Slacker?

I might have watched too much this weekend.

Movies:

The Conspirator- 2011- slow pacing but overall pretty solid- cool tilt shot at the end
Temple Grandin- 2010- maybe I am overly emotional right now, but like Jane Eyre, I cried through the last 10th of the thing; inspirational without trying too hard (much appreciated)
Girls Just Want to Have Fun- 1985- Mainly stupid. On the plus side, the costumes rocked in that painful 80s way.
A Town Called Panic- 2009- random. hilarious. randomly hilarious.
Hairspray- 1988- the John Waters version; not as cuddly as the musical, some funny moments but mostly indulgent and boring
Mary and Max- 2009- dark and somewhat crass yet sweet and human- surprising amount of animation

TV:

Arrested Development- last part of season 2- delightful and clever as always
Psych- 4 episodes of season 5- silly but fun and witty dialogue

I still had time to see the beloved brother-in-law graduate, help he and my sister pack their truck, clean their apartment, and move to Idaho, spend the day with my niece gardening, chop the snot out of a stump in the yard like a freaking amazing lumberjack (or lumberjill?), celebrate a friend’s birthday, arrange flowers for church, have an Easter egg hunt, play Ticket to Ride five times and do two loads of laundry.

I might be tired.

Lost Battle with an Unlikely Opponent

At the time of the incident, I was leaving work to meet someone for lunch. My ballet flats shuffled toward the south door of my building as I dug around in my Mary Poppins bag for car keys (the floor lamp and the bird cage kept knocking around inside and obscuring my view). Just when I thought I had found them, a gruff and cracking voice distracted me from my search.

“Do you work here?” My eyes moved from my purse down the hall to find a wrinkled man with silver hair in a wheelchair. The second floor receptionist, the one who normally sits near the exit I had planned to use, was missing. Do I lie? Do I walk past? Why did this grumpy guy have to be in a wheelchair? Only crappy people don’t help people in wheelchairs. Am I lousy human? Do I want to admit that to myself? Crap. I force a half smile. “Yes, I do. Can I help you?” “Where is insert boss’s name that I cannot type or a Google Alert will attract attack dogs to my blog’s office?” I point to the third floor in the opposite, adjacent corner. “Oh, it is upstairs in that corner of the building but you need to sign in at the front desk on the first floor and they will let him know you are here.” “Oh he knows I am supposed to be here. I am taking a tour.” “Oh, well, I am pretty sure that he will meet you at the front desk. Let’s go this direction….”

I start walking toward the north elevator but he had already pushed the button on the south elevator and was wheeling himself into it before I could stop him. “I’m going to go up this one. It is the third floor, you say?” “Yes. But you need a key card for access. If we use this other…” The doors close and I hop in before they shut completely. He begins to press the button for the top floor but it doesn’t light up. “Why isn’t this working?” “Well, you need a card to get to that floor on this elevator. Let me call the front desk to see if your party is down there.” “He said come to his office.”

Attempting to use my global directory to look up a number in an elevator proves fruitless. I lose my will to keep this man from getting to his former student turned CEO’s office. I swipe my card and we go to the third floor. He has to maneuver through a tangle of cubicles and narrow spaces to get to the office because we came the BACK WAY. He sighs on the second or third turn. I offer to push. He grunts at me. "Now turn left here," I say as I walk behind him. He wheels himself straight. Who is this guy?

After some wandering, we make it to the desk of the CEO’s assistant; I am happy to turn him over. “Hello, sir,” she smiles. “He is here for the tour. He thought he was supposed to come to the office,” I say. “Oh, well they are in the lobby.” I bolt back downstairs and off to my engagement, thinking about how I just got bullied by an eighty-year old man in a wheelchair.

The most amusing part about this whole story is that I never would have taken that from an ambulant visitor. I would have marched them to the front desk and told them to wait like everyone else but something about that confinement to a chair makes me a complete pushover. Which led me to a few important life truths that I have been exploring this week. Some are related and some are just general observations:

1. Old people do whatever they want. They are old and they might as well, right? (Handicapped people could do a bit of damage with this principle as well, if they were so inclined.)

2. Most people are really lousy listeners and could save themselves a lot of trouble if they would just be quiet and pay attention to other people.

3. No matter how often I correct her, my mom will always call Chinese dumplings, “potsuckers.”

4. Despite all logic people will post embarrassing and incriminating things on the internet.

5. Life is never boring. Just when you think you have everything under control a flying jackal will appear and attempt to sell you a set of knives or try and set you up with his brother who loves hockey.

Duality of Pain

Passover begins next week and guess who went to a Seder dinner on Friday? Yep. Me.

If you have been to one before, you know about the highly ritualistic meal including “bitter herbs.” Official translation = ground horseradish. This root is not a part of my normal diet because, to be frank, spicy food tastes like garbage to me. Why would I try to burn the inside of my mouth, nose or other tender membranes? Foolishness. But this was for the sake of cultural understanding and so after I had my parsley dipped in salt water and a few traditional readings, the bitter herbs were passed to me. At my table there was a bit of a contest regarding who would consume the most in one bite. So those of us who bend to such foolish competition heaped our utensils full and on cue the entire room of 100+ people put the spoon full of hate into our mouths. Approximately half a second passed before the entirety of my nose, throat, mouth, chest and brain began to burn with a sensation that can only be described as complete and utter agony. My friend across the table turned the color of a turnip, the one next to me began to cough and seize up. In a panic I reached for my water and consumed it as quickly as I could. Death was upon us.

About five minutes later we were all sorry to have been so bold and foolish. It tainted the rest of the meal. Around the table were murmurs. “I understand the idea of empathizing with the pain of the Hebrew nation but I wish they had just ‘tased’ me, instead” and “My hubris was my downfall.”

Speaking of pain, last night I went to the MMA Showdown. That’s right. If ever you were looking to find a gaggle of sweetbros and women in six-inch heels, that is the place to go. That place was SWARMING. In the tradition of going to places out of my comfort zone, I went to a mixed martial arts competition and watched dudes with tattoos and pink hair beat the snot out of each other in “The Octagon.” Now you might not believe it, but in my coral dress appropriate for a Sabbath day mixer, limited makeup and brown kitten heels, I didn’t really fit in. Apparently I missed the memo that I was to dress like I was vying for the “ring girl” position. What a disappointment! What self respecting girl wouldn’t want to wear a black sparkly tank top that was cut to reveal she was wearing a thong? What better job than to walk around the ring holding up a sign that said “Round 1,” a mere four feet above an assembly of lecherous men looking upward?

That said, aside from the women perpetuating the idea that they are objects to be used and disposed of, I actually had a reasonably good time. Sometimes it is nice to watch the rawness of humanity. Should I appreciate that? Probably not, but I can’t help myself; I just can’t look away.

So pain, of the religious and mundane, the personal and removed, and the academic and the low brow varieties were all a part of my weekend. Strange but refreshing. I should at this point draw some sort of insightful conclusion about the variety of pain in the world and how sometimes it surprises us and other times we approach it and ask it to punch us in the face. Is that stupidity? Bravery? Should we bother to label it? Do we wait to be caught or face it head on? Who knows. Maybe both are the correct choice.

Weird Day.

Weird day.

It was book ended by white model building; something I haven’t done in more than a year. Up late and had a morning meeting. Panicked trying to get dressed with no clean laundry; consequently, threw together an outfit that appeared to be sponsored by a homeless Cyndi Lauper fan club- grey and black hound’s tooth leggings, lacy black skirt, purple undershirt, asymmetrical hemline gathered purple tank with a loose low collar and a black shrug that fit strangely when buttoned but exposed my shoulders when unbuttoned. Let’s not talk about my crazy hair. Normal outfit FAIL.

Work dragged on. Caused stress about the future. Felt annoyed by Boy Wonder.

Went to lunch with a friend. Ran into an acquaintance who knew said friend. Acquaintance asked if I was friend’s wife- slightly awkward considering our history- I proceeded to try to be playful and make jokes that fell flat. Very confused about why they thought I was the awkward party. Proceeded to eat El Salvadorian food. Ate pancakes filled with beans and cheese and pork and some weird flower bud that tasted like honey and perfume. Then proceeded to eat fried plantain with whipped cream (no sugar) and refried beans. Very odd, although not bad. Would eat stuffed pancakes (papoosas?) again.

Failed to meet up with good friend for dinner. Felt exhausted and bad for bailing. Then went to work to build more models. Now up late typing blog with unusual syntax.

Back to Life/ Back to Reality

Tomorrow I am on my way back to the scattered thunderstorms, 50-degree weather, non-disclosure agreements, contracts of indentured servitude and the feral cat circus. Am I excited to go back to Utah? Go ahead, speculate.

This trip wasn’t perfect but I did visit the following:

Nethercutt Museum- They possess a freaking amazing collection of antique and classic cars. I didn’t realize I was such a fan but I ADORED it!

Galco’s Old Fashioned Grocery- I purchased blueberry, cucumber,
and three different kinds of cream soda including one with milk! (I never drink soda but it is Galco’s so an exception has been made. The place is filled wall to wall with hundreds of the most random sodas you have ever seen.) Amazing!

Disneyland/California Adventure- In theory, being a fan of Baudrillard, this should be a place of evil… BUT I LOVE IT! It makes me happy to see little kids running around, enjoying the bright colors and characters. The park is clean (which is more than I can say for most of LA) and the animatronics/effects stimulate my designer brain. The details make all the difference for example, that crab on the beach in Pirates of the Caribbean that pinches it's claws together, so random but so delightful! How funny is it that when Disneyland was built political correctness was not even on the map? Have you been on the Jungle Cruise as an adult? Soooo not right but kind of hilarious because of it!

Six Flags- Epinephrine rushes abound… although dirty, the rides were more thrilling and dangerous. It made me feel all bad-to-the-bone.

USC- My future alma mater. Hooray!

Back to my current life tomorrow; I will try to make the best of it for the next few months. In the meantime, I will be thinking about the temperate climate that awaits me!

California Love

Yesterday I visited the campus of USC and I am pleased to report I had a completely different experience than my last school visit (the Southern one). In fact, it was the exact opposite. They showed an impressive film history reel about the school including interviews from famous alumni and student films from each era. After that, the dean talked about how it is more difficult to get into USC than Harvard Law (take that, Ivy Leaguers!) and that they have more applicants this year than they have had in the history of the school. She also confirmed the rumors of the USC Mafia- that when you’re in you are family and you will be taken care of (in the good way… not the swimming with the fishes way) which made me laugh. I loved the faculty, the campus, the students and the collaborative attitude. The most memorable bit about it was the faculty saying, “We know you have other options, please come to our school. We want you.” I almost cried. It was a relief to know this is the right place. My reservations about moving to LA have been overcome by an assurance that this is the ideal setting to begin my career in the major leagues. Halleluiah!

As I drove back to the hotel that song by 2Pac featuring Dr. Dre, came on the radio – the one I haven’t heard in years.

Throw it up y'all, throw it up, Throw it up
Let's show these fools how we do this on that west side
Cause you and I know it's the best side

Yeah, that's right
West coast, west coast
Uh, California Love

California Love

Sleep, Drugs and Ghosts

Sleep is my drug of choice. You might ask yourself, why would you want drugs in the first place? My answer without even thinking: they feel amazing and produce vivid, altered experiences. Drawbacks? Addiction, physical and spiritual damage, lost money and relationships, etc. You get the drift. This is why sleep is a great alternative! All the benefits without any of the jail time.

And seriously, who needs hallucinogens when you have a whacked out brain like mine? I can “trip” just about any time I am sleepy- which means, all the freaking time. Consequently, I consider myself lucky. Most of my dreams are pleasant and all around fun. Having learned to control some experiences within my dreams they become the most absurd choose-your-own-adventure story imaginable. Think Wonderland, times ten: vast, plastic, landscapes that shift in shape and texture, filled with friends, strangers and bizarre animals. When I am in charge I can do what I like, whether it is commencing an epic quest or roaming the terrain and edifices of my brain to just try new things. Amusement abounds. There is one drawback, however… nightmares.

That’s right, these are the trips that remind you why drugs are bad. Fear keeps me from controlling the outcomes and they can become bizarrely terrifying in an instant. Yesterday afternoon I fell asleep and found myself among hooligans who had this funny water balloon trick. They would place these clear balloons filled with some sort of explosive liquid in parking garages and wait for cars hit them and fly into pieces. Somehow I found myself in a car attempting to leave said garage and trying not to die while avoiding latex grenades.

I escaped, but I wasn’t myself, meaning that somehow I had switched out an X chromosome for a Y. My escape from the teenage bombers was short lived. They found me later and shoved me into an oversized stringed bass case. My brain said, Don’t worry, this is just a film. They will let you out in a minute after they have got the shot they need. But when I heard the dirt dropping on my makeshift casket and I felt my spirit separating from my body, as the oxygen was converted to carbon dioxide, I knew I might be in trouble. I floated up into a high contrast world where all of the colors one might expect to see were inverted. Another spirit, a young woman with long, curly hair, was weeping nearby. I tried to comfort her but she had been murdered too. In an instant she went from weeping to screaming and began to chase me, wailing and clawing at my back.

I woke up sweating and breathing heavily.

Let me tell you, there is nothing that I hate more than trying to comfort a ghost, having them turn nasty and start chasing what is left of you. So rude. That is the last time I try to commiserate with an apparition. They have very poor manners, indeed.