An Arabian Nights New Year's

There's nothing like one of Wonder Woman's Arabian Nights parties!



The married men seemed to take quite well to belly dancing.




But they really were outdone by the women.

New Year's Greetings and a big Oops!

Every year I start the holiday season with the best intentions to get a Christmas card out. Really, I do. I would love to follow the tradition many of my friends have adopted of sending out a beautiful family photo with a lengthy verbal descriptor of all the wonderful things they've done during the year. Because really, I tend to do lots of fabulous things (at least I think so), and holiday bragging is generally quite forgiveable, and almost de rigeur.

But, I can never seem to do it ... get a card out before Christmas, that is. So, for the past few years, it's been New Year's cards. Amazingmail ones for those whose real world addresses I have, and emails for those for whom a cyber address will have to suffice. I'd just like to assure those people, who may be a little concerned, that yes, I do indeed celebrate and love Christmas, and I wish them all the merriest, but New Year's is infinitely easier to celebrate in the epistolary way.

And, to confess all my sins ... I'd like to apologize for sending out the huge list of everyone's emails. I thought I'd pasted the addresses into the "bcc" section, but it turns out to have been the "cc" section. Oops! If you're not too annoyed, just think of it ass my way of making introductions to some of the most fascinating people I know.

The Second Vision

I had that vision again. Or, rather, it was the second part of the first one, so along ago. All I know is that I clung to it even as Aurora’s tendrils inevitably extricated me from the dream world where I longed to remain. I woke most reluctantly, to a distant knocking I thought may have been at my door. Forlornly, I went to answer it, and was greeted only by the crisp morning air. And yet the comfort and hope of the vision remain.

About eight years ago, I remember feeling very disgruntled. I’d dreamed my whole life of being in love … the dramatic, earth-shattering, soul searching and transformative love that comes with much pain and even greater joy. And as time marched ever steadfastedly onward, I began to lose hope that I would ever find it. And then I had the first vision. I cannot remember much of it, only that I awoke with the deepest satisfaction that someday I would have the passionate love that I dreamed of. I knew that sometime in my existence, I would experience the body and soul engulfing love that I longed for. I knew that I could not settle for shoddy imitations.

The intervening years have been amusing, but ofttimes lonely. And more lonely most recently. However, this morning I had a vision that I’d found it, that miraculous love, and the man who I will share it with. I won’t bother with physical descriptions of my dream lover … they are only hazy at best. However, I can still feel that immense relief at knowing another soul, being known, and sharing deeply joyful love. A love that demands that I sacrifice the unworthy parts of my being. A love that propels me to magnify the best parts of myself. A complete love, encompassing storge, agape, philia and eros. A thrilling love, open to the possibility of exploring new worlds.

Somewhere, I remember reading, “The heart is a lute/ Touch it/ And the strings resound.” My whole being is thrumming with the resounding chord, searching for that matching chord. Maybe it’s a delusion. The overwrought desires of an emotional woman. In some dim corner of my mind, I’m prepared for it to be so. However, at this moment, I have a renewed sense of the possibility of the miracle of love.

Memorable Christmases Past

I wish these seemed more interesting, but they are just memories that I've been ruminating on the past few days. Don’t even ask about what year these events actually happened, just rest assured that it was at some point in the past

The year of the Christmas Stand: A pseudo-grinchy year. None of us wanted to buy, set up, or clean up a tree … real or fake. So on Christmas Eve, I plopped a fake pointsettia plant on top of an old music stand. We piled the Christmas presents around the bottom (we’re generally never so grinchy that presents fail to appear), and sang odes to the Christmas stand.

The year of the Best Christmas Present Ever: I’d gotten to the point where I knew that I was the best Christmas-present-giver in the family because I had the most disposable income to use on presents, and my brother Spork really hadn’t gotten into present giving yet. I hadn’t even really thought about what I wanted that year. But my sister JLITH had, and got everyone in the family to pitch in. Imagine my surprise when I opened a small jeweler’s box to find a pair of diamond stud earrings set in white gold. So beautiful and perfect. I was absolutely blown away. I wore them constantly for about four years. Then, one sad day, when I was out on the town, I saw that one was missing. I backtracked, but the earring was not to be found. I still keep the one in my jewelry box … a memento of the BCPE. Diamonds are lovely, but even better was my sister’s thoughtfulness.

The year of the Christmas Argument: My maternal grandmother died in 2005. However, before she became too ill, she wrote a short autobiography. Not long … maybe 20 handwritten pages. But all in Japanese. Which I can’t read. So when my aunt brought the pages, along with a bunch of old family photos, I got them all scanned and copied. And I asked a good friend if I could pay him to translate them into English so that our family could read it together. On Christmas day, I told my mother that this was going to be one of my presents to the family. And she got very upset. And said some unexpected (and therefore hurtful) things. The gist of it is that she wants to translate it, and would not like anyone outside of the family to work on it. Which I just don’t understand. However, I told my friend the story, and work on the translation was never actually done. A year later, there is still no English translation, and still no idea of what is in those pages. Hopefully someday my mother will get around to translating them, or get tired of the obligation, and let me have them translated.

The year of the Christmas Pictures I Took of Spork: My youngest brother is seven years my junior. Which means that when I was about 13, he was about 6. A carefree and happy-go-lucky 6, who always fell for my bear-hug ruse … which always ended up in a tickle-fest. Anyway, one Christmas I dressed him up in his festive pj’s and took a bunch of posed pictures of him … snuggled up with a teddy bear, shaking presents, reading Christmas cards, fast asleep and waiting for Santa. I’d almost forgotten about them, until I looked through a photo book with my nephew a couple of days ago. They’ll make pretty good blackmail shots someday.

The year of the Rocking Christmas Program: I think this was the last year that Music Man was in the singles' ward. He always put together fantastic musical programs for the choir. This year was no exception. Actually, the only song I can remember singing is, "Go Tell It On The Mountain." But for an LDS choir, it's a bit daring for sacrament meeting. Choir was never quite the same without Music Man, and I soon changed over to the family ward, which was a big change in general, and a big change in choirs specifically. This year I looked around i-Tunes for a version of the song, but couldn't find any that had the same energy and hope that Music Man's version had. So, I just sing it in my head, and remember that snappy-happy sound.

My mind/time warping Christmas

Or ... On Becoming the Greatest-Aunt-In-The-World-Except-For-The-One-Who-Actually-Provides-Housing.


And some more pictures ... these ones were the easy ones.

Dancing notes

Red slippers will do very well for dancing. Test drove them by slapping moleskin on the bottom, and they danced beautifully. Now I feel good about investing in chrome suede for the soles. Note: Moleskin joins the Wonderful Everyday Inventions List … along with ziplock baggies, drier sheets, post-its, advil and benadryl.

Nostalgic night of dancing. Saw and danced with Watakun, my first lindy boyfriend, for the first time in a long time. Healed a breach caused by an old argument with Lancer, with a wonderfully danced song. Also ran into 8-ON, Little Julie and Ben. DJ’s Tony and JD played lots of 40’s era swing music, with a fair amount of Charleston thrown in. And, Norma Miller, the grand dame of lindy, made an appearance. What a night!

A Beverly Hills Christmas

Heaven

Coming home after a long, stressful day. Getting in the shower and letting the hot water pound on the back of my neck. But it was still too much effort. Turning the water to Really Rather Hot (just past Rather Hot, but just short of Scalding), angling it to the back of the tub, and sprawling myself under the spray. Ahhhhh .......

The heartache and glory of the nativity

Went to the musical fireside tonight, because I really needed to hear some good Christmas music. YSA ward sharing their talents with the stake. Enjoyed the choral groups.

And then the premiere. Rob M and Diego H's magnus opus (at least, so far). A collection of songs written about the players in the nativity. Zachariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, Gabriel and shepherds. So wonderful. The talents of the lyricist, composer (and accompanist!) and singers helped me to discover anew the heartache and glory of the Christmas story. Such an accomplishment for all involved. Soon Rob leaves to join a Broadway show in Vegas (the boy also sings beautifully ... so much talent wrapped up in one person). Makes one wonder what lies in store for him. I, for one, already have visions of a Nativity musical hitting NYC in about a decade.

Parade of the White Elephant Gifts

Gadget Boy’s WEGE Christmas party. Haven’t been to a WEGE party in a while. Mostly because I associate them with gross gifts like reindeer poo cocktail swizzle sticks, etc. However, after witnessing Superman and Improv-er’s amicable sharing of Shakespeare’s bust (a Christmas-past, hotly contested WEG), I decided it was time to try again.

I arrived a little late. Not as late as I could have arrived, since Perky and I were going to carpool, but she was running very late, and I came ahead of her. But still. Arriving a little (but not too) late made me realize why people arrive late to parties … too little buzz to accommodate inane conversation, and too little in the way of people to size up. I ended up talking to Feminist A for a while, comparing notes on the scenes in the Santa Monica and LA stakes. And just when I thought I’d just have to pack it in a leave, because I am NOT a good-stand-around-small-talker, there were suddenly enough people to start the gift exchange.

Santa showed up, looking suspiciously like Improv-er and with the concomitant cookie request, so we all trouped up in turn to tell what it was we wanted for Christmas, and choose or take a gift.

Me? Well, I want to win every game of Catan I play in 2007. But if I can’t have that, I guess I’d be willing to settle for a kayak. Not that I have a car in which to move it from apartment to beach, or a wetsuit to use with it in the winter months. But I think a kayak would be ever so much fun.

As for my many WEG’s? First I stole a set of the most recent Spiderman dvd’s. When that was stolen from me, I stole someone else’s motorcycle model. I considered this a favor to the girl who had it at the time, since she ended up choosing a mechanical caged bird instead.

At one point, I had in my possession a lost dream that has haunted me since the 4th grade … a powder blue Member’s Only jacket. Honestly, I opened the gift with no idea what was inside … no stealing. Anyway, since my parents were the cruel kind who always had money for piano lessons and camping trips, but none for the MO jackets, madras short and polo shirts that ruled at my elementary school, I’d always felt deprived. It was a dream come true to see the signature collar unfold from the packaging. I draped my prize over my shoulders and felt like a school yard princess … until someone stole it from me, and it was then stolen again, making the third owner immune from further theft. I then perchanced to obtain a genuine glaring green 7-11 polo shirt (along with a Napolean Dynamite t-shirt and a Bob Dylan shirt), but that too was taken from me. In the end, I took home a bag of seven cd’s, with such diverse selections as the Dandy Warhols, the Beach Boys, MoTab and Space Ghost. Other hot items of the evening included a bag of goldfish, toy car race track, white Stetson with salsa and picante sauce, a duck light (glass duck which lit up!), a Deep Space Nine framed and pin-point lighted poster, and an Apocalypto cd with a free admission to Disneyland.

To add to all the excitement, there was also kissing. Santa had in his pocket cards anonymously designated for each boy and girl. Pairs were called out and invited to kiss for the camera. Now, let’s be honest, the kissing wasn’t all that exciting (except for SB, BP and DT, which was more like doggie kissing than human kissing). All the guys tried hard to be pumped up and aggressive (whether they wanted to or not), and all the girls tried hard to be demure and dainty (whether they wanted to or not). But it was diverting, and one of those things that only Gadget Boy could pull off.

I left the festivities around 2300. Really, there is only so much Big Party I can take in one night. Was saying goodbye to FGITW, when I noticed a tall guy wearing the ever so uniquely ubiquitous mistletoed head apparatus. I asked if it had worked well for him. He said, “Well, let’s see.” At which point he moved in. And I inadvertently ducked. Maybe I’m just used to giving cheek kisses like in Italy, Argentina or Peru. Maybe I’m not used to tall guys like him moving in for a smooch (the sky seemed to go dark). Or maybe it was my aversion to casual kissing (although this decreases proportionate to how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed). I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, I inadvertently ducked. And he noticed and laughingly commented. At which point I laughed at myself, offered my cheek, got my kiss, and left.

I'm grateful for ...

Hmmm … I’m finally getting over the scrooge-y phase that’s recently been darkening my doorstep. This morning, as I was driving to work, I was even able to think of things I’m grateful for.

I’m grateful for self-scheduling at work. Even if I sometimes forget about important things like one of the best dancing nights of the year, and schedule myself on a stretch of three days, with the dancing night being the one in the middle.

I’m grateful for guys who wear long sleeves when they go out dancing. As opposed to guys who wear short sleeves and sweat all over my dress. Then again, StretchJ asked me to dance again last night, and I made him laugh with my gratefulness.

I’m grateful for the internet. I was able to find the right size and color (patent leather red!) slippers (that will be perfect for dancing once I cover the bottoms in chrome suede) when the local store was sold out. I’m also grateful for postal delivery, even if the shoes are arriving too late to wear to the Lindy Groove holiday party.

I’m grateful for hitting the snooze button this morning. As a result of getting too little sleep last night (the dancing was really fantastic), I left for work a little late, and was able to see a spectacular sunrise.

I’m grateful for smog. Because the crimson sunset was probably due to the smog and low lying clouds that are verboten in December in Los Angeles.

And, I’m grateful for occasional bouts of scrooge-y-ness, which make the rest of life seem pearly and pretty.

And, mostly, I’m grateful for dancing. The last few weeks have been irritating and unfulfilling. When I took a step back to evaluate, I realized the missing piece was dancing. It helps me feel creative, productive and connected. It’s a good way to stay in shape. It’s a great way to meet and make friends. And I’ve been neglecting it to make room for things that just don’t satisfy as much. So, this year next year I’m going to make more room for dancing.

Have me committed

It drives me crazy. People not keeping their end of a commitment. Especially when we've made plans, they back out, and I'm left holding the bag. I may not have even wanted what was in the proverbial bag in the first place, but was willing to support it based on time spent together with flaky people.

Now, I understand emergencies. Relatives dying. Car exploding on the 405. Getting asked out on a date by Mr. Wonderful. And there are definitely times when I want to back out of plans because I'm not longer enthused about something, or something better comes up, or I just feel like spending some quality alone-time. But, I generally will just about kill myself to follow through on plans when someone is depending on me. What really drives me nuts is when someone says they're committed to doing something, and plans are made based on that commitment, then the committed person becomes suddenly uncommitted, but the plans can't be taken back because other people are now involved.

Or maybe I'm too rigid. I concede that it's a possibility. Maybe I need to take a more lax view. Not rely on people to remember or even keep their word. But somehow that seems like a very cynical and depressing way to live. I guess it ties in to my occasional distrust of people, or at least a belief in their fallibility. So, the best way I've come up to deal with it is to live and learn. Trust those people who are reliable, and be wary of those who prove themselves not to be. It’s one way to keep my sanity … or what’s left of it.

NYC Day 4

Up early again, to squeeze in the Met and the Cloisters. Really, I should have gone
on Thursday, but the fair weather practically demanded the ferry trip, and Roseanna had warned me against using her pass on Friday, which is when her roommate uses her half of the pass. So, it was that I ended up getting up to the Cloisters a few minutes before opening, so that I wouldn’t waste any time. The scene was lovely … fall, with golden and crimson leaves carpeting the sidewalks. Couples old and young meadering by completed the scene.




What I loved best about
The Cloisters were the gardens … looking so peaceful and
inviting one to sit and contemplate simplicity. Also enjoyed the illuminated sacred texts, especially the small prayer books that I hope were some person’s well-used scriptures. And, I greatly admired the wooden scultped chairs and tableaux ... I feel so much more affinity with things carved from wood than I do with similar things carved from stone, etc. Ended up buying a cd titled, "11,00 Virgins: Chants for the Feast of Saint Ursula." Beautiful, simple and moving music. Slightly lonely, infinitely peaceful, a window of light.

Quickly jaunted over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s so enormous, it would take a month of visits to see it all. Breezed through the Egyptian exhibit, then took a look at the Americans in Paris special exhibit. Parisian art has such an air of casual, laissez-faire, joie de vivre. Some wonderful Sargeants (esp Madame X, who rouged her ears for a more sensual look), Cassats, Van Dycks, etc. I am intrigued by portraits that invite the viewer to contemplate the private life of the subject.

Some others I found particularly moving were Ellen Day Hale's Self Portrait,

and Edmund C. Tarbell's Three Sisters

During my last bits of time in NYC, I decided to walk through Central Park. Lovely day. Many dog walkers. Many families and couples strolling around and picnicking. Some sports events. Leaves of all colors and a brisk breeze. Ate some roasted cashews and a hotdog just to complete the picture. I sometimes think that parks in large cities draw the denizens closer together, as solitary backyards in suburbia often provide an excuse to not mingle with others.

Made it up to Kevin’s a little later than I’d planned. Changed, finished packing,
straightened up, and left Peter with the keys, Roseanna’s museum card, and
a quick hug.

NYC Day 3

This was a day of Coulda-Shoulda's.

Shoulda woken up early. But I slept in, until about 1100. Perhaps I shoulda gone to the Met yesterday and done the ferry today, as the weather was once again beautiful.

First I went over to Ground Zero. Didn't feel much. Infact, I felt rather empty. Almost like I didn't want to be engaged in the whole morass of suffering. Thought of all the shoulda's that led up to 9/11.

Went over to Delancy Street. Ate some wonderful coq au vin at Cafe Charbon on Orchard Street, while I wrote postcards. I coulda taken the Tenement Museum tour, if I had gotten there early enough to buy tickets before they were all booked up.

Over to the Empire State Building. Like the Tenement Museum, I shoulda gone much earlier. Must say that it isn't nearly as impressive from the ground, during the day. The outside line didn't look too bad, so I joined the queue. Once inside, I saw that it was going to be a mistake. The line took us up some stairs to the second floor, where is curved and curled around like the line for a Magic Mountain rollercoaster ride ... or the security line at LAX. We were told that the expected waiting time was 2 hours, however, for just a little over twice the price, we could skip to the head of the line, etc etc. At which point I decided that there were other things that would better occupy my time, and I left.

(I did not take this photo, although I wish I had) Went over to the Guggenheim. Again, not a fan of the art particular to this museum, but it was open late this evening, and I was excited about the spiral walk
down. Shoulda checked out the website more carefuly. Turns out I was doomed to disappointment again. They were getting ready for a retrospective on Spanish art, and all but two side exhibits were closed. The
Lucio Fontana was, well disappointing. And the Kadinsky Gallery was even worse. A good thing that the ticket was only 1/3rd of the normal price. However, I was able to look out over the atrium on both floors, and get a feel for the museum. Then I went down to the atrium, had a seat, and poured over my AAA book looking for a good Italian restaurant in which to dine. Decided to fill my tummy at
Patsy's Italian Restaurant. Mostly because they advertised good risottos, but also because it would be easy to get to and leave from.


When I got to Patsy’s (a name which would make one think Irish intead of Italian), I was promptly seated, it being too early for the after-theatre diners. My waiter was a charming, rugged, transplanted pear tree. When I proved myself at being able to pronounce my order with a proper accent (or at least, being able to give the correct pronunciation), he responded with a torrent of that beautiful language, of which I caught maybe every other word. He sent over some bruschetta (brus-ket'-ta, not bru-shet'-ta) on the house, and frequently checked back to see that I was enjoying everything, which I was. I ended up deciding against the seafood risotto special. Portobello mushrooms marinated in a lovely aged-balsamic vinegar sauce, with spring greens to temper the sweetness of the vinegar with a little bitterness. Filet mignon, medium-rare, with caramelized onions and a white sauce flavored with truffle oil; with the most delicious garlic mashed potates on the side. Yes, by the end, I was full and sated. Alessandro tried to tempt me to stay with dessert, even una grappa (?) on the house, but I knew it was time to go, and bittersweetly bid goodnight to my handsome cameriere.

I will add a little note and say that I am not adverse to dining in a restaurant by myself. Happens all the time when I'm travelling solo ... mostly because I'm jut not social enough to meet and dine people while I'm on the go. However, I would always choose to eat with other people ... if only to have more dishes to sample from. I adore eating family-style. The Korean side of my family had numerous get-togethers as I was growing up. Lots of family-style dinners at Korean and Chinese restaurants where I would get to sample 10+ dishes at a single seating. Must say that I miss it.

Anyway, dinner was a wonderful way to say goodnight to a rather ho-hum day. I caught the train back to Monkster's and collapsed into bed.

NYC Day 2

Up early, beautiful day. Decided to head over to see Lady Liberty and Ellis Island
Gorgeous views of NYC, clear blue skies, Statue of Liberty awesome. Thought of all
those who came over the Atlantic and saw her as a beacon of hope for a better life.




Really enjoyed the Ellis Island Museum. Various ways to represent statistical data quite fun. Ethnic origins of immigrants over time. Ratio of men to women immigrants over time. The American flag display that changes to reflect immigrant faces. Photos of waves of immigrants. Left behind momentos donated to museum from descendants. The Grand Hall.

Confess I fell asleep during the movie. Exhausted.

Got up to MoMA, where Lenin's Son was waiting with a ticket in hand. Must confess that I’m not really a fan of modern art (Mondrian, Marden and such), but I was very interested in seeing the new museum. I especially enjoyed the photography and design exhibits. And, it was a pleasure to see more of Monet’s water lilies, and Van Gough’s Starry Night. I also really enjoyed the store. Lots of cool cooking utensils, office stuff, and knickknacks. Bought some holo postcards, some moonphase calendars, a necklace with squishy pendants, and a wrinkly t-shirt. Was tempted by a pair of kitchen knives, a traditional black bowl umbrella with blue sky underneath, and salt and pepper shakers that wobbled like weebelos, but I restrained myself.


Museum of Biblical Art (MoBIA)– On view were select pages from the
Saint John's Bible: commissioned art … hand calligraphied copy
of the Bible. Strange to see medieval-looking writings alongside very
modern-artish illuminations with gold leaf.

Met Rosebud at the Biltmore theatre. Comedy, “Losing Louie,” starring Mark Linn-Baker from Perfect Strangers. Can it have been that long ago that it was airing, because he now looks really old. Almost felt like that moment when a teenaged patient told me that she’d never even heard of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” as if I was ancient. Lots of sexual innuendo in the play, but interesting.



Walked up Broadway to Gray Papaya for hotdogs. Remembered scene from “You’ve Got Mail.” Ate in park and talked as we waited for Monkster to get off work and meet us. Lots of tips on what to do.



Took subway over to Brooklyn Bridge and walked across. By this time it was very
late,. However, there were only pedestrian lights, and no lights up the cables,
which made for a rather disappointing walk. A few couples, a couple of tourists, and one jogger. And me with my space pen, at the ready to defend myself against anyone foolish enough to accost a woman with a dangerous pen. When I got to the other side, a sign directed me to take the left fork, and go right at the bottom of the stairs to get to the subway station, After I’d gone a few meters, I heard something behind me. I glanced behind me, pen at the ready, and saw what looked like a piece of trash blowing in the wind. However, there was no wind under the bridge. I looked again, and it was a gray rat scurrying across the sidewalk for the relative safety of the brush.
This made me take a better look at my path, which was going to lead me through a dark, isolated, and perfectly peopleless park. This was far too much for my imagination to handle, so I turned around and retraced my steps, wishing good hunting to the kitty that was now stalking the brush. I continued on the lit path following the road, feeling very much like I was a progressing pilgrim. And low and behold, I soon saw the subway station beckoning to me on my left. Except that the barricade was topped with a pointy metal fence, with rather too much traffic whizzing by, even at 0230 in the morning, with a rather too far drop. And so I agonizingly continued on
the path, until it sternly released me to my own recognizance.Was really relieved to arrive at Monkster's, baby callouses and all.

NYC Day 1

Up before the crack of dawn to do last minute packing and be ready for shuttle. Almost forgot my heavy coat … probably better if I had.

Arrive at JFK – rainy. Called Super Shuttle. Waited 40 minutes. Called again. Waited another 20 minutes … an hour of my life that I can never get back.

Arrived at Monkster’s. Didn’t know if I wanted to tip the driver, but I did. Then he gave me a hard time because he wasn’t aware that I had already paid when I booked. This does not bode well for Super Shuttle. Or for my return trip to JKF. Already thinking that Prime Time will be my shuttle of choice from here on in.

Up to Monkster’s. Met Rosebud, Monkster’s girlfriend from Canada. Decided to go to dinner at a little Italian place just below her apartment. Lenin's Son to meet us there. Took the 1 subway (along Broadway). Got my week’s pass, so I don’t have to worry about getting lost, I can always just hop back on going the other direction. Roseanna gave me her subway map, already with the Manhattan fold.

Great little Italian place, bustling and aromatic. Lenin's Son already there. Confess I was a little startled, as he looked like a young Lenin, complete with beard and a twirly-ended mustache. Had mussels and asparagus for appetizers. Peter showed us a new way to eat the mussels … use the shells in the dominant hand to pluck the meat of the one held in the other hand. I ordered steak a stracciata … eating protein a good idea with all the walking I intend to do. When my dish arrived, I took a moment to stare … steak that had been cut up and basically strangled.


When dinner was over, I opted to walk back with Lenin's Son … could tell that Monkster wanted some time alone with Rosebud, despite them inviting me up to visit some. Anyway, walked back to Harlem with Lenin's Son in the rain. Weird to attempt conversation with someone I don’t know at all, who didn’t actually choose to spend time with me. After a couple of awkward topics, we finally started talking about liberals versusconservatives (we’ve both rather converged from opposite ends of the political spectrum), and church versus federal forms of welfare.

Offers for free stuff … getting into MoMA courtesy of Lenin's Son, the Met and Cloisters courtesy of Rosebud, and an off-Broadway show from Monkster. Connections are fantastic!

Later that night, when I heard someone come in the door after me, I called out a hello, thinking it was Monkster. But no. It was his other roommate, B. As it was late, and knowing that the last thing I want to do when I’m tired is talk to a stranger in the hallway, I soon said goodnight. When I realized that maybe his curtness (?) was due to shyness or being startled, instead of a disinclination to talk, I felt that I had committed a gaffe. Whoops.

Fowl Wishes

Down to the OC today. Met with Pilgrimgirl and the kids at Whale of a Tale, a fantastic, intimate children's book store in Irvine, for a meet the author event. Eoin Colfer, author of the Artemis Fowl series. His presentation was almost as good as a stand-up routine. Charming, fey, witty, and entertaining ... with an air of the wee people about him. At the end, he allowed time for some Q&A. It was invigorating to see childen so excited about reading. The yasked questions about character origin and development. Colfer advised any young writers to just keep at it, and look on any exercise in writing as a challenge that can lead to success. I was reminded of a Mary Engelbreit literacy poster ... something to the effect of, "Books fall open, you fall in." I wish all children loved to read. Bought the first book in the series for my nephews. Now they just have to hurry grow up a couple of years.

Continuing Ed on being the Fearless Leader

Relief Charge Nurse Workshop today. Very good to get together and discuss better ways to fill this role on the days when we don't have a core CN on. Also, with 5WJen there, it was good to get a global perspective on patient move-ability within the hospital. Must say that there was a lot of love directed to Dr. Metro and Tan Shaggy. I think they're the favorite team of the day relief charge nurses.

From 7 to 13 points in one turn

Celebrated Superman's birthday tonight. Good to see old friends. White BOy played mind games with Son of a Pitch, and Sarita found another celebrity to be engaged to this Christmas (I think this one takes the cake over Clooney and Visnjic). Delish dinner by Wonder Woman, a fantastic present from Improv-er (resolving old property rights), and a superb Catan game in which I cashed in on cards like a madwoman, earned 6 points, and won the game all in one turn.

Seeing the Great Salt Lake

Decided to finally go see the Great Salt Lake today. Drove up through Salt Lake proper, and then headed west to Antelope Island. Must confess that I wanted to see what Terry Tempest Williams had written so beautifully about in Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place. To use a hackneyed phrase, this book unravels the human heart.

When I got to the park, I was first impressed with the swarming bugs that hovered around my car, just waiting for an opening to invade me in my car. I quickly handed over the few dollars for my entrance ticket, and just as quickly closed the window. As I drove along the isthmus to reach the island, my weird glee at seeing bugs smashed up against my windshield gave way to a growing sense of the beauty around me. Mush as I hated to expose mysel to the bloodthirty insects outside, I did stop a few times to get a better view of the birds lazily paddling in the water, every once in a while spreading their wings to swoop and glide across the salty air.

Got to the island, feeling very welcomed by the mounds of sunflowers blooming by the bushel on the roadside, and stopped first at the Visitor's Center. Displays on the formation of Bonneville Lake. Salt Exhibits. Displays on how the buffalo got here, and the first settlers on the island. Exhibit on the bird species found in the area. A tank of brine shrimp. And a video room that had, among the supporters of the preserve, Terry Tempest Williams speaking about her connection to the land and wildlife, reading a few sections from her writings.

My last stop before leaving the island was to go to the beach. Of course it was deserted. I stopped at the ede of the parking lot, took off my shoes, and walked to the shore. The water is beautiful, for which I was grateful. I'm always rather disappointedd to see water that is unlovely. As I stumbled across the long stretch of sand, the shimmering of the blue water and sky drew me closer. Got to the edge and just listened to the soothing lap of the water. Touched the water, and left with a souvenir particle of peace in my soul.

Kudos to the boys at the MAC

West Coast dancing tonight at the MAC. I really do love it here. In fact, it's one of my favorite things about visiting SLC. And tonight I was very proactive ... asking men to dance left and right. It's not very often that I feel so courageous. Anyway, swinging love to Jeremy, BJ, Dan, Bill, Bill, and the other ones whose names just didn't stick in my head. Thanks for a wonderful evening.

SLC Day 4

Bought a few books this trip, from Sam Weller and from airport stores.

Will I Ever Forget This Day, Carol Lynn Pearson (x2 for friends)
Garlic and Sapphires, Ruth Reichl (copy for me, for Genie to read)
Blink, Malcolm Gladwell (loved this book)
Spook, Mary Roach (I love best her witty ramblings)
Red, Terry Tempest Williams
O Pioneer, Willa Cather


Also finished Mormon Enigma by Newell and Avery. Emma Hale Smith fascinates me. I can't quite comprehend the things she had to endure ... deaths of her children, being apart from Joseph for so much of their married life, knowing or suspecting his relations with other women, being involed in legal tangles with the church following his death, being reviled by church leaders on her remarriage. She's one person I'd like to meet one day.