Having lived in Colorado my whole life, I have become very attached to seasons. And while Colorado is a little Schizophrenic, often times giving you warmer temperatures in February than May (hello snowfall night before my graduation), there is always a change in mood that I welcome with open arms. Like when the leaves start to turn colors and fall arrives I find myself wanting to speak in Old English because it reminds me of witches. While my friends use these pre-winter months to think of the best Halloween costume I work to suppress my desire to insert “twill” and “twas” into daily conversation. Some may argue that reverting to Old English is weird but I beg to differ. I call it authentic. There is no better way to say “time to put on a scarf for this crisp fall air” than “twill be chilly today”.
Or when the crispness of fall transitions into the next season of winter, one thing comes to mind: Christmas. Some might believe that I am, as a half-Jew, confused around this holiday season. But with any uncertainty that arises I allow my mood to naturally change with the season. Therefore I drop my Old English accent and give into my next seasonal habit: changing my facebook profile picture to that of me in a Santa dress made out of a Christmas tree skirt (with a theme party looming in the near future my freshman year at CU, I made a brave, crafty and affordable outfit). This change reminds me to be thankful. Especially for leggings because the long slit in the back of that Christmas tree skirt would not have left a lot to the imagination had I forgone them.
And with the warm temperatures of spring comes the inexplicable and uncontrollable need to find any reason to drink outside. I can’t explain these moods that come with the changing seasons, but they do and I’m not one to argue with the science of my body.
But since moving to California the lack of a distinct change in weather or season has completely thrown me for a loop. I don’t know when to spark up my Old English accent and I’m concerned Christmas will pass before I feel the innate need to change my facebook profile picture. And the consistent, warm temperatures make the outdoors inviting at all times, a solid concern for someone with a limited friend circle and therefore limited drinking buddies. But, alas, I have decided to take California as my own. And that means taking its flaws and confusions as well. Let’s just hope my natural instincts don’t become numb and dormant throughout this experience.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Disaster at 1 O'Clock
The other day I was on my lunch break and went to my regular lunch spot. My car. I’ve found a nice little place where I can park and look out at the ocean and eat a packed lunch (in this economy you have to tighten the belt where you can. Especially when you’re unemployed). Before you pass judgment on my eating in my car, remember that I work alone in a home office and don’t have anyone to grab food with. With that said, my lunch spot is usually a very peaceful place to escape the office, listen to my rap music that I’m far too nervous to play at work for fear that my boss’ children will hear, and enjoy a break. But today disaster struck.
An older man, I’d say 65, stood outside of my car and stared at me. He wasn’t directly outside of my window but close enough to make me sufficiently uncomfortable. I could feel him staring at me. I tried to busy myself with my iPod and air conditioning buttons, but that did not help.I think we all know the only appropriate time for one person to stare at another for a long period of time. And that is when a grown up stares at an infant (ages newborn-three years).
We are all guilty of watching a child struggle to scoot across the floor or open their sippy cup, smiling as they discover the world. And when said child turns and notices you staring at them, it is normal for you to smile, in wide-eyed shock, (like you haven’t been spying on them for hours) and hold your arms out, inviting them to waddle into your embrace. It’s almost rude to NOT stare at a child because then you seem cold hearted. Has anyone wondered if our staring at babies makes them uncomfortable? When they get to the age that their parents tell them that staring is impolite, do they wonder why their mother did pass this information along to complete strangers for the first three years of their life?
Yes, for some reason it is socially acceptable—neigh, expected—to stare at infants. But I’ll tell you what is not socially acceptable: the 65-year-old man staring at me while I eat lunch. It is also not socially acceptable to then, upon us locking eyes, proceeding to react with the wide-eyed, shocked grin that is reserved solely for babies. I responded to this by picking up my phone and fake calling my dad, which turned into real calling my dad because I’m bad at acting. Then I pulled away casually and drove several blocks forward to finish my Clif Bar. I suppose I should have been flattered, everyone aims to have the smooth, flawless skin of a child, and he just asserted the fact that I do have such skin. But as unsettling as the entire situation was the worst part is I need to find a new place to eat lunch.
An older man, I’d say 65, stood outside of my car and stared at me. He wasn’t directly outside of my window but close enough to make me sufficiently uncomfortable. I could feel him staring at me. I tried to busy myself with my iPod and air conditioning buttons, but that did not help.I think we all know the only appropriate time for one person to stare at another for a long period of time. And that is when a grown up stares at an infant (ages newborn-three years).
We are all guilty of watching a child struggle to scoot across the floor or open their sippy cup, smiling as they discover the world. And when said child turns and notices you staring at them, it is normal for you to smile, in wide-eyed shock, (like you haven’t been spying on them for hours) and hold your arms out, inviting them to waddle into your embrace. It’s almost rude to NOT stare at a child because then you seem cold hearted. Has anyone wondered if our staring at babies makes them uncomfortable? When they get to the age that their parents tell them that staring is impolite, do they wonder why their mother did pass this information along to complete strangers for the first three years of their life?
Yes, for some reason it is socially acceptable—neigh, expected—to stare at infants. But I’ll tell you what is not socially acceptable: the 65-year-old man staring at me while I eat lunch. It is also not socially acceptable to then, upon us locking eyes, proceeding to react with the wide-eyed, shocked grin that is reserved solely for babies. I responded to this by picking up my phone and fake calling my dad, which turned into real calling my dad because I’m bad at acting. Then I pulled away casually and drove several blocks forward to finish my Clif Bar. I suppose I should have been flattered, everyone aims to have the smooth, flawless skin of a child, and he just asserted the fact that I do have such skin. But as unsettling as the entire situation was the worst part is I need to find a new place to eat lunch.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Growing Up Artsy
This weekend my dad was in town and we had big plans to see this outdoor installation of modern art in Santa Monica called Glow. It took place all along the Santa Monica beach and was advertised as an absolutely mind-blowing, must-see art presentation. It was dumb. We left after our first two stops and went to see “Easy A”.
I’ve decided it’s difficult to have an outdoor art show in an area highly populated by homeless people. I walked by a tree with several shopping bags hanging from the branches and wasn’t sure if it was part of the show or a storage unit. Walking along the boardwalk you see people dressed in odd outfits dancing to silence every day. And you react in the normal way: by lifting your bag subtly to make sure it is as heavy as it was at the beginning of your walk, by casually veering your stride so that you are inconspicuously moving further and further away, and by looking directly forward as if your lack of eye contact makes your transition into a jog less obvious. But when you are walking the boardwalk at night during a highly anticipated art show you find yourself stopping to admire the woman dancing to silence in a bikini top and brightly colored tutu. And you think, you’re right! You’re right! We don’t need music to dance. Dancing is an art on its own. You nod and smile and continue on your way believing you have just witnessed the newest installation of modern art on Santa Monica beach.
No one ever wants to be seen not reacting to an art piece, especially at a very public venue such as Glow, you will immediately be tagged as the narrow minded, concrete thinker that “just doesn’t get it”. A shameful headshake will be thrust your way and that label will stick. Thanks to my artist mother I have had years of getting used to seeing art in the most obscure forms. I have been scolded for cleaning the molding fruit out of our refrigerator. Throwing away her newest art piece but saving our health. I have dragged her away from snatching up rusting wire from the pavement of a VERY public parking lot. Explaining we would pick it up when we were leaving the mall all the while planning an alternate route back to the car.
Both of my parents did a great job of exposing me to artwork throughout my life. ‘Exposing’ took on a quite literal meaning with my father’s addition of a life-size, fully nude sculpture of a woman in our entryway. I later named her Louise as in “geez, Louise!….. put some clothes on”. It’s difficult to explain to your 12-year-old friends that Louise is art when they insist on comparing her face to popular hosts of MTV shows. I wonder if Leonardo DaVinci had to be bothered with these comparisons as he explained art to his friends. However traumatizing at the time, each of these experiences helped me become aware to the art in my surroundings. That is why the other day, while visiting a friend’s studio; I asked if the tree trunk in the middle of the room was a seat or a project. Granted I asked as I was sitting on it, but the important thing to note is that I was aware.
In other news, I am still interning, slowly developing a path to stardom one coffee run at a time, I am taking improv classes, and I continue to successfully leave my house wearing pants without the help of roommates!!
I’ve decided it’s difficult to have an outdoor art show in an area highly populated by homeless people. I walked by a tree with several shopping bags hanging from the branches and wasn’t sure if it was part of the show or a storage unit. Walking along the boardwalk you see people dressed in odd outfits dancing to silence every day. And you react in the normal way: by lifting your bag subtly to make sure it is as heavy as it was at the beginning of your walk, by casually veering your stride so that you are inconspicuously moving further and further away, and by looking directly forward as if your lack of eye contact makes your transition into a jog less obvious. But when you are walking the boardwalk at night during a highly anticipated art show you find yourself stopping to admire the woman dancing to silence in a bikini top and brightly colored tutu. And you think, you’re right! You’re right! We don’t need music to dance. Dancing is an art on its own. You nod and smile and continue on your way believing you have just witnessed the newest installation of modern art on Santa Monica beach.
No one ever wants to be seen not reacting to an art piece, especially at a very public venue such as Glow, you will immediately be tagged as the narrow minded, concrete thinker that “just doesn’t get it”. A shameful headshake will be thrust your way and that label will stick. Thanks to my artist mother I have had years of getting used to seeing art in the most obscure forms. I have been scolded for cleaning the molding fruit out of our refrigerator. Throwing away her newest art piece but saving our health. I have dragged her away from snatching up rusting wire from the pavement of a VERY public parking lot. Explaining we would pick it up when we were leaving the mall all the while planning an alternate route back to the car.
Both of my parents did a great job of exposing me to artwork throughout my life. ‘Exposing’ took on a quite literal meaning with my father’s addition of a life-size, fully nude sculpture of a woman in our entryway. I later named her Louise as in “geez, Louise!….. put some clothes on”. It’s difficult to explain to your 12-year-old friends that Louise is art when they insist on comparing her face to popular hosts of MTV shows. I wonder if Leonardo DaVinci had to be bothered with these comparisons as he explained art to his friends. However traumatizing at the time, each of these experiences helped me become aware to the art in my surroundings. That is why the other day, while visiting a friend’s studio; I asked if the tree trunk in the middle of the room was a seat or a project. Granted I asked as I was sitting on it, but the important thing to note is that I was aware.
In other news, I am still interning, slowly developing a path to stardom one coffee run at a time, I am taking improv classes, and I continue to successfully leave my house wearing pants without the help of roommates!!
Friday, September 24, 2010
21 (million) Questions
Traveling is stressful. And no matter how hard you try to avoid it you are inevitably going to encounter people who unnecessarily raise that stress level. These people cleverly disguise themselves as those who are supposed to help you and expedite your travel process (i.e. the employee at your rental car company, the woman at the front desk of your hotel, or the TSA representative at the airport), but do not be fooled. These people WILL take away precious and irreplaceable minutes of your life. Being the educated person you are you will become aware of the ridiculous hold ups being forced upon you. And when these people sense that you’ve caught on, they will no doubt appeal to a higher power (company policy), point fingers at co-workers, or blame you. If you are lucky you will only be held up by one of these disguised allies one time per trip. Or if you are me you will meet one at each step of your travel process. As was the case with my recent trip to Washington.
It all started with the rental car company. The rental car company that pointed to their company policy of asking everyone to pile their luggage outside of the building to ensure time efficiency inside. Now I can only speak for my luggage, but I know my carry-on didn’t rent a car. As I move, the bag moves as well. No one was going to be waiting for it to get its rental terms, causing little to no hold up. But Enterprise saw the pile of luggage accumulating directly in front of the shuttle door, releasing customers to the building (hello obstacle course for tired and irritated travelers), to be a way to speed up the wait. Want to speed up the wait? Don’t give every customer a personalized escort to their choice of vehicle. Don’t give them a brief history and tutorial on their options. And don’t give them a rundown on the stain in the backseat of the car that you “just can’t seem to get rid of”.
Next, the woman at the front desk of the Fidalgo Inn. The woman who, after we requested to be moved from our room that faced a noisy highway, blamed a co-worker for forgetting to ask about our traffic noise sensitivity. Do not blame your co-worker for not checking on a made-up disorder such as traffic noise sensitivity. And please do not waste our time by interrogating us about our later arriving family members. It is not time efficient, nor normal, to want to know the first, middle and last names of my relatives, which rooms they are going to be sleeping in, what their relation is to each other, their likes and dislikes. As a customer grows obviously irritated with your insistence on useless information do not justify yourself by boasting of the high security available at the hotel. If by high security you mean each room is easily accessible to anyone from the outside, then yes you offer the highest security.
My trip rounded out nicely at the airport. Where I was targeted as holding up the line. I don’t think throwing a zip –lock baggie at me when I have one free standing bottle of face wash set next to my iPod, in plain sight to show I have no secrets, and then announcing to everyone, “we do not want to slow down the line by not having liquids in zip-lock baggies” lowers the stress of airport security (especially for us hesitant flyers). And do not insinuate that my 3.4-ounce face wash is holding up the line when you stop all bags from moving forward on the conveyer belt while you do a hand search of a man’s backpack. If the backpack is out of the machine and taken to the side, the man forfeits his spot in the security line. There are no “spot-backs” at the airport.
As you can see I experienced a triple threat weekend in Washington. My life was negatively affected by three different travel aids. With the individuals causing the inconvenient and pointless delays blaming everyone (including me) but themselves, I can see why my mother travels with a personal wine opener.
It all started with the rental car company. The rental car company that pointed to their company policy of asking everyone to pile their luggage outside of the building to ensure time efficiency inside. Now I can only speak for my luggage, but I know my carry-on didn’t rent a car. As I move, the bag moves as well. No one was going to be waiting for it to get its rental terms, causing little to no hold up. But Enterprise saw the pile of luggage accumulating directly in front of the shuttle door, releasing customers to the building (hello obstacle course for tired and irritated travelers), to be a way to speed up the wait. Want to speed up the wait? Don’t give every customer a personalized escort to their choice of vehicle. Don’t give them a brief history and tutorial on their options. And don’t give them a rundown on the stain in the backseat of the car that you “just can’t seem to get rid of”.
Next, the woman at the front desk of the Fidalgo Inn. The woman who, after we requested to be moved from our room that faced a noisy highway, blamed a co-worker for forgetting to ask about our traffic noise sensitivity. Do not blame your co-worker for not checking on a made-up disorder such as traffic noise sensitivity. And please do not waste our time by interrogating us about our later arriving family members. It is not time efficient, nor normal, to want to know the first, middle and last names of my relatives, which rooms they are going to be sleeping in, what their relation is to each other, their likes and dislikes. As a customer grows obviously irritated with your insistence on useless information do not justify yourself by boasting of the high security available at the hotel. If by high security you mean each room is easily accessible to anyone from the outside, then yes you offer the highest security.
My trip rounded out nicely at the airport. Where I was targeted as holding up the line. I don’t think throwing a zip –lock baggie at me when I have one free standing bottle of face wash set next to my iPod, in plain sight to show I have no secrets, and then announcing to everyone, “we do not want to slow down the line by not having liquids in zip-lock baggies” lowers the stress of airport security (especially for us hesitant flyers). And do not insinuate that my 3.4-ounce face wash is holding up the line when you stop all bags from moving forward on the conveyer belt while you do a hand search of a man’s backpack. If the backpack is out of the machine and taken to the side, the man forfeits his spot in the security line. There are no “spot-backs” at the airport.
As you can see I experienced a triple threat weekend in Washington. My life was negatively affected by three different travel aids. With the individuals causing the inconvenient and pointless delays blaming everyone (including me) but themselves, I can see why my mother travels with a personal wine opener.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Flying Solo
After my summer sublease was up at the beginning of August I moved into a one-bedroom apartment. This is my first time living solo and after living with 10 girls for two years it is quite the change. Quite the terrifying change. I know some people have fears that they will choke alone in their apartment or trip over a loose edge of a rug, but mine are much more frightening. What if I go out to meet friends and am overdressed? Underdressed? Not dressed? A problem only a roommate could alert me to. This independence has forced me to buy all the things I have been stealing from my roommates for years. Like cotton balls, Sriracha hot sauce and underwear. Sure there are perks, I can finally push the toothpaste from the end of the tube without coming back and finding that someone was a real jerk and squeezed the perfectly shaped middle, but I need someone to go on late night food runs with me. That and it's really hard to hold your own beer bong.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Up Close and Personal Way Too Soon
I spent this past weekend in Anacortes, WA (which I successfully turned into a week-long vacation thanks to my lack of job or any real responsibilities here in LA) for a family reunion. With this family reunion came lots of hugs. Which I do love. When I am expecting them and/or welcoming them. I’ve noticed for sometime now that I do not handle hugs well when I’m caught off guard. I think hugging people after a first meeting is awkward, which both parties MIGHT recognize, but if not, I do a pretty good job of making sure they do. I have, on two occasions here in LA, been caught so off guard for a hug that I have said “oh we’re doing this now” in reaction to my new friend’s outstretched arms and subtle lean forward. The only time a hug should come before a handshake between strangers is on The Oprah Show or at the dentist’s office (Oprah can do absolutely anything she wants and your dentist will be handshaking each of your teeth fairly soon after your meeting so no need to oversell it). OR if you call me Anna upon seeing my name, a hug—probably a bear hug—is in your future.
I do painfully enjoy watching others go in for hugs when it’s unclear if both parties are on the same page with the embrace. The small steps forward to see if the action is reciprocated. This small, subtle move to make way towards hugging range is an important first step in giving your subject fair warning to think of something better to say than “oh we’re doing this now”. It’s really important to make sure you don’t make a grand gesture with your arms too soon because then you’ve given your intention away. Had your subject not been mirroring your moves towards hugging, you have just forced them into it. The worst part being you both know you don’t want to be there. I find this uncomfortable realization is best softened by saying something along the lines of “come here, get in here for the real thing”. Even though neither of you really wanted to get in there for the real thing. I definitely can’t hide how awkward hugs are when they are not necessary. I’m sure people don’t have as big of a problem with these hugs as I do but to those people I say let’s build a relationship before we go too crazy.
To my family who is convinced I’m going to talk about them after our weekend together- this is not directed towards you. Please keep hugging me, you’re the only ones I can count on to do it right.
I do painfully enjoy watching others go in for hugs when it’s unclear if both parties are on the same page with the embrace. The small steps forward to see if the action is reciprocated. This small, subtle move to make way towards hugging range is an important first step in giving your subject fair warning to think of something better to say than “oh we’re doing this now”. It’s really important to make sure you don’t make a grand gesture with your arms too soon because then you’ve given your intention away. Had your subject not been mirroring your moves towards hugging, you have just forced them into it. The worst part being you both know you don’t want to be there. I find this uncomfortable realization is best softened by saying something along the lines of “come here, get in here for the real thing”. Even though neither of you really wanted to get in there for the real thing. I definitely can’t hide how awkward hugs are when they are not necessary. I’m sure people don’t have as big of a problem with these hugs as I do but to those people I say let’s build a relationship before we go too crazy.
To my family who is convinced I’m going to talk about them after our weekend together- this is not directed towards you. Please keep hugging me, you’re the only ones I can count on to do it right.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Keepin' In The Know
As I was driving to my internship today I noticed the beach was very overcast, much more overcast than I have seen before. I didn’t think much of it; I have grown to know the fog burns off later in the afternoon. I noticed the fog was still around later in the afternoon and when I left my internship for lunch it was clear there was a full on wildfire somewhere. I could not see the ocean and since one of my new things is “keepin’ in the know” I googled a Los Angeles news channel’s website to get some answers. There was no headline for ‘smoke’, ‘smog’, ‘fog’ or anything of that sort. There was no way this issue could be a common thing, there must be some reporting on this! I searched the site in a frenzy; was my health in danger? What I stumbled upon at the bottom of this website lead me to the only conclusion possible: LA does not have real news channels.
As I scrolled to the bottom of the page without a sign of information of my potential impending doom, I saw four tabs that are clearly more important than a wildfire in my surrounding area: PHOTOS: College Cheerleaders, PHOTOS: Who Is My Celebrity Parent? PHOTOS: Crazy California Laws and PHOTOS: 2010 Celebrity Deaths.
REALLY, LA, REALLY?
UPDATE: It wasn’t a wildfire. It was overcast. But still. Those bottom tabs are just ridiculous.
As I scrolled to the bottom of the page without a sign of information of my potential impending doom, I saw four tabs that are clearly more important than a wildfire in my surrounding area: PHOTOS: College Cheerleaders, PHOTOS: Who Is My Celebrity Parent? PHOTOS: Crazy California Laws and PHOTOS: 2010 Celebrity Deaths.
REALLY, LA, REALLY?
UPDATE: It wasn’t a wildfire. It was overcast. But still. Those bottom tabs are just ridiculous.
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