Dir. Seth Gordon
This is a documentary about two men competing for the highest score in the arcade game classic, Donkey Kong.
Highly Recommended. This is a really good movie.
The world of video game competition is one that I'm completely unfamiliar with. This movie opens that world up, as small and nutty as it is, to someone like me who has never, ever given a thought to it.
And yet...this movie was really interesting. The gaming world has its own rules and obsessions. Sometimes you can't believe that these people are that into it, but they are. The rivalry between the two men, world champ Billy Mitchell and up-and-coming contender Steve Wiebe, makes for some riveting storytelling. Will underdog Steve beat Billy's record? Is Billy as shifty as he seems in the movie? Will Steve's wife give up on him? Will Billy show up and play in public? What's up with that videotape, anyway?
And this story is moving because we are following the trials and tribulations of the people involved. Steve's underdog status isn't just for the Donkey Kong high score, but also applies to most of his life.
Lastly, this movie is hilarious. From the bizarre comments and behavior by the gamers who are deadly serious about this business, to the situations both men find themselves in, to the blurted comments from the mouths of kids, this movie is laugh-out-loud funny.
Go see it or rent it. At the very least, you'll have something really interesting to tell your friends and family about.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Movie Musings: High and Low (1963)
Dir.: Akira Kurosawa
Highly recommended, however, if you are new to Kurosawa's films, I would suggest watching some of his other films first such as Seven Samurai, Ikiru and/or Yojimbo.
Note: Part of my years long review of the films of Akira Kurosawa. High and Low marks the beginning of the end of this film review. I have five more films to watch after this one and then I can declare myself finished with Kurosawa (for now).
High and Low is a modern film with an interesting premise. Toshiro Mifune plays a high level executive of a shoe company. He must make a choice to pay the ransom of his chauffeur's kidnapped son or the boy will die. The film is effectively split into two parts with Part One focusing on Mifune and his moral dilemma, and Part Two focusing on the kidnapper and the efforts by the police to find him. The film's depiction of the struggle between the classes and how the rich and poor effect each other makes for a riveting theme. Cinematically, as usual, the film is gorgeous with Kurosawa's meticulous attention to detail and positioning of the actors. There is a stunning train sequence (very Hitchcock!) and a harrowing sequence of the kidnapper wandering in an alley of desperate heroin addicts. At the end, Kurosawa asks us to consider that even though the nature of good and evil seems so cut and dry, it might be possible that one resembles the other.
A fine film, beautifully done, with Kurosawa's usual company of marvelous actors including Kyoko Kagawa as Mifune's wife and Tatsuya Nakadai as Inspector Tokuro.
I was disappointed that the DVD, put out by Criterion, did not have any extras. I would have enjoyed watching commentary for this film.
Highly recommended, however, if you are new to Kurosawa's films, I would suggest watching some of his other films first such as Seven Samurai, Ikiru and/or Yojimbo.
Note: Part of my years long review of the films of Akira Kurosawa. High and Low marks the beginning of the end of this film review. I have five more films to watch after this one and then I can declare myself finished with Kurosawa (for now).
High and Low is a modern film with an interesting premise. Toshiro Mifune plays a high level executive of a shoe company. He must make a choice to pay the ransom of his chauffeur's kidnapped son or the boy will die. The film is effectively split into two parts with Part One focusing on Mifune and his moral dilemma, and Part Two focusing on the kidnapper and the efforts by the police to find him. The film's depiction of the struggle between the classes and how the rich and poor effect each other makes for a riveting theme. Cinematically, as usual, the film is gorgeous with Kurosawa's meticulous attention to detail and positioning of the actors. There is a stunning train sequence (very Hitchcock!) and a harrowing sequence of the kidnapper wandering in an alley of desperate heroin addicts. At the end, Kurosawa asks us to consider that even though the nature of good and evil seems so cut and dry, it might be possible that one resembles the other.
A fine film, beautifully done, with Kurosawa's usual company of marvelous actors including Kyoko Kagawa as Mifune's wife and Tatsuya Nakadai as Inspector Tokuro.
I was disappointed that the DVD, put out by Criterion, did not have any extras. I would have enjoyed watching commentary for this film.
Aquarium Life: Domino at the Window
I got a new camera and have had a lot of fun playing around with it. Apparently, it has an intriguing "Aquarium" mode which I can't seem to figure out how to switch into so I can play around with it. I'll figure it out later and show you the results here. In the meantime, I'm just going to continue shooting pictures straight into the glass using the flash . You can see the results here.
Domino is our youngest juvenile at about four months old, I'm guessing. He's an odd bird in that he's completely unafraid of the adults and brazenly hangs out between two nest boxes that happen to belong to Pierre, the Alpha male and Grendal, Beta male, and their mates. Most juveniles hang out on the outside edges of the colony (in this case at either end of the display) when they're not spending most of their time in the water. I've never seen a juvenile with this much balls in all the years I've been working with these animals. At first, the adults spent a whole lot of time trying to beat him up, but since he turned out to be heavier than many of the adult males this did not deter him. Now the adults have gotten bored with bothering him all the time and tolerate him being there.
This is a view of Domino swimming in the water. Not a great shot, but so what? I'm still getting used to the camera. I almost never take shots from the visitor's side something which I really need to do more of. Like all the juveniles, Domino spends a lot of time in the water which has slimmed him down a little.Including Domino, the total number of juveniles we have now is four. There may be more penguin chicks lurking around in the back. You never can tell.
Monday, August 27, 2007
New Blog: Fainting in Coils
I decided to start another blog where me and Mr. Gryphon embark on adventures. He will continue to appear here from time to time. "Fainting in Coils" will not be updated as often. I'm starting a sidebar space and will leave the name of the last post so you won't have to check to see if it's been updated.
Thanks for reading.
Thanks for reading.
Plans for My Imaginary House
"I see you have started building your new house, Miss Turtle."
"Yes, the workers have only just started yesterday."
We are sitting in a gazebo on a small island in the middle of a serene lake. The water is pale blue and the lake is a huge rectangle. Swans float by apparently nonplussed by all the noise from the construction. To our right is a huge double row of trees leading up the long driveway. In front of us is the massive structure that is the Library. All around are the rolling green lawns of the front gardens, separated by orderly hedges and topiary.
In the forest of my imagination, the Library figures prominently, dominating the landscape. While Mr. Gryphon's house is up on a hill that we can see from where we are sitting, the library is the size of dozens of cathedrals and similarly built. Stained glass windows abound along with gargoyles and flying buttresses. There is no bell, however. It's a Library, not a church.
When I announced to everyone that I would be moving into the Library and would create my own living quarters in a new wing and modify aspects of the Library for my comfort, it caused a stir. No one was surprised, however. This is my interior life and I get to decide what my house is going to be like.
I had thought I would move in with Mr. Gryphon since he lives in a mansion, however, it was decided that he would move in with me when my living quarters are complete and we would give his house over to the other folks who live here. It's only fair and they deserve that kind of luxury.
We are sitting in the gazebo sipping tea. Rolls of architectural plans are scattered here and there. The main plans are unrolled on our table and we have been looking at them. It's a sunny day with a soft breeze. I hand Mr. Gyphon a white napkin with MT&G embroidered on them. Even before the workers had arrived, I had all the linens embroidered with our initials.
"So tell me about this place, Miss Turtle."
"The main part of the Library will remain intact. I'm not modifying any of that. The new wing will be one and half times the size of your mansion and I've decided to copy your Hearst Castle swimming pools and jacuzzi's. There will be 10 guest rooms, all with different themes and furnishings from different times. In addition to my own private apartments, there will be an aquarium with fresh and salt water fishes from all over the world, amphibians and reptiles and penguins, of course."
"That's fitting." Mr. Gryphon is spreading fresh jam on a scone with a real silver knife. "Will the penguins be housed indoors or outdoors."
"Indoors so they have a comprehensive air and temperature control system. I thought I would install a zoo in the back, but decided an Aquarium would be better. Also, there will be billiard hall, a huge dining hall like the one in the Harry Potter movies (maybe not that large), a white iron and glass conservatory and an art museum. In the back there will be a sculpture garden, a hedge maze and acres of gardens with marble fountains, and another conservatory modeled on the Temperate House.
Underneath, there will be a crypt and a subterranean maze, of course." I pour out some more tea for myself. I don't bother offering any to Mr. Gryphon since his cup is still almost full. Three of the swans are bumping up against the shore of the island, but don't get out of the water.
"Of course there will be a maze," says Mr. Gryphon. He eats his scone slowly, clotted cream piled high on top. We are taking tea with our usual fine white china with red flowers. I am wearing a soft white dress with silver leather slippers. Thin lace edges the neckline and hem. There is a rowboat tethered to the small dock on this little island.
I consult the architectural plans. "Now, Mr. Gryphon, where do you want your own apartments and do you have any preferences?"
"I would prefer to have my own small suite and for us to share the private living room/sitting room space. All one unit," he says gesturing in a square with his little fork.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Positive."
"I would have thought you would have wanted your own space, there's plenty of room."
"All in one space, Miss Turtle," he says, "Tea, please." I look at him and then pick up the teapot, pouring him some more tea.
"All right." I consult the plans again. I can see this process of deciding how everything is going to be will take months, but since months is something I (we) have plenty of , I'm not concerned. Starting another blog is proof of that. Although we don't talk about it, I am looking forward to installing all the bathtubs that will be in my living space. They will range from Turkish tubs, to claw footed tubs, to those modern behemoths I'm so fond of. We continue our tea, looking over the plans. I can't wait to see how it's all going to turn out.
***
My dreams tend to be vivid and one reoccurring theme has been of me being in huge buildings like a giant hospital, giant hotels, giant castles and, yes, a library. The Library is the most compelling structure I've ever dreamed about, built like a cathedral, but with hundreds of stacks of book, stained glass windows, winding spiral staircases, and multi-levels extending upwards in an open plan. There are leather chairs here and there along with warm old desks and windows looking out to the current gardens. There is a massive reading room in the center with a dome and small cubicles for reading and working. There are also desks at the ends of rows of books for privacy and computers, of course.
My library has a comprehensive card catalog system since I really love card catalogs. They are housed in a beautiful marble drawers.
Someone once told me that when you dream of buildings, they represent your inner life. If that's true, then I'm very lucky indeed.
"Yes, the workers have only just started yesterday."
We are sitting in a gazebo on a small island in the middle of a serene lake. The water is pale blue and the lake is a huge rectangle. Swans float by apparently nonplussed by all the noise from the construction. To our right is a huge double row of trees leading up the long driveway. In front of us is the massive structure that is the Library. All around are the rolling green lawns of the front gardens, separated by orderly hedges and topiary.
In the forest of my imagination, the Library figures prominently, dominating the landscape. While Mr. Gryphon's house is up on a hill that we can see from where we are sitting, the library is the size of dozens of cathedrals and similarly built. Stained glass windows abound along with gargoyles and flying buttresses. There is no bell, however. It's a Library, not a church.
When I announced to everyone that I would be moving into the Library and would create my own living quarters in a new wing and modify aspects of the Library for my comfort, it caused a stir. No one was surprised, however. This is my interior life and I get to decide what my house is going to be like.
I had thought I would move in with Mr. Gryphon since he lives in a mansion, however, it was decided that he would move in with me when my living quarters are complete and we would give his house over to the other folks who live here. It's only fair and they deserve that kind of luxury.
We are sitting in the gazebo sipping tea. Rolls of architectural plans are scattered here and there. The main plans are unrolled on our table and we have been looking at them. It's a sunny day with a soft breeze. I hand Mr. Gyphon a white napkin with MT&G embroidered on them. Even before the workers had arrived, I had all the linens embroidered with our initials.
"So tell me about this place, Miss Turtle."
"The main part of the Library will remain intact. I'm not modifying any of that. The new wing will be one and half times the size of your mansion and I've decided to copy your Hearst Castle swimming pools and jacuzzi's. There will be 10 guest rooms, all with different themes and furnishings from different times. In addition to my own private apartments, there will be an aquarium with fresh and salt water fishes from all over the world, amphibians and reptiles and penguins, of course."
"That's fitting." Mr. Gryphon is spreading fresh jam on a scone with a real silver knife. "Will the penguins be housed indoors or outdoors."
"Indoors so they have a comprehensive air and temperature control system. I thought I would install a zoo in the back, but decided an Aquarium would be better. Also, there will be billiard hall, a huge dining hall like the one in the Harry Potter movies (maybe not that large), a white iron and glass conservatory and an art museum. In the back there will be a sculpture garden, a hedge maze and acres of gardens with marble fountains, and another conservatory modeled on the Temperate House.
Underneath, there will be a crypt and a subterranean maze, of course." I pour out some more tea for myself. I don't bother offering any to Mr. Gryphon since his cup is still almost full. Three of the swans are bumping up against the shore of the island, but don't get out of the water.
"Of course there will be a maze," says Mr. Gryphon. He eats his scone slowly, clotted cream piled high on top. We are taking tea with our usual fine white china with red flowers. I am wearing a soft white dress with silver leather slippers. Thin lace edges the neckline and hem. There is a rowboat tethered to the small dock on this little island.
I consult the architectural plans. "Now, Mr. Gryphon, where do you want your own apartments and do you have any preferences?"
"I would prefer to have my own small suite and for us to share the private living room/sitting room space. All one unit," he says gesturing in a square with his little fork.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Positive."
"I would have thought you would have wanted your own space, there's plenty of room."
"All in one space, Miss Turtle," he says, "Tea, please." I look at him and then pick up the teapot, pouring him some more tea.
"All right." I consult the plans again. I can see this process of deciding how everything is going to be will take months, but since months is something I (we) have plenty of , I'm not concerned. Starting another blog is proof of that. Although we don't talk about it, I am looking forward to installing all the bathtubs that will be in my living space. They will range from Turkish tubs, to claw footed tubs, to those modern behemoths I'm so fond of. We continue our tea, looking over the plans. I can't wait to see how it's all going to turn out.
***
My dreams tend to be vivid and one reoccurring theme has been of me being in huge buildings like a giant hospital, giant hotels, giant castles and, yes, a library. The Library is the most compelling structure I've ever dreamed about, built like a cathedral, but with hundreds of stacks of book, stained glass windows, winding spiral staircases, and multi-levels extending upwards in an open plan. There are leather chairs here and there along with warm old desks and windows looking out to the current gardens. There is a massive reading room in the center with a dome and small cubicles for reading and working. There are also desks at the ends of rows of books for privacy and computers, of course.
My library has a comprehensive card catalog system since I really love card catalogs. They are housed in a beautiful marble drawers.
Someone once told me that when you dream of buildings, they represent your inner life. If that's true, then I'm very lucky indeed.
Explanations
Mr. Gryphon is my imaginary friend. As his name suggests, he is a mythological creature half lion and half eagle. He occasionally appears on my main blog "Mock Turtle's San Francisco Life" (see link to the left there). This blog will be solely devoted to adventures we go on. Some will be for fun and others will be veiled references to issues I'm working through.
After taking on the Mock Turtle persona, it only seemed natural to add Gryphon since both characters appear in Chapter 9 of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. He is my protector, my friend and the voice of reason. He's a good guy.
The title "Fainting in Coils" is a reference to something the Mock Turtle says in Chapter 9 of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
After taking on the Mock Turtle persona, it only seemed natural to add Gryphon since both characters appear in Chapter 9 of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. He is my protector, my friend and the voice of reason. He's a good guy.
The title "Fainting in Coils" is a reference to something the Mock Turtle says in Chapter 9 of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
The Infamous Netherfield Ball
This post is a modified version from Chapter Two of my 52 page story called "The Coda." Most of the "Coda" is not fit for being published here because it is too personal as wonderful as it is. Yes, even more personal than the rants I write here. Mr. Gryphon figures prominently in "The Coda" as a companion, protector and voice of reason.
“Miss Turtle, what is going on here?”
I am wearing all white. My long hair is piled up high on my head and my sister, Jane, has painstakingly taken the time to put pearls and ribbons in it for decoration. All of the women are wearing white since it’s fashionable at that time.
Mr. Gryphon is still his usual self. “No one can see you except me,” I say quietly. I’m having difficulty walking in my shoes.
“Sorry, Lizzy, did you say something?” A beautiful blond young woman walking ahead turns to me. She looks like the personification of Spring. Someone that Botticelli would have painted.
“No, I was just excusing myself. Someone stepped on my hem.”
She smiles at me. “There is a crush of people here, Lizzy, isn’t there?” I smile back at her and nod. We are waiting in the receiving line. Mr. Gryphon is staring at me oddly. He is taking up plenty of space, but no one seems to notice. I smile weakly at him. We’re going to have to wait before I can tell him what’s going on. He nods in the direction of a group of handsomely uniformed soldiers. I nod back and he makes his way through the crowd. He is much taller than everyone else there.
“Did you find him, Lizzy?” says a sweet voice close to my ear.
“Find who?” I say to Jane. I can smell roses when she leans towards me.
“Mr. Wickham,” she looks expectant, her blue eyes are bright.
“No, I haven’t found him yet,” I make a show of looking at all the soldiers swarming around, but I know he’s not there. I look ahead and see our hosts, Mr. Bingley and his sister Miss Bingley.
“Mr. Bingley looks quite handsome tonight, Jane,” I give her a little pinch.
“Oh!” she looks at him. His bright smile and agreeable manner are radiating down the line of people. Jane turns to me, giggling. She is blushing. “He does look so handsome tonight. Do you think he’ll ask me to dance?”
“Jane, he’s already spotted you and now he can’t take his eyes off you,” I nod toward him and sure enough he is staring at my sister like there’s no one else in the room.
We make it through the receiving line. After going through the required steps of finding my best friend Charlotte, dancing with Mr. Collins and then avoiding him, looking for Mr. Wickham and confirming that he’s not here, I manage to sneak off to find Mr. Gryphon.
He is sitting on a large chair holding a champagne flute. A white rose is just visible at his left shoulder. No one seems to notice the chair is empty. His manner is formal and refined. Put him in the proper attire and he would blend in as any wealthy gentlemen in the room even if he is half eagle/half lion and over seven feet tall.
“I have ascertained that we are in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and that this is the Netherfield Ball, and that you are Elizabeth Bennett, Miss Turtle. You look very beautiful, by the way.”
“Thank you,” I say, taken aback, “Elizabeth Bennett is a very beautiful woman.”
“Yes, and so are you, and a good deal more exotic besides. Now, what are we doing here?”
At that moment the reason for our being there is walking in our direction. Mr. Darcy hasn’t seen me yet. He is nodding at people as necessary and looking around the room as he strolls. He sees me and pauses in his steps for a moment. He stares openly at me without moving until he is jostled by a soldier following another young woman. He walks past me. I smile a small smile and watch him as he moves out of the room. Before he crosses the threshold to the ballroom, he glances back at me, then he is lost to my sight because of the crowd of people.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” I ask. Mr. Gryphon laughs, but mercifully doesn’t say anything. I turn to him. “Mr. Gryphon, why can’t I find a man like Mr. Darcy? I mean, I don’t mind if a man is a little shy and aloof as long as he has a good heart.”
“Lots of men are good hearted, and have the added bonus of being real human beings.”
“Yes, of course there are those few men somewhere, so why can't I find them? And another thing, why do many men hide their feelings if they have any feelings for me at all?” I’m still scanning the crowd for the tall, dark figure of Mr. Darcy.
“Mr. Darcy hides his feelings for Lizzy and even makes a disparaging remark about how she could never tempt him,” says Mr. Gryphon.
“Yes, but it’s different. Did you see how Mr. Darcy stared at me? He’s crazy about me,” I look around to see if Charlotte or Jane are looking for me.
“Lots of men have looked at you like that, Miss Turtle.” I wince and let the remark hang in the air without replying.
"Yes, you are right, Mr. Gryphon. Perhaps my time for finding someone who is crazy about me is over; I've had a decent run, I suppose. I can't complain.”
“That's a silly thing to say, Miss Turtle. You can swoon over Mr. Darcy all you want, but a man fixed as a picture on the screen is no match for a real human being.”
“Tell me about it," I say. I'm giving up on the conversation now. Mr. Gryphon and I have been down this road many times.
“You give up far to easy, Miss Turtle, because you think everything should be handed to you on a silver platter.”
“Are you trying to ruin this section of the story for me, Mr. Gryphon?” I face him squarely, my hands on my hips. He shifts elegantly in brocade white satin chair and takes a sip from his glass.
“I am merely stating the facts, Miss Turtle. You can’t expect me to watch you discount those things.”
“I guess I can’t.”
“Lizzy! What are you doing all alone in this corner? Are you all right?”
I turn towards Charlotte. “Oh Charlotte, I’m so disappointed about Mr. Wickham,” I say right on cue. Mr. Gryphon smiles grimly at me.
“I know you are, but you can’t stay here in the corner all by yourself. Come, let's find something to drink,” she takes my arm and I feel her lace covered hand take mine. I glance back at Mr. Gryphon as we leave the room. He is waving primly at me.
We make our way through the crowd holding our glasses and giggling at something Mr. Collins said when Mr. Darcy’s solemn, tall figure suddenly appears in front of us.
“Miss Bennett, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?”
I stare at him not in shock, but in awe at his beauty.
“You may,” I manage to stumble out. He nods his head in a slight bow and then I drag Charlotte out the nearest doorway to the garden.
“Uh,” I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say next, then it comes to me “Charlotte, did I just agree to dance with Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, you did, Lizzy, and I daresay you’ll find him most agreeable.”
“I hope so because because something about Derbyshire,” I stumble out. Charlotte laughs on cue and we giggle together.
The dance is about to begin. I am looking appropriately solemn, but it’s really just me being unable to breathe. Mr. Darcy stares deeply at me and the music starts. I relax and let myself fall into the appropriate dance steps. He takes my hands. They are warm and strong.
“I love this dance,” I say.
“Indeed, most invigorating,” says Mr. Darcy. I see Mr. Collins watching us on the other side of the room. Mr. Gryphon is standing directly behind him, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Mr. Collins is quite a bit shorter than average height and is completely dwarfed by him. Mr. Gryphon glares at Mr. Collins and then sticks his finger in his mouth with a gagging motion. I crack a smile.
“Now, it’s your turn, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, now you should remark on the size of the room or the number of couples,” I say as we turn and hold hands, releasing and stepping around each other in time with the music.
He looks a little startled. “I’m happy to oblige. Please tell me what you would most like to hear.”
“That reply will do for the present,” I say as we move back and forth with the other couples. I look up to see Jane and Mr. Bingley who is looking at her like she is the only woman in existence.
“Now we may remain silent,” I say with what I think is with a touch of elegance and dignity.
“Do you always talk so much while dancing?” asks Mr. Darcy.
I turn around him, smiling. “No, I prefer to be unsociable and taciturn.”
Mr. Darcy stares at me and bites his lip on the next turn. I can feel myself melting with each touch of his hands and I want more than anything to grab him around the neck and shove my tongue down this throat.
“Tell me, do you often walk to Meryton?” he asks.
“We do often walk to Meryton,” I say drawing myself up to be pro-Wickham, “It’s a wonderful way to make new friends. In fact, we’d had the pleasure of making a new acquaintance when we saw you.”
“Mr. Wickham has such happy manners. It makes it easy for him to make new friends. Whether he’s capable of keeping them is less certain,” says Mr. Darcy.
We are supposed to take each other’s hands as we cross each other during the dance. I stop instead and we are face to face as the other couples move and turn around us.
“He’s been most unfortunate to lose your friendship,” I say and then as I stare into his eyes, I forget the next line. I tilt my head towards him and we are transfixed with each other. Unable to stop myself, I finally throw my arms around him and plant one on him. There’s huge collective gasp and the music stops. He doesn’t have time to react to the kiss before I am suddenly jerked back. As I stumble away from him, I can see that his arms are up as if he were just about to enfold me in them. His eyes are deep liquid.
“Come on, Miss Turtle, time to go home,” says Mr. Gryphon snapping me out of the moment.
“What are you doing!” I yelp trying to free myself from his iron grip. Everyone is staring at us and I can see from their faces that they are shocked to their toes. He quickly drags me out of there and then puts me in the nearest carriage. He climbs in after me after tapping the driver. Apparently, the driver can see him or sees someone because the carriage begins to move.
“What I’m doing, Miss Turtle, is saving Lizzy Bennett’s virtue. You have no right to compromise her like that. If you do, she won’t be able to marry Mr. Darcy.”
“I WAS KISSING HIM!” It is all I can say. The carriage rocks back and forth along the gravel road. I sit and pout, arms folded, not looking at him. Mr. Gryphon leans back on the cushions, apparently relaxed. Some time passes and I feel chagrined.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have done it,” I say. He does not reply, his great yellow eyes glowing at me in the carriage dark. “Did you know, Mr. Gryphon, that in the U.K. Mr. Darcy was voted the man women would most like to go on a date with beating out James Bond and Superman?”
“That’s not surprising, Miss Turtle. There is something compelling about him, no question, but you need to remember a real man, not a fictional character who does everything you want him to do is far more compelling.”
I sigh. “Point taken, Mr. Gryphon.” I am back in my usual clothes. The carriage stops and Mr. Gryphon steps out and pays the driver. He helps me out of the carriage like a true gentleman. We step out onto a odd, friendly landscape. The carriage continues down the gravel path and disappears.
“Miss Turtle, what is going on here?”
I am wearing all white. My long hair is piled up high on my head and my sister, Jane, has painstakingly taken the time to put pearls and ribbons in it for decoration. All of the women are wearing white since it’s fashionable at that time.
Mr. Gryphon is still his usual self. “No one can see you except me,” I say quietly. I’m having difficulty walking in my shoes.
“Sorry, Lizzy, did you say something?” A beautiful blond young woman walking ahead turns to me. She looks like the personification of Spring. Someone that Botticelli would have painted.
“No, I was just excusing myself. Someone stepped on my hem.”
She smiles at me. “There is a crush of people here, Lizzy, isn’t there?” I smile back at her and nod. We are waiting in the receiving line. Mr. Gryphon is staring at me oddly. He is taking up plenty of space, but no one seems to notice. I smile weakly at him. We’re going to have to wait before I can tell him what’s going on. He nods in the direction of a group of handsomely uniformed soldiers. I nod back and he makes his way through the crowd. He is much taller than everyone else there.
“Did you find him, Lizzy?” says a sweet voice close to my ear.
“Find who?” I say to Jane. I can smell roses when she leans towards me.
“Mr. Wickham,” she looks expectant, her blue eyes are bright.
“No, I haven’t found him yet,” I make a show of looking at all the soldiers swarming around, but I know he’s not there. I look ahead and see our hosts, Mr. Bingley and his sister Miss Bingley.
“Mr. Bingley looks quite handsome tonight, Jane,” I give her a little pinch.
“Oh!” she looks at him. His bright smile and agreeable manner are radiating down the line of people. Jane turns to me, giggling. She is blushing. “He does look so handsome tonight. Do you think he’ll ask me to dance?”
“Jane, he’s already spotted you and now he can’t take his eyes off you,” I nod toward him and sure enough he is staring at my sister like there’s no one else in the room.
We make it through the receiving line. After going through the required steps of finding my best friend Charlotte, dancing with Mr. Collins and then avoiding him, looking for Mr. Wickham and confirming that he’s not here, I manage to sneak off to find Mr. Gryphon.
He is sitting on a large chair holding a champagne flute. A white rose is just visible at his left shoulder. No one seems to notice the chair is empty. His manner is formal and refined. Put him in the proper attire and he would blend in as any wealthy gentlemen in the room even if he is half eagle/half lion and over seven feet tall.
“I have ascertained that we are in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and that this is the Netherfield Ball, and that you are Elizabeth Bennett, Miss Turtle. You look very beautiful, by the way.”
“Thank you,” I say, taken aback, “Elizabeth Bennett is a very beautiful woman.”
“Yes, and so are you, and a good deal more exotic besides. Now, what are we doing here?”
At that moment the reason for our being there is walking in our direction. Mr. Darcy hasn’t seen me yet. He is nodding at people as necessary and looking around the room as he strolls. He sees me and pauses in his steps for a moment. He stares openly at me without moving until he is jostled by a soldier following another young woman. He walks past me. I smile a small smile and watch him as he moves out of the room. Before he crosses the threshold to the ballroom, he glances back at me, then he is lost to my sight because of the crowd of people.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” I ask. Mr. Gryphon laughs, but mercifully doesn’t say anything. I turn to him. “Mr. Gryphon, why can’t I find a man like Mr. Darcy? I mean, I don’t mind if a man is a little shy and aloof as long as he has a good heart.”
“Lots of men are good hearted, and have the added bonus of being real human beings.”
“Yes, of course there are those few men somewhere, so why can't I find them? And another thing, why do many men hide their feelings if they have any feelings for me at all?” I’m still scanning the crowd for the tall, dark figure of Mr. Darcy.
“Mr. Darcy hides his feelings for Lizzy and even makes a disparaging remark about how she could never tempt him,” says Mr. Gryphon.
“Yes, but it’s different. Did you see how Mr. Darcy stared at me? He’s crazy about me,” I look around to see if Charlotte or Jane are looking for me.
“Lots of men have looked at you like that, Miss Turtle.” I wince and let the remark hang in the air without replying.
"Yes, you are right, Mr. Gryphon. Perhaps my time for finding someone who is crazy about me is over; I've had a decent run, I suppose. I can't complain.”
“That's a silly thing to say, Miss Turtle. You can swoon over Mr. Darcy all you want, but a man fixed as a picture on the screen is no match for a real human being.”
“Tell me about it," I say. I'm giving up on the conversation now. Mr. Gryphon and I have been down this road many times.
“You give up far to easy, Miss Turtle, because you think everything should be handed to you on a silver platter.”
“Are you trying to ruin this section of the story for me, Mr. Gryphon?” I face him squarely, my hands on my hips. He shifts elegantly in brocade white satin chair and takes a sip from his glass.
“I am merely stating the facts, Miss Turtle. You can’t expect me to watch you discount those things.”
“I guess I can’t.”
“Lizzy! What are you doing all alone in this corner? Are you all right?”
I turn towards Charlotte. “Oh Charlotte, I’m so disappointed about Mr. Wickham,” I say right on cue. Mr. Gryphon smiles grimly at me.
“I know you are, but you can’t stay here in the corner all by yourself. Come, let's find something to drink,” she takes my arm and I feel her lace covered hand take mine. I glance back at Mr. Gryphon as we leave the room. He is waving primly at me.
We make our way through the crowd holding our glasses and giggling at something Mr. Collins said when Mr. Darcy’s solemn, tall figure suddenly appears in front of us.
“Miss Bennett, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?”
I stare at him not in shock, but in awe at his beauty.
“You may,” I manage to stumble out. He nods his head in a slight bow and then I drag Charlotte out the nearest doorway to the garden.
“Uh,” I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say next, then it comes to me “Charlotte, did I just agree to dance with Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, you did, Lizzy, and I daresay you’ll find him most agreeable.”
“I hope so because because something about Derbyshire,” I stumble out. Charlotte laughs on cue and we giggle together.
The dance is about to begin. I am looking appropriately solemn, but it’s really just me being unable to breathe. Mr. Darcy stares deeply at me and the music starts. I relax and let myself fall into the appropriate dance steps. He takes my hands. They are warm and strong.
“I love this dance,” I say.
“Indeed, most invigorating,” says Mr. Darcy. I see Mr. Collins watching us on the other side of the room. Mr. Gryphon is standing directly behind him, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Mr. Collins is quite a bit shorter than average height and is completely dwarfed by him. Mr. Gryphon glares at Mr. Collins and then sticks his finger in his mouth with a gagging motion. I crack a smile.
“Now, it’s your turn, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, now you should remark on the size of the room or the number of couples,” I say as we turn and hold hands, releasing and stepping around each other in time with the music.
He looks a little startled. “I’m happy to oblige. Please tell me what you would most like to hear.”
“That reply will do for the present,” I say as we move back and forth with the other couples. I look up to see Jane and Mr. Bingley who is looking at her like she is the only woman in existence.
“Now we may remain silent,” I say with what I think is with a touch of elegance and dignity.
“Do you always talk so much while dancing?” asks Mr. Darcy.
I turn around him, smiling. “No, I prefer to be unsociable and taciturn.”
Mr. Darcy stares at me and bites his lip on the next turn. I can feel myself melting with each touch of his hands and I want more than anything to grab him around the neck and shove my tongue down this throat.
“Tell me, do you often walk to Meryton?” he asks.
“We do often walk to Meryton,” I say drawing myself up to be pro-Wickham, “It’s a wonderful way to make new friends. In fact, we’d had the pleasure of making a new acquaintance when we saw you.”
“Mr. Wickham has such happy manners. It makes it easy for him to make new friends. Whether he’s capable of keeping them is less certain,” says Mr. Darcy.
We are supposed to take each other’s hands as we cross each other during the dance. I stop instead and we are face to face as the other couples move and turn around us.
“He’s been most unfortunate to lose your friendship,” I say and then as I stare into his eyes, I forget the next line. I tilt my head towards him and we are transfixed with each other. Unable to stop myself, I finally throw my arms around him and plant one on him. There’s huge collective gasp and the music stops. He doesn’t have time to react to the kiss before I am suddenly jerked back. As I stumble away from him, I can see that his arms are up as if he were just about to enfold me in them. His eyes are deep liquid.
“Come on, Miss Turtle, time to go home,” says Mr. Gryphon snapping me out of the moment.
“What are you doing!” I yelp trying to free myself from his iron grip. Everyone is staring at us and I can see from their faces that they are shocked to their toes. He quickly drags me out of there and then puts me in the nearest carriage. He climbs in after me after tapping the driver. Apparently, the driver can see him or sees someone because the carriage begins to move.
“What I’m doing, Miss Turtle, is saving Lizzy Bennett’s virtue. You have no right to compromise her like that. If you do, she won’t be able to marry Mr. Darcy.”
“I WAS KISSING HIM!” It is all I can say. The carriage rocks back and forth along the gravel road. I sit and pout, arms folded, not looking at him. Mr. Gryphon leans back on the cushions, apparently relaxed. Some time passes and I feel chagrined.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have done it,” I say. He does not reply, his great yellow eyes glowing at me in the carriage dark. “Did you know, Mr. Gryphon, that in the U.K. Mr. Darcy was voted the man women would most like to go on a date with beating out James Bond and Superman?”
“That’s not surprising, Miss Turtle. There is something compelling about him, no question, but you need to remember a real man, not a fictional character who does everything you want him to do is far more compelling.”
I sigh. “Point taken, Mr. Gryphon.” I am back in my usual clothes. The carriage stops and Mr. Gryphon steps out and pays the driver. He helps me out of the carriage like a true gentleman. We step out onto a odd, friendly landscape. The carriage continues down the gravel path and disappears.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Quote of the Day
"'You and me,' Ben says gesturing at me, 'you and me, we are falling in LOVE! God, you're beautiful!'"
I met this guy Ben while standing on Market Street near Union Square tonight. It was about 9:05 pm and the bus (6 Parnassus) was taking forever. He chatted me up, kept asking me for my phone number and kept trying to give me his phone number. I kept politely refusing. Since I had nothing better to do, I let him keep talking to me. I was feeling relaxed, happy, it was a beautiful warm San Francisco night (warm for us natives is in the mid-60s).
When the bus came, he shouted his phone number at me. I boarded the bus and called out to him "Have a good evening!"
It was nice to hear a man, even one I'm not interested in, tell me I'm beautiful. It was an odd thing because I was wearing no makeup, my hair hadn't been brushed in hours and I was schlepping around in my usual shirt/jeans/sensible shoes.
Maybe the fact that I had the song "Shotgun" by Jr. Walker and the All Stars running through my head changed the way people were seeing me this evening. I did have the feeling like I wanted to dance all night long.
I met this guy Ben while standing on Market Street near Union Square tonight. It was about 9:05 pm and the bus (6 Parnassus) was taking forever. He chatted me up, kept asking me for my phone number and kept trying to give me his phone number. I kept politely refusing. Since I had nothing better to do, I let him keep talking to me. I was feeling relaxed, happy, it was a beautiful warm San Francisco night (warm for us natives is in the mid-60s).
When the bus came, he shouted his phone number at me. I boarded the bus and called out to him "Have a good evening!"
It was nice to hear a man, even one I'm not interested in, tell me I'm beautiful. It was an odd thing because I was wearing no makeup, my hair hadn't been brushed in hours and I was schlepping around in my usual shirt/jeans/sensible shoes.
Maybe the fact that I had the song "Shotgun" by Jr. Walker and the All Stars running through my head changed the way people were seeing me this evening. I did have the feeling like I wanted to dance all night long.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Comment Exchange
This comment exchange between myself and Ms. Anne is too important to leave in the Comments section:
Ms. Anne-
MT, I do not know what to say to make you feel better...
...except that I check your blog every day for new posts.
I find your writing interesting and educational, which I am sure is a reflection of your personality.
People who cannot see those qualities in you are not deserving of your time or your energy.
Continue to do the things you like to do, and you will meet other like-minded people. One of them may turn out to be the love of your life.
In the meantime, you will be doing the things YOU want, which is invaluable.
Me -
Ms. Anne - Thank you for this comment. In the aftermath of a storm sometimes you get cleaner, clearer skies. I'm feeling that way now.
Today, I think I've finally learned something very important and that is even though I've been experiencing many disappointments lately, I'm learning to nip undesirable situations in the bud a lot faster than I have in the past. I've become much more aware of when the red flags are popping up and the alarms are going off and I'm acting on them promptly. The process is frustrating and gives off the impression that there are few good men left in this world, but I feel a curious sense of accomplishment and satisfaction when I look back on these last couple of months. I haven't been letting some idiot guy treat me like crap for months and months just because I'm dying to be in a relationship.
Today I feel like taking these actions have left some room in my heart. It's a good place to be.
I hope you are doing well.
MT
***
Good friends, like Ms. Anne here, can save you and help you see what you're supposed to take away from these difficult situations when you're having difficulty seeing it for yourself.
Ms. Anne-
MT, I do not know what to say to make you feel better...
...except that I check your blog every day for new posts.
I find your writing interesting and educational, which I am sure is a reflection of your personality.
People who cannot see those qualities in you are not deserving of your time or your energy.
Continue to do the things you like to do, and you will meet other like-minded people. One of them may turn out to be the love of your life.
In the meantime, you will be doing the things YOU want, which is invaluable.
Me -
Ms. Anne - Thank you for this comment. In the aftermath of a storm sometimes you get cleaner, clearer skies. I'm feeling that way now.
Today, I think I've finally learned something very important and that is even though I've been experiencing many disappointments lately, I'm learning to nip undesirable situations in the bud a lot faster than I have in the past. I've become much more aware of when the red flags are popping up and the alarms are going off and I'm acting on them promptly. The process is frustrating and gives off the impression that there are few good men left in this world, but I feel a curious sense of accomplishment and satisfaction when I look back on these last couple of months. I haven't been letting some idiot guy treat me like crap for months and months just because I'm dying to be in a relationship.
Today I feel like taking these actions have left some room in my heart. It's a good place to be.
I hope you are doing well.
MT
***
Good friends, like Ms. Anne here, can save you and help you see what you're supposed to take away from these difficult situations when you're having difficulty seeing it for yourself.
If so I Can't Imagine Why, Part 2 of 2
"Your hair wants cutting."
"Yeah," I say, " I need to get my bangs trimmed." I'm looking out of range of this conversation. Mr. Gryphon and I are sitting on a huge rock on the beach. The White City gleams in the distance behind us.
It's a bright sunny day, a little warm, but with a breeze. Mr. Gryphon wears oversized Ray Bans.
"It's quite a lot like our original scene in the original story," I say, "All we need is Alice."
"I've been wondering when she'll be showing up. Any idea when that will happen?"
"No idea. I expect it will happen at some point. I mean, isn't our talk with her essential to what happens next?"
"Dunno," says Mr. Gryphon. The waves roll in and the sound is beautiful and soothing.
"We are very lucky to live along the seashore, Mr. Gryphon. Many people do not have ready access to the beach." He smiles, but doesn't answer. Instead, he lowers his legs and dangles his feet in the cold blue water. A flock of majestic Brown Pelicans fly by, about seven of them. They give the impression of flying slowly even though they're moving fast.
"I've figured out some important things these last few days, Mr. Gryphon. I'm beginning to see how things might be hopeful for me, for us, after all."
"Things were never unhopeful. You were just wallowing around in yourself again."
"As befits my persona on this blog," I say absently. He shifts next to me, getting a little closer. Some small, leggy shorebirds are racing back and forth with the incoming tides.
I am still looking out of range of this conversation. It seems I've made some extra room somewhere in my life. I feel light and airy. Something or someone will take its place, but I don't what that will be yet. I have a feeling it will be a good thing, though.
"Yeah," I say, " I need to get my bangs trimmed." I'm looking out of range of this conversation. Mr. Gryphon and I are sitting on a huge rock on the beach. The White City gleams in the distance behind us.
It's a bright sunny day, a little warm, but with a breeze. Mr. Gryphon wears oversized Ray Bans.
"It's quite a lot like our original scene in the original story," I say, "All we need is Alice."
"I've been wondering when she'll be showing up. Any idea when that will happen?"
"No idea. I expect it will happen at some point. I mean, isn't our talk with her essential to what happens next?"
"Dunno," says Mr. Gryphon. The waves roll in and the sound is beautiful and soothing.
"We are very lucky to live along the seashore, Mr. Gryphon. Many people do not have ready access to the beach." He smiles, but doesn't answer. Instead, he lowers his legs and dangles his feet in the cold blue water. A flock of majestic Brown Pelicans fly by, about seven of them. They give the impression of flying slowly even though they're moving fast.
"I've figured out some important things these last few days, Mr. Gryphon. I'm beginning to see how things might be hopeful for me, for us, after all."
"Things were never unhopeful. You were just wallowing around in yourself again."
"As befits my persona on this blog," I say absently. He shifts next to me, getting a little closer. Some small, leggy shorebirds are racing back and forth with the incoming tides.
I am still looking out of range of this conversation. It seems I've made some extra room somewhere in my life. I feel light and airy. Something or someone will take its place, but I don't what that will be yet. I have a feeling it will be a good thing, though.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
If so I Can't Imagine Why, Part 1 of 2
"I take it this means we'll be having more adventures. If so, I'm delighted."
"We have many adventures, Mr. Gryphon. I just don't take the time to write them down or even to articulate them to myself or to you," I say. A man shoves past me on this crowded sidewalk. Everyone seems to be in a big hurry. Mr. Gryphon glares at him, but says nothing.
The sidewalk and the huge concrete and glass buildings stretch out in all directions. Traffic is horrendous in this place. It's like New York City, but with the gloves off. Shouts and beeping horns sound everywhere.
"I was thinking earlier that I should abandon my fiction writing efforts. It's true I have lots of stories waiting to get out, but I can't seem to make any headway with the second draft of this novel I wrote," I say. Mr. Gryphon stops on the street and just stares at me. I stop a few feet in front of him. People are pushing past me. Without taking his eyes off me, Mr. Gryphon opens his wings to their full width and then extends his huge claws. The people stop and then begin to scurry around us.
"I'm only going to say one thing, Miss Turtle, and that is you haven't even given this novel writing thing a proper go at it."
I look down. I can see people's feet going past me. "I know," I mumble.
"Writing is good. I'm a huge fan of it, particularly if you're telling the stories," he says.
"Perhaps you're my best audience. Perhaps you, my imaginary friend, are right," I turn and begin to walk again. Mr. Gryphon closes his wings and retracts his claws. "Maybe I just need to take a Creative Writing course," I say.
"Now you're talking."
"Excuse me, what time does your watch say?" asks a man who has stopped in front of me.
"11:37," I say. Mr. Gryphon doesn't have a watch. The man moves on after looking at him for a moment.
"I tried talking to you while I was walking towards the Posh Bagel place this morning," I say.
"I know, I was walking behind you."
"Mr. Gryphon, why can't you be my boyfriend?"
"You ask that a lot, Miss Turtle," he says then he looks around, "Where are we going?"
"I don't know. I don't know."
A woman wearing a silver fur coat stopped me, "My diamond watch has stopped cold dead. What time is it?" Her watch was beautiful and sparkling.
"11:41."
"I'm trying to beat the clock," she says. She is pretty with a warm smile. We move on.
I sigh. "I guess this is what it's all about. All this hurrying and shoving around." We are stopped again at a huge intersection. Cars are lined up and down. We are waiting our turn to cross the street.
"At least you don't have to think past the last mile, Miss Turtle."
"It wouldn't be a bad thing to have to think only about the next step, eh Mr. Gryphon?"
"No, it wouldn't be a bad thing." I smile to myself. He reminds me someone and for last few posts I haven't been wincing so much at the reminder.
"We have many adventures, Mr. Gryphon. I just don't take the time to write them down or even to articulate them to myself or to you," I say. A man shoves past me on this crowded sidewalk. Everyone seems to be in a big hurry. Mr. Gryphon glares at him, but says nothing.
The sidewalk and the huge concrete and glass buildings stretch out in all directions. Traffic is horrendous in this place. It's like New York City, but with the gloves off. Shouts and beeping horns sound everywhere.
"I was thinking earlier that I should abandon my fiction writing efforts. It's true I have lots of stories waiting to get out, but I can't seem to make any headway with the second draft of this novel I wrote," I say. Mr. Gryphon stops on the street and just stares at me. I stop a few feet in front of him. People are pushing past me. Without taking his eyes off me, Mr. Gryphon opens his wings to their full width and then extends his huge claws. The people stop and then begin to scurry around us.
"I'm only going to say one thing, Miss Turtle, and that is you haven't even given this novel writing thing a proper go at it."
I look down. I can see people's feet going past me. "I know," I mumble.
"Writing is good. I'm a huge fan of it, particularly if you're telling the stories," he says.
"Perhaps you're my best audience. Perhaps you, my imaginary friend, are right," I turn and begin to walk again. Mr. Gryphon closes his wings and retracts his claws. "Maybe I just need to take a Creative Writing course," I say.
"Now you're talking."
"Excuse me, what time does your watch say?" asks a man who has stopped in front of me.
"11:37," I say. Mr. Gryphon doesn't have a watch. The man moves on after looking at him for a moment.
"I tried talking to you while I was walking towards the Posh Bagel place this morning," I say.
"I know, I was walking behind you."
"Mr. Gryphon, why can't you be my boyfriend?"
"You ask that a lot, Miss Turtle," he says then he looks around, "Where are we going?"
"I don't know. I don't know."
A woman wearing a silver fur coat stopped me, "My diamond watch has stopped cold dead. What time is it?" Her watch was beautiful and sparkling.
"11:41."
"I'm trying to beat the clock," she says. She is pretty with a warm smile. We move on.
I sigh. "I guess this is what it's all about. All this hurrying and shoving around." We are stopped again at a huge intersection. Cars are lined up and down. We are waiting our turn to cross the street.
"At least you don't have to think past the last mile, Miss Turtle."
"It wouldn't be a bad thing to have to think only about the next step, eh Mr. Gryphon?"
"No, it wouldn't be a bad thing." I smile to myself. He reminds me someone and for last few posts I haven't been wincing so much at the reminder.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Recent Comments
I want to thank the good folks for their recent comments. They are very encouraging. Sometimes I feel like I'm posting out in the middle of nowhere and all I'm doing is some really boring navel gazing.
All comments made go directly to my gmail account so I get them right away.
Response to Mr. X: Yes, I think I know who you are. If I'm right, then you are the person with whom I first tried some of this experimental, cryptic writing in the form of emails. I've also been thinking about you lately for some reason. Years ago you made the following comment:
"Some lonely guy is sitting alone in his room wondering where the fuck you are."
You were talking about how you were certain I'd find the right guy for me. I have not, but when I'm thinking about how I'm doomed to remain single for the rest of my life, I think about that comment and it brings tears to my eyes. Where is that guy anyway?
Thanks for reading everyone.
All comments made go directly to my gmail account so I get them right away.
Response to Mr. X: Yes, I think I know who you are. If I'm right, then you are the person with whom I first tried some of this experimental, cryptic writing in the form of emails. I've also been thinking about you lately for some reason. Years ago you made the following comment:
"Some lonely guy is sitting alone in his room wondering where the fuck you are."
You were talking about how you were certain I'd find the right guy for me. I have not, but when I'm thinking about how I'm doomed to remain single for the rest of my life, I think about that comment and it brings tears to my eyes. Where is that guy anyway?
Thanks for reading everyone.
Crank: Annotated
See original post "Crank." All of these strange, cryptic posts are either based on real incidents or contain obscure references to things in my life. After writing and then reading this post several times, I decided to annotate it because it's based on the scariest event in my teenage years. I got the idea for the language from watching the film "Brick" that neo-noir hardboiled detective teenage drama. The dialog in that film is both unnatural and great.
I spent the year between ages 17 and 18 experimenting with drugs. I managed to be sensible about it, but every once in a while I would find myself in scary situations like this one. In addition to smoking a lot pot (which I consider to be as harmful as getting your martini on with your friends on a Friday night), I snorted crank (methamphetamine in powdered form) and cocaine whenever possible. I had no idea that crank and cocaine were two different substances. All I knew was that crank was cheaper and harsher to snort. One night me and a few people (two were my friends) piled into some guy's Pontiac and went to this house I'd never been to before in a neighborhood I wasn't familiar with. Our mission: to score some good coke.
The colors only got brighter with that expensive stuff. No feeling like I'd take on the world. No staying up all night. Smooth sailing, though. No choke.
Snorting coke was strange for me. True, it was expensive and more difficult to come by, but oddly enough I never really got "high" from it. It would make the colors get brighter. I felt more energetic, but I didn't get that euphoric feeling or the feeling like I could have endless amounts of sex like most of my friends did. My best friend said it made her feel like she could take on the world. I never had that feeling. Coke was super easy to snort, though. Very smooth going up the nose and no harsh after burn. That's what I mean by "smooth sailing." I did like how it made my gums numb when I rubbed leftover powder on them after the snort.
"There's a limit," said the Cutter, "You can only get so tall before it bottoms out on you."
The Cutter was a real person. A nice, older guy (maybe in his early 20s). He was at the house when we arrived. They called him "Cutter" because he was good at cutting coke into a fine powder and preparing the lines for snorting. I'd never met him before and I never saw him again after that. He told us an anecdote about Sabrina the Princess (more on her below) who snorted tons of coke in one sitting, but stopped getting high after a couple of hours. She said you can only get so high. After that, your nose, face, neck and chest start to go numb. The Cutter proclaimed it a waste of money to keep snorting after reaching that point.
Who are these people, these Parents? At the time, the most frightening thing I'd ever seen were the scales all over the dining room table. The table was so large it could have been laid out for eight or even ten. I think about parents I know now, even knew then, and I'm convinced those people are all dead and buried. Crisp hundred dollar bills fluttered around the edges of the table in a gross parody of cliche.
Ah, the Parents. The Parents were the dealers. They were real Parents and it was their house we were at. It was a nice house, two stories. Brand new. The house was full of new furniture and the Parents looked respectable enough. They looked like they could work at any good company. Maybe they did. The only difference was they had a hard, wary look about them. Their faces were worn out and slightly saggy. They were both probably in their early 30s.
The TABLE. The dining room table was big as I described. The scales were weight scales and there were piles of cocaine all over the table. The coke was being weighed in scales and bagged up by the mother. There were baggies and twist ties all over the table as well as crisp $100 bills. The sight scared the hell out of me because I knew that with this much coke there had to be some scary people lurking around the corner or in the upstairs bedrooms. My friends thought it was all so "cool" but I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Parents. Almost as lethal as the ones who fed the kids almond flavored Kool-Aid. We were lucky. They left us alone. They had blue velvet drapes hanging loose in the living room. It's 3:15 in the morning. You don't know where your children are because I'm one of them. I don't even know where I am.
I called them Parents because they had a kid (the blond with the Moe haircut-see below). He was only 13 years old and hyperactive. Apparently, the kid had been snorting coke since he was around eight years old. We were lucky the Parents just wanted our money and for us to stay out of their way. I remember nervously looking out of the living room windows. The curtains were drawn so no one would see the piles of coke on the table.
The reference to the Kool-Aid was to the powdered grape flavored drink laced with cyanide that the poor folks of The People's Temple not only drank themselves, but also fed their kids. The Jonestown massacre had created lasting, terrifying images in my mind as an impressionable middle-schooler. Cyanide, apparently, has a smell like burnt almonds. Also, just so we're clear, they did not use the name brand Kool-Aid during that tragedy. It was just a grape flavored powdered drink.
I digress.
Burning sharp, cheap. Eyes water. Some kind of lift going on up there. Nervously, I talk of elephant tranquilizers and bodies of water. It's like a bad dream. A kid with a blond Moe haircut, who has just gotten to his growth spurt, is rouncing around. Everybody wants to be his friend. Everybody wants a smooth sailing. A Parent, male, glowers at me. He's used to seeing the likes of us, so stupid and useless.
After negotiations and payment, the Cutter finally cut our coke for us. I insisted upon taking the first snort. I don't know why. I didn't know any of these people and everyone saw me as passive and meek. It was good coke: I felt a surge of energy after that snort. The elephant tranquilizers and bodies of water reference was to drug PCP or "Angel Dust" which I have never tried. There was a rumor that the drug was used to tranquilize large animals such as elephants. Also, I heard that in addition to some people experiencing rages so total that they can break the handcuffs the police have put on them, users are drawn to bodies of water, fall in and drown because they become disoriented and don't know which way is up.
The kid with the Moe haircut had a lots of friends because his parents were dealers. If you had drugs or access to them, everyone wanted to be your best friend. It's a user kind of culture.
A friend, one of the few I'm with, produces a Jay. I'm running wired and it's close to dawn now. I have to run down soon. Before we leave in a 70s crowded car, I catch a glimpse of Sabrina the Princess, her long dark hair and youth is waning at the tender age of 14. She's dead. It's only a matter of time. The Cutter glances over at her and shakes his head. It's a lost cause. Her big dark eyes see none of it.
A Jay is a joint. Since I had snorted good coke I was feeling pretty energetic. On the way home, my friends told me to take a few puffs to come down a little, so I did. Sabrina, the 14 year old, was also the daughter of Parents (different ones) who were dealers. She had a hard look about her and was obsessed about maintaining her high for as long as possible. When I say that she's dead, I'm not kidding. That girl, with her big dark dilated pupils and an unnatural hardness about her skin was completely lost to the world. The only place to go from there is to the harder drugs then to overdose.
Thankfully, I move on from all that. Thankfully, I only went with them to see the Parents and the Cutter once, my nerves having failed me. My best friend said I was unbrave, but at least I didn't make up imaginary boyfriends and tell elaborate tales about them.
I never went with my friends to look for coke again. I was too scared. I was a wimp. I used to think that these were undesirable traits, but now I can see they saved me because the fear was far more powerful that the pressure to conform to what my friends wanted me to do. My best friend at the time was a drama queen and always looking for attention. She did make up a boyfriend who was obsessed with her. He lived in a mansion in Hillsborough and drove a Porche. Their relationship was seriously screwed up, even in an imaginary way.
The Tylenol stopped her short. And I was luckier than Hell for it. I didn't want to see those scales on the family dining room table ever again.
A little while later, my best friend attempted suicide by taking a whole bottle of Tylenol (this was before the Tylenol scare where they pulled every bottle from the shelves in every store). I drifted apart from her after that and soon thereafter stopped my experimentation with drugs. I was very luck to have made that break
I spent the year between ages 17 and 18 experimenting with drugs. I managed to be sensible about it, but every once in a while I would find myself in scary situations like this one. In addition to smoking a lot pot (which I consider to be as harmful as getting your martini on with your friends on a Friday night), I snorted crank (methamphetamine in powdered form) and cocaine whenever possible. I had no idea that crank and cocaine were two different substances. All I knew was that crank was cheaper and harsher to snort. One night me and a few people (two were my friends) piled into some guy's Pontiac and went to this house I'd never been to before in a neighborhood I wasn't familiar with. Our mission: to score some good coke.
The colors only got brighter with that expensive stuff. No feeling like I'd take on the world. No staying up all night. Smooth sailing, though. No choke.
Snorting coke was strange for me. True, it was expensive and more difficult to come by, but oddly enough I never really got "high" from it. It would make the colors get brighter. I felt more energetic, but I didn't get that euphoric feeling or the feeling like I could have endless amounts of sex like most of my friends did. My best friend said it made her feel like she could take on the world. I never had that feeling. Coke was super easy to snort, though. Very smooth going up the nose and no harsh after burn. That's what I mean by "smooth sailing." I did like how it made my gums numb when I rubbed leftover powder on them after the snort.
"There's a limit," said the Cutter, "You can only get so tall before it bottoms out on you."
The Cutter was a real person. A nice, older guy (maybe in his early 20s). He was at the house when we arrived. They called him "Cutter" because he was good at cutting coke into a fine powder and preparing the lines for snorting. I'd never met him before and I never saw him again after that. He told us an anecdote about Sabrina the Princess (more on her below) who snorted tons of coke in one sitting, but stopped getting high after a couple of hours. She said you can only get so high. After that, your nose, face, neck and chest start to go numb. The Cutter proclaimed it a waste of money to keep snorting after reaching that point.
Who are these people, these Parents? At the time, the most frightening thing I'd ever seen were the scales all over the dining room table. The table was so large it could have been laid out for eight or even ten. I think about parents I know now, even knew then, and I'm convinced those people are all dead and buried. Crisp hundred dollar bills fluttered around the edges of the table in a gross parody of cliche.
Ah, the Parents. The Parents were the dealers. They were real Parents and it was their house we were at. It was a nice house, two stories. Brand new. The house was full of new furniture and the Parents looked respectable enough. They looked like they could work at any good company. Maybe they did. The only difference was they had a hard, wary look about them. Their faces were worn out and slightly saggy. They were both probably in their early 30s.
The TABLE. The dining room table was big as I described. The scales were weight scales and there were piles of cocaine all over the table. The coke was being weighed in scales and bagged up by the mother. There were baggies and twist ties all over the table as well as crisp $100 bills. The sight scared the hell out of me because I knew that with this much coke there had to be some scary people lurking around the corner or in the upstairs bedrooms. My friends thought it was all so "cool" but I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Parents. Almost as lethal as the ones who fed the kids almond flavored Kool-Aid. We were lucky. They left us alone. They had blue velvet drapes hanging loose in the living room. It's 3:15 in the morning. You don't know where your children are because I'm one of them. I don't even know where I am.
I called them Parents because they had a kid (the blond with the Moe haircut-see below). He was only 13 years old and hyperactive. Apparently, the kid had been snorting coke since he was around eight years old. We were lucky the Parents just wanted our money and for us to stay out of their way. I remember nervously looking out of the living room windows. The curtains were drawn so no one would see the piles of coke on the table.
The reference to the Kool-Aid was to the powdered grape flavored drink laced with cyanide that the poor folks of The People's Temple not only drank themselves, but also fed their kids. The Jonestown massacre had created lasting, terrifying images in my mind as an impressionable middle-schooler. Cyanide, apparently, has a smell like burnt almonds. Also, just so we're clear, they did not use the name brand Kool-Aid during that tragedy. It was just a grape flavored powdered drink.
I digress.
Burning sharp, cheap. Eyes water. Some kind of lift going on up there. Nervously, I talk of elephant tranquilizers and bodies of water. It's like a bad dream. A kid with a blond Moe haircut, who has just gotten to his growth spurt, is rouncing around. Everybody wants to be his friend. Everybody wants a smooth sailing. A Parent, male, glowers at me. He's used to seeing the likes of us, so stupid and useless.
After negotiations and payment, the Cutter finally cut our coke for us. I insisted upon taking the first snort. I don't know why. I didn't know any of these people and everyone saw me as passive and meek. It was good coke: I felt a surge of energy after that snort. The elephant tranquilizers and bodies of water reference was to drug PCP or "Angel Dust" which I have never tried. There was a rumor that the drug was used to tranquilize large animals such as elephants. Also, I heard that in addition to some people experiencing rages so total that they can break the handcuffs the police have put on them, users are drawn to bodies of water, fall in and drown because they become disoriented and don't know which way is up.
The kid with the Moe haircut had a lots of friends because his parents were dealers. If you had drugs or access to them, everyone wanted to be your best friend. It's a user kind of culture.
A friend, one of the few I'm with, produces a Jay. I'm running wired and it's close to dawn now. I have to run down soon. Before we leave in a 70s crowded car, I catch a glimpse of Sabrina the Princess, her long dark hair and youth is waning at the tender age of 14. She's dead. It's only a matter of time. The Cutter glances over at her and shakes his head. It's a lost cause. Her big dark eyes see none of it.
A Jay is a joint. Since I had snorted good coke I was feeling pretty energetic. On the way home, my friends told me to take a few puffs to come down a little, so I did. Sabrina, the 14 year old, was also the daughter of Parents (different ones) who were dealers. She had a hard look about her and was obsessed about maintaining her high for as long as possible. When I say that she's dead, I'm not kidding. That girl, with her big dark dilated pupils and an unnatural hardness about her skin was completely lost to the world. The only place to go from there is to the harder drugs then to overdose.
Thankfully, I move on from all that. Thankfully, I only went with them to see the Parents and the Cutter once, my nerves having failed me. My best friend said I was unbrave, but at least I didn't make up imaginary boyfriends and tell elaborate tales about them.
I never went with my friends to look for coke again. I was too scared. I was a wimp. I used to think that these were undesirable traits, but now I can see they saved me because the fear was far more powerful that the pressure to conform to what my friends wanted me to do. My best friend at the time was a drama queen and always looking for attention. She did make up a boyfriend who was obsessed with her. He lived in a mansion in Hillsborough and drove a Porche. Their relationship was seriously screwed up, even in an imaginary way.
The Tylenol stopped her short. And I was luckier than Hell for it. I didn't want to see those scales on the family dining room table ever again.
A little while later, my best friend attempted suicide by taking a whole bottle of Tylenol (this was before the Tylenol scare where they pulled every bottle from the shelves in every store). I drifted apart from her after that and soon thereafter stopped my experimentation with drugs. I was very luck to have made that break
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Writing Life: Revision is a Skill, Right?
We aren't born writers. Oh, it's true that some people seem to have an affinity for it. They seem to know what to say and how to say it. I'm not one of those people. I have to flail around and figure it out. I waste time. I cause myself a whole lot of pain and angst. It's an energy drain.
I have managed to make progress, however. One of my readers who is an English major told me I have my own style of writing. (!!) This is a huge compliment for me because I think my writing is just words on the screen. Of course, writing on this blog or writing cool emails to people I really like is completely different from writing a novel. Still, progress has been made because I now have a good sense of how to get a first draft of a novel done.
Yep, participate in the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). To recap: that's 50,000 words in 30 days and I did it.
Revision, now, that's whole other thing. How does one revise a novel, something that is living and breathing? The characters are doing their thing, the story hangs together reasonably well, there are plot twists and character development. And it all needs a ton of work.
The first thing I realized after I read the first draft is I had no idea what one of the major character's agenda was. He had an agenda, a huge one, but I didn't know what behind-the-scenes machinations he was orchestrating or putting into motion. I also didn't understand why the main character went along so easily with some questionable things that were being asked of him. Why was he being a wimp? He's supposed to be perceptive and smart, even honorable. Why was he caving in like that?
Those were some of the questions that have been floating through my mind as I hungrily devoured books on writing and articles on the web that might tell me how to revise this novel. I finally took three different techniques and mashed them together. I don't know if I'll continue using these techniques, but they are a good place to start.
Today I started the first step of actually revising, that is changing, the text of this rough draft.
Woo hoo!
I decided to start by answering some of my own questions about the story and characters, even some of the descriptions in the story. We'll see how it all goes. There will be other obstacles I'll encounter along the way, but I may end of learning something about revision after all. I might even end up with a finished novel. Wouldn't that be something?
I have managed to make progress, however. One of my readers who is an English major told me I have my own style of writing. (!!) This is a huge compliment for me because I think my writing is just words on the screen. Of course, writing on this blog or writing cool emails to people I really like is completely different from writing a novel. Still, progress has been made because I now have a good sense of how to get a first draft of a novel done.
Yep, participate in the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). To recap: that's 50,000 words in 30 days and I did it.
Revision, now, that's whole other thing. How does one revise a novel, something that is living and breathing? The characters are doing their thing, the story hangs together reasonably well, there are plot twists and character development. And it all needs a ton of work.
The first thing I realized after I read the first draft is I had no idea what one of the major character's agenda was. He had an agenda, a huge one, but I didn't know what behind-the-scenes machinations he was orchestrating or putting into motion. I also didn't understand why the main character went along so easily with some questionable things that were being asked of him. Why was he being a wimp? He's supposed to be perceptive and smart, even honorable. Why was he caving in like that?
Those were some of the questions that have been floating through my mind as I hungrily devoured books on writing and articles on the web that might tell me how to revise this novel. I finally took three different techniques and mashed them together. I don't know if I'll continue using these techniques, but they are a good place to start.
Today I started the first step of actually revising, that is changing, the text of this rough draft.
Woo hoo!
I decided to start by answering some of my own questions about the story and characters, even some of the descriptions in the story. We'll see how it all goes. There will be other obstacles I'll encounter along the way, but I may end of learning something about revision after all. I might even end up with a finished novel. Wouldn't that be something?
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Sunset at Parajo Dunes, California
I love how you can see the steady progress of the sun turning into a sliver. Taken the weekend after 4th of July while visiting some dear friends. Pajaro Dunes is less than two hours south of San Francisco.
Learning Life: How to Store Cheese
Since I've been eating artisan cheeses lately, I've learned some good tips for storing them.
- Wrap soft, medium and hard cheeses loosely in waxed paper, then wrap loosely in good quality plastic wrap. Change the wrappings every couple of days.
- Wrap blue cheeses loosely in plastic wrap and store in its own plastic container with some holes poked in the container. Change the wrappings every couple of days. Storing blues in this manner still allows them to breathe, but does not transfer mold to other cheeses.
- Store all cheeses in the veggie bin in your fridge where the humidity is higher.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Crank
The colors only got brighter with that expensive stuff. No feeling like I'd take on the world. No staying up all night. Smooth sailing, though. No choke.
"There's a limit," said the Cutter, "You can only get so tall before it bottoms out on you."
Who are these people, these Parents? At the time, the most frightening thing I'd ever seen were the scales all over the dining room table. The table was so large it could have been laid out for eight or even ten. I think about parents I know now, even knew then, and I'm convinced those people are all dead and buried. Crisp hundred dollar bills fluttered around the edges of the table in a gross parody of cliche.
Parents. Almost as lethal as the ones who fed the kids almond flavored Kool-Aid. We were lucky. They left us alone. They had blue velvet drapes hanging loose in the living room. It's 3:15 in the morning. You don't know where your children are because I'm one of them. I don't even know where I am.
I digress.
Burning sharp, cheap. Eyes water. Some kind of lift going on up there. Nervously, I talk of elephant tranquilizers and bodies of water. It's like a bad dream. A kid with a blond Moe haircut, who has just gotten to his growth spurt, is rouncing around. Everybody wants to be his friend. Everybody wants a smooth sailing. A Parent, male, glowers at me. He's used to seeing the likes of us, so stupid and useless.
A friend, one of the few I'm with, produces a Jay. I'm running wired and it's close to dawn now. I have to run down soon. Before we leave in a 70s crowded car, I catch a glimpse of Sabrina the Princess, her long dark hair and youth is waning at the tender age of 14. She's dead. It's only a matter of time. The Cutter glances over at her and shakes his head. It's a lost cause. Her big dark eyes see none of it.
Thankfully, I move on from all that. Thankfully, I only went with them to see the Parents and the Cutter once, my nerves having failed me. My best friend said I was unbrave, but at least I didn't make up imaginary boyfriends and tell elaborate tales about them.
The Tylenol stopped her short. And I was luckier than Hell for it. I didn't want to see those scales on the family dining room table ever again.
"There's a limit," said the Cutter, "You can only get so tall before it bottoms out on you."
Who are these people, these Parents? At the time, the most frightening thing I'd ever seen were the scales all over the dining room table. The table was so large it could have been laid out for eight or even ten. I think about parents I know now, even knew then, and I'm convinced those people are all dead and buried. Crisp hundred dollar bills fluttered around the edges of the table in a gross parody of cliche.
Parents. Almost as lethal as the ones who fed the kids almond flavored Kool-Aid. We were lucky. They left us alone. They had blue velvet drapes hanging loose in the living room. It's 3:15 in the morning. You don't know where your children are because I'm one of them. I don't even know where I am.
I digress.
Burning sharp, cheap. Eyes water. Some kind of lift going on up there. Nervously, I talk of elephant tranquilizers and bodies of water. It's like a bad dream. A kid with a blond Moe haircut, who has just gotten to his growth spurt, is rouncing around. Everybody wants to be his friend. Everybody wants a smooth sailing. A Parent, male, glowers at me. He's used to seeing the likes of us, so stupid and useless.
A friend, one of the few I'm with, produces a Jay. I'm running wired and it's close to dawn now. I have to run down soon. Before we leave in a 70s crowded car, I catch a glimpse of Sabrina the Princess, her long dark hair and youth is waning at the tender age of 14. She's dead. It's only a matter of time. The Cutter glances over at her and shakes his head. It's a lost cause. Her big dark eyes see none of it.
Thankfully, I move on from all that. Thankfully, I only went with them to see the Parents and the Cutter once, my nerves having failed me. My best friend said I was unbrave, but at least I didn't make up imaginary boyfriends and tell elaborate tales about them.
The Tylenol stopped her short. And I was luckier than Hell for it. I didn't want to see those scales on the family dining room table ever again.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Writing Life: My Old Writing Group
I used to have a writing group I put together after my writing class ended. There were four or five of us who got together a few times. We would all struggle to write something to bring to each meeting. Oftentimes, they would only have a page or half a page of materials. It seems I was the only one who would bring entire first draft stories. Then all those good intentions dried up and real life took over. All of these people kept saying they were interested in writing, but none really wanted to keep it up. That's because writing novels, short stories and plays requires an enormous amount of time and focus.
One interesting thing I noticed about the good folks in my writing group is how most of them would strive to be clever and funny. Now, it's true they sometimes wrote funny things, but such a thing is difficult to maintain unless it comes naturally. And I mean so naturally that when you write something down, you don't really notice it unless someone mentions it to you. When someone tells you how funny you are, you sort of shrug it off because it's just what "comes out" sometimes.
I am not like that. I know one guy who truly inhabits that place. Everyone else I've ever known who wants to be in that place is trying way too hard.
Lately, probably because of this book on writing, I've been thinking of finding another group to join. Shouldn't be too difficult here in San Francisco, right? There have to be would be, struggling writers crawling all over the place. I can see that I am doing almost everything in my life in isolation. I need to join a pack of like-minded people.
I have mixed feelings about someone "critiquing" my work. I used to have people do that in my writing class. My writing was different from the funny, clever things they would write and the subject matter of my stories was usually dark. I'm not sure why, but they would find all kinds of motivations and symbolism in my writing too. It was interesting and gave my stories a life outside of me, but at the same time it would seem like some people were trying to psychoanalyze my characters' motivations.
I'm curious to see what kind of groups are out there and finding one I feel productive and comfortable in. It's a strange business. You write completely alone and yet you need people all along the way: to read your rough drafts, to help you find a publisher or agent, to help you edit and prepare for publication. I think I've spent way too much time alone lately. Time to see what groups will have me.
One interesting thing I noticed about the good folks in my writing group is how most of them would strive to be clever and funny. Now, it's true they sometimes wrote funny things, but such a thing is difficult to maintain unless it comes naturally. And I mean so naturally that when you write something down, you don't really notice it unless someone mentions it to you. When someone tells you how funny you are, you sort of shrug it off because it's just what "comes out" sometimes.
I am not like that. I know one guy who truly inhabits that place. Everyone else I've ever known who wants to be in that place is trying way too hard.
Lately, probably because of this book on writing, I've been thinking of finding another group to join. Shouldn't be too difficult here in San Francisco, right? There have to be would be, struggling writers crawling all over the place. I can see that I am doing almost everything in my life in isolation. I need to join a pack of like-minded people.
I have mixed feelings about someone "critiquing" my work. I used to have people do that in my writing class. My writing was different from the funny, clever things they would write and the subject matter of my stories was usually dark. I'm not sure why, but they would find all kinds of motivations and symbolism in my writing too. It was interesting and gave my stories a life outside of me, but at the same time it would seem like some people were trying to psychoanalyze my characters' motivations.
I'm curious to see what kind of groups are out there and finding one I feel productive and comfortable in. It's a strange business. You write completely alone and yet you need people all along the way: to read your rough drafts, to help you find a publisher or agent, to help you edit and prepare for publication. I think I've spent way too much time alone lately. Time to see what groups will have me.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Cryptic
"I believe you are in a better mood, Miss Turtle."
Mr. Gryphon is sitting on top of a high stone wall. I am leaning against the wall almost directly below him. The sky is bright blue with cottony white clouds. We are taking a break.
"It would seem so even with today's disturbing announcements," I say, "I read online that I'm just a little pipsqueak who can't possibly know the grand scheme of things so why worry? The article also said things never go the way you want them to because they can't. Things are simply the way they are. They aren't supposed to fit with your expectations."
"It is what it is." Mr. Gryphon echoes as he shades his eyes with his hand and looks around from his high perch.
I look up at him now and smile. He reminds me of the person whom he was originally supposed to represent. He seems to sense this, maybe, because he looks down at me and grins. We look at each other for a long time.
"Just get in the water and float," he says. We burst out laughing, then he goes back to looking around. A yellow meadowlark alights next to him on the wall and looks at him curiously before flying off again.
"Are you sure you want to continue as we are? I can fly us out of here in time to be home for dinner, " he says.
"Yes, I'm sure. I have cheese snacks here in my book bag in case we get hungry. Besides, aren't you having fun?"
"Sure, I'm having fun, but you've been in a dark state as of late."
"True, true." I can't deny this fact. My state has been so dark that I've actually been relishing a twisted exaggeration of it.
We are in a giant stone maze and have been for the last couple of days. I insisted upon this little adventure since finishing the last Harry Potter book. Mr. Gryphon hops down from the wall.
"I thought you liked hedge mazes best, Miss Turtle," he says as he fully opens his wings and stretches. His huge claws temporarily expand to their full intimidating length before retracting again.
"I do like hedge mazes, but I couldn't resist seeing you up on that wall. And don't tell me the way out, just point us in the general direction," I say. We start on our path again.
"I should talk to you more often, Mr. Gryphon, you know like in real life. Perhaps when I'm about to fall asleep."
"You do talk to me. Most of the time you're asking me questions about why this happened or what does that mean," he says. There is a pleasant breeze. The warm breeze and sunshine is a welcome change from the low, dripping fog in my real-life neighborhood.
"Must get tiresome," I say. He shrugs and we go round a bend in the maze. He reminds me of someone else and I burst out laughing again.
"What?" he says, but he knows anyway. He produces a paper airplane and flies it at me. It swoops around magically before I catch it. It says "Open Me."
I open the small airplane, read the message and laugh some more.
"I'm safe, Mr. Gryphon. And the reason why I'm safe is the person who might have an inkling about what's going on with the paper airplanes doesn't even know this blog exists. And even if he did, he still wouldn't know what to make of it all. So I'm safe."
"This post is far too cryptic, Miss Turtle. It's a disservice to whoever is reading it."
"Oh well. I guess I can afford to be a little cryptic now and then." We encounter a fork in the maze and I look left and right. I take aim and send the paper airplane off. It goes to the left. I pick it up and we move to the right fork. We round another bend and stop.
In front of us is the center of the maze, all lush green grass and hundreds of rose bushes all in bloom. The air is a riot of fragrance and color. We move forward slowly, taking it all in. Mr. Gryphon reaches out and plucks a snowy white rose and hands it to me.
"For your cryptic ways, Miss Turtle. And I might add that it would be fun to share some of your mysteries. There's plenty of roses to go around."
"I suppose you're right, Sir." Butterflies of all kinds are sailing by us in windy abandon. There's a luxuriously ornate white marble fountain with Posidon and his chariot, complete with diving dolphins, water nymphs, and flying fish in the center of the rose bushes. The water is not running now (to keep from harming the butterflies). We find a green painted iron bench on at the far side of the fountain and sit down.
"Things are never as bad as they seem especially if you focus on the good instead of the bad," muses Mr. Gryphon.
"Such as the paper airplanes?" I ask him.
"Well, they got us here, didn't they?" I smile at him. He produces a cold bottle of water, opens it and hands it to me. The butterflies seem to be flying around us in a bright dance, but that could just be my imagination.
Mr. Gryphon is sitting on top of a high stone wall. I am leaning against the wall almost directly below him. The sky is bright blue with cottony white clouds. We are taking a break.
"It would seem so even with today's disturbing announcements," I say, "I read online that I'm just a little pipsqueak who can't possibly know the grand scheme of things so why worry? The article also said things never go the way you want them to because they can't. Things are simply the way they are. They aren't supposed to fit with your expectations."
"It is what it is." Mr. Gryphon echoes as he shades his eyes with his hand and looks around from his high perch.
I look up at him now and smile. He reminds me of the person whom he was originally supposed to represent. He seems to sense this, maybe, because he looks down at me and grins. We look at each other for a long time.
"Just get in the water and float," he says. We burst out laughing, then he goes back to looking around. A yellow meadowlark alights next to him on the wall and looks at him curiously before flying off again.
"Are you sure you want to continue as we are? I can fly us out of here in time to be home for dinner, " he says.
"Yes, I'm sure. I have cheese snacks here in my book bag in case we get hungry. Besides, aren't you having fun?"
"Sure, I'm having fun, but you've been in a dark state as of late."
"True, true." I can't deny this fact. My state has been so dark that I've actually been relishing a twisted exaggeration of it.
We are in a giant stone maze and have been for the last couple of days. I insisted upon this little adventure since finishing the last Harry Potter book. Mr. Gryphon hops down from the wall.
"I thought you liked hedge mazes best, Miss Turtle," he says as he fully opens his wings and stretches. His huge claws temporarily expand to their full intimidating length before retracting again.
"I do like hedge mazes, but I couldn't resist seeing you up on that wall. And don't tell me the way out, just point us in the general direction," I say. We start on our path again.
"I should talk to you more often, Mr. Gryphon, you know like in real life. Perhaps when I'm about to fall asleep."
"You do talk to me. Most of the time you're asking me questions about why this happened or what does that mean," he says. There is a pleasant breeze. The warm breeze and sunshine is a welcome change from the low, dripping fog in my real-life neighborhood.
"Must get tiresome," I say. He shrugs and we go round a bend in the maze. He reminds me of someone else and I burst out laughing again.
"What?" he says, but he knows anyway. He produces a paper airplane and flies it at me. It swoops around magically before I catch it. It says "Open Me."
I open the small airplane, read the message and laugh some more.
"I'm safe, Mr. Gryphon. And the reason why I'm safe is the person who might have an inkling about what's going on with the paper airplanes doesn't even know this blog exists. And even if he did, he still wouldn't know what to make of it all. So I'm safe."
"This post is far too cryptic, Miss Turtle. It's a disservice to whoever is reading it."
"Oh well. I guess I can afford to be a little cryptic now and then." We encounter a fork in the maze and I look left and right. I take aim and send the paper airplane off. It goes to the left. I pick it up and we move to the right fork. We round another bend and stop.
In front of us is the center of the maze, all lush green grass and hundreds of rose bushes all in bloom. The air is a riot of fragrance and color. We move forward slowly, taking it all in. Mr. Gryphon reaches out and plucks a snowy white rose and hands it to me.
"For your cryptic ways, Miss Turtle. And I might add that it would be fun to share some of your mysteries. There's plenty of roses to go around."
"I suppose you're right, Sir." Butterflies of all kinds are sailing by us in windy abandon. There's a luxuriously ornate white marble fountain with Posidon and his chariot, complete with diving dolphins, water nymphs, and flying fish in the center of the rose bushes. The water is not running now (to keep from harming the butterflies). We find a green painted iron bench on at the far side of the fountain and sit down.
"Things are never as bad as they seem especially if you focus on the good instead of the bad," muses Mr. Gryphon.
"Such as the paper airplanes?" I ask him.
"Well, they got us here, didn't they?" I smile at him. He produces a cold bottle of water, opens it and hands it to me. The butterflies seem to be flying around us in a bright dance, but that could just be my imagination.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The Color of the Sky
Sky and Macy's Sign
Street light a few feet to my right in the same parking lot
While in the parking lot at the mall I became enthralled with the color of the sky. The blue was nowhere near sunset color or summer sky. Just the deepening dark you see in the first picture. I took many pictures and although none captures the color correctly, it's still close. If I had Photoshop I might digitally enhance the color, but I'm glad I don't. I prefer to take my pictures in real time and to keep them as close to real as possible (except when I'm playing with turning them gritty black and white).
While photographing the sky I took a picture of the parking lot light and got a couple of small smears, much like I get when I take my phone pictures at a concert. Intrigued, I started playing around with deliberately moving the camera. I like the second image a lot. It's weird in a jellyfish kind of way.
While photographing the sky I took a picture of the parking lot light and got a couple of small smears, much like I get when I take my phone pictures at a concert. Intrigued, I started playing around with deliberately moving the camera. I like the second image a lot. It's weird in a jellyfish kind of way.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Rockets Red Glare
"Watch your step."
I stumble and slide as I make my way up the path. The people behind me are hankering to get ahead so I step aside to let them pass. It's almost dark and the narrow path we're on has us knee deep in ivy.
I can see dark shapes of people all around me. For some reason many of them have blankets wrapped around themselves.
"Shall we?"
I look up at Mr. Gryphon and then keep moving, but I don't say anything.
It's the 4th of July and other than a 7 foot tall golden imaginary gryphon, I don't have any other companions with me. I'm feeling a little excitement as I make my way up the hill, but at the same time my insides are churning. All day long I've been brooding, vacillating between anger and sadness. It wasn't a good day for me.
I reach a small area where many people are standing and sitting around. It's now almost dark and I'm thankful I have the key chain flashlight my brother insisted upon buying me. I see the dark shapes of people making their way to a still higher hill and follow them up.
It's a cold night. The day was glorious, clear and warm around 80 degrees. Weather like that spells paradise here in SF and I spent most of it indoors with the shades drawn. The wind is really blowing and I'm climbing steadily up the hill, Mr. Gryphon behind me. I reach a small path that skirts a concrete observation area. There are many people there, standing and milling around.
I make it to the top of the hill and move easily, anonymously among everyone. People are talking to each other and into their cell phones. I briefly consider making a phone call, but decide against it.
The view of nighttime San Francisco is wonderful. I can see the Bay Bridge, the lights of downtown. In the distance fireworks are going off in Sausalito to the northwest and Alameda to the east. Here and there are the bursts of fireworks all over the City particularly near City Hall and in the Mission. We are waiting for the main event and it's just about 9:30 pm. To the west, I can see our famous fog starting to roll in. Cold gusts of wind blow through us and I wish I had a hoodie on to keep my hair from blowing into my eyes.
"This was a good idea, Miss Turtle," says Mr. Gryphon. He doesn't look at me while he says this and again, I don't answer. People don't notice him as they move around and he manages, somehow, not to block anyone's view. We wait.
I try not to think too much, focusing instead on what a good idea it was to come up here. Wisps of fog float by us, but nothing that will obscure the view.
"There we go," says a male voice somewhere behind me. The fireworks have begun at Aquatic Park in the Marina and they are impressive. They have two sets going off at the same time. We oooh and ahhhh. Multicolored bursts fill the air to be followed by flashes of white, red and green. Then there's a blue flash and one that looks like a blue planet surrounded by a red ring appears. Then there's one that looks like a smiley face, heart shaped ones and green cube shapes, like a pair of neon dice. My favorites are the kind that look like big dandelions. They hang in the air for a long time afterwards.
We watch the fireworks. Occasionally a gasp escapes me or a little laugh. And even though Mr. Gryphon is standing there with me, I'll still all alone.
People start leaving, climbing over the concrete barrier in front of me, clutching their cell phones, each other, their blankets as the fireworks finale goes off. Then it's all over. People and the sounds of starting cars dominate. I slowly make my way back to the path that skirts the observation area and turn on my little flashlight. I walk slowly down, sliding a little.
I reach the road, crossing it to the next dark path, the one with the knee deep ivy.
"Dating is a discouraging business, Mr. Gryhon," I finally say. He nods at me and we continue on. I shine the flashlight behind me so he can see the path.
I stumble and slide as I make my way up the path. The people behind me are hankering to get ahead so I step aside to let them pass. It's almost dark and the narrow path we're on has us knee deep in ivy.
I can see dark shapes of people all around me. For some reason many of them have blankets wrapped around themselves.
"Shall we?"
I look up at Mr. Gryphon and then keep moving, but I don't say anything.
It's the 4th of July and other than a 7 foot tall golden imaginary gryphon, I don't have any other companions with me. I'm feeling a little excitement as I make my way up the hill, but at the same time my insides are churning. All day long I've been brooding, vacillating between anger and sadness. It wasn't a good day for me.
I reach a small area where many people are standing and sitting around. It's now almost dark and I'm thankful I have the key chain flashlight my brother insisted upon buying me. I see the dark shapes of people making their way to a still higher hill and follow them up.
It's a cold night. The day was glorious, clear and warm around 80 degrees. Weather like that spells paradise here in SF and I spent most of it indoors with the shades drawn. The wind is really blowing and I'm climbing steadily up the hill, Mr. Gryphon behind me. I reach a small path that skirts a concrete observation area. There are many people there, standing and milling around.
I make it to the top of the hill and move easily, anonymously among everyone. People are talking to each other and into their cell phones. I briefly consider making a phone call, but decide against it.
The view of nighttime San Francisco is wonderful. I can see the Bay Bridge, the lights of downtown. In the distance fireworks are going off in Sausalito to the northwest and Alameda to the east. Here and there are the bursts of fireworks all over the City particularly near City Hall and in the Mission. We are waiting for the main event and it's just about 9:30 pm. To the west, I can see our famous fog starting to roll in. Cold gusts of wind blow through us and I wish I had a hoodie on to keep my hair from blowing into my eyes.
"This was a good idea, Miss Turtle," says Mr. Gryphon. He doesn't look at me while he says this and again, I don't answer. People don't notice him as they move around and he manages, somehow, not to block anyone's view. We wait.
I try not to think too much, focusing instead on what a good idea it was to come up here. Wisps of fog float by us, but nothing that will obscure the view.
"There we go," says a male voice somewhere behind me. The fireworks have begun at Aquatic Park in the Marina and they are impressive. They have two sets going off at the same time. We oooh and ahhhh. Multicolored bursts fill the air to be followed by flashes of white, red and green. Then there's a blue flash and one that looks like a blue planet surrounded by a red ring appears. Then there's one that looks like a smiley face, heart shaped ones and green cube shapes, like a pair of neon dice. My favorites are the kind that look like big dandelions. They hang in the air for a long time afterwards.
We watch the fireworks. Occasionally a gasp escapes me or a little laugh. And even though Mr. Gryphon is standing there with me, I'll still all alone.
People start leaving, climbing over the concrete barrier in front of me, clutching their cell phones, each other, their blankets as the fireworks finale goes off. Then it's all over. People and the sounds of starting cars dominate. I slowly make my way back to the path that skirts the observation area and turn on my little flashlight. I walk slowly down, sliding a little.
I reach the road, crossing it to the next dark path, the one with the knee deep ivy.
"Dating is a discouraging business, Mr. Gryhon," I finally say. He nods at me and we continue on. I shine the flashlight behind me so he can see the path.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Tea Leaf Green at 19 Broadway, Fairfax, California
Trevor Garrod, keyboard player for Tea Leaf GreenSat., June 22, 2007
I had never heard of this band before, but was invited to this concert. Apparently, the band has quite the following and this show is considered a real treat because the venue is so small. Well, they were great all right. They're considered a "jam band" whatever that means. Their music is mostly rock-ish with elements of country, jazz and blues. The overall sound reminds of what I think of as train music, that is the rhythm and "movement" of the music reminds of songs like "Mystery Train."
I took this picture with my camera phone and I'm surprised it came out so clearly. Usually my concert pictures come out as nothing but bunch of smeary neon lights.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Water District Land
7th Avenue. The Water District's land is on the right.
Here's the little reservoir. If it weren't so late, I'd check to see if it has a namePeople are always surprised when I tell them I see skunks, huge raccoons and possums, but then I remind them my apartment building literally rests it's back against a hill. The animals are always coming down for a meal from the dumpsters.
I wonder if this sign is a good deterrent.Dappled green leaves, bright shafts of sunlight, cool green shade, flowers and pretty paths. I see all this wonder as I ride by on my bus in the morning down 7th Avenue. It's amazing that I'm in the City and so lucky to be near so much little used greenery.
Monday, June 11, 2007
MUNI MetroLand
"That gentleman won't stop muttering."
I look up from the book I'm reading "Out" by Natsuo Kirino about a Japanese housewife who murders her abusive husband and then has to figure out how to dispose the body. I'm on the crowded L Taraval train (two cars). Mr. Gryphon, my imaginary friend, is looking at a large man wearing white star shaped sunglasses with rhinestones. His cowboy boots match the sunglasses. He appears to be speaking softly, incoherently, and I have not noticed at all because this type of thing happens all the time on San Francisco Public Transportation.
"He's probably got some super tiny headphones on and is listening to Donna Summer," I say.
"He is not, Miss Turtle. He's speaking in tongues." There is a loud screech, a jerk and then a flock of small grey owls fly by. We all duck to avoid them. Well, all of us except the class of fifth graders who jump and grab at them. I wonder what the owls are doing up at this hour of the morning.
"Great, I can't stand when people have religious experiences in the tunnel. Makes the lights all strange and twinkly," I say as I watch the last of the owls flutter away. I can hear the odd babbling the man is doing now that I'm paying attention. It's a low persistent sound underneath the babble of the school kids. I sigh and hold the bar a little tighter after putting my book away.
At the next stop, the fifth graders get off clearly on their way to City Hall for a government field trip. There is a visible sigh of relief among the remaining people on the train as more room is made available. Mr. Gryphon opens his wings a little and stretches his long legs. Then we see/hear running for the closing doors, a herd of buffalo. Damn! That means we'll have to stop in the tunnel now. They elbow their way onto the car, smashing me up against the bar. Everyone else on the train gets out of their ways since the bulls have horns. They have that buffalo-y, manure-y smell that is somewhat pleasant. When all of them are on the train, we pull away from the station, albeit slower than usual. Mr. Gryphon strikes up a conversation with one of them. I half listen. At least if we stop suddenly, I'll have something furry to land on.
"Where're you all off to," asks Mr. Gryphon easily. He enjoys being around other beings that aren't supposed to be there.
"Ah, well, ah we're off to the unused parts of the tunnel for a good long run, then we're off to the Wharf, the little one here wants some chocolate, then we'll take the scenic route home via the Marina," he says.
"Sounds like a pleasant outing," says Mr. Gryphon.
"Ah, well, ah you can't beat the weather today. Gotta take advantage while you can," he says. Two of the calves are giggling uncontrollably while they poke at each other with their hooves.
"I heard wandering through the Presidio is a nice thing to do," I say. The buffalo turns and looks me, his ears twitching, his huge black eyes glossy and wet. He behaves like I've just butted in on their conversation which I have, I suppose.
"Ah well ah, yes, it is. I recommend it," he says politely. The train screeches to a stop in the middle of the tunnel sending me face first into his fur. He barely notices because he is shouting at the others, "We're getting off here! Everyone crowd round. Yes! Ah, well, this is our stop now!" The doors open quickly and the herd goes out in single file. I can see them moving easily into a dark tunnel. There are feeble lights and I can see the old rail tracks glinting in the distance. When the entire herd has exited, the train moves on, slowly.
"This explains why there are so many delays in the tunnel, "observes Mr. Gryphon. He moves closer to me. "By the way, Miss Turtle, they are Bison, not buffalo."
"Well, I like the sound of the word buffalo better, Mr. Gryphon, although I like how Bison looks with a capital B."
"And what is the point of this post, Miss Turtle?" People have been claiming the open seats as the train has moved along. We have remained standing.
"I guess I'm feeling a little lonely. I have a crush on someone I shouldn't have a crush on so I wrote a Missed Connection for him on craigslist.org just now."
"Why are you saying this here on your blog?"
"Hell if I know." At the next stop the train really empties out. We sit down on the red seats. I always check to make sure it's safe to sit down first. Sometimes scorpions and venomous snakes are on the seats. "I got an email from some guy right after I posted it. He told me I sounded defeated/lost and that I should stay away from the Golden Gate Bridge. I don't feel suicidal. Not even close."
"I'm glad you're not feeling suicidal. What if the person sees the post, the person it was written for."
"He'll just think I'm a nut job. I better go back and delete it now while I have a chance," I get up from my seat, climb over Mr. Gryphon and open one of the Metro train windows as we are zooming down the tunnel. I pause, getting the timing right, then leap into the darkened concrete wall....
(Miss Turtle is now sitting in front of her 32" widescreen TV that doubles as her computer screen. She has looked at, edited and thought about that Missed Connection post, but can't bring herself to delete it)
...then there is a woosh and I'm climbing back through the train window. Mr. Gryphon helps me through. Absolutely none of the other passengers notice except the man speaking in tongues.
He approaches me. "Thought you could get away with it, eh?"
"No," I say looking directly at him. It bugs me that I can't see his eyes, but his big star shaped sunglasses are interesting.
"You should just delete that post and march into that guy's office," he says, his curly dark hair has been streaked with royal blue.
"I'd rather launch a paper airplane at him, aiming for his desk," I say, drawing back a little. I feel Mr. Gryphon's hand on my arm.
"Who do you think you are? Amelie?" He puts his hands on his hips.
"And who do you think YOU are? Aren't you supposed to be speaking in tongues in this scenario?" He shrugs and marches back to his seat. After settling in, the odd mutterings resume.
"I suppose I better delete that post, Mr. Gryphon, but perhaps I'll leave it up tonight and get rid of it in the morning," I say sitting down on the too warm red seat again.
"Do what you will, Miss Turtle, but haven't you been dating around lately?"
"Yes, but it's a discouraging business, Mr. Gryphon. Far easier to fantasize about someone you can't have because you like his glasses."
"At least you're not suicidal."
"Far from it, Mr. Gryphon. Far from it," I say as he puts his arm around me. The lights have taken on a dreamy twinkle as the speaking in tongues man has finally gotten his way. Thank goodness we're almost at our stop.
I look up from the book I'm reading "Out" by Natsuo Kirino about a Japanese housewife who murders her abusive husband and then has to figure out how to dispose the body. I'm on the crowded L Taraval train (two cars). Mr. Gryphon, my imaginary friend, is looking at a large man wearing white star shaped sunglasses with rhinestones. His cowboy boots match the sunglasses. He appears to be speaking softly, incoherently, and I have not noticed at all because this type of thing happens all the time on San Francisco Public Transportation.
"He's probably got some super tiny headphones on and is listening to Donna Summer," I say.
"He is not, Miss Turtle. He's speaking in tongues." There is a loud screech, a jerk and then a flock of small grey owls fly by. We all duck to avoid them. Well, all of us except the class of fifth graders who jump and grab at them. I wonder what the owls are doing up at this hour of the morning.
"Great, I can't stand when people have religious experiences in the tunnel. Makes the lights all strange and twinkly," I say as I watch the last of the owls flutter away. I can hear the odd babbling the man is doing now that I'm paying attention. It's a low persistent sound underneath the babble of the school kids. I sigh and hold the bar a little tighter after putting my book away.
At the next stop, the fifth graders get off clearly on their way to City Hall for a government field trip. There is a visible sigh of relief among the remaining people on the train as more room is made available. Mr. Gryphon opens his wings a little and stretches his long legs. Then we see/hear running for the closing doors, a herd of buffalo. Damn! That means we'll have to stop in the tunnel now. They elbow their way onto the car, smashing me up against the bar. Everyone else on the train gets out of their ways since the bulls have horns. They have that buffalo-y, manure-y smell that is somewhat pleasant. When all of them are on the train, we pull away from the station, albeit slower than usual. Mr. Gryphon strikes up a conversation with one of them. I half listen. At least if we stop suddenly, I'll have something furry to land on.
"Where're you all off to," asks Mr. Gryphon easily. He enjoys being around other beings that aren't supposed to be there.
"Ah, well, ah we're off to the unused parts of the tunnel for a good long run, then we're off to the Wharf, the little one here wants some chocolate, then we'll take the scenic route home via the Marina," he says.
"Sounds like a pleasant outing," says Mr. Gryphon.
"Ah, well, ah you can't beat the weather today. Gotta take advantage while you can," he says. Two of the calves are giggling uncontrollably while they poke at each other with their hooves.
"I heard wandering through the Presidio is a nice thing to do," I say. The buffalo turns and looks me, his ears twitching, his huge black eyes glossy and wet. He behaves like I've just butted in on their conversation which I have, I suppose.
"Ah well ah, yes, it is. I recommend it," he says politely. The train screeches to a stop in the middle of the tunnel sending me face first into his fur. He barely notices because he is shouting at the others, "We're getting off here! Everyone crowd round. Yes! Ah, well, this is our stop now!" The doors open quickly and the herd goes out in single file. I can see them moving easily into a dark tunnel. There are feeble lights and I can see the old rail tracks glinting in the distance. When the entire herd has exited, the train moves on, slowly.
"This explains why there are so many delays in the tunnel, "observes Mr. Gryphon. He moves closer to me. "By the way, Miss Turtle, they are Bison, not buffalo."
"Well, I like the sound of the word buffalo better, Mr. Gryphon, although I like how Bison looks with a capital B."
"And what is the point of this post, Miss Turtle?" People have been claiming the open seats as the train has moved along. We have remained standing.
"I guess I'm feeling a little lonely. I have a crush on someone I shouldn't have a crush on so I wrote a Missed Connection for him on craigslist.org just now."
"Why are you saying this here on your blog?"
"Hell if I know." At the next stop the train really empties out. We sit down on the red seats. I always check to make sure it's safe to sit down first. Sometimes scorpions and venomous snakes are on the seats. "I got an email from some guy right after I posted it. He told me I sounded defeated/lost and that I should stay away from the Golden Gate Bridge. I don't feel suicidal. Not even close."
"I'm glad you're not feeling suicidal. What if the person sees the post, the person it was written for."
"He'll just think I'm a nut job. I better go back and delete it now while I have a chance," I get up from my seat, climb over Mr. Gryphon and open one of the Metro train windows as we are zooming down the tunnel. I pause, getting the timing right, then leap into the darkened concrete wall....
(Miss Turtle is now sitting in front of her 32" widescreen TV that doubles as her computer screen. She has looked at, edited and thought about that Missed Connection post, but can't bring herself to delete it)
...then there is a woosh and I'm climbing back through the train window. Mr. Gryphon helps me through. Absolutely none of the other passengers notice except the man speaking in tongues.
He approaches me. "Thought you could get away with it, eh?"
"No," I say looking directly at him. It bugs me that I can't see his eyes, but his big star shaped sunglasses are interesting.
"You should just delete that post and march into that guy's office," he says, his curly dark hair has been streaked with royal blue.
"I'd rather launch a paper airplane at him, aiming for his desk," I say, drawing back a little. I feel Mr. Gryphon's hand on my arm.
"Who do you think you are? Amelie?" He puts his hands on his hips.
"And who do you think YOU are? Aren't you supposed to be speaking in tongues in this scenario?" He shrugs and marches back to his seat. After settling in, the odd mutterings resume.
"I suppose I better delete that post, Mr. Gryphon, but perhaps I'll leave it up tonight and get rid of it in the morning," I say sitting down on the too warm red seat again.
"Do what you will, Miss Turtle, but haven't you been dating around lately?"
"Yes, but it's a discouraging business, Mr. Gryphon. Far easier to fantasize about someone you can't have because you like his glasses."
"At least you're not suicidal."
"Far from it, Mr. Gryphon. Far from it," I say as he puts his arm around me. The lights have taken on a dreamy twinkle as the speaking in tongues man has finally gotten his way. Thank goodness we're almost at our stop.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
A Record of a Dry Year, Part 1
View of Grant Ranch, A County Park in San Jose, looking WestGrant Ranch is the first major landmark on the way up to Mt. Hamilton. We usually stop for a looksee, but decided to press on since we got started late. It's a good place to watch birds.
My brother says this is Purple Chaia, as in the tea, but he doesn't think it should be drunk.Our practice is to drive around and then pull over on the side of the road when we see something interesting. That being said, we've done this enough times to have our favorite spots where we know we're likely to see some good plant growth.
Try as I might, I can't figure out what this one is called. I'll have to ask my brother again.As we drove up the Mountain, pulling over the side of the road, avoiding bicyclists and SUVs alike, we were struck by how small everything was. All the plants were either smaller than usual and/or very late in their development for that time of year.
Even the Poison Oak was having a bad time of it. Without a doubt, that's the smallest Poison Oak plant I've ever seen.Unlike me, my brother actually has a college education. While his degree turned out to be in biology, he started out as a botany major with a special fascination for our wildflowers. I think next time we do this he's going to bring a GPS so we can make keep of record of where we found the flowers via coordinates.
Douglas Wallflower. During some years there are whole carpets on the hillsides.
Douglas Wallflower. During some years there are whole carpets on the hillsides.We're always on the lookout for animals, but we didn't see very many at all this year. We always see something big like a deer or a skunk family, but we had no luck this time.
This little valley is enchanting, as you can see.An older guy on a bike wearing a bright yellow jacket (going downhill) stopped us on this ridge overlooking the little valley above and asked us what we were looking for since we were moving slowly along the side of the road and looking at the ground. When we told him we were looking at the flowers, he seemed mystified. As we moved away from him, he took out his cell phone, turned on his phone camcorder and recorded a little blurb about the valley. I wondered who he was going to send it to.
The sky was such a perfect color. I couldn't resist leaning against side of the mountain to take this shot.Next up: even more wildflowers.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
City Life: Heron
I was walking my dog in Golden Gate Park this past Sunday evening when I noticed a small family staring at something. As I got closer I saw just a few feet away, a Great Blue Heron. Great Blue Herons are impressive birds. Large and leggy, they stand up to four feet tall.
Oddly enough the heron was standing in part of a field, a part of the baseball field to be exact. Most of the time it seems that herons stick close to the water.
I shorted my dog's leash so we could walk past the bird without scaring it. As I moved past with my dog, the mother turned and looked at me.
"He just ate a gopher."
"What?"
"He just ate a gopher. We saw him do it. He's still trying to swallow it down. You can see the lump in his throat." She was blonde and grinning broadly with lovely crinkles around her eyes, obviously amazed. The entire family was transfixed. They were a friendly family, all wearing blue high-end fleece jackets.
I stopped and stared at the big bird, "Was it a big gopher?" She nodded.
Gophers in Golden Gate Park tend to be huge and fat. I wondered how the heron was able to get a hold of it. I know their beaks are formidable. A few years ago, there was a news report that a heron had stabbed a man in the heart with his beak, killing him, when the man got too close trying while trying to take a close up picture of the bird.
"Why don't I have my camera with me?" I wondered aloud in frustration. I would have liked to share that picture with all of you. A Great Blue Heron standing on the grass with a baseball game going on in the background. I watched him for a little while longer, but my dog was pulling me along so we moved on.
When I looked back the family was still standing there.
Oddly enough the heron was standing in part of a field, a part of the baseball field to be exact. Most of the time it seems that herons stick close to the water.
I shorted my dog's leash so we could walk past the bird without scaring it. As I moved past with my dog, the mother turned and looked at me.
"He just ate a gopher."
"What?"
"He just ate a gopher. We saw him do it. He's still trying to swallow it down. You can see the lump in his throat." She was blonde and grinning broadly with lovely crinkles around her eyes, obviously amazed. The entire family was transfixed. They were a friendly family, all wearing blue high-end fleece jackets.
I stopped and stared at the big bird, "Was it a big gopher?" She nodded.
Gophers in Golden Gate Park tend to be huge and fat. I wondered how the heron was able to get a hold of it. I know their beaks are formidable. A few years ago, there was a news report that a heron had stabbed a man in the heart with his beak, killing him, when the man got too close trying while trying to take a close up picture of the bird.
"Why don't I have my camera with me?" I wondered aloud in frustration. I would have liked to share that picture with all of you. A Great Blue Heron standing on the grass with a baseball game going on in the background. I watched him for a little while longer, but my dog was pulling me along so we moved on.
When I looked back the family was still standing there.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
To the Border, Part 2 of 2
My adventure to the border continues...as I mentioned in Part 1, I had a serious problem to deal with because I had no idea how to get into Vancouver or the layout of the city or a map or guidebook or anything. While wondering what I was going to do, I took a turnoff and found myself at the airport. It was easy enough to find my way out again and it bought me some time to think about it.
As I got back on the road I saw a very small blue sign that proved to be my salvation:
As I got back on the road I saw a very small blue sign that proved to be my salvation:
CRUISE SHIP TERMINAL
It was such a small sign, very easy to disregard. There was a simple line drawing of a ship with some waves underneath in that road-signy style. Since I knew Vancouver was a waterfront city, I figured following the sign would at least get me to the water so I took the exit.
I found myself on a big wide street about six lanes wide. It was like a big expressway with traffic lights. No matter how much I looked around, I couldn't figure out the name of the street. I kept looking around at everything, then I noticed that at some intersections the stoplights were flashing yellow all the time. I had no idea what that means and I still don't. I know what the red flashing stoplights mean (treat this intersection like a four way stop sign - some of the lights here in SF flash that way late at night). Not knowing what else to do, I just kept barreling right through the lights along with everyone else. As I drove, I wondered if I would get stopped by the police. I wondered if I would get a ticket. I wondered if the officer would tell me where the city was. I wondered how I was going to attend traffic court in Canada.
I was on this wide expressway-type street for a long time. The little blue cruise ship terminal sign never failed me. Just when I would start looking around and wondering where I was I would see the sign again. I drove through a pretty part of the city. The trees were lit up with white holiday lights, there appeared to be many restaurants, and many people wandered to and fro. I thought about stopping, but pressed on.
Then at some point, there was a curve in the road and a slight rise...
and there it was, Vancouver! I was on a big bridge going straight into the city! It was lit up like grand magic. I could see the water and the huge buildings. It was so beautiful that I started screaming inside my car. I was so excited that I missed the turnoff to the Cruise Ship Terminal. No matter. I had made it to my destination! It was around 8:15 p.m. or so.
The bridge was quite long, so long that I was a little calmer when I got onto the island. At first I thought about trying to find my way to the Cruise Ship Terminal, but decided to make a right turn as soon as possible. I didn't know where I was going to end up, but somehow it didn't matter. I drove along the road, the buildings tall and twinkling around me. There was some major construction going on and I had to make several turns onto smaller streets. Since I had to use the loo, I resolved to find a place to park. This proved difficult as there seemed to be cars everywhere. Finally, I found a small parking lot that had a space and got out the the car. It was a fairly warm night and the cars were parked at an odd angle on the narrow street. Then I looked around and I was in the middle of a huge area full of restaurants, bars, sushi bars, Starbucks and pool halls. People were out walking their dogs. I found a bar and used the loo, and although I wanted to try one of the restaurants, I was too full still from eating that the Twin Peaks diner earlier that day.
Jeez. Seeing the waterfalls and that diner seemed like half a world away, but it was only a few hours earlier!
I wandered around some more and found the waterfront. It was dark, but I could see I was in a nice park. I kept to the streets in case it was a little unsafe there. The streets were very wide. I took a couple of pictures to prove I was there:
Okay, so it doesn't show the location, but I couldn't help but snap this sign that shows kilometers. We don't have signs like that here.
It was such a small sign, very easy to disregard. There was a simple line drawing of a ship with some waves underneath in that road-signy style. Since I knew Vancouver was a waterfront city, I figured following the sign would at least get me to the water so I took the exit.
I found myself on a big wide street about six lanes wide. It was like a big expressway with traffic lights. No matter how much I looked around, I couldn't figure out the name of the street. I kept looking around at everything, then I noticed that at some intersections the stoplights were flashing yellow all the time. I had no idea what that means and I still don't. I know what the red flashing stoplights mean (treat this intersection like a four way stop sign - some of the lights here in SF flash that way late at night). Not knowing what else to do, I just kept barreling right through the lights along with everyone else. As I drove, I wondered if I would get stopped by the police. I wondered if I would get a ticket. I wondered if the officer would tell me where the city was. I wondered how I was going to attend traffic court in Canada.
I was on this wide expressway-type street for a long time. The little blue cruise ship terminal sign never failed me. Just when I would start looking around and wondering where I was I would see the sign again. I drove through a pretty part of the city. The trees were lit up with white holiday lights, there appeared to be many restaurants, and many people wandered to and fro. I thought about stopping, but pressed on.
Then at some point, there was a curve in the road and a slight rise...
and there it was, Vancouver! I was on a big bridge going straight into the city! It was lit up like grand magic. I could see the water and the huge buildings. It was so beautiful that I started screaming inside my car. I was so excited that I missed the turnoff to the Cruise Ship Terminal. No matter. I had made it to my destination! It was around 8:15 p.m. or so.
The bridge was quite long, so long that I was a little calmer when I got onto the island. At first I thought about trying to find my way to the Cruise Ship Terminal, but decided to make a right turn as soon as possible. I didn't know where I was going to end up, but somehow it didn't matter. I drove along the road, the buildings tall and twinkling around me. There was some major construction going on and I had to make several turns onto smaller streets. Since I had to use the loo, I resolved to find a place to park. This proved difficult as there seemed to be cars everywhere. Finally, I found a small parking lot that had a space and got out the the car. It was a fairly warm night and the cars were parked at an odd angle on the narrow street. Then I looked around and I was in the middle of a huge area full of restaurants, bars, sushi bars, Starbucks and pool halls. People were out walking their dogs. I found a bar and used the loo, and although I wanted to try one of the restaurants, I was too full still from eating that the Twin Peaks diner earlier that day.
Jeez. Seeing the waterfalls and that diner seemed like half a world away, but it was only a few hours earlier!
I wandered around some more and found the waterfront. It was dark, but I could see I was in a nice park. I kept to the streets in case it was a little unsafe there. The streets were very wide. I took a couple of pictures to prove I was there:
Okay, so it doesn't show the location, but I couldn't help but snap this sign that shows kilometers. We don't have signs like that here.
Yes, the proof that I was there. It was so dark that I couldn't see the park at all, but I have a feeling it's a pretty place.
Believe it or not, I was only in Vancouver for a couple of hours wandering around before I decided to get back into my car and make my way back to Seattle. I was worried I would have trouble crossing the border. As I drove back over the bridge towards the freeway (if that's what you want to call it), I resolved to visit this beautiful city for a long weekend.
The 30 or so miles back seemed to go very quickly. I was getting really worried as I got closer to the border. I kept wondering what would happen if they wouldn't let me back across. I took several deep breaths as I waited in the long line of cars. I thought about what I'd say to the border guard.
When it was my turn, the guard expressed dismay that I only had a driver's license. I kept apologizing. He was a middle aged Asian man with a slightly thick accent.
"How am I supposed to know this is really you?" he asked me, holding up my driver's license. "People make fake ones all the time and the fake ones are good."
"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't plan to make this trip. I don't even have a map," I said.
"You know," he said leaning a little closer, "People complain to us that our borders are porous, that we could have prevented the 9/11 attacks if we had been tougher on everyone who crosses into our country. Do you have any idea how that makes us feel? And then nice people like you show up with just your driver's license."
I looked at him without saying anything. I got tears in my eyes. I felt his frustration. Then I apologized again in a soft voice. We looked at each other without speaking and then he waved me on.
"Have a nice evening and don't forget to bring your passport next time," he said.
"I won't. I won't."
"And don't forget to tell everyone you know how important it is to have proper identification so we can protect our borders," he said.
"I will. I promise." I waved at him and drove on into the black night.
The drive back to Seattle and the hotel didn't seem to take that long. All along with way, the road was dark with some street lights there and there. I stopped for gas. Everything seemed friendly. The road and I had gotten to know each other well.
I got to the hotel after midnight. I had an early morning flight later that morning and I was going from SFO straight to work. As I lay in my hotel bed nodding off to sleep, I wondered if I'd really gone to Pike's Place Market in the morning to buy my Dad some smoked salmon, seen the Twin Peaks waterfalls and diner and then drove to Vancouver and back. It was all vivid and real, but seemed so unlikely.
Epilogue
Soon after my trip, the laws were changed. A passport or birth certificate is now required to cross the border from Canada to here. At least I'm keeping my promise to that border guard now.
When I got to work the first thing I did was Google "Vancouver." It was there that I saw my first pictures of the city in the daylight. I had no idea Vancouver was an island. I couldn't really tell in the dark.
Believe it or not, I was only in Vancouver for a couple of hours wandering around before I decided to get back into my car and make my way back to Seattle. I was worried I would have trouble crossing the border. As I drove back over the bridge towards the freeway (if that's what you want to call it), I resolved to visit this beautiful city for a long weekend.
The 30 or so miles back seemed to go very quickly. I was getting really worried as I got closer to the border. I kept wondering what would happen if they wouldn't let me back across. I took several deep breaths as I waited in the long line of cars. I thought about what I'd say to the border guard.
When it was my turn, the guard expressed dismay that I only had a driver's license. I kept apologizing. He was a middle aged Asian man with a slightly thick accent.
"How am I supposed to know this is really you?" he asked me, holding up my driver's license. "People make fake ones all the time and the fake ones are good."
"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't plan to make this trip. I don't even have a map," I said.
"You know," he said leaning a little closer, "People complain to us that our borders are porous, that we could have prevented the 9/11 attacks if we had been tougher on everyone who crosses into our country. Do you have any idea how that makes us feel? And then nice people like you show up with just your driver's license."
I looked at him without saying anything. I got tears in my eyes. I felt his frustration. Then I apologized again in a soft voice. We looked at each other without speaking and then he waved me on.
"Have a nice evening and don't forget to bring your passport next time," he said.
"I won't. I won't."
"And don't forget to tell everyone you know how important it is to have proper identification so we can protect our borders," he said.
"I will. I promise." I waved at him and drove on into the black night.
The drive back to Seattle and the hotel didn't seem to take that long. All along with way, the road was dark with some street lights there and there. I stopped for gas. Everything seemed friendly. The road and I had gotten to know each other well.
I got to the hotel after midnight. I had an early morning flight later that morning and I was going from SFO straight to work. As I lay in my hotel bed nodding off to sleep, I wondered if I'd really gone to Pike's Place Market in the morning to buy my Dad some smoked salmon, seen the Twin Peaks waterfalls and diner and then drove to Vancouver and back. It was all vivid and real, but seemed so unlikely.
Epilogue
Soon after my trip, the laws were changed. A passport or birth certificate is now required to cross the border from Canada to here. At least I'm keeping my promise to that border guard now.
When I got to work the first thing I did was Google "Vancouver." It was there that I saw my first pictures of the city in the daylight. I had no idea Vancouver was an island. I couldn't really tell in the dark.
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