The best day yet. Clickable for larger views.

Scratcha-scratcha!

They're not dead-I thought so too.

One wave coming in, the other going back out. Smack!

Sweet face.
I named him that.

Yawn!
or
GRRROOOWWWGGGHHLLLL!

Look closely, each has one 'hand' up reaching out to another one. They were playing for me!

Marco!? Polo?

This one's definitely a growl.

Now that's a happy sleep. This one was all smiles and snorts.

Stay away from me fool! I'll cut you! Who's scared of your wimpy seagull beak? Not me!
POW sucka!

There's a seal in there, I promise. And a bit of seaweed or other random natural floating phenomenon.

This little pup was riding the little waves in on his belly!

Even cloudy, the light on the water is lovely.

Two little boys playing tag with the water instead of each other.

This pelican was like the Godfather. That little one behind his tail never left, even when all the others flew away. They must have some odd connection. Or the little one owes the pelican favors...

The careful carving of the sea.

I like that this one dude is hanging out on this bit of wood on his own. It makes me think of the skyscraper men eating sandwiches on a beam over the city.

Maybe the little one is a lookout. He takes that whole "I've got your back Mr. Pelican" thing seriously I suppose....

Just a normal day. Socialize, go for a stroll, drop some poop, repeat.

A lone gull.

Seriously, the poop is almost artistic.

Snazzy color variations on this rock. That bird is suspicious looking. I bet it's leaving a dropping. Shy little thing.

Some seals that got far out and away from the tourist gawking area.
(smarties)

Crash!
But in a beautiful way.

Ah-La Jolla.

I'd like to try this while I'm here. But not near the seals--they're awfully cute, but they're awfully smelly, and have awfully yellow substances that spew from their bloated bodies.

Neat lifeguard call box.

Mt. Soledad

As always- they are clickable for bigger views.



I heard a man ask a woman to marry him. She didn't say anything, that I could hear. He said "Are you sure, are you sure?" a couple of times. He did most of the talking. I think he loves her more than she loves him.

The batteries in my camera died with the sun, so I just sat and watched the city lights sprinkle themselves on San Diego until it got too cold to bear. High again.

Chinese wedding on the other side of the wall.

A few days ago, must have been the weekend, I walked out of my hotel room and heard a sort of chanting. There was a young man standing beside my door with a camcorder pointed down into the lounge area. I glanced over his shoulder and saw rows of dark haired heads, silent with happiness, watching a wedding ceremony.

I felt ashamed for peeking and went on my original track to the elevator; I hadn't been invited. Even though the wedding was occurring yards from my room, I felt like an intruder. For whatever reason, this couple had decided to profess their loyalty to each other at a hotel, on a busy street, with a gas station in front of it. I told myself this so I wouldn't feel bad for having seen what seemed like a sacred ceremony. If they had wanted it to be private I suppose they would have held it elsewhere.

I was done pondering this by the time the elevator got on the ground floor. Tucked in the back corner of the parking lot was a white limousine. It had white streamers hanging over the headlights like lazy eyelashes and blessings smeared on the windows.

I got in my car, relieved that I would miss the send-off.

No layout--it's late. Click for bigger views.

Balboa, Balboa have you any wool?

Friday night after work I came back to the hotel to grab my camera and then headed to Ocean Beach, as Amy suggested. I need to work on being a better lone traveler. I feel like an obvious tourist, so that holds me back a little. I ended up in a bead shop and got a few beads in the green family to make a bracelet. I've tried twice now to put it together. I will work on it when I have more patience. Sometimes I get in those "instant gratification" moods, like now, so it is not a good time to try threading tiny beads.

As with most things I've encountered so far, Ocean Beach was nice, but would be better with a cohort. I walked around a bit after buying beads and accidentally ended up in a head shop. I was wearing my bright pink shirt with a zipper and my grandma sweater. I so fit in. I'm sure I looked completely uptight and out of my element, however people who know me well know I'm not as wholesome as I look. But, these people don’t know me. I asked the girl at the counter what was good to eat, and tried my best not to look like a nark. The guy standing beside her with two wandering eyes suggested some places as well, but I didn't try anywhere they told me about. I picked up some incense labeled "sensuous" and smelled it on my way out the door.

I walked to where the end of the street ran into the ocean. I sat and looked at the lights across the water. I do like city lights, and these were excellent ones. They don't come out so well in pictures, so it will just have to be my own memory.

It seemed extra dark when I first sat down but my eyes adjusted and soon I could see blue in the water. The waves were calm and small. They came and crashed in equal rows of three, never more, never less. They were so consistent; they looked like lace trim rather than something moving and alive. Every so often I could make out a figure or two walking on the sand, either lovers or homeless people, maybe both. I wished to be one or the other at that moment, at least then I would be something.

Then I saw two figures coming from the water with surfboards. It startled me, but not in a bad way. I had a sudden respect for the ocean, and reflected on its power. It had made these people invisible to me.

I drove back to the area where I am staying and ate at Mimi’s Café. It wasn’t crowded at all, so I felt comfortable. The atmosphere was a mishmash of Paris and New Orleans. There were Parisian references and Jazz memorabilia. I made my first attempt at the beads while I waited for my food. I’m sure I looked cute chasing them around the glass topped table, but it wasn’t very productive.

Saturday I went to Balboa Park. The building closest to where I parked was the Veterans Memorial Center and Museum. I took a look inside. It used to be a church. The pews were gone and artifacts were in place, and uniformed mannequins stood on the pulpit.

I took the trolley into the park, and had an insta-crush on the driver. He was a man probably in his 40’s with dark hair styled in the manner of nineteen-seventies Elvis. But, he completely pulled it off. His commentary as we rode to the park was witty; I laughed anyway.

I went to the Timken Museum of Art, where a few of Rembrandt’s Apostles were on display. I was so flustered at seeing the paintings right in front of my face that I forgot to take any pictures; another memory that will be just mine. I didn’t mind this activity by myself, I like to stand and stare and take my time. I wouldn’t have enjoyed having someone with me and feeling like I needed to hurry it along. Rembrandt. In front of my face. I soaked it in.

I learned quite a bit from the man explaining the paintings. My favorite thing he said was, “All apostles are disciples, but not all disciples are apostles.” It’s simple and probably something everyone else already knows, but I didn’t, and I liked the way he said it and the look on his face when he did.

I then went to the botanical garden housed in a huge wooden structure. I didn’t spend much time in there. I like the name of one plant though. I took a picture.

I rode around on the trolley a bit more to see the whole park. We went over a bridge that was strung up over the highway, and then almost into downtown. I walked over it later as it was getting dark. I felt high. Different from the Ikea high.

Before that I discovered the palm tree canyon. I can hardly describe how human I felt. That was another place I spent a lot of time. There was a very giant, spooky set of trees with what seemed like white roots living above the ground. The spaces they made were big enough to lie down in. I might have a nightmare about those trees.

There were lots of weddings or at least photography for weddings going on that day in the park. I saw one couple numerous times. In each pose they were kissing. I imagined that they must have been tired of it by then, but no, they looked very happy. To them, no one else was around. I hope I can be that in love someday. The bride is in one of the photos I took. It’s not obvious, but it’s appropriate.

I keep running into people with only one and a half arms. I’ve seen men and women, all ages, with one arm missing up to the elbow. I’ve never seen so many amputees. It’s starting to disturb me. Is it some sort of warning? If I were at a veteran’s day event or something similar I wouldn’t think it so out of the ordinary. I was in Sephora and decided to ask a girl crouched down at a drawer a question. When she stood up the side of her not facing me before revealed a nub at the elbow. I didn’t flinch, on the outside. I swear up and down and all around that I saw her a day or two later in a parking lot, walking with a guy. He had his arm around her, it seemed like they were on a date.

California is for Romantics

(Note sarcasm)
For those times you have incensed your lovely lady; when you didn't take out the trash, you weren't sensitive enough to her feelings, or you just couldn't give her what she needs...give her flowers. Night or day, in the parking lot between Blockbuster and Ralph's grocery.

Oh California!!!!

Sensory overload! Here's some pictures of my journey so far, will actually write more later!!
One thing I can't forget--I went to In and Out Burger like Karin suggested. An elderly man was in front of me on the way in, and he let a juicy one right on me. I acted like I didn't hear it. I knew he couldn't help it. But while I was waiting for my order, I thought to myself that it was just payback for what I did to poor Dan Grimm. But, I couldn't help it! I'll be "one of those old people" I just know it.

Click for larger views:

Bye Scotty!

Bye Marshall!!

I vote for larger planes.
They are much smoother.

IKEA!!!!!

With palm trees.

IKEA specialty-meatballs, potatoes, lingonberries.
Yummy lunch!

Ikea is a drug. I am high.

Los Angeles--this way!
I'd love to see this view at night.

La Jolla

Pacific breaking on the rocks.

Horton Plaza

Closer view of tiled obelisk.

Happy Sam!

A room with a view....

Def Poetry Sam

MainCourseMainCourseMainCourseMainCourse

He holds his intentions in his nose
sneezes them out
onto a diner napkin
making the blue stripe around the edge
darker
with wet
words

She doesn't hear them right
so she will bless him

He will thank her,
speaking clearly.





ReverieReverieReverieReverieReverieReverie

why don't you pull that speck
down
off the wall
that catches your eye

sometimes
you look at it on purpose
just to make sure
it
is still there

soon, they will come
to paint the walls
some shade
of ochre

and you will be
unsatisfied





ColderStillColderStillColderStillColderStillColderStill

Once you go outside
it's colder than you thought
and you want back in

Touching the door handle
just makes you colder

Now your palms ache
with want
for warmth

Taking comfort under a tree
of familiarity
only shades you
while bark falls into your hair





OnthewayOnthewayOnthewayOnthewayOntheway

So fast,
wheels barely touch
the surface

the Force and the Friction make
the passengers

Tense

reaching top speed
hands grip
the closest skin

or

what
ever
may fall
into the path
of frantic fingers

the vehicle slows,

rubber
still hot
from running to get
in line

hands away now
the passengers,
with eagerness smeared
on their cheeks

disengage





ChemicalChemicalChemicalChemicalChemicalChemical

Sweat pools
in the small of
his back

She drags her fingers
through it
and up to his shoulder

Where her hand
slips
off and on
to her chest

His movements make it hard
to feel her own pulse
or to hold on
to him
too tightly

He stays close
on purpose
almost under her skin

And when it's done
the sweat on her hands
cools
and evaporates

Flossie and Other Tales of Hygiene

People give me crap about my flossing habits. I appreciate the feedback, really. However, I find my method hard to change despite the ridicule I endure. I have been using little bits of Scott's floss because ever since I moved, I haven't been able to find mine. I enjoy flossing. It really makes me feel clean, in the same way washing my hands after mushing up a meatloaf mixture makes me feel clean.

In elementary school, we had two healthcare perks: head lice checks and fluoride day. They each happened once a month, but not on the same day.
I was neutral about head lice day, it had its pluses and minuses. I loved it because the school nurse would open up the bends of a paper clip and poke around in our hair with it. It was like grade school massage therapy.
I hated it because, well, I usually had lice.

Dental days were good because we got fluoride rinse. "Swish and spit!!" It had a nice flavor. I felt like it made my breath smell fresh. And, we got flossing lessons. Here is where my trouble started. A little container of floss held endless wonders, we could pull the waxy stuff out of it all day. Forget about multiplication tables. It would pile in curls around our feet and we were a tangled minty mess, more joyful than any playground had ever made us. But, we were kids, so they gave us boundaries.

The rule they taught us was this: hold the floss container at your chest, and pull out an arms length of floss. I respect boundaries. Maybe a little too much. I'm still using this rule!! No one has suggested any other procedure for proper flossing, until recently. Friends have witnessed my technique and their mouths fly open. I interpret this as a request for some floss, so I politely offer them a helping. Generally the response is something like, "Well I don't think there'd be any left anyway!"

I then share fond memories of dental day, and they point out that my arm has certainly grown a bit since the 4th grade. This is true, but I have developed a bit of a complex because I'm used to having so much floss. It gets wrapped around my fingers so many times, to where they're nearly purple at the ends. What this amounts to is that I don't like to use the same spot on a piece of floss more than once. I will, reluctantly, if I have to use someone else's stash of string. I don't want to appear greedy. But, with my own paid for floss, I use one section between two teeth, and move down to a spot that has not been used.

I'm probably not what comes to mind when one thinks "germ-o-phobe," which makes this next confession all the more ironic. But, if I could, I would be one of those nuts who only uses a toothbrush once and then discards it.

Go west, young pumpkin, go west.

The last two hours of work today were filled with pumpkin guts. Our department went to a lake/park nearby and carved out the orange globes in an attempt at quality time. I think we were successful. My partner was my supervisor. The parts she worked on looked the most precise. My cuts were jagged and shallow. It was my first time, a good practice. Next time I will approach the situation much more gingerly.

Pumpkin guts smell like sour tomatoes. The stringy insides are indeed slimy, as most everyone tried to tell me they were. I wanted to believe they weren't. I will have to study up on pumpkins and find out what makes them...pumpkins. I had never seen the inside of a pumpkin before, and looking into the cavity of our gourd my first thought was, someone gathered up a bunch of spider webs and soaked them in orange sherbet.

It was a crisp afternoon that grew into a blustery evening. I drove my pumpkin home and sat it on the porch, proudly. Later on I went out to pick up something for dinner. Scott got home shortly before I returned. I was getting the food out of the back seat when I saw him hop out the front door. He crouched over the pumpkin to shield it from the wind. When he stood up, I saw my pumpkin glowing. He probably didn't know it, but that made me really happy. He's a good friend.


In two weeks or so, I will discover Southern California. I think I had figured that in my life I would never see California. It seems like an utterly fictional place to me. People tell me it's there and that it is wonderful and I see what I believe are pictures of it, but I have no first hand proof. Shortly, I will make it real, and I will make it my own. Yes, I love grimy, crowded, gray cities. San Diego, I gather, is the complete opposite of my beloved New York. Because of the blatant irony, my reluctance to believe that I could love anywhere else more, California just could become my new favorite. But, we'll see. There's a lot of America to explore, I can love lots of it all at once, right?

Lists

Snappy reasons for not accepting coitus from face painter Rocco, whom I met at the State Fair this weekend:

• He's been around the block a few times. I'm just sitting on the stoop looking at the sidewalk.
  
• One face painting from him, albeit quick, is enough.
  
• His name is Rocco.
  

Good music I have been submersed in lately:

• "A Day Like Today" - Tom McRae
• "Green Eyes" - Coldplay
• "Hello Tomorrow (adidas Version)" - Karen O. & Squeak E. Clean
• "Weary Blues" - Madeleine Peyroux
• "Y Control" - Yeah Yeah Yeah's

Things to do when I'm fit:

• Wear fashionable clothes.
• Break some hearts.
  
• Go to the grocery store in a bikini and a short skirt--and sunglasses--to pick up some sunscreen.
• Rock a pair of high heels.
  
• Do it with the lights on.
  

What I "wanted to be" when I grew up-age five:

• Ballerina
• Teacher
• Lawyer
• Hair model

What I "want to be" when I grow up-age 24:

• Some species of "writer"
• Adult novelty inventor
• A ghost
• Somebody's mama

Undesirables:

• Being hit in the head with things-especially hands and pillows.
• Teeth scraping on silverware.
• Salads with water sloshing around underneath the lettuce--(Yes YOU! Wendy's.)
• Dropping the soap in the shower-it leaves a dent and it makes me feel dirty.
  
• Summertime sniffles.
• Accidentally buying the same magazine twice.
  
• Moustaches-just moustaches.
  

Bibliorebel

I left work tonight and was pleasantly surprised by the cool air that hit me as I opened the door. I decided to go downtown and visit the library. I parked a few blocks away and walked to enjoy what the near middle of October feels like. I skirted along the edge of a giant church (all churches smell the same--old--I can't believe anything else--I could smell this one from the street,) small brick homes that were slightly overeaten with weeds, and apartments for the elderly, to name a few landmarks.

The Cary library is not so pretty. It looks like a ranch-style house; unforgivingly one level and lengthy. I suppose what matters are the books inside the guts of it. I shouldn't judge my library by its cover? Ah-HA!

The vestibule of any library is almost my favorite part--after the books. Tonight on my way out I picked up an Independent Weekly and the Catalog of Spring 2006 Classes for Wake Tech. If I were a senior citizen, an African American, a woman over 50, or looking for a job, I would have hit the jackpot. Or if I were really lucky and was a really old black woman who needed a gig, I would have had more free info-odicals that I would know what to do with.

But, my two appropriate picks and the four books I got was plenty. The library almost seems too good to be true. Maybe it's because I really like information.

I think I've always been that way. My most vivid childhood memories are not of family vacations or broken bones or slumber parties; they are of taking off on my own, usually ending up on the cool tile floor of the library. I think the most upset my mother ever got with me was when she sent me to the grocery store for ice cream and I didn't come back for a few hours. The library was right next to the grocery store. I was five, there were rows and rows of books to be looked at...who cared about ice cream!? She sent a neighbor to look for me. I hid well in the back corner of the library, sitting with legs crossed Indian-style, the cover of the book on my left leg, it's back on my right. It sat just perfectly and so did I. When I got back to the home, sans ice cream, my mother said she was not mad at me, just very disappointed. I think that hurt worse.

I upset Karen at a library once. I must have been 11 or 12. She dropped me off at the library in downtown Durham for a few hours during summer break. While sitting outside waiting for her, I noticed a rat. He wasn't moving very much. He looked sick and his breathing was labored. I picked him up and tried to care for him through good thoughts. He seemed paralyzed except for breathing. I thought he needed water so I pledged to take him home and make him well. When Karen arrived, she told me to put the nasty rat down and go wash my hands. I hated to leave him, but it was clear that he wasn't coming home with us. I lay him in the shade where it was at the least, cooler.

Happily, tonight's library outing did not result in discovery of diseased rodents, or angry mothers upon return. Just Marshall, rolling over, belly up, as soon as I opened the door.

Theme?

Is there a theme developing in my blog? A newfound love for a town (city?) in my own North Carolina? Should I change my blog to IlikeCarylights? As exciting as that seems, probably not. I'm just experiencing the joys of living in a new town. I didn't make such a distinction in my head because it's not like I had never been to Cary before; it's not far from my previous residence. Still, I am discovering and observing new things constantly.

I had always wondered where over 100,000 people were kept stashed in Cary (perhaps where they keep all the wild animals.) Actually, I now understand that spaces that appear to be plots of empty vegetated land are scads of domiciles hidden by a thin layer of greenery between the community and the adjoining road. This is foolery, but I am okay with it because I like green. I also like lots of people being around, so it works out.

As autumn moves in and the leaves begin to fall, I suppose I will notice more houses and less trees. Finally, exposed suburbia, traced in naked branches.

I do enjoy having the train nearby. Feeling everything rumble around me and hearing the siren voice of the engine lets me know that things are as they should be. We are humans, moving on the earth, transporting goods. I imagine what things are in the trains roaring by, and sometimes I imagine what it would sound like if a car were on the track. Not often, I think only with the trains carrying heavier loads; I sense them before they arrive and long after they've passed. As I hear the train get closer and closer, I can't help it. It just sounds like it's aiming at something with fierce umbrage, and when I don't hear a crash or an explosion I am of course relieved, but also a little disappointed. The noise of an oncoming train has the sound of something building up, like a sneeze or an orgasm. When nothing happens, I feel cheated and unsatisfied. I don't want anyone to get hurt or there to be any damage done, but a train is quite the tease. There should be something else, like an exclamation point, that will appease my desire for a locomotive climax.

Out of the mouth of babes....

Just as Jennifer's real brother is quite the little prophet, so is her step-brother, Mikey. He is 12 years old.
Last night Jennifer and I were getting some chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream for a midnight snack. Mikey was completely uninterested in the decadent fare, but observed quietly, finally asking, "Why do girls eat ice cream when they get depressed?" I don't think Jennifer and I were eating it for this reason, but it was still a valid observance.

He knows more than he'll ever realize, and doesn't need us to tell him the answer to that. He'll learn one day.