What is it about trashy TV shows? Right now I am flipping between Real Housewives of New York City, and The Millionaire Match Maker. What's even worse is that these shows are repeated all month, so you can watch the same gorey episodes over, and over again.
"If you aren't an eater, you're probably not any good in bed, either" quips Patti,the Millionaire Matchmaker..who looks like a cross between Elvira and Cher. How did this woman get her own TV show? Millionaire men pay her huge amounts of money to find them lasting love. But she has rules that don't go over too big."No sex on the first date." One batchelor who is especially sleazy actually has a pol ein his living room for strippers. Yep, trashy TV at its best.
Then there's the Real Housewives of New York City. This is strange.We get to see housewives, some of whom aren't married-so how can they be wives?-spend money, drink lots of martinis, and talk about each other behind their backs. They try to seduce their tennis pros, get pedicures with their clingy husbands, and find the best private school smoney can buy for their kids. I don't think they do any housework...isn't that what a housewife does?
Today while flipping through the hundreds of channels on my Comcast Digital TV, I actually came across a show about spoiled rich kids whose parents threw them lavish parties just for fun.
Most of the excitement can be found on Bravo TV. If you are really bored and are really into the trashy TV thing, Bravo knows how to make your day. They will run back to back episodes-marathon style- all day long!!
Some of my other trashy TV fav's are "What Not To Wear". The hosts actually surprise their would be clients and throw all their ugly clothes in a big trash barrel, and then make them go shopping, while trying to teach them what to wear. Tear them down, then build them back up, isn't that how it's supposed to go? I have actually seen the clients cry they are in so much distress. All in the name of good TV entertainment.
Project Runway has ended for the season, and Top Chef has begun....both competitions with panels of judges who enjoy voting off the loser each week....the competition is fierce!
And did you know we are only 5 days away from Making someone a Super Model? America gets to vote who can be made into a supermodel. Drama, drama, and more drama, as contestants competed week after week in photoshoots and on the catwalk. Will it be Ronnie, Ben, Holly? I don't know why any one of them would want to win, except maybe Ben, the prison guard from Kentucky. He needs a new line of work.
So now you know. I am a trashy TV addict, kind of. But it needs to be good, entertaining trash-I am picky about my trash. Guess Bravo's got my number.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
If you live in the North, your life could be over
So I did the math. And a friend helped me because I am not very good at math. Winter in New England begins the end of November...if you'r e lucky you might get winter to wait until December. But you will squeeze four more weeks out of Fall, and that' s it.
The official start of Spring is March 20, or something like that. It is March 27. Where is Spring? It snowed the other night, and more snow is on the way. The Federal Government thought it would fool winter into leaving early by initiating Daylight Savings a month early this year. Someone forgot to tell Old Man Winter.
The temperature is generally in the 30's and 40's...yesterday it made it all the way up to 50, I think, although by the time I got outside I had missed the heat of the day. And it is the end of March. So let's do the math together, shall we? November through March...that' s 5 months. And it's not Spring yet. So let's say we go another few weeks, and round it to 6 months. Since there are only 12 months in every year, that' s half of every year spent cold, wet, moody, and miserable. Half your life if you were born in New England and have lived here your whole life.
Now add in the sleeping portion of your life. On a really, really good night, I like to get 8 -9 hours of sleep. But as a teenager, I used up probably 12 hours. As a baby you sleep a lot. You sleep more than you're awake, probably. And when you get to be a Senior, you take naps. So let's say the average number of hours any person sleeps per day could be as much as 12 hours. Since there are 24 hours in a day, if you sleep 12 hours, you are asleep for half your life. You know where this is going, don't you?
If half your life is spent waiting for winter to be over, and the other half is spent sleeping, there is no life left, really. Even if you take into account that half the winter overlaps with half the sleeping, that still doesn't leave you with much of a life.
My solution? You already know about the tanning, but that is really lame and I am really paranoid about all that UV....sleep less and go south FAST! So the sleeping less part can gain a couple hours a day, and if you multiply that by 356, you can gain back a bunch, pretty quick, but not quickly enough. If you vacation and travel at least 2 weeks a year, during the winter, then you can gain back 14 more days. Still not much. Because if you travel far, you could actually lose days! My friend is in Japan to to visit her daughter and see the Red Sox, and it took her nearly 2 days to get there!(A 13 hr flight plus a 13 hour time difference). Of course when she gets back, she will get the day back. Kind of like being in a time machine.
So now I know why people go South in the winter when they get older. By the time you realize you have lived half your life in the cold, dark, snowy part of the globe, half your life is over. You could have fun in the snow and cold..skiing, snowshoing, but you can't stay outside for 12 hours at a whack like you can when it's 70 degrees. You just can't.
If you don't believe me, you do the math. I didn't even include all the hours spent doing all kinds of unpleasant activities like driving, working, cleaning, etc. The forecast for the week: cloudy, in the low 40's, with a possibility of rain mixed with snow. No Spring yet.
Do the math.
The official start of Spring is March 20, or something like that. It is March 27. Where is Spring? It snowed the other night, and more snow is on the way. The Federal Government thought it would fool winter into leaving early by initiating Daylight Savings a month early this year. Someone forgot to tell Old Man Winter.
The temperature is generally in the 30's and 40's...yesterday it made it all the way up to 50, I think, although by the time I got outside I had missed the heat of the day. And it is the end of March. So let's do the math together, shall we? November through March...that' s 5 months. And it's not Spring yet. So let's say we go another few weeks, and round it to 6 months. Since there are only 12 months in every year, that' s half of every year spent cold, wet, moody, and miserable. Half your life if you were born in New England and have lived here your whole life.
Now add in the sleeping portion of your life. On a really, really good night, I like to get 8 -9 hours of sleep. But as a teenager, I used up probably 12 hours. As a baby you sleep a lot. You sleep more than you're awake, probably. And when you get to be a Senior, you take naps. So let's say the average number of hours any person sleeps per day could be as much as 12 hours. Since there are 24 hours in a day, if you sleep 12 hours, you are asleep for half your life. You know where this is going, don't you?
If half your life is spent waiting for winter to be over, and the other half is spent sleeping, there is no life left, really. Even if you take into account that half the winter overlaps with half the sleeping, that still doesn't leave you with much of a life.
My solution? You already know about the tanning, but that is really lame and I am really paranoid about all that UV....sleep less and go south FAST! So the sleeping less part can gain a couple hours a day, and if you multiply that by 356, you can gain back a bunch, pretty quick, but not quickly enough. If you vacation and travel at least 2 weeks a year, during the winter, then you can gain back 14 more days. Still not much. Because if you travel far, you could actually lose days! My friend is in Japan to to visit her daughter and see the Red Sox, and it took her nearly 2 days to get there!(A 13 hr flight plus a 13 hour time difference). Of course when she gets back, she will get the day back. Kind of like being in a time machine.
So now I know why people go South in the winter when they get older. By the time you realize you have lived half your life in the cold, dark, snowy part of the globe, half your life is over. You could have fun in the snow and cold..skiing, snowshoing, but you can't stay outside for 12 hours at a whack like you can when it's 70 degrees. You just can't.
If you don't believe me, you do the math. I didn't even include all the hours spent doing all kinds of unpleasant activities like driving, working, cleaning, etc. The forecast for the week: cloudy, in the low 40's, with a possibility of rain mixed with snow. No Spring yet.
Do the math.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Tanning 101:Part 2
So the last blog ended with me on my way to the booth. " Do you want a bed or a booth?"
"A booth please, this time."
So, you know the score..lotion applied ahead of time: SPF 8 on the back, the front.....SPF 4 on the arms, tanning lotion on the legs. And off to the booth. I wonder where I put my stuff? I thought to myself as I stepped inside the closet shaped cubicle. If I hang stuff up on the hooks, it'll block the rays. SO I carefully put my clothes in a pile on the floor, positioned my FDA approved protective eyewear, and waited for my 3 minutes to count down. 3....2....1....we have ignition. The fan started blowing, a light bulb turned on somewhere, and I waited. But I did not feel heat. I did not see light. I felt a bit chilly, actually, as the fan blew and I stood there wondering , is this it?
Was I supposed to turn something on? Somehow this didn't seem right. I felt a little heat coming from somewhere....maybe it's this booth? Maybe this is what the booth does? Hmmmmm, I'm really not feeling very confident, as the counter ticked off my 8 minutes. I did not dare look directly at anything, you know because of the whole toasted eyeball thing, so I waited. And then it was over.
I pulled off my glasses and looked around. There were no bulbs, really. Directly in front of me there was a crack, and through the crack I could see the bulbs, and a switch that said "TANNING BULBS ON/OFF" Was I supposed to hit that switch? But how do I reach it? As I tried to reach through the crack, my hand touched the wall in front of me and it moved...it swung, and as I pushed it I realized it was a door. As the door gave way I could see ANOTHER booth surrounded by bulbs and a gigantic fan in the ceiling. That's where I should have been standing!
I don't believe it! I looked incredulously as I realized I had been standing in the middle of the dressing area trying to get a tan from the empty white walls. I never went inside the actual tanning booth itself.I am an idiot, and this is getting ridiculous. Why are there not directions or something posted? I could write a book: Tanning Salons for Dummies.
I don't think there is anything else left for me to screw up, really. Except that every bed is different, every booth is different, and I am easily confused and do not like to ask questions. My family, even my mom, thinks it is hysterical. I am annoyed I wasted 8 minutes of tanning time and what little tan I have is starting to fade, along with my white stripes. "You need to tell them about the stripes," my daughter said. "Did mom tell you her tanning booth story?" I am a regular riot at the dinner table.
So I am gonna have to keep this thing up until I successfully get a tan. Hopefully, that'll happen before my one month membership is up. I still have 2 and a half weeks, I think. I am determined to get it right tomorrow. I know I can do it. I think. Let's hope there are no more surprises.
"A booth please, this time."
So, you know the score..lotion applied ahead of time: SPF 8 on the back, the front.....SPF 4 on the arms, tanning lotion on the legs. And off to the booth. I wonder where I put my stuff? I thought to myself as I stepped inside the closet shaped cubicle. If I hang stuff up on the hooks, it'll block the rays. SO I carefully put my clothes in a pile on the floor, positioned my FDA approved protective eyewear, and waited for my 3 minutes to count down. 3....2....1....we have ignition. The fan started blowing, a light bulb turned on somewhere, and I waited. But I did not feel heat. I did not see light. I felt a bit chilly, actually, as the fan blew and I stood there wondering , is this it?
Was I supposed to turn something on? Somehow this didn't seem right. I felt a little heat coming from somewhere....maybe it's this booth? Maybe this is what the booth does? Hmmmmm, I'm really not feeling very confident, as the counter ticked off my 8 minutes. I did not dare look directly at anything, you know because of the whole toasted eyeball thing, so I waited. And then it was over.
I pulled off my glasses and looked around. There were no bulbs, really. Directly in front of me there was a crack, and through the crack I could see the bulbs, and a switch that said "TANNING BULBS ON/OFF" Was I supposed to hit that switch? But how do I reach it? As I tried to reach through the crack, my hand touched the wall in front of me and it moved...it swung, and as I pushed it I realized it was a door. As the door gave way I could see ANOTHER booth surrounded by bulbs and a gigantic fan in the ceiling. That's where I should have been standing!
I don't believe it! I looked incredulously as I realized I had been standing in the middle of the dressing area trying to get a tan from the empty white walls. I never went inside the actual tanning booth itself.I am an idiot, and this is getting ridiculous. Why are there not directions or something posted? I could write a book: Tanning Salons for Dummies.
I don't think there is anything else left for me to screw up, really. Except that every bed is different, every booth is different, and I am easily confused and do not like to ask questions. My family, even my mom, thinks it is hysterical. I am annoyed I wasted 8 minutes of tanning time and what little tan I have is starting to fade, along with my white stripes. "You need to tell them about the stripes," my daughter said. "Did mom tell you her tanning booth story?" I am a regular riot at the dinner table.
So I am gonna have to keep this thing up until I successfully get a tan. Hopefully, that'll happen before my one month membership is up. I still have 2 and a half weeks, I think. I am determined to get it right tomorrow. I know I can do it. I think. Let's hope there are no more surprises.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
How difficult can it be?
It should not be difficult to get a tan in the middle of winter, really. There are all kinds of tanning salons where one can go and pay money to lay in some coffin or closet lit by thousands of watts worth of light bulbs, for 5, 10, or 15 minutes.
So it was decided. With spring fast approaching, the lack of natural sunlight, the pale, white skin, and lack of vitamin D was beginning to get to all of us. 'There's this great new place we can go!"
"I'm in! Let's do it!"
Day 1, or should I say Evening 1. So many questions, charts, lotions, levels. Can't I just give you money and you can turn the tanning bed on?Oh, no. "When was the last time you were outside in a sunny place? Do you burn easily? Do you have your FDA approved eye protection? Do you need any lotion?" Thirty minutes later and a whole bunch of cash, and we were on our way to a Level 1 bed. Why do they only give you 3 minutes to completely strip and cover yourself with lotion? Who can do that in 3 minutes? And I have this very bad feeling that if I do not cover my eyes with the FDA approved protective eyewear before the bulbs turn on, my eyeballs will turn to toast. So there is this anxiety and slight panic that sets in trying to get totally ready to lay on the bed.
I position myself, the music is playing, I pull the cover down and wait....5,4,3,2,1.....nothing happens. Maybe she needs to press the on button. 1 minute....2 minutes.....3 minutes......nothing. Great. SO I roll off the bed and grab my jeans and sweatshirt and go out to the desk.
The bed never turned on..was I supposed to do something?"
"Oh, dear, I'm sorry, I should have told you that, ok, try it again."
"Great!" Three more minutes of counting down and waiting for the burst of heat and light.
This time it worked, and 7 minutes later, darkness. Done. Cooked. Slightly toasty and warm as we headed out into the chilly dark night.
Session 2: "You can do a Level 2 bed. 9 minutes?"
"Sure, sounds good." But I was smart this time. I applied my lotion ahead of time...so my three minutes could be spent undressing and applying my protective eyewear. I actually had seconds to spare as I waited in the super bed equipped ith mirrors, a radio AND a fan! Nine minutes later...I am feeling totally tan. But really, my face is a little red, and some other parts are blotchy red where I couldn't quite reach to apply the lotion.
Session 3: "Why are you wearing sunscreen? You don't need sunscreen..you're dark!"
"I am?" How would she know? The only exposed part of my body is my face and hands, and I am wearing tinted foundation with an SPF of 20. "Do you want to go 10 minutes?"
"Ok." What is it about someone working behind a desk that makes me think they know what they are talking about? I will never know the answer to this question.
So I bought some Sexy Legs lotion without sunscreen, and it was supposed to make me tan.
So, back to the Level 2 super bed with the mirrors, the fan and the radio. I also noticed a sticker on the bed that said maximum exposure time for a base tan: 7 minutes. Oh,oh. Well, maybe I already have a base tan. But wouldn't I look tan?
Three minutes is not a long time to do everything you need to do AND put on your glasses and get comfortably situated in the cooker. I think I had 3 seconds to spare. Phew, 10 minutes was a long time. My face felt hot, but the rest of my body was okay. I was afraid to get out and look in the mirror. But I did. Not too bad..a little pink in the face, but not as bad as I expected. I got outside and you could see my breath...I think I cooked the air in my lungs. By nightfall, my back was feeling a little scratchy, but not bad like a sunburn. But I should have known. No sunscreen, remember?
One look in the mirror revealed not only a very pink back, but stripes. 2 of them. I had 2 white vertical stripes running down my back. "What? Do you see that?Please tell me I do not have 2 stripes down my back."
"You have stripes." They were obvious stripes. I have never had so much difficulty with something that should be so idiot proof. The next morning I woke up and my hands were orange. Not only did I have white stripes, but the Sexy Legs lotion was also a bronzer and it had dyed my hands. In my 3 minute frenzy trying to get my protective eyewear on before my eyeballs fried, I had neglected to completely wash my hands with the baby wipes they had supplied. Now my hands were orange.
So, here I sit, hoping the pinkness fades into the white stripes; hopeing the orange palms will be a little less orange after a few showers and many hand scrubs.
Next time I think I will try the booth.
So it was decided. With spring fast approaching, the lack of natural sunlight, the pale, white skin, and lack of vitamin D was beginning to get to all of us. 'There's this great new place we can go!"
"I'm in! Let's do it!"
Day 1, or should I say Evening 1. So many questions, charts, lotions, levels. Can't I just give you money and you can turn the tanning bed on?Oh, no. "When was the last time you were outside in a sunny place? Do you burn easily? Do you have your FDA approved eye protection? Do you need any lotion?" Thirty minutes later and a whole bunch of cash, and we were on our way to a Level 1 bed. Why do they only give you 3 minutes to completely strip and cover yourself with lotion? Who can do that in 3 minutes? And I have this very bad feeling that if I do not cover my eyes with the FDA approved protective eyewear before the bulbs turn on, my eyeballs will turn to toast. So there is this anxiety and slight panic that sets in trying to get totally ready to lay on the bed.
I position myself, the music is playing, I pull the cover down and wait....5,4,3,2,1.....nothing happens. Maybe she needs to press the on button. 1 minute....2 minutes.....3 minutes......nothing. Great. SO I roll off the bed and grab my jeans and sweatshirt and go out to the desk.
The bed never turned on..was I supposed to do something?"
"Oh, dear, I'm sorry, I should have told you that, ok, try it again."
"Great!" Three more minutes of counting down and waiting for the burst of heat and light.
This time it worked, and 7 minutes later, darkness. Done. Cooked. Slightly toasty and warm as we headed out into the chilly dark night.
Session 2: "You can do a Level 2 bed. 9 minutes?"
"Sure, sounds good." But I was smart this time. I applied my lotion ahead of time...so my three minutes could be spent undressing and applying my protective eyewear. I actually had seconds to spare as I waited in the super bed equipped ith mirrors, a radio AND a fan! Nine minutes later...I am feeling totally tan. But really, my face is a little red, and some other parts are blotchy red where I couldn't quite reach to apply the lotion.
Session 3: "Why are you wearing sunscreen? You don't need sunscreen..you're dark!"
"I am?" How would she know? The only exposed part of my body is my face and hands, and I am wearing tinted foundation with an SPF of 20. "Do you want to go 10 minutes?"
"Ok." What is it about someone working behind a desk that makes me think they know what they are talking about? I will never know the answer to this question.
So I bought some Sexy Legs lotion without sunscreen, and it was supposed to make me tan.
So, back to the Level 2 super bed with the mirrors, the fan and the radio. I also noticed a sticker on the bed that said maximum exposure time for a base tan: 7 minutes. Oh,oh. Well, maybe I already have a base tan. But wouldn't I look tan?
Three minutes is not a long time to do everything you need to do AND put on your glasses and get comfortably situated in the cooker. I think I had 3 seconds to spare. Phew, 10 minutes was a long time. My face felt hot, but the rest of my body was okay. I was afraid to get out and look in the mirror. But I did. Not too bad..a little pink in the face, but not as bad as I expected. I got outside and you could see my breath...I think I cooked the air in my lungs. By nightfall, my back was feeling a little scratchy, but not bad like a sunburn. But I should have known. No sunscreen, remember?
One look in the mirror revealed not only a very pink back, but stripes. 2 of them. I had 2 white vertical stripes running down my back. "What? Do you see that?Please tell me I do not have 2 stripes down my back."
"You have stripes." They were obvious stripes. I have never had so much difficulty with something that should be so idiot proof. The next morning I woke up and my hands were orange. Not only did I have white stripes, but the Sexy Legs lotion was also a bronzer and it had dyed my hands. In my 3 minute frenzy trying to get my protective eyewear on before my eyeballs fried, I had neglected to completely wash my hands with the baby wipes they had supplied. Now my hands were orange.
So, here I sit, hoping the pinkness fades into the white stripes; hopeing the orange palms will be a little less orange after a few showers and many hand scrubs.
Next time I think I will try the booth.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
DK Hair
"I need a hair cut. We should go see Nick."
Nick recently moved back to San Diego from Manhatten...where he spent the last 10 years styling hair in the City. You know where I mean.... Nick's aunt was Miss India. His mom married their distant cousin, who reminds me of Clark Gable, and after he and his sister were grown, Nick's dad decided he was gay. Now Nick lives in Derek's (his dad's) apartment, and Derek moved in with his former sister-in-law, Miss India. Have you got that?
"Let's all go see Nick and have him style our hair. We could all use a new look."
So Thursday appointments were made at the trendy DK hair on 6th Ave in San Diego. You know what comes next. Nick, the sweetheart and master of hair, worked his magic. We must go out somewhere and show off our new look! So we drove through Balboa Park, and made our way back to Encinitas.
Tomorrow we would be entertaining, Dotty style. Dinner party for 1o....Miss India and her boyfriend from Massachusetts, Angel, the most liberal Republican anyone would ever want to meet, Doris, the artist, who hosted her own cable television show back in the 70's;Carl and Kathy, college friends from way back; and of course the celebrities from NH-US!
As the sun set on yet another West Coast beauty of a day, we drank wine, sat by the fire, and gave thanks for family, friends, and the power of an awesome haircut.
Nick recently moved back to San Diego from Manhatten...where he spent the last 10 years styling hair in the City. You know where I mean.... Nick's aunt was Miss India. His mom married their distant cousin, who reminds me of Clark Gable, and after he and his sister were grown, Nick's dad decided he was gay. Now Nick lives in Derek's (his dad's) apartment, and Derek moved in with his former sister-in-law, Miss India. Have you got that?
"Let's all go see Nick and have him style our hair. We could all use a new look."
So Thursday appointments were made at the trendy DK hair on 6th Ave in San Diego. You know what comes next. Nick, the sweetheart and master of hair, worked his magic. We must go out somewhere and show off our new look! So we drove through Balboa Park, and made our way back to Encinitas.
Tomorrow we would be entertaining, Dotty style. Dinner party for 1o....Miss India and her boyfriend from Massachusetts, Angel, the most liberal Republican anyone would ever want to meet, Doris, the artist, who hosted her own cable television show back in the 70's;Carl and Kathy, college friends from way back; and of course the celebrities from NH-US!
As the sun set on yet another West Coast beauty of a day, we drank wine, sat by the fire, and gave thanks for family, friends, and the power of an awesome haircut.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
See me in SI
SO back to La Jolla, home of Torrey Pines Municipal Golf Course, home of TW's Buick Open, and host of this year's USGA US Open Championship; where San Diego residents can golf after 4pm for 20 bucks, or something ridiculous like that.
Can you say excited? The third time is a charm. It was my third visit to San Diego...my third visit to Torrey Pines. The first two times included photo ops and shopping, lots of shopping, in the pro shop. I have spent so much money there, I could pay for a round of golf! Wait a minute!
So my third visit to San Diego included Torrey Pines Golf School: a 3 hour lesson with a pro, and nine holes of golf with the pro, followed by the remaining 9 holes of golf- on the South Course at Torrey Pines.
I walked up to the desk and announced my arrival. Trumpets did not sound..but the guy behind the desk wondered who I would be working with. "Jordan..she's yours!" Great....thank goodness Jordan was Jordan and not the obnoxious, annoying pro with the southern accent. I took off my sunglasses and met the golf pro with whom I would be spending the better part of my day. Tall, dark and obviously a good golfer, right? Oh, did I say young? And tall. And very nice.
Let me just say the total experience was worth every dime. This was one adventure where the totality definitely outweighed the sum of its parts. The day was glorious and sunny, the pro was attentive, charming AND a good teacher. I hit balls on the range, he videotaped me, and analysed my set up and my swing. He instructed, I hit some more balls, then we went to the lodge for lunch. Then we practiced putting. He liked my putter. I like my putter, too.
Then it was time to tee off. "I'll be right back." a few minutes later..." I had to do some damage control.They had you going out on the back 9 with two Korean guys. Who speak no English. But we're going out with these two other guys from Golf School and their pro will stay with them for a few holes."
On the first tee Jordan suddenly looked at me from across the Tee box and said,"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you didn't speak Japanese..or Korean. Do you?"
"No, Jordan, I do not."
"Alright then, let's go!" The two gentlemen who joined us were from Arkansas, and their pro was from somewhere south as well. I could have cared less. Jordan and I decided to walk...and I decided not to keep score. Why ruin a perfectly good walk? I hit the ball, it landed in the thick rough, I found my ball, Jordan gave me a really good lie, and I hit it again. Such a simple game, really. Everyone should get to play with their own pro.
The view was fantastic..The first hole heads out toward the ocean, then the second hole heads to the left and parallels the ocean and the third hole-the famous par 3-heads out toward a cliff.
Jordan took my picture on the championship tee box with his 9 iron. Or maybe it was his wedge. I really don't know and I don't care. What a blast.
As we approached the 4th hole, there was a threesome already on the tee box. "Don't mind us, we're not cutting in front of you or anything, we're taking photos for a magazine."
"Can I be in your magazine?"I asked. An older African American gentleman dressed in a blue golf shirt with a navy golf cap was sitting in a golf cart, the photographer was in front of the tee box, and another gentleman was walking back toward the cart. "Do you know who this is? This is Lee Elder!"
"And that' s the weatherman from Channel 9. The guy who always wears the bow tie," Lee Elder said. Who is Lee Elder?
"We're shooting for a Sports Illustrated article." Who is Lee Elder? Nobody I was with knew who he was..but he was obviously somebody we should have known about. The threesome shot their photos and scooted off in front of us out of sight. Throughout the day, the SI photographer could be seen darting about the course, ladder on his golf cart, on the back 9 catching the sun setting over the 16th and 17th holes.
Jordan left me after the 9th hole, with a folder of photos, a list of recommended courses, and a warm handshake,"I really had fun today."
I finished the back 9 with the Arkansas boys, finally approaching the fountain on the 18th hole as the sun went down. What a day.
Oh, and Lee Elder? Look for him in Sports Illustrated. He was the first African American to play at Augusta National Golf Club, home of the Master's Championship.
Can you say excited? The third time is a charm. It was my third visit to San Diego...my third visit to Torrey Pines. The first two times included photo ops and shopping, lots of shopping, in the pro shop. I have spent so much money there, I could pay for a round of golf! Wait a minute!
So my third visit to San Diego included Torrey Pines Golf School: a 3 hour lesson with a pro, and nine holes of golf with the pro, followed by the remaining 9 holes of golf- on the South Course at Torrey Pines.
I walked up to the desk and announced my arrival. Trumpets did not sound..but the guy behind the desk wondered who I would be working with. "Jordan..she's yours!" Great....thank goodness Jordan was Jordan and not the obnoxious, annoying pro with the southern accent. I took off my sunglasses and met the golf pro with whom I would be spending the better part of my day. Tall, dark and obviously a good golfer, right? Oh, did I say young? And tall. And very nice.
Let me just say the total experience was worth every dime. This was one adventure where the totality definitely outweighed the sum of its parts. The day was glorious and sunny, the pro was attentive, charming AND a good teacher. I hit balls on the range, he videotaped me, and analysed my set up and my swing. He instructed, I hit some more balls, then we went to the lodge for lunch. Then we practiced putting. He liked my putter. I like my putter, too.
Then it was time to tee off. "I'll be right back." a few minutes later..." I had to do some damage control.They had you going out on the back 9 with two Korean guys. Who speak no English. But we're going out with these two other guys from Golf School and their pro will stay with them for a few holes."
On the first tee Jordan suddenly looked at me from across the Tee box and said,"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you didn't speak Japanese..or Korean. Do you?"
"No, Jordan, I do not."
"Alright then, let's go!" The two gentlemen who joined us were from Arkansas, and their pro was from somewhere south as well. I could have cared less. Jordan and I decided to walk...and I decided not to keep score. Why ruin a perfectly good walk? I hit the ball, it landed in the thick rough, I found my ball, Jordan gave me a really good lie, and I hit it again. Such a simple game, really. Everyone should get to play with their own pro.
The view was fantastic..The first hole heads out toward the ocean, then the second hole heads to the left and parallels the ocean and the third hole-the famous par 3-heads out toward a cliff.
Jordan took my picture on the championship tee box with his 9 iron. Or maybe it was his wedge. I really don't know and I don't care. What a blast.
As we approached the 4th hole, there was a threesome already on the tee box. "Don't mind us, we're not cutting in front of you or anything, we're taking photos for a magazine."
"Can I be in your magazine?"I asked. An older African American gentleman dressed in a blue golf shirt with a navy golf cap was sitting in a golf cart, the photographer was in front of the tee box, and another gentleman was walking back toward the cart. "Do you know who this is? This is Lee Elder!"
"And that' s the weatherman from Channel 9. The guy who always wears the bow tie," Lee Elder said. Who is Lee Elder?
"We're shooting for a Sports Illustrated article." Who is Lee Elder? Nobody I was with knew who he was..but he was obviously somebody we should have known about. The threesome shot their photos and scooted off in front of us out of sight. Throughout the day, the SI photographer could be seen darting about the course, ladder on his golf cart, on the back 9 catching the sun setting over the 16th and 17th holes.
Jordan left me after the 9th hole, with a folder of photos, a list of recommended courses, and a warm handshake,"I really had fun today."
I finished the back 9 with the Arkansas boys, finally approaching the fountain on the 18th hole as the sun went down. What a day.
Oh, and Lee Elder? Look for him in Sports Illustrated. He was the first African American to play at Augusta National Golf Club, home of the Master's Championship.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
It's Been a Long Year
So today ends a very long year. This day has been coming for 364 days. And now it is almost over, and I have survived it. It has been a year filled with all kinds of interesting twists and turns, lessons and stories, heartbreak and happiness. It is difficult to put into words and more difficult to forget. So I allow myself to remember, and ironically enough it is the remembering that makes it easier to get through.
There was irony in this day. Irony in the fact that today I got to remember and tell complete strangers the very brief story of First Class, Election Day, and the possibilities that disappeared a year ago. When the words came out of my mouth I found myself thinking, "How weird is this that at this very moment, it is perfectly appropriate for me to be remembering last year, Election Day, and First Class training.
"Do you have any questions for us?" The interview committee asked. "I do. Your web site. I noticed you use First Class"
"Yes!"
"I love First Class. I recognized it from the look of your website right away. We had it for a very brief time. Then we gave it back. Do you do any curriculum mapping?"
"No, we do not have any organized official initiative at this time."
"Our district started Techpaths training...it was actually a year ago today, Election Day...we have a professional development day for our teachers and all of our teachers were being trained to use Techpaths. They haven't touched it since...."
And then just as quickly as the opportunity to share came up, the moment faded and was gone.
We can choose to dwell on the past and wonder why? Or we can accept what simply is and exerience whatever life offers us and move on. It is okay to remember.
This year's story is officially over..
There was irony in this day. Irony in the fact that today I got to remember and tell complete strangers the very brief story of First Class, Election Day, and the possibilities that disappeared a year ago. When the words came out of my mouth I found myself thinking, "How weird is this that at this very moment, it is perfectly appropriate for me to be remembering last year, Election Day, and First Class training.
"Do you have any questions for us?" The interview committee asked. "I do. Your web site. I noticed you use First Class"
"Yes!"
"I love First Class. I recognized it from the look of your website right away. We had it for a very brief time. Then we gave it back. Do you do any curriculum mapping?"
"No, we do not have any organized official initiative at this time."
"Our district started Techpaths training...it was actually a year ago today, Election Day...we have a professional development day for our teachers and all of our teachers were being trained to use Techpaths. They haven't touched it since...."
And then just as quickly as the opportunity to share came up, the moment faded and was gone.
We can choose to dwell on the past and wonder why? Or we can accept what simply is and exerience whatever life offers us and move on. It is okay to remember.
This year's story is officially over..
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Hangin Out at the Jail
Santa Barbara is one of the most picturesque cities I've ever visited. Mountains to the east, the ocean to the west, with beautiful architecture and people in between. We stayed at the Upham Inn, two blocks from Main Street, a pleasant walk down a tree lined city street. The Inn is reminiscent of any other victorian inn, with comfortable furniture, expansive porches and a fire in the fireplace in the main lobby. It was chilly at night, in the 40's, so sitting by the fire with a glass of chardonnay followed by oreo cookies before bed was the perfect ending to a perfectly fun day.
The train ride to Santa Barbara was shared witha lovely lady from NYC. Traveling alone, she was on her way to visit her niece. We shared stories and contact information, and promised to be in touch. We were greeted at the tiny train station in Santa Barbara by Jeff-and we almost missed him too! As we headed inside to use the restrooms....again.
One of the highlights of our visit was a trip to Jeff's office...located in what used to be the Santa Barbara jail. His office was actually in a cell....on the 4th floor of the Santa Barbara Courthouse-made famous for the location of Michael Jackson's trial, amoing others. Across the beautifully landscaped grounds through the immaculately tiled stucco courthouse, up the antiquated elevator..beyond the blanket, hung from the ceiling to keep out the draft, sits the office of city planning...with an absolute breathtaking view of Santa Barbara and the surrounding countryside.
"Do you want to see solitary confinement? Go ahead in, I'll take your picture!" How creepy was that. You could actually feel the ghosts of inmates crawling behind the chipped paint of the creaky steel barred doors and cement walls.
"I like it up here..it's very quiet and peaceful." Jeff's cell is about the size of a closet, with bars on his one little window...where he sits and does the work of a city planner. How ironic that his city and the courthouse are so beautiful.
Once down the twisted staircase, out into the bright Santa Barbara sunshine, we spent the rest of the day shopping and sunning. Hopping the trolley back to the train station, we were met by others on their way home from somewhere. An elderly gentleman sat down next to me, and proclaimed he was retired from professional baseball. He claimed he was a former pitcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers....and pitching coach for the Red Sox. He claimed he played with Ted Williams, and he hadn't watched television since the 90's. Radio was his thing....As we approached the train station, he departed and went on his way...a myth or the real deal? Who can say...
One thing is for sure, you never really know who you will run into out here, where famous people walk the streets and live their lives side by side with the locals. The train ride back to Solana Beach was delayed, but we made it back safely, nontheless...no detours this time. No big adventures, no surprises, but lots of memories and pictures.
The train ride to Santa Barbara was shared witha lovely lady from NYC. Traveling alone, she was on her way to visit her niece. We shared stories and contact information, and promised to be in touch. We were greeted at the tiny train station in Santa Barbara by Jeff-and we almost missed him too! As we headed inside to use the restrooms....again.
One of the highlights of our visit was a trip to Jeff's office...located in what used to be the Santa Barbara jail. His office was actually in a cell....on the 4th floor of the Santa Barbara Courthouse-made famous for the location of Michael Jackson's trial, amoing others. Across the beautifully landscaped grounds through the immaculately tiled stucco courthouse, up the antiquated elevator..beyond the blanket, hung from the ceiling to keep out the draft, sits the office of city planning...with an absolute breathtaking view of Santa Barbara and the surrounding countryside.
"Do you want to see solitary confinement? Go ahead in, I'll take your picture!" How creepy was that. You could actually feel the ghosts of inmates crawling behind the chipped paint of the creaky steel barred doors and cement walls.
"I like it up here..it's very quiet and peaceful." Jeff's cell is about the size of a closet, with bars on his one little window...where he sits and does the work of a city planner. How ironic that his city and the courthouse are so beautiful.
Once down the twisted staircase, out into the bright Santa Barbara sunshine, we spent the rest of the day shopping and sunning. Hopping the trolley back to the train station, we were met by others on their way home from somewhere. An elderly gentleman sat down next to me, and proclaimed he was retired from professional baseball. He claimed he was a former pitcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers....and pitching coach for the Red Sox. He claimed he played with Ted Williams, and he hadn't watched television since the 90's. Radio was his thing....As we approached the train station, he departed and went on his way...a myth or the real deal? Who can say...
One thing is for sure, you never really know who you will run into out here, where famous people walk the streets and live their lives side by side with the locals. The train ride back to Solana Beach was delayed, but we made it back safely, nontheless...no detours this time. No big adventures, no surprises, but lots of memories and pictures.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
1-800-COMCAST
Alright, so have you ever tried calling someone when all you have are letters, not numbers? Especially calling from a Blackberry or some other wireless device that does not have a numeric keypad like a phone.
I have one thing to say about COMCAST. They are idiots. I am sitting here because I have no fancy schmancy digital voice service. No phone. No land line. My phone service is not working for the second time in 3 days. Why isn't it working? Are you ready for this? Apparently, you cannot have a cordless phone with an answering machine on AND have voice mail. Well, of course!! But it would have been nice if someone had informed us of this BEFORE we set up voicemail.
THE HOOK:
It all started with an automated phone call from Comcast informing us our phone service would expire by the end of April, and unless we selected a new phone service provider, we would no longer have phone service. Fortunately for us..COMCAST just happened to be having a special 1 year deal on a digital voice package including digital cable and high speed Internet! Who could resist! Certainly not my husband....so 2 weeks ago the Cable Guy came to our house and installed a new digital cable box, a new modem, and digital voice phone service. Voila!
I came home to find a pile of magazines with no home..because we now have a digital cable box and remote the size of Montana......a crumpled diploma...a picture frame fell onto it when the Cable Guy moved the entertainent center to access the cable outlet...and a packet of reading material for my pleasure.
"Here, you can read that and figure all this stuff out."
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT:
So for two days weird things happened. The phone would ring a couple times then stop. I noticed people had called (we have caller ID) but noone left messages. The remote was a mass of buttons with serious lag time and WAY too many channels to flip through. Why are those magazines sitting on that chair? How did my diploma get wrinkled??
"Hey, did you get my messages? I called you twice?"
"No, I only got your cell phone message..."
"Well, your answering machine isn't working...I got some automated recording."
Two days of this and my husband says, "I think there's something wrong with our answering machine."
"Super."
"Hey did you ever read that stuff from Comcast?" Who has time for that.
FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE:
So not one, not two, but three booklets later, I discover we have digital voice mail....with mailboxes, which went into effect when the Cable Guy left...and now I need to set everything up in order to retrieve who knows how many messages! 10 missed messages over three days to be exact. We must now check our voicemail whether we think we have messages or not. There is no longer a blinking light. 5 pages of instructions and specialized settings for this and for that. Are you kidding me? Our voicemail picks up after 4 rings. I can't even get my ass off the couch in time to get to the phone. Whatever.
So I had some time to kill and decided to go back to the DIGITAL VOICE MANUEL. Hey! I can set the voicemail to pick up after 6 rings! Sweet!
THE FUN BEGINS:
I arrived home from work 2 days ago to no phone service. Nada. Dead. I unplugged stuff, I replugged stuff. I finally relented and tried to call 1-800 COMCAST. Where is the number??? Are you kidding me? Not a real phone number anwhere. I had to use my cell phone because I had no phone service, remember? The only problem was, my phone is set up like a keyboard, and not a phone pad. 1-800 COMCAST from a Motorola Q is WAY different than 1-800 COMCAST from a phone. Swell. Give me th #*&$*&^# phone.
THE LINE:
Of course it took 10 minutes to reach a real person...who apparently saw nothing wrong with the fact that nowhere in any of Comcast's literature do they have an actual phone number with NUMBERS INSTEAD OF LETTERS! "Did you reset the modem?" She asked.
"I have no idea what you are talking about!"
Whereas she proceeded to describe my modem to me....and then told me I would need to find a paperclip or some other device with a small, sharp, pointy end to insert into the notch for 5 seconds. Are you kidding me? I couldn't make this stuff up.
Okay, so I reset the modem, as she continues to talk to me like I am 2 . "Okay, I am going to call your phone." Nothing rings. "It should be working. I don't know why it isn't. Everything looks like it's working form here."
"Clearly it is not working. My phone is dead."
"Would you like me to send a technician out to your house?"
"Well, sure..that would be SWELL. Is there a number I can call in case my phone service comes back before tomorrow afternoon?"
"1-800 COMCAST."
"No, I mean a Real NUMBER. Not letters...numbers!"
"Oh......wait a minute...let me see....." She did not have it in front of her. I swear she was looking at a phone to try to figure out what COMCAST was on real numbers.
THE SINKER:
So The phone service came back on its own. The digital cable was not working in the morning...another call to 1-800 COMCAST....the technician came out to the house and told us everything was fine, except the answering machine was most likely conflicting with voicemail and we would...you guessed it...have to call 1-800 COMCAST to cancel voicemail if we wanted to use our own answering machine.
Are you kidding me? I have no time for that!
So like a dodo, I didn't call. Now, here I sit, with a dead phone again. I have unplugged and replugged everything back in....except for the answering machine. I have used my trusty paperclip to reset the modem. But I refuse to call 1-800 COMCAST. On principal. I would rather spend my time writing and posting then waiting for some half-assed customer service rep to tell me there is nothing wrong with my phone line.
So call me on my cell.
I have one thing to say about COMCAST. They are idiots. I am sitting here because I have no fancy schmancy digital voice service. No phone. No land line. My phone service is not working for the second time in 3 days. Why isn't it working? Are you ready for this? Apparently, you cannot have a cordless phone with an answering machine on AND have voice mail. Well, of course!! But it would have been nice if someone had informed us of this BEFORE we set up voicemail.
THE HOOK:
It all started with an automated phone call from Comcast informing us our phone service would expire by the end of April, and unless we selected a new phone service provider, we would no longer have phone service. Fortunately for us..COMCAST just happened to be having a special 1 year deal on a digital voice package including digital cable and high speed Internet! Who could resist! Certainly not my husband....so 2 weeks ago the Cable Guy came to our house and installed a new digital cable box, a new modem, and digital voice phone service. Voila!
I came home to find a pile of magazines with no home..because we now have a digital cable box and remote the size of Montana......a crumpled diploma...a picture frame fell onto it when the Cable Guy moved the entertainent center to access the cable outlet...and a packet of reading material for my pleasure.
"Here, you can read that and figure all this stuff out."
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT:
So for two days weird things happened. The phone would ring a couple times then stop. I noticed people had called (we have caller ID) but noone left messages. The remote was a mass of buttons with serious lag time and WAY too many channels to flip through. Why are those magazines sitting on that chair? How did my diploma get wrinkled??
"Hey, did you get my messages? I called you twice?"
"No, I only got your cell phone message..."
"Well, your answering machine isn't working...I got some automated recording."
Two days of this and my husband says, "I think there's something wrong with our answering machine."
"Super."
"Hey did you ever read that stuff from Comcast?" Who has time for that.
FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE:
So not one, not two, but three booklets later, I discover we have digital voice mail....with mailboxes, which went into effect when the Cable Guy left...and now I need to set everything up in order to retrieve who knows how many messages! 10 missed messages over three days to be exact. We must now check our voicemail whether we think we have messages or not. There is no longer a blinking light. 5 pages of instructions and specialized settings for this and for that. Are you kidding me? Our voicemail picks up after 4 rings. I can't even get my ass off the couch in time to get to the phone. Whatever.
So I had some time to kill and decided to go back to the DIGITAL VOICE MANUEL. Hey! I can set the voicemail to pick up after 6 rings! Sweet!
THE FUN BEGINS:
I arrived home from work 2 days ago to no phone service. Nada. Dead. I unplugged stuff, I replugged stuff. I finally relented and tried to call 1-800 COMCAST. Where is the number??? Are you kidding me? Not a real phone number anwhere. I had to use my cell phone because I had no phone service, remember? The only problem was, my phone is set up like a keyboard, and not a phone pad. 1-800 COMCAST from a Motorola Q is WAY different than 1-800 COMCAST from a phone. Swell. Give me th #*&$*&^# phone.
THE LINE:
Of course it took 10 minutes to reach a real person...who apparently saw nothing wrong with the fact that nowhere in any of Comcast's literature do they have an actual phone number with NUMBERS INSTEAD OF LETTERS! "Did you reset the modem?" She asked.
"I have no idea what you are talking about!"
Whereas she proceeded to describe my modem to me....and then told me I would need to find a paperclip or some other device with a small, sharp, pointy end to insert into the notch for 5 seconds. Are you kidding me? I couldn't make this stuff up.
Okay, so I reset the modem, as she continues to talk to me like I am 2 . "Okay, I am going to call your phone." Nothing rings. "It should be working. I don't know why it isn't. Everything looks like it's working form here."
"Clearly it is not working. My phone is dead."
"Would you like me to send a technician out to your house?"
"Well, sure..that would be SWELL. Is there a number I can call in case my phone service comes back before tomorrow afternoon?"
"1-800 COMCAST."
"No, I mean a Real NUMBER. Not letters...numbers!"
"Oh......wait a minute...let me see....." She did not have it in front of her. I swear she was looking at a phone to try to figure out what COMCAST was on real numbers.
THE SINKER:
So The phone service came back on its own. The digital cable was not working in the morning...another call to 1-800 COMCAST....the technician came out to the house and told us everything was fine, except the answering machine was most likely conflicting with voicemail and we would...you guessed it...have to call 1-800 COMCAST to cancel voicemail if we wanted to use our own answering machine.
Are you kidding me? I have no time for that!
So like a dodo, I didn't call. Now, here I sit, with a dead phone again. I have unplugged and replugged everything back in....except for the answering machine. I have used my trusty paperclip to reset the modem. But I refuse to call 1-800 COMCAST. On principal. I would rather spend my time writing and posting then waiting for some half-assed customer service rep to tell me there is nothing wrong with my phone line.
So call me on my cell.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Santa Barbara or Bust
"It looks like the old West!"
"That's because it IS the old west!"
Monday morning dawned chilly, but sunny. Up and ready early, no less....we headed up the road to Solana Beach, past the gay surfer statue to catch the Amtrak Surfliner to Santa Barbara. We packed an overnight bag, and a cooler filled with sandwiches, drinks and munchies. We packed books, magazines, cameras and playing cards. I stink at cards.
The ride to Santa Barbara was glorious. Sunny, relaxing, the Surfliner was a double decker train with a cafe car. Dotty had pre-purchased our tickets.
"I got a senior discount on the tickets, Dotty said, so I don't know if they're going to make you pay the difference. They're supposed to ask you for a photo ID.No problem.
"May I see an ID?" The ticket agent asked....
"Ummm, sure!" As I fumbled through my crap to get to my license. "Here you go!"
He looked at it and simply handed it back to me."Thank you!" He said. So much for a youthful appearance. I didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Whatever.
"Make sure you get off the train when we get to Los Angeles so you can check out Union Station! It's really, really nice. But you have to be quick..the train only stays in the station maybe 20 minutes."
As we rolled northward through Santa Ana, and Burbank, home of Bob Hope International Airport and Yahoo Headquarters, the terrain began to change. Snow covered mountains loomed in the distance, surrounded by a mixture of ranches and small, single story, businesses.
"Next stop...Los Angeles Union Station!"
"Okay, here we are....get off quick, but make sure you check and see how much time we have." I grabbed my pocketbook and camera and off we went...we did not see a conductor, so we did not ask anyone how much time we had. We were at Track 10, and as we hiked up to the main lobby we pased scores of passengers hurrying toward the gate in the opposite direction. Why are they hurrying? I thought to myself. We decided to use the restroom, and hurry back. "I am not liking this," I said, "I think we should get back there.. you see one station you've seen them all. And I've seen a lot of train stations! Penn Station, Grand Central Station,Union Station in Philly, even North Station and South Station in Boston.
As we approached Track 10, I ran up the ramp....no train on the tracks. "Excuse me...the train that was just there....is that it over there?" As I pointed to Track 9(What was I thinking??) "That train? The train to Santa Barbara? Oh that left already."
"What???!!"
"It left at 12:25....it got in to the station late and made up time."
"Great."
So, there we were, in LA...and Dotty was cruisin on her way up to Santa Barbara...with all the food, but without us. I had a camera but no battery. But I had a cell phone and money, and the train ticket. So LA here we come. The next train didn't leave for two and a half hours, so we headed out of Union Station onto Los Angelas Boulevard, into the sunshine, and across the street. For the next two hours we explored Olivera Street, the Mexican Cultural Center, and Union Square. We took pictures, ate hot dogs and churras, and sat in the sun. Not a bad way to spend a couple hours.
We hopped the next train to Santa Barbara and were on our way...through mountains, canyons, and rocky hills...past ranches, farms, and trees. This reminds me of a Disney ride. But it's the real thing. This IS the OLD WEST.
"That's because it IS the old west!"
Monday morning dawned chilly, but sunny. Up and ready early, no less....we headed up the road to Solana Beach, past the gay surfer statue to catch the Amtrak Surfliner to Santa Barbara. We packed an overnight bag, and a cooler filled with sandwiches, drinks and munchies. We packed books, magazines, cameras and playing cards. I stink at cards.
The ride to Santa Barbara was glorious. Sunny, relaxing, the Surfliner was a double decker train with a cafe car. Dotty had pre-purchased our tickets.
"I got a senior discount on the tickets, Dotty said, so I don't know if they're going to make you pay the difference. They're supposed to ask you for a photo ID.No problem.
"May I see an ID?" The ticket agent asked....
"Ummm, sure!" As I fumbled through my crap to get to my license. "Here you go!"
He looked at it and simply handed it back to me."Thank you!" He said. So much for a youthful appearance. I didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Whatever.
"Make sure you get off the train when we get to Los Angeles so you can check out Union Station! It's really, really nice. But you have to be quick..the train only stays in the station maybe 20 minutes."
As we rolled northward through Santa Ana, and Burbank, home of Bob Hope International Airport and Yahoo Headquarters, the terrain began to change. Snow covered mountains loomed in the distance, surrounded by a mixture of ranches and small, single story, businesses.
"Next stop...Los Angeles Union Station!"
"Okay, here we are....get off quick, but make sure you check and see how much time we have." I grabbed my pocketbook and camera and off we went...we did not see a conductor, so we did not ask anyone how much time we had. We were at Track 10, and as we hiked up to the main lobby we pased scores of passengers hurrying toward the gate in the opposite direction. Why are they hurrying? I thought to myself. We decided to use the restroom, and hurry back. "I am not liking this," I said, "I think we should get back there.. you see one station you've seen them all. And I've seen a lot of train stations! Penn Station, Grand Central Station,Union Station in Philly, even North Station and South Station in Boston.
As we approached Track 10, I ran up the ramp....no train on the tracks. "Excuse me...the train that was just there....is that it over there?" As I pointed to Track 9(What was I thinking??) "That train? The train to Santa Barbara? Oh that left already."
"What???!!"
"It left at 12:25....it got in to the station late and made up time."
"Great."
So, there we were, in LA...and Dotty was cruisin on her way up to Santa Barbara...with all the food, but without us. I had a camera but no battery. But I had a cell phone and money, and the train ticket. So LA here we come. The next train didn't leave for two and a half hours, so we headed out of Union Station onto Los Angelas Boulevard, into the sunshine, and across the street. For the next two hours we explored Olivera Street, the Mexican Cultural Center, and Union Square. We took pictures, ate hot dogs and churras, and sat in the sun. Not a bad way to spend a couple hours.
We hopped the next train to Santa Barbara and were on our way...through mountains, canyons, and rocky hills...past ranches, farms, and trees. This reminds me of a Disney ride. But it's the real thing. This IS the OLD WEST.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Chardonnay, Zinfandel or Cabernet?
So day two dawns dreary and rainy, but who cares? We are off to the Temeculah Valley wine region for a day of wine tasting with the monthly HH group. (Happy Hour) We start our adventure at 10:30 am at Sue's house with mimosas and bagels, and LOTS of introductions. Some people we know, others are new. I stick with another guest and newbie and we chat about her sons and her husband who is a photographer. Little did I know her husband is an entertainment photographer and was at the Oscars photographing the red carpet!
It is noon. The limo arrives! 17 women and Larry- the chauffeur. I am the youngest...the baby of the bunch. Larry had no idea what his day had in store. Sue was in charge of this shindig, and boarded the limo bus with wine and munchies. Can somebody turn on the music? Who wants white zin? Chardonnay? Cabernet? And off we went...
To Palumbo Vineyards...so small the sampling room barely fit all of us, and the only bathrooms were port o potties in the parking lot. Bring your umbrella!! To Southcoast Vineyard Resort and Spa, a bustling resort with restaurant, banquet hall and acres of grapevines spilling over the hills beyond the palatial deck festooned with hanging flower pots. And finally to Long "Freakin'"Shadow Ranch. Woohoo! We were banished to the outside bar, and some of us took to dancing on the tables..well, not really, our former Miss India was too tall, so had to clomp around the muddy grass. (No, she REALLY was Miss India).
4 hours later we were back on the limo bus, drinking the last remains of Chardonnay, singing along to Marvin Gaye and Lionel Ritchie, among others. It's a really good thing there was a pole to hold onto, because a few of us just could not dance in our seats and took to dancing down the highway. I'm sure Larry had a whole new appreciation for old ladies after this trip.
The day ended with homemade chili back at Sue's as we watched the Oscar's 3 hours earlier than EST. Good friends, good wine, good times.
It is noon. The limo arrives! 17 women and Larry- the chauffeur. I am the youngest...the baby of the bunch. Larry had no idea what his day had in store. Sue was in charge of this shindig, and boarded the limo bus with wine and munchies. Can somebody turn on the music? Who wants white zin? Chardonnay? Cabernet? And off we went...
To Palumbo Vineyards...so small the sampling room barely fit all of us, and the only bathrooms were port o potties in the parking lot. Bring your umbrella!! To Southcoast Vineyard Resort and Spa, a bustling resort with restaurant, banquet hall and acres of grapevines spilling over the hills beyond the palatial deck festooned with hanging flower pots. And finally to Long "Freakin'"Shadow Ranch. Woohoo! We were banished to the outside bar, and some of us took to dancing on the tables..well, not really, our former Miss India was too tall, so had to clomp around the muddy grass. (No, she REALLY was Miss India).
4 hours later we were back on the limo bus, drinking the last remains of Chardonnay, singing along to Marvin Gaye and Lionel Ritchie, among others. It's a really good thing there was a pole to hold onto, because a few of us just could not dance in our seats and took to dancing down the highway. I'm sure Larry had a whole new appreciation for old ladies after this trip.
The day ended with homemade chili back at Sue's as we watched the Oscar's 3 hours earlier than EST. Good friends, good wine, good times.
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