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!
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?!
Finding Caruso
Barnes, Kim. Finding Caruso. New York: Peguin Putnam, 2003.
Within the first two chapters of Finding Caruso I found myself calling Kim Barnes a favorite author. Despite the fact that the first chapter started off raw and violent; as shocking as a bucket of ice cold language, I loved the way she described the landscape, the emotion, the family structure. A mother timid and protective, a father despairing and drunken, brothers bound by love and loyalty. After a tragedy the brothers make their way to Idaho. Music is what keeps them going, but brotherly blood is what saves them.
It’s also the bittersweet tale of sibling rivalry. One brother being the older, better looking, the more talented, the one used to getting everything while the other looks on, burning with jealousy, brimming with pride. But, what happens when the tides turn and baby brother gets a stroke of luck, wins out?
I could have quoted the entire book for the wonderful lines that jumped off the pages at me, but here are a few of my favorites:
“The ballads were my mother’s favorite, and we let her lead, our boys’ voices blending in a harmony that had been in us since the moment our parents came together and planted the music in our bones” (p 7).
“Those nights my father disappeared down the road, I felt the house itself let loose its breath” (p 11).
“‘It’s not that I’m thirsty. It’s the memory that tastes good'” (p 50).
“‘Don’t ever think you know something of me without asking'” (p 111).
This book was definitely a favorite. The writing was sparse yet as fluid as the mountain streams Barnes describes in Finding Caruso.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Idaho: And Nary a Potato To Be Seen” (p 122).
Kobe Pizza
It’s hard to be a Laker fan around my husband. Especially during the finals. Especially when it’s the do or die game for Kobe and the gang. Unfortunately for Jason’s aunt she’s not only a Laker fan, she had to watch the Celtics demolish the Lakers…in front of Kisa. She was a good sport, though. She didn’t have to be – it was her house. She could have kicked us out. Instead, she donned her Red Sox gear and yelled at the tv almost as loud as her nephew. Whenever the Celtics scored she yelled, “Go Red Sox!” cracking everyone up. But, that didn’t last long. As soon as it was obvious the Lakers were giving up the fight she was cursing Kobe instead. We had pizza and alcohol and the Lakers for dinner. I can’t say much for the Lakers, but when it comes to food Californians are different. Californians are cool about their cuisine. Their pizza comes on whole wheat crust with a fresh, lovely green, healthy salad on the side. Yummy.
The Celtics had the Lakers for dinner, but I had something better. I will miss California pizza!
Seaweed Queen
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
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
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.
Blackwater
Ekman, Kerstin. Blackwater. New York: Doubleday, 1993.
Ekman’s Blackwater is possessive. It grabs you and you can’t put it down. It’s dark and gritty – peppered with angry scenes of violence and meaningless, lust driven sex. Like a maze with many twisting passages Blackwater has a community of dark stories to tell. Each tale is tangled with another and at the center, common to all, is a double murder. While everyone knows about it and is touched by it, no one can solve it for twenty years.
In the beginning Annie Raft follows a lover to Blackwater to his out-of-the-way commune. On her first day in town Annie stumbles across the murdered bodies of two tourists camping in the backwoods of Blackwater. For twenty years she is haunted by the face of the man she thinks did it until one day that face comes back in the form of her daughter’s newest boyfriend. The mystery, along with a whole host of secrets, start to unravel.
The landscape is such an important element in the novel I would have enjoyed a map, something that illustrates Annie getting lost in the forest, how far away from town the commune was, where the well was that Johan was tossed into in relation to where the murders took place, etc.
These are the really great lines: “The silence was violent after the noise of the cars” (p 10).
“He felt strangely empty inside, a green jumble of oblivion, and his skin felt licked by eyes” (p 136).
“You cannot live in the world without living off it” (p 177).
“She had lived a cautious and parched life” (p255).
“It had been an open question between them, whether you can see into your own darkness and whether it actually is your responsibility to do so. Or whether you evoke the darkness and make it into your own by toying with it” (p 422).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Crime is a Globetrotter: Sweden” (p 59).
Queen Mary Grounded
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.
Bildgewater
Gardam, Jane. Bilgewater. New York: Greenwillow Books, 1977.
Marigold Green is a wonderful name. Not so wonderful when your father’s name is Bill. Marigold adopts the unavoidable nickname of Bilgewater as a result (Bill’s + daughter = Bilgewater). As so begins Gardam’s story about teenage angst from the point of view of Marigold Green. Because her father is the housemaster to the boys of a boarding school, Marigold has a lot to be anxious about. Having lost her mother at birth, Marigold is naive when it comes to friendships, fashion, relationships with the opposite sex, and even alcohol. She had never seen drunk people before the age of 18. The one thing she does know is literature and many different works are reference throughout the story.
The quotes that grabbed me: “love had always made him sad” (p 9)
“Flowers in classrooms are as depressing as flowers in hospitals – they just emphasize the fact that you can’t get out and see them growing. Classrooms break your heart” (p 44).
“The frightful, pitiless games of hockey with me always running the wrong way” (p 201).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Jane Gardam: Too Good To Miss” (97). Pearl says of this coming-of-age tale, “…wonderful for adults who want to look back, from a safe distance, at the ups and downs of adolescence” (p 97).
Competition
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.
Forest Gump Stumped
How many times have you seen the movie Forest Gump? How well do you know the story? How about the details? Well, if you ever go to Bubba Gump’s for lunch, you better bone up on your Gump trivia. As soon as we sat down our waiter pounced on us with “What were the name of Forest’s friends? What sports were played in the movie? What actress played his mother?…” All we wanted was to read the menu.
Here’s another thing. If you are trying to eat clean, Bubba’s is not the place to go. Almost every item on the menu was fried-fried-fried. Either that or it was drowning in mayo and disguised as a “salad.” The healthiest thing on the menu didn’t even have shrimp in it and sounded incredibly boring and tastless (I don’t even remember what was in it except the main ingredient was “iceburg lettuce”) so I went for the only nonfried, nonmayo’ed shrimp dish – the dipping pot. Crusty bread (white) and sweet, nutty Jasmine rice served with a pot of steaming hot shrimp “soup.” The shrimp were swimming in a stew of butter, garlic, fresh herbs, and seafood broth. The concept of the dish was to have fun with this very interactive meal. I needed to fish out the shrimp from the broth and eat it with a scoop of rice. The bread was for the dipping pot. Very entertaining.
When the meal was first placed in front of me I was impressed with its presentation. So much so that I took the above picture. What I didn’t know was that the lid to the “soup” was roasting hot. As I was innocently snapping my pic our flamboyant waiter approached and demanded to know who brought us our meals. Guy or girl? he snapped? Red shirt or blue? Bewildered, we told him what we knew and without another word took a dishtowel to remove the lid of my pot. “Seriously hot” he snarled as he walked away. Woah. We all looked at the pot in amazement. That would have hurt. Seriously. I snapped another picture.
Sleeping Giant
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.
Touch-Me Houses
The houses on the Long Beach “shore” are so close together you are your own neighbor. They’re called Touch-Me houses because you could literally lean out your window and touch the house beside yours. These tiny, no privacy dwellings go for a cool million. All because of where they are, Bayside Long Beach, California. I was amazed at how tiny these houses (with gigantic price tags) really are. Each one of them different from the last, but oh so tiny! Are the people who live here happy? I mean really happy? Do they like their neighbor’s windows spying on theirs? Is the view worth it’s weight in privacy forsaken?
Looking at real estate in hotbed areas really puts the house hunting task into perspective. The lesson to be learned, if there is such a thing, is living within your means doesn’t have to mean living on top of your neighbor! No thank you.
Book Connected
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.
~*LunaSea*~ 