I am having such a strange month. Things that I've wanted for a very long time, I'm finding and at decent prices too. It's like having buying fantasies come true and it's a strange feeling.
First, I finally bought the bag that I've been wanting since January. I wanted a messenger style bag in leather, in any colour but black. I wanted a messenger bag to carry my baby laptop and a tablet when I go on my writing forays. The strap had to be long enough so I could wear it across my body, but I didn't want a boring breifcase bag. The bag also had to be stylish and not boring.
My first choice was a Coach large duffle sack bag, but I was unwilling to pay the $300 price. I started searching through tons of stores and websites for similar type bag, but I couldn't find anything that wasn't black and under $300. And believe me, I've looked everywhere.
Then last week, I went to the Coach store factory outlet in Petaluma and there was my large duffle sack in beautiful dark brown nubby leatherfor $199. I coudn't believe it. I had to buy it. And it's so damned perfect. It fulfills everything I've wanted in a bag and it was at price that was pretty darn decent, considering the bag is all leather.
Then today, I found this children's book that I've been searching the Net for since last July. I read the book as a child and I fell in love with the drawings and for whatever reason, I've been wanting to have the book. There are no pictures of the book anywhere and all I remember about the book is it had drawings of a japanese scarecrow named Joji. Well, today I struck gold and I found the book. It's called "Joji and the Dragon" by Betty Jean Lifton. The drawings of the scarecrow are so cute and I loved the story of the japanese scarecrow who was too nice and couldn't scare the crows away. In fact the crows would torture Joji and take the straw out of him and every night, at least this is what I remember, he had restuff himself with straw. Something about this scarecrow story has stayed with me all these years, although I'm not sure why.
I loved that scarecrow and I think a part of me totally relates to his story, which is an interesting thought. I felt so sorry for Joji the japanese scarecrow, but at the end of the book things always worked out for him. Maybe a part of me thinks that my life is like the poor scarecrow and that in the end, I hope it will all turn out and I'll have my happy ending. In the meantime, I have to put up with the crows, the people who torture me in my life and every night, I have to pick myself up and restuff myself with straw and love.
I'm not sure about the nice part though, since I don't think I'm all that nice, but maybe it's Joji's incompetence that I relate too. I mean, he was built to scare off the crows and he obviously can't do his job, so you could the scarecrow is incompetent, although the author of the book wrote that Joji was just too nice to do his job.
So I found the fantasy bag and bought it and I found my favorite child book and I bought it. Two buying fantasies fulfilled in two weeks. How cool is that?
Wednesday, July 31, 2002
I'm wondering if I need to start writing with pen and paper again. I redid my interview with the main character in my baseball story screenplay and I came out with a totally different interview. I was thinking of changing my story, thinking I needed to make my baseball player a minor league player instead of a major league player. My baseball guy wasn't coming across as a very likable character. He was too brash, too arrogant and I wasn't sure if a regular person would relate to my spoiled baseball millionaire character.
But if made my baseball guy play in the minor leagues, I would have had to take Pac Bell park out of the story and I don't want to do that. Pac Bell park was such an inspiration for my screenplay that I can't bear to take it out. I need Pac Bell park to be in the story to be a symbol for renewal, old fashioned values and that simply all baseball players started out with a parent playing catch with them in the backyard.
So, I decided to make my baseball player less brash, more of a utility player, a journeyman type of player, who has good numbers but was never a star. He's still 38 years old and he's still on the last leg of of his career, but he's batting .250 maybe .200 and he's seriously thinking about retirement. I made him more resigned, tired and older. He wants to give up the game, but baseball is the only thing he knows and if he quits at 38, what the hell else is he going to do with his life. I made him more ordinary, but I think this new characterization makes him more sympathetic to an audience.
I want him to be an everyman in a sport like baseball, which is becoming full of players who are increasingly removed from ordinary people with their arrogant attitudes and their multimillion dollar salaries. I see my baseball player as a hold out from a different era. He's never been on a team that's won a world series. He's played the sport because he was good at it, he loved it and it was better than becoming a construction worker or painter like his dad and brother.
He still has a troubled relationship with his father, which became exacerbated when he left home at 18 with his college baseball scholarship. His father supported him, pushed him into baseball early on and then when he became successful, the father started to resent his success because of his own failure in the sport. My baseball guy feels that he would have been a better player if his father had behaved differently. Doesn't every child think this? And now that his father is dying, my baseball guy has tried to make up with him, but can't cross the chasm of time and bitterness that's developed between him and his dad.
I think this story is better, closer to my original short story idea. I think in the first draft of my screenplay I got caught up in the fact that my main character played baseball. But really, the story is about a father and son struggling to resolve their differences before time runs out for them. The fact that my main character plays baseball is incidental to the story, I think. I liked the idea of my main character being a baseball player only because I see sports as one of the few ways that men and their sons bond together from a very young age. Sometimes, I think sports is the only way men bond.
I think I have to interview all the other characters in my screenplay and then I'll be ready to write. I'm still debating about writing by hand versus computer. For the interviews, writing by hand is definitely the way to go beacause I can't sensor my thoughts when I write by hand. By the time I write the screenplay, I will be following my new outline so I'm hoping writing by computer doesn't make that much of a difference. I hate writing by hand because I have really unreadable handwriting and transcribing my own work is such a pain in the wazoo. But, I'll guess I'll to wait and see what comes out when I finally sit down and start writing.
But if made my baseball guy play in the minor leagues, I would have had to take Pac Bell park out of the story and I don't want to do that. Pac Bell park was such an inspiration for my screenplay that I can't bear to take it out. I need Pac Bell park to be in the story to be a symbol for renewal, old fashioned values and that simply all baseball players started out with a parent playing catch with them in the backyard.
So, I decided to make my baseball player less brash, more of a utility player, a journeyman type of player, who has good numbers but was never a star. He's still 38 years old and he's still on the last leg of of his career, but he's batting .250 maybe .200 and he's seriously thinking about retirement. I made him more resigned, tired and older. He wants to give up the game, but baseball is the only thing he knows and if he quits at 38, what the hell else is he going to do with his life. I made him more ordinary, but I think this new characterization makes him more sympathetic to an audience.
I want him to be an everyman in a sport like baseball, which is becoming full of players who are increasingly removed from ordinary people with their arrogant attitudes and their multimillion dollar salaries. I see my baseball player as a hold out from a different era. He's never been on a team that's won a world series. He's played the sport because he was good at it, he loved it and it was better than becoming a construction worker or painter like his dad and brother.
He still has a troubled relationship with his father, which became exacerbated when he left home at 18 with his college baseball scholarship. His father supported him, pushed him into baseball early on and then when he became successful, the father started to resent his success because of his own failure in the sport. My baseball guy feels that he would have been a better player if his father had behaved differently. Doesn't every child think this? And now that his father is dying, my baseball guy has tried to make up with him, but can't cross the chasm of time and bitterness that's developed between him and his dad.
I think this story is better, closer to my original short story idea. I think in the first draft of my screenplay I got caught up in the fact that my main character played baseball. But really, the story is about a father and son struggling to resolve their differences before time runs out for them. The fact that my main character plays baseball is incidental to the story, I think. I liked the idea of my main character being a baseball player only because I see sports as one of the few ways that men and their sons bond together from a very young age. Sometimes, I think sports is the only way men bond.
I think I have to interview all the other characters in my screenplay and then I'll be ready to write. I'm still debating about writing by hand versus computer. For the interviews, writing by hand is definitely the way to go beacause I can't sensor my thoughts when I write by hand. By the time I write the screenplay, I will be following my new outline so I'm hoping writing by computer doesn't make that much of a difference. I hate writing by hand because I have really unreadable handwriting and transcribing my own work is such a pain in the wazoo. But, I'll guess I'll to wait and see what comes out when I finally sit down and start writing.
Tuesday, July 30, 2002
Here's the blog page for a friend of mine, who wrote this totally funny and snarky take about Lady Fest:
Lady Fest Rant.
Being snarkily funny is such an art and this guy has it down and then some.
I consider myself a feminist, but I'm not into the movement at all, ever since I had that experience in college, where I was told I couldn't be a feminist because I waxed hair off my body and wore nice expensive clothes. Like what kind of bullshit is that?
And what's so ironic is I lived the feminist's dream of power and equality with men. I was the only female in an all male finance department for a company that was trading at $80 per share on the New York Stock Exchange before the market went bad. I sat in countless meetings where I was the only female at the table surrounded by men, men who were either vice presidents or the directors, men who ran the stupid company I worked for. And I was the only chick there and I was respected, well respected. And I wasn't a mannish female. I wore totally rocking suits with thigh high skirts, silk scarves, pearls, pantyhose, heels, and I wore make up and had nice looking long hair! I was in a position of power that most men, and I think women, dream of who work in corporate America.
So all those feminists can say whatever they like about me. I lived the damned feminist power dream and I wasn't even trying to do it. I fell into it by accident, I think, because I'm kind of cute and I was damned smarter than alot of guys I worked with. Most feminists types talking about wanting to enter the sacred world of male power, but 99.9% of them couldn't hack it. Hell, I lived it for 8 years of my life. And my corporate life was never about wanting gender equality or wanting power. I was just trying to do my job and this attitude took me far, very far. I didn't rant and rave about wanting power or equality. I shut my mouth, did my job, worked hard and you know what, the power and the equality came. And if I wasn't so bored with it all, I probably could have gotten alot more of it too.
So all those feminst types can talk about wanting equality with men and power, but I dare any one of them to actually try to have it, to go for it and to see how far they actually get. My guess is not far, not even through the damned front door.
I'm like, girls, women, feminists, put your money, your life, where your mouth is and try to make it in a male dominated world and see how your philosophy, your ranting and your ravings get you!
I guess I'd feel better about Lady Fest if the actually had women there who were women with power. I mean, the Bay Area has tons of female executives, women running their own companies, women like Carly Fiorina who run or are executives at Fortune 500 or 1000 companies, women CFOs or CEO or CIOs. These are the women who are blazing the trails, are in the trenches, fighting the real war of gender equality. But Lady Fest did not. Instead most of the women there didn't have any real power and besides, what women who had any kind of power in America would be caught dead at something like Lady Fest. I mean, come on. Lady Fest is for the very naive young ones or the ones who don't have the guts to take the real male world on, so they can have a place to bitch and moan and complain. The real women who are fighting the real feminist war are out there too busy fighting to bitch and moan and rant and rave.
Lady Fest is for women who like to complain about gender equality but who do nothing to fight the war and who only make it hard for the rest of us who are actually in male dominated companies fighting for the things that these women who attended Lady Fest are complaining about. If you want to fight the war, fight it! Don't rant, rave and complain about it!
Lady Fest Rant.
Being snarkily funny is such an art and this guy has it down and then some.
I consider myself a feminist, but I'm not into the movement at all, ever since I had that experience in college, where I was told I couldn't be a feminist because I waxed hair off my body and wore nice expensive clothes. Like what kind of bullshit is that?
And what's so ironic is I lived the feminist's dream of power and equality with men. I was the only female in an all male finance department for a company that was trading at $80 per share on the New York Stock Exchange before the market went bad. I sat in countless meetings where I was the only female at the table surrounded by men, men who were either vice presidents or the directors, men who ran the stupid company I worked for. And I was the only chick there and I was respected, well respected. And I wasn't a mannish female. I wore totally rocking suits with thigh high skirts, silk scarves, pearls, pantyhose, heels, and I wore make up and had nice looking long hair! I was in a position of power that most men, and I think women, dream of who work in corporate America.
So all those feminists can say whatever they like about me. I lived the damned feminist power dream and I wasn't even trying to do it. I fell into it by accident, I think, because I'm kind of cute and I was damned smarter than alot of guys I worked with. Most feminists types talking about wanting to enter the sacred world of male power, but 99.9% of them couldn't hack it. Hell, I lived it for 8 years of my life. And my corporate life was never about wanting gender equality or wanting power. I was just trying to do my job and this attitude took me far, very far. I didn't rant and rave about wanting power or equality. I shut my mouth, did my job, worked hard and you know what, the power and the equality came. And if I wasn't so bored with it all, I probably could have gotten alot more of it too.
So all those feminst types can talk about wanting equality with men and power, but I dare any one of them to actually try to have it, to go for it and to see how far they actually get. My guess is not far, not even through the damned front door.
I'm like, girls, women, feminists, put your money, your life, where your mouth is and try to make it in a male dominated world and see how your philosophy, your ranting and your ravings get you!
I guess I'd feel better about Lady Fest if the actually had women there who were women with power. I mean, the Bay Area has tons of female executives, women running their own companies, women like Carly Fiorina who run or are executives at Fortune 500 or 1000 companies, women CFOs or CEO or CIOs. These are the women who are blazing the trails, are in the trenches, fighting the real war of gender equality. But Lady Fest did not. Instead most of the women there didn't have any real power and besides, what women who had any kind of power in America would be caught dead at something like Lady Fest. I mean, come on. Lady Fest is for the very naive young ones or the ones who don't have the guts to take the real male world on, so they can have a place to bitch and moan and complain. The real women who are fighting the real feminist war are out there too busy fighting to bitch and moan and rant and rave.
Lady Fest is for women who like to complain about gender equality but who do nothing to fight the war and who only make it hard for the rest of us who are actually in male dominated companies fighting for the things that these women who attended Lady Fest are complaining about. If you want to fight the war, fight it! Don't rant, rave and complain about it!
So I've been on a major sushi binge since coming back from West Virginia. I have to eat sushi at least every other day and it's such an expensive way to eat.
My favorite all you can eat japanese food restaurant, Todai, is opening a new place closer to San Francisco in August, but I don't know if I can wait that long. I could easily chow down $20-$30 worth of sushi every night easily!!! It's sick!!!
I just checked out the Todai website and they now have a place in Cupertino at Vallco Shopping Mall. I'm trying to resist the urge to go down there and stuff as much sushi into my body as is humanly possible. It's an illness, I swear.
I wonder if it's because I'm craving salt and with soy sauce, sushi is so salty and very, very tasty. On a day like this, I wish I was still living at home where raw fish is half as much as what it costs here and readily available and fresh.
With all the people bieng laid off in Sili Valley and San Francisco, the traffic on 280 is so light right now. In July, I drove to Stanford Shopping Center in Palo and it only took me half an hour. I really like shopping at Stanford, only because it's so not crowded and they have lots of stores. At Christmas, Stanford Shopping Center was a ghost town compared to Union Square or even Stonestown. You'd think with all those stores, people would totally flock there and shop. But every time I've been there, the place is totally empty.
Well, I had my sushi fill for today, but it might just be time for a trip to Todai on Saturday, just so I can stuff my face with sushi and get rid of these darn sushi cravings.
My favorite all you can eat japanese food restaurant, Todai, is opening a new place closer to San Francisco in August, but I don't know if I can wait that long. I could easily chow down $20-$30 worth of sushi every night easily!!! It's sick!!!
I just checked out the Todai website and they now have a place in Cupertino at Vallco Shopping Mall. I'm trying to resist the urge to go down there and stuff as much sushi into my body as is humanly possible. It's an illness, I swear.
I wonder if it's because I'm craving salt and with soy sauce, sushi is so salty and very, very tasty. On a day like this, I wish I was still living at home where raw fish is half as much as what it costs here and readily available and fresh.
With all the people bieng laid off in Sili Valley and San Francisco, the traffic on 280 is so light right now. In July, I drove to Stanford Shopping Center in Palo and it only took me half an hour. I really like shopping at Stanford, only because it's so not crowded and they have lots of stores. At Christmas, Stanford Shopping Center was a ghost town compared to Union Square or even Stonestown. You'd think with all those stores, people would totally flock there and shop. But every time I've been there, the place is totally empty.
Well, I had my sushi fill for today, but it might just be time for a trip to Todai on Saturday, just so I can stuff my face with sushi and get rid of these darn sushi cravings.
I guess I am really lucky because I have a job that pays well enough for me live pretty darn comfortably and yet doesn't suck up all my time. Sure I could be making more money but then I would mostly likely be in a job where I would have to work 60-80 hours a week, instead of my normal 40 hours. I worked for about 8 years straight like that and it was exciting but not very fun. I breathed and lived my job. I would come home at 10 pm, eat and go to sleep. I didn't have time for anything else. My only friends were the people I worked with and when I did relax, I totally overdid it. I was living from one extreme to the next.
But when I figured out there was more to life than getting a raise and promotion every year, I had to seriously think about finding a job that would still pay well but not eat up most of my time. I think I've found that, at least for now. Now that the transition wasn't difficult. During that first year, I freaked out and felt like a total corporate failure because I wasn't working 60-80 hours a week. What kind of corporate drone was I, if I wasn't living and breathing my job? But now that I'm used to it and finally appreciating the job of coming home at 6 pm, I can't imagine working those crazy work hours ever again.
I mean after all, nobody says on their death bed that they wished they had worked more hours at work. It's hard to get this concept, but it's totally true. If you don't set your life up to follow your dreams, your fantasies then on your deathbed you will be lying there and thinking about all the things you'd wish you'd done, all the fantasies and dreams you put aside because you were busy working too hard. And who wants that? How dang depressing! If I thought I'd be lying on my deathbed thinking horrible thought about what I didn't do in my life, I would kill myself today. I mean, what would be the point of living, why not get it over with now because at least I would have less regret.
This is my new mantra. Be proactive about avoiding misery now and in the future, especially on that dreaded deathbed!
But when I figured out there was more to life than getting a raise and promotion every year, I had to seriously think about finding a job that would still pay well but not eat up most of my time. I think I've found that, at least for now. Now that the transition wasn't difficult. During that first year, I freaked out and felt like a total corporate failure because I wasn't working 60-80 hours a week. What kind of corporate drone was I, if I wasn't living and breathing my job? But now that I'm used to it and finally appreciating the job of coming home at 6 pm, I can't imagine working those crazy work hours ever again.
I mean after all, nobody says on their death bed that they wished they had worked more hours at work. It's hard to get this concept, but it's totally true. If you don't set your life up to follow your dreams, your fantasies then on your deathbed you will be lying there and thinking about all the things you'd wish you'd done, all the fantasies and dreams you put aside because you were busy working too hard. And who wants that? How dang depressing! If I thought I'd be lying on my deathbed thinking horrible thought about what I didn't do in my life, I would kill myself today. I mean, what would be the point of living, why not get it over with now because at least I would have less regret.
This is my new mantra. Be proactive about avoiding misery now and in the future, especially on that dreaded deathbed!
Monday, July 29, 2002
So I'm reading over the interview I just typed up and I'm like, I think I did the whole exercise wrong. I don't know. Character work is so hard. I thought my guy was going to start telling me the story so I would know what to write. Instead he's like telling me that in reality, his father did die but he thinks that if I tell his story over, then his story will change as well. God, maybe I've been watching too many twilight zone episodes, outer limits or even amazing stories.
I'm thinking right now that I need a new character. I like the old Jim Reilly from my first draft better. This new Jim Reilly is bitter, too bitter. I mean, you're supposed to care about your movie character, not think he's the biggest jerk in the world. I thought I wanted my baseball character to be more like a lost soul looking for hit father. Instead he's turned out to be some hustling scumbag in the game for the chicks and the jack. I want him to be different. I want him to rediscover his love for the game of baseball through his interaction with his father, but I don't know how to get him there.
I heard on NPR today that the movie Animal House took 7 drafts before it was complete. And Animal House turned out to be such a great movie. I guess I shouldn't be complaining. I'm only on my second draft. I definitely need more character work though on Jim and the rest of the cast. It will be interesting to hear what his father, his mother, his wife, his brother, his son, his sister in law and all their kids have to say about Jim and what's going on. Especially the dad. Was the dad as mean as Jim says, or is he just looking at life through his 9 year old eyes still at age 38. He wouldn't be the first if he was.
I'm thinking right now that I need a new character. I like the old Jim Reilly from my first draft better. This new Jim Reilly is bitter, too bitter. I mean, you're supposed to care about your movie character, not think he's the biggest jerk in the world. I thought I wanted my baseball character to be more like a lost soul looking for hit father. Instead he's turned out to be some hustling scumbag in the game for the chicks and the jack. I want him to be different. I want him to rediscover his love for the game of baseball through his interaction with his father, but I don't know how to get him there.
I heard on NPR today that the movie Animal House took 7 drafts before it was complete. And Animal House turned out to be such a great movie. I guess I shouldn't be complaining. I'm only on my second draft. I definitely need more character work though on Jim and the rest of the cast. It will be interesting to hear what his father, his mother, his wife, his brother, his son, his sister in law and all their kids have to say about Jim and what's going on. Especially the dad. Was the dad as mean as Jim says, or is he just looking at life through his 9 year old eyes still at age 38. He wouldn't be the first if he was.
Below is a transcript of me interviewing Jim Reilly, the baseball player in my screenplay. I was trying to do more work character work and one exercise is ask 12 questions of your character. I'm not sure I did it right. I wrote it on my computer instead of by hand. Maybe if I did it by hand, it would have been more stream of consciousness. I think I need to interview him some more, but this is what I've got so far. My questions are in parens. This was really hard to do and I felt so schizo doing it.
Interview with James "Jim" Reilly, lead character in my screenplay, Playing Catch with Dad.
1. (What's your name?) James Samuel Reilly. Most people call me Jim
2. (What is your occupation?) Professional baseball player
3. (How long have you been in your occupation?) Forever. I played little league, high school ball, got into college on a baseball scholarship, then I got drafted into a minor league team. Spent a couple seasons in the minor league before going up to my first pro team at age 25.
4. (I was interested in writing a story about a baseball player who has a dying father and your story popped into my head. Why is it so important that I tell your story as opposed to someone else's?) Because my story is important. I mean, everyone has an important to tell, but mine is exactly what you're looking for. I've had a strained relationship with my father since I was little. My old man pushed me, pushed me hard. And not only me, but my brother too. See my old man used to play the game too, but he never made to a pro team, he only played minor leagues. Then he met my mother and they got married and my mother got pregnant and that was the end of the old man's baseball career. But he never forgot it. I think he always thought in his head that if only his own father had been more supportive or maybe if only he'd never fallen in love with my mother, he would have been a great player, gone to the world series, broken a record or something. Baseball was all my father had. He didn't go to college or nothing, so when he married my mother, he did what his father did before him. He became a painter and started his own business. You know not a big business, but small time stuff. Sometimes I think if maybe my father had made some other dream in his head other than being a hot shot baseball player, he wouldn't have been so hard on my and my brother Michael.
5. (So you father was hard on you?) Oh yeah. It's like the old man was trying to make up for his own father not supporting him, so he went overboard on the support. He came to all our games, argued with our coaches. Even when we were little, he would argue with our little league coach Mr. Riordan. And it was baseball all the time. I don't even remember playing anything else. And I was a good athlete. I would have like to play other sports, maybe play some football or basketball, but my old man wouldn't hear of it. (And you resented your father for this?)
Yeah, I did. Because I'm living his dream and not my own.
6. (Did you have a dream of your own? ) I don't know. I don’t remember. It's been so long. But the point is I wasn't even allowed to have my own dreams. Everyone takes freedom for granted. The freedom to choose who you are, who you want to become, to fail or to succeed, to know that it's your dream and your vision alone and no one else's.
7. (So, why are your still angry after all these years? You're a professional ball player. You've made great money over the years. You've been a great player all your life. It sounds like your father did you a favor?)
Did he? Yeah, I guess I had a great life. But look I'm 38 this year. I'm on the last year of my career and I feel like shit. Some dream huh? To tell you the truth, I don't even like baseball. It's a stupid game. It's like I'm in this dream job and I hate it. Do you know what it's like to have done something your whole life that you hate but that you're good at and make a lot of money at? It's fucked! And you can see it in my attitude too. I'm what's known as a problem player. I've got great skills so teams hire me, but I'm a troublemaker. (how so?) I get into fights. (You mean you cause fights?) Nah, I'm not that stupid. But let's just say I’m not the friendliest guy on a team. (And that causes fights?) Yeah. Guys on the team want this togetherness team crap. It's all total bullshit of course. Guys play ball for the money like me, because if they weren't playing ball, they'd be nothing. Half the guys on any given team would be total losers if it wasn't for their baseball skills. But because they've got skills, from a very young age, they're fussed over, chicks flock to them, everyone treats them like royalty. You grow up thinking the whole world is your oyster and you're just a long for the free ride. And for what? All you gotta do is hit the ball out of the park every now and again, catch the stupid ball, and give interviews and say stupid things like you're doing it all for the team. What bullshit! If it wasn't for the money and chicks, most guys wouldn't even be playing ball.
8. (Is that why you're playing ball, for the chicks and the money?) Yeah. I've been playing the stupid game all my life. I've don't know anything else. From the time, I was able to walk my old man put a glove in my hand and told me I would be a great player one day. I mean, can you imagine your old man telling you every day of your stinking fucking life that you were going to be great one day? It sucks. And when I made a mistake, but my old man would tell me I was lazy and not living up to my potential and I was blowing my future and I was only 7 years old when I first heard this. He totally brainwashed me. Well, I showed him. I walked out on him when I left for college. He thought he was going to harass me all through college, but I left, walked out of the house and never looked back.
9. (Did you cut off contact with your whole family?) No, I still had my mother and my brother. But I haven't had said two words to my dad since I walked out.
10. (And now that he's dying? How does that make you feel?) I don't know. Part of me doesn't care. And the other part feels bad you know, like I shouldn’t be that way with him. At least that's why my shrink and my wife say. (What do you say?) I don't know. The old man pushed me so hard. I didn't need to be pushed like that. Other guys had it differently with their fathers. Their fathers encouraged them, stood by them, didn't continually tell them what failures they'd be when they make a mistake.
11. (I still don't get why your story is important for me to tell. You sound like a spoiled white guy who's taken for granted a life that most guys have fantasized about all their lives. So your story doesn't get told, so what?) Because the real story is my dad died and we never made up and I regret it to this day. This is my chance to tell the story the way I would have wanted it to go with my dad. Look my dad died and I wasn't there. I wouldn't even see him the last two years. He made me so mad, so angry. I still remember that day my mom called and told me the old man died. You know I felt nothing inside. Nothing. But when I went home for the funeral and I was staring at the old guy in the box, I realized that I wanted to tell him so many things. I wanted to thank him for teaching me about ball. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for walking out on him in high school. I wanted to tell him so many things and I couldn’t. Do you know what's that like to know that you can never tell somebody you love them because they're dead. You go to sleep at night after that and you feel so much guilt for all the things you didn't say, you wished you'd said, you wished you'd done. It weighs on you, affects your life, your family. Look, after my dad died, I went into a tailspin. I was on last year of my career, I was causing fights in the locker room. They benched me the last year of my career. I sat on the fucking bench the whole last year of my career. I mean you talk about a hell of a way to end a career. And my marriage went to hell as well. Shit, me and my wife were having problems anyway and when my dad died, things just got worse. She moved out a month after my dad died and then filed for divorce. She claimed that I was violent and that I shouldn't be allowed to see my own kid because I might harm him. I would never harm my kid Sammy. But sometimes the kid would just do things and it made me furious. But I would never seriously harm him. Anyway, it doesn't matter, I never see him or my wife anymore. The lawyers take care of everything including sending the child support checks. That bitch robbed me blind in the divorce and custody battle. My shrink says I have a lot of left over anger about my father and I would take it on my kid and my wife. Maybe she's right. (So what you do you now?) Nothing. I sit at home and drink. Don't got nothing else to do. The shrink wants me to go AA but I told her I just drink like normal guys.
12. (So you think if told your story a different way, your life would turn out differently?) Yeah, I think so. You're a storyteller. If you tell my story a different way, my life would have a different ending. (And you think if I let you make up with your father your life would turn out differently?) Yeah, I do. Look, most people never get a second chance in life. They fuck up and then they've got to live with the consequences of that fuck up for the rest of their life. With you telling my story over the way I would have liked it to happen, I get my second chance. (And how would you change your story?) I would have made up with my father on the weekend I was back in San Francisco for a a three header game that last year. I had a chance that weekend and I blew it. I went home that night, my dad and me got into a fight. I knew he was dying, hell everybody knew he was dying, but I just let it go and walked out. The next day, my father died right after my game. If I could relive that weekend again, I would have listened to Michael. I would have marched into the asshole's bedroom and had it out with him. And ask him why he pushed me so hard. Maybe if I understood why, I could forgive him. You know he threatened to pull me out of little league once when I was about 10 years old, said I wasn't working hard enough. Got mad at coach riordan and threatened him saying he would get him fired. I remember my mom crying about it the whole incident too. That whole incident with coach riordan was the start of all my anger at him. My old man was totally jerking with me and causing mom to cry and my coach to get angry. Over the years, he just got worse and worse. How my mother put up with him all these years is a mystery, but she loved him to the very end. After that time, my mom stopped coming to games too, like she lost interest in anything I did. I blame my old man for that. He made it so hard for her. By the time I was a senior in high school, I couldn’t take it anymore so I walked out. I didn't want my old man manipulating my life anymore. But now I want that second chance to make up with him. I know that if I could make up with my dad, my life would turn out so differently. (And what if it doesn't? What if it all ends up the same, even after you make up with your dad? Sometimes, life is like that you know.) I know, but I know myself. I know if I had just had it out with him that night, I know my life would have turned out differently. You won't know till you tell the story. I might surprise you. I'm not the jerk, I know I come across as. Write the story and find out.
Interview with James "Jim" Reilly, lead character in my screenplay, Playing Catch with Dad.
1. (What's your name?) James Samuel Reilly. Most people call me Jim
2. (What is your occupation?) Professional baseball player
3. (How long have you been in your occupation?) Forever. I played little league, high school ball, got into college on a baseball scholarship, then I got drafted into a minor league team. Spent a couple seasons in the minor league before going up to my first pro team at age 25.
4. (I was interested in writing a story about a baseball player who has a dying father and your story popped into my head. Why is it so important that I tell your story as opposed to someone else's?) Because my story is important. I mean, everyone has an important to tell, but mine is exactly what you're looking for. I've had a strained relationship with my father since I was little. My old man pushed me, pushed me hard. And not only me, but my brother too. See my old man used to play the game too, but he never made to a pro team, he only played minor leagues. Then he met my mother and they got married and my mother got pregnant and that was the end of the old man's baseball career. But he never forgot it. I think he always thought in his head that if only his own father had been more supportive or maybe if only he'd never fallen in love with my mother, he would have been a great player, gone to the world series, broken a record or something. Baseball was all my father had. He didn't go to college or nothing, so when he married my mother, he did what his father did before him. He became a painter and started his own business. You know not a big business, but small time stuff. Sometimes I think if maybe my father had made some other dream in his head other than being a hot shot baseball player, he wouldn't have been so hard on my and my brother Michael.
5. (So you father was hard on you?) Oh yeah. It's like the old man was trying to make up for his own father not supporting him, so he went overboard on the support. He came to all our games, argued with our coaches. Even when we were little, he would argue with our little league coach Mr. Riordan. And it was baseball all the time. I don't even remember playing anything else. And I was a good athlete. I would have like to play other sports, maybe play some football or basketball, but my old man wouldn't hear of it. (And you resented your father for this?)
Yeah, I did. Because I'm living his dream and not my own.
6. (Did you have a dream of your own? ) I don't know. I don’t remember. It's been so long. But the point is I wasn't even allowed to have my own dreams. Everyone takes freedom for granted. The freedom to choose who you are, who you want to become, to fail or to succeed, to know that it's your dream and your vision alone and no one else's.
7. (So, why are your still angry after all these years? You're a professional ball player. You've made great money over the years. You've been a great player all your life. It sounds like your father did you a favor?)
Did he? Yeah, I guess I had a great life. But look I'm 38 this year. I'm on the last year of my career and I feel like shit. Some dream huh? To tell you the truth, I don't even like baseball. It's a stupid game. It's like I'm in this dream job and I hate it. Do you know what it's like to have done something your whole life that you hate but that you're good at and make a lot of money at? It's fucked! And you can see it in my attitude too. I'm what's known as a problem player. I've got great skills so teams hire me, but I'm a troublemaker. (how so?) I get into fights. (You mean you cause fights?) Nah, I'm not that stupid. But let's just say I’m not the friendliest guy on a team. (And that causes fights?) Yeah. Guys on the team want this togetherness team crap. It's all total bullshit of course. Guys play ball for the money like me, because if they weren't playing ball, they'd be nothing. Half the guys on any given team would be total losers if it wasn't for their baseball skills. But because they've got skills, from a very young age, they're fussed over, chicks flock to them, everyone treats them like royalty. You grow up thinking the whole world is your oyster and you're just a long for the free ride. And for what? All you gotta do is hit the ball out of the park every now and again, catch the stupid ball, and give interviews and say stupid things like you're doing it all for the team. What bullshit! If it wasn't for the money and chicks, most guys wouldn't even be playing ball.
8. (Is that why you're playing ball, for the chicks and the money?) Yeah. I've been playing the stupid game all my life. I've don't know anything else. From the time, I was able to walk my old man put a glove in my hand and told me I would be a great player one day. I mean, can you imagine your old man telling you every day of your stinking fucking life that you were going to be great one day? It sucks. And when I made a mistake, but my old man would tell me I was lazy and not living up to my potential and I was blowing my future and I was only 7 years old when I first heard this. He totally brainwashed me. Well, I showed him. I walked out on him when I left for college. He thought he was going to harass me all through college, but I left, walked out of the house and never looked back.
9. (Did you cut off contact with your whole family?) No, I still had my mother and my brother. But I haven't had said two words to my dad since I walked out.
10. (And now that he's dying? How does that make you feel?) I don't know. Part of me doesn't care. And the other part feels bad you know, like I shouldn’t be that way with him. At least that's why my shrink and my wife say. (What do you say?) I don't know. The old man pushed me so hard. I didn't need to be pushed like that. Other guys had it differently with their fathers. Their fathers encouraged them, stood by them, didn't continually tell them what failures they'd be when they make a mistake.
11. (I still don't get why your story is important for me to tell. You sound like a spoiled white guy who's taken for granted a life that most guys have fantasized about all their lives. So your story doesn't get told, so what?) Because the real story is my dad died and we never made up and I regret it to this day. This is my chance to tell the story the way I would have wanted it to go with my dad. Look my dad died and I wasn't there. I wouldn't even see him the last two years. He made me so mad, so angry. I still remember that day my mom called and told me the old man died. You know I felt nothing inside. Nothing. But when I went home for the funeral and I was staring at the old guy in the box, I realized that I wanted to tell him so many things. I wanted to thank him for teaching me about ball. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for walking out on him in high school. I wanted to tell him so many things and I couldn’t. Do you know what's that like to know that you can never tell somebody you love them because they're dead. You go to sleep at night after that and you feel so much guilt for all the things you didn't say, you wished you'd said, you wished you'd done. It weighs on you, affects your life, your family. Look, after my dad died, I went into a tailspin. I was on last year of my career, I was causing fights in the locker room. They benched me the last year of my career. I sat on the fucking bench the whole last year of my career. I mean you talk about a hell of a way to end a career. And my marriage went to hell as well. Shit, me and my wife were having problems anyway and when my dad died, things just got worse. She moved out a month after my dad died and then filed for divorce. She claimed that I was violent and that I shouldn't be allowed to see my own kid because I might harm him. I would never harm my kid Sammy. But sometimes the kid would just do things and it made me furious. But I would never seriously harm him. Anyway, it doesn't matter, I never see him or my wife anymore. The lawyers take care of everything including sending the child support checks. That bitch robbed me blind in the divorce and custody battle. My shrink says I have a lot of left over anger about my father and I would take it on my kid and my wife. Maybe she's right. (So what you do you now?) Nothing. I sit at home and drink. Don't got nothing else to do. The shrink wants me to go AA but I told her I just drink like normal guys.
12. (So you think if told your story a different way, your life would turn out differently?) Yeah, I think so. You're a storyteller. If you tell my story a different way, my life would have a different ending. (And you think if I let you make up with your father your life would turn out differently?) Yeah, I do. Look, most people never get a second chance in life. They fuck up and then they've got to live with the consequences of that fuck up for the rest of their life. With you telling my story over the way I would have liked it to happen, I get my second chance. (And how would you change your story?) I would have made up with my father on the weekend I was back in San Francisco for a a three header game that last year. I had a chance that weekend and I blew it. I went home that night, my dad and me got into a fight. I knew he was dying, hell everybody knew he was dying, but I just let it go and walked out. The next day, my father died right after my game. If I could relive that weekend again, I would have listened to Michael. I would have marched into the asshole's bedroom and had it out with him. And ask him why he pushed me so hard. Maybe if I understood why, I could forgive him. You know he threatened to pull me out of little league once when I was about 10 years old, said I wasn't working hard enough. Got mad at coach riordan and threatened him saying he would get him fired. I remember my mom crying about it the whole incident too. That whole incident with coach riordan was the start of all my anger at him. My old man was totally jerking with me and causing mom to cry and my coach to get angry. Over the years, he just got worse and worse. How my mother put up with him all these years is a mystery, but she loved him to the very end. After that time, my mom stopped coming to games too, like she lost interest in anything I did. I blame my old man for that. He made it so hard for her. By the time I was a senior in high school, I couldn’t take it anymore so I walked out. I didn't want my old man manipulating my life anymore. But now I want that second chance to make up with him. I know that if I could make up with my dad, my life would turn out so differently. (And what if it doesn't? What if it all ends up the same, even after you make up with your dad? Sometimes, life is like that you know.) I know, but I know myself. I know if I had just had it out with him that night, I know my life would have turned out differently. You won't know till you tell the story. I might surprise you. I'm not the jerk, I know I come across as. Write the story and find out.
I've been thinking about my writing process today. Berating myself at my lack of self discipline. I want to write but it's a total act of iron will for me to sit down and write for an hour every day. I mean, I do get stuff written, but only if I'm on on external kind of schedule. I really want to be able to get to the point where I can follow my own schedule, but how I do that is such a mystery to me. I'm driven but I guess I'm not driven enough.
In Stephen King's book on writing, he said he wrote about 10 pages a day and he's very regular about his writing. Joyce Carol Oates is the same way. She's totally self disciplined about her writing, writes about three books a year and has a full time job I think teaching at Princeton. Both have been writing since they were kids, so they're been writing for years. I've only been writing seriously for four years, which means I don't have the years of discipline and habits that they do. I wonder if I'll ever get this way.
I keep thinking I will one day, if I just work at it. But then another part of me just thinks I'm fighting this losing battle against my own laziness and inertia. When I do sit down to write, I really enjoy it. I read somewhere today that Joyce Carol Oates said writing is another way to tell yourself a story and I think it's true. When I write, I tell myself a story. So writing has never been a painful, pulling ideas out of thin air kind of thing for me. Writing for the most part has mostly been very enjoyable for me. But it's the discipline of doing it every day that I don't like and that's the painful, hard part; the forcing of myself to sit down and work. It's bad enough I have to do it at work to earn a paycheck, but it's another thing to do it at home when I could be doing all sorts of other things that are equally enjoyable and not such a pain.
But I have to break through this not writing every day barrier and I guess I'll keep reading and trying different techniques till I do.
In Stephen King's book on writing, he said he wrote about 10 pages a day and he's very regular about his writing. Joyce Carol Oates is the same way. She's totally self disciplined about her writing, writes about three books a year and has a full time job I think teaching at Princeton. Both have been writing since they were kids, so they're been writing for years. I've only been writing seriously for four years, which means I don't have the years of discipline and habits that they do. I wonder if I'll ever get this way.
I keep thinking I will one day, if I just work at it. But then another part of me just thinks I'm fighting this losing battle against my own laziness and inertia. When I do sit down to write, I really enjoy it. I read somewhere today that Joyce Carol Oates said writing is another way to tell yourself a story and I think it's true. When I write, I tell myself a story. So writing has never been a painful, pulling ideas out of thin air kind of thing for me. Writing for the most part has mostly been very enjoyable for me. But it's the discipline of doing it every day that I don't like and that's the painful, hard part; the forcing of myself to sit down and work. It's bad enough I have to do it at work to earn a paycheck, but it's another thing to do it at home when I could be doing all sorts of other things that are equally enjoyable and not such a pain.
But I have to break through this not writing every day barrier and I guess I'll keep reading and trying different techniques till I do.
Saturday, July 27, 2002
I wanted to be alone today, so instead of inviting anyone to go see the Ansel Adams exhibit at Sonoma State University, I went by myself. Sometimes, I just like my own company. Sometimes, I just like to drive in my car, with the moon/sun roof open, and listen to tunes. I think it's some habit from high school I haven't lost. When I was 16 and had the family car, which instead of being thrown out it was given to me, I used to drive all around the island without going anywhere in particular. It was my favorite form of escape in high school. It still is.
Of course, now that I'm older and have money and am more cultured I guess, I drive to museums to look at art and then go outlet shopping and spend tons of money.
In the summertime, it's worth driving out of my neighborhood since I'm on the coast and it's always foggy. It's usually sunny everywhere except where I live, it seems. I love the fog but it can get depressing during the summer, when it's supposed to be warm.
I love Ansel Adams. Doesn't everybody? I was tempted to buy a poster of his or a matted picture, but I still haven't hung the pictures and poster I bought on a vacation seven years ago, so I stopped myself. Adams was such a brilliant photographer and he was self taught too. I loved what he said about art and that a photo should show the photographer's feelings about what he's seeing and not just reality. How do you take pictures like that? I wonder if you can apply the same principal to writing.
I suppose writing does have some kind of point of view if you're writing essays. But what about fiction? I'll have to think about this to see if Ansel Adams' theory fits my writing. My fictional characters do have their own particular point of view, but I don't think they necessarily show how I view the world or what I feel about the world But maybe they do. Or if they don't, they should.
Take my baseball story screenplay. I guess my main purpose in writing the story is to show that it's easy for a father and child to think they don't love each other. That events can be misinterpreted by both the father and son and then if you never talk about what's happening, your story about what happened becomes the truth of the situation. And they you go through life thinking that your point of view is how life really is. When in reality, you might have completely misinterpreted the situation. And then if you're unlucky, either the father or the child dies, then you realize too late, that you had it all wrong and there's no asking for forgiveness, because that person is dead. Then you spend your life in guilt and regret, for not talking, not speaking, not communicating and on your dying day, you say to yourself, if only I'd told so and so how I really feel and then you die with regret and guilt on your mind. Not a pleasant way to go, I think.
But my characters are lucky. I give them that second chance to rewrite their history so they don't die with longing and regret. And they are really lucky, because I think most people when they're about to die, have so much regret and guilt for things they did or didn't do. I hope I never die like this.
If I were to drop dead right now, there isn't really anything in my life that I seriously regret, have guilt about or wish I did or didn't do. But I've made it a point of not being miserable. Misery is not an option for me. Besides, being miserable is such bad karma. I mean, I think there are people who are walking around who are in their 30's and older still angry and hateful about what happened to them in high school. And I'm like why? Get over it! Everyone was miserable in high school. It's not like you were the only one. I think all that misery and hate is like bad energy and that if you don't get rid of it, it causes health problems when you're older.
I mean, it takes so much energy to be angry and to hate people. I don't think people or even one person is worth that much of my time and energy. Honestly! If I do hate someone, I try to get over it quickly. I need all my energy for me and my stuff and my habits and my goals. I'm sure as hell not going to waste it on hating someone I don't even care about and who I won't be thinking of on my death bed, unless of course, I'm on my death bed still hating them. And like the people I hate or the person I hate really gives a rat's ass that I hate them. I mean, they probably don't even remember who the hell I am. And here I am devoting a considerable amount of time and energy hating them when they don't even care. I mean who's the fool then. Hate is such stupid emotion. And it really is bad karma in more ways than one. And I repeat, no one is worth all that time and energy, no one!!!
Of course, now that I'm older and have money and am more cultured I guess, I drive to museums to look at art and then go outlet shopping and spend tons of money.
In the summertime, it's worth driving out of my neighborhood since I'm on the coast and it's always foggy. It's usually sunny everywhere except where I live, it seems. I love the fog but it can get depressing during the summer, when it's supposed to be warm.
I love Ansel Adams. Doesn't everybody? I was tempted to buy a poster of his or a matted picture, but I still haven't hung the pictures and poster I bought on a vacation seven years ago, so I stopped myself. Adams was such a brilliant photographer and he was self taught too. I loved what he said about art and that a photo should show the photographer's feelings about what he's seeing and not just reality. How do you take pictures like that? I wonder if you can apply the same principal to writing.
I suppose writing does have some kind of point of view if you're writing essays. But what about fiction? I'll have to think about this to see if Ansel Adams' theory fits my writing. My fictional characters do have their own particular point of view, but I don't think they necessarily show how I view the world or what I feel about the world But maybe they do. Or if they don't, they should.
Take my baseball story screenplay. I guess my main purpose in writing the story is to show that it's easy for a father and child to think they don't love each other. That events can be misinterpreted by both the father and son and then if you never talk about what's happening, your story about what happened becomes the truth of the situation. And they you go through life thinking that your point of view is how life really is. When in reality, you might have completely misinterpreted the situation. And then if you're unlucky, either the father or the child dies, then you realize too late, that you had it all wrong and there's no asking for forgiveness, because that person is dead. Then you spend your life in guilt and regret, for not talking, not speaking, not communicating and on your dying day, you say to yourself, if only I'd told so and so how I really feel and then you die with regret and guilt on your mind. Not a pleasant way to go, I think.
But my characters are lucky. I give them that second chance to rewrite their history so they don't die with longing and regret. And they are really lucky, because I think most people when they're about to die, have so much regret and guilt for things they did or didn't do. I hope I never die like this.
If I were to drop dead right now, there isn't really anything in my life that I seriously regret, have guilt about or wish I did or didn't do. But I've made it a point of not being miserable. Misery is not an option for me. Besides, being miserable is such bad karma. I mean, I think there are people who are walking around who are in their 30's and older still angry and hateful about what happened to them in high school. And I'm like why? Get over it! Everyone was miserable in high school. It's not like you were the only one. I think all that misery and hate is like bad energy and that if you don't get rid of it, it causes health problems when you're older.
I mean, it takes so much energy to be angry and to hate people. I don't think people or even one person is worth that much of my time and energy. Honestly! If I do hate someone, I try to get over it quickly. I need all my energy for me and my stuff and my habits and my goals. I'm sure as hell not going to waste it on hating someone I don't even care about and who I won't be thinking of on my death bed, unless of course, I'm on my death bed still hating them. And like the people I hate or the person I hate really gives a rat's ass that I hate them. I mean, they probably don't even remember who the hell I am. And here I am devoting a considerable amount of time and energy hating them when they don't even care. I mean who's the fool then. Hate is such stupid emotion. And it really is bad karma in more ways than one. And I repeat, no one is worth all that time and energy, no one!!!
Friday, July 26, 2002
I feel so restless today. I watch Pollock last night, because Jackson Pollock is one of my favorite painters. I think the movie captured how the great man painted and how revolutionary his painting was for his day. But boy, was he messed up in the head. The movie really showed what an mean drunk Pollock was. I mean, really mean and nasty, like a total Jekyll and Hyde kind of guy. It's too bad too because he only seemed to paint well when he was sober.
The last hour of the movie was really hard to watch because you had to watch this great artist destroy himself with his alcoholism. I mean, Pollock would drink and totally binge drink and end up, who knows how many days later, dirty and passed out in some alley. It's really sad because he died at age 44. Who know what other art ground he would have broken had he just been able to keep shit together?
I think I feel restless becaus I feel this incredible urge to shop. But every time I go shopping, I can't find anything I want to buy. Clothes look really boring to me and cheap looking. The things I really want I don't really want to spend the money on right now, like a new laptop.
All of a sudden, I have this major urge to buy a laptop. And not one of those sleeek new ones either, but a workshorse that I can take places that is 5 pounds and under. In my job in 1999/2000 I had an IBM laptop, which was such a workhorse. When I would bring the laptops on trips, I would totally abuse it and it would still work. I think I need a laptop that's veruy strong and won't crumble after lots of heavy use or being jostled around in my bag.
But I'm way too cheap and the most I think would spend is $700 or less. I saw a laptop at Costco for about $1,000 but I need to research the brand that was on sale. Ideally, I would like an IBM because, well I had one before and it worked for me. I had a Sony Vaio too but I hated the stupid mouse thing on it. The bottom of the Sony Vaio also would get really hot after two hours of battery use and it felt really flimsy. No, the IBM or maybe a Dell would work for me. I think the Costco laptop was a Compaq, but I haven't had any experience with this brand.
I don't know why I even need a laptop. My little baby laptop was great to travel with and I was able to log onto the Net without a problem. The laptop just seems attractive right now because I can't write screenplays on my baby laptop. I can't load screenwriting software unless it was built fo pocket word and no one makes software for pocket word. I can't import any macros to even write screenplays, because pocket word can't read the macros. But for eveyrthing else, like writing regular stories, the babY laptop can't be beat.
I'm think that if my company hands out the raises that were due this year in April, I'll have enought money to buy a really cheap one. If not, I'll have to wait for Christmas and hopefully laptop prices will have totally dropped by then.
I wanted to go see Reign of Fire today, but I have to go down to UPS to pick up my package. The company that I buy my vitamins decided to send my package by UPS instead of USPS, which is their normal procedure. I hate when companies switch carriers like that. It totally pissed me off because it's so much easeir fo rme to get packages via USPS then by UPS. Maybe I'll see Reign of Fire on Monday night instead.
What else? There was news on the radio that some plane was buzzing around the financial district today. How scary. I'm sure most people thought it was some crazy suicide bomber about to crash into the Transamerica pyramid or something. It turns out it was just someone taking pictures, but what kind of pictures is this guy taking. New places to bomb US?
The last hour of the movie was really hard to watch because you had to watch this great artist destroy himself with his alcoholism. I mean, Pollock would drink and totally binge drink and end up, who knows how many days later, dirty and passed out in some alley. It's really sad because he died at age 44. Who know what other art ground he would have broken had he just been able to keep shit together?
I think I feel restless becaus I feel this incredible urge to shop. But every time I go shopping, I can't find anything I want to buy. Clothes look really boring to me and cheap looking. The things I really want I don't really want to spend the money on right now, like a new laptop.
All of a sudden, I have this major urge to buy a laptop. And not one of those sleeek new ones either, but a workshorse that I can take places that is 5 pounds and under. In my job in 1999/2000 I had an IBM laptop, which was such a workhorse. When I would bring the laptops on trips, I would totally abuse it and it would still work. I think I need a laptop that's veruy strong and won't crumble after lots of heavy use or being jostled around in my bag.
But I'm way too cheap and the most I think would spend is $700 or less. I saw a laptop at Costco for about $1,000 but I need to research the brand that was on sale. Ideally, I would like an IBM because, well I had one before and it worked for me. I had a Sony Vaio too but I hated the stupid mouse thing on it. The bottom of the Sony Vaio also would get really hot after two hours of battery use and it felt really flimsy. No, the IBM or maybe a Dell would work for me. I think the Costco laptop was a Compaq, but I haven't had any experience with this brand.
I don't know why I even need a laptop. My little baby laptop was great to travel with and I was able to log onto the Net without a problem. The laptop just seems attractive right now because I can't write screenplays on my baby laptop. I can't load screenwriting software unless it was built fo pocket word and no one makes software for pocket word. I can't import any macros to even write screenplays, because pocket word can't read the macros. But for eveyrthing else, like writing regular stories, the babY laptop can't be beat.
I'm think that if my company hands out the raises that were due this year in April, I'll have enought money to buy a really cheap one. If not, I'll have to wait for Christmas and hopefully laptop prices will have totally dropped by then.
I wanted to go see Reign of Fire today, but I have to go down to UPS to pick up my package. The company that I buy my vitamins decided to send my package by UPS instead of USPS, which is their normal procedure. I hate when companies switch carriers like that. It totally pissed me off because it's so much easeir fo rme to get packages via USPS then by UPS. Maybe I'll see Reign of Fire on Monday night instead.
What else? There was news on the radio that some plane was buzzing around the financial district today. How scary. I'm sure most people thought it was some crazy suicide bomber about to crash into the Transamerica pyramid or something. It turns out it was just someone taking pictures, but what kind of pictures is this guy taking. New places to bomb US?
Thursday, July 25, 2002
I finally finished writing up my West Virginia trip journal. I had mostly scribbled notes in a little book to help me remember what I did and it was such a chore to go back to try to remember each day. I don't think I did a very good job, but at least I have a record of my trip. I've never kept such an extensive journal on a trip before. Most of my vacation trips just buzz by me and I never reflect or think about anything that happened to me. A trip journal is a good way to help me remember all the things I did or didn't do on vacation.
I never feel like I do enough on my vacation, but with trip I realized that I do tend to pack alot of things into my trips. If I had been travelling on my own, I would have packed more in, but since I was travelling with a friend, I coudn't impose my usual non stop on the go schedule.
I like travelling with friends since it's so much fun. But, I think I would like my next trip to be with a boyfriend. I don't know why. I just want my next trip to be with a boyfriend and I have a feeling, my wish will be fulfilled. At least, that's the plan.
My next trip though, I'm on my own. I'm off to LA in a couple of days to see the Andy Warhol exhibit. I've been wanting to take at triop to LA since last year summer and I'm finally doing it. I want to get used travelling to different cities to see art. That's what you have to do these days anyway. Most art exhibits don't travel like they used because of the expense and high insurance costs. If you want to see a good art show, you have to be willing to fly to it. I can see myself flying to New York or Boston just see art, maybe not now, but later. LA is close enough.
I never feel like I do enough on my vacation, but with trip I realized that I do tend to pack alot of things into my trips. If I had been travelling on my own, I would have packed more in, but since I was travelling with a friend, I coudn't impose my usual non stop on the go schedule.
I like travelling with friends since it's so much fun. But, I think I would like my next trip to be with a boyfriend. I don't know why. I just want my next trip to be with a boyfriend and I have a feeling, my wish will be fulfilled. At least, that's the plan.
My next trip though, I'm on my own. I'm off to LA in a couple of days to see the Andy Warhol exhibit. I've been wanting to take at triop to LA since last year summer and I'm finally doing it. I want to get used travelling to different cities to see art. That's what you have to do these days anyway. Most art exhibits don't travel like they used because of the expense and high insurance costs. If you want to see a good art show, you have to be willing to fly to it. I can see myself flying to New York or Boston just see art, maybe not now, but later. LA is close enough.
The last of my West Virginia Trip Journal
July 11
We took a trip into Virginia, which I found out is only an hour away, to go to the famous Jefferson Pools or Warm Springs Pools in Bath County. The pools have been around since 1761, the men’s bathhouse that is, and Thomas Jefferson supposedly bathed there. The woman’s bathhouse was built in 1836.
I didn’t think there was that much of a difference between West Virginia and Virginia but as soon as we drove over the border, the landscape changed. Virginia isn’t as mountainous as West Virginia, so the hills look a little flatter and the highways are larger.
We stopped at an antique store on the way and the differences in the prices were amazing. Antique shopping in West Virginia was so cheap compared to this place. And, instead of American antiques, this shop was full of English antiques.
It was close to lunchtime when we got to Virginia so we decided to get a quick bite to eat first. We went to some deli that was near the Homestead Resort. We were out with one of our hostess’ friend, whom we met earlier at her house next to the General Lewis Inn in Lewisburg. She said she liked the Homestead Resort and thought it was much more relaxed than the Greenbrier Resort.
The differences between the people I saw at the deli in Virginia and the kind of people I’d seen in West Virginia was like night and day. Now granted, the Homestead is one of those very expensive vacation resorts so we probably only saw people who were most likely staying there, but still. The Virginia deli women looked like ladies who lunch with perfect combed and dyed coifs, very expensive matching outfits with matching heels, and flawlessly manicure hands and feet. There was a woman wearing more gold than I’d seen in my 10 days in West Virginia.
The people in West Virginia were either back to nature hippies types or down home hillbilly types. And no one really dressed up, not even at supposedly dressy events like parties and concerts. The people in West Virginia also looked older too somehow with their lined faces and necks, like no one had ever told them about using sunscreen or getting that much needed eye tuck or facelift. The women especially, were much bigger, than the pencil thin ladies I saw at the deli in Virginia.
The Jefferson Pools ere cool. You can either wear “your suit, their suit or god’s suit.” You float around using these flotation toys and as you lie there, if you’re under a good spot, bubbles tickle your legs, your butt and slowly move over your whole body. It’s a totally weird feeling because it feels like a water bug is crawling up your leg. The pools are calm and silent and the water smells like sulphur, which is a little foul. I saw a tshirt with a picture of Thomas Jefferson on it, so I had to buy that. I mean how often do you see a shirt with Thomas Jefferson on it. Since I was swimming in the women’s bathhouse, I suppose it wasn’t the same as bathing in the same place that Thomas Jefferson bathed, but it’s the thought that counts.
Next we headed to the Homestead Resort itself, which like the Greenbrier Resort serves free tea and munchies at teatime. We found out when we got there that the Virginia Bar Association was having a meeting there, so maybe that explains all those well dressed women; lawyer’s wives.
The Homestead Resort totally freaked me out. All the serving people, except for the desk clerks at check in and a few of the valets outside were black. The whole scene felt so southern to me and I didn’t think places like this still existed, but then I’d never been to the real south either. I had never been at a hotel where all the serving people were black. It totally bothered me and it made me feel like I was back in the old south and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t like this at the Greenbrier Resort. At the Greenbrier you stood in line for tea and the munchies were laid out buffet style. At the Homestead Resort, you tea and munchies was served to you, so there was no mad rush for seconds, thirds and fourths for food.
The stores at the Homestead weren’t even that great compared to the Greenbrier. It’s like the people at the Homestead Resort had made an exact replica of the Greenbrier in West Virginia, but without the quaintness, the history and the charm. Even the burgundy and white striped shopping bags from the Homestead looked like the green and white striped bags of the Greenbrier.
July 12
We decided to check out Pioneer Days in Marlinton. Our first stop was at a book sale at the Marlinton library and I bought four books; a book on wealth, short stories that were made into movies, Alistair Cooke’s America and a civil war novel, A Stillness at Appomatox by Bruce Catton. My purchases cost me $5. Why I was buying book on my vacation is still a mystery to me, but $5 for books, two of which were hardbacks, was too good of a deal to pass up.
Our next stop was at a restaurant on the river and I had another barbeque pork sandwich. Those barbeque sandwiches in West Virginia are so delicious. I can see why my traveling companion always complained about the barbeque sandwiches in San Francisco.
Next, we went to the local flea market which was a part of the Pioneer Days activities in Marlinton. Unfortunately, the stuff was not as good as what we’d seen earlier in the week.
Pioneer Days in Marlinton was very small townish and there wasn’t much else going on, except for a frog jumping contest, a small quilt and crafts exhibit, more fair type food and freshly fried pork rinds.
On the way home, we stopped at Droop Mountain, which is one of the few civil war battle monuments in Southern Virginia. Because of West Virginia’s mountainous landscape, there weren’t many civil war battles there. The park itself had a newly built observation tower, but other than the picnic tables and benches, there wasn’t very much there.
July 13
Off to John Henry Days in Talcott. First a stop at some truck stop for a biscuit and gravy breakfast. The biscuit was great but the gravy was white and very peppery. Then at Talcott, we watched the local parade which consisted of cars by the police and fire and various Talcott groups and some people on horses. The parade participants threw out candy and I even got a free ruler to take home.
The streets of this very small town were lined with people selling their wares, which ranged from food to typical flea market stuff. I don’t know if less people are traveling since 9/11, but I heard a woman say that last year’s festival was better and better attended.
We took a walk to see Big Bend tunnel, where supposedly John Henry battled the steam drill machine. Next to Big Bend Tunnel is another tunnel, which the train now uses. Poor John Henry. All that effort and they don’t even use the tunnel anymore.
It started raining and we listened to a group playing Appalachian style music. The music was so good I even bought a CD. The band consisted of two older looking women, a man singing and playing guitar, two other really old looked dudes playing guitar and another woman playing drums. We would have stayed longer, but I couldn’t take the rain anymore.
I wished I’d finished that book John Henry Days, but I hadn’t. I guess I’ll finish it when I get back home to San Francisco.
For food, I ate my usual fair food of two corn dogs and lemonade and homemade fudge, which my friend had bought earlier
Next, we went to Hinton, Talcott’s sister city, which was bigger and much more developed. We found a railroad museum there and checked it out. They had a display of carved wooden figurines depicting John Henry and all the jobs that went into building a railroad. The display was long and almost 7 feet in length. I’d never really been on a proper railway journey.
On the way back, we stopped at a store which said it had a taxidermy museum. The place was old and full of cobwebs but probably had the best collection of stuffed real animals I’d ever seen in my life. Looking at taxidermied stuffed real animals is a trip because the animals looks so life like, except their dead and stuffed to the gills and are dusty and have cobwebs and other small items all over them.
We also made a quick stop at Bluestone Dam. I’d never seen a dam up close before. It was huge and there were men flying fishing right in front of the dam. We were trying to figure out why they were fishing so close to the dam but there was no one to ask. We speculated that it was where the fish came out in schools, but who knows.
On the way back to Trout, we stopped at the General Lewis Inn to check out the inside. It was full of antiques and looked like a nice play to stay. At $100 a night, it was probably a good deal compared to places like the Greenbrier and the Homestead. And it’s so close to really the only shopping spot in the area.
I was told that if local people want to shop, they go to Beckley, an hour away, or two hours away to either Charleston or Roanoke, Virginia.
July 14
Finally, my vacation is at end and I have to unzip my expandable suitcase to fit all my purchases in. Our host gave me a copy of Southern Living’s Best Recipes from 1996, which I was admiring earlier, so I felt ready to go home and recreate some of the good food I’d eaten while on my trip.
On the way to the airport, we stopped at Tamarack, which is advertised as having the best of West Virginia goods. Tamarack does have great stuff, but nothing to what I’d seen in other small town stores I’d been to.
I was glad to be going home. 14 days is a long time to be on vacation, especially with not that much to do. If I ever have to come this way again, I’ll definitely stay at the Greenbrier Resort. You can get a standard room for about $200 a day, which isn’t bad considering all the activities they offer. As for the Homestead Resort, I don’t see myself going back there ever again, unless circumstances take me back there.
The trip back was relatively quiet, except for a long stop in Chicago. On the plan from West Virginia to Chicago, I sat next to a woman who I found out lives in my neighborhood with her husband and family. It made me realize that no matter where I go, the world is still a very small place.
I liked West Virginia but I don’t know if I could ever live there. It’s landlocked and I could never live in a place that wasn’t near the ocean. I’m not sure if I’d even go back to visit West Virginia, but I’m glad I went.
July 11
We took a trip into Virginia, which I found out is only an hour away, to go to the famous Jefferson Pools or Warm Springs Pools in Bath County. The pools have been around since 1761, the men’s bathhouse that is, and Thomas Jefferson supposedly bathed there. The woman’s bathhouse was built in 1836.
I didn’t think there was that much of a difference between West Virginia and Virginia but as soon as we drove over the border, the landscape changed. Virginia isn’t as mountainous as West Virginia, so the hills look a little flatter and the highways are larger.
We stopped at an antique store on the way and the differences in the prices were amazing. Antique shopping in West Virginia was so cheap compared to this place. And, instead of American antiques, this shop was full of English antiques.
It was close to lunchtime when we got to Virginia so we decided to get a quick bite to eat first. We went to some deli that was near the Homestead Resort. We were out with one of our hostess’ friend, whom we met earlier at her house next to the General Lewis Inn in Lewisburg. She said she liked the Homestead Resort and thought it was much more relaxed than the Greenbrier Resort.
The differences between the people I saw at the deli in Virginia and the kind of people I’d seen in West Virginia was like night and day. Now granted, the Homestead is one of those very expensive vacation resorts so we probably only saw people who were most likely staying there, but still. The Virginia deli women looked like ladies who lunch with perfect combed and dyed coifs, very expensive matching outfits with matching heels, and flawlessly manicure hands and feet. There was a woman wearing more gold than I’d seen in my 10 days in West Virginia.
The people in West Virginia were either back to nature hippies types or down home hillbilly types. And no one really dressed up, not even at supposedly dressy events like parties and concerts. The people in West Virginia also looked older too somehow with their lined faces and necks, like no one had ever told them about using sunscreen or getting that much needed eye tuck or facelift. The women especially, were much bigger, than the pencil thin ladies I saw at the deli in Virginia.
The Jefferson Pools ere cool. You can either wear “your suit, their suit or god’s suit.” You float around using these flotation toys and as you lie there, if you’re under a good spot, bubbles tickle your legs, your butt and slowly move over your whole body. It’s a totally weird feeling because it feels like a water bug is crawling up your leg. The pools are calm and silent and the water smells like sulphur, which is a little foul. I saw a tshirt with a picture of Thomas Jefferson on it, so I had to buy that. I mean how often do you see a shirt with Thomas Jefferson on it. Since I was swimming in the women’s bathhouse, I suppose it wasn’t the same as bathing in the same place that Thomas Jefferson bathed, but it’s the thought that counts.
Next we headed to the Homestead Resort itself, which like the Greenbrier Resort serves free tea and munchies at teatime. We found out when we got there that the Virginia Bar Association was having a meeting there, so maybe that explains all those well dressed women; lawyer’s wives.
The Homestead Resort totally freaked me out. All the serving people, except for the desk clerks at check in and a few of the valets outside were black. The whole scene felt so southern to me and I didn’t think places like this still existed, but then I’d never been to the real south either. I had never been at a hotel where all the serving people were black. It totally bothered me and it made me feel like I was back in the old south and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t like this at the Greenbrier Resort. At the Greenbrier you stood in line for tea and the munchies were laid out buffet style. At the Homestead Resort, you tea and munchies was served to you, so there was no mad rush for seconds, thirds and fourths for food.
The stores at the Homestead weren’t even that great compared to the Greenbrier. It’s like the people at the Homestead Resort had made an exact replica of the Greenbrier in West Virginia, but without the quaintness, the history and the charm. Even the burgundy and white striped shopping bags from the Homestead looked like the green and white striped bags of the Greenbrier.
July 12
We decided to check out Pioneer Days in Marlinton. Our first stop was at a book sale at the Marlinton library and I bought four books; a book on wealth, short stories that were made into movies, Alistair Cooke’s America and a civil war novel, A Stillness at Appomatox by Bruce Catton. My purchases cost me $5. Why I was buying book on my vacation is still a mystery to me, but $5 for books, two of which were hardbacks, was too good of a deal to pass up.
Our next stop was at a restaurant on the river and I had another barbeque pork sandwich. Those barbeque sandwiches in West Virginia are so delicious. I can see why my traveling companion always complained about the barbeque sandwiches in San Francisco.
Next, we went to the local flea market which was a part of the Pioneer Days activities in Marlinton. Unfortunately, the stuff was not as good as what we’d seen earlier in the week.
Pioneer Days in Marlinton was very small townish and there wasn’t much else going on, except for a frog jumping contest, a small quilt and crafts exhibit, more fair type food and freshly fried pork rinds.
On the way home, we stopped at Droop Mountain, which is one of the few civil war battle monuments in Southern Virginia. Because of West Virginia’s mountainous landscape, there weren’t many civil war battles there. The park itself had a newly built observation tower, but other than the picnic tables and benches, there wasn’t very much there.
July 13
Off to John Henry Days in Talcott. First a stop at some truck stop for a biscuit and gravy breakfast. The biscuit was great but the gravy was white and very peppery. Then at Talcott, we watched the local parade which consisted of cars by the police and fire and various Talcott groups and some people on horses. The parade participants threw out candy and I even got a free ruler to take home.
The streets of this very small town were lined with people selling their wares, which ranged from food to typical flea market stuff. I don’t know if less people are traveling since 9/11, but I heard a woman say that last year’s festival was better and better attended.
We took a walk to see Big Bend tunnel, where supposedly John Henry battled the steam drill machine. Next to Big Bend Tunnel is another tunnel, which the train now uses. Poor John Henry. All that effort and they don’t even use the tunnel anymore.
It started raining and we listened to a group playing Appalachian style music. The music was so good I even bought a CD. The band consisted of two older looking women, a man singing and playing guitar, two other really old looked dudes playing guitar and another woman playing drums. We would have stayed longer, but I couldn’t take the rain anymore.
I wished I’d finished that book John Henry Days, but I hadn’t. I guess I’ll finish it when I get back home to San Francisco.
For food, I ate my usual fair food of two corn dogs and lemonade and homemade fudge, which my friend had bought earlier
Next, we went to Hinton, Talcott’s sister city, which was bigger and much more developed. We found a railroad museum there and checked it out. They had a display of carved wooden figurines depicting John Henry and all the jobs that went into building a railroad. The display was long and almost 7 feet in length. I’d never really been on a proper railway journey.
On the way back, we stopped at a store which said it had a taxidermy museum. The place was old and full of cobwebs but probably had the best collection of stuffed real animals I’d ever seen in my life. Looking at taxidermied stuffed real animals is a trip because the animals looks so life like, except their dead and stuffed to the gills and are dusty and have cobwebs and other small items all over them.
We also made a quick stop at Bluestone Dam. I’d never seen a dam up close before. It was huge and there were men flying fishing right in front of the dam. We were trying to figure out why they were fishing so close to the dam but there was no one to ask. We speculated that it was where the fish came out in schools, but who knows.
On the way back to Trout, we stopped at the General Lewis Inn to check out the inside. It was full of antiques and looked like a nice play to stay. At $100 a night, it was probably a good deal compared to places like the Greenbrier and the Homestead. And it’s so close to really the only shopping spot in the area.
I was told that if local people want to shop, they go to Beckley, an hour away, or two hours away to either Charleston or Roanoke, Virginia.
July 14
Finally, my vacation is at end and I have to unzip my expandable suitcase to fit all my purchases in. Our host gave me a copy of Southern Living’s Best Recipes from 1996, which I was admiring earlier, so I felt ready to go home and recreate some of the good food I’d eaten while on my trip.
On the way to the airport, we stopped at Tamarack, which is advertised as having the best of West Virginia goods. Tamarack does have great stuff, but nothing to what I’d seen in other small town stores I’d been to.
I was glad to be going home. 14 days is a long time to be on vacation, especially with not that much to do. If I ever have to come this way again, I’ll definitely stay at the Greenbrier Resort. You can get a standard room for about $200 a day, which isn’t bad considering all the activities they offer. As for the Homestead Resort, I don’t see myself going back there ever again, unless circumstances take me back there.
The trip back was relatively quiet, except for a long stop in Chicago. On the plan from West Virginia to Chicago, I sat next to a woman who I found out lives in my neighborhood with her husband and family. It made me realize that no matter where I go, the world is still a very small place.
I liked West Virginia but I don’t know if I could ever live there. It’s landlocked and I could never live in a place that wasn’t near the ocean. I’m not sure if I’d even go back to visit West Virginia, but I’m glad I went.
Wednesday, July 24, 2002
I just read an article which said that the past week has been a weird one because the moon was in Aquarius. And I laughed because I've had a pretty good week, but then again I'm an aquarian so having the moon in Aquarius doesn't bother me at all. It's like Hello World, welcome to my life!
I guess the stock market plunging back to 1997 levels wasn't all that fun for most people. I'm afraid to think what these losses on the stock market is doing to people's retirement plans and savings. And it's not the wealthy people I worry about. The wealthy people rode out the great depression. It's the average middle income people I worry about, which is most of us. The really poor people don't care about the stock market since they probably can't afford to invest in it.
I wish I could have a conversation with my Stanford MBA boss who laughed at me when I told me that the Nasdaq couldn't sustain it's 5,000 level. He said I was crazy, that even if the market did tank, the Nasdaq would always hover around 4,000. I wonder what he thinks now that the Nasdaq has been below 2,000 for the last 1.5 years. I wonder what his explanation is for its demise.
So let's see where we are economically. Commercial real estate in San Francisco has fallen to levels not seen since 1998. Now the Dow and the Nasdaq have fallen to 1997/1998 levels. And housing costs, they're still up, but then real estate changes tend be low and always six month behing everything else. Does this mean that real estate prices in the SF Bay Area will drop to 1997/98 levels. Half the experts are saying yes and the other half is saying now.
I think real estates prices will drop, just because everything else has. Real estate cannot sustain the kinds of losses the stock market has shown us this past week.
The only good thing about the slowing economy is my that drive to work is not as crowded anymore. There are fewer people going from San Francisco to Sili Valley now. Where they've all gone, who knows?
I guess the stock market plunging back to 1997 levels wasn't all that fun for most people. I'm afraid to think what these losses on the stock market is doing to people's retirement plans and savings. And it's not the wealthy people I worry about. The wealthy people rode out the great depression. It's the average middle income people I worry about, which is most of us. The really poor people don't care about the stock market since they probably can't afford to invest in it.
I wish I could have a conversation with my Stanford MBA boss who laughed at me when I told me that the Nasdaq couldn't sustain it's 5,000 level. He said I was crazy, that even if the market did tank, the Nasdaq would always hover around 4,000. I wonder what he thinks now that the Nasdaq has been below 2,000 for the last 1.5 years. I wonder what his explanation is for its demise.
So let's see where we are economically. Commercial real estate in San Francisco has fallen to levels not seen since 1998. Now the Dow and the Nasdaq have fallen to 1997/1998 levels. And housing costs, they're still up, but then real estate changes tend be low and always six month behing everything else. Does this mean that real estate prices in the SF Bay Area will drop to 1997/98 levels. Half the experts are saying yes and the other half is saying now.
I think real estates prices will drop, just because everything else has. Real estate cannot sustain the kinds of losses the stock market has shown us this past week.
The only good thing about the slowing economy is my that drive to work is not as crowded anymore. There are fewer people going from San Francisco to Sili Valley now. Where they've all gone, who knows?
Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm just getting too old and I just don't undertand things the way other people do. I saw another movie today on a friend's recommendation and I totally thought it was really bunky. And then I read the movie reviews, and as usual, me and the NY Times always agree. But other movie reviewers liked it, especially Salon.com. And that's typical because I completely disagree with anything that's on Salon.com anyway.
I don't know. Maybe Salon.com is a magazine for young people, gen x'ers and I'm just a little old for that generation. I just don't like social angst just to show social angst. I think social angst should have some kind of meaning, otherwise a movie about social angst just becomes some kind of self-congratulatory, over indulgent, masturbation fantasy of some typically WASP male guy. No, the world does not fricking revolve around your protagonist who's usually wasting away in some upper middle class suburb and contemplating suicide, drugs or better yet paranoid schizophrenia.
And then at the movie end doesn't revolve itself and I hate that. I mean, Salon.com talks about this guy having a vision, yeah a vision to the toilet boil maybe, after he's taken a dump. Honestly, what passes for a good movie these days is mind boggling. After watching this movie, my baseball movie to me is infinitely more entertaining than the crappy movie I just watched.
I don't know. Maybe Salon.com is a magazine for young people, gen x'ers and I'm just a little old for that generation. I just don't like social angst just to show social angst. I think social angst should have some kind of meaning, otherwise a movie about social angst just becomes some kind of self-congratulatory, over indulgent, masturbation fantasy of some typically WASP male guy. No, the world does not fricking revolve around your protagonist who's usually wasting away in some upper middle class suburb and contemplating suicide, drugs or better yet paranoid schizophrenia.
And then at the movie end doesn't revolve itself and I hate that. I mean, Salon.com talks about this guy having a vision, yeah a vision to the toilet boil maybe, after he's taken a dump. Honestly, what passes for a good movie these days is mind boggling. After watching this movie, my baseball movie to me is infinitely more entertaining than the crappy movie I just watched.
Tuesday, July 23, 2002
I finished half the outline for the second draft of my screenplay. It's turning out quite different from the first one and I'm a little concerned because I really liked the original story. I'm telling myself I should just go with it because the new structure makes the story stronger, I think. I made my baseball player get into a fight in the locker room and I have him in a really strained relationship with this his wife. So basically my guy is a totally typical spoiled athlete on the last year of his career and going nowhere fast. I have to have him redeem himself somehow and I'm not sure how. The whole thing about fixing his swing is gone. Now he has to fix his whole life and I have less than 30 scenes for him to do it in.
I keep telling myself it's only an outline and once I start writing, I almost never follow my outline exactly. I don't know how my baseball player guy is going to redeem himself with his dad, his team and his wife. I guess I'll find out when I finish the outline. I think I'm going to have to have him fight with his brother and then maybe have a revelation that way. I don't know. The idea just flahsed in my head.
Once I get the outline done, I can start writing and the writing will go very quickly. It's getting the outline done first that's hard. I've been trying to correct things that people didn't like about the first draft and I think that's why my story has more conflict early on and less namby pamby stuff.
Still not sure how I feel about my original story changing, but my screenwriting teacher did say to start from scratch again on the second draft and that's what I'm doing, although I do refer to my previous outline.
Me and baseball, what a combo! I wouldn't have written about it except that I can't get this story out of my head and I hate when that happens. The story won't rest and I feel compelled to write it. Why baseball as a subject for my first screenplay is one of my life's biggest mysteries since it' s not like I'm even a big fan of the game. I mean I like going to watch baseball games, but I'm not a baseball fanatic. Shouldn't a movie screenplay about a cocky aging baseball player and his dying fathers be written by someone who's a real baseball fan?
I keep telling myself it's only an outline and once I start writing, I almost never follow my outline exactly. I don't know how my baseball player guy is going to redeem himself with his dad, his team and his wife. I guess I'll find out when I finish the outline. I think I'm going to have to have him fight with his brother and then maybe have a revelation that way. I don't know. The idea just flahsed in my head.
Once I get the outline done, I can start writing and the writing will go very quickly. It's getting the outline done first that's hard. I've been trying to correct things that people didn't like about the first draft and I think that's why my story has more conflict early on and less namby pamby stuff.
Still not sure how I feel about my original story changing, but my screenwriting teacher did say to start from scratch again on the second draft and that's what I'm doing, although I do refer to my previous outline.
Me and baseball, what a combo! I wouldn't have written about it except that I can't get this story out of my head and I hate when that happens. The story won't rest and I feel compelled to write it. Why baseball as a subject for my first screenplay is one of my life's biggest mysteries since it' s not like I'm even a big fan of the game. I mean I like going to watch baseball games, but I'm not a baseball fanatic. Shouldn't a movie screenplay about a cocky aging baseball player and his dying fathers be written by someone who's a real baseball fan?
More from the West Virginia trip journal.
Day 6
We made a trip to Beartown State Park, which is located on the eastern side of Droop Mountain. The park is named Beartown because the local residents claimed that many black bears used the cave like openings in the rocks as dens to sleep in during the winter. In the park, a path takes you along these massive boulders with deep crevasses. During the winter I was told when it snows, the boulders are buried in snow.
One sad note. When we got there, a car had been broken into by thief. The locals tell us this type of incident is rare. Perhaps the realities of our strange economic times are creeping into our vacation. West Virginia is one of the poorest states in the Union. The only state poorer is Mississippi.
Next, we headed off to Watoga Park for lunch. You can rent these cute cabins and stay in what looks like magnificent woods there. The lunch place is typical road stop fare, greasy and cheap.
On the way back through a town called Hillsboro, we stopped at a couple of shops. My friend's mom used to work in a clinic in town so she knows everybody. We even ended up going to some garage sale at the back of a general store in Hillsboro. That general store surprisingly is well stocked and carried some great tourist knickknacks, stuff that I ignored thinking I would see or buy them later on in the trip. Wrong! It's one of those vacation rules. If you see something you like, buy it, because chances are you'll either never find the place or again or never have the time to be at that particular shop again.
Day 7
Our hostess's boyfriend invited us all to lunch at his house along with my friend's mom and aunt. His mom, dad and daughter will also be there. The house used to belong to someone on his mother's side and is located in Renick. Another typical West Virginia feast. Think I already wrote about it earlier. The main attraction was a sugar cured ham that was so damned salty and good. There was also some great corn pone and beans and another fabulous cake made by our by baking hostess.
On the way home, we decided to stop at a couple of grocery stores, Foodland and Kroger's. I love going to grocery stores in the towns I visit on vacation. In the grocery store, you get a good feel for how people really live and how they eat. No big revelations here except I did see some turkey deep fryers for sales, that I was tempted to buy but didn't want the hassle of lugging the thing back to California. I wanted mineral water and I was hoping they had some. I was wrong. I guess West Virginians haven't discovered the joys of mineral water yet.
There was one thing in the grocery store that I was dying to take a picture but didn't want to be rude. They had the most awesome display of jello mix like nothing I've ever seen in California, or anywhere else for that matter. The display had all the different flavors and it took up alot of space on the shelf; from the top to the bottom. People must love their jello there and god forbid they ever run out of the stuff.
Day 8
We decided to make a shopping trip into Lewisburg. It's a small town and we thought we needed only two hours, but after two hours, we only covered half the town. We became enchanted with all the antique stores and probably spent way too much time in them. In one of the stores, I bought a 30's print of a mammy giving a little boy dressed up as an indian, a spanking. It seemed amusing somehow and I thought it would look great somewhere in my apartment. The tag said the print was from the 30's but who knows what period it originated from.
At 4 pm, we headed over to our hostess' friends house, which is located right next to The General Lewis Inn. This woman's grandfather started the West Virginia State Fair so the family is very well known. We drank fuzzy navels in the hot West Virginia afternoon sitting on her porch and staring at her squirrel. The animal is a pet of sorts and has adopted her and the house. Poor squirrel. Something happened to its tail and it was gone. We watched the squirrel take apart pistachios.
Then it was off to Monday night at the movies in Lewisburg. Like any small town, an event like the movie is just an excuse to see who's sleeping with who, who's not talking to who, etc. Not that any of it interests me, but my friend was genuinely interested in all the small town machinations. Besides, there was nothing else to do in town that night. We saw The Cat's Meow, Peter Bogdonavich's retellng about what happened on some yacht where someone was killed. I think the famous people portrayed were Marion Davies who was dating William Randolph Hearst at the time and Eddie Izzard as Charlie Chaplin was divinely inspired casting.
Day 9
We decided to go the local flea market to look for cheaper priced antiques. I was not disappointed. I found a cast iron mammy. The guy even sold it to me for a dollar cheaper than it was listed. I also bought a book for one dollar, some Oprah Book Club selection, a catcher's glove the seller said was from the 50's. I'm not sure if the baseball mitt was that old, but I liked the look of it and it kept haunting me to buy it. The seller was also very nice to me so I felt obligated to buy the mitt.
The only creepy thing I did notice was the amount of swastika inspired stuff being sold. Everything from pins to hats and engraved knives. Very, very creepy. Well I guess I know where to find those skinhead types now.
Next, we headed to a restaurant for lunch called Harvest. There I had my first crab cake sandwich. I'm not a big crab cake eater but I was persuaded to try the sandwich. It was so delicious and I briefly wondered how many calories I was actually taking in.
Next stop was the Greenbriar Resort, America's Resort, in White Sulfur Springs. I'd never heard of the place before but it's supposed to be famous. Before the Civil War, the Greenbriar was where the southern aristocracy came to avoid the southern heat. The Greenbriar museum proudly displays the only picture in existence of Robert E Lee and all of his generals.
The resort is self-contained with tennis courts, a golf course, activities for children and it's own fitness/spa center. The Greenbriar even has it own set of shops on the grounds. The hotel lobby and dining room have high ceilings and beautiful carpets and furniture are everywhere.
The place must have been quite a place at one time because you can take a train from Washington DC to The Greenbriar. How convenient!
I loved the place and would love to stay there. If I ever have to go through West Virginia again, I'm definitely staying at the Greenbriar. I love the idea of a self-contained resort. It reminds me of Club Med and I always had fun at Club Med.
The Greenbriar serves free tea and cakes at 4 pm and we were there for the free munchies. My friend wanted to play backgammon and we found a table but an 11-12 year old boy is there. My friend manages to get rid of him and then we started vainly searching for backgammon pieces. The little boy comes back and says he has the dice. He seemed so eager to play, that I gave him my spot. I don't know how to play backgammon and I wasn't sure if I wanted to learn anything on my vacation. The game looks so boring to me somehow. I'm sure it's fun and I remember watching guys in college sitting around playing backgammon late at night, betting money and drinking gin and tonics.
The boy's mom and sister came over to talk to me as my friend and the little boy were so engrossed in the game. I found out that the little boy had 7 surgeries on the back on his brain to remove some growth. The kid did have some horseshoe type scar on the back of his head, but years of experience had taught me never ask about such things, unless you are prepared for the answers you will not want to hear. It was the little boy's wish to come to Greenbrir as a reward. I hope we made that poor little boy's day. The mom told me they weren't even sure at times that the kid was going to make it and he never cried or said he was afraid. The kid definitely had his act together.
When the boy's mom and I were talking, somehow the subject of 9/11 came up. It was interesting to hear her take on 9/11 since she was from Indiana. 9/11 affected so many people's lives, all the across the country I think, except of course here, in the hipper than the hippest city in the country, in the world maybe.
Day 10
My friend's aunt's birthday is on Sunday, so it was my friend and her sister decided to have a dinner party for her . Dinner was this exqusite tasting trout, which our hostess had been keeping in the freezer. We also had fresh white and yellow corn on the cob and a delicious three bean salad. And homemade wine too which was quite delicious once it was allowed to breathe or 20 minutes.
After dinner we watched Gone with the Wind since my hostess knew I 'd never seen the movie before. I was quite surprised how quickly the scenes ran and how fast paced the movie was considering it was written in the late 1930's. The visuals in the movie were stunning and it told quite a tale without a lot of dialogue and lots of action and images.
We drank moonshine that our hostess got from some local bootlegger guy who is now dead. Moonshine is weird because it’s clear like vodka and tastes like bourbon whiskey. Really bad whiskey too because the moonshine burnt my throat, my insides and my stomach. I never had a liquor do that before. I had moonshine in college but I don't ever remember it burning like that. Our hostess gave us moonshine shots the first night we were there, but maybe I was too tired to notice how the booze burnt my stomach.
I decide Ashley was a villain because he should have told Scarlett from the get go that he didn't love her and loved Melanie. But then Rhett was just as bad suggesting anything but marriage to a proper girl like Scarlett. Clark Gable was supposed to be a lot shorter than what he looks like in the movie, but you couldn't tell. And Gable had the best line of the movie when he said that the south would lose the war because it was arrogant to think that an aggrarian rural society like the south could take on the industrialized north, which was better supplied and better armed. 1 out of 4 southerners died in the Civil War and for what? For arrogance? To defend a way of life that was already changing anyway? I'm really still not sure. I think we will always live with the effects of the civil war, whether anybody understands it or not.
Day 6
We made a trip to Beartown State Park, which is located on the eastern side of Droop Mountain. The park is named Beartown because the local residents claimed that many black bears used the cave like openings in the rocks as dens to sleep in during the winter. In the park, a path takes you along these massive boulders with deep crevasses. During the winter I was told when it snows, the boulders are buried in snow.
One sad note. When we got there, a car had been broken into by thief. The locals tell us this type of incident is rare. Perhaps the realities of our strange economic times are creeping into our vacation. West Virginia is one of the poorest states in the Union. The only state poorer is Mississippi.
Next, we headed off to Watoga Park for lunch. You can rent these cute cabins and stay in what looks like magnificent woods there. The lunch place is typical road stop fare, greasy and cheap.
On the way back through a town called Hillsboro, we stopped at a couple of shops. My friend's mom used to work in a clinic in town so she knows everybody. We even ended up going to some garage sale at the back of a general store in Hillsboro. That general store surprisingly is well stocked and carried some great tourist knickknacks, stuff that I ignored thinking I would see or buy them later on in the trip. Wrong! It's one of those vacation rules. If you see something you like, buy it, because chances are you'll either never find the place or again or never have the time to be at that particular shop again.
Day 7
Our hostess's boyfriend invited us all to lunch at his house along with my friend's mom and aunt. His mom, dad and daughter will also be there. The house used to belong to someone on his mother's side and is located in Renick. Another typical West Virginia feast. Think I already wrote about it earlier. The main attraction was a sugar cured ham that was so damned salty and good. There was also some great corn pone and beans and another fabulous cake made by our by baking hostess.
On the way home, we decided to stop at a couple of grocery stores, Foodland and Kroger's. I love going to grocery stores in the towns I visit on vacation. In the grocery store, you get a good feel for how people really live and how they eat. No big revelations here except I did see some turkey deep fryers for sales, that I was tempted to buy but didn't want the hassle of lugging the thing back to California. I wanted mineral water and I was hoping they had some. I was wrong. I guess West Virginians haven't discovered the joys of mineral water yet.
There was one thing in the grocery store that I was dying to take a picture but didn't want to be rude. They had the most awesome display of jello mix like nothing I've ever seen in California, or anywhere else for that matter. The display had all the different flavors and it took up alot of space on the shelf; from the top to the bottom. People must love their jello there and god forbid they ever run out of the stuff.
Day 8
We decided to make a shopping trip into Lewisburg. It's a small town and we thought we needed only two hours, but after two hours, we only covered half the town. We became enchanted with all the antique stores and probably spent way too much time in them. In one of the stores, I bought a 30's print of a mammy giving a little boy dressed up as an indian, a spanking. It seemed amusing somehow and I thought it would look great somewhere in my apartment. The tag said the print was from the 30's but who knows what period it originated from.
At 4 pm, we headed over to our hostess' friends house, which is located right next to The General Lewis Inn. This woman's grandfather started the West Virginia State Fair so the family is very well known. We drank fuzzy navels in the hot West Virginia afternoon sitting on her porch and staring at her squirrel. The animal is a pet of sorts and has adopted her and the house. Poor squirrel. Something happened to its tail and it was gone. We watched the squirrel take apart pistachios.
Then it was off to Monday night at the movies in Lewisburg. Like any small town, an event like the movie is just an excuse to see who's sleeping with who, who's not talking to who, etc. Not that any of it interests me, but my friend was genuinely interested in all the small town machinations. Besides, there was nothing else to do in town that night. We saw The Cat's Meow, Peter Bogdonavich's retellng about what happened on some yacht where someone was killed. I think the famous people portrayed were Marion Davies who was dating William Randolph Hearst at the time and Eddie Izzard as Charlie Chaplin was divinely inspired casting.
Day 9
We decided to go the local flea market to look for cheaper priced antiques. I was not disappointed. I found a cast iron mammy. The guy even sold it to me for a dollar cheaper than it was listed. I also bought a book for one dollar, some Oprah Book Club selection, a catcher's glove the seller said was from the 50's. I'm not sure if the baseball mitt was that old, but I liked the look of it and it kept haunting me to buy it. The seller was also very nice to me so I felt obligated to buy the mitt.
The only creepy thing I did notice was the amount of swastika inspired stuff being sold. Everything from pins to hats and engraved knives. Very, very creepy. Well I guess I know where to find those skinhead types now.
Next, we headed to a restaurant for lunch called Harvest. There I had my first crab cake sandwich. I'm not a big crab cake eater but I was persuaded to try the sandwich. It was so delicious and I briefly wondered how many calories I was actually taking in.
Next stop was the Greenbriar Resort, America's Resort, in White Sulfur Springs. I'd never heard of the place before but it's supposed to be famous. Before the Civil War, the Greenbriar was where the southern aristocracy came to avoid the southern heat. The Greenbriar museum proudly displays the only picture in existence of Robert E Lee and all of his generals.
The resort is self-contained with tennis courts, a golf course, activities for children and it's own fitness/spa center. The Greenbriar even has it own set of shops on the grounds. The hotel lobby and dining room have high ceilings and beautiful carpets and furniture are everywhere.
The place must have been quite a place at one time because you can take a train from Washington DC to The Greenbriar. How convenient!
I loved the place and would love to stay there. If I ever have to go through West Virginia again, I'm definitely staying at the Greenbriar. I love the idea of a self-contained resort. It reminds me of Club Med and I always had fun at Club Med.
The Greenbriar serves free tea and cakes at 4 pm and we were there for the free munchies. My friend wanted to play backgammon and we found a table but an 11-12 year old boy is there. My friend manages to get rid of him and then we started vainly searching for backgammon pieces. The little boy comes back and says he has the dice. He seemed so eager to play, that I gave him my spot. I don't know how to play backgammon and I wasn't sure if I wanted to learn anything on my vacation. The game looks so boring to me somehow. I'm sure it's fun and I remember watching guys in college sitting around playing backgammon late at night, betting money and drinking gin and tonics.
The boy's mom and sister came over to talk to me as my friend and the little boy were so engrossed in the game. I found out that the little boy had 7 surgeries on the back on his brain to remove some growth. The kid did have some horseshoe type scar on the back of his head, but years of experience had taught me never ask about such things, unless you are prepared for the answers you will not want to hear. It was the little boy's wish to come to Greenbrir as a reward. I hope we made that poor little boy's day. The mom told me they weren't even sure at times that the kid was going to make it and he never cried or said he was afraid. The kid definitely had his act together.
When the boy's mom and I were talking, somehow the subject of 9/11 came up. It was interesting to hear her take on 9/11 since she was from Indiana. 9/11 affected so many people's lives, all the across the country I think, except of course here, in the hipper than the hippest city in the country, in the world maybe.
Day 10
My friend's aunt's birthday is on Sunday, so it was my friend and her sister decided to have a dinner party for her . Dinner was this exqusite tasting trout, which our hostess had been keeping in the freezer. We also had fresh white and yellow corn on the cob and a delicious three bean salad. And homemade wine too which was quite delicious once it was allowed to breathe or 20 minutes.
After dinner we watched Gone with the Wind since my hostess knew I 'd never seen the movie before. I was quite surprised how quickly the scenes ran and how fast paced the movie was considering it was written in the late 1930's. The visuals in the movie were stunning and it told quite a tale without a lot of dialogue and lots of action and images.
We drank moonshine that our hostess got from some local bootlegger guy who is now dead. Moonshine is weird because it’s clear like vodka and tastes like bourbon whiskey. Really bad whiskey too because the moonshine burnt my throat, my insides and my stomach. I never had a liquor do that before. I had moonshine in college but I don't ever remember it burning like that. Our hostess gave us moonshine shots the first night we were there, but maybe I was too tired to notice how the booze burnt my stomach.
I decide Ashley was a villain because he should have told Scarlett from the get go that he didn't love her and loved Melanie. But then Rhett was just as bad suggesting anything but marriage to a proper girl like Scarlett. Clark Gable was supposed to be a lot shorter than what he looks like in the movie, but you couldn't tell. And Gable had the best line of the movie when he said that the south would lose the war because it was arrogant to think that an aggrarian rural society like the south could take on the industrialized north, which was better supplied and better armed. 1 out of 4 southerners died in the Civil War and for what? For arrogance? To defend a way of life that was already changing anyway? I'm really still not sure. I think we will always live with the effects of the civil war, whether anybody understands it or not.
Monday, July 22, 2002
Wow, my blogs are back. YEAH!!! And I changed them a little bit because everything was starting to look so crowded. I'm sort of tempted to change the colours too, but that may take awhile.
Now that I've joined Blogger pro, I have spell check again which is so very nice, since it's obvious I'm not the best speller.
My spring crush still haunts me. Just when I thought I had gotten over that boy, I start daydreaming about us being together one day. My friend Francois, who was born in Paris and who read tarot cards but only the major arcana, since my crush boy is too wild for me. He's a fire sign and he does whip me up. But my rising sign is pisces, which is water, and water puts out the fire, so on some level, I don't think we're that compatible. Anyway, Francois said there is a third and better choice coming and that I should wait and that his reading was good for three months. I hope so.
Much as I think I adore my marina hottie boy, he's the type of guy that needs alot of maintenance and lots of care or he'll stray. It's kind of like high level babysitting. I heard him say he's not that needy, which may be true, but that doesn't mean he's not high maintenance, meaning that when he's in the room he's going to demand your attention and if he doesn't get it, he'll either pout, punish you or he's the type, he'll seek attention somewhere else. Talk about a stressful relationship.
I think I need someone who's not so wild and not so high maintenance. You know, easy going, but not a tshirt and jean wearing stinky, sensitive new age type of guy. SNAGs drive me insane. I would rather date a card carrying republican than a Sensitive New Age Guy, any day, and I consider myself totally one of those new agey woo woo type liberal girls. SNAGs, the ones I've seen seem so unclean, so skanky looking, like mangy dogs. And their hair, it's either way too long or greasy and uncombed. And their bodies! Hello! We live in California. SNAGs look like they've never been in the sun or played any kind of sport. And they are bony and way too thin. It's like touching or sleeping with breastless, hairy girl. And their skin! Most of them look so toxic and pimply, even the vegeterian ones. YIKES!!! And their "sensitivity" makes me ill. SNAGs, in my experience have never made good bed partners. Lots of chick dig them, but not me. I think SNAGs are regular guys in disguise who are pretending to be SNAGs because women do tend to like SNAGs, especially the one who've had bad experiences with jock types.
At least marina hottie boy was clean, well dressed except for that jeans and short sleeve shirt complete with hippie mojo necklace combo, he wore to class one night. I'm not still not sure what he meant by wearing that odd ensemble. I'm not sure what his politics were, but at least he was a jock, so he didn't act so clingy and sensitive. And he had a great body too which is an added plus, and for a guy, good hair and great haircut and skin. And he looked healthy, what a concept! And well he does yoga, so how could I not fall in love?
The only thing about SNAGs that I like is that they then tend to be huggie types, which is great if the guy is actually sort of attractive and healthy looking.
I don't mind SNAGs, I just want a cleaner version and a more jock type who's less sensitive and who watches sports on TV or in person. Most SNAGs are so not into sports, probably because most of them were nerds and got tortured by the jocks in high school.
Francois said three months and he's never wrong. He did say it could happen right away, but the prediction is good for three months. God, I'm hoping and praying. I love being in love.
Now that I've joined Blogger pro, I have spell check again which is so very nice, since it's obvious I'm not the best speller.
My spring crush still haunts me. Just when I thought I had gotten over that boy, I start daydreaming about us being together one day. My friend Francois, who was born in Paris and who read tarot cards but only the major arcana, since my crush boy is too wild for me. He's a fire sign and he does whip me up. But my rising sign is pisces, which is water, and water puts out the fire, so on some level, I don't think we're that compatible. Anyway, Francois said there is a third and better choice coming and that I should wait and that his reading was good for three months. I hope so.
Much as I think I adore my marina hottie boy, he's the type of guy that needs alot of maintenance and lots of care or he'll stray. It's kind of like high level babysitting. I heard him say he's not that needy, which may be true, but that doesn't mean he's not high maintenance, meaning that when he's in the room he's going to demand your attention and if he doesn't get it, he'll either pout, punish you or he's the type, he'll seek attention somewhere else. Talk about a stressful relationship.
I think I need someone who's not so wild and not so high maintenance. You know, easy going, but not a tshirt and jean wearing stinky, sensitive new age type of guy. SNAGs drive me insane. I would rather date a card carrying republican than a Sensitive New Age Guy, any day, and I consider myself totally one of those new agey woo woo type liberal girls. SNAGs, the ones I've seen seem so unclean, so skanky looking, like mangy dogs. And their hair, it's either way too long or greasy and uncombed. And their bodies! Hello! We live in California. SNAGs look like they've never been in the sun or played any kind of sport. And they are bony and way too thin. It's like touching or sleeping with breastless, hairy girl. And their skin! Most of them look so toxic and pimply, even the vegeterian ones. YIKES!!! And their "sensitivity" makes me ill. SNAGs, in my experience have never made good bed partners. Lots of chick dig them, but not me. I think SNAGs are regular guys in disguise who are pretending to be SNAGs because women do tend to like SNAGs, especially the one who've had bad experiences with jock types.
At least marina hottie boy was clean, well dressed except for that jeans and short sleeve shirt complete with hippie mojo necklace combo, he wore to class one night. I'm not still not sure what he meant by wearing that odd ensemble. I'm not sure what his politics were, but at least he was a jock, so he didn't act so clingy and sensitive. And he had a great body too which is an added plus, and for a guy, good hair and great haircut and skin. And he looked healthy, what a concept! And well he does yoga, so how could I not fall in love?
The only thing about SNAGs that I like is that they then tend to be huggie types, which is great if the guy is actually sort of attractive and healthy looking.
I don't mind SNAGs, I just want a cleaner version and a more jock type who's less sensitive and who watches sports on TV or in person. Most SNAGs are so not into sports, probably because most of them were nerds and got tortured by the jocks in high school.
Francois said three months and he's never wrong. He did say it could happen right away, but the prediction is good for three months. God, I'm hoping and praying. I love being in love.
I saw a Chevrolet Tracker on the road today. That's the car we rented in West Virginia. It's such a gutless car! My little VW Golf could smoke that car on the freeway. It's sad too because we thought it would like the Toyota Rav4, but it had no power. Poor little car!
The stock market dive is scaring me, but I'm not the only one. My 401K is in stock, but I moved my IRA to a money market before the market dropped so I'm not losing any money. And my 401K is small enough where it really doesn't matter that I'm losing money right now. Besides it keeps buying stock at these now reduced, but not yet bargain basement prices, so when the market goes up, I'll be okay. And I do believe it will go up, I just don't know when.
And here’s a laugh,Berserkeley is offering a class on how to blog.
This is my experiment into linking. What a process! Still not sure why there's an extra space above, but at least it stopped underlining itself. I wonder what will happen when the Chron link disappears. We'll see.
The stock market dive is scaring me, but I'm not the only one. My 401K is in stock, but I moved my IRA to a money market before the market dropped so I'm not losing any money. And my 401K is small enough where it really doesn't matter that I'm losing money right now. Besides it keeps buying stock at these now reduced, but not yet bargain basement prices, so when the market goes up, I'll be okay. And I do believe it will go up, I just don't know when.
And here’s a laugh,Berserkeley is offering a class on how to blog.
This is my experiment into linking. What a process! Still not sure why there's an extra space above, but at least it stopped underlining itself. I wonder what will happen when the Chron link disappears. We'll see.
Sunday, July 21, 2002
I'm sitting here waiting listening to one of my favorite jazz tunes, My Favorites Things by John Coltrane and wondering what happened to that autiobio essay I started on the paper table cloth at that fancy restaurant in Carmel in 2000. Carmel used to be an artisit colony and the restaurants put paper table clothes on the tables so the artists could sketch or write as they ate. So I obliged and started writing a piece called "A Life Lived Through Jazz", which was about having the most important moments of my life magically explained while I was listening some jazz record.
There is something so wicked, so cityish, so sinful, so delightful about listening to jazz for me. I think of streets I walked at night in Manhattan, DC and San Francisco where I heard some guy on a street corner wailing away on his saxaphone, the sound eerily echoing through the scrscraper caverns. Or the time we cleared out a college party by playing John Coltrane's A Love Supreme. Or sitting in countless bubble baths with glass of wine or champagne in hand and listening to jazz music on the radio. Or that senior I slept with occassionally in college, when I was a freshman, with the huge jazz record collection. He would ply me with ouzo, carefully select a jazz record to play, and then we would have sex. Afterwards, I would watch him meticulously clean the record in his birthday suit. He would then carefully choose another one and come back to bed, not to make love, but just to hold me. I would lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart beat in tune to whatever record he was playing. An interesting way to get a jazz education, I suppose. I think I was attracted more to his record collection than to him. He lived right down the hall, drove a Mercedes, supplied free drink and demanded nothing of me until I showed up at his door in the wee hours of the morning; he was the perfectly convenient college lover. And when I did show up at his door in my sleep attire, which I seem remember was just a tshirt, all I had to do was smile and listen to him talk about jazz music and his beloved collection. But what man wouldn't want a willing 18 year old to show up at his door wearing nothing but a tshirt and panties? And always so agreeable and pleasant too!
There used to be a radio station devoted completely to jazz, called KJAZ (what else), when I first moved to San Francisco. That station has long since gone and now I listen to classical music while I bathe.
I've trying to slog my way through John Henry Days. It's a good book but the reading is slow. I wanted to finish it in West Virginia since we were actually going to go John Henry Days, but I got sidelined by Confederated in the Attic. I love that book. It was so much more easier to read than this John Henry book. I don't know if Confederates is so good because it was written by a former war correspondent who is used to writing for the media and well versed in the art of keeping the reader with a limited attention span interested or if it's good because it's a non fiction book and sometimes, true life is better reading than fiction.
I want to finish John Henry Days only because I hate starting a book and not finishing it. There's something very bad for me about starting a book and not finishing it. It's kind of rude, since the author spent time on his creation and it's a dishonour for the reader not to finish it. I'm the same way with movies, even bad ones. I have to watch it to the end, just in case the film gets it together and redeems itself.
So I'm playing my favorite jazz tunes to get me through, but even that's not working. I sat in a different chair to take a break and I fell asleep and woke up to Take the A Train. And now I'm getting de ja vu, like I've written a whole thing abuot jazz on my blog before. Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter. It just shows that jazz music does permeate my thoughts alot or just that I play jazz music from time to time. What's the difference?
There is something so wicked, so cityish, so sinful, so delightful about listening to jazz for me. I think of streets I walked at night in Manhattan, DC and San Francisco where I heard some guy on a street corner wailing away on his saxaphone, the sound eerily echoing through the scrscraper caverns. Or the time we cleared out a college party by playing John Coltrane's A Love Supreme. Or sitting in countless bubble baths with glass of wine or champagne in hand and listening to jazz music on the radio. Or that senior I slept with occassionally in college, when I was a freshman, with the huge jazz record collection. He would ply me with ouzo, carefully select a jazz record to play, and then we would have sex. Afterwards, I would watch him meticulously clean the record in his birthday suit. He would then carefully choose another one and come back to bed, not to make love, but just to hold me. I would lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart beat in tune to whatever record he was playing. An interesting way to get a jazz education, I suppose. I think I was attracted more to his record collection than to him. He lived right down the hall, drove a Mercedes, supplied free drink and demanded nothing of me until I showed up at his door in the wee hours of the morning; he was the perfectly convenient college lover. And when I did show up at his door in my sleep attire, which I seem remember was just a tshirt, all I had to do was smile and listen to him talk about jazz music and his beloved collection. But what man wouldn't want a willing 18 year old to show up at his door wearing nothing but a tshirt and panties? And always so agreeable and pleasant too!
There used to be a radio station devoted completely to jazz, called KJAZ (what else), when I first moved to San Francisco. That station has long since gone and now I listen to classical music while I bathe.
I've trying to slog my way through John Henry Days. It's a good book but the reading is slow. I wanted to finish it in West Virginia since we were actually going to go John Henry Days, but I got sidelined by Confederated in the Attic. I love that book. It was so much more easier to read than this John Henry book. I don't know if Confederates is so good because it was written by a former war correspondent who is used to writing for the media and well versed in the art of keeping the reader with a limited attention span interested or if it's good because it's a non fiction book and sometimes, true life is better reading than fiction.
I want to finish John Henry Days only because I hate starting a book and not finishing it. There's something very bad for me about starting a book and not finishing it. It's kind of rude, since the author spent time on his creation and it's a dishonour for the reader not to finish it. I'm the same way with movies, even bad ones. I have to watch it to the end, just in case the film gets it together and redeems itself.
So I'm playing my favorite jazz tunes to get me through, but even that's not working. I sat in a different chair to take a break and I fell asleep and woke up to Take the A Train. And now I'm getting de ja vu, like I've written a whole thing abuot jazz on my blog before. Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter. It just shows that jazz music does permeate my thoughts alot or just that I play jazz music from time to time. What's the difference?
Thursday, July 18, 2002
On the way to screenwriting group on Tuesday, I twisted my right ankle. I was wearing my oh so comfy dankso clogs and mindlessly walking down the sidewalk to my car, fantasizing about something or other, when I felt my ankle buckle and then sharp pains shooting through my ankle. I do this all the time, so I didn't think anything of it. I even did a 45 minute workout later that night in guilt for eating like a pig vacation.
On Wednesday while getting out of the shower, I look down at my right ankle and I notice it's a little swollen but still I shrug it off, thinking the swelling will go down during the day. I even went on my usual two mile walk at work during my morning and afternoon breaks.
On Wednesday night I'm at my chiropractor and he starts freaking out because my ankle is really swollen and he tells me I need to ice it. He keeps asking me if it hurts and I say no, it only hurts when I bend it or stretch forward. Still, he freaks out some more and begs me to ice my ankle.
I spent the rest of the night watching my Ken Burns' Jazz series which I taped last year with my ankle elevated and an ice pack on it. Still no pain.
Not today. Today my right ankle is killing me so I have a brace on it that I remembered I had. My left leg and knee are now also hurting because I'm walking funny and not putting that much weight on my right leg, so my left leg is taking all my weight and it's protesting in a serious way.
I can't believe this! I've never had my ankle swell like this before. So weird. I feel old and like a total invalid. Is this what I'll have to look forward to when I grow old? If it is, I'm definitely going to find a way to die before my god gets totally messed up.
Then this morning, I had a dream about Nazis. I don't think I've had a dream about Nazis since high school and college, when I was into my Holocaust phase. In my previous dreams, I was always running from the Nazis and they were always chasing me. They never caught me though and in some of the dreams, I even joined the resistance.
In this new dream, I'm in some kind of prison or concentration camp and we're putting on some kind of play or circus for the prisoners and the Nazis are watching, but it's really just a front for some big escape we're planning. How strange to have a Nazi dream after all these years and to be caught and in a prison camp? I wonder if this means something. At least I was trying to escape and I looked pretty healthy.
Maybe I had this dream because I finally watched that italian movie "A Beautiful Life" a few weeks ago. I had no idea it was about a Nazi concentration camp. Or maybe it's all those years of watching Hogan's Heroes as a child coming back to haunt me. I'm not sure.
So today I'm not walking and I'm bummed, so I'm eating my new comfort food, lentils and rice and tabouleh. I love this dish and it's part of new kosher levitical diet so I can eat as much of it as I want.
I'm bored at work today. I'm supposed to be working on some project that's due next week, but it's very hard to do and I don't feel like doing it. Instead, I'm surfing the net trying to find a video store that carries Ken Burns' Civil War and Baseball series.
A friend of mind recommended I read "Confederates in the Attic" while I was on vacation in West Virginia and I did and I loved it. The book made me want to watch Ken Burns' Civil War series. I think I am slowly getting into a civil war kick. I even bought a civial war book at a library book sale in West Viriginia. The name of the book is "A Stillness at Appomattox" by Bruce Catton. I definitely want to read all of Shelby Foote's books too. In fact, I want to read all the Civil War books, the good ones at least.
I've been thinking I will use the Confederacy as a model for my Elf Kingdom series . The Confederacy was basically a rural/aggrarian region making war with the industrialized north. Unlike the confederacy, the Elf Kingdom people were enslaved after they lost the war and I can use the black slave stories of the south as a model for the elf people enslavement. I'll use my knowledge of Holocaust history too, so I'll probably combine both the black slave south stories with the jewish concentration camp stories and come up with a totally new enslavement story for my elf people. I have a feeling that enslavement of human beings by other human beings is the same, no mattter what the time and culture.
In Confederates in the Attic, Shelby Foote said something like the worst thing, the tragedy of the civil war was the North freeing the black slaves. The idea of freeing the black slaves was a grand one and a right idea, but then the north didn't have a plan for what to do with black slaves and left them on their own. We're still suffering the effects of this failure. This point was reinforced in the first episode of Ken Burns' Jazz series. The narrator of episode 1 said that after reconstruction, the northern republicans and the southern democrats made a deal and out of that deal came Jim Crow laws and segregation. The narrator then went on to say that segragation would rule the south for the next 50 years and with segregation came regular lynchings of black people and the emergence of the Klu Klux Klan.
This fact made me sad, very sad. It made me think that the Civil War was all for nothing. So many people died in that war. In the north 1 out of 10 northern soldiers died in the Civil War. But for the south, the death toll was worse. 1 out of every 4 southern men died during the civil war. And all for nothing because about 20 years later, Jim Crow laws took slavery's place.
Interestingly enough the deal was brokered by Northern republicans since Lincoln was a republican too. Didn't that movie "Oh Brother Where Art Thou?" make a point about the betrayal of the south by the southern democrats?
And when the Jim Crow laws were finally dismantled in the south and integration took place, the public school system went from okay to really, really bad. History is very complicated isn't it? When you do one good thing, along comes another bad thing that is sometimes even worse.
On Wednesday while getting out of the shower, I look down at my right ankle and I notice it's a little swollen but still I shrug it off, thinking the swelling will go down during the day. I even went on my usual two mile walk at work during my morning and afternoon breaks.
On Wednesday night I'm at my chiropractor and he starts freaking out because my ankle is really swollen and he tells me I need to ice it. He keeps asking me if it hurts and I say no, it only hurts when I bend it or stretch forward. Still, he freaks out some more and begs me to ice my ankle.
I spent the rest of the night watching my Ken Burns' Jazz series which I taped last year with my ankle elevated and an ice pack on it. Still no pain.
Not today. Today my right ankle is killing me so I have a brace on it that I remembered I had. My left leg and knee are now also hurting because I'm walking funny and not putting that much weight on my right leg, so my left leg is taking all my weight and it's protesting in a serious way.
I can't believe this! I've never had my ankle swell like this before. So weird. I feel old and like a total invalid. Is this what I'll have to look forward to when I grow old? If it is, I'm definitely going to find a way to die before my god gets totally messed up.
Then this morning, I had a dream about Nazis. I don't think I've had a dream about Nazis since high school and college, when I was into my Holocaust phase. In my previous dreams, I was always running from the Nazis and they were always chasing me. They never caught me though and in some of the dreams, I even joined the resistance.
In this new dream, I'm in some kind of prison or concentration camp and we're putting on some kind of play or circus for the prisoners and the Nazis are watching, but it's really just a front for some big escape we're planning. How strange to have a Nazi dream after all these years and to be caught and in a prison camp? I wonder if this means something. At least I was trying to escape and I looked pretty healthy.
Maybe I had this dream because I finally watched that italian movie "A Beautiful Life" a few weeks ago. I had no idea it was about a Nazi concentration camp. Or maybe it's all those years of watching Hogan's Heroes as a child coming back to haunt me. I'm not sure.
So today I'm not walking and I'm bummed, so I'm eating my new comfort food, lentils and rice and tabouleh. I love this dish and it's part of new kosher levitical diet so I can eat as much of it as I want.
I'm bored at work today. I'm supposed to be working on some project that's due next week, but it's very hard to do and I don't feel like doing it. Instead, I'm surfing the net trying to find a video store that carries Ken Burns' Civil War and Baseball series.
A friend of mind recommended I read "Confederates in the Attic" while I was on vacation in West Virginia and I did and I loved it. The book made me want to watch Ken Burns' Civil War series. I think I am slowly getting into a civil war kick. I even bought a civial war book at a library book sale in West Viriginia. The name of the book is "A Stillness at Appomattox" by Bruce Catton. I definitely want to read all of Shelby Foote's books too. In fact, I want to read all the Civil War books, the good ones at least.
I've been thinking I will use the Confederacy as a model for my Elf Kingdom series . The Confederacy was basically a rural/aggrarian region making war with the industrialized north. Unlike the confederacy, the Elf Kingdom people were enslaved after they lost the war and I can use the black slave stories of the south as a model for the elf people enslavement. I'll use my knowledge of Holocaust history too, so I'll probably combine both the black slave south stories with the jewish concentration camp stories and come up with a totally new enslavement story for my elf people. I have a feeling that enslavement of human beings by other human beings is the same, no mattter what the time and culture.
In Confederates in the Attic, Shelby Foote said something like the worst thing, the tragedy of the civil war was the North freeing the black slaves. The idea of freeing the black slaves was a grand one and a right idea, but then the north didn't have a plan for what to do with black slaves and left them on their own. We're still suffering the effects of this failure. This point was reinforced in the first episode of Ken Burns' Jazz series. The narrator of episode 1 said that after reconstruction, the northern republicans and the southern democrats made a deal and out of that deal came Jim Crow laws and segregation. The narrator then went on to say that segragation would rule the south for the next 50 years and with segregation came regular lynchings of black people and the emergence of the Klu Klux Klan.
This fact made me sad, very sad. It made me think that the Civil War was all for nothing. So many people died in that war. In the north 1 out of 10 northern soldiers died in the Civil War. But for the south, the death toll was worse. 1 out of every 4 southern men died during the civil war. And all for nothing because about 20 years later, Jim Crow laws took slavery's place.
Interestingly enough the deal was brokered by Northern republicans since Lincoln was a republican too. Didn't that movie "Oh Brother Where Art Thou?" make a point about the betrayal of the south by the southern democrats?
And when the Jim Crow laws were finally dismantled in the south and integration took place, the public school system went from okay to really, really bad. History is very complicated isn't it? When you do one good thing, along comes another bad thing that is sometimes even worse.
Wednesday, July 17, 2002
I'm probably the only woman in America who doesn't like "Sex in the City". I don't have cable premium channels so I don't watch it, and from what I've seen of it, I didn't like it. It's boring! Why would I want to watch skinny women dressed in what looks like very ugly clothes and shoes and their totally boring lives?
Honestly, I tried to watch it and I did try to relate to it, but I couldn't and I love clothes and fashion and have been a serious Vogue reader since I was 13 years old. I think their clothes are pretty trashy and those shoes! Do they have jobs? I wouldn't be taken seriously in any fortune 500 company meeting worth their salt if I walked in wearing shoes like that.
But maybe that's the difference. I actually work for a living and spent time climbing the corporate ladder where I competed with men and sometimes other women for position and power. If I behaved at all or dressed like any of the girls in Sex and the City, I wouldn't be sitting in my cushy office right now in my cushy office job.
I guess people like watching fantasy shows, but isn't that what soap operas are for? And didn't people get enough of wanting to watch fantasy shows with old shows like Dallas, Falcon Crest and Dynasty?
The pink section on Sunday had all these articles on the Sex and the City girls. BORING! This is one cultural phenomenon I'm glad I'm missing and I don't think I'm alone.
Honestly, I tried to watch it and I did try to relate to it, but I couldn't and I love clothes and fashion and have been a serious Vogue reader since I was 13 years old. I think their clothes are pretty trashy and those shoes! Do they have jobs? I wouldn't be taken seriously in any fortune 500 company meeting worth their salt if I walked in wearing shoes like that.
But maybe that's the difference. I actually work for a living and spent time climbing the corporate ladder where I competed with men and sometimes other women for position and power. If I behaved at all or dressed like any of the girls in Sex and the City, I wouldn't be sitting in my cushy office right now in my cushy office job.
I guess people like watching fantasy shows, but isn't that what soap operas are for? And didn't people get enough of wanting to watch fantasy shows with old shows like Dallas, Falcon Crest and Dynasty?
The pink section on Sunday had all these articles on the Sex and the City girls. BORING! This is one cultural phenomenon I'm glad I'm missing and I don't think I'm alone.
Tuesday, July 16, 2002
I was listening to the radio on the way home from screenwriting group tonight and I heard this voice that sounded to me like Robert Smith from The Cure and so of course I fell in love with the guy's voice and song.
The name of the group is called Dashboard Confessional and the name of the song is called "Screaming Infidelities".
You gotta love a line like this one "Your hair, it's everywhere. Screaming infidelities And taking its wear." I was of course, singing along in my car.
The name of the group is called Dashboard Confessional and the name of the song is called "Screaming Infidelities".
You gotta love a line like this one "Your hair, it's everywhere. Screaming infidelities And taking its wear." I was of course, singing along in my car.
My journal entries from the first days of my West Virginia trip. The tenses are all off. This is what happens when you write late at night when you're on vacation. I'm too lazy to fix it. Besides it's a good exampe of why you should never try to write seriously while on vacation. Vacation is about having fun and relaxing and not writing. Unless of course, it's a working vacation, then well, that's different. Some of it may seem repetitive.
More Day 1 - July 1
We rented a mini suv instead of a compact car. Thought that a chevy tracker would somehow look better on country roads than a Hyundai. For $3 more a day, it seemed a good bargain. I was bummed that we had virginia license plates instead of west virginia ones. Didn't want the locals to think we were tourists.
The people at the rental car place call Charleston "Charley-West", we think to distinguish it from the other Charleston in the Carolinas.
Day 2
My friend and I take a walk to see horses on someone's farm. It's along the country roads. This is my first real view of West Virginia. The road is windy and the hills are rolling. We feed the horses grass. How bucolic!
My friend's aunt was flying into the Greenbriar Airport and we go to meet her. It's raining on the way there. One of those emergency alert services message comes on. Only it's not a test; it was real. My friend and I had never heard a real emergency alert service message before. The message said there was a thunderstorm approaching with heavy rain and hail and to not be afraid to pullover. The message said to be alert until 2:30. We don't know if it's for 2:30 pm or 2:30 am. The car clock said 2 pm. We both looked at each other both saying we'd never heard a real emergency alert service message before. My friend tells me that we needed to count the seconds between the thunder noises because the number of seconds will tell us how many miles away the storm was. We stop and count and it's 10 seconds, but we still aren't sure if the storm is heading our way and if we were driving into it. We see other cars driving in the direction of the airport, so we decide to move on. The emergency alert services message comes on every 5 minutes.
We get to the airport and the plane we are waiting for is delayed. Finally the plane lands and my friend's aunt is okay. She didn't know why her plane was circling. Guess they don't tell the passengers what's really going on.
Later than night, we go to a brass concert at Carnegie Hall in Lewisburg. The concert is supposed to be outdoors but because of the rain, it's moved indoors. It's the event of the evening in town and many townspeople show up. Afterwards, we head over to a small bar call the Hobnob. They tell us it's the hippest bar in town, in Lewisburg West Virginia that is. Four old white guys play jazz in the front. They tell us the literati of the town hang out there. The bar is full of locals and young kids. There is even a table full of women wearing hats like in The Divine YaYa Sisterhood book. There are about 30 people in the bar and they tell us it's a swinging night there.
Day 3
Another walk this time on my friend's sister's property. She lives in a holler. From the air, it looks like a wedge shaped strip of land in the forest. We see deer, possums and the beaver pond that the pesky beavers made when they tried to flood the farm out. There's a barn on the property full of hay and another one where the cows come to escape the heat. My friend's sister rents her land out to a farmer for his cows to graze. My friend thinks she sees a snake. She calls me over to look but I told her I didn't need to see a snake. We pick green apples to take to the horses. The horses love the small green apples.
Next, we drive to my friend's mother and stepdad's property which is beside Droop Mountain. They live up on the next mountain over. The farm is a 150 acre parcel of land. It's beautiful up there and they live in a two bedroom house that they built themselves. We walk around and talk and eat dinner. My friend and her family talk about old times. I think about the joy of my not so close dysfunctional family.
Day 4
It's the Fourth of July and we're invited to my friend's sister's boyfriend's cousins' house in another small town called Renick for a holiday lunch. He says he's obtained bikes for us so we can bike along the Greenbriar trail and then go swimming in the river. The Greenbriar trail is 76 miles. We bike about three miles and then swim in a muddy murky river. We see lightning on the ridge in front of us and we worry about the lightning hitting the water, so we head back.
At the picnic, we have home made bread and butter pickles which are divine and authentic west virginia barbecue pork. We also have two different kinds of potato salad and a baked bean dish. The meals is a very authentic West Virginia type of meal. Since I don't normally eat this kind of food, I eat way too much and ended up sitting in a chair on the lawn outside bloated from my gorging. Everyone else seems to have done the same, so I'm not embarrassed.
We hear the Shrub is in West Virginia that day giving a speech in some town called Ripley. We speculate that maybe he came here in case the terrorists bomb DC. There's a former bunker nearby. Maybe he wanted to be close to the bunker. The whole point of our trip was to be somewhere safe where the terrorists wouldn't dream of bombing and the Shrubmeister comes here. So much for planning.
To see fireworks we drive to the Greenbriar Resort. The local people park their cars along the road and invade the golf course. The Greenbriar resort security patrol is there so the riffraff like us don't get too close to the hotel. My friend and I settle on a spot, which turns out is directly in front of the fireworks launcher. We're also close enough to the hotel to hear the music they're playing and the sound of people clapping. The fireworks show, surprisingly, lasts half an hour. The Greenbriar must have lots of money. Some of the fireworks are like strobe lights and we're definitely too close because we have to shield our eyes. We're so close that we can see the dud fireworks that don't go off and crash to the ground instead. The local townspeople are there with their coolers and lawnchairs. Children run around the perfectly manicured golf course while the security patrol looks on.
Day 5
Rest day. Our hostess made us a typical West Virginia breakfast. I had cheesey corn grits for the first time. It tastes like cream of wheat only grainier. We also had the totally fatty bacon that people in San Francisco would never dare admit they eat and crave and homemade fresh out of the oven biscuits. Our hostess is known for her baked products. We sit around and laze in the West Virginia sunshine, since the storm has since disappeared.
Later, we go to a party in Lewisburg that our hostess is invited to. The party is at a country type mansion and it's obvious that the people there have alot of money, since there's a brand spanking new grand piano in one of the living rooms. The people pretty much look like they could live in California and are at some hot summer party out in the suburbs, that is until they open their mouth and speak to you. California we are definitely not in.
Since we have a 45 minute windy road drive back home, I decide not to drink. The drive normally makes me a little nauseous with all its twists and turns and I could see myself having to hurl my cookies if I drank too much. Besides the weather is very muggy now and it's just too hot to drink.
More Day 1 - July 1
We rented a mini suv instead of a compact car. Thought that a chevy tracker would somehow look better on country roads than a Hyundai. For $3 more a day, it seemed a good bargain. I was bummed that we had virginia license plates instead of west virginia ones. Didn't want the locals to think we were tourists.
The people at the rental car place call Charleston "Charley-West", we think to distinguish it from the other Charleston in the Carolinas.
Day 2
My friend and I take a walk to see horses on someone's farm. It's along the country roads. This is my first real view of West Virginia. The road is windy and the hills are rolling. We feed the horses grass. How bucolic!
My friend's aunt was flying into the Greenbriar Airport and we go to meet her. It's raining on the way there. One of those emergency alert services message comes on. Only it's not a test; it was real. My friend and I had never heard a real emergency alert service message before. The message said there was a thunderstorm approaching with heavy rain and hail and to not be afraid to pullover. The message said to be alert until 2:30. We don't know if it's for 2:30 pm or 2:30 am. The car clock said 2 pm. We both looked at each other both saying we'd never heard a real emergency alert service message before. My friend tells me that we needed to count the seconds between the thunder noises because the number of seconds will tell us how many miles away the storm was. We stop and count and it's 10 seconds, but we still aren't sure if the storm is heading our way and if we were driving into it. We see other cars driving in the direction of the airport, so we decide to move on. The emergency alert services message comes on every 5 minutes.
We get to the airport and the plane we are waiting for is delayed. Finally the plane lands and my friend's aunt is okay. She didn't know why her plane was circling. Guess they don't tell the passengers what's really going on.
Later than night, we go to a brass concert at Carnegie Hall in Lewisburg. The concert is supposed to be outdoors but because of the rain, it's moved indoors. It's the event of the evening in town and many townspeople show up. Afterwards, we head over to a small bar call the Hobnob. They tell us it's the hippest bar in town, in Lewisburg West Virginia that is. Four old white guys play jazz in the front. They tell us the literati of the town hang out there. The bar is full of locals and young kids. There is even a table full of women wearing hats like in The Divine YaYa Sisterhood book. There are about 30 people in the bar and they tell us it's a swinging night there.
Day 3
Another walk this time on my friend's sister's property. She lives in a holler. From the air, it looks like a wedge shaped strip of land in the forest. We see deer, possums and the beaver pond that the pesky beavers made when they tried to flood the farm out. There's a barn on the property full of hay and another one where the cows come to escape the heat. My friend's sister rents her land out to a farmer for his cows to graze. My friend thinks she sees a snake. She calls me over to look but I told her I didn't need to see a snake. We pick green apples to take to the horses. The horses love the small green apples.
Next, we drive to my friend's mother and stepdad's property which is beside Droop Mountain. They live up on the next mountain over. The farm is a 150 acre parcel of land. It's beautiful up there and they live in a two bedroom house that they built themselves. We walk around and talk and eat dinner. My friend and her family talk about old times. I think about the joy of my not so close dysfunctional family.
Day 4
It's the Fourth of July and we're invited to my friend's sister's boyfriend's cousins' house in another small town called Renick for a holiday lunch. He says he's obtained bikes for us so we can bike along the Greenbriar trail and then go swimming in the river. The Greenbriar trail is 76 miles. We bike about three miles and then swim in a muddy murky river. We see lightning on the ridge in front of us and we worry about the lightning hitting the water, so we head back.
At the picnic, we have home made bread and butter pickles which are divine and authentic west virginia barbecue pork. We also have two different kinds of potato salad and a baked bean dish. The meals is a very authentic West Virginia type of meal. Since I don't normally eat this kind of food, I eat way too much and ended up sitting in a chair on the lawn outside bloated from my gorging. Everyone else seems to have done the same, so I'm not embarrassed.
We hear the Shrub is in West Virginia that day giving a speech in some town called Ripley. We speculate that maybe he came here in case the terrorists bomb DC. There's a former bunker nearby. Maybe he wanted to be close to the bunker. The whole point of our trip was to be somewhere safe where the terrorists wouldn't dream of bombing and the Shrubmeister comes here. So much for planning.
To see fireworks we drive to the Greenbriar Resort. The local people park their cars along the road and invade the golf course. The Greenbriar resort security patrol is there so the riffraff like us don't get too close to the hotel. My friend and I settle on a spot, which turns out is directly in front of the fireworks launcher. We're also close enough to the hotel to hear the music they're playing and the sound of people clapping. The fireworks show, surprisingly, lasts half an hour. The Greenbriar must have lots of money. Some of the fireworks are like strobe lights and we're definitely too close because we have to shield our eyes. We're so close that we can see the dud fireworks that don't go off and crash to the ground instead. The local townspeople are there with their coolers and lawnchairs. Children run around the perfectly manicured golf course while the security patrol looks on.
Day 5
Rest day. Our hostess made us a typical West Virginia breakfast. I had cheesey corn grits for the first time. It tastes like cream of wheat only grainier. We also had the totally fatty bacon that people in San Francisco would never dare admit they eat and crave and homemade fresh out of the oven biscuits. Our hostess is known for her baked products. We sit around and laze in the West Virginia sunshine, since the storm has since disappeared.
Later, we go to a party in Lewisburg that our hostess is invited to. The party is at a country type mansion and it's obvious that the people there have alot of money, since there's a brand spanking new grand piano in one of the living rooms. The people pretty much look like they could live in California and are at some hot summer party out in the suburbs, that is until they open their mouth and speak to you. California we are definitely not in.
Since we have a 45 minute windy road drive back home, I decide not to drink. The drive normally makes me a little nauseous with all its twists and turns and I could see myself having to hurl my cookies if I drank too much. Besides the weather is very muggy now and it's just too hot to drink.
On my afternoon walk I started making a list of the crazy things I've been doing for love since February.
1) I started a collection of pinot noir wine because I found out it's hottie boy's favourite wine. Now that I am seriously out of love and don't drink that much wine anyway because my accupuncturist said I'm allergic to red wine, what am I supposed to do with all this wine. Pinot noir isn't cheap either.
2) I bought books by one of his favorite authors, Michael Chabon. This decision I don't regret.
3) I watched the movie "Wonderboys" because he said it's one of his favorite movies and totally hated it. Maybe the book will be better. This episode reminds of going to a restaurant on a friend's recommendation and hating it and then wondering the whole time while you're eating the bad tasting food, whether you need to contintue your friendship with someone who can't tell good food from bad.
4) I watched "The Legend of Bagger Vance" because we got into an argument about it and actually totally loved this movie and even got a wild thought in my head the hottie marina boy was really my Krishna, my guru in disguise. NOT!
5) I fantasized about all the fights we would have, because he's a bit of a slacker and a flirt, and I got right away that these traits of his would drive me off the deep end. I sympathized with his other aquarian girlfriend, the one who he says "ripped his heart out", thinking that if I were her, I'd probably boot his butt out of my life too.
6) I created a database on my palm pilot to track good wines, especially pinot noirs. Never mind that the only time I drink wine is when I'm at a party or at a restaurant and I never drink wine at home anymore ever. This is okay I think, because now I can refer to my list when I go shopping for wine presents.
7) Thinking I was so in love with someone without really getting to know them, just because well, they're as cute as heck! I mean, movie star cute, not rock star cute like the hottie man in the Witchblade episode, but totally movie star cute. Think Charlie Sheen with beautiful blue eyes. And he does yoga too! But I don't know him and somehow while I was in the mountains of West Virginia where people live simply and do things like falling in love for what seems like more practical reasons, like my hostess who is now dating a guy she's known for 20 years, being in major crush with a guy I barely know, did not seem like a good thing.
Maybe that's what vacations are for; to clear your mind of the junk and nonsense of your life. Anyway, screenwriting marina hottie boy was at the end, what I thought he was, a distraction to my writing. And I don't need his kind of distraction in my life right now. Not if it's not going to contribute to my writing career.
It's not that I don't count him out, and don't secretly fantasize that someday we'll get together, but I'm not worried about it now. Besides if I do really well in my writing and publish and have my Andy Warhol "five minutes of fame", who knows what beautiful men I might meet. I read somewhere that a good question to ask yourself about a guy is "if you could have anything you wanted in life, would you still want the guy?" It's not that I wouldn't want screenwriting marina hottie boy, it's just that I don't him well enough to make an informed choice. I don't think I can be very much in love if I'm not informed. It's a sad but true fact.
1) I started a collection of pinot noir wine because I found out it's hottie boy's favourite wine. Now that I am seriously out of love and don't drink that much wine anyway because my accupuncturist said I'm allergic to red wine, what am I supposed to do with all this wine. Pinot noir isn't cheap either.
2) I bought books by one of his favorite authors, Michael Chabon. This decision I don't regret.
3) I watched the movie "Wonderboys" because he said it's one of his favorite movies and totally hated it. Maybe the book will be better. This episode reminds of going to a restaurant on a friend's recommendation and hating it and then wondering the whole time while you're eating the bad tasting food, whether you need to contintue your friendship with someone who can't tell good food from bad.
4) I watched "The Legend of Bagger Vance" because we got into an argument about it and actually totally loved this movie and even got a wild thought in my head the hottie marina boy was really my Krishna, my guru in disguise. NOT!
5) I fantasized about all the fights we would have, because he's a bit of a slacker and a flirt, and I got right away that these traits of his would drive me off the deep end. I sympathized with his other aquarian girlfriend, the one who he says "ripped his heart out", thinking that if I were her, I'd probably boot his butt out of my life too.
6) I created a database on my palm pilot to track good wines, especially pinot noirs. Never mind that the only time I drink wine is when I'm at a party or at a restaurant and I never drink wine at home anymore ever. This is okay I think, because now I can refer to my list when I go shopping for wine presents.
7) Thinking I was so in love with someone without really getting to know them, just because well, they're as cute as heck! I mean, movie star cute, not rock star cute like the hottie man in the Witchblade episode, but totally movie star cute. Think Charlie Sheen with beautiful blue eyes. And he does yoga too! But I don't know him and somehow while I was in the mountains of West Virginia where people live simply and do things like falling in love for what seems like more practical reasons, like my hostess who is now dating a guy she's known for 20 years, being in major crush with a guy I barely know, did not seem like a good thing.
Maybe that's what vacations are for; to clear your mind of the junk and nonsense of your life. Anyway, screenwriting marina hottie boy was at the end, what I thought he was, a distraction to my writing. And I don't need his kind of distraction in my life right now. Not if it's not going to contribute to my writing career.
It's not that I don't count him out, and don't secretly fantasize that someday we'll get together, but I'm not worried about it now. Besides if I do really well in my writing and publish and have my Andy Warhol "five minutes of fame", who knows what beautiful men I might meet. I read somewhere that a good question to ask yourself about a guy is "if you could have anything you wanted in life, would you still want the guy?" It's not that I wouldn't want screenwriting marina hottie boy, it's just that I don't him well enough to make an informed choice. I don't think I can be very much in love if I'm not informed. It's a sad but true fact.
It's weird to be back at work after two weeks of vacation. The traffic on 19th Ave and South 280 was slow as usual. My office looked the same and when I asked the receptionist if anything had happened while I was away, she said "nothing important".
I didn't listen to my usual radio shows while on vacation, so it's kind of odd to hear Jim Rome ranting about something like he's doing now. Somehow The Jungle and vacation in West Virginia weren't very compatible. The house I was staying at was so far away that I couldn't get good radio reception anyway. And the time zone thing threw me off since the two national radio shows I listen to are West Coast based and instead of listening to them at my regular time, I had to wait three hours.
I did the usual office thing and distributed gifts to the few choice people in my office, the receptionist since my office is near that area and the only other person in my group. Thank god there's only two of us and I didn't have to worry about buying a whole bunch of stuff. Then there's the present for "the kitchen", which is usually food. You put the food in the kitchen and magically it disappears. Who eats is is unknown, but in any office news of food in the kitchen travels fast.
For my kitchen gift, I bought some fudge made in West Viriginia and since I didn't buy any for myself, I had to eat a piece. It was very good. Authentic too since I bought some homemade fudge at John Henry Days in Talcott, West Virginia on Saturday July 13.
I stepped on the scale this morning and I gained the four pounds I lost in June, so now I have to go back on my strict eating plan to get back to the weight I was when I left. I'm also doing alot of cleansing remedies since I did nothing but chow on pork in all its glorious forms in West Virginia. From fatty tasty bacon, to pork sausage, sugar cured ham, countless numbers of shredded barbeque pork sandwiches, pork everything actually. Our hostess is also a fabulous baker and so of course we sampled all her cakes, corn pone, biscuits, and her homemade truffles.
I was so off my new kosher/levital diet, but I rationalized it by telling myself I was on vacation and it's not like I eat food like this all the time, if hardly ever. I think I'm going off meat until August just to get the pork and pork fat out of my already clogged arteries.
I drank my usual lemonade cleansing drink yesterday and had the worst headache. It freaked me out. Did I really eat that many toxins while on vacation? But it's so much fun to eat like a pig on vacation! It's like a free pass into the world of food and I never stick to my strict eating plan while far away from home. It's way too hard! I'm not a food nazi either and I don't ever want to force my weird way of eating on anyone, except my next husband. I'm hoping I marry a food freak like myself so I don't feel so strange about my odd food habits or guilty either.
At least it's warm where my office is. Our last few days in West Virginia were drizzly and raining and quite cold. Where the usual summer vacation weather is, god only knows. It wasn't in West Virginia. There were quite a few very muggy days, but not as many as I was told I should have had. Oh well. I hate muggy hot weather anyway. Maybe I brought the cold foggy weather from SF with me.
A two week vacation is great. It's just weird to be back in one's normal life when it's over.
I didn't listen to my usual radio shows while on vacation, so it's kind of odd to hear Jim Rome ranting about something like he's doing now. Somehow The Jungle and vacation in West Virginia weren't very compatible. The house I was staying at was so far away that I couldn't get good radio reception anyway. And the time zone thing threw me off since the two national radio shows I listen to are West Coast based and instead of listening to them at my regular time, I had to wait three hours.
I did the usual office thing and distributed gifts to the few choice people in my office, the receptionist since my office is near that area and the only other person in my group. Thank god there's only two of us and I didn't have to worry about buying a whole bunch of stuff. Then there's the present for "the kitchen", which is usually food. You put the food in the kitchen and magically it disappears. Who eats is is unknown, but in any office news of food in the kitchen travels fast.
For my kitchen gift, I bought some fudge made in West Viriginia and since I didn't buy any for myself, I had to eat a piece. It was very good. Authentic too since I bought some homemade fudge at John Henry Days in Talcott, West Virginia on Saturday July 13.
I stepped on the scale this morning and I gained the four pounds I lost in June, so now I have to go back on my strict eating plan to get back to the weight I was when I left. I'm also doing alot of cleansing remedies since I did nothing but chow on pork in all its glorious forms in West Virginia. From fatty tasty bacon, to pork sausage, sugar cured ham, countless numbers of shredded barbeque pork sandwiches, pork everything actually. Our hostess is also a fabulous baker and so of course we sampled all her cakes, corn pone, biscuits, and her homemade truffles.
I was so off my new kosher/levital diet, but I rationalized it by telling myself I was on vacation and it's not like I eat food like this all the time, if hardly ever. I think I'm going off meat until August just to get the pork and pork fat out of my already clogged arteries.
I drank my usual lemonade cleansing drink yesterday and had the worst headache. It freaked me out. Did I really eat that many toxins while on vacation? But it's so much fun to eat like a pig on vacation! It's like a free pass into the world of food and I never stick to my strict eating plan while far away from home. It's way too hard! I'm not a food nazi either and I don't ever want to force my weird way of eating on anyone, except my next husband. I'm hoping I marry a food freak like myself so I don't feel so strange about my odd food habits or guilty either.
At least it's warm where my office is. Our last few days in West Virginia were drizzly and raining and quite cold. Where the usual summer vacation weather is, god only knows. It wasn't in West Virginia. There were quite a few very muggy days, but not as many as I was told I should have had. Oh well. I hate muggy hot weather anyway. Maybe I brought the cold foggy weather from SF with me.
A two week vacation is great. It's just weird to be back in one's normal life when it's over.
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