The doctor's waiting room is normally not very interesting. There is just me and other people waiting for our names to be called to wait, once again, in a treatment room. Today the first 15 minutes of my wait was entertaining. A young woman on her phone was answering questions about her business. "Oh yes, you would like to book an event? Well, as you know Fabio is very busy. I'm in LA, but will be in New York on Monday. My email? Sure. The restaurant? It's fabulous." Blah Blah Blah.com.
I was listening to my trusty talk radio for awhile and checking out the book on writing a screenplay that I brought, so I lost track for a minute of the red headed mover and shaker who lithely lounged across the chair in a beige, long summer dress, glued to her Blackberry. Then suddenly she was at it again, talking about paying a bill and ready to give her credit card number without hesitation. "Hold on," she told the person on the line. "Hello, Mom, let me call you back." I was a little disappointed it was her mom. I was hoping for a glittering New York celebrity like Heidi Klum telling her the date of her next baby shower so she could book her fabulous event in that fabulous restaurant.
After she left, I apparently missed the entire credit card number she gave over the phone in a crowded doctor's waiting room, but the lady 2 seats down from me didn't. We unashamedly started talking about our entertaining co-waiter until the poor man between us finally got up and found another seat. The kind lady I was talking to felt we had been a little rude, but I felt that he could have moved at any moment if we were annoying him. I told her this is such a colorful event, I just might write about it in my blog. "Oh, what's your blog?" she asked. I love that question.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Why I like KFI
Bill Handel could be my cousin: grew up in the San Fernando Valley, Jewish, loudmouth, loves to make fun of his parents, politically incorrect, loves to talk, has an excellent crew on his morning show, his voice is so annoying it gets my husband out of bed when he oversleeps.
Rush Limbaugh: He hated school but became a self made multi-millionaire, loves this country, backs up his arguments, gives good explanations of what the government should be involved in and what it shouldn't be involved in, gives clever, funny nicknames to all sorts of people, he is pretty biased as far as the Republicans go, he is opinionated to the nth degree, but all talk show hosts have to be, he is really fair with callers.
Dr. Laura: Is staunch in her belief that kids need their moms and not daycare, thinks marriage is sacred and men need lots of sex and affection, thinks women control the relationship and have all the power to make their marriages perfect, (as long as they picked correctly) believes in being brave and strong and you need to listen to your own intuition, has an incredible sense of humor, she knows how to use a gun, is a little neurotic about people being in shape and it makes me nervous because I think universal health care will control what people eat and how much they weigh and if they exercise, and I think she's OK with that.
John and Ken: You have to be in the mood for John's brash passion. He can really screech. They're a really good balance, though, Ken interrupts John a lot. Ken gives a fairly good movie review on Fridays, but watch out, he tells too much!
They are passionate about politicians doing the right thing and are incredibly energetic activists who can gather a fantastic crowd. When John shares his Daddy stories, I just love it.
Kennedy and Suits: Bryan Suits knows everything military. He's incredibly descriptive and passionate about our troops. I believe he is decorated for his service. He's funny. Kennedy is really funny and perceptive. They start to imitate the same kind of voices while they're doing a show, but it's kind of cute.
Rush Limbaugh: He hated school but became a self made multi-millionaire, loves this country, backs up his arguments, gives good explanations of what the government should be involved in and what it shouldn't be involved in, gives clever, funny nicknames to all sorts of people, he is pretty biased as far as the Republicans go, he is opinionated to the nth degree, but all talk show hosts have to be, he is really fair with callers.
Dr. Laura: Is staunch in her belief that kids need their moms and not daycare, thinks marriage is sacred and men need lots of sex and affection, thinks women control the relationship and have all the power to make their marriages perfect, (as long as they picked correctly) believes in being brave and strong and you need to listen to your own intuition, has an incredible sense of humor, she knows how to use a gun, is a little neurotic about people being in shape and it makes me nervous because I think universal health care will control what people eat and how much they weigh and if they exercise, and I think she's OK with that.
John and Ken: You have to be in the mood for John's brash passion. He can really screech. They're a really good balance, though, Ken interrupts John a lot. Ken gives a fairly good movie review on Fridays, but watch out, he tells too much!
They are passionate about politicians doing the right thing and are incredibly energetic activists who can gather a fantastic crowd. When John shares his Daddy stories, I just love it.
Kennedy and Suits: Bryan Suits knows everything military. He's incredibly descriptive and passionate about our troops. I believe he is decorated for his service. He's funny. Kennedy is really funny and perceptive. They start to imitate the same kind of voices while they're doing a show, but it's kind of cute.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Gosh Darn Dreams
Dreams are confounding. I couldn't escape my dream this morning. I would wake up and go straight back to it, like the interruption was a commercial. So the dream plot centered around the fact that I took a painting from the museum. Horrors. It was one that was on a sort of sampler rack, and all the administration was deciding which paintings were going on auction. It was an abstract of a city, I think, you know how pliable the edges of dreams are. I have no idea how I could just pick up a painting three feet by four feet and walk out with it, but I did. I brought it home, which was a woodsy backyard in a canyon, not my real life house by any shot, and set it on a tiny easel outside. I continued my life of shopping and visiting and had sort of an amnesiac's respite of what I had done until news broke that a painting was missing. Then I realize I had taken that painting, put it on an easel that was so small it poked its hard wooden edges into the canvas, and to top it off, left it outside in the weather. When I ran to see it, it was distorted and stretched. What was I going to do? Who should I call? Am I going to jail? In the meantime, I'm driving down steep cobblestone streets and a cousin of mine, who is a real artist, gives me a painting to take to the museum for the auction, and the dream spins off into the whole story behind her painting. With me waking from the dream, being relieved for a split second, then going back to sleep where I'm a criminal docent. When I finally woke for the last time, really relieved I hadn't stolen a painting, I got up and realized I have to finish painting the hallway today.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday Afternoon
Ah, the sigalert.com page showed the north side of the 405 moving at real freeway speeds. Not so good on the south side, but we wouldn't need it until later. So we sped up the traffic lanes and entered Westwood Village and a parking garage to see a matinee at the Geffen.
We followed some folks to what I thought was a stairway to the street, but instead, it was to a bank of elevators with only one working car for the garage to the street. No stairway? The doors opened at the blink of the light and the slight metallic sounding ding. All 10 of us got on. It took way too long of a second getting started, but we only had 2 floors to go, so my claustrophobia was in check. When it stopped, I thought we were there, but it was only at the next floor and two people were waiting. I said, "It's a little full." Someone in the back says, "We can get 2 more on." Thankfully, the people waiting begged off. As the doors slowly closed and I waited that agonizing second before the elevator started again, I heard a nasty rattle in my head about it being hot in there, and what if the elevator gets stuck. A few seconds later, we gratefully got to our floor without incident. Am I normally this neurotic? Not always, but when the conditions are ripe, watch out. Because when these feelings start forging in my head, it's like lava rolling from my innards waiting to explode at the surface of my skin. Yucky.
Crisis averted, so we walk a short half block to the ivy covered brick opening of the Geffen and see lots of people sitting in the sun and shade surrounding the fountain and talking leisurely, looking to see who is there. Me, too. Imagine, a county of 10 million people and I don't recognize anyone. (Later my hubby tells me he saw Gina Davis) We stand in line at the bar and I'm debating on a boozy drink or ice tea. I hear a woman's voice behind me say, "oh champagne." And I say, "oh champagne." I turn to her and tell her what a good idea. She is a pretty blond wearing a tangerine colored dress with lace cut outs around the neck and shoulders. She tells me, "with champagne there is always a celebration."
We ordered 2.
Our seats were in the center, just like I like it, and the play began. I got tickets to this play because of Chris Noth, but later found out a newly discovered (for me) actress named Olivia Thirlby was in it, too. I love her. She did not disappoint. It was about behind the scenes politicking during a campaign as it follows conniving politicos and upstarts as they rally with sex, trust, and betrayal. The usual fun, Saturday afternoon kind of thing.
I love seeing a play that hubby and I can talk about for a least a day or two after we've seen it. I mean that in a good way, not the kind of "man, what a waste of money that was." Hubby talked to someone who used to have season tickets, but then found out there were too many stinkers. The last play we saw at the Geffen had us talking for quite awhile, and I hope we go back soon.
We followed some folks to what I thought was a stairway to the street, but instead, it was to a bank of elevators with only one working car for the garage to the street. No stairway? The doors opened at the blink of the light and the slight metallic sounding ding. All 10 of us got on. It took way too long of a second getting started, but we only had 2 floors to go, so my claustrophobia was in check. When it stopped, I thought we were there, but it was only at the next floor and two people were waiting. I said, "It's a little full." Someone in the back says, "We can get 2 more on." Thankfully, the people waiting begged off. As the doors slowly closed and I waited that agonizing second before the elevator started again, I heard a nasty rattle in my head about it being hot in there, and what if the elevator gets stuck. A few seconds later, we gratefully got to our floor without incident. Am I normally this neurotic? Not always, but when the conditions are ripe, watch out. Because when these feelings start forging in my head, it's like lava rolling from my innards waiting to explode at the surface of my skin. Yucky.
Crisis averted, so we walk a short half block to the ivy covered brick opening of the Geffen and see lots of people sitting in the sun and shade surrounding the fountain and talking leisurely, looking to see who is there. Me, too. Imagine, a county of 10 million people and I don't recognize anyone. (Later my hubby tells me he saw Gina Davis) We stand in line at the bar and I'm debating on a boozy drink or ice tea. I hear a woman's voice behind me say, "oh champagne." And I say, "oh champagne." I turn to her and tell her what a good idea. She is a pretty blond wearing a tangerine colored dress with lace cut outs around the neck and shoulders. She tells me, "with champagne there is always a celebration."
We ordered 2.
Our seats were in the center, just like I like it, and the play began. I got tickets to this play because of Chris Noth, but later found out a newly discovered (for me) actress named Olivia Thirlby was in it, too. I love her. She did not disappoint. It was about behind the scenes politicking during a campaign as it follows conniving politicos and upstarts as they rally with sex, trust, and betrayal. The usual fun, Saturday afternoon kind of thing.
I love seeing a play that hubby and I can talk about for a least a day or two after we've seen it. I mean that in a good way, not the kind of "man, what a waste of money that was." Hubby talked to someone who used to have season tickets, but then found out there were too many stinkers. The last play we saw at the Geffen had us talking for quite awhile, and I hope we go back soon.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Claire's Wine Tasting
Last night we went to Claire's for wine tasting and hor dourves. It's happening every Thursday night for the summer. Claire's is the cafe on the bluff over-looking the water, the Long Beach Harbor and the man made islands named after our long lost astronauts.
The cafe is embedded in the center of the Long Beach Art Museum, and as we sat watching the sunset, the swimmers frolicking in the waveless sea, and the runners, bikers, and skateboarders, we sipped a delicious variety of red and white wines. It was a perfect date night. It smoothed the feathers of my hubby's tense day, and it let me look at him in the golden orange light, laughing at his great one-liners.
For a while we tried to figure out a plot line and climax to a story I want to write, but it got too hard, so we talked about the tasty cabernet and syrah that sat before us.
I liked the little place mat with the wine descriptions. Each glass had deliriously luscious adjectives like cherries, plum, smoke, crisp, ginger. Smooth wines, 2 of which we can't even buy because only 200 bottles were made, and Claire's was the lucky recipient of the gift of 40 bottles.
There were four generously poured tasting glasses, and after the first flight (the four samples) we got to choose either another flight, or one glass of our favorite. Hubby chose the dessert wine and then ordered the chocolate mousse, my favorite!
The cafe is embedded in the center of the Long Beach Art Museum, and as we sat watching the sunset, the swimmers frolicking in the waveless sea, and the runners, bikers, and skateboarders, we sipped a delicious variety of red and white wines. It was a perfect date night. It smoothed the feathers of my hubby's tense day, and it let me look at him in the golden orange light, laughing at his great one-liners.
For a while we tried to figure out a plot line and climax to a story I want to write, but it got too hard, so we talked about the tasty cabernet and syrah that sat before us.
I liked the little place mat with the wine descriptions. Each glass had deliriously luscious adjectives like cherries, plum, smoke, crisp, ginger. Smooth wines, 2 of which we can't even buy because only 200 bottles were made, and Claire's was the lucky recipient of the gift of 40 bottles.
There were four generously poured tasting glasses, and after the first flight (the four samples) we got to choose either another flight, or one glass of our favorite. Hubby chose the dessert wine and then ordered the chocolate mousse, my favorite!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Diamonds are Forever?
Since I wrote about the crematory urn and its return to the man who threw it into the ocean, it made me revisit my wishes to be turned into a diamond after I die. Do I have the courage to actually have my family do it? I need to put it in my will. Both my hubby and son have heard me talk about it. Not that I want anyone to wear me as jewelry. I just want to be put in a little glass case, like the heart shaped one I have of my auntie's who passed away a year and a half ago, and be set on a window sill somewhere. My little diamond, probably far from perfect, would sit soaking up the sun, like a satisfied cat watching the world go by.
I don't think I have an aversion to having a grave site. I had just heard about the ashes to diamond technique and it struck me as unique and interesting. I actually think cemeteries make a nice greenbelt in our crowded cities. I know where my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents are buried could be like a serious kind of park where my family members and I could go and spend the day stopping at all our departed ones, spending time pondering their lives. We could bring our lunches and make a sincere effort at connecting to the past. Though I have considered doing it, I never have. We just make brief stops here and there when there is a funeral and we bid farewell to another family member or friend.
I hear now that some of your ashes can be turned into an orb. Not like the Orb in the Woody Allen film, Sleeper. But an orb as in gazing globe. I would be afraid it would break in an earthquake. Of course a diamond could be lost or sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. It's still an intriguing thought.
I don't think I have an aversion to having a grave site. I had just heard about the ashes to diamond technique and it struck me as unique and interesting. I actually think cemeteries make a nice greenbelt in our crowded cities. I know where my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents are buried could be like a serious kind of park where my family members and I could go and spend the day stopping at all our departed ones, spending time pondering their lives. We could bring our lunches and make a sincere effort at connecting to the past. Though I have considered doing it, I never have. We just make brief stops here and there when there is a funeral and we bid farewell to another family member or friend.
I hear now that some of your ashes can be turned into an orb. Not like the Orb in the Woody Allen film, Sleeper. But an orb as in gazing globe. I would be afraid it would break in an earthquake. Of course a diamond could be lost or sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. It's still an intriguing thought.
Monday, July 20, 2009
2nd Hand Urn Story
This is not my story, but I'm telling it anyway because it's one of my favorites, and it comes from my cousins and my uncle. Reading about the Farmer's Market's 75th anniversary reminded me of it because of the LA location and the images I get when I think of the Farmer's Market in the early days. I may not have all the names, dates and places perfectly correct, but it's the concept that gets me every time!
My uncle, AC Black was one of the first developers of the Marina Del Rey. He built condos and 1200 boat slips there in the late 60's. On his first day of dredging, up comes a crematory urn. It was inscribed with the name of a young woman, Anna Painter, who died in 1932. As my uncle was wont to do, he took out his trusty labeler, and punched out Marina Del Rey, First Day of Dredging, and the date. He kept it at his office until he retired, then brought it to his various home offices. AC Black passed away Christmas, 1999.
When his daughters were packing up his personal effects and wondering what to do with all the various and sundry items, there stood the urn. My cousin Susan thought it would be a mitzvah to find a family member of this urn and return it. She took the fat LA phone book and turned to the page with Painter as the last name. She found "Otto Painter" listed and decided that sounded old fashioned enough to go with the urn. It was her first call, and sure enough, he was the man responsible for the urn going into the Pacific Ocean.
His young sister died of consumption in 1932, and she wanted her ashes spread over the ocean. Otto could not spread the ashes right after the cremation. He kept them with him from their original home state, New York, brought them with him to his move to Florida and finally to California, where he moved into an apartment in West Los Angeles, not far from Farmer's Market. In the early 1950's, he finally felt ready to keep his promise to his dying sister, and decided to spread her ashes in the Pacific. He drove down Washington Blvd. to Bologna Creek. As he waded into the water, holding the urn and pouring his sister's ashes on the waves, he was overcome with grief and in a moment of catharsis, sacrificed the urn to the ocean. Twenty years later my uncle recovered the urn, and twenty years after that, my cousins returned the urn to Otto. She said as he took it from her hands, he kissed it.
My uncle, AC Black was one of the first developers of the Marina Del Rey. He built condos and 1200 boat slips there in the late 60's. On his first day of dredging, up comes a crematory urn. It was inscribed with the name of a young woman, Anna Painter, who died in 1932. As my uncle was wont to do, he took out his trusty labeler, and punched out Marina Del Rey, First Day of Dredging, and the date. He kept it at his office until he retired, then brought it to his various home offices. AC Black passed away Christmas, 1999.
When his daughters were packing up his personal effects and wondering what to do with all the various and sundry items, there stood the urn. My cousin Susan thought it would be a mitzvah to find a family member of this urn and return it. She took the fat LA phone book and turned to the page with Painter as the last name. She found "Otto Painter" listed and decided that sounded old fashioned enough to go with the urn. It was her first call, and sure enough, he was the man responsible for the urn going into the Pacific Ocean.
His young sister died of consumption in 1932, and she wanted her ashes spread over the ocean. Otto could not spread the ashes right after the cremation. He kept them with him from their original home state, New York, brought them with him to his move to Florida and finally to California, where he moved into an apartment in West Los Angeles, not far from Farmer's Market. In the early 1950's, he finally felt ready to keep his promise to his dying sister, and decided to spread her ashes in the Pacific. He drove down Washington Blvd. to Bologna Creek. As he waded into the water, holding the urn and pouring his sister's ashes on the waves, he was overcome with grief and in a moment of catharsis, sacrificed the urn to the ocean. Twenty years later my uncle recovered the urn, and twenty years after that, my cousins returned the urn to Otto. She said as he took it from her hands, he kissed it.
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