Everywhere a Sign

I went out to Avila Beach to take some photos for the web project that Josh and I are working at and I had to snap a pic of the shark sign. I vaguely remember the attack that prompted the sign. Someone was swimming offshore during the summer. I can't remember if it was a man or a woman. Or if it was fatal or not. Whatever it was, I'm sure it was not pleasant. But it's been almost six years now. Doesn't it seem like high time to take the sign down? That's sort of like posting a big sign on the freeway near Northridge warning that a major quake once hit or signs in LA warning about drive by shootings. There are certain risks you take living in California every day. There are certain risks you take getting out of bed. Sharks live in water. We know this. One might be pissed off or hungry one day. We know this too. After six years do we really think that same shark is hanging around out there just waiting?

B is for...

Blessed? That's how I felt when I got not one, but two cool movie updates from the Horror Channel site. Coming straight to a video store soon, offered for your viewing pleasure, are these fine works of art: Poultrygeist and Evil Bong. "Poultrygeist?" you ask, "Is this some sort of anti KFC documentary akin to Supersize Me?" Ummmm, nope. This beauty if aptly titled. The premise of the story goes something like this: A chicken fast food chain builds one of its restaurants on an ancient Indian burial ground. The photo of a man having his nose pecked off by a big chickeney looking thing on Horror Channel paints a pretty clear picture of where the Troma studio is going with this baby. And Evil Bong? Need I clarify it by telling you that is stars Tommy Chong? Even better, how about a cameo by William Shatner? Best to just check out a photo of the Bong itself here. Isn't she just breathtaking?

Obviously, both of these films are B-movies, which doesn't really stand for bad as some might think. According to Wikipedia, "B-movie originally referred to a Hollywood motion picture designed to be distributed as the "lower half" of a double feature, often a genre film featuring cowboys, gangsters, or horror." Studios even had units that would do nothing but make these fine gems. Ronald Regan made his acting career out of staring in them. OK most aren't great, but they aren't horrid. You don't agree? Perhaps it is an acquired taste.

Personally, I rather enjoy a B-film every so often. There is a sort of nostalgia in it for me. It reminds me of Saturdays spent as a child watching our local Channel 13. This station would broadcast the best of the B-movies. That's where my addiction to Godzilla started. Even now watching a Harryhausen film brings back fond memories of a lazy afternoon, kicking back with some Jiffy Pop. Long before CGI films like Star Wars and The Matrix, these films created fantasy worlds the good old-fashioned way with stop action, models, puppets and corn syrup mix with good old red dye no. 2. If it was a really great film, it featured claymation.

Will I rush to the theaters when these films come out? Of course not. I'm not going to waste the price of admission on something like this. Will I rent them? You bet. I can picture it now. A warm Saturday afternoon, some microwave popcorn and an angry rampaging chicken puppet pecking out the eyes of some greedy developer. Life doesn't get any better.

Am I Funding This?

This morning’s news blurbs included a story from Associate Press about a scientist at Washington University named Jack Landenson who was leading a team of scientists in the development of a “dipstick that would measure levels of caffeine on the spot.” Apparently Mr. Landenson has trouble with caffeine and no longer trusts his local baristas to properly mix his favorite beverage. Having worked a coffee bar, I can tell you I know this man. He’s the one that asks about ten times, “Are you sure you gave me decaf?” The first time any barista deals with him, they simply politely assure him that it is indeed decaf. But later the barista will try to preempt his questioning by handing him his drink along with a rundown of what’s in it. “Here’s your decaf-no whip-soy latte (because you can bet he’s also lactose intolerant),” they say with a weak smile as they hand him his drink. And still, he will ask. Well, I can understand why Jack doesn’t trust his baristas, because it’s about now that they will start to slip him some caffeine. After months and months of being questioned, distrusted and second-guessed, one goes a little crazy. Sure, I’ve done it. We’ve all done it.

So now Mr. Landenson wants to be sure. Once finished, his little pregnancy like caffeine test will show the horrid truth. The cute little coffee gal that he’s been badgering for months really hates him. Yep, she’s slipped him a bit of the dark stuff and it’s good stuff. When his little litmus test turns blue he can stand there in the middle of Starbucks and yell “J'accuse!” Then what? He calls the police and has her taken away in handcuffs? Doesn’t he know that once they are on to his little testing device they will simply start to slip in things not covered by his experiments? Better have a booger test buddy because that’s what’s coming next.

Here's to you Mom

I have to give Mom credit. She sure knows how to challenge herself. I can only hope to be able to learn new things as well as she can when I'm her age. In only a couple of years, Mom has become pretty darn proficient on her computer and now surfs the net as well as the rest of us junkies. Last night as we spoke about her upgrading to a new computer, I realized just how far she's come. It's been a long, long time since she's emailed me word for word the text of an error message (She still runs Windows 98 so you can imagine how often that would be). She knows what constitutes a "window" and how to move, re-size and close it. Installing a new program no longer means a trip home for me. I can now telecommute for these assignments. She can "lol" and "brb" like the kids and knows that "google" can be used a verb. Sure there are still a few things she still needs to learn. It's "download" and not "load down" (but, I get it, so it doesn't really matter. It just makes me smile) Things like "cut and paste" still take a bit of effort (and I'm sure she checks her copious notes for the step by step). But all in all, I'm pretty damn impressed.
Here's to you Mom... you internet junkie you.
See ya online!

Some things are just difficult

Some things are just difficult
It is my Karma/Luck/Joy to always seem to get the customers who want to plant a little memorial for their recently deceased pet. The interactions always start out simply enough. A customer asks for a pretty flower that will grow in a certain spot. Perhaps they will enquire about a certain color or type. Nothing too strange there. So I ask the usual questions about light, water requirements, color of bloom, etc. It's usually at that point that the crying starts. Sometimes they immediately apologize and explain just what turned on the waterworks. Often they just stand there and sob.
Now it's not that I'm unsympathetic or that I can't empathize. When my dog passes on, I will be a red nosed, puffy-eyed mess for days. It's just those extremely uncomfortable moments when I have no idea what's going . Things like this are hard enough with people you know, but even harder with strangers. Eventually they will explain and I will express my truly sincere sympathy, but it just gets worse from there. People in this situation are often looking for that perfect plant that will make everything OK. They want that beautiful white tea rose that will bloom all year in the shade of their oak tree so that they can remember their white cat Snowball. I then become the person that has to tell them that it's impossible. Yes, we have white tea roses. No, they don't bloom all year. No they don't grow in shade. And good luck in finding anything pretty to grow under that oak tree. Of course, I do try and give them the news in the kindest way possible, but it always leads to more crying.
Even if I can find a plant that will work, it's still hard. One customer wanted a good sized plant with flowers to plant over the grave of his daughter's rabbit. He explained how his daughter and her mother wanted something that they could water every day as a way of remember the bunny. I was almost in tears at that point. But then, as she stood there next to him, staring up at me with big brown, watery eyes waiting for my answer, he leaned over and whispered, "And I only want to spend $5." If money isn't an issue, there are always those awkward questions about what size to buy. It honestly makes me really uncomfortable when someone buys a plant in a really large container. That's a big hole to dig. A big, deep, hole. I suggest perhaps they buy a smaller plant so they can enjoy it's growth over time. Once the size is settled I'm usually off the hook. But then sometimes they ask. The question I dread the most,
"Do I need to fertilize this?"
Oh that just gives me chills.

When even your email seems scary

It's been a while since I watched the evening news. I gave it up because it made it hard to sleep. It's always bad news and that's the last thing I wanted to be thinking about before going to bed--all the ills of the world that I am unable to cure. Sure I like my fiction scary, my movies gory, but I like my reality calm. So I pick and choose what I want to read online and in print. If I've had too much of the Iraq war, I stop reading. Tired of pedophiles, I close the browser. This way, I can monitor just how much evil I want to take in. I choose what and how much of it I want to see. But what am I supposed to do when even my email seems bad? Here are a few of the subject lines in my recent emails:
Weird Day
Strange Phenomenon
This is scary
All pets at risk!!! (my dog was sitting next to me when I read that one)
And worst of all? The one that made me want to log off?
How not to look fat in a swimsuit
Ack! I need a drink.

Zen and the Art of Laundry

Shhhhhhhh! Don’t tell anyone, but I love going to the Laundromat. A bit weird, huh? I know most people find it an annoying chore, but for me it’s a bit like a trip to a spa. It’s one of the few indoor places that I can truly relax. Why? I don’t have to do anything there other than laundry. See I’m a hardcore, fidgety multitasker. I run on caffeine and it shows. I took up knitting simply so I could sit through an entire movie. Otherwise I would be pausing the DVD and popping up to do something every 20 minutes or so. I would get to the part in Last Life in the Universe where Kenji is cleaning blood off the wall and realize there was a spot on my work shirt that I had to treat where I bled after cutting myself on a rosebush. (Pause.) During the part in 6ixtynin9 where she’s buying a wicker trunk large enough to hide a body, I’d think about how I need sort through that stack of books on my trunk and get the donations ready for Goodwill. (Pause.) The kids in Nobody Knows will be watering the seeds they just planted and I think, “I wonder if my vegetable garden is dry?” (Pause.) You get the picture.

Things aren’t any better when I’m working here. During the course of this blog I will have checked the weather for SLO, (rain today, clearing tomorrow.) Rearranged the songs for the CD I’m about to burn (Cancion Del Mariachi needs to come after Farewell, not before.) Checked out the headlines on Google Desktop (“Charlie Sheen ordered away from Denise Richards.” Duh! “Rising gas prices hurt poor Americans most.” Double Duh!) Damn I need more coffee.

So when it’s off to the Laundromat I go with only a book or a magazine, it’s like a mini vacation from myself. Once I’ve tossed the clothes in the washer I can sit back and read. Just read. Those 20 minutes from wash to spin are a bit like a lazy afternoon on a warm summer’s day with not a care in the world. I read. I breathe. I read some more. Ahhhhh… Sure feels good. When it’s time to toss things in the dryer, I completely forgo the reading to simply watch the clothes tumble over each other creating an almost perfect Yin-Yang design. The hum of the machines makes me slightly sleepy. The furrow in my brow relaxes, my shoulders droop slightly as I lean against the running washer and relax. It’s just the laundry and me now. For the next 17 minutes all my frustrations, obsessions, complications vanish. Only the hum of the washer exists. Only the dull thud of the clothes in the dryer exists. Only my breath in and out exists. We have become one, my laundry and me. And until that dryer buzzer sounds, I have found my bliss.