Golden Nugget, Christmas Night, 2008

Golden Nugget, Christmas Night, 2008, originally uploaded by daradactyl.

Pork chops and bad spaghetti. It was awesome.

We started out our very long trip on Christmas day. Not a bad idea. Everyone is very nice and the airports are not so crowded. The Chicago diversion was meant to visit my 97-yr-old Great Aunt Ruth who is not well. I'm telling you this because there are tons of people in Chicago I didn't visit and this is why. Too little time, one focus. Granted Aunt Ruth was so unwell that we ended up not seeing her at all, so we went to museums and met a couple of people in the city.

So we landed in Chicago at about 8p and cabbed to Tim's house where we were guaranteed a place for free as long as we fed his cats and fish. You see, Tim is in Wales with his wife and although we were meant to have a short visit, our paths did not cross this time.

However...

We got to his address and I realized I had no idea which apartment he lives in. We considered trying the keys in each door and I did try it on one door. But in the second apartment I could tell there were people at home. So we knocked and disturbed some very nice people during their Christmas Dinner.

They told us Tim lived on the floor above and up we went. Of course, once safe inside I also realized that I had no idea if we were meant to feed the fish, how much and if the cats were allowed out. So many missing details. Also, Tim's wife mentioned we could use her car. But trouble was we had no idea which car was hers or where on the streets of Chicago's Northside it might be parked.

We were in for a mystery.

Being hungry and it being Christmas, we knew our options were slim. I was hoping for a Christmas Story type Chinese Dinner. No luck. We ended up at the only thing open within walking distance. Golden Nugget. The Dennys of Chicago. With less pancakes.

It was a staple of my early years in Chicago back in the eighties. And it hasn't changed except the waitresses are younger. We had bad diner food. It was a Christmas Miracle.

Uploaded by daradactyl on 27 Jan 09, 7.00PM PST.

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The day started like this:

THE most Jetsons restaurant ever, originally uploaded by daradactyl.

We headed out to LAX, excited to be going on our Mexican Vacation. But the traffic was worse than expected, mostly because of detours due to the wildfires. We got to LAX an hour before the flight. We quickly got in line to check the bag. But it was the wrong line. They didn't accept international flights. So they directed us to another line. But it was much longer. By the time we got to the self-serve terminal, it was too late. We couldn't do self-check in, so it told us to see an agent. There were several, all of whom ignored our requests for assistance. That's when I started crying. I don't normally do that in public, but I was completely losing it and besides I thought it might help the pity factor.

Finally, someone looked through our papers and directed us to another line where we would have to wait to get rebooked on another flight. And so off we went to another line to wait for 90 minutes to get an agent to rebook our flights. If we had been directed to the correct self-serve terminals in the first place we would have made the flight.

So there we were in LAX with 24 hours to kill. So we spent a few of them at Encounters, the Jetsonesque restaurant in the middle of LAX. As you board the elevator, creepy theremin music serenades your ascent. We sampled all the drinks and decided it might as well be a 6 day vacation instead of 5........

Carnton Plantation

Carnton Plantation
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

Sunset on the front porch. This is the plantation featured in the book, Widow of the South. I had assumed I would be taking more photos but the tour lasted until way after dark. We did however manage to see the many, many blood stains on the floor, still there 140 years later. There was also a couple of closet doors that opened mysteriously. It was kinda spooky. But a beautiful mansion. The family graveyard is in the background and a Confederate graveyard is just beyond that. Acording to our guide, after the Battle of Franklin, the Union Army (eventually) came to collect their dead. The Confederates were buried where they fell in shallow graves. After a couple of years as hands and such started to poke through, well, it became an issue. So Carrie McGavock, Mistress of the plantation, designated a plot of land for the Confederate cemetary. Workers were hired to find and exhume the nearly 2000 men and reinter them into a proper cemetary. Families still come today to find relatives.

The bloodstains on the floor, at this point illuminated by big spot lights since it was after dark while we were there, were mostly by the windows, which apparently was where they were doing most of the operating, or to be exact, the amputating. Limbs were piled up, legend says to the second story window. I think it wasn't quite thåt tall, but there were a lot of severed limbs. The closet doors that opened were creepy but the whole place had a very unsettling feeling about it. Much like an empty hospital, even though the house has been restored to the way it might have been the day of the battle BEFORE they turned it into a field hospital.

Fortunately, this house is still in the middle of wide open fields, so you really get a sense of what a plantation house was like. Very different than being 6 feet from my neighbors on each side as I am in LA.

365days-day216-buggy whip

365days-day216-buggy whip
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

As I grow older, as everyone grows older, cells stop reproducing as rapidly. The body slows down. With some exceptions. Such as select body hair. You've all seen the old guys with hair growing from their ears, looking like smoke, giving them a cartoon-angry appearance. For me, it's the eyebrows. Now, I'm not a hairy person anyway. Being blonde, my hair tends to be fine and not noticeable. I have never shaved my legs above the knee because I have never needed to. So when I see long, wavy hairs SUDDENLY appear on my eyebrows, I get a little disturbed. They grow overnight and I wake up to their flap in the morning breeze. Who was the comedienne who referenced the hair growing from a mole on her grandmother's face? It was long, like a buggy whip.

Hello, tweezers!!!

365days-day180-falling

365days-day180-falling
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

My face is falling. Yes, it's part of the aging process. Yes, it's made worse by running. Yes, it's genetics. Yes, I don't drink enough water. And yes, I must have some vanity because I think about it. Would I if I didn't live in a youth obsessed, beauty obsessed city? I dunno. Perhaps I should say my face is melting and chalk it up to Global Warming.....

I should write more.

Things are fine since that last dramatic outburst. But have I chosen to write about good things? Humdrum? Everyday life? My cat? Nooooooooo! I grew up in a family and a culture that really believed if you ignored it, it would go away. Wherein X is "it." And yet, the blog is still here, still empty. I had this page up for 2 days with nothing in it. So, this is my measly attempt to start back at...um...writing. Something.

365days-day147-hiding

365days-day147-hiding
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

He says I'm insane. He says I am profoundly neurotic. He says I distort reality.

He says that his constant criticisms are really a way of saying I love you.
He says that I am broken.
He says that I am wrong.
He says that I am wrong for thinking that I am wrong, even when I am wrong.
He says that I don't know how to be loved.
He says that I can't tell the difference between when someone loves me and when they don't.
He says I should get my things and fuck off.

Flickr loves you, but Yahoo loves EVERYONE!

Flickr loves you, but Yahoo loves EVERYONE!
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

I saw this on the way home. At the Yahoo offices in Burbank. I know it's on purpose because the other side says YA O ! Not as funny as Ho. I realize now that the reason this is blurry is because I was using my car door as a tripod, which has a speaker in it, which was blasting Amy Winehouse - Black to Black. I almost said Black in Black, but that would be AC/DC, wouldn't it? Somehow the Amy was more appropos. I'm still laughing.

A horse by my house

A horse by my house
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

Back in the day, photographers traveled around neighborhoods and took pictures of kids sitting on old ponies. You paid them and they sent you photos later. This could never be done in this day and age for so many reasons. I mean can you imagine if a guy and an old pony showed up on your doorstep?? I remember this so well, except that I was three, so my reality was skewed. I remember the guy being really old and the pony not moving at all, which was disappointing. I wanted it to take off, after all I had boots and a hat!!! The old photographer gave me his hat to wear, which he had to prop on the back of my head so it wouldn't fall over my face. I wanted to hold the horse by the mane, but he told me to hold the sadle. Made sense, because that's the part I held onto at the grocery store 10 cent horse. i can't for the life of me now figure out why that was ever fun.

Anyhow, I am pretty sure I kept saying, "giddy up, horsey!" And I'm pretty sure my Mom was telling me to sit still. And I'm pretty sure I thought I was really going to get to ride the horse. But when the photo was over, the horse and the man left, with his hat. I still thought it was fun.

All my cousins had horses as did my first set of in-laws. And yet I never rode a horse until I was 22. And that was also the last time I rode a horse.

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365days-day121-Teri Nunn

365days-day121-Teri Nunn
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

We went to see Berlin tonight. I dyed my hair for the occasion.

It was at the Starlight Bowl in Burbank. First off, I thought for 10 years that the Starlight Bowl was a bowling alley. It's an amphitheatre. It's about 1/4 mile from James' house. He'd never been either, but at least he knew you can't bowl there.

I knew it was going to be a good evening when I saw my real estate agent giving away fans at the entrance. The opening act was Naken Eyes. The audience was still trickling in so he played bravely to a crowd of maybe 1000. There was one song in there that I haven't heard since 1983. I only remember the video. desaturated blonde girl wakes up.... "at night she calls your name...'. Then Promises, Promises...my favorite. And Always Something There to Remind Me was the finale. It was fun and somewhat tragic that the "mosh pit" was filled with people with toddlers on their heads.

Then came Berlin. I dragged James down to the now crowded "mosh pit." It was wonderful. Teri sang beautifully, fully defending her title of number 11 on MTV's top female rock vocalists. She did the complete Berlin Greatest Hits, including our favorite "You Don't Know," which is a deep cut. Even she said so, but it is her favorite song. She sang 2 songs for her mom who passed away 4 months ago including an emotional acoustic "Ordinary World" from Duran Duran. We were all in tears. Her husband carried her on his shoulders all around the amphitheatre for 2 songs, allowing me to high five her. Her fake last song was Sex, always a crowd pleaser. And of course they came back to do Take My Breath Away as the finale. She dedicated it with a wonderful story of trying to have child. being around the same age, I feel for her. She said they tried for a long time and she finally knows why it never happened. And then she introduced her adopted daughter, Natalie. i was so touched and felt a certain peace in my nagging bio clock. She made her rounds of the theatre again on her husband's shoulders, and this time, James lifted me up on his. When she came back to the stage, we had a great "moment" of - hey! You're my size, with my hair, same build, on some guy's shoulders! It's like a mirror!!! We looked at eacjother and laughed. And for a second, I felt like I was Teri Nunn's best friend.

Being Burbank, the concert series must end early. So we were home by 9.

365days-day120-hangover

365days-day120-hangover
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

I had a karaoke party at my house last night, mostly to exorcise the sadness of Duncan's passing. It was small and very fun. I also allowed myself to drink what I wanted. I have cut WAY back, mostly because of the lexapro. But I feel so much better. Except this morning. I don't feel better. I remember why I don't do this anymore. I haven't been hungover since Christmas.

Didn't help that we sang until 3am and police heliopters started circling at 7am. They were actually circling my house. 3 kids robbed the 7-11. After 3 hours of circling, they caught all 3 plus recovered the gun and the money. No one was hurt. And no one slept in. The copters are loud. And that constant cycle of getting louder, getting softer. Getting louder...getting softer...is so annoying. No one can sleep through that. I picked the wrong day to start drinking.

Uploaded by daradactyl

Tachometer

Tachometer
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

Tachometers have a very special place in my life.

The first time I ever heard that word, or was in a manual transmission car, was in high school. I was in a band with David Tune. His father ran the airport and a Saab dealership. David had a Saab something or other sports car. It was his life. And he explained to me how to shift gears and how one never wants to let the tachometer get higher than 4 (x1000rpm) in normal driving. When it does, you should shift. He was kind and generous and a great drummer. We were the Electric Brains, formerly Gray Matter. We were the smart kids who had a garage band in high school. Years later, he gave me a job at his radio station and when I moved to LA, he shipped my stuff from that same Saab dealership at no cost to me.

Just after high school, I met an actor who I later married named Edward. He had wanted to drive race cars at one point and even crewed for Formula 1. He taught me how to drive manual shift. In Chicago. In a foot of snow. He yelled a lot. But I learned.

My first car in LA was a stick. A 1982 VW Cabriolet. I was clumsy at first, but loved driving Mullholland, oft the scene of car commercials for its winding, tree-lined road. My next husband has a 1970 VW bug. I don't recall if it had a tachometer. I couldn't drive that car. The pedals were strange and freaky. His next car was a Mini Cooper. That, I could drive. When he let me. Being a turbo, one has to give it a little more gas than usual.

This tachometer is Marlon's. He borrowed James' car to move stuff. James can't drive manual. So he borrowed my car. And then I had Marlon's. It was good to be back with the friendly tachometer. Not a turbo, so I didn't have to try too hard. And I never let it go over 4. David Tune would be proud.

Scrub Jay

Scrub Jay
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

This guy was trying to eat a grasshopper. I support that since the grasshoppers have eaten half my garden. But he was just picking at it while it was alive. That was kinda gross not to mention the possibility that it was a Jay that ate a baby dove out of the nest on my porch 3 years ago. So, as pretty as they are, I think they are vicious. I watched this dance go on for a while, with the bird grabbing the insect and it jumping away. Finally, the bird took it up to a branch and started pulling it's nasty insect flesh off. The grasshopper fell straight down into this rubbish bin. The bird was very unsure about diving in to get it, so he sat on the edge and barked loudly. Finally, I went to see if the insect was alive (it was) and the bird flew off, I assume thinking it had lost it's meal to a much larger competitor.

That was Saturday. Today I checked back and the hopper is dead. So I pulled it out for a possible snack for the Jay. Unless he only eats wiggly things.

365days-day116-wax poetic

365days-day116-wax poetic
Originally uploaded by daradactyl.

Waxing is very expensive. It adds up since one needs to wax on a regular basis if one is going to wax in the first place. So I decided to start home waxing. Sort of like home schooling with less children. Very cost effective and not too messy, it seemed like the solution I was looking for. There is however a very important step in the waxing process which is to apply a light layer of oil to the skin part. That way, the oil which is very sticky won't stick to your skin, only the hair it is meant to pull off.

I forgot that part.

And so, the sticky wax is REALLY stuck. It's not going anywhere. I was late for work, so I decided to just deal with it later. And I spent the entire day stuck to my clothes.

I'm going back to shaving.

Uploaded by daradactyl on 14 Aug 07, 9.35AM PDT.
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Please remember me....

In the neon glow of a comedy club,
"catch with a K."
Your band teacher led the band
at the Green Mill.
But not really.
You held my hair anyway.
Drinking port in an Inn
somewhere in England.
In Scotland.
In Ireland.
I will never forget that smell
that is Tipperary.
It haunts me still.
And the time at Halloween
when I painted Kiss.
But I wasn't one of them.
Maybe I was never one of you.

I read in my baby book that
my very first words were
"Bye-Bye."

Still Burning

This is going to be a long, hot, burning summer. Catalina Island is on fire. Residents have been evacuated. Fire season has not officially begun yet. In other words, it's only going to get worse.

I remembered last night a time when I was counting on getting a part in a play at a regional theatre. I was broke, I was bored in Chicago and wanted to get out of the cold, dry air. The director as much as told me I was a shoe in, so I paid to fly to the final audition.

The part of Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird went to a young realtor. She seemed more boyish I was told later. I tried to take that as a compliment. I convinced myself that there was something else out there for me. That there was a REASON I didn't get that part. I just knew that I would go back home and over that same time period, something better would come along for me.

It didn't.

Nothing happened. Nothing bad, nothing good. Nothing.

Sometimes things happen for a reason and sometimes they just happen.

Sometimes a car represents a car.

Sometimes death represents death. There is no phoenix, no rebirth. Just dark, scorched earth where life used to be.

My City in Ruins

It started at 1:30 yesterday afternoon. Right by the golf course and the carousel. The fire in Griffith Park spread to within a mile of the LA Zoo and on the other side of the park to the Observatory. It's still going. Paxton walked outside and when he came back in, his fur was saturated with that acrid fire smell. I wandered out to see if there was anything to see, but not from my vantage point. Just a lot of smoke.

So I won't be running to work today. I won't be biking in the park as usual Wednesday night. Where the fire started was my favorite place to bike. It was shady and quiet and lovely. It smelled of pine and Eucolyptus, and ocasionally echoed with the laughter of children playing. I spent hours there last summer running and biking, and all the time thinking about what exactly I was supposed to be doing with my life as opposed to what I wanted to do with my life.

There was a giant plume of smoke rising up from the park yesterday which we watched from the balcony at work. But our view was mostly blocked by Trash Truck Hill, that massive hill which several of us have tried many times to run or bike up without a corinary.

600 acres have burned so far. The Zoo animals are OK, but they were not evacuated and couldn't be because of their size and that there is 1200 of them. It occurs to me that someone really should come up with a plan for that.

Almost every Wednesday night, as I was putting my bike back onto my car at dusk, I would see a single coyote trotting through the parking lot. Presumably to rumage through the Zoo garbage. Sometimes I would also see him along the trail. He looks like a skinny mutt. But cute one. Once, I saw him as I was driving. I slowed down to a very slow crawl pointing excitedly to no one that there was a coyote over there! Look! Over time I learned that it is in fact a very common site. No need to slow down at all.

I hope that coyote is safe tonight.

365days-day5-ripoff

365days-day5-ripoff
Originally uploaded by daramcdactyl.

So I ordered a G7 online. Great price! And I tested it out and liked the camera. But they emailed me that I needed to call. So I did. That's when they told me I would need to buy the battery seperately - it wasn't included. So I asked what WAS included. He said, "The normal stuff." "Like a battery?" I said. And he tells me that they don't include batteries in cameras anymore. An extra $230 later, I sit here trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

I called back and they told me that they couldn't list the items I had actually purchased because the order had been shipped. They could only tell me I ordered a "kit." I didn't, but that's besides the point. I have 14 days to return he says.

I called one more time asking to cancel the order because at this point, I don't like them and I don't want to do business with them. But it really did ship and my card had been charged so all I can do is sit and wait for a box of who knows what to show up. Seriously - what did I buy?

I expect a camera with no battery, but will it have a lense? Knobs? A shutter? Are all the componets now charged as separate items? Will I have to purchase them one at a time and assemble them over the years in the way Johnny Cash bought a Cadillac?

Maybe I should just go back to oil painting.

Zurich

Last night, I had a little piece of heaven: fondue from the people who invented it. I settled for the cheese fondue with pear brandy, served with pears and bread for dipping. It was delicious. Although the fondue restaurant was so busy we had to sit outside without heatlamps. It was chilly. And the people inside looked so warm! But the sterno kept us warm and after all it IS about the cheese. The town is so very cute. Houses date anywhere from 1300s to 1800s and advertise who lived there in keystones located above the doors or windows. Goethe was the one I recognized. It generally looks untouched except for the occasional starbucks.

The men here all look like the bad guys in WWII movies. And since they don't smile, they seem to be up to something. Curious. The women here are exceptionally tall. I have never felt so dwarfed except when I would audition in a roomfull of models. It's a lot like that.

The Secret Attic

Amsterdam
March, 2007

There was a girl who lived in an attic for 2 years with her family and 4 others, never making a noise during normal business hours. She longed to go outside and play and breathe the fresh air and feel the sunshine on her face, but she knew that she could not without the dire consequences of having herself and her family taken away. At times she found solace in the chestnut tree that stood outside the old canal house where she was hiding. She could see the leaves from one of the windows. Somehow, she managed to find joy and hope, to dream and to forgive. She wrote about her feelings and her hopes and her dreams not only for herself but for all people in her diary. She was able to transcend her circumstances. But I'm sure she still felt afraid and alone at times.

I had the privilege of standing in the very spot where she slept, looking up to where she must have looked on sleepless nights, staring at the very wooden beam she stared at. I silently shouted out my hopes and fears and dreams into that beam as well. And wondered how many others had done the same.

One of Anne's hopes was to become a journalist when "it was all over." The first thing she wanted to do was to write a book called The Secret Attic. And in spite of all that happened to her, her hiding, her captivity at Bergen-Belsen and ultimately her death at same camp, she in fact did write that book and it was in fact published and has inspired many people all over the world, including me as a young girl and even more so today as I stand in the places she stood, see the things she saw. At the end of the tour, there is a video with a woman who had tossed care packages over the fence of the camp to Anne. She last saw her about a week before she died. And she says in the interview that if only Anne knew that her father was still alive, maybe she'd still have hope and she could have held on a little longer. It was only a month later that the camp was liberated by the Allied forces. But Anne felt alone since her sister died a few weeks earlier from Typhoid. She had been separated from the rest of her family. She was alone. And she lost hope. And she died.

The Anne Frank House invites its guests to sign their name on a leaf of a virtual chestnut tree. In order to become a part of the legacy, a part of that solace from 1944. In signing it, I felt a little less alone and a little more hopeful. Loneliness is as deadly as hope is lifesaving. Perhaps they cancel each other out.