Universal Studios StarWay
Alarms
Time to go.
I've got to go.
Alarms
Harps wake me from fretful sleep.
Quacking ducks nip at my ankles and hurry me along.
Church bells clang my coming and going.
Crickets fill the silence letting me know
it's time to go.
Time to go.
I've got to go.
Horns honk and tell me to move.
I've got to go.
Spring and Fall
to a young child
Spring and Fall
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
to a young child
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie:
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
The Leather Apron Club
I'm not sure if I'm quite smart enough to understand this play. Well, no. I'm smart enough. Maybe not educated enough. In current events. Recent history. Conspiracy theories. But I love trying to keep up.
I'm not sure if I'm quite smart enough to understand this play. Well, no. I'm smart enough. Maybe not educated enough. In current events. Recent history. Conspiracy theories. But I love trying to keep up.
What was amazing is the tension that ran from beginning to end. Lean forward in my seat to make sure I don't miss anything tension.
At the end of the intermission there was a woman sitting behind me talking to her daughter on the phone. She was half of a little old couple, probably Mom & Dad's age. He'd been hacking up phlegm throughout the first act. Blech.
It seems her daughter's friend's father passed away and she's planning to attend the viewing but it will be a military burial at the Navy base in San Diego. It's a Marine base, I think. Miramar. Joining all of the others that are filling in row after row. Great view of the air show.
He'd been in hospice, this man who passed. He'd been taken home from the hospital and cared for by the wonderful hospice staff. They'd been so respectful to the family, to him. They brought in the equipment, a hospital bed in the living room, so the family could hangout, sharing stories, watching videos. He was surrounded by love.
The picture of this family that I didn't know made me smile. The good folks who work in hospice are nothing less than angels walking the Earth. Not the dicks from Supernatural. The angels who just want to be angels and care for God's strangest creation, humankind.
This has nothing to do with the play. Only with me in my mind. They are never far from my mind.
All in the Family
It picks up where Don't Call Me Shurley left off. Then Kevin gets an upgrade. Sam babbles. Dean cries. All in the first three minutes of the All in the Family.
A single man tear.
stolen with respect from Osric Chau
I love that Chuck is God. This is a god I can understand somehow. Not all wrath. Not lollypops and sunshine. Just Chuck, hiding in plain sight. Mostly in his underwear and a bathrobe. Writing. Even though writing is hard. Playing music. He gave himself the ability to play guitar. And sing. Drinking. Eating. Donuts. Nacho cheese. Bacon. Yes! Bacon. Chinese food out of the take out container. Having sex. Girlfriends. Boyfriends. Watching Dean's porn before moving on to... competitive curling.
I love that Lucifer isn't afraid of Amara. He's annoyed. Brilliant!
I love that Dean yells at Chuck for singing in the shower. Three times.
I love that we see Kevin go to Heaven and then meet Donatello. Not the Ninja Turtle.
I love that the Samulet is back.
I love that I don't really know where this is going. That we might lose Chuck. We've all lost God at some point in our lives, right?
Phrazzled
Went to this show last Friday night. I was having one of those days so this was the only thing that got me out of bed. Needless to say, I'm glad it got me out of bed. It was fun, back and forth, hate and love, kinda crazy. There was one huge lack of consequences, you know, for murder, but other than that it was an interesting story without being completely predictable.
Fare Thee Well
Chuck's back. Chuck's God. Chuck is awesome.
Some questions answered. More questions posed.
And then this beautiful, soulful, song.
video stolen with respect from Castiel Darling
And now I like Metatron? What? This look brought me to tears. A perfect scene. I don't care that the pages are clearly blank. Would we be able to see the word of God anyway?
This is the moment. That look.
stolen with respect from Rob Benedict
Don't Call Me Shurley
please oh please oh please oh please oh please
courtesy ofhttp://cwtv.com/shows/supernatural/
Blue Window
My boss walked up to my desk yesterday mumbling about a blue window. He'd had a rough week and it was only Tuesday so I listened with an expectant half smile while I tried to glean the point to his contextual-less words.
Then he handed me a menu.
Ah... Susan Feniger's place across the street. It used to be called Street. Before that it was The Dive. The Dive had the best nachos. A massive plate of nachos for $5. I miss The Dive. Anyway, Chef took over the space with Street, which was perfectly fine. I ate there a few times. Now it's the Mud Hen Tavern. Haven't gone myself since this most recent switch but friends had tried the Blue Window part and raved. The menu is sparse but changes theme every six months, enough time to get back again if you found something you like but keep it fresh and have folks coming back for something new.
The boss was thinking of ordering lunch for the office some time next week. Great! Always down for a free lunch! I tucked the Blue Window menu into my lunch folder.
This morning the boss shuffled over to my desk again, iPhone in hand. "I can't stop thinking about this." He held up his phone with a picture of Blue Window. He took a picture of the restaurant from across the street, probably for his Day One account, and obsessing about it since yesterday.
No problem. I break out the handy dandy lunch signup sheet and away we go.
By the way, they do make the entire menu available vegan. I could care less about that except that I work with the least self-righteous vegan on the planet. Not once, ever, has she gotten on a soapbox or preached about the virtues of veganism or the evils of everyone else. I find myself going out of my way to find vegan recipes and treats. Who'd a thunk it?
Anyway, I ordered the Fried Artichoke Po' Boy with Falafel Onion Rings covered in olive honey drizzled over them the a side of tahini hot sauce.
Everybody's food arrived in two giant paper bags filled with wax-lined paper boxes with all of our names written on them, easy to sort and everything was accurate. I was covering phones when the food arrived so I took my boxes to my desk. Something smelled fabulous! I opened one and it was a very basic looking sandwich. Not what I was smelling. The other box revealed this flaky mush of giant onion rings covered in brown gloppy weirdness with two souffle cups of the hot sauce.
So far this sound underwhelming, if not outright gross. But the smell, the smell called me. So I popped open one of the tahini hot sauce cup and dunked away.
I should say, for those who don't know, I don't do spicy. Favor, yes. Heat, no. I'm always wary.
For some reason I went for it and was rewarded with a crazy good sweet crunchiness. The olive honey sauce was freakishly good and the hot sauce had very little heat to add a perfect counter to the honey. I could not stop eating them. They were greasy and gloppy and wonderful. And gone.
On to the Po' Boy. I have no idea what qualifies it as a Po' Boy. The artichoke was crunchy with cornmeal with a pickle tartness on two thick slices of tomato in a soft roll. It would have disappeared as quickly as the onion rings except the phone rang. At work. Some guy in Canada wants to order a pen. Whatever. The sandwich was still good half an hour later.
The boss seems enamored with this place so I'm sure we'll ordered from there again. Yay!
Oh, pictures. Yeah, the phone call slowed me down, but this is all I captured.
Thunderstorms & Fireflies
I’m a little disconnected from the world these days. Some of my friends are upset with me for that but there’s not much I can do about it. They love me. They’ll get over it.
Lately, as much as I love my Hollywood home, I’m feeling a pull toward a place where there are thunderstorms in the afternoon and fireflies in the evening. A place where settling down for the night as the sun drops into the ocean or behind the trees isn’t strange and the people know your front door should face the east. A place where rising with the sun as it hits that front door makes sense to greet the day.
I want to watch the bees.
Headed South
I sat sideways in the passenger seat, door open, and pulled off my sneakers. The red Converse tilted and coarse sand spilled out onto the asphalt and white painted line of the parking lot. A gust of wind smacked my face with salt from the breakers below. I thought of the warm bath at home, steaming the mirrors, decadent bubbles rising to the edge. It would have to wait.
A whistle told me another train was coming. I tossed my shoes on the floorboards and stood up, folding my arms on top of the car and resting my head. The thick knit of my sweater cut into my chin. It would leave a mark bright as a poppy but it made me forget my feet were cold. Now I could feel the train approach, a low rumble keeping rhythm with my heart which was beating faster and faster. It grew louder, drowning out even the crashing waves and all my memories. I waved at the passengers staring out the window at the sunset. Most didn't see me.
Once the last car disappeared to the South and the ocean reclaimed the atmosphere, I tumbled back into the Camry and reached into the backseat for my purse. I found a tissue and tried to wipe away the grit mixed with tears staining my face.
