Category: Confessional

Surfing the Words of Others

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I wanted to title this blog, “write something damn you!” But, I decided that was a little harsh…You see, I have friends who blog. WordPress people. When I added them to my blogsurfer I thought, “cool. a new and different way to keep in touch. awesome.” Not so awesome. Only a few people actually write with regularity. I get bored. So, I started the hunt for new and interesting people. That in itself has a curse attached. I found Frogshake. Added the blog to my “list.” Soon after the words stopped coming. Same with someone else. And someone else. Huh. Started (again!) searching for other words; other people with interesting things to say. Added them to the surf. The words rolled to a stop. Flat calm seas. Again. What, exactly, is going on? Am I cursing the blogging universe by wanting to read them on a regular basis?  

I like words. I like them even better when they are strung together in thought-provoking, insightful, even funny sentences. Best is when they are from people I adore. John Mayer is good with words. I’d read him more often if he gave up the silly singing career and devoted his time to putting pen to paper…like that’s gonna happen! That’s not to say I don’t enjoy his music or his lyrics…he’s just good with the words no matter how he gets them out.

So. Here’s a request. Tell me your favorite blogs. Do you have one I haven’t read? Where do you go for words? I know someone who stalks a weasel. But, what else is there? Email me. call me. text me. comment me. write on my wall. whatever. You will be doing me a huge favor. I won’t add them to the surf or the roll, though. I wouldn’t want to jinx anything!

ps~ a word on my links, speaking of blogs… You may have noticed a change in favorites. Yes, this was deliberate.
Sometimes, you outgrow a life. Sometimes you just grow up. I think I did a little of both.

Lost One of the Nine

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On the way from Long Beach, California to San Diego I gave up one of my nine lives. I was going to call this blog I Hate Penske Trucks but decided against slamming an innocent company when really, it’s their reckless drivers I should be blaming.
We were somewhere between here and there and traffic was heavy. Kisa was driving (of course). Tom was his copilot and I served as a hood ornament for all my uselessness. There we were, in the farthest left lane (in other words, what should have been the fastest), when all of a sudden we came upon a Penske truck. Traveling in our lane. Hazards on. Going at least 15 mph slower than everyone else. For awhile Kisa hung out behind Penske, careful not to tailgate. But, no matter how hard he tried he continuously crept close to Penske. Too close for me. Until finally I, the backseat driver that I am, blurted out, “go around him!” Moving over one lane didn’t offer us much comfort. To the right of us, behind us and directly in front were three large 18-wheelers all chugging along at a comfortable 80mph. We felt like a HHR sandwich. Penske (still flashing hazards) sped up and continued to hang to the left of us. We were surrounded by size on all sides. And going 80 miles an hour.
That’s when it happened. Without warning Penske started to drift into our lane. We couldn’t speed up, slow down or move over to accommodate this moving truck that seemed determined to move into our lane. Kisa leaned on the horn. I yelled. Penske swerved, sped up and somehow got in front of us, then on the other side of us. The driver waving frantically “sorry, sorry!” Sorry my azz. You just made me give up a life!
It’s not Penske’s fault but I will always growl when I see one of their trucks!

For Smiley with thanks!

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When it comes to friendship age has no consequence. Color has no connection. Gender shouldn’t be a guiding factor. These are the rules I try to live by when it comes to friends. Simple as that.

Last Friday such a friend came to East Greenbush, N.Y. with me. It was a reckless adventure. No real address. Didn’t know what to expect. No real plan other than to hear great music. We had 90 minutes there and back to talktalktalk and believe me, we did. When we got to the restaurant it looked as though we had found Funky town. Weird mix of bikers, bouncy houses and a bizarre cover band. Definitely not what I bargained for. With a shrug we went inside the restaurant to eat. Clean eating be damned, I was sick of salads and ordered a bad burger and lemonade – unheard of for me. Sometime later I realized we hadn’t seen or heard the music we came for. Confused I sent a text to a friend. A knowledgeable, computer-ready, cool friend who looked up where we were supposed to be…right where we were sitting. How bizarre. Thanks, Bri. Even though you confirmed our confused state, you rock.

In the end we found our music and figured it all out. It was an adventure to remember. We met cool people, heard great music – the music we came for, saw five towns worth of fireworks, and decided “fireworks are a lot like parades…a lot of anticipation with little payoff.” Despite all that, I was glad she was with me for the adventure. Doing this trip alone would have tapped my ability to unhinge my security of self. So, thanks.

ps~ S~ this is the pic that made me think of you…how could I NOT take a pic?!

Seaweed Queen

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 SeaWeedQueen

I have always been a seaweed queen. When I was a child I would crouch down over tidal pools, push the algae aside and watch for minnows. I was never afraid of the slime green vegetation. When the tide moved in it was fun to watch the long, dark, bumpy strands of seaweed sway along the shore. To me, it was a forest of brown dancing under the waves. Mermaids hair as they hid among the rocks just out of reach. On luckier days after hurricanes giant strings of leafy kelp would wash up onto the beach and suddenly my friends and I had skirts from the sea. Wet and slimy, wrapped around our bodies and staining our clothes. We were queens of the ocean come ashore to live in landlocked exile. My imagination took me to an underwater world that continues to fascinate me to this day.
When I grew older (and bolder) I learned seaweed was actually edible and began drying it as a kind of vegetarian beef jerky. Adding it to my diet of raw periwinkles and mussels, crab apples, sour clover, and blackberries I ate like royalty foraging all day long.

I’ve since stopped watching for mermaids. I no longer wear kelp for fashion. I’ve lost the taste for the salty sea. But, I will always, always be a seaweed queen.

Finding Sean

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The slightly negative imagery is the only way for me to explain what has been happening. While this sounds bad it’s not. It’s a good thing. Honestly.

I’m getting tripped up in Sean Rowe’s music. Here’s that awful analogy – it’s like trying to escape from a sticky situation and finding yourself more and more entrapped & entangled. It’s starts off uncomplicated, of little consequence until it’s all consuming. I know I’m not making sense but I can’t explain it. For the longest time I was fixated on another kind of music. Some say obsessed. I’d say they weren’t that far off. It took getting over the addiction to open my ears to something else. And that something else led me to Sean Rowe. Here’s another analogy – being stuck in a room full of smokers, choking on fumes, unable to find the door. Fumbling, stumbling until I can open a window and breathe. The fresh air is the new music I am craving. 

Everyone knows I am locked in by lyrics. Anything beyond Ooh Baby Baby, anything with an ounce of thought gets my attention. I can remember sitting with Melanie from the band sirsy and listening to her explain the research behind Mercury. Before even hearing it the song became a favorite. Why? Because there was some intelligence in the process. There was some thought to the theme.

Such is Sean’s music. The last time I saw him I called ‘Jonathan’ creepy. I was worried I would offend, but truly it was the only way to explain how the lyrics moved through me, pausing to strangle my heart and moving on to choke my emotions. It was creepy the power this song had (and still has) over me.

This last time to see Sean was something else. This was the first time hearing covers. This was the first time I had to shut out the obnoxious barflies who simply wouldn’t shut up. I shut my eyes and concentrated on the words. I had to shut down the urge to kill the useless conversations around me.
I still like ‘Wet’ best. It’s like a beauty born out of tragedy.
‘Trademark of Fools’ is still amazing as is ‘Alone.’

We thought that July 11th might make for an interesting trip, but I have carrots with my name on them. I think 8/1 is the next fix. I’ll wear my new shirt 😉

Scavenger Hunt Antics

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If you attended my wedding you know two things about me. I have never been one for tradition (what? no cake?) and I like to play a game called Photo Scavenger Hunt. It’s simple. One camera. One list of things to take pictures of within a certain time frame. At the wedding every table got a camera and a challenge to take pics of various people and things (like the head chef in the kitchen). That way I didn’t get a bunch of butt pictures! This time the time frame was simply “while on vacation” and I cheated. I had two cameras.
But, that’s beside the point. Here’s the list:

From the Plane:

  • puffy white clouds (piece of cake)
  • the desert
  • a mountain, any mountain

Las Vegas:

  • View from the hotel
  • A live flamingo
  • some sign or plaque of Benjamin Siegel
  • an outdoor slot machine
  • a living statue
  • “money”

Long Beach:

  • view from the hotel
  • a brown pelican
  • the Pacific ocean/ some seaweed
  • Kisa’s great aunt
  • a cactus

San Diego:

  • view from the hotel
  • a palm tree
  • a gorilla
  • my cousin’s flowers
  • proof for Ruby I wore “the dress”
  • someone’s feet
  • a bow tie

Ontario:

  • View from hotel room
  • something related to the Closer
  • a sunset
  • someone in the pool
  • the elusive cousins

I got nearly all the pictures I wanted. Here’s the set. I didn’t find the outdoor slot machine (big surprise) and the gorillas at the San Diego zoo had gone in for the day. I forgot all about a bow tie. I found something Closer related on the first day which was huge because I never made it to L.A. Also, I found three different Chipotles so that was a nice bonus. I even got everyone together for the dreaded cousin picture. Grand total: 859 pics on one camera; 362 pictures on another… 87 on a seperate memory card. 1,308 pictures.

Queen Mary Grounded

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Queen MaryWall art

My uncle described the Queen Mary as “the rusting mistake in the harbor.” He went on to say that he didn’t even think it was floating anymore, that it has somehow rooted itself to the bottom of the bay and was just sitting there, waiting to crumble into the persistent tide. I could only nod and somewhat agree with him, thinking back on the holes, rust, wear and tear I saw while touring the once majestic ship. It all seemed so sad.
Even while we explored the ship, Kisa’s aunt explained the great ballrooms were for rent, but the prices were so extravagent no one could afford them. As a result, the ballrooms remained majestic and silent. Decidedly grand, but moreso empty. Faded and forgotten. As I stood in the middle of one such cavernous room I tried to picture the parties at sea. Diners headed from England for who knows where. My grandmother traveled in such style. I can remember a picture of her, decked out in her finest Dine with the Captain wear. I could almost hear the melody of silverware, wine being poured, waiters moving in between tables with steaming plates. Ghosts from a finer era. We don’t sail like that these days.
Later, out on deck I spotted a hole in a lifeboat. The rust of time had bore a hole in the hull and a patch of bright blue sky peeked through. I imagined the boat upon the high seas, the sky to disappear, replaced by dark, dangerous, rushing green water. Filling the boat and sinking the load. The cold of the ocean closing in over the cooling and soon chilled skin unprepared to drown.
Elevators with confusing floor numbers. Rooms for rent. A nonfloating, floating hotel. Buffet breakfasts to bring back the grandeur. Brass half shined. They still blow the horn three times a day. A signal to those all around. The Queen Mary is grounded. Going nowhere. But come aboard for eggs.

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Competition

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Borders Fun

I am conviced Borders put up a ferris wheel to attract customers. Try to tell me it’s on someone else’s property and it’s purely coincidental that I see a ferris wheel at the same time as a Borders sign and I’ll shrug. Explain to me that’s there for another reason and I won’t believe you. Try to reason with me it’s just for show and I’ll say it doesn’t matter one bit. Tell me it doesn’t work and I won’t care. It’s there. It made me look…caught my eye…made me think about books…made me want to buy a book. Now, where can I buy a book out here? Borders! Bingo! If I had been captain of my own vessel I would have been aboard the good ship Borders. Just as they planned. Or not. Ah, the magic of marketing…intentional or not. It worked on me.

PS~ If it truly is a Borders marketing ploy I don’t think they have anything to worry about. I saw only one B&N the whole time I was on the west coast. I was beginning to think they didn’t exist on the west coast. On the very last day in CA I spotted a mall with a Barnes & Noble sign. Just one.

Sleeping Giant

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Sleeping

The Long Beach aquarium (Aquarium of the Pacific) is one of the coolest in the country. We were able to visit them on their ten year anniversary! What makes them so cool? For starters, they are only ten years old. Can’t say that enough. They opened their doors to the public not only on schedule but on budget, too! But, more importantly, they were the very first aquarium to breed weedy sea dragons in captivity. That is just the most awesome thing. Actually, to be honest, the MOST awesome thing is that the Aquarium of the Pacific is home to an Olive Ridley sea turtle. How cool is that? the first time we found her she was a sleeping giant. With her head in a corner and her back to the crowd she slept in private, oblivious to us gawking tourists. Bored, my party moved on and I reluctantly followed. I didn’t want to leave the most beautiful creature in the world, sleeping or not.

I don’t know what made me go back to my sleeping giant. Something told me to visit her again. This time she was a playing swimmer, chasing a dog toy on a string. A group of us stared and laughed as she followed it higher and higher. She looked as though she wore a smile…almost as big as mine.

Say Hello

Book Connected

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I finished three books while away for the week: The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler, The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffennegger, and The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. For some reason I thought bringing the first two would be enough. I vowed I wouldn’t read while Kisa drove, I wouldn’t read in front of hosts or family, & lastly, I wouldn’t read when I could be doing something else. Here’s when I did read: right before bed, when I first woke up, a few times by random pools and on the plane, of course. Somehow that gave me enough time to finish all three books.

What I didn’t expect to do while on this trip is talk books. I didn’t expect to make a connection with anyone about reading. It was nice to discover that someone else on Kisa’s side of the gene pool enjoys a good read every now again. She reads mostly nonfiction whereas I’m trying to catch up on all the must-reads of every genre. She even has a top 25 going for someone. Maybe when I finish the BLC I’ll ask for her recommendations.

Get a Room

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There is something illicit about hotel rooms. Anonymous and secretive. I don’t know what it is. When I was a kid I used to give myself chills thinking how far away from home I was, how disconnected I was from everything “safe.” I used to look at the people around me and think it a small thrill that no one I knew knew them. Yet, here I was, with them. I felt like I was getting away with something; that my life was in danger in a happy way.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s what it’s like to have an affair. Kisa and I were at our second hotel. He wanted to swim and I was chapters deep in my book. I agreed to read by the pool to keep him company. That really wasn’t necessary because frolicking in the deep end was a rather loud, giggly couple. It was obvious they were in the mood for more than a swim, but rude enough to stay where they were. Discretion be damned. Later, kisa told me he thought the man was married to someone else. It was the way the man explained things to his chirping companion as if they had just met, yet he wore a wedding band. Was this man really renting a room for romance? Did he really have a patiently ignorant someone at home?
It didn’t matter to me. All I wanted them to do was use the room they paid for.

Big Mouth Shut

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ESPN
Game four. We had to be somewhere for game four. I was thinking “errr…what’s wrong with the hotel? It has a big flat screen tv….” But, I know this as well as any sports fan. You can’t watch a high stakes game (of any kind) in your hotel room. Alone. You have to go somewhere loud. Somewhere where you can place bets and you might get heckled. Somewhere where the air conditioning is up too high and people yell to be heard over the pounding music. Somewhere where every plate of food that goes by smells delicious and the beer flows freely. That place was ESPN Zone in New York New York. It was loud. The A/C was up too high. The food was great. The beer flowed Fat Tire. And yes, my husband got heckled. How could he not? He was the only Celtics fan in our corner of the restaurant. He was the only one wearing green, yelling at the refs, complaining about bad calls. And, yes, the Celtics were losing.
That doesn’t mean there weren’t other Celtics fans in the restaurant. In fact there was a good sized crowd of them bellied up at the bar. Problem was, Kisa was nowhere near the bar. His cheers for the Celtics were like a lone explorer at the North Pole – helllllooooooo? Surrounded by Laker fans they soon zeroed in on the guy in green. Words were exchanged. Insults akin to “yo mama” only sports related were tossed around. My basketball player can beat up your basketball player. You don’t wanna come to Boston. I think someone paid off the ref. It’s all over now, baby blue.
When it was all over and the Celtics really did lose my Kisa got up to approach the opposing table. A couple next to me jerked their thumbs and rolled their eyes at his retreating back. “Is he really going over there?” a woman asked me, concern in her voice but merriment in her eyes. Everyone loves a good fight. “Guess so.” I muttered. All I wanted was a warm bed and to never hear the name Kobe again. I could have slept standing up.
In the end, kisa and the Laker fans shook hands. But, as he turned to leave kisa had one more parting shot: We’ll see what happens in Boston.

Bananas Again

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There was a ‘scene’ in Stomp involving a banana. The next night there was a scene in Zumanity involving several bananas. Several provactive bananas. Comparing Stomp to Zumanity is like comparing apples to oranges, but they both had the bananas.

While nothing made me slide down in my seat in shame I wondered what I would do if someone called on me to perform. When it comes to innuendo, I want to be that girl in the front row who can take on an awkward situation. Take a big bite out of something embarrassing and come up laughing.

I want to be that girl who takes the biggest bite…And swallows, too.

June Was…

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June was a night of Sean Rowe music with some great women. June was one hell of a trip. June was the kick in the pants I needed. June was the “get off the pot” month. For BookLust Challenge it was:

  • Ninety-Two in the Shade by Thomas McGuane (fishing month)
  • An Academic Question by Barbara Pym (Ms. Pym’s birthday)
  • Act of the Damned by Antonio Lobo Antunes (family month)
  • The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler (best month to get married)
  • The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffennegger (Ms. Niffennegger’s birth month)
  • The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (Father’s Day)
  • The American Ambassador by Ward Just (Anti-Father’s Day)

One review for LibraryThing:

  • Tomato Girl by Jayne Pupek (one word: tragic, tragic, tragic!)

Both Ninety-two in the Shade and Tomato Girl  were described as “gritty” and yes, were both gritty, but in two very different ways. I have to say The Kite Runner was my favorite June book.

Flicker Sex

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Sin

I was expecting Vegas to be this scandalous, crazy, never-tell-your-mama-what-you’ve-done kind of city. I don’t know what I was picturing (people having sex in fountains? doing lines in the bathroom? stripping on dance floor?). I haven’t a clue. Here’s what I saw: people, people, people. All shapes and sizes, ages and backgrounds. People with cameras slung around their necks. People with places to go, people to meet. Men dressed for money, girls dressed for magazines. I couldn’t tell a prostitute from a tourist (unless she was handcuffed behind a cruiser). And, yes, some breasts were out (intentionally or not). Everyone walked around with a drink of some sort – some looking more ridiculous than others.
Here’s the only time I felt I was in sin city: the guys on every street corner trying to hand guys (and girls) “information” on hooker hook-ups. “Get a girl in 20 minutes…” Small clusters of dirty men (and an occasional woman) stood on every street corner flicking girly cards slightly smaller than a playing card. Waiting for the light to change all you hear is snap-snap-snap, flick-flick-flick. No one really says anything to you, just tries to get you to take a card, shoves it at you. The street corners are littered with smiling topless women…and the promise of the Vegas I imagined. The one that stays in Vegas.