Katharine Hepburn and Me

In high school, I lived in Palo Alto, and my mom and I often went over to the Stanford Theater, where they play films that were made prior to 1963. At some point, we saw something with Katharine Hepburn in it, possibly Bringing Up Baby (this picture is from that film) or The Philadelphia Story or maybe even Holiday. Altogether, I was smitten, and after printing out a list of her films from a fledgling IMDB, my mom and I went to the video store at the end of our street. Unfortunately, the list had printed new to old, so the first movie I checked out was Love Story. It was okay, but she's only in it for a bit.

I borrowed her autobiography and biographies from the library. I remember reading them in the hammock in the front yard. She fascinated me. She's part of the reason I can sit here typing in pants. I know there's more to the woman's movement than just her, but she wore trousers on screen, which is basically just a big 'screw you' to menfolk.

Her affairs were interesting. Howard Hughes was quite smitten by her, but she just wasn't interested in marrying him.

I named my first car, a 1985 Volvo, after her, because my car gave me independence, just like how she was an independent woman.

It's been around fifteen years since my interest in this woman began, and I have yet to see more than half her films. I'll get around to them. In some ways, I don't really want to finish them.

I remember that I was in Vegas when she died. I couldn't necessarily be upset about it, but it was sad nonetheless.

Someone did a one woman show on her at the Falcon Theatre in Toluca Lake a year or so ago. That was really fascinating. I didn't think I would learn anything, but the actress had a lot of insights.

I recently bought her book about The African Queen - I look forward to reading it again and crossing the threshold of viewing more than half her films.

Muppets and Me

I have always loved The Muppets. I think it's a combination of how popular they were in the mid to late eighties, plus the connection I have to them through my last name. I was a devotee of The Muppet Babies on CBS on Saturday mornings and as a small child I was convinced I would marry Big Bird when I grew up.

I still have my VHS tapes with The Great Muppet Caper and A Muppet Family Christmas taped off of television. The Great Muppet Caper, it turns out, is missing scenes, and I've seen them here and there. It's like being introduced to a long lost twin sister - you didn't know you could miss something you didn't know about. A Muppet Family Christmas is on DVD, but is missing certain songs. My video, taped on the initial airing, has all of them. It is currently on loan to a fellow Muppet loving friend.

About six years ago, I was driving home from work at the preschool, past the Improv on Melrose. I saw a sign that said "Puppet Up!: Jim Henson's Muppets" and I knew I had to go, whatever it was. It was, of course, amazing. They didn't have many shows (still don't) but I managed to catch them at The Grove of Anaheim, a couple of times at The Avalon, a couple of times at UC Irvine, and just the other day at The Largo. It's always expensive, but always completely worth it. The name of this Muppet improv show is now called Stuffed and Unstrung. The dark photo is of the 'rack' of puppets that they bring to each show. These are Muppets, as in they came from the Jim Henson workshop, but they are not THE Muppets, the ones that are now owned by Disney, like Kermit and Piggy. Which is fine, because as the show title suggests, things get a little ... weird. Just the way I like it. The puppets, which are on the end of puppeteers arm, whom you can also see, swear and make sexual innuendos and threaten one another. It is awesome.

I plan on introducing my eventual children to the awesomeness that is The Muppets. That ought to give me a good excuse to just watch The Great Muppet Caper over and over.

Disneyland and Me

I don't know how young I was the first time I went to Disneyland. I know I went to Disneyworld when I was very very little. There are photos of me at Disneyland from around four or five, but I don't remember that trip. What I do know is that we went often, like once a year, through high school (although at that point I was going with my high school band class).

I would be lying if I said that Disneyland being nearby wasn't part of the reason I wanted to move to Southern California after high school. I knew I wouldn't go that often, and I've never really been inclined to purchase a pass, but I still liked the idea of it being a 'day trip' instead of a 'vacation.'

But I still usually only go about once a year. And I've been to California Adventure maybe a handful of times. That place is okay, it has some good stuff, though the main attractions of the Tower of Terror and roller coaster and even the Ferris wheel are too droppy/fast/high up for me to want to go on them. My boyfriend did convince me to go on Tower of Terror and I can say with certainty that I did not enjoy it all. I much more enjoyed learning about the ride via the Internet afterward, and I guess it was helpful to have gone on the ride to find out what they were talking about. I found it particularly fascinating that the Imagineers decided that dropping people didn't produce fast enough speeds just using terminal velocity, and so when you "drop," the elevator is actually being accelerated downwards.

My favorite ride has always been Star Tours, even before I'd seen the movies, but especially afterward. I just went on Sunday and was able to go on the new Star Tours ride. It was quite fun and it's exciting that it's going to be different each time, but I'm sad to see Pee Wee's voice and all the other familarity go.

More recently, being into Tiki, I have loved the Tiki Room. My ex boyfriend bought me a record with the Tiki Room song on it after he saw me pine after it in a store that wasn't selling it. It was easily the best gift he ever got for me - unfortunately, it got lost in a move. Sigh.

So far Disneyland has kept up a nice balance of nostalgic with new and exciting. So long as they do, I'll head down every so often.

Farmers Markets and Me

This is a picture of the Farmers Market that takes place on Thursdays in Downtown Los Angeles. I began going there while working in the LA Times Building, and I continue to make weekly jaunts down to the market when my schedule allows. I usually buy a couple of slices of banana-walnut bread for Saturday morning breakfast, some veggies, some fruit, maybe some jerky, and then usually a tamale to eat there, while reading. It's a nice ritual that I can feel good about, in terms of eating organic and locally.

I've been attending several other farmers markets in Los Angeles. Wednesdays at Barnsdale, Sundays in Beverly Hills, Saturdays in North Hollywood. I've never been to one I didn't like.

I don't remember going to farmers markets as a kid, really. I'm sure San Jose and Palo Alto had them, but I remember going to swap meets more. Farmers markets are more popular now than even ten years ago.

What I usually do when I go to the Farmers market, any of them, is get $20 from the bank. When it's gone, I'm done buying things. That way I can't get anything too expensive (yes, that soap smells good, but I already have soap) and I won't get so caught up in buying fancy pansty vegetables that I buy more than I can eat before they go bad.

They're also a nice way of staying abreast of what's in season. Of course, it's also wise to be knowledgeable about that. Years ago I went to a farmers market in Santa Monica with a friend of mine in, I think, January. She bought some strawberries, and then we went to another stand, where a hippie-ish looking guy was selling organic veggies. He looked at the strawberries and asked where they were possibly growing them - the moon? My friend turned as red as the fruit in her hands. I've been careful to only buy strawberries in the spring and summer since then. Although the other day, I did buy some heirloom tomatoes, even though I'm pretty sure their growing season is the fall. Oh well. They're too tasty to pass up.

I'll update on more farmers markets as I visit others. There's a new one on Thursdays at Hollywood and Western I should check out ...

Flowers and Me

When I was in middle school, I got into something of a flower phase. There were time in, I think seventh grade, where I made sure that I wore flower *something* to school. This was somewhat easy because I had a pair of shoes that were made out of a sort of carpet bag material with flowers on them. But I also had a casual dress with flowers on it, a vest, even shorts I think. I had a bedspread with flowers on them.

I haven't really thought about this before, but this weird mini-obsession might have been caused by the flowers that we had growing near our mailbox at the time. When my parents bought a house right before I entered sixth grade, the previous owners had not treated it well. There were doors missing, the house was a miserable tomato-puke color (my mom's interpretation) and there was no grass in the front or the back yards. Now, being an environmentalist, I am not a big proponent of lawns. In California, they use up too much water to keep them up. My previous house had juniper bushes in the front, and a lawn in the back, which is where I acquiesce - it was really nice having a lawn to run around, spin, fall down on as a little girl. So if I have a house someday, I would like it to have a lawn. But only in the backyard. The front doesn't need one - but it should have something. This was just a bunch of dirt. My mom's plan was to first plant a magnolia tree, which she did, but it certainly wasn't very big when we moved three years later. Her next plan was to plant chamomile plants in the front yard as ground cover. But this was a very time consuming thing, and she was also attending graduate school at the time. So she didn't quite get to half of it before we moved.

But! Our mailbox was one of those right next to the street kind, where the mail person can just drive up to it. And there was a square patch of land around it. I can't remember if we planted the flowers, or if they grew on their own for some reason, but grew they did. They were as tall as me, nearing five feet, at the time. There were sweet peas and sunflowers, and all manner of who knows what.

I appointed myself household flower person, and every Sunday would go outside with a actual flower basket (it's like a basket, but with a flat area instead of the 'bucket') and carefully snip a bunch of flowers. Then I would take them inside and snip them diagonally underwater, like you're supposed to do. Then I would distribute them into vases, and place them in every room of the house. And I mean every room. Three bedrooms, the living room, kitchen, dining room, front hall and both the bathrooms.

I can't remember how long I kept that up, but I was pretty good about it. What I do remember, is that one year, during El Nino, our street flooded (we were on a cul-de-sac and the gutters clogged) and so to cross the street to my friends house, I had to walk away from the end of the street, around the water, and then back to her house.

That spring, my friend across the street had all my flowers growing where her mail box was! And without even trying! I was super jealous, but that's how life goes.

Civil War Reenactments and Me

A couple of Saturdays ago, I went to a Civil War reenactment. Over a month ago, I was taking the bus to my friends house, and I happened to catch a poster about it in front of Pierce College. Pierce is pretty far out in the valley, and it has this thing called "The Farm" which is a whole bunch of land, as you can see here. This particular reenactment/heritage days has been going on for awhile. I'd never been to one, so I decided to check it out.

The first thing I learned was that it is LOUD. I do not think I'll be bringing my eventual children to this until they're teenagers. We arrived and entered just before the first engagement, and walked over to where there were bleachers to sit. It turned out we had to pay to sit ($4!) but it was hot and we'd saved money buying the tickets online, so we went for it. As I was having my wristband put on me, a cannon went off, which I hadn't been expecting. I yelled loudly, then said "well, I guess it's noon."

Watching the battle was interesting. We never caught which battle they were reenacting, if it was a specific one. Everything was kind of ... slow. It's not like in movies where horses are coming at you and there's guns going off constantly and lots of death and screaming every second. The rebels were advancing on the Union soldiers, and they had to reload constantly, so you could generally anticipate when there would be noise. The rebels were also not wearing uniforms, they were lucky to have guns and horses. Some of them didn't even have rifles or shotguns, just hand guns from the time.

When the engagement was over, we headed over to the town square where Lincoln would be giving his Gettysburg Address. It was interesting and pretty quick. Then he went on to talk about other things, and I began to feel nauseous and dizzy. I thankfully had the wherewithall to remember that those are the symptoms of heat stroke, and quickly went to go sit down and drink water.

After I recovered, we went and took a look at the tents where goods and such were being sold. There was one selling hats, and they had a whole trunk full of fascinators, which I of course wanted, but they were all around $35, too much for me. I did wind up purchasing a ring with a relief thing going on, and a pair of vintage earrings (not vintage civil war, more like vintage late 40s) for a total of $15. I'm pretty stoked about them.

 Then I attended a fashion show while my boyfriend and his cousin, who happened to be in town, saw a Calvary demonstration. The fashion show was quite interesting, and the announcer definitely knew what she was talking about.

Lastly, I watched "Victorian Dancing." I was under the impression that they would have a few people to demonstrate, and then probably get the crowd involved. But instead there was only one, the woman on the left. She was pretty good at organizing, and a lot of students got corralled into it by their teacher, so there were quite a few volunteers. I didn't watch all of it, but what I did see was a lot of circle turning and walking backwards and turning your partner. I felt bad not participating, but I wanted to watch first, and then it was time to for us to head out so we could meet up with my boyfriend's sister.

All in all a good day. Maybe I'll go next year? If there's someone who wants to go. Hopefully it wouldn't be as hot ... but it's always hot in the valley in the spring.

One last thing: are there other countries that do this kind of thing? Reenact wars? Because it seems kind of odd. It's almost a celebration of that time. I know it educates and whatnot, but it's still kind of morbid, falling dead in a field.

Enthusiasm and Me

I've been thinking lately about how enthusiasm works. There are things that I love, but sometimes I wonder if I would love them/did love them as much because there was someone else there to egg me on, to agree with me, to prove that I was right in my excitement.

If I had been totally alone in my love for Star Wars, would I have been as into it as I was? My friend from high school, J, had always loved it, partially because of her older brother. So when it was re-released and I got really into it, she was right there along with me. And together we convinced our other friends that this was something worth spending time on. But without her?

While I've loved Weird Al for many years now without any particular help from anyone, my interest was first helped along by my friend B. And then more recently, my boyfriend wanted to go see Weird Al in concert, and that kind of reminded me how awesome he is (Weird Al, tho the boyfriend is awesome too).

Yesterday I was having lunch with a friend, and we were talking about how much we both love California. On my way home, with the sun out, a cool breeze going through my hair I was driving through the scenic Coldwater Canyon, and I smiled because, yes, I really do love it here.

I would hope that not everything I love is based purely on other people's opinions. And I don't think it is. I haven't met anyone who has as much as an interest in disasters as I do. And it's been a long time since I've spent time with anyone who was as enthusiastic about the royal family (tho there was a night in high school where my friend C and I spent the whole evening pouring over a now lost poster of the royal lineage. we had a great time. then I think we played Set for awhile. great card game).

Anyway, just something I've been thinking about lately. How much interest in a subject is innate in me and how much comes from seeing someone else interested in something. When someone is excited about something, that looks like fun, and oftentimes, you'll find yourself excited about it too.

Weird Al and Me

I have loved Weird Al since ... being very very little. My parents heard him on one of their favorite radio shows, Dr. Dimento. I'm not sure my love for Weird Al would have grown as strong as it has if it weren't for my friend B, the same one who had the horse that I posted about a couple weeks ago.

She was into Weird Al because her older brother was, and she worshiped her brother (briefly). So there we were, around six and five, enjoying "I Want a New Duck" and having absolutely no clue that the song it was parodying was totally innnapropriate for us to be listening to (Huey Lewis' "I Want a New Drug").

We watched UHF over and over and over again. That movie, to this day, is probably the one film  I've seen the most, even more than any Star Wars movie. Even more than Young Einstein, which we also watched together. I haven't seen it in a few years now, but I could still tell you the entire plot and recite a vast majority of the lines to you if you asked (you probably don't want to ask). I didn't understand almost any of the references at the time, but have slowly filled things in. Gandhi II where Gandhi kicks butt is funny because if you watch the first film/know anything about his life, he was a pacifist. I still haven't seen Rambo, but I don't think I need to to get the joke.

I used to own a lot of those Disney Adventures magazines, but I've only saved this one and one other (with Daniel Stern on the cover - not sure what that's about). In it, there's an interview with Weird Al. It's short and silly. I've interviewed quite a few bands for a music website I work for, and interviewing Al would be like some sort of Holy Grail. If I got to, I would like to give him these interview questions, see if his answers have changed.

I have, at least, shook the man's hand. It was at a benefit concert he showed up to, and he hadn't gone on yet. I was in the crowd, near the stage, watching the band that was up. Next to me was what I assumed to be a skinny teenager, who was in love with Weird Al, 'cause he reminded me of him, with the shirt and the hair. It was dark, but I could make out a Hawaiian shirt. It very slowly dawned on me that I was standing next to Weird Al. It was utterly terrifying. He was enjoying the show with his wife, and I waited very patiently until the band ended, then turned and shook his hand. He seemed genuinely happy to shake it. I told him it was amazing to meet him, or some such, but the crowd was so loud I doubt he heard me. I then grabbed my friend and ran off. I texted my parents, B, and J from high school.

So, here we are, about 25 years after I sang along with "Dare to Be Stupid" (one of my favorite of his songs, and definitely my favorite of his videos) and I'm still singing along.

My Trunk and Me

This post will be more about the container than the things inside it. You can see that I have successfully located thew whereabouts of my Tinker Toys (though I will admit that those are the ones I asked for in middle school, during my 'never gonna grow up' phase. Also living in the trunk are several  Star Wars items, including a lightsaber I believe I inherited (from a friend who eventually lost interest) and a miniature Death Star, something of an inside Script joke from my high school friend J. There's a naked doll (there are clothes for her somewhere) with an awful perm and a doll blanket that my or may not have been one of my baby blankets. There's a Garfield window stuffed animal, that was never, I believe, stuck onto a window, but rather dragged around by me as a child during the interlude where my family did not own a cat. There's some sandals in the back, the Greek wrap-around-your-leg kind that I had always wanted and wound up locating at Ross during a shopping trip with two unlikely guy friends. It turns out those types of sandals are not at all practical, the strings do not stay on your legs. Also included is a doll hammock (to be put to good use ... someday) and a denim skirt that is falling apart and no longer fits me, but my parents made if for me, so I keep it.

Okay, now that that's over with, onto the trunk itself. I love it. I've always had it - I really ought to inquire about its origins. When I was small, my dad put a pneumatic sort of rig on it, so it wouldn't slam shut, but rather be lowered slowly once tilted down - the better to not lose small fingers. As a child, having a trunk made me feel like I was from the nineteenth century, a kid of olden days with all my belongings in one heavy wooden box. It was quite romantic.

Over the years the trunk has gone from being a place of storage, to a bedside table, to a dresser, and now back to basic storage. The thing that kept it from slamming shut has fallen off, but as I am no longer five, I'm less likely to slam it on one of my fingers (only less likely, of course - you never know). The trunk has held up surprisingly well, even when it itself was in storage while I was in college, living in a family friends garage, up on a sort of loft. How I got it up and down that ladder ... I seem to have selectively forgotten that memory ...

Anyway, I love the trunk. I suppose it is one of my more precious items, now that I think about it. Seems kinda big for one, but there you go.

Legos and Me

By the way, we've moved on from things under the bed. The clarinet is kept in the hall closet, and the Legos are from a box in a different closet.

Here is a smattering of Legos. Some of them are 'vintage' - like the strange dude with black hair - you don't see them anymore. I don't have a ton of them, they live in that box, which lives in a bigger box. Mostly they're a random assortment, although there are a couple of instruction booklets to make a boat and something else. And there are a couple of small Phantom Menace sets.

I've been told that Legos are no longer sold in just packs of random pieces, but rather, only in sets with instruction booklets, and that this lack of allowing kids to be creative will lead to the downfall of Western civilization as we know it. Well, let's find out if the first part of that is true.

Okay, I just searched for 'Lego' (without the S even) on Amazon and the first result was a tub of Legos, the "Ultimate Building Set", which says it "features a great assortment of LEGO bricks and elements." While it does contain instructions and photos for 'inspiration' this is similar to what I had as a child with my Tinker Toys (hm, where are my Tinker Toys?). So so much for the downfall of Western civilization. At least from the Legos 'problem' side of things.

I played with my Legos a fair amount, making homes with yards (thank you weird Lego tree  you can see in the picture) and vehicles. I never really had enough people to satisfy me though. I generally stuck to Barbies in terms of permanent games, ones that wouldn't get put away. This wasn't because I was necessarily more interested in dolls, it was just that I could tell myself stories more easily with the Barbies since there were more of them.

A couple or three years ago I started babysitting for this kid who was about five and, no joke, was slowly building the full sized Death Star kit, that was at least four times the size of his head and, upon completion, would weigh more than him. He was getting some help from his parents, but I 'helped' him one afternoon, and it mostly just involved me picking out pieces for him, because as a tall person, it was easier for me to survey all the different pieces that had been laid out on the dining room table.

I definitely want my kids to play with Legos, but I think I'll get one of those tubs to compliment my collection that I'll pass on. It's plastic, which I don't like ... but I'll just recycle extra hard when the time comes.

My Clarinet and Me

While in elementary school, my parents had enrolled me in one sport per school year: T-ball in second grade, volleyball in third, soccer in fourth and basketball in fifth. None of these sports particularly interest me, except for maybe basketball, which I was known to play occasionally during lunch in middle school, until my competitiveness caused me to push someone down. I didn't like that side of me, so I decided to stop playing. Over the summer between fifth and sixth grade, my mom and I went to a concert (we went to a LOT of concerts). This was a small one, the quieter half of an orchestra in a small church, playing who knows what. Afterward, they invited the audience up to ask questions about the piece or their instruments, and I went up to talk to the clarinetist. They asked if I was interested in playing the clarinet, and I said I had been thinking about learning either that or the flute - though I did think the flute was kind of a girly instrument, and I was not at girly girl.

So after starting sixth grade, my mom asked if I would like to learn how to play the clarinet, and I said sure. We didn't have a music program at my middle school, hell, we didn't even have water in our pool. We only got an art class when I was in eighth grade, and that was a big deal. So my mom and I drove a few miles away to a music store/lesson place. I was introduced to my music teacher, and my mom signed a contract, renting to own a clarinet.

I liked my music teacher. He was in his late thirties maybe, a father of two small children. He mostly put up with me being silly, and rarely scolded me to get focused. My lessons were probably about a half hour, if I had to guess, and I was also supposed to practice at home everyday (at least every weekday).

And so that became part of my routine. The summer between eighth and ninth grade, we moved from San Jose to Palo Alto, about thirty miles apart. I enrolled in band class at school, and wanted to continue my lessons. This was a problem, but we solved it with public transportation. I somehow got from Palo Alto to downtown San Jose (though I don't remember how that worked) and then from there, took the light rail and then a bus to get to the music store.

At some point, my music teacher told me he'd been diagnosed with leukemia, but that it wasn't bad and he'd probably be fine. I was concerned, but hopeful. He stopped teaching at the store, and I began going to his house for lessons. There was no bus to get me there (he didn't live far) or maybe it was that my friend (who had lived across the street from me in San Jose) had a mom who'd heard about all my bus taking, but she started driving me, picking me up from the light rail station. My mom picked me up afterward.

For some reason, it was decided I needed to learn the flute, to get a better understanding of musical theory or something. My best friend at high school, J, played the flute, so I doubt it was difficult to convince me. My music teacher recommended a friend of his to buy a used flute from, so we went and purchased one. I would alternate between instruments in my lessons.

But suddenly, one afternoon, while J was over and we were goofing around, I got a call from my music teacher's wife telling me he'd died. My reaction was odd "you're kidding" but I had never received a phone call heralding someone's death. I scrawled the time and place of the funeral on the front cover of the aforementioned Script, where it remains to this day.

I was pretty devastated. He'd had a son while I'd known him, so quite young. It was out of the blue, he'd died of pneumonia he'd developed from a cold. I went to his funeral with my mom, and grieved for quite a while afterward.

I continued with band through high school, becoming part of a dual drum major team my senior year. In college, I took, I think it was called symphony for one year, sophomore, I think. In senior year, I took an improv class that I thought would be about stage improv, but it turned out to be musical improv. I thought about dropping it, but continued instead.

That was the last time I played my clarinet regularly. I got it out the other day to take this picture, and I've discovered it needs to be re-corked on one joint. I need to find a place to do that ... maybe see how much they charge for lessons.