was Michael Jackson and the audience a bus load of adoring 9-year-old boyscouts. I drank Arnold Palmers and lost my balance on the elliptical when the waves were at 4-5 feet.
I ate Mexican Cheetos on Dolphin Beach and dove for starfish with a dark skinned boy I met in Cabo. He told me to avoid jellyfish so the spray bottle of vinegar could remain in my kayak cubby hole and not on my skin. He put fish in my hands underwater and carried my kayak on his sun tanned shoulders.
I saw men with machine guns and black face masks and ate fish tacos while my sister drank a cerveza in her new straw hat.
I sang Karaoke with my new friends from dinner after we danced with our Polish waiter and his sidekick who made boys with spoon faces out of dinner napkins.
I heard a young girl say "pancakes" in a voice resembling that of my niece and watched as my sister did a double take at the breakfast buffet. I saw the looks on the faces of our dinner companions and watched them drop their forks after they asked my sister how many children she had and she answered.