And safety comes first.

Friday, December 29

Concept Car as Pictured on Some Other Planet

My buddies and I test drove the Mazda concept car, the Nagare, which in Japanese means "flow". It looked like a shoe horn, but hell it moved fast--like a shoe. As you can see, we took it for a spin on the planet Venus, where it's hot like a sauna. I thought my buddy was going to boil out there, but we turned on the a/c, which mercifully responded right away. The heated seats were not used at all that day. I think this car is pretty dope. I would definitely recommend it to anyone, but epecially people in L.A. because they're so image-oriented and think they should be on an elitist planet.

Upside Down and Hungry

I am clinging to the underside of a gigantic autumnal leaf, and insects don't exist, so I don't have to worry about being eaten by one or--worse yet--having to eat one myself. I stay out of palm trees--the wild parrot community still hasn't decided whether the trees should serve as playgrounds or toilets. The parrots send me a lot of e-vites for their arbitrary parties: "Gathering at 2:48pm at the palm overlooking Ocean Breeze Apartments. See you there!" I'd rather crap on my own monkey bars, if you catch my drift. Those punks don't know what it's like to be caged and told when to sing. And I'm not making a work-in-a-cubicle analogy. I'm a human clinging to an enormous leaf, thinking about insects, but not about what they'd taste like. I often crave honey barbeque wings though. C'mon! Not the parrots--I don't eat that un-FDA-Certified stuff. I do things right: I call my mom up on my cell, and she brings over some KFC.

Thursday, December 28

Two Words: Carpal Tunnel


Next to my desk are windows I never open. Fresh air...it's not like oxygen is going to make my job any better.

Wednesday, December 20

Coming Soon: Essay on a classic Boston tune

More than a Feeling

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away
I see my Marianne walkin' away

So many people have come and gone
Their faces fade as the years go by
Yet I still recall as I wander on
as clear as the sun in the summer sky

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away
I see my Marianne walkin' away

When I'm tired and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
and dream of a girl I used to know
I closed my eyes and she slipped away
She slipped away

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away

Jesus is the new pink.

I've already blasphemed with that title. God help me. Damn it, my fuckin' uncontrollable mouth. Don't be sending me bars of soap for Christmas. Funny joke. I won't laugh, and neither will you when I whack you across the head with it, provided it's the kind with the rope attached. Speaking of attachments, please quit forwarding shit to my email box. I don't really want to look at pictures of creepy babies (or was it creepy pictures of babies?) with antlers growing out of their skulls. There's no point to this post either.

Friday, December 15

You Judge Sylvia's Past: Literal or Not?

I told him I used to stare down bottles of ketchup in trailers with Axl Rose sitting across from my hashbrowns and eggs.

Monday, December 11

You and I talk about Christmas songs.

Hey readers, what are your favorite Christmas songs? Although I am fond of the Bing Crosby-delivered classics, I must say I am particularly fond of the more contemporary holiday tunes, especially the ones where Christina Aguilera oversings songs like Silent Night and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. She is my favorite Christmastime oversinger.

I dressed up like a skank for this?

When I think back on our recent office Christmas party, I am reminded of the time I received a hole in the head and oh the joy it brought me! The vision of my usually unsociable co-workers chatting beside the Panasonic copier reminds me that it takes nothing more than a good attitude to achieve this mindblowing level of jubilation. Party on, my comrades whose job categories are separate from mine! Enjoy one another! Smiles are as plentiful as the cheese and cracker platters which I gleefully waited for in line at Costco behind a family-owned convenience store owner! This party is for you, though not for me, but I get lots of different kinds of "joy" out of it as when I make napkin pinwheels only to be snapped at by a receptionist (or shall we say, a perfectionist) whose duty is to measure by god-given precision of vision my layout of these pretty paper stars in relation to each other on the buffet. There is no other time than the holidays when I truly believe that giving is much more satisfying than receiving, and so logically I did not feel unsatisfied when I did not receive any door prizes. I thought about giving more this year, like giving everyone the finger before I walked out of the room, but I thought I'd keep that bit of joy to myself.

I Rock! (around the Christmas tree)

The year was 1987, and I was rockin' around the Christmas tree when I tripped on the extension cord and fell on my hip, flattening some very nicely-wrapped gifts. I blamed it on the cat, though—poor Herbert can be so clumsy. My brothers were so upset to unwrap their brand new dismembered action figures that they cast the useless toys into the fireplace, screaming Herbert's name with tears in their eyes. I, however, was too enamored with my Jordache jeans to feel bad about what I'd done to Herbert—and my brothers too, I guess. I rushed into my bedroom to model my new jeans in front of the mirror. I was so pleased that I decided to write a thank-you letter to Santa. Months passed, my jeans were still great, and Herbert died, so there was no real point in feeling sorry for him anyway. In June, when my mind was furthest from Christmas, Santa wrote back. He informed me that I'd been named the 1987 Sellout of the Year. I knew exactly the outfit I'd wear to the ceremonies...

Wednesday, November 29

Experienced Tree Decorator Seeks Tree

This year I was not invited back for Christmas tree decorating at the home of a longtime acquaintance. Last year it was all light stringing and glass ornaments in Redondo Beach. Bows were also used to decorate the tree. I was thanked for my efforts. It went a little something like this: "GEE, THANKS FOR JUST TOSSING THE BOWS AT THE TREE AND HOPING THEY'D STICK."

I have to admit, I had become weary of all the meticulous ornament placing 15 minutes into it, but when he said that, I was re-energized! I immediately grabbed a fistful of red bows and slammed them into the tree like God would a powerful snowstorm. And, yes, bitch, they all stuck.

I will eventually think of a title for this post but right now I cant even punctuate

Carmen De Boheme

Sinuously winding through the room
On smokey tongues of sweetened cigarettes, --
Plaintive yet proud the cello tones resume
The andante of smooth hopes and lost regrets.

Bright peacocks drink from flame-pots by the wall,
Just as absinthe-sipping women shiver through
With shimmering blue from the bowl in Circe's hall.
Their brown eyes blacken, and the blue drop hue.

The andante quivers with crescendo's start,
And dies on fire's birth in each man's heart.
The tapestry betrays a finger through
The slit, soft-pulling; -- -- -- and music follows cue.

There is a sweep, -- a shattering, -- a choir
Disquieting of barbarous fantasy.
The pulse is in the ears, the heart is higher,
And stretches up through mortal eyes to see.

Carmen! Akimbo arms and smouldering eyes; --
Carmen! Bestirring hope and lipping eyes; --
Carmen whirls, and music swirls and dips.
"Carmen!," comes awed from wine-hot lips.

Finale leaves in silence to replume
Bent wings, and Carmen with her flaunts through the gloom
Of whispering tapestry, brown with old fringe: --
The winers leave too, and the small lamps twinge.

Morning: and through the foggy city gate
A gypsy wagon wiggles, striving straight.
And some dream still of Carmen's mystic face, --
Yellow, pallid, like ancient lace.

--Hart Crane

Sunday, November 26

Video Games Ruin You!

Obviously, the term "ergonomic" wasn't a very important one in the 80's when the Atari joystick permanently damaged the joints in my hand. Look, I don't really want to talk about it okay? It was a wonderful Christmas surprise, and Moon Patrol was terrific, but all joy was lost the morning I couldn't hold a spoonful of the de-fuckin'-licious Pac Man cereal to my mouth due to the overuse of my thumb. As I said, I don't want to talk about this. I get so angry at technology.

Wednesday, November 22

The Company's Paying for It

Great balls of fire. We're going to have a raffle at the company Christmas party. Gee, I wonder what we're going to win. Perhaps a free pass to get out of next year's party. Oh. Oh. Maybe even just a free pass to sit with people I'd actually recognize from work. Hey, maybe we'll be able to upgrade our company logo mugs and plastic tumblers for better middle management. Now we're really thinking.

Sunday, November 19

Teach them well and let them lead the way.

Hear the children clanging their china and silverware. In five minutes I will have to tell them to keep quiet. The naughty ones won't obey because, of course, I am not their parent, and, also, because I failed to tell them about the Noise Control Unicorn waiting to be released from the pantry to stab naughty kids in one eye (right or left, your pick) with, what else, its uni horn. I have to work on more effective means to deal with youth.

Tuesday, November 14

Sick and Paranoid

Several people were asking about me yesterday when I was absent from work.

I was sick at home--where did you think I was? Shopping at my local grocery store for steel cut oats to feed my new pony at my ranch nine hours away in Arizona? Uh, no, my pony does not have a name because there is no pony! Ponies only exist in science fiction. And Arizona's not real either.

Saturday, November 11

Unfortunately, the moment has passed...or has it?

I waited too long, and now I have no stories about working with fools. I came to understand that these people I work with are not fools. They are not even foolish. They are simply passive aggressive people and can be found eating lunch among us, the sane. I study them at lunch. And when I have no other choice but to share the same table with them, I make small talk. Fill inthe facial expressions yourself:

"So, you like carrots, huh?"
"I like them, yes."
"What else?"
"What else what?"
(awkward silence)
"What else...what else do you have on tap for today?"
"Pardon my boldness, but in my humble opinion, I believe you are implying that I have a problem with alcohol."
(awkward silence)
"Just an expression. Got anything going on today?"
"What makes you think today's any different from the others?"
(silence)
"Sorry. Didn't mean to get philosophical."
"Oh, you weren't being philosophical at all."
"You know what I mean."
"Not always."
(pause)
"What do you mean not always?"
"I don't know. I'm not the whiz with the expressions."
(pause)
"Boy, I can't wait till this day is over."
"Why? Don't you like your job?"
"Sure, it's okay, I guess."
"Well, I love my job. Angie (boss) says chemistry at the workplace is important."
"Are you trying to hit on me? Ha. Ha."
(pause by co-worker this time)
"I really don't think it's wise to joke like that at work. There are people who are very sensitive about that kind of thing."
"Sorry. I'll stop now. Please, continue with your lunch. I'm sorry I interrupted. Eat your fucking carrots and have a fantastic day."

Tuesday, September 26

Tuesday, September 12

I'm a big kid now! (That is, I wear underwear-like diapers.)

Thanks to the Write Source, my creative juices flow like mad rhymes! I am now writing at the Grades 4-5 level:


A special secret place: Last year when I was still in the 3rd grade, none of the kids believed that trolls lived down by the creek behind my house. The kids came over to prove me wrong. On the way home, I showed them the scratches on my arm, proving to them that the nasty trolls were indeed alive and living in proximity to my bedroom. A few kids, like Joanne the pony-cat killer, got scared and headed straight home with tears in their eyes. The curious and the brave stayed with me. We got to my house, dropped down our knapsacks and entered the gate to my backyard. A few kids hushed the noisy ones. I said, “Eh, trolls don’t care about noise,” and led them to the creek. When we got to the creek, the kids bunched together, their eyes darting every which way, fearing that a troll would attack from behind. We stood out there for a long time, and no one saw any trolls. The kids left and I felt like such a sham. That evening, I sulked at the dinner table. My mom said, “What’s wrong, Sylvia? Don’t you like your elk steak?” I said, “It’s fine. The kids came over. They didn’t believe that trolls live in the back.” My mom put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, Sylvia, the trolls hurt a baby and were forced to move out of the neighborhood. It’s good for all of us, Sylvia. You’ll learn to accept this in time.”

Doing homework: When I’m supposed to be doing homework, I start to think about what outfit I’ll wear the next day. What can I wear without people saying I’m a skank? What can I wear without people saying look stupid? What can I wear without people teasing me, saying I still listen to Michael Jackson? Definitely not my Beat It t-shirt with an iron-on Michael Jackson and his pelvis-to-the-camera pose.

When I was upside down: When I was upside down, I wasn’t on the monkey bars. I was in the zoo, in the monkey exhibit, participating in a human-monkey integration program. I walked out when the monkeys started to sling their poop at each other. I’d rather play Crossfire…THE BOARDGAME.

A song that means a lot to me: Nothing gets me going more than that song that starts, “Blinded by the light. Revved up like a deuce. Another runner in the night.” What is the song about? Anyone know?

My most embarrassing moment: I was sick and tired of the mean kids making fun of me for being so quiet in school. One day, to win over these asswipes and gain their friendship, I targeted another quiet kid in my class. I announced to the rest of the students that this girl fell on her ass playing hopscotch during recess. If only I’d noticed who she was playing hopscotch with while I was sitting by myself on the other side of the yard. Turns out she was the leader of the mean kids, so I got my sewn-on jean pockets ripped off after school.

Talk about being scared!: For Halloween, I went out as Strawberry Shortcake, the girl with the cute red hair and freckles. When I turned the corner on 5th Street, the leader of the mean kids thought I was publicly mocking her, so I got my Strawberry Shortcake mask dented—a lot.

A terrible storm: A terrible storm brewed in the eyes of my teacher after I told her I wasn’t following her math lesson…for the ninth time. Even though I was sincere, she felt I was disruptive and formed a storm in her eyes. Then she cried like torrential rain.

This school really needs . . .to stop using beige paint. The color is so unappetizing that I end up skipping lunch most days. Then I get sent to the nurse’s office because they think I’m sick. More beige. I get so depressed in the nurse’s office that the nurse brings in this woman to talk to me. I cheer up and tell her about caterpillars turning into butterflies. She thinks she has cured me, but it was really her uplifting chartreuse dress that made me excited about school and learning and participating with teacher-types. Was she a teacher? I don’t know, but she should be.

Wacky Lunch Hour Fun

I'm standing in one of the aisles at Trader Joe's over my lunch hour, trying to find a box of the exact kind of tea the receptionist gave me on Friday. That day, the kitchen was out of tea bags, so I thought she'd have one to spare. I was right, but as she handed me her very last tea bag at 4:13 in the afternoon, 47 minutes till the end of the work day, she said, "Will you bring me another tea bag on Monday? It has to be this kind," she pointed at the box before dropping it into the wastebasket. I nodded, "Yeah, okay" and accepted the tea bag, not knowing I had just entered a serious contract. I intended to give her a replacement tea bag, but the weekend was long, and I had nothing to give to her on Monday. She said nothing, so I thought it would be lame of me to bring it up and make her feel stupid. "Hey, about that tea bag...I'll have it for you tomorrow." Tuesday is today, and I was the one who felt stupid because she did ask me for the tea bag. "Did you remember to bring the tea bag?" I looked at her water-filled cup and said, "No, I'm sorry. You don't have any, do you? I'm sorry. I'll go to Trader Joe's on my lunch break and get you some." She said, "No, that's okay. Don't worry about it." But did I believe her? No. It was not okay, and she made me feel it. Anyway, I got back from the grocery store with a slightly nicer version of the tea she had. Same ingredients, only more fragrant. Flavor remains. Antioxidants, the same. I showed her what I'd gotten and she looked at me with a slightly deranged smile--skeptical, but too polite to roll her eyes and sigh. Having picked up on this, I said, "Would you like to try it at least?" She said, "Do I have a choice?" I threw the tea bag on her goddamn keyboard and walked off in a huff.

When things cooled off, I got an email from her, saying, "So, are you going back to the store to exchange these?"

Saturday, September 9

Role Model

Face it, biotches, you can't handle how cute she is. Yeah, she just signed a record deal and will be promoting the new line of junior fashion at Kohl's. She's also the new sponsor for Nutella because wha? Because she's wholesome. (Photo of some dog eating a biscuit out of some person's hand is provided by Sylvia.)

Sunday, August 6

Grade 2: More Writing Topics to Test

Thanks to the Write Source website, my creative juices flow like spilled milk over which I will not cry because I am stoic! Allow me to test some of their Grade 2 topics:

My new friend: I met my new friend Patty while we were washing our hands in the classroom sink with that hard grainy pink and white soap. I remarked at how disgusting her fingernails were and asked if she was accustomed to eating with those fingernails. Patty told me to mind my own fucking business and asked if I was done with the sink yet, because my fat ass was taking up a lot of space. She’s not really my friend. I don’t ask bitches to be my friends.

How to make new friends: I’ve found that to successfully make new friends, you have to keep your opinions to yourself, wash your hands at the speed of light, and have a small ass. Patty, you’re a bitch.

Something funny that happened to me: Long ago, and oh so far away…

What I like about math: I don’t like a goddamn thing about math. This writing topic sucks! What do I like about math? What do I like about math?! What do I like about having a nervous breakdown and being sent to the nurse's office before a math final? Not a goddamn thing, my friend!

Friday, August 4

Testing Writing Topics

Thanks to the Write Source website, my creative juices flow like blood from a serious head injury! Allow me to test some of their Grade 1 topics:

A special birthday: When I was seven I told my parents I wanted a pony for my birthday, but I'd never seen a pony in my life. I was a little girl with no originality: my classmates all wanted ponies, so I thought, What the hell, give me a pony. On the day of my birthday, my parents got me a grey cat and called it a pony. I believed it to be a pony and told all my classmates that I did in fact get a pony for my birthday. All the little girls in my class wanted to come see my pony, so one Saturday I had a pony party. I put a saddle on my grey cat and Classmate Joanne crushed my cat to death with her sorry ass. I regretted making such a big deal about my pony-cat.

Friendly places: The Gap is a friendly place. The workers always greet me even though I rush past them to the clearance section. No one seems to judge me for shopping in the bargain section. No one.

I'd like to see...: Yes, after seeing a lot of things in life, I'd really like to keep seeing. Going blind now wouldn't be easy.

The biggest thing I ever saw: *sigh*

Picnic fun I like to make . . .: I like to crack open a huge watermelon and watch the scout ants come. Then I take three or four of them hostage and see what I can negotiate with the queen ant. An hour later, the entire colony will band together and haul out an entire sheet cake in tiny crumbs and lumps from within their intricate lair in order to get their scout ants back. Ant picnics are fun for me.

What if toys could talk? If toys could talk, Pixar would make a hell of a lot of money.

I rode on a . . .: I rode on a wild reindeer and crashed into a tree. I don't celebrate the story of Santa anymore.

Wednesday, July 26

Monday, July 24

Monday, July 17

This is what happened after I sent you that email this morning.

The usual over-the-top “How are YOU today?” greeting was hard to respond to this morning. I knew she had the power to fire me on the spot, but maybe that’s what I was asking for when I said, “Well, I ‘m sober. Let’s just settle for that this morning, huh?”

She, now in tears, accused me of twisting her words around and veered unstably into her corner office.

I sipped my coffee and waited for my next email to come through.

Sunday, July 9

Would you be my friend if I...

  • asked you to tie my sad and uncool shoes?
  • told you I walked into the voting booth and was confused about how the hole punching stuff worked on my ballot so I just did whatever?
  • eagerly took your business card so that I could finally complete my house o' cards?
  • snobbishly remarked that the words "Rob Thomas" don't exist in my vocabulary?
  • ate small children (especially the ones who don't run fast)?
  • compiled these lists in my head at work so that there was no room left for work-related information? (C'mon, that's what tomorrow is for!)
  • Poppycock!--made poppycock the new cool expression for teens?
  • told you, look, I really need a friend and I accept that I'm uncool but you seem to be open-minded so why don't we give it a try and if it doesn't work out I'll buy you some new flip flops because yours are looking pretty ratty?

Friday, July 7

Review of Rock Star: Supernova

Oh shut up and read.

I have two reasons for watching the show: One, the rockers. And two, it's all about the music, (if it wasn't also for the rockers). Combined, these elements form Rock Star: Supernova. Rock music is passion and not giving a damn about what other people say. Know it!

Unfortunately, that sort of delusion bores me, and over half the contestants (the whiny Chris being the worst) should be eliminated before the ratings start to sink. Especially annoying is when each of them, in introducing themselves to the tv watching world, default to the whiny phrase: Music is My Passion. Well isn't that nice? By the way, writing is my passion: I'm living a friggin' dream come true with this blog.

Thursday, July 6

Friday, June 23

There are a hell of a lot of toddlers on this planet.

Toddlers are everywhere. They've come from all over town to Toddler Storytime here at the public library this Friday morning. On my day off today, I learn that life is much more than my shit job, my shit attitude, and the people who share my same shit predicament. On my day off today, I learn that there are a hell of a lot of toddlers on this planet, and their lives are shittier than mine.

I mean, look at them: they can't even wait in line to check out books without bursting into tears. And why? Because they can't read and have to sit helplessly through their parents' awful sing-song reading styles the way we big people have to sit through their sing-songy speeches at work. It's no wonder why I start dreaming about my biscuit-faced friends in Dr. Seuss books when our CEO gives her reports.

Toddlers are weak. They get tired after doing nothing. They can't even get through a passive hour of storytime without falling asleep and/or getting all crabby. I can kind of see where they're coming from, though: their strengths aren't played up and job satisfaction must be really low for them.

Toddler Storytime...HA. I say they need to stop resorting to these morningtime escapist fantasyland story hours and start confronting their troubled inner lives.

Thursday, June 22

Sorry, you're not what I expected.

Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight, a man who broke my gaydar beyond repair is thinking of me and loving me tonight.

Sunday, June 11

Changing careers is as easy as changing your outlook on life!

Other jobs I'm considering:
  1. BBQ restaurant meat maridader: While I brush sauce onto slabs of meat in the kitchen, I'll overhear customers go, "Golly gee willikers, this is a well marinaded piece of meat!," and I'll gain satisfaction in knowing that I hadn't let an expired meat product go to waste.
  2. Human burst of sunshine in subway station: In the dark tunnels of the subway station, it'll be me you approach. I'll talk to you about anything, even if you smell a little like spilled whiskey. I'm not one of those people whose heads turn away and eyes glaze over the instant you've threatened them with crazy talk. You're going to play Boggle with Jesus today? I hope you win for once.
  3. Cactus nursery attendant: I've always loved the quiet mystery of succulents, but I have another reason for choosing this career (see comments section).
  4. Office intern shutter-upper: A new line of consulting, if you will. I'll help any company return to maximum efficiency by quashing the time-consuming, question-asking spirit of the golden intern.

Wednesday, May 24

Disneyland is mostly right with me!

Hold my hand, morons, and I will take you on a wondrous tour revealing the hidden treasures of my recent Disneyland essay. Thank you especially, anonymous moron, for encouraging me to “plz” correct all the “errors” that I posted.

I knew that if I mentioned Hong Kong Disneyland in the title of my essay, I would surely awaken the patriotic spirit of my fellow nationals. If you thought for a second that I honestly believed the Hong Kong Disneyland’s Donald Duck waved with more genuine enthusiasm than the one born and bred in Anaheim, you’d best check yourself, you Americentric reader of titles only!

By the way the story about the Mickey ears hat was true up to the point where I said got “Kool Moe Dee” stitched on my hat. I was really "Beyonce" for a day. Dreams really do come true at Disneyland!

Now, considering the entire assessment, I only named three shits that made my personal Disneyland experience shitty:

  1. It's a Small World was closed for maintenance. It's like going to a O.A.R. concert and not being able to see the band perform even though you can hear 'em in your head. Actually, O.A.R. is a really bad example for this because O.A.R. is a really bad band. I mentioned them because for years I have wanted to utter my public disdain for them for vexing mine ears at the turn of the century. The wonderful mechanical children of It's a Small World, however, may sing their glorious song to my grave. There shall be boats and moats at my funeral, but that's a blog entry for another day.
  2. The PeopleMover is gone. When something dies, you grieve for it, you bastard. How do you figure I'm favoring Hong Kong Disneyland at such a sad time? How inappropriate!
  3. The Submarine Voyage is also gone. Adding to insult was a five-foot "Coming Soon!" affont by a fish clown (or was it a "clown fish"?) called Nero (or was it "Nemo"?). The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables!
I'm excited to go here next fall: Yesterland.

Tuesday, May 23

I have a big heart, apparently.

Working for a not-for-profit organization means that the organization does not profit and you, the employee, profits not, as well (or at all! har har har). The other night at a benefit dinner, I encountered a couple of socially insultated engineers who were still rather unschooled about charitable organizations, one asking if we non-profiting employees received bonuses for securing extra grants. Horrified at his suggestion that we martyrs would instate a policy so virulently unethical, I warned him never to ask such an unforgivably stupid question again. I said that if he again crosses me or one of the many other saints at local chapters across the country, God would be very angry with him, because we, through our sacrifices for humankind, are dearest to Him--we, next to the trees and animals, of course. The foolish engineer became awkward, then silent. His partner, then feeling the proximity of God, remarked that "wow" I must have a big heart. I do, for without it, I am unable to forgive the founders for founding and fleeing.

Sunday, May 7

Magically Delicious

More about filming on location from someone who's often finds herself on location in Downtown Los Angeles:

Usually I just want to quickly get around the production crew and be at work on time. Last Wednesday, however, I cared no longer for my job when I found myself immortal in front of a bluescreen. I had approached the area with a mental map, weaving through the extras, squeezing by the crowd at the catering van. Once free, I found myself vulnerable, but dramatically so, in front of an enormous bluescreen. I was engulfed, engulfed by pure energy. I felt like I could do anything, deliver any line, make people cry and experience all their emotions deeply--something that's quite impossible to do in this society. But because no one noticed me at first, I took off my shoes to do incredible cartwheels in front of the film crew. I kept doing these physically demanding cartwheels until someone took notice, but it was the blisters which formed on the palm of my hands--not my waning will--that finally forced me to stop. I waited patiently for the return of equilibrium, at which moment I knew I had to rediscover my shoes, the very pair I had cast off when all senses were silenced by the unstoppable force, which only the awesome spirit of drama can wield. At the office that day, everything else seemed absurd.

Saturday, April 22

Earth Day!

Your Hummer may be terrorized today!

Friday, March 3

Two Miles an Hour so Everybody Sees You

Hunger roused my dormant stomach at a cruel, cruel 5:37 in the evening: I was shut inside my own car, rolling across L.A. at a pathetic 10 miles per hour, watching headlights grow bright and everything else lose form. Anyway, I was like mad jonesin' for tacos for weeks by then, so I turned off my radio, remained motionless on the 101, and said to myself, "I bet that one place is open." I wedged myself out off the Lego locked traffic to head to that one place for tacos. That one place, I discovered, was off on a family vacation. Disappointed and now feeling the sharpened pangs of my hunger, I kept driving down the avenue, hoping to find a McDonald's to ease the pain quickly and cheaply. And that was when I saw it. A TACO truck! A big, bad taco truck with little lights across the top like a semi, but smaller and filled with corn tortilla optimism. I made a sharp U-turn, pulled over, and ran up to the truck with a sack of coins in my hand. Carnitas y buche! Carnitas y buche, I demanded. The guy looked at me like he didn't know what was on the menu. What the fuck?, I thought. I looked up and around at the truck to find the name of the business. Los Cinco Puntos? El Taco Loco? Maricela's? Nothing. Suddenly it dawned on me that this wonderful taco truck was actually a useless Hummer: a big useless piece of shit with no true function on these urban streets. You want me to stop hatin' on you, Hummer owners, do you? Well start selling some carne asada!

Friday, February 17

What is love? Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more...

I shake with excitement when I think of the DMV. I find I cannot get my mind off the DMV, so I take time off from work twice this week to tour the DMVs of central Los Angeles. Two DMVs in one day, in fact, a record that left me feeling proud and fulfilled by dusk when the doors shut behind me at 5:00pm. Today I returned once more, lied about needing a motorcycle endorsement on my class C license, just so that I could stand in line...and have my picture taken! Hell, it was a huge bonus for me--I wasn't even expecting it! I have to say, I was surprised by this particular DMV office, how it appeared that they actually wanted to take my picture. You would not believe the difference in photogenic quality compared to my last photo when I was broken-hearted. I mean, any cop or grocery store clerk could see that I was delighted to be at the DMV! Nowadays, few people can say that and mean it like I do. I admit, I overheard one of the clerks tell someone they were open tomorrow, a SATURDAY, so I, with purpose and vigor, failed my test. The rules state you've got three chances to pass. Look at me, making the most of it...

Saturday, February 11

Sylvie Tales

Write to your local PBS station, and it might be me looking at your letter, making faces, genuine faces of astonishment:

"...all your nature shows use the word evolved continuously.
Why don't you find just one piece of evidence that supports this theory...before
deceiving all the children you pretend to love so much. Don't you think kids
would have more self esteem knowing they were created by a loving God instead of
their ancestors coming from some green slime?"


My reply:

Dear Madam,

Kids have long been deceived by vegetables that evolved just enough for biblical inculcation. Please don't hate me though; I lack self-esteem is all.

Sincerely,
Sylvia