Saturday, February 26, 2005

thank you

I am so fortunate to have such stellar friends as yourselves. My birthday was lovely, thank you for all of the kind wishes. I am still enjoying the cake Sam made. Pure chocolate genius, I tell you.

On the other end of the stick, my job environment continues to worsen and decompose. Now that I have worked my ass of to resolve 90% of the hairball customer and system issues, persistent rumors indicate that the Board of Directors is in negotiation to contract with a nearby theatre for them to take over our box office. With not so much as a meeting with our staff first. In fact, I still haven't met most of this board. While we might still employ one person to man the booth for shows, we currently have a staff of 3 in the box office, thus leaving two of us most likely up shit creek, and one of us with really shitty hours on nights and weekends.

My friend Pema, who wasn't born yesterday, already gave notice and is going to go work with Sam. I am interviewing on Monday to perhaps go work with the Editor.

But am very very torn, as I had envisioned being able to grow with this theatre. Too bad the board has no concept of how a theatre should be run, and too bad my evil boss is still there, despite the fact that her husband was fired. If even one of those two conditions could be remedied I would find a way to persist there.

Any suggestions, other than strangling my boss with my scarf or pumping Anthrax through the ventilation system at the next board meeting?

Yes, I've been fantasizing as usual.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday, dear me-oh,
Happy birthday to me.

I have 18 minutes until I am no longer merely 30, but "in my thirties."

That calls for another glass of wine, I think.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

I'm not naming names

But some of you bloggity friends are not producing sufficient amusement for me of late. What is this sudden Sahara among my fertile-minded brethren? Why does it always happen in waves, and what is the trigger to start up the engines again? I mean, a single comment (Thank you, Mary!) to my posting of the "Go Fug Yourself" link? Have zombies taken over Los Angeles, Albuquerque, and Lincoln, Nebraska? If so, they are surely on the way. I am going to have to ask the Editor how to fortify my domicile against these insidious, slow-moving but brain-eating zombies.

Or could it be something worse than zombies? Something like malaise? Discontent with the socio-economico-politico-something or other? What, what?

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Delicious Bitterness

Thanks to the Editor for turning me onto the world of fug. Click the "fugly" link in my blogs list. Do yourselves a favor. It's a permanent link. The co-creators of this blog are absolutely the most wonderfully evil observers of fashion don'ts that I have ever seen. I worship them, and kind of want to stalk them.

Monday, February 14, 2005


Happy Valentine's day, you wonderful people. Sam and I celebrated our first V-day as a married couple today. How sweet it is! We had a luscious evening and a decadent dinner, and in one hour, it will roll right into my sweet man's birthday. Happy Happy Birthday to Samuel Dov- my Aquarian King and Man of my Dreams. I know it sounds trite, but I truly am the luckiest lady alive. Eris, I hail you once more.

Saturday, February 12, 2005

Turn and face the strange


1) Play has been read aloud and- run time is 2 hours without intermission or scene changes. It now needs a 2nd draft including hefty cuts and cleaning up. This is expected, and should be the teeniest bit painful, but mostly fun.

2) My theatre is either falling to ruin, or it could be improving. The executive director was fired on Monday, and his micro-managing wife will probably leave in good time. Members of the board lerx about, and many rumours circulate like persistent mosquitoes. My own job security remains in question, and 2 out of three shows in our season are probably out the window now. That will be fun to explain to our 2200 sunscribers.

3) The first of my close-knit sister-girlfrinds is going to have a baby! She and her hubby are going to be wonderful parents. It makes me realize that I am one of a whole clatch of women whose biological clocks are starting to tick, or perhaps "should" be starting. I think there are little green gremlins in my system who are holding the pendulum to one side, snickering and gossiping about when, if ever, to let it fly.

4) Sam and I are starting to think that we might be able to buy a house in California sooner than we thought, and are considering North Hollywood as a possibly affordable place to start. Though a commute would likely be involved for both of us, I think we are beggining to see that we need a bit more variety in closer reach to us.

5) Arthur Miller died, and when I heard the news I realized I hadn't realized he was even still alive.

Time lurches forward. Or as Colette would say, "Life moves in one direction, and one direction only."

Somehow today I do not find this surprising, or the tiniest bit frightening.

Sunday, February 06, 2005

Your driver

It has taken awhile. I've tried to bury this one, but it keeps popping up. Yes, it's high time to tell the story of what happened when yours truly, my intrepid husband, and my unsuspecting gal-pal Brandy went on a wine-tour in September, 2004.

We all like the vino. We all like Napa and Sonoma. Brandy, one of the most passionate conniseurs of both wine and the Bay area was coming out- no reason not to treat ourselves to nice chauffered van tour of said wine-country, right? Sam and I had done one once, and it was a grand old time. I spent some time picking out what seemed a reputable and affordable service. All we had to do was show up at Fisherman's Wharf, in Frisco, at 9:00 AM. This tour would include a stop at Muir Woods, a lunch stop in Sonoma, and 4 or 5 wineries. Done and Done.

So, the three of us rise and attempt to shine and head down to the Wharf. Now, that's not a great place to go unless you are a witless tourist, but that's where we were to meet our fearless driver. We find the small company, and all seems fairly well. Sharing the van will be an older couple from Scotland, which is nice. We meet our driver. He seems a bit- rough around the edges. Sort of salt-of the-earth, maybe? Whatever, get in the van.

As we are traversing the Wharf, our driver begins to regale us with what at first seems to be typical patter for the tourists. Telling us about Ghiradelli Square, for instance, and how you can do a tour and they will make you a personalized chocolate bar. He then explains that the chocolate bar will run you eight bucks, which makes no sense as you can go and get the same kind of chocolate at the gas station for 75 cents.

Seemed kind of a curious thing to say, but it turned out to be only the first example wherein he bashed local establishments and restaurants for their high prices and unworthy products. Without coaxing, he eventually came out with it. He happened to know of a terrific restaurant, they served the best food around, where he happened to be employed at at one time and was still associated with somehow. Actually, he says, it's a good cause too, because they help alot of people who are down and out in the community. Fine, fine. Onto the drinking!

I think we were going over the Golden Gate bridge, when he told us how he came to work at this extablishment. "You know those people you see on the streets with the shopping carts? Well, about 5 years ago, I was one of them. But I was lucky to find this program, and get a job at the restaurant, and get out of all that mess, and now, here I am, driving for you. I don't do it all the time, but they call me now and again." Ok, now I'm really starting to wish this guy would shut the fuck up and let us look out the windows in peace.

But he just keeps going on about this wonderful restaurant. The air in the van became palpable. Brandy looked a bit concerned. I believe we tried to change the subject. The next thing you know, we're out at Muir Woods, for a little walk. Our driver seemed nervous, wanted us all back at a certain time, we were running a bit behind. Gotta hurry. He chain smokes, we see big trees, next thing you know we're back in the van. This time I get a closer look at him. He's really quite shifty, isn't he? Oh well, on with the ride.

He begins to tell us a bit about the woods, and the scenery. Just where the road begins to get more steep and winding, he lets loose with this: "Now's the time in the tour that I like to tell you about your driver." We're all thinking the same thing. I bet you know what it is. It starts with an 'n' and ends with an 'o'. He keeps on. "Remember how I told you about the shopping cart thing? Well, see, I'd come out to San Fran about a year before all that, and ran into some trouble because I liked vodka a little too much. I happened to find a roommate who did, too. The next thing I know, we're out one night and ended up holding a knife to a cabbie's throut for about eighteen dollars."

No, no no no no no no. "I ended doin' some time. So that's one reason, besides the driving part, why your driver won't be drinking today. Or any day." Ok, now we all feel really weird. He proceeds to tell us about what it's like to look out of your window in San Quentin, and a bit about the colorful prison life he led. At one point he asks if he is scaring us. "Yes," I sort of whimper. He tells us how his life is so much better now, how the program with the restaurant place really turned his life around. He goes into further detail about his hardships, which I have now blocke d out. The kind Scottish woman says something placating, like "Well, that's all in the past now."

Finally, he moves on to the topic of how he wants to be a park ranger in Alaska or something and is going to go check it out with a couple of young attractive girls, who he begins to talk about fairly lasciviously. Finally we pull up to a winery. Now I am sort of afraid to drink. We're obviously in the hands of a madman. Should I call his employer? Should I have a little talk with him? My co-horts determine that I should not under any circumstances do either. The only thing to do is drink, and try not to make any sudden movements.

So we somehow make it though the day, and he eventually seems to get the picture to shut the fuck up about San Quentin, his personal struggles with alcohol, and the nubile breasts he hopes to see in the wilderness. On the way home in SF, he turns the wrong way down a one-way into an oncoming cop, who tails him briefly but does not pull him over. I have never seen a man so frightened, and then so immensely relieved.

The overall impression was of being locked in a cage with a barely domesticated jungle beast. With a driver's license. And did we report any of this to his employer? No, of course not. The guy obviously had had a hard enough time, and why rain on the one-horse parade of the nearly hopeless? Most certainly he had taken others on the same journey, told others the same story, and still had his job. Some people can simply never be made to understand what is socially appropriate. I suppose he is in Alaska now, freaking out people on a salmon boat, or something.

We never did try out his restaurant. I bet the Scots didn't either.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

No E-Mail!

Chaaaaappppy! So if you are waiting for an e-mail from me, I'm not trying to be rude, Yahoo is having some sort of issues. I'll write you all hopefully soon.

Last night when I was having a little Scotch session with the lovely Editor and our charming pycologist, I likened the tricked-out-lerx-speak-fade-out-musical-type blogs of the younger generation to my generation's sticker books. Remember those? Somehow I was able to locate my actual sticker book circa 1986 (yes, I was into stickers and unicorns at 12- jealous?) and show it to my co-horts.

I have to say, it's a pretty bitching collection of not one, but three sticker books. One general, one medievalish, and one devoted entirely to the mystical unicorn! Yes, indeedy! I was able to stroll down memory lane through those pages- the google-eyed puffy comb sticker! What a treasure. Ah, the silky unicorns studded with sparkles! The fuzzy fuzzy brown bear sticker- yah fuckin' hoo! The Jackson Family in space! I'm tellin you, they are just chock full of amazing retro wonders.

But the one sticker that kind of snuck under my radar was on that Sam noticed. A puffy plastic rainbow target complete with rifle! What the? I'm still trying to work that one out.

I think they were much impressed. Later tonight I might relive one of my childhood pleasures and see which scratch and sniffs are still smelly. I hear the pickle still works a bit. Yes!