Art.

I made a short film!

That makes it sound like I crafted this thing by myself, which is in fact, not the case. I had the help and support of roughly 7 hardy volunteers, who sacrificed their weekend (and in some cases, much more) to help me create: Art.

What is this Art, you ask?

Well, I can only allude to it's magic, for to explain it in full here would only serve to diminish its value - as Art (obviously).

But just so you aren't totally in the dark, here are some visual clues:

+

=

Last night I had some people over to view the finished product. Needless to say, the audience was astounded by the cinematic tour-de-force packed into the 12 minutes that was my short. Not to mention I plied them with wine and osso buco to get them "receptive". Sometimes Art appreciation requires a little coaxing.

I bet you had no idea that my first foray into fillmmaking and Art would be so successful! Well, neither did I, but you can't control Art, it controls you! Yet another nugget of insight you might want to sock away for later...

Does Heather Spend Thanksgiving Alone??

As promised, the blog that takes on the question only The Heathernet dared to ask: DOES HEATHER SPEND THANKSGIVING ALONE??

no. She does not.

I'll stop talking in 3rd person now. And how about correct tense, Thanksgiving was Thursday.

While I did not get to spend Thanksgiving with my family, I was not crying by myself into my turkey platter at Marie Callender's, thanks to the kindness of some lovely friends on the eastside. Before you go getting the Marie Callender's people all up in arms, allow me a quick sidebar: Do not cry for Marie Callender's - they were not hurting for business over the past weekend's holiday. To the contrary, when my roommate called to inquire about coming in, they informed her that all of their reservations were full. While I am, by all accounts, a notorious food snob... RESERVATIONS?? Am I the last person shocked by anything anymore?

I called home to extend greetings to the family just as my Dad was eating some uni, a Japanese delicacy that I won't get into too much detail about here, but a) it's delicious (trust me on this), and b) obviously not a Thanksgiving staple and therefore absent from my own celebration. Pretty sure he told me to ensure I wouldn't miss Christmas. Then I got passed around to every respective member of my family, amid loud background noise and shuffling. Each conversation went something like:

"Hi Heather! Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Happy Thanksgiving, Auntie ____!"

"We miss you!"

"I miss you too!...OK bye!"

Innocuous enough, I suppose, but multiply that out by about 15 in as many minutes. Cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends. I guess I should be grateful for being missed at all. Isn't that the whole point of Thanksgiving in the first place? Man alive, I am still a brat.

Anyway, my own Thanksgiving was still quite lovely. And the important thing, I managed to be somewhat productive, still working on that secret "time machine". Now to buckle down and finish up, so no more blogs until I defeat the laws of physics!

See you in the future, chumps!

On New York

Hi gang,
I thought y'all might appreciate some updates, rather than be left to assume I had died in some horrific Times Square shoppers' massacre (why do I always imagine you suppose the worst...?) Not to fear, I survived the frozen tundra of NYC and am back in somewhat overcast Los Angeles. I had a super time in New York, and I wanted to take the opportunity to share some of my insights from the trip.

But first, a quick note on Virgin America.

Have any of you seen the movie Soul Plane? Now, this is a terrible movie, one that I might never have seen had I not been working for the studio that was responsible for it, MGM. In it, Snoop Dogg of gin-and-juice fame navigates a purple plane with rims and an onboard hip hop club. When I boarded Virgin America - soft purple mood lighting, light electro jazz, personal entertainment stations - I got sort of the same vibe. I felt like I was on Prince's private jet nonstop to Erotic City. But here's the thing: I loved it. The purple lighting was far superior to the harsh florescent tones of normal commercial planes and the whole atmosphere totally mellowed me out for my sleepytime redeye. Also, as passengers boarded the plane, I observed that everyone who got on the flight appeared to be incredibly good looking! Was this an illusion due to the purple lighting, or are Virgin passengers just subject to photo approval? Either way, big fan.

So, on to New York! OK, first trip, remember? So for those of you are like me and waited 27 years to visit, here is what you are in for: NEW YORK IS CRAZY! That's all I could determine during the first 24 hours. It's just...... crazy! There are so many people, there is so much going all, its all close together, and busy and there are always people all the time everywhere nonstop crazy crazy loco crazy! It took at least a day for me to process it. I've been to a lot of big cities, Paris, London, Bangkok, but the only place that really kindof compares is Tokyo and even then its like, not the same at all. I spent a lot of time just trying to comprehend it - in some ways it felt like travelling to another planet. I would be on the subway just watching people: "so... that's a New Yorker". In turn, they played their part by ignoring me, which kind of started to make me feel like maybe I fit in...

The other thing I did a lot of in New York was walking. There is a popular misconception that people in LA don't walk; that we all drive around in our cars to go a couple blocks and that even gyms have valet. OK, so this is actually not so much a misconception as it is an indisputable fact. Without Loretta, I'm basically immobile. So I was delighted to regain the use of my legs in NY, ambulating with ease throughout the city sans auto. Yes, my feet were tired, but I think it was one of those "good tireds".

I did not take as many pictures during my trip as I would have liked. In fact, I only really took photos when I was in Central Park. Half of these were of squirrels. [note on photo: the photos of squirrels that I did capture weren't even that stellar. Hence, this photo, which I borrowed from elsewhere on the interweb]. Dude - even the squirrels in New York are crazy! They were everywhere, jumping around, crawling around in the dirt, eating twigs. But somehow, crazier than our mellow squirrels here in California. Or maybe the cold was making me delirious...

It was very cold. That's not doing it justice: cold that somehow found its way past my layers of shirts and sweaters and jackets to my skeletal system. I am not built for cold. I have long spindly arms that long sleeves don't cover. My self-led tour of Central Park ended abruptly when I lost feeling in my hands and had to leave to purchase gloves. I walked to Times Square, to see what all the fuss was about, which was the height of craziness: gazillions of tourists (did I count as one? dammit!), groups of angry protesters, mentally unstable street vendors. I ducked into The Gap to buy gloves and make a phone call before bracing myself to face the throngs of people outside. Then I promptly got myself lost on the subway. Local versus express?? Why don't they label these things?!

Other highlights: I met up with my old bowling teammate in Soho, watched some bands play at a bar in the East Village, ate pizza, bought boots, enjoyed a drink at the top of the Hudson Hotel, went to dinner in the West Village, had brunch with a bunch of ladies... Things I did not do: see the Statue of Liberty, scale the Empire State Building, eat a hot dog, go to a museum, hold hands with anyone but myself. But, I suppose its good to leave some things for next time. All in all, I think the trip was a success, my first venture into the big city. Finally!

Upcoming blog topics: Heather creates Art, and, Does Heather spend Thanksgiving alone? Tune in, I'm trying to get the ol' reliability factor up.....

would you accept, summer break?

Faithful readers!

According to my records, it would appear the last time I logged an entry in the ol' Heathernet would be sometime around.... oh, what does that say, July? Yes. I have been neglectful. My own unannounced summer vacation, I suppose. But what I'm certainly not here to do, is beg for your forgiveness, or deign to offer a litany of excuses attempting to explain my long absence. I don't have to justify the actions of The Heathernet! I don't have to answer to you!

OK, fine, I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. But seriously? It's been really busy. Other things have been occupying the precious space in my mind, such as:

1. Hello? Bowling! A charitable bowling league does not run itself! There are forms to be filled out, playoff brackets to be organized, needy charities to be paid... contrary to popular belief, there is more to being a bowling commissioner than just glitz and glamour. A lot more. But the season is over now, so we can all proceed with our everyday lives until next season. (Jan. '08 people: the time to work on your roll is now!)


2. I moved! No, not to Venice, but to another delightful area within walking distance to bakeries and museums and concert venues and other nice things. It's a little less rent and lot more heart - think West Side Story meets Home Alone. Actually, neither of those are really accurate representations...


3. I've been studying math. Friday nights, Saturdays, basically anytime anyone else was doing anything fun. Oh, so much math. My review was comprised of: basic arithmetic functions, word problems, algebra, geometry - all your old friends from junior high and beyond! Improper fractions! Quadratic equations! My motive? I think I'll let you draw your own conclusions... (menacing laughter)


4. Fires. Have you read the news? Yeah, the fires haven't really affected me at all personally. But it all makes for a nasty commute - yet another reason there were delays posting to The Heathernet!

I could go on and on, but as I said, this really is not the time nor the place to go over excuses for my lapse over the past few months. Oh, AND I am helping plan my dad's surprise 70th birthday this weekend (don't worry, he's not a Heathernet reader), AND I am going to New York the weekend after that, so yeah, like I said - busy. Anyway, what's important is: we're all here now, The Heathernet is back in fall production, and hopefully we can pick up with the same high standard of quality where we left off: with blogs like this!

Coming Attractions: Heather blogs about her impending first trip to New York(!)
Includes such highlights as: Heather gets mugged and run over by a yellow cab!

If it wasn't for bacon...

...lettuce and tomato would try to pass themselves off as sufficient sandwich filling. Not on my watch!

...pigs would run overrun our cities and urban centers like giant flightless pigeons

...what would dogs have to look forward to?

...I could be a vegetarian (ok, this one's a stretch)

...I would probably have flung myself out the window today. I may still, but the bacon at least staved off immediate death.
I'm having an unhappy, bad mood, everything-is-no-good day. Lest you think The Heathernet is all sunshine and rainbows and bowling, news flash people: it most certainly is not. It's a reflection of LIFE, and that means dealing with the harsh reality that sometimes that means shittiness. Deal with it!

Thankfully, today's crap-awfulness was mitigated by the helpful presence of bacon.

The delicious, greasy, crispy bacon that found it's way into my sandwich also nuzzled its way into my heart. Bacon: you are a marvel. Dejected as I was, the fatty bacon molecules somehow reached the happiness receptors in my brain, at least enough to keep me from running screaming from the building. Today.

I do think it's important to remember what simple things can keep your spirits up when you are feeling down. In this particular case, my BLTA. As fun as it can be to wallow (and I mean fun in the most self-pitying of ways), I don't know that it does anything to solve whatever issues ye be plagued by. Bah. Yeah, I know that in my mind, but right now wallowing seems like the best way to occupy my time.

Buuuut, I suppose it does no good to sit alone pouting in my misery. Heavy Sigh. Is that going to help me get where I want to be? No. So until then, happiness via bacon or whatever other little joys there are will have to be enough to sustain me through this harrowing time. Being grateful for the positive things in life.

Like the fact that LA is not beset by wild boars.

It's BACON!!!!!!!!!!!

4th! 4th! 4th!

Go 'merica!

I thought that perhaps after announcing my dual-citizenship, or posting this entry comparing one great American President to one not-so-awesome current Head Chief in Charge, some Heathernet patrons might find this blog to be inflammatory, or even unpatriotic. Well, this is simply not so! And to prove it, this blog entry is dedicated to things I Love About America:

• In 'n' Out Burger
• NPR
• hot dogs (just try eating them in a foreign country)
• modern plumbing
• labor laws (even if they're not always upheld *ahem* - having them around makes me feel a little better)
• I like the beach. I like mountains. I like greenspace.
• Thanksgiving! (duh)
• The freedom that allows me to watch whatever movies I want, to join a cult if I so choose, and write this blog.
• This commercial

Admittedly, I was initially bummed about the 4th's unfortunate midweek position this year. I get one measly day off and then have to turn right around and come back to work?! But - here is another way of looking at it: I have two two-day workweeks this week - and like, three weekends! Now that is what I call looking on the bright side! [Let's dismiss the fact that my nemeses in the TV department allegedly also get Thursday and Friday off...] Anyway, it's not the AMOUNT of time, but the QUALITY of the time, am I right?? Ehh, sure.....

In any case,

Happy Independence Day!

I am not dead yet... and bowling news

Man, from the last entry on the ol' Heathernet, my faithful following probably thought I had perished from my debilitating illness.....

NOT SO!

Because here I am, alive!

I mean, I am at work, so take from that what you will.

Sorry to have neglected The Heathernet, but I have been unfathomably busy. What with work, my social calendar, bowling...

Oh, what's that? Yes, you read right: BOWLING HAS BEGUN.

So far it is super fantastic! I mean, my team isn't winning per se, but since I am in charge of the league, I am really more focused on the greater good. Like making sure everyone pays up. Most people have, but it may be skull-cracking time pretty soon for those who haven't! (I may not even give those delinquent on payment a warning. Why not? Eh, well, I feel like maybe some leg-breaking practice might not be so bad for me.)

I mean, the importance of payment is not so much for me, as I have nothing personal to gain from the league except the envious glares from other, inferior-uniformed bowlers. It's for the children. Because while we are bowling for fun, our other focus will be helping impoverished kids and shit (to paraphrase a wise man).

In other bowling news, I need to step up my game. I think my high this season (and granted, its only been two weeks) is a 118. Fine for amateur status, but now that I am the commish? Time to get motherfucking serious: I need to link more strikes, pick up those spares! If anyone else can offer concrete advice, I'm all ears.

So, in conclusion: sighs of relief, all around, I am alive, and may we conquer our foes tonight on the lanes!

the illest

hi loyal Heathernet readers,

I'm sick. :(

This is my plaintive cry to all of you for pity and sympathy. Let the record show that through this debilitating illness, my first thought turned to you, dear patrons, and my blog.

I am congested. My throat is sore. I am feverish and weak. And through it all, here I am. Blogging for you.

Last night I had some Thai wonton soup. It was fantastic. The aromatic broth healed my spirit. Apparently it did little for my physical being. I feel like shite.

Oh, this blog is boring? Well f you then. I am sick.

Tho I suppose I am also delirious. I guess I could share with you some of my fever-induced delusions, and that might provide some entertainment. Last night I had a Nyquil fueled vision that I was in Paris, living in an apartment styled after an old French New Wave film and there was a revolution taking place outside my window. There were also cats in my new apartment. I am allergic to cats. One of them had an ear that was tore up and looked mangy. Feral? I decided they could stay. I thought, hm, I could probably take some allergy medicine to deal with these cats. My new life as a French revolutionary!

Does my dream mean that living in France is the same as being infirm? Ugh. Pray for me, readers...

O Flower of Scotland...

Exciting news!

I am an official U.K. citizen!

After years of delays due to paperwork, procrastination, red tape, bureaucracy, lost birth records, and questionable passport photos, The Heathernet goes British!

I found out a few years ago that even though I am American born, since my Dad is a Scotsman, I had the ability to apply for citizenship in the U.K., enabling me to live and work anywhere in the European Union. Yes, tiny Malta, this now includes you! So, I asked my Dad if we could look into this. This proved to be a long and arduous process, involving many forms, photocopies, and the retrieval of countless records, including my Dad's 1937 birth record from Crieff, the second largest city in Perthshire! (For those curious, picturesque Crieff boasts a population of almost 6000 people and has been a holiday destination since the Victorian Era!)

In any case, the point is that after two plus years of effort + waiting, I now possess the coveted BRITISH PASSPORT!

Besides being able to seek employment in hospitable European countries, here are some other things I can do now that I am under the Queen's rule:

• Write words with their "correct" English spelling: eg. neighbour, colour. Ditto for pronunciation. Aluminium! And, No more silent H for you, "herbs"!
• And along those lines, increased profanity vocab: Shite. Bugger. Arse. Wanker.
• Eat meat pies freely without enduring the damning judgment of others. I just like meat in pastry, ok??
• "Sorry boss, I can't finish that memo for you right now. It's tea time."
• Finally I can justify having a bagpiper at every special occasion! Future invitations will also encourage kilts.
• Sing lewd and rowdy rugby songs in the pub with my mates. Initiate/participate in bar fights as necessary.

I'm so excited about my new dual-citizenship status, I couldn't be more chuffed! (You see what I did there?) Fellow Britons, you can now count me among your brethren, you lucky people! Now to await the opportunity to utilise my new all-access-pass across the pond and beyond...

God save the Queen.

BOWLING BULLETIN!

The light of a new day is upon us.

The sleepy administration behind the timeworn Jesus Quintana Bowling League is retiring, and stepping up to fill their regulation shoes?

The New Bowling Initiative Coalition of Fun!

I mean, me! And my friends!

At last! We will be privvy to the inner workings of the bowling league and uncover the mysteries and conspiracies of days gone by! No longer will teams be allowed to sandbag their handicaps under the protection of a shady league office! We will be there, illuminating the lanes with our morally upright standards of righteousness! Finally, there will be high-fiving for all!

Team slots are filling up quickly. Our first game is in a few weeks. If you're a bowler, not a shifty-eyed cheater, and have 3 equally enthused pals predisposed to drinking and throwing heavy objects, then perhaps you would be interested in participating? Let me know.

Ah, the promise of a new day. The lanes look shinier already.

My Favorite President

PSYCH!

Hahaha, gotcha! Btw, in looking for photos to post for this intro "prank", I came across this photo, of President Bush and his wife participating in a colorful Malaria Awareness Day event in the Rose Garden:

Yeah.

I mean, not to make light of malaria, which is certainly a serious disease that warrants attention and funding, but... am I missing something? This is the leader of the free world. During wartime. Doesn't he have other shit he needs to be dealing with? Like, I don't know, the unending war in Iraq, global warming, guns in schools, the economy... and by the way, can someone explain to me how this little dance party is furthering efforts against malaria?

Sigh. By contrast, think of your favorite president. Maybe it's JFK. Maybe it's Abraham Lincoln. Now look at the photo above. Is this something your favorite president would be doing?

Which brings me to my actual favorite president, who would certainly not be caught messing around with conga drums while there was shit going down in America:

motherfucking THEODORE ROOSEVELT!

Now, this, this is the type of guy I want leading my country. Theodore Roosevelt is an undeniable badass. Oh, what's that? The Spanish-American War? Oh, I'm not just going to talk about it like some pansy-ass politician - I'm gathering up a group of volunteer soldiers, and we're all going down to Cuba to straighten shit out. Maybe you've heard of the Rough Riders? That was all TR. Probably the only group from the early 1900's to be adopted by the modern-day rap community.

TR was progressive for a Republican, and party members regarded him as a bit of a "loose cannon". But he was popular with The People; he was a war hero. The Republicans thought the best course of action would be to put him on McKinley's ticket as VP, where he could help drum up popular support but couldn't cause too much trouble. So McKinley got elected. And then McKinley got shot. So guess who that made our 26th president? In your face, stodgy 1900's political machinists!

As president, TR really took care of shit. His motto? "Talk softly and carry a big stick." Do you know what that means? It means, yeah motherfucker, I'm not going to threaten you per se, but I think you know and I know that I could totally kick your ass if I wanted to. So don't mess. Inherently, its actually a message of pacifism! Like, I'm not going to start the fight, but if you start one with me I'm going to finish it. What.

My man Teddy was a noted conservationist. Do you enjoy nature? Well guess who is responsible for instituting protection for some of our most treasured national resources? Damn straight, motherfucking TR. He protected more land (designating national parks and nature preserves) than all former U.S. presidents combined, to the tune of 194 million acres. Here he is in a photo with John Muir, first president of the Sierra Club. This was taken in Yosemite, where Muir invited Roosevelt to go on an extensive hiking tour. Thanks to TR and people like John Muir, we have maintained refuges away from places like the Beverly Center, and the 405 freeway.

Remember when you wanted to go from Boston to San Francisco via sea, but the only way to get there was to go ALL the way around the tip of South America? It took FOREVER! But then came a little innovation I like to call "The Panama Canal". And that's what they called it, The Panama Canal! What a brilliant solution! Thanks again, Theodore Roosevelt.

TR read a book a day. He wrote 40 books. He led cabinet members on long, fast-paced hikes. He won a Nobel Peace Prize. He was a teetotaler. He boxed in the state rooms of the White House. During one such boxing bout, he was permanently blinded in his left eye. After serving 8 years as president, he went on a year-long African safari. He was shot by some lunatic but survived - and not only did he give his scheduled speech immediately after just being shot, but the bullet remained in his body until his death. I mean, come ON. The guy was a machine!

And he cared, passionately, about doing good for his country. You may agree or disagree with the specifics of his politics, but this was a leader who genuinely wanted to put the people's interests first. He was engaged and interested in life. He was a great leader. And that's why he is my all-time favorite president. And that's why he's on Mount Rushmore (and you're not, Andrew Jackson, you Native American slaughtering prick).

I hope you enjoyed today's blog. I realize it is essentially a 5th grade history project with a couple cuss words for fun. But I never went to 5th grade. So there! Give it up for TR!

Loretta haikus

Please get better soon
I need you to pass the smog
five bills poorer; shit

No car is no fun
kindness of coworker pals
now I owe favors

Is Midas crooked?
Did they charge me too much scrill?
Note: learn about cars

C is for Cookie

I had P.F. Chang's for lunch the other day. Whereupon, I realized. I have a gripe with fortune cookies. First of all, let's get this out of the way: are they delicious? Would I eat them if not for the promise of a mystical fortune inside? My verdict: nay. Without the potential for getting a glimpse into my future, I would much rather opt for some version of dessert that is actually palatable, like say, a lemon bar, or banana cream pie. Not a dry cookie with the consistency of compressed wood. And would it kill the fortune cookie people to mix up the flavor? I don't even know what to call that. Nilla Wafer lite? What benefit do I have in eating this? It is neither healthy nor delicious. What does the cookie part of the fortune cookie do for me?? Nothing.

So, as explicated above, we've concluded that the cookie part of the fortune cookie is essentially worthless. We're getting somewhere! Stop bitching, crack the thing open, take the fortune, leave the cookie. Done. Well, that's all fine and good, but sometime long ago in my youth, someone once informed me that in order for your fortune to come true, you have to eat the entire thing. You leave a crumb, your fortune is void. I still have no idea what they had to gain from this sadistic piece of advice.

So I eat the cookie. For the fortune. And here in lies my real problem with fortune cookies.

My fortune reads:

"You have an open heart of love and acceptance."

Well that's fucking delightful, but where is the fortune in that? This tells me nothing! I mean, that's great about my open heart and all, but what is this telling me? I don't ask for fortune cookies giving me compliments. I don't want to know that I am a person of wisdom and principle. I want to know the future!!

I eat the cookie anyway. I don't want my lame fortune to be renegged and all of a sudden for my heart to become closed-minded and prejudiced. Stupid cookie. I'm annoyed. Emily, my coworker, notices, and gets me another fortune cookie and one for herself. Hers is equally disappointing:

"He who hurries can not walk with dignity."

Thanks for the tip, cookie. Thanks for proffering this important piece of "life advice". Again, if I wanted advice, I would turn to Ann Landers. Know your role! You exist to tell me the future!

I open my second cookie.

"You will make extensive travels and find great prosperity."

Now this is what I'm talking about! Yes! I get to go on a trip AND I get untold riches? I like this fortune. All fortunes should be like this. And it can be bad news too, as long as its like a "heads up". Like, "Be wary of a mysterious gift at this time" or "Call in sick for work tomorrow". I like those too. Because they are fortunes. And now, when I receive said ominous gift, I will know what kind of action to take!

So, in conclusion, I say this to you, fortune cookies. If you would like to improve your status in the cookie and general dessert realm, then I suggest you take heed and follow this fortune. A little more clairvoyance, a little less moralizing, and we should get along fine.

That Guy

Flying blows.

Last night on my way home from SF, I was smushed into a middle seat on a completely full-flight between two strangers circa 10:30 pm. Not ideal, but fine. I can deal. What I was not prepared for, however, was what would ensue.

One row behind me, and one seat over by the aisle, would soon be seated: That Guy.

That Guy struts down the center aisle of the plane talking on his cellphone at about 10 decibels above the customarily acceptable "inside voice". Every captive passenger along his path has no choice but to hear his entire conversation, comprised mainly of him reveling in how trashed he is at this exact moment. He has a trucker hat on. I check my calendar; it is 2007.

After the flight attended informed That Guy that he couldn't use his phone any longer, he got acquainted with his neighbors, the people seated directly behind me. He would not stop for a breath of air until... well, I am not sure when he stopped for air because he was still going strong when I got off the plane in LA. Without the benefit of earphones during takeoff and landing, my brain was exposed to a dangerously unhealthy amount of TG's ramblings.

Some of my favorite quotes from the flight:

"I'm an actor, but my main focus is saving animals and shit"

"I'm on Entourage next week - you should watch!"

"Watch me on Entourage next week!"

"Do you get HBO?"

"So I paid the cab driver ten bucks to smoke weed in the cab. And that's why I don't have any now, because we smoked it all, so I'm like, fuck it, I'll fly home. But I haven't flown in like, 7 years because you can't bring pot on the plane. I got in trouble for that the last time I flew, and they were like, gnarly. And I only had a quarter, you know? I didn't think it was a big deal because it was like, 'dude, it's a quarter'. But I remember when people used to just RAGE on the plane, smoke, get fucked up, nobody gave a fuck"*

"I think she's so hot. I'm going to talk to her when we land. Like, 'hey, I think you're really pretty, I'm really bummed we didn't get to talk more on the flight...'" Re: the stewardess

Stewardess: "Please place your tray tables down if you would like beverage service."
*LOUD BANG*
[apparently TG's tray is now down]
TG: "Hahahaha. She said to put my tray down, fuck yeah I want a drink!"

"Hey, are you guys on MySpace?"

"How old are you? Do you guys rage? I bet you just rage!"

"I love you guys. No, really, you saved me, I was a mess. I love you."

Air travel has become untenable. With the delays at security, carry-on restrictions (I bid farewell to my $40 facewash because I was late to the airport and couldn't check my bag), the crowds, the ever-diminishing legroom, threats of terrorism, crying children, and That Guy, is there no more peace?

I miss my friendly skies.

*Because he would not stop talking, I later learned that my fellow passenger was 31 years old, 4 years older than me. That would have made him all of 13 at the height of the 80's, when smoking was banned from commercial flights. And already: an enviable rage-aholic! Party on!

Enjoy the hair

On Saturday, I bid farewell to my hair. 12 inches of my hair. Sigh. Since it was for a good cause, I am fine with it looking less than optimal for a little while. Plus, hair grows, it's good to embrace change, blah blah blah.

So, knowing I was going to go drastically short, I still wanted something a little hip. I showed my hairdresser a couple pictures of modern celebrities such as Rachel McAdams, Jennifer Aniston, even JLo got in there for ideas!

Let the record show my hair looks nothing like any of these people.

Anyway, what this means is that for the moment, I am sporting a classic look you should all be familiar with. No, not that tired "Rachel", but something a shade more timeless and enduring.

Oh, you'd like to see a picture? OK...

ready?

I give you: The Hamill!

A little background. The Hamill is of course named for prolific ice skating champion Dorothy Hamill, who won the gold medal at the 1976 Winter Olympics. However, what took the world by storm, was not only her championship-worthy skating style, but her revolutionary 'do! People were mesmerized at how it managed to stay completely unmussed despite Hamill's execution of challenging double-axles and the like. Upon landing, the hair would whip right back into place! Miraculous!

I certainly hope that my new cut will serve me with the same kind of memory technology this Nasa-like hairstyle seems to employ. While its importance is sometimes downplayed, it is nonetheless crucial for my hair to remain exactly as coiffed amidst my phone-jockeying duties here in the office.

What's that? You want an actual photo? Hm, maybe soon as an update. I just don't know if I am ready, the sting of the haircut is still a bit fresh. Admittedly, it's not quite as short as Dot's, but I am still not sure if I am ready to post online. I salute you, Dorothy, for being braver than I, and bringing this hairstyle to the world.

And hey, hopefully some poor kid will enjoy wearing my old hair sometime soon! I may not be able to bring home the gold from Innsbruck, but I can still try to do my part.

*Update 4/2 8:45pm: fuck it. enjoy.

Recycling update!

The greatest thing ever has happened to the corner of Olympic and Robertson. I never have to visit the crappy recycling center at Vons ever again!

But let me start at the beginning.

Several months ago, a rundown crappy gas station I never went to was closed and the area was totally curtained off from the street, hidden from view! For months, they worked on this mystery construction on the southeast corner of Olympic and Robertson. I had to pass by it everyday, wondering: What new neighborhood jewel will I be greeted with when this is done? Will it sell macaroni and cheese? Will it delight me with that frozen yogurt from Japan am I so inexplicably addicted to? Or will it just be a refurbished gas emporium? Then, after months of speculation, they unveiled THIS:

THE HELIOS HOUSE.

What is this monstrosity, you ask?

It's a gas station. But, as their billboards tout, "a little better". I will admit, upon my first drive-by, I was indifferent. What's the big deal? It's still a gas station, just with cute buttons and green glowing lights. It looks like LAX had a baby with the Disney Concert Hall. Where's my mac and cheese?

I mean, I "got it". It was meant to be like, an eco-station, environmentally beneficial, and all that. But as far as I could tell, it was still selling regular petrol at regular prices. Still bored.

Last night, as my gas light reminded me it had been glowing for 20-odd miles, I relented. FINE, I thought, I will go to your farce of an earth-friendly gas station, but only because I have to buy fuel anyway.

So I filled up Loretta with some 87 (I'm not made of money, people) and as I did, a handsome, articulate BP employee was graciously giving a couple of people a tour of the facilities.

I'm sorry, did I say handsome? Like, probably the best looking person to ever grace the full-service side of the pump.

So he is giving them a tour, and he tells them, oh, and you can bring all your recyclables here too: and indicates a recycling center right there (mind you, two blocks from my front door) for plastics and bottles, paper, etc. And then he looks up at me and says, hey, and you can too!

I certainly can!

I also did a little more investigation, and they also recycle cell phones there, the roof is made with solar panels, they have irrigation systems in place to channel rainwater for use (like we get rain in LA, but still, nice idea), the paint has reduced toxins, and the whole place is made up with lots of recyclable and sustainable materials. Still a ways off from improving the nature of what they are actually selling, it is nonetheless a step in the right direction as far as getting people to be environmentally conscious and a major improvement over what was there before.

Did I mention the gas attendant was not only well-spoken but highly attractive?

Needless to say, I will be returning to the Helios House.

Find out more here.

I Heart The Train!

Whenever I go visit friends in San Diego, my preferred method of transportation is via train.

Specifically, the Pacific Surfliner, pictured above pulling into sunny downtown San Diego. I love the train for so many reasons, I wonder if just one blog entry can even do it justice. But I can try. For the train, I will try.

First, there is the beautiful Union Station in downtown Los Angeles: In the midst of the accountants, crackheads, and rats (yes, folks, LA has rats - I've seen them) that populate downtown Los Angeles, there is this magnificent building. Which is only more support for my burgeoning love for/obsession with downtown LA. Look at it! It's gorgeous!

I like looking at the board with the arrivals and departures as if I am a foreign backpacker making my way around the country. I usually sit in one of the old leather chairs and read while waiting for my call for departure.

Which brings me to my next point: productivity! I am all about maximizing my limited free time, and the train fits that mandate wonderfully. If I was driving on the 405, my supplementary activities would be limited to listening to the radio and/or talking on the celly. There would also be the threat of debilitating traffic. However, while I am on the train, I can do whatever I want! I can read, write correspondence, eat, drink (folks: they sell beer and wine on board! Not that I am at liberty to indulge at the moment...), sleep, work on my needlepoint (if I knew how or was so inclined) - really, there are limitless possibilities. And if you want to do NOTHING - there is always the beautiful Pacific Ocean right outside your window so you can sit and stare and contemplate the nature of Man.

Here's another brilliant point - one more person on the train (me) equals one less car on the road (Loretta). The passengers on the train are effectively working to save the environment! Mass transit works! And unlike the airport, where you have to get there all early, check your baggage, get your liquids confiscated, traverse across terminals, blah blah blah, there is none of that at the train station! You get there, you check in, and you are on your train. For this you require maybe 10 minutes. The train gets me to San Diego in about the same amount of time it would take me to drive.

The train does not come without it's drawbacks, however, outlined below:

• Prohibitive cost. A roundtrip ticket from LA to Solana Beach (north SD) will run you about $46. Add to that parking at Union Station, which is about $6 per day. Sadly, gas is more economical.
• Train's getting popular. Fridays and Sundays are especially crowded. This weekend I had to sit backwards from LA, and I sat with a "new companion" on the way back. Not ideal train-riding conditions for me, but still not enough to put me off the idea either. Business class is always an option to ensure greater comfort and exclusivity, but that brings us back to the first bullet.

So, for now, the train remains a "special treat" that I like to indulge in when I know I have the extra cash, and when I can ride at non-peak times to avoid the masses. I love it! The adventures you can have on the train! You can meet new friends (I met some Heineken-drinking 19-year old Marines on this last trip - Hi Tony). On my birthday, the conductor gave me a FREE upgrade to business class, where I kicked up my feet with a complimentary bottle of the finest in twist-off-cap wine. Thank you, Pacific Surfliner, Amtrak, and locomotive lovers everywhere - and long live the train!

The Hump

What an incredibly suggestive title! How I would love to increasingly pepper my everyday speech with "clever" sexual innuendo like this, and then react with puritanical shock when called out on said innnuendo. "NO! I am not talking about humping, you dirty blog readers!" But the disappointing reality is I am probably just too inhibited to talk even referentially about such things anyway. I do get fretfully giggly when people talk overtly about (SEX)! My own hangup, I suppose... So the title of the blog actually just refers to the fact that I am over halfway done with my Lenten sobriety quest. "Over the hump", as they say. Which makes this camel photo all the more appropriate. Not only does he have a hump, you see, but he is also traversing across a dry, arid desert. Like me! He's dry. And not drinking. You see?

So, not that I am counting, per se, but I do believe I am somewhere around Day 20/21... fabulous, no? This weekend should be an especially challenging one. There are a myriad of drinking events all centered around the celebration of dear St. Patrick.

Last year, I spent St. Patty's in Savannah, Georgia, which boasts the 2nd largest celebration in the U.S. outside of Boston. It's true - google it! Legions of green-clad, would-be Leprechauns all drinking unhealthy amounts of green beer on River Street. I went to visit my cousin and spent a long weekend amongst the mainly Southern revelers. Lots of fun. This year, it's even on a Saturday, adding to the potential mayhem.

I think the good thing is it's not like I have felt tempted so far, or even like I need to be drinking... which is good. And I have been going out, to various funtime events at which I would normally have a drink or 7. Like, last weekend, I went out till all hours at some fun bars, a downtown warehouse party, and danced around like a drunken fool - only not drunken! Which... I suppose just makes me a fool. But, I still had a blast.

Point being, I expect this weekend should be no different. Me - still being foolish, wearing green, dancing around, and all that. Maybe the only thing I WILL strive for is more spicy allusions and sexual overtones...

Like: "I'd sure like to find HIS pot of gold..."


Eh? Eh??

I'll work on it.

productive things accomplished this weekend:

• Checked out new bar/gastropub The Village Idiot on Melrose and Martel. I like. Except that it's a little too bright/ loud for me to be sipping on the Arnold Palmer I was denied earlier in the week. We leave before last call.


• Picked up new desk from furniture store downtown w/ help of generous truck-owning comrade. It looks so good in my room, all my existing furniture feels embarrassed by comparison.


• Attended baby shower. With gift. Très responsible. Fortuitously, I missed this part of the party:Yep, it's beer in those baby bottles. Does anyone else find it the least bit disturbing that only men are competing in this contest? Totally sexist. Things would be soo different if I were not teetotaling this month... sigh...

• Stayed in to read on Saturday night. Who says abstaining from alcohol affects your social life!


• Got a facial! Thank you, ex-lover-I-no-longer-talk-to, for the gift certificate to Burke Williams which I would like you to know I have been enjoying immensely.


• Attended a small Academy Award gathering complete with cucumber sandwiches and hyperactive dog aptly named Oscar.


• aaaand still sober.

Day 7.

The Other Side

Day 2 of the Sobriety Manifesto. So far, so good.

Last night I went to Kenne's birthday party at the new Busby's on Wilshire just west of La Brea.

btw, I'm purportedly stone cold sober in the pic above. I know. Frightening, isn't it.

Anyway, back to Busby's. In my mind, no argument is strong enough to convince me that Busby's was a franchise that deserved to be cloned from its fratty incarnation in Santa Monica. But the bar was admittedly, fine, not overly crowded, and (here's the important part): they had a foosball table!

More establishments should have foosball tables. You don't see them very often in LA. I know of one at Barney's Beanery, which I generally try to avoid because I feel it represents evil. The problem is, some people mistake Barney's Beanery for a "cool" dive bar. People: it's not. I like dive bars. Barney's Beanery is a Hollywoodesque faux-dive that falls under the same classification as such offensive establishments as Miyagis and Saddle Ranch. You should already be familiar with the client base; girls who carry dogs in purses do not go to dive bars. It is my theory that between the three bars in this cheesy trifecta exists the exact location where the Von Dutch trucker hat rose to power back in 2002. (Who remembers 2002! I do!)

Anyway, so I am in Busby's, completely sober, and not even convinced that alcohol would improve my opinon of the place. I try to keep my spirits up by ordering an Arnold Palmer (a "fun" sober bevvie! caffeine and sugar!). They can not accomodate me. I get a sparkling water. Yay.

And then, we spot it: the foosball table! That will be my salvation!

I'm really good at foosball. No, really. I am. Challenge me. I will beat you. I beat boys. Overconfident ones, at that. I beat rugby players in Scotland. I cannot throw darts, I cannot play pool, but I can kick your ass at foosball. Let me put it this way, I am more confident about my foosball skills than my bowling skills, and by now if you have been reading The Heathernet AT ALL, you should know I take my bowling very seriously.

So foosball! I love it. It saved me. I got thoroughly hydrated, played a few rounds, and destroyed the morale of my competitors. All without the benefit of alcohol!

So what's the moral of the story? Well, Kenne didn't make it into work this morning. And good for him, it was his damn birthday, after all. But me? I went home, read a script, and woke up at my normal time, 20 minutes after the alarm goes off. So... success! 1 night down, just 39 to go...

brace yourself: The Sobriety Manifesto!

Supportive Heathernet readers, a day you thought might never come. It is a new era, and continuing the newest phase of my life (namely, total all-encompassing maturity) I have made an important decision:


I am giving up alcohol for Lent!

Yes, everything. No beer. No wine. No vodka. (ohh, delicious vodka!) Not even soju, tho I agree, it hardly counts... Now, you may wonder, what brought on this extreme exercise in piety? Well, as much as I love Jesus, this isn't really about him. I actually don't think JC minds terribly if I have a drink; after all, you may remember him from such fame as Turning-Water-Into-Wine!, and referring to that infamous goblet of wine as "the cup of my blood". By contrast, when my blood has turned to wine, it's more in reference to my BAC rendering me incapable of operating an automobile than any sign of divinity...

I am taking a break from the sauce for reasons beyond the Catholic mandate of sacrifice for the 40 days of Lent. To me, Lent is actually providing a handy little frame of time for something I would like to try anyway: getting by without alcohol. As you may have inferred from numerous other posts on The Heathernet, I have had an intimate relationship with the drink through the years. And over that period of time, we've certainly had our ups and downs. When it's good, it's great, but when it's bad, it's very, VERY bad. Like the time I told that officer in Santa Barbara that I didn't give a Fuck if he called my parents to tell them how I was spending my college education... Or the time I very publicly yelled at a former flame and accused him of being completely devoid of feelings... Or that time in San Diego/ Las Vegas/ Yourtown, USA... see, somehow I'm not convinced I would do these things if I were sober.

I use alcohol all the time, for my social life, my love life, professionally (no, not at work - yet - but certainly networking, etc.), to relax, to improve my dancing... I just want to know I can get by without it.

Drastic? I don't think so. I'm looking forward to my experiment as a teetotaler. I hope it will bring an interesting change in perspective. I hope I can trade my hangovers for increased productivity. I hope I can save money, lose the beer gut, sleep better, and maybe, just maybe, gain some focus. But not, of course, without sacrifice...

This delightful period of time begins on Wed, Feb 21st. So if you are on the lookout for a designated driver, feel free to give me a call after that point! But not before. After all, its a 3-day weekend, and I'll probably be at the bar mentally preparing for the journey ahead. ;)

Dumplings!

Ohhhh, how I heart dim sum!!

Are you fortunate enough to know what dim sum is? It's delicious, is what it is. Bascially, for the uninitiated, dim sum is a brunchtime treat of little Chinese snackies, dumplings, steamed buns, and fried stuff (fried stuff!) all dipped in your own combination of soy and chili sauce and washed down with unlimited piping hot tea. Impatient and usually incomprehensible (unless of course, you speak Cantonese) Chinese ladies walk carts around with their various offerings and you pick and choose the ones that you want. You can have your table laden with goodies in minutes. You continue to collect trays upon trays of food until you can not eat another bite. It's truly something quite magnificent.

My favorite places for dim sum are in San Francisco. Yank Sing and Ton Kiang. They are a little more expensive than other dim sum places, but said to rival the top places in Hong Kong, where the dim sum is purported to be at it's apex. I'm still eagerly awaiting the opportunity to verify this claim for myself.....

So, yesterday, in an effort to find the most excellent dim sum in the area, four friends and I took a trek out to San Gabriel Valley for some fine feasting. This is the heart of dim sum dining in the greater LA area. Now, I had been to a couple dim sum places in LA before, and been disappointed compared to what I was used to up north. However, in this instance I-wanted-some-damn-dumplings-and-I-wanted-them-now! so I was willing to go in with an open mind. For this weekend's outing, Theo recommended NBC Seafood.

All of the big dim sum compounds are designed in much the same way: with high volume in mind. The places are palatial. We got to the place around 11 am, and pulled a numbered ticket, like waiting in line at a deli. There are mad people there, and predominantly Asian. Young, old, babies, invalids..... all waiting for their moment of glory within the fortress of food. We wait. I think about 40 minutes pass. I am with four dudes, all starving. I mean, I can't lie, I'm pretty famished myself. After minute 20, I think someone in our group goes up to check if our number has been called every 2 minutes. Finally, finally!, we get the signal. Our table is ready.

Let the eating commence! Off to a tearing start, it's an ordering frenzy. Among the treats we sampled: shrimp in rice noodles, pork short ribs with rice, roast duck with plum sauce, fried turnip cake, pork buns, the ubiquitous siu mai dumplings (pork dumplings, pictured right), also-popular har gow (shrimp dumplings, pictured above), shrimp fried in seaweed, and scallop dumplings. The only notable absence for me was the fried taro, one of my all-time favorite dim sum staples, which they informed us they had run out of.

We start slowing down.
No one wants to admit defeat. The rookies drop out first, I think due to their zeal, then Eric Luther Ling and I start to get full, still reaching out for the occasional bite of pork bun or crispy shrimp. However, in the end, the clear winner was Theo, who had enough room to consume a bowl of preserved-egg porridge and still be able to share some mango pudding with me.

So the dim sum in Monterey Park was a resounding success! We all left full to capacity, our happy bellies stuffed with dumpling goodness. And the total cost of this awesomeness? $13 per person, including tax and generous tip. $13! For the amount we ate, that is criminally cheap. So the next Saturday or Sunday morning you are pondering how best to relieve your hangover haze, might I suggest some medicinal tea and a metric ton of Chinese delicacies. Just travel due east on the 10 towards the SGV, or head towards your nearest respective Chinatown equivalent. I promise you will not regret it. Hooray for dumplings!

concert in review: Justin!

I like to think I have decent taste in music. I mean, everyone likes to imagine they do, right? I like a pretty wide range of music, and I think I am open to a lot. However, there are definitely musical groups that make it into my rotation that I am not entirely proud of. I don't have a huge appetite for cheesy, but certain songs and/or "artists" (I don't mean to abuse the term) just hit the spot for me. I'm sorry! I like Kelly Clarkson! I like that annoyingly catchy Beyoncé song! And yes, sometimes I dance around in my room alone to Mariah Carey. I know, it's embarrassing, you're probably going to cancel your trips to The Heathernet, and I can't say I blame you. I am ashamed. I do draw the line at anything Fergalicious, but again, it's a thin line, and I don't even know if I could tell you where it starts or stops. [btw, sharing the Mariah Carey thing is huge for me. I hope you appreciate that and will keep that in mind to reconsider coming back to The Heathernet.]

Teetering somewhere along this fine line is Justin Timberlake.
You may remember him as the young gentleman currently bringing sexy back. On Tuesday night, I shared an intimate evening with Justin and approximately 18,000 screaming ladies in Anaheim, California. Never have I been in such a concentrated throng of women, much less ones so acutely focused on a singular goal: sleeping with Justin Timberlake.

I am assuming that most of his fan base present were grown-up versions of the N'SYNC fans Justin had accumulated at the beginning of the millenium. So the 11-year-old prepubescent in 1999 was now the supremely mature 19-year-old coed. Being that the show was in Anaheim, also consider the effect of the Orange-County-dynamic to the make up of the audience. And the additional info that Justin and Cameron have just called it quits. So, you have the 19-year-old OC girl who imagines she is going home with JT after the concert. From what I could tell, this was your typical audience member.

And while my girlfriends and I all obviously enjoyed the 2+ hours of JT time, surprisingly captivated by his experience there was my friend's boyfriend. I mean, here you are, in an arena normally home to hockey games and other demonstrations of masculine sportsmanship, now occupied by literally, thousands of fanatic, rabid young ladies. If I felt that the environment was all a bit surreal, how was he holding up? I tried to gauge if he looked uncomfortable or bored, but he looked engaged in the whole affair. I imagine it must have been like secret access to girl world, like sneaking into a gigantic sorority. And I think he enjoyed being privvy to all this; as you might surmise, the people watching was pretty rich.

And JT himself? I can tell you this: the man is talented. He can sing, he can move, he can play the electronic keyboard like a guitar! He was on stage bopping around for over 2 hours, sending out sexy vibes the entire time! I was exhausted and I was sitting down half the time. He played almost every conceivable song in his repertoire, except maybe his laudable classic, Dick in a Box. Given his wide range of skills and dedicated showmanship, I should have no problem owning up to the fact that I love him. And neither should my friend's boyfriend, or anyone else for that matter! In fact, maybe I can inspire others to own up to their particular taste for what they consider embarrassing tunes, because it happens to the best of us. So you secretly love R. Kelly? I may not be able to support your decision, but I can encourage you: go ahead and admit it.