Monday, June 28, 2010
flights of fancy
In addition to warm thoughts about the essential kindness of humanity, the night also yielded one truly revolutionary idea, or at least a truly L.A. idea: Time Share Airport Parking Spot!
I’ve spent a good chunk of the past few months of my life traveling, but I try to avoid rambling about the trials and tribulations of air travel at the risk of sounding like an uninspired standup comic. How about those $6 lattes at the airport Starbucks? (Okay, that wasn’t even funny, just a complaint.) But suddenly all of us were talking about the creative/exhausting ways we get to the airport. Light rail plus FlyAway Bus? Unreliable blue shuttle? Park-and-ride via sister’s house?
Lee-Roy said he parks at his office near LAX and hitches a ride on the Sheraton Hotel shuttle. Then he mentioned that his company leases spots for $50 a month “if you’re interested....” Seeing as how the FlyAway Bus will get you there for $7, this seemed a little steep. Unless…Time Share Airport Parking Spot!
We could all pitch in a few bucks a month and enter our travel schedules on some kind of Google calendar (Christine would love this—she’s never met an online organizational system she didn’t like).
“You guys would hate me so quickly,” said Jody, who racks up serious mileage for work. “Every time you drove by the spot, you’d be like, ‘There’s that damn beat-up Subaru again.’”
So we’re still working the kinks out of the system. But I think it could be the new Zipcar for the beer-budget jet set.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
i shop at owly's
Now Owly's Wayside Nest is a funkily curated vintage goods shop that sells kitsch quite sincerely, with a special penchant for salt and pepper shakers, refurbished dolls, cat house coins, clocks and, of course, owls.



o canada, o humanity
By the time our trip rolled around, I'd been snagged by a blue mood for a couple of weeks and AK was thinking that some kind of celebration--not a wedding, but something a little more festive than a paper-signing ceremony at a marriage commissioner's office--might not be such a bad idea. That's the thing about doing things the non-traditional way--you discover that all those restrictive guidelines can also be lifelines.
But life is bumpy and messy, and so we foraged ahead and had a great time. The week was nothing short of miraculous in terms of reacquainting me with my happier self. And now I'm Canadian-married to a thoroughly amazing lady, and some sort of party (sans gift registry, but with family, friends and cake) may be in the offing.
Some trip highlights:

I should have taken more pictures of their house. At first glance it looks like an attractive new home you might find in any American suburb. But here's the thing: TJ built it. I was still reeling from Daisye's ability to nail together pieces of driftwood, so the fact that someone could make a 3,000 square foot home with level floors and running water was beyond comprehension. I mean, I don't know how I thought houses came to be. Did the stork bring them? Rural life reminds you that nothing comes from nothing.

Friday, June 18, 2010
a blog entry about the lakers: who knew such things were possible?

So it was a big deal to knowingly, willingly watch the last twelve minutes of the Laker game and actually pay attention. At first I was all about the Celtics’ green sneakers and retro headbands, but then AK started telling me more about the players’ seasons and lives. I started watching the expressions on their faces (thank you, big new TV!) and the very close score at the bottom of the screen. I started to feel a peculiar sensation in my chest, one I definitely never experienced during the dozens of live basketball games I endured as a high school cheerleader.
“I think I’m…excited,” I said.
“Congratulations,” AK said, “your sports heart just grew three sizes today.”
When crazy Ron Artest with his pretty eyes gave a post-game speech in which he thanked his psychiatrist (and, okay, plugged his forthcoming single), I was virtually verklempt. People could be a little nutso and bounce back and do great things! Maybe there was hope for me yet! Maybe today’s punching-of-fans is tomorrow’s championship!
We walked around the corner to the York, where the game had already clicked off and the bar was back to its usual ironic background fare, in this case classic Felix the Cat cartoons. Although I would take cartoons over sports any day, I’ve never been into the old slapstick stuff. But another discovery awaited me: Felix was cleverly drawn and hilarious. It didn’t hurt that, as a naughty black cat with a blunt tail and a wheel of ever-changing moods, he reminded us a lot of Ferdinand (Ferd, you muse of the silver screen). I’ll say it again: Maybe there’s hope for me yet.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
not-so-superego
In between the fun stuff, my moody streak has continued. So I’m back in therapy, where Señor Freud, as AK calls him, is helping me repeat over and over that I don’t have to be flawless to deserve love. Eventually maybe my superego will believe it. Or just shut up. I can’t remember what the superego is supposed to do. All I know is that it’s been acting like a playground bully to my shredded little ego.
AK and I are going on vacation next week. That means more sparse blogging for a while, but when I do write, it’s more likely to be about the vistas and 9:30 p.m. sunsets of rural Washington than my vague angst. So I think we’ll all win.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
the spirit of things

So here I am between pastel mesas that look like someone unfurled a painted backdrop just behind the blocks of pink and tan stucco civilization. All sorts of clichés about the inspiring beauty and openness of the Southwest are threatening to come true. I even brought my sketchbook, so who knows what will happen?
For the record, I haven’t purchased anything here yet (well, except my hotel room). For lunch I ate the bag of chipotle almonds I bought at LAX. I still have some peanuts donated by the good people of Southwest Airlines, but I’m guessing they won’t last me three days. Woman cannot live on nuts alone. Eventually I suspect I will break down and buy a burrito. A really, really good burrito, hopefully made by defiant, undocumented Tucsonites.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
lummis day: the festival of the neighborhood i never get to hang out in
AK just looked over at my screen and said, "Oh yeah? Is that what it's like in Cheryl's mind?"
In reality, a more typical day would involve cleaning the house, driving to something that at least vaguely resembles work (writing date, meeting, gym), then driving to meet up with friends who live in the Valley or on the Westside. I think my cats see more of the neighborhood than I do.
I love my faraway friends and my writing dates, but today it was nice to soak in some pure HP goodness in the form of Lummis Day, "The Festival of Northeast Los Angeles." We biked, so I felt a tiny bit less like my 2009 New Year's resolution had failed. Then we listened to some lovely, funny poets at El Alisal (home of poet Suzanne Lummis' grandfather, a pioneering environmentalist and Indian rights advocate) and--triumph!--bummed around Heritage Square Park across the street.



