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March 31, 2002
easter, peeps, and unbridled love
easter, peeps, and unbridled love
Growing up, those marshmallow peeps were a staple in my Easter basket. Imagine my shock and delight upon discovering that there's an official fan club for these sweets. What kind of club is it? One where you can "Declare your citizenship in Peepsville and meet others who share your unbridled love for these delicious treats, by joining the Official Peeps Fan Club. Share stories with your fellow Peeps lovers, enjoy special Peeps activities and get lots of great Peeps stuff!"
I think their marketing team went a bit too far with the "unbridled love" part. I can only imagine the stories one might share;
"I ate a blue peep last night, Ralph. She was a hottay."
"That's nothing Denny, after doing a few illicit drugs mine started to talk to me and offered to give me a back rub."
"Bullshit! But hey, let's head over to Peepsville, and pop a few unsuspecting marshmallow bunnies in the microwave..."
Posted by Moxie at 11:43 AM | Comments (1)
March 30, 2002
fall from grace
fall from grace
Gah, apparently, merlot has gone out of style, and no one bothered to tell me.
I found this article on slate -- the wine tasting comments of a wine afficionado, a wine drinker, and a plain old drinker had me rolling.
Posted by Moxie at 1:31 PM
March 29, 2002
Friday Five
1. If you could eat dinner with and "get to know" one famous person (living or dead), who would you choose? Steve Martin, without a doubt. I've heard he's a lot of fun, and surprisingly, quite an intellectual.
2. Has the death of a famous person ever had an effect on you? Who was it and how did you feel? Lots of them. Lucille Ball, Audrey Hepburn, Carrol O'Connor. It was disheartening to know that our current stash of their work was all we'd ever have.
3. If you could BE a famous person for 24 hours, who would you choose? Woody Allen. I'd want to experience being a man for a day, and this guy must have one interesting life!
4. Do people ever tell you that you look like someone famous? Who? I get a whole range of these comments, but mostly Traci Lords. I'm not sure how to take that! Recently at a party, chock full of celebs, everyone was gossiping that Traci Lords was there. I wanted to see her in person, and someone heard she was in the other room. When I went into that room, they said she had last been spotted in the room I just came from. My friend got to the bottom of it, when whomever was spreading the rumor described to him what she was wearing. Exactly what I was wearing.
5. Have you ever met anyone famous? Yeah, a bunch of folks. I'm always struck by how they differ from their publicized personas, interviews, talk shows, etc. Robin Williams, though. Well he was exactly the same!
Posted by Moxie at 1:39 PM
March 28, 2002
who wrote "naked"?
who wrote "naked"?
Heh. I knew that would get your attention. But I'm speaking of the book, by David Sedaris. Now you're wondering why is she asking us who wrote it, when she just said it was by David Sedaris?
"Naked" is one of my all time favorite books of essays. I love David Sedaris. I lament daily that 1) he lives in New York and 2) that he's gay. "Holidays on Ice" had me rolling, "Naked" had me hooked...and now I've bought "Me Talk Pretty One Day."
If this is the evolution we writers go through, then I want no part of it. Especially not for Mr. Sedaris. I'm struggling to grasp that this book was even written by the same man. It's not the tears-streaming-down-my-face page turner that I had hoped for. In fact, I'm half way through and laughed out loud only once. I was so startled by my outburst, I could hardly enjoy the hearty laugh, what with my heart palpitating as if I had been scared by a sudden loud noise and all.
So, I've given up hoping that all the funny stories are in the second half of the book, and resorted to formulating theories that wouldn't hold their own against occam's razor. My latest and most logical, and I use that word loosely, is that this book was penned by a David Sedaris imposter. First, he kidnapped the real one, tied him up and interrogated him about his ideas, and childhood. Then this man wrote a book, and has assumed the life of the writer I adore.
I'm so disapointed, I can hardly finish the book....
Posted by Moxie at 7:52 PM | Comments (2)
March 27, 2002
this time last year
this time last year
I was redecorating....
Posted by Moxie at 9:53 PM
bentley's trip to the vet
bentley's trip to the vet
I just got back from taking Bentley in for a check up, when I was struck by something very strange.
Presumeably, those of you with pets will identify with what I am about to write. While it's flattering to hear how handsome my boy is, doesn't it seem like an inappropriate comment when the technician has a thermometer up his ass? I liken this to someone going to a people doctor, or even better a gynecologist, who's peering up into your privates, while telling you you have a beautiful hair, or a great smile...
There are some things better left unsaid, I think.
Posted by Moxie at 4:07 PM
marketing call
marketing call
(recognized alien phone number on caller ID) please note this is the first time this trick ever (almost) worked...
me: allo oui?
marketer: hello is madison slate there?
me: (in heavy improvised french-spanish-thai accent) no she is no here....
marketer: we have a pre-approved life insurance offer for her, are you an authorized card holder on her platinum card account?
me: oh nooooooooooooo, I wish so! Can you make me one? I have lots of things need to buy...
marketer: ok... no. But when will she be home?
me: she's on world tour. No be back for 15 months! Maybe more!
marketer: Well, thank you, I've plugged it into the computer, we'll call her back then.
DAMN! FOILED again!
Posted by Moxie at 12:15 AM
March 25, 2002
some things are better left undone
I'm tired of making "to do" lists. As I'm moving shortly, starting a new job, and generally busy with my social life, the "to do" has been looming large.
As a little stress buster, (and I encourage all of you to do the same) I made a therapeutic list of some "things better left undone:"
1. Ask your new landlord if he can guarantee your new digs are anthrax free - We all want to live in a safe environment. With our political climate the way it is, requesting an anthrax clause in your lease is simply a "safety measure."
2. Have a physical sparring with yourself at the grocery store over whether or not you are out of depends undergarments - "But I don't wear depends" "yes you do" "no I don't" that should clear the entire grocery store, ensuring a fast check out.
3. Practice driving on the left in downtown Los Angeles - You are heading back to Thailand soon, what better way to prepare for the dyslexia of driving on the left than to practice somewhere familiar?
4. After removing a neighbor's clothes from the washer, happily point out that he didn't get the blood stains out of his sheets - Offer him the use of your bottle of Era, because protein gets out protein
5. Dress up as a hari krishna and attend Passover services at the local orthodox temple - insist that you were bar/bat mitzvahed in that very temple in 1850.
6. Frighten your co-workers at your weekly meeting by speaking in tongues - there is no easier way to tell the team that you have no new business development opportunities
7. Call directory assistance and ask for Osama bin Laden's phone number - insist that you called him last week but lost the phone number. Then be ready to hear from the FBI.
8. Make "ha ha, neener neener" noises at the traffic cop as you move your car seconds before street cleaning begins - this is best accomplished if you stand outside your car and look at the cop until the very last second.
9. Submit your cat's resume to the company recruiter, for the employee referral bonus plan - point out that he has superior litter-box skills.
10. Go to Toys R Us and ask if they have the new "Pedophile Ken" doll - tell them your fiancé will never forgive you if you don't buy him one for your anniversary.
11. Pose as a mid-westerner, and ask folks if you may photograph their elbows - for your Getty-supported photography exhibit, "Elbows Across America"
12. Pluck your boyfriend's nose hairs - and carefully put them in a box filled with his letters, and photos.
13. Explain to your server that you are allergic to meat, fish, poultry, dairy, vegetables, and flour - smile and ask if he/she can recommend anything from the menu.
14. Call AOL repeatedly and insist that they cancel your account - even though you don't have one.
15. Buy social security numbers for your pets in South Central - then try to sign them up for welfare, (those ungrateful beasts!)
16. ABC 7 in Los Angeles claims to be THE source for breaking news - so stop by and demand that they report the breaking news that your mail carrier was late.
Feel better? I thought so.
Posted by Moxie at 5:21 PM
maddie's oscar fashion hot or not
maddie's oscar fashion hot or not
I'm still trying to recover from the site of Gwen's prematurely sagging breasts, and the shock and delight of seeing that Jennifer Connelly was wearing my discarded dishrags. Now that's true recycling.
At the party I went to, Sharon Stone was officially and unanimously nominated "sexiest woman alive" while we all shook our heads in disbelief at J Lo's wig, praised Reese Witherspoon's classic emsemble, and tried to figure out whether Nicole Kidman was wearing anything at all.
Halle looked magnificient but was overshadowed by the continuous shots of Uma's bulging breasts. The cameraman was clearly intrigued! Next year, I'll have to take notes for a full length feature. But for now, that's all folks!
Posted by Moxie at 12:58 AM
March 24, 2002
this is way too much fun
this is way too much fun
Play police sketch artist with this amazing website. You can save your masterpieces, which got me to thinking....someone should create a site where folks can post their renderings of famous people.
Posted by Moxie at 1:29 PM
March 22, 2002
Friday Five
1. What is your favorite time of year? Summer, but spring is a very close second.
2. What is it about your favorite season that, well, makes it your favorite season? The sun, the beach, swimming, memories of childhood summer vacations and that feeling of freedom. Spring is also special to me because I love to see the new leaves growing on the trees, and that wonderful smell in the air, during the first warm days of nature's renewal. Damn that sounds corny.
3. What is your least favorite time of year? Why? Winter. Anything that has to do with weather below 50 degrees, rain, snow, sleet or likewise makes me chilled to the bone just thinking about it. As a child on the east coast, I always found the lack of flowers, and barren brown skeletons of trees to be depressing and somewhat tragic in appearance. That cold stuff isn't much fun to drive in either.
4. Do you do anything to celebrate or recognize the changing of seasons? Nah, aside from spring cleaning, which is decidedly not a celebration I don't do anything in particular. Though the summer soltice is a great excuse to enjoy the long day outdoors, I tend not to make a big deal out of these things.
5. What's your favorite thing to do outside? Swimming, taking longs walks with my digital camera, and eating outdoors. There's something about food that's been cooked outside on an open flame. Maybe it's just because it's more dangerous than kitchen cooking, but I love it just the same.
Posted by Moxie at 2:44 AM
March 20, 2002
laguna
laguna
My Dad and I drove from Newport Beach to Laguna for lunch. Not too shabby. It was a gorgous warm, sunny day, and I even got to take some photos! We saw a hummingbird, but I wasn't quick enough with the shutter to catch it, staring at us from not more than a foot away.
Lucky for me, business brings my Father to Southern California frequently. His last trip here began on September 10th, and ended with a three day train ride back east. This afternoon was in such sharp contrast to that trip, when we sat glued to CNN for hours ignoring the shining sun and the car that wanted to be driven somewhere new. Instead of talking about what places we wanted to check out, we sat and discussed how things will never be the same. Today, however, things were exactly the same. The same as the many previous trips where my Dad and I get into the car and drive around this beautiful state and see new things, eat at newly discovered restaurants and catch up.
Posted by Moxie at 7:57 PM
spring, finally
spring, finally
I'm not much of a winter person. The first day of spring always brings a sigh of relief, and new exciting things. Though most of the flowers and trees in LA remain unchanged throughout the year, the trees that line my street have little buds on them, the new leaves will follow. Lots of new things going on in my life too, I suppose it's the season. I'm trying to turn over a new leaf.
I just realized that Passover is around the corner, and it's one of my favorite biblical stories. Yes, yes...I know I'm Catholic. But it evokes fond memories of my grammar school years, when we learned about Passover. One year, thanks to a super cool teacher, we even had a seder, with grape juice instead of wine, of course.
Anyway, I'm off to Newport Beach to meet my Father for lunch. I'll check back in later.
Posted by Moxie at 11:49 AM
March 19, 2002
it's never happened before
it's never happened before
But I've got nothing to say.
But I did see this photo, and it made me laugh, mostly because this depicts how lovely I feel today!
Posted by Moxie at 9:11 PM
March 18, 2002
flattered, speechless and damn proud
flattered, speechless and damn proud
Well, who woulda thunk it? I'm the featured site on wander-lust! Thanks, Rick....I'm blushing with shameless pride, it feels so nice to be noticed!
And while I'm at it, go vote all 5's for the "cat can-can" in the scan your can contest. That's Phoebe's ass, if you were wondering. I need the money. For cat food. These guys eat more than I do.
Posted by Moxie at 9:32 PM
are you in love?
are you in love?
Questions about falling in love have been popping up all over the place in my life lately, both online and off. What is love? How do you know when you love someone?
I assume this is a question that can be answered in many ways, which may be very different for each person.
When I hear "I love you" and it's a feeling I share, my chest feels warm and I have a blast of dizziness. I know I'm in love when it's a feeling that can't be tamed, can't be turned on and off like a light switch. It's something that endures years without fading. I know I'm in love when I can't imagine my life without this person.
So, how do YOU know you're in love? How long into a relationship is it reasonable to feel it, or say it? What is love to you?
Posted by Moxie at 11:16 AM
March 17, 2002
busy few days
busy few days
I'll be back in full force tomorrow, but in the meanwhile the new townhouse is official!
If you all lived close enough, I'd invite you over for drinks on my private terrace!
I almost cried when the owner of the building showed me that the 1920's doorbell worked, just think, my very own front door complete with doorbell! There was saliva dripping from my chin, when I saw that the current occupants had a full dinner sized teak table and chair set out there. It looked so nice against the growing bamboo. The area is as big as a room, y'all..and it faces west, which means it'll be nice and sunny for afternoon barbeques.
It's been so long since I had an outdoor area of my own. At night, I fall asleep dreaming of herb gardens, flowers, tomato plants, and of course warm summer nights and outdoor dinners. The cats are going to have such fun watching the squirrels who live outside, and running up and down the stairs. I guess if it's not too soon to begin planning the garden, and the lifestyle then it's not too soon to start packing!!!
Posted by Moxie at 4:49 PM
March 14, 2002
damn!
damn!
I had just written a nice long post about the ethical nuances of paying "for a baby" which is illegal, and paying "adoption fees" which is legal. All inspired by angelina and billy bob's plight. So, I hit post, and blogger crapped out on me and the whole thing is lost. Oh well.
I'm taking a few days off and will be back on Monday. That's not to say I won't post at all before then, but I'm not planning on it.
Posted by Moxie at 5:45 PM
March 12, 2002
afghan girls fund
afghan girls fund
This is a cause close to my heart. National Geographic has set up a fund to support efforts empowering women and education in Afghanistan. I can only imagine, if I feel invisible and inferior, what it must be like for those little girls, teenagers and women who didn't even have the opportunity to be educated on the most basic level. Seeing those little girls interviewed on TV these past few months, saying they want to be doctors and help people, but have barely learned to read at age 12 made me want to give them money. You all know, I sure don't have money to give, I'm guiltily dodging the poor Cornell freshman who's been calling me (Maddie? No, she's not here. Call back in a few months. I know she wants to give money to her alma mater), so I hope someone out there does have a few bucks to spare and helps the Afghan women. Giving by proxy, right?
Anyway, I thought I'd play bleeding heart liberal for a day, since I was struck with severe deja vu by the current article featuring the same Afghan girl on the cover I recall from 1985 (I have a photographic memory and it was haunting to see the new issue). After reading this..."Time and hardship have erased her youth. Her skin looks like leather. The geometry of her jaw has softened. The eyes still glare; that has not softened." I wished I could send her all the skin care samples I have from the trade shows I worked this past summer. I could never use them all myself. Oh, there I go....back to myself again. I was beginning to worry.
Posted by Moxie at 8:22 PM | Comments (1)
system status
system status
Lots of good things to report for once. On the interview front, I'm set up with two interviews. Of course I have no idea what these jobs pay. I could be employed and still eligible for food stamps for all I know. But at the very least, I see this as a sign the economy is turning around. Two resumes sent, two requests for interviews! Feels like old times.
On the home front, I found a two story townhouse in my neighborhood that will be ready in April. Huge private deck, 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a washer and dryer in the unit (I can say buh bye to quarters), gorgous 1920's building, hardwood floors, lots o closet space. Sounds too good to be true, but the owner told me it's mine!
Third, my best friend from Cornell is coming to visit this week! I haven't seen her since her wedding a year ago. I'm giddy with delight. I know, you didn't even recognize me....; )
Posted by Moxie at 11:58 AM
March 11, 2002
This guy is sick
This guy is sick
Either that or he's seen one too many government conspiracy movies.
Posted by Moxie at 7:23 PM
March 10, 2002
9-11 Documentary on CBS
9-11 Documentary on CBS
Although I could have done without the Robert DeNiro intro and closing remarks...this documentary was extremely well made, I was shocked. I know a lot of folks who said they wouldn't watch it, that they'd had enough of the repeated acrid imagery. But these images were dramatic and unique, as we had never seen before on network TV. Even more moving than the footage depicting the firefighters in the lobby of tower 1, was the underlying story of the young probationary firefighter, a story begun long before September 11th. It came across as a real coming of age story, without any of the typical hollywood taglines, "he grew into a man, and learned a lot of important lessons about life along the way."
I don't mean that to sound trite, rather that most coming of age films, and documentaries are trite. Anyway, hope you all were able to catch it. It was well worth the two hours.
Posted by Moxie at 11:08 PM | Comments (1)
damn that cell phone
damn that cell phone
I'm chronically unemployed y'all, if you didn't gather. I check my cell phone everyday, looking to see who's called. Usually no one. Well, tonight, I checked again, I checked last night and the night before. But somehow, there were suddenly two messages from companies who want me to come in for an interview. Yes, these messages were left TWO frickin days ago, and I just got them.
So what's a good excuse, I talked about this ad naseum tonight, and the "I was out of town for a wedding" seems to be the forerunner. Let me know if you have a better excuse for a lame-ass cellular provider.....UGH
Posted by Moxie at 4:01 AM
March 8, 2002
1. What makes you homesick?
1. What makes you homesick? Uh, being away from home...
2. Where is "home" for you? California, for sure. Though I live in LA, sometimes San Francisco still feels like home.
3. What makes it home for you? People? Things? Home is where my stuff is, especially my cats. My friends also make a place feel like home, or a grocery store clerk who knows my name.
4. Where is the furthest you've been from home, miles-wise? 8,890 miles.
5. What are your plans for this weekend? I'm going to the bookstore to browse for something that can keep my mind occupied. Looking for jobs. Looking for apartments.
Posted by Moxie at 1:28 PM
alligator
Flashback to 1999, I've officially been in LA for 3 years this month!
The heavy New Jersey accent on the other line gave away my caller's identity. Jon D'Amico. Not that he wouldn't have told me momentarily, but I knew it was Jon after the first four letters of "hello." I had met him at a brunch in Beverly Hills that a mutual friend had most graciously hosted. It had been my first social engagement since arriving in Los Angeles.
He wanted me to come over to his home in the Hollywood Hills, sit on the deck and read his screenplay. Since I had no plans, I agreed.
I drove up Highland, through Hollywood, and for once knew the streets well enough not to have to refer to my Thomas Guide. Interestingly enough, I observed that the Max Factor building was having a face lift, apparently, makeup can't fix everything. I followed Highland North to West Cahuenga, and turned on Mullholland drive. Mental note to myself to buy a compass, as no one in LA can say left or right, but instead North on Fairfax, South on LaBrea, East on Olympic or West on Wilshire. For God's sake.
A few more turns West, then North, and the road curves to reveal Ringo Starr's white home, standing elegantly on the side of the cliff. I wonder if he's at home, and if so what's he's doing this Saturday morning. Perhaps he was on the toilet, or reading the paper. Maybe both. These people are human after all, right?
Finally, I pass Jon's next-door-neighbor's house. Also known as Ben Stein's hovel, and his garish white Cadillac sits out front, gleaming and clean. Being that the car looming on the street, was larger than the entire house, it obviously wouldn't fit into the garage. Jon had told me on the phone what a wacky guy Ben is, and the South Park sticker on the rear bumper made me wonder. That's so 1998. He should know better.
I pulled up outside Jon's house, as if he had been waiting on-cue, opened the front door, and walked out arms extended. Jon, a forty-something-year-old man, sporting a gaudy patterned shirt, and white pants hugged me. The belt was fastened so tightly, that Jon's stomach protruded both above and below the belt line. He reeked of copious amounts of cheap cologne, and I heard the tacky jingle from the multitude of gold chains around his neck. I cringed in his embrace. I hardly knew this man. Suddenly, I realized that I forgot to consider his intentions, and what he hoped to gain by befriending a young blonde new comer.
First, Jon and I had planned a 3.3 mile walk around the Hollywood Reservoir, a.k.a. Lake Hollywood to residents. We got into his Lincoln with Jersey plates. He dropped a tape into the player, and we listened to "Wild Weekend" by the Rocking Rebels. Watching the windy road, I hoped I was not his own Wild Weekend.
While driving, Jon continually drummed on the steering wheel, and drove a bit too fast for my comfort. Tired of the drums, he then switched to air guitar, with a Fender amp, just in time for the big riff at the end of the song. I noticed his sloppy chords, and strumming, and wondered where he had learned the air guitar. You'd think that if one chooses that type of instrument, they'd at least imagine themselves a good guitarist. It's only logical.
So, as he deconstructed the Rocking Rebels era, if you could call it that, I noticed he emphasized most of his sentences with a touch to my arm or knee. Mostly my knee. The passenger seat of the Lincoln was big, and it left me room to move further and further away, to make some much needed personal space. I prayed to the god I hardly believed in, and asked him to keep an eye on this guy -- that he should at all times maintain a healthy distance.
We strolled around the lake. He "entertained" me with tales about his Uncle Vinnie the union ironworker, how his family was involved in the real scandal behind the movie "Chinatown," why he dropped the "h" from Jon, and that he once spoke to Frank Sinatra on the phone. I asked him if Old Blue Eyes was really connected, and he simply smiled, and his eyes narrowed.
While walking, Jon talked about music incessantly. Apparently, he was a big rock star in his own mind, way back when. I see a squashed lizard on the path, baking in the midday heat, and I recall a dream I had the night before -- about alligators.
Meanwhile, I'm still listening to stories of how his band got gigs in Atlantic City because of his father's prominent "position" in society. He told me of a song he wrote in 1980 at his cousin Joey's place, high on coke, while sitting naked at a piano in the Hollywood Hills. I tried not to picture it. He promised to show me the piano later. I swallowed hard, and neglected to mention that my own mother was a lifelong musician/music connoisseur, but that she had never written a song naked, as far as I knew.
I tripped a couple of times, while pretending not to be affected by his showy stories, and that gave him an excuse to touch my arm again. Must walk more carefully.
Once back at the ranch, he offered me the use of his shower, which I most gracefully declined. I'd rather marinate in my own sweat for a couple of hours, than get naked in his house. Though it was difficult to convince him of that.
In lieu of a cool shower, I sat on the sun-drenched deck, and viewed the Hollywood Hills spilling beneath the deck, running out towards the Valley. Jon handed me the script, and served me a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. From the trees just below. I sat down and he passed me a joint, still soggy from his own mouth. Although I'm not a pot smoker, I do know that the joint isn't supposed to actually go in your mouth. Where were his manners? I declined, of course.
I read his autobiographical screenplay which could be the Godfather Part 4, told from the viewpoint of Jon D'Amico. Ten pages into it, I knew more about "connections," shocking crimes, intricate business schemes, and Jon's self proclaimed abundant sex world. I read how Jon scared a man into smashing his own kneecaps for fear that Jon would do far worse to him for daring to talk to his "lady" friend.
"So whatta ya think," Jon cooed.
I look up from my reading to see that he has stripped down to his tighty whitey-style Calvin Klein briefs. They were disgustingly tight, and in the bright sunlight every bulge was visible. I was not impressed. And it was impossible for me to look at him again the rest of the afternoon.
I wished I could will my cell phone to ring, but we had already agreed on lunch. Knowing now, unequivocally, what his intentions were, I thought it would be best to put this little afternoon on fast forward. Hoping to entice him to put his clothes back on, I suggested we head out for lunch. He agreed the time was right, since he and his cousin Joey had some business to take care of later that afternoon. His Uncle Leo from the Vegas D'Amicos had passed away last week, and they had some lose ends to tie up.
While walking me out to the Lincoln, Jon revealed that while in Vegas, his Aunt had handed him a case filled with unregistered guns to "deal with." Since he had also recently relocated to LA, the only folks he knew in that business were back in Jersey. Unfortunately, I had no connections to share with him but he was covered anyway, as his cousin Joey had planned to dispose of them later that Saturday in a boat out at sea.
"I was involved in a lot of scams in Atlantic City in the 70's, that's when I had a 1,000/week coke habit, married a 6 foot tall blonde Swedish model, had a Brazilian girlfriend, and French Maid."
His penchant for women was not a surprise to me, as I had seen a stack of Playboy magazines proudly displayed in the bathroom earlier, and had tried very hard not to notice. I had also tried not to notice that I, a 5'6 woman towered over him by a good four inches. Internally, I chuckled at the mental imagery of him and his amazon bride. Beauty and the Beast. Unbeknownst to him, he was not an attractive man, suffering from the Italian-male syndrome, of blind over confidence.
We stopped at Cousin Joey's before lunch, Jon needed to pick up some "things" which turned out to be drugs, and his mail. Joey was out on business, for which I was grateful. He showed me pictures of Casa De Celoni, Uncle Vinnie's restaurant where an infant Jon, had been passed into James Dean's arms. There were also pictures of Grandpa D'Amico, with his arm around Sinatra. I saw a picture of 5 foot tall Cousin Joey, a man in his late 40's, wearing a button down, all buttoned down exposing his overly hairy chest. It looked as if all the hair formerly on his head had migrated to his chest.
We arrive at a Hollywood Hills lunch spot, and he parks his Lincoln illegally, without concern. He's greeted by name at the door and shown to a table. I start to slide into the banquet side of the table but pause, and ask if he'd prefer to sit with his back to the wall. He laughs and allows me the safe seating. I am assured that dining with an Italian is always a good idea, I'll never have a bad meal. A good meal sounded nice, but what I really needed was a drink, but I didn't dare. That would be later, alone in my apartment with the shades drawn, and door locked.
He told me stories of New Year's Eve parties in the late 70's where foursomes and partner swapping were as common as the coke vials scattered on the living room floor. I told him I have a friend who is a coke head and he marveled that the drug still enjoys popularity. He continued to glorify the details of illegal bets on fixed fights, the vending machine scams, and his extended "family" out in LA. Enjoying the sound of his own voice, he boasted about the windfalls he made back in the eighties at the casinos.
I returned inside his home for the last time after lunch to grab my bag. He opened the door for me, not without a final unwelcomed touch to the lower back, and welcomed me to hang out there whenever he's around. I glanced at the sun on the deck, the soft lounge chair where I read through his script, and viewed the sprawling creature of Los Angeles below, and I think out loud, "Maybe I will."
Most likely though, I won't. Not before cats grow wings.
Posted by Moxie at 3:14 AM | Comments (1)
March 7, 2002
sunshadow
sunshadow
yes, I managed to capture the essence of my life accidentally....notice the hairball on the top left corner.
Posted by Moxie at 2:50 PM
March 5, 2002
what you can't see
Because she always pointed out what you couldn't see, visiting with Aunt Helen was always dreadful. At least twice a year it was a family tradition to hop in the car for the excruciating drive from NYC to Cleveland. Fortunately, the Cleveland side of the family would often take the drive themselves to the "big city."
When Aunt Helen arrived, someone was always car sick, or turning blue because Uncle Pete had the air conditioning blasting on high. He had a horrifying propensity for falling asleep at the wheel. His cure was to run the a/c no matter what the season, and to eat Pepperidge Farms cookies one after the other whenever he drove, no matter how short the trip. He swore it kept him awake, and brushed off our alarm at his sudden massive weight gain.
Aunt Helen's car was always loaded to the brim, even for a 3 day visit. The trunk was packed like intricate 3-dimensional puzzle pieces. My Uncle Pete would have to remove one at a time, in the proper order so that he could free the next bag or box. After the suitcases, bags, boxes, and potty chair were piled into our hallway, Aunt Helen would pull a tote bag from the mess and immediately march into the bathroom of the guest suite.
There she would roll up her sleeves, and purposefully spray Lysol, generously marinating the toilet seat, faucets, tub, walls, floor, and of course the door knobs. She'd use a tissue to pick up the brand new soap my mother had left out for them and drop it into the trash, which she then also sprayed generously with Lysol. She told me bathrooms were one continuous colony of bacteria and viral atrocities and that I should breathe sparingly, as we never know what's commingling with our oxygen.
Once Aunt Helen had coated everything thoroughly, she'd make a few defensive arm movements, directing the aerosol at the walls, and towels in case any germ survived her wrath. She'd then wash her hands with the medical grade antibacterial soap that was carried in her handbag. "You should always lather for at least 3 minutes in order to kill all the germs," she'd tell me. I would stand in the doorway and watch her -- jaw dropped as she then pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, which was then poured over her scrubbed hands. This was before the advent of the portable hand sanitizers, and this, apparently was the next best thing.
About an hour later, she'd head back into the guest bathroom, armed with bleach, some foul smelling unmarked yellow liquid and a toothbrush. I never saw exactly what went on in there, but our grout never looked brighter.
Aunt Helen's son, Stephan was 9, but he still used a potty chair when they were not at home. "What about at school, does he put that thing in his back pack when he goes to school everyday?" I asked. But no, just like his Mother, he didn't like public bathrooms, and held it all day until he reached home. "I hope you don't pack his lunch bag with one of those huge drinks," I told Aunt Helen. "That could be disastrous." I asked her what would happen if he had explosive diarrhea at school and she simply made the sign of the cross and thanked God aloud that it hadn't happened.
Although my family was generally well educated, toilet talk was always a popular dinner time topic, and Stephan's toilet habits were discussed at great lengths when Aunt Helen was absent. "The kid's going to be packing that potty chair when he heads off to college," my Father speculated between bites of steak. "I bet he's going to grow up and become a homosexual, he should be peeing standing up by now," my Aunt Eva stated. "Everybody knows I'm the best Mother, so I know these things." How did she know if he was peeing sitting down? I promptly informed my other cousins that she was a closet pedophile, and should remain on high alert until I gave them the "all clear."
Those things we couldn't see were at the forefront of Aunt Helen's mind at any given moment. Many times during family visits, all the cousins would crowd into one bedroom and she'd tell us bedtime stories about little children who were blinded and disfigured by flesh eating bacteria because they got too close to someone on the subway. Our young minds found these tales as exciting as a bona fide ghost story. Once we were standing in line at the grocery store, someone three people in front of us sneezed and Aunt Helen whipped out several surgical masks, and instructed us to put them on immediately, before we got sick and died. She even horrified the neighbors with a detailed account of a friend who'd lost her child to an unknown incurable viral disease after he picked up a handful of after-dinner mints at a local restaurant.
Looking back, the most ironic thing about those visits was the state the bathroom was left in after my Aunt and Uncle left. Uncle Pete was Greek and his entire head, neck, arms, back and chest were covered with tightly wound black hairs. This was his parting gift to us. But we figured, as we regretfully found these hairs in the sinks, shower, sofa, sheets, carpets and washing machine for months to come - that they were more likely than not, clean.
Posted by Moxie at 5:24 PM
what i see
what i see
Posted by Moxie at 1:27 PM
March 4, 2002
sarcasm, don't come around here no more
sarcasm, don't come around here no more
There's a certain amount of shock one feels upon looking up a word that you've been using, that everyone's been using only to find that it means something slightly different. I still remember back in junior high school when I discovered that "forensic" didn't refer purely to dead bodies and autopsies, but was actually medical knowledge applied to legal matters. I think I saw the term "Forensic Psychologist," and having watched too much Quincy in my youth, thought that was an oxymoron. What? He counsels dead people? Being the dictionary lover that I am, I ran right for Webster and straightened that out immediately.
Today, I looked up sarcasm. In the past, I've been using it as a synonym for irony. Webster's says, "sar.casm n. bitter or wounding ironic remark; taunt sneer; irony. " Irony doesn't have to be sneering, bitter and wounding, which means most of the times I've used the word sarcastic, I meant ironic.
Sheesh, no wonder hardly a soul understands a word I say!
Posted by Moxie at 12:12 PM
March 1, 2002
mirabelle
The new girl in the micro-mini was running around the office in her high heels, arms wrapped around her boobs, which were nearly popping out of the top of her skimpy sleeveless blouse.
"Is so cold….this rain…so bad. Is wet all over. So much rain in LA. Too wet. Is cold like this in Italy, hate rain" her broken English was charming, however her inappropriate seasonal choice of clothing was not.
"Why don't you put on a sweater, Mirabelle?" I suggested. "It's 48 degrees outside, and raining!"
"Oh, I know…the rain! So wet. I have no sweaters, I no know is so cold here. My boobies are SO cold."
Sleeveless, low cut blouse?
Boobies?
Cold?
Wow! What a surprise!
No one in the office really knew what she did, other than inform everyone that her headlights were "on." Had she been born and bred in California, I'm sure our Managing Director would have pulled Mirabelle into her office immediately for a "that's not appropriate language in a business setting" speech. But we all brushed it off, and spoke of it in whispers at company happy hours.
We all hunkered down and hoped for warm weather but it was a long cold winter. Of course it continued, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this story.
"Maddie? Is your boobies cold?" she asked me one morning before I had my coffee. And I'm not good with people before I've had my coffee.
"IS MY BOOBIES COLD?" I mimicked her and suppressed laughter. "No Mirabelle, they aren't," I continued, and lowered my voice, "you know, I'm wearing something called a BRA and over that I'm wearing a heavy sweater. In fact, I also have a coat here as well, but I'm not wearing it because it's damn hot in here."
"Oh, I see. I wish I had sweater."
I wanted to scream, "they pay you to be here everyday. Everyday when instead of working you run around holding your tits. They pay you very well Mirabelle, you can AFFORD a sweater." I mean, the rest of us were actually working hard, we wore sweaters -- I didn't see Bruce telling everyone that his balls were frozen. I didn't say my coochie was chilled. Jaime didn't explain to everyone that would listen that her butt was iced solid to the point of constipation. Why not? Why not you ask?!
Because our dot com had not yet turned off the heat to save money. In fact, there was more than one of us in the ladies room at any given time, swabbing our underarm area with soap, water and paper towels, then vigorously applying and reapplying Mitchum. We'd then plead with the receptionist to turn the heat down. She wouldn't of course, because Mirabelle had already told her how desperately cold she and her "twins" were.
When Mirabelle wasn't talking about her "boobies" she would often drop to her knees when I entered the building. She'd feel the fabric of my pants, sometimes smell it, or caress the seams in an inappropriate manner. "I sew," she'd remind us, when someone -- usually me, would look at her like she's insane. I felt violated.
Sometimes I spoke with a fellow female co-worker about a class action lawsuit against Mirabelle. For sexual harassment, and many hours of productivity lost convincing her to buy a sweater so she'd stop talking about her iced hooters. We were sure that she was suppressing her sexual preference. We felt her booby-talk was inappropriate, and unwelcome. Especially when she'd smell my pants. She didn't often tell the men that her boobies were cold. I never saw her licking or smelling one of the tech guy's pants.
Fast forward more than a few months for pure irony. Mirabelle was eventually let go, for lack of productivity. But in turn she sued the dot com and won for sexual harassment, inhospitable working environment and cultural discrimination. I don't know if it's commonplace for professional women to talk about their frozen breasts in the workplace in Italy, especially when the office temperature averaged around 80 degrees. But if our management had any brains at all, they would have called me as a defense witness. I think we could have won the case.
Posted by Moxie at 5:22 PM
new graphic
new graphic
I've got a nifty new photo up on my index page, which is also posted above. Just took it this morning.
The first person who guesses what it is (below in my comments field), gets some sort of silly worthless prize!
No one's got it yet, I'll reveal all on Monday, in hopes that someone can win moxie's first official contest :)
If this is fun for everyone, I'll make it a weekly event! Let me know if this is a good idea, or just a recipe for frustration.
Posted by Moxie at 12:41 AM | Comments (1)
Friday Five
1. What's your favorite vacation spot? Thailand, specifically the pristine beaches in the south. I love that many of those remote islands don't have streets and cars. But I've already blabbed enough about that on the site, I'm sure.
2. Where do you consider to be the biggest hell-hole on earth? This is a tie between New Jersey and Texas. I haven't been to all 50 states, but I imagine that some of those big boxy states north and center must be pretty bad, too.
3. What would be your dream vacation? A trip around the world, living as the locals do, none of that touristy stuff.
4. If you could go on a road-trip with anyone, who would it be and why? SIGH, do I really need to answer this...I think you all know who I would choose. No need for me to be pathetic and mention him again.
5. What are your plans for this weekend? I'm shooting for a full blown spontaneity weekend. I'm considering just hopping in the car and driving somewhere, like Palm Springs, or even Vegas all by my lonesome. But most likely, I'll be looking for apartments and cute guys. Or cute guys with big apartments. Or apartments near cute guys...
Posted by Moxie at 12:19 AM
