A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm!

Returns of the Day, or Not

Heart, originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

Dear friend from long ago,

Today, I turn thirty-four years old.

Yesterday, it would have been your turn. But you're dead.

I hadn't thought about you in quite a while; but life being the constant tide of memories that it is, it brought you back to me not too long ago, and reminded me of the fact that we once celebrated our birthdays together.

One of thirty-four. It seems like it never really happened.

When I think of a inky sky lit up with stars --because here in the city the sky only lets the brightest of the bright come forth and therefore recalling is all I can do-- I also think of you.

I don't know what choices led up to my being here, so far away from where we met and leading a relatively simple and bourgeois life, while you no longer exist except in the memory of those who knew you.

But I am glad that I knew you, and that thinking of you always brings a bittersweet happiness that will only become sweeter as I age.

And you won't.

I sometimes refuse to believe you are dead. I would like to think that you made peace with your demons and found stability in your life; I would like to believe you found a happily ever after and that someone loved you as much as you deserved to be loved.

But maybe that's what death is all about, right?

Happy birthday, J. I am thinking of you.

Happy Day-The-Mexicans-Kicked-French-Ass Day

AvoDiptych, originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

...so you can see why "Cinco de Mayo" is a catchier cognomen.

Anyhoo, I do like Cinco de Mayo, and it's primarily because it's kind of a Western holiday, as funny as that sounds. Mexico itself doesn't celebrate the Battle of Puebla as heartily and happily as it celebrates its own independence; however, the western part of the United States --united also in the love of Mexican food-- seems to really take to the holiday.

Because, let us face it: there is nothing quite like a good Mexican feast and several good Mexican beers as an excuse to celebrate and perhaps break up the monotony of everyday with vibrant red, white and green. Much like St. Patrick's day gives everyone license to be Irish for a day, so it seems that Cinco de Mayo gives everyone a little Mexicanness-- or at least helps them drink and eat that way.

How can you not like holidays where there is no obligation other than eating and drinking, anyway?

As for me, nothing says "fiesta' quite like guacamole.

How did you (or didn't you) celebrate May fifth?

I Don't, But I Can See How It Bugs People

The title reference --so we can get that pesky bit of trivia out of the way-- comes from Jonathan Coulton's song called "I Hate California".  I have a feeling that if in your song you claim hating California but refuse to blame Los Angeles for your hatred thereof, your problem goes deeper than just plain hatred of the Golden State.

But I digress, as usual.

Hi there, Inties?  How've you all been?

I was in California for a long whirlwind of a weekend that involved tons of Brazilian food coming at you faster than you can say, "zomgbbqwtf!1!!1!11"; a couple of invigorating morning walks which featured some of the reasons people normally do love California; several stints of driving around that boldly highlighted the reasons people normally hate California with the passion of several blinding suns; a tragicomic, delightfully farcical encounter with a security alarm that made Rev. Mom and I have to flee in the night lest we have to explain ourselves to the "overly helpful" folks over at the Monterey County Sheriff's Department (and by "overly helpful" I mean that not much happens in the Monterey Peninsula, so you draw your own conclusions); several amazing places to eat; and a very lovely wedding, which was technically the reason we were there.

But California, really-- it's a bewitching place.

Some time ago, I was trying to explain to someone who's never been what it is that makes California so compelling and all kinds of awesome.  To tell the truth, it's hard to do so: there are many obvious things that make the place a polarizing rather than a compelling figure, and some of of those things happen to make it a hard sell when you place California up against an East Coast frame of mind.  Here are a few of those "hard-sell" items off the top of my head.

1. The drivers are as annoying as you think they are. 

But there is a reason for that.

People love to go on about how California boasts some of the most cutthroat, aggressive, balls-deep-in-a-river-of-blood competitive driving they've ever seen.  Toes curl and gums sneer as people recount stories of when they were passed on the right by a little old lady driving 85 and flipping them off or some such tall tales.  They also like to go into length about the day they got stuck in a three-hour traffic jam where they only moved four miles in half an hour because they made the mistake of getting on the (insert fabled highway of doom here, such as the 405 in Southern California or 880 in the Bay Area) [also note that it's "the 405" but it's never "the 880" because California is a schizophrenic state] at rush hour/the day before Christmas/two days before Thanksgiving/during an earthquake/throughout the month of July and they are still suffering from traffic-induced PTSD because when they tried to get out of the highway, a little old lady blocked the way while flipping them off.

Let's face it, people: the reason traffic sucks and drivers are so competitive is quite simple.  California drivers get far more practice than any other drivers in the nation because you have to drive fucking everywhere.  When I use the word "fucking" all neatly typed out, it is because I strongly believe in emphasizing that point while increasing the odds that someone will find my blog because I used a curse word.  There is no such thing as "really good public transit" in California, except for maybe the Bay Area --but between you and me and the millions of people who may eventually click on this blog looking for things such as "sexy rubber handschoenen" (hello, Belgium!), the BART kinda sucks.

So yes, if you pit someone who's driving EVERYWHERE (I mean six miles for your kid's school and forty miles easy every day) and by now is cranky and impatient by default because this person is like a cartaur, with someone who's gleefully driving around to enjoy the vistas and the scenery because the mountains are so tall!  and the valleys!  and the sequoias! and look honey, the ocean!!! or with someone who just doesn't seem to get that the leftmost lane in any California highway is for people who are willing to go 20-25 miles over the speed limit AT ALL TIMES, there will be road rage.

2.  California likes your money.

I'm talking an average sales tax of 7% in most areas of California.  Quick: what's YOUR sales tax?  People in DC like to whine that the restaurant tax is really high (10%!?!), but let's face it: you don't need to eat at a restaurant every day.  Your groceries are still being taxed at 5 or 5.5% DCists, so stop your whining.  California is expensive and it likes your money, and there is no way around that because it's run by a bunch of hippies who somehow still allowed the people to elect the Governator into office.  Twice.

Of course, California --land of the original smoking-everywhere-but-500-ft-from-a-building-ban-- can't leave well enough alone, so it also wants to tell you exactly how all of your money will or should be spent, but that's a more complex post, for which I can't fortify myself enough to write while pregnant.

3. The sun sets in the wrong place.

One of the lyrics off "I Hate California", it's a funny thing to mention and yet it is a good point.  Not only is the ocean west of the landmass but it's the wrong ocean --not the user-friendly, usually-warmer Atlantic that separates us from civilized places such as Europe, but the cold, vast, daunting Pacific that seems to keep going until it just pours off the edge of the earth.  California is far from most things; separated from the main continental shelf (along with Oregon and Washington state) by a very high mountain range; and inconvenient for many kinds of international travel (read: getting to Europe is slow going).

Regarding the oceans, anyone can argue about the superiority of one ocean over the other, since beauty tends to be a subjective matter of opinion.  However, the Pacific has higher surf and is deeper --better for surfing, if you're into that-- and is also richer in flora and fauna by the sheer scope of its size and deep ocean trenches, deeper than anywhere else in the world.  Also, I suspect it might be a little cleaner than the Atlantic ocean, but it is also the proud bearer of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.  Mmm!

But if beauty is a subjective matter, then how come so many car commercials are set on Highway 1?  Just a thought  (yes, Hollywood proximity is probably at least part of the answer).

For the record, I had the damnedest time getting the irrational part of my brain to understand that when you see signs for eastbound places, they are actually moving AWAY from the ocean.  Simple concept, hard to let go.

4. Big deal-- the lack of seasons alone makes this place rank high in the list of SUCK.

Seasons are lovely, I agree. 

While DC's seasons are not the most dramatic, for instance --our fall foliage doesn't turn as much as kind of rolls over like a fat dog and our snowfall is rather laughable most years-- there are few things that can truly rival the beauty and excitement that seeing spring unfurling in our nation's capital brings.  There is a powerful reason people venture the icy winds, the crowds, and the bovine pilgrimage to the Tidal Basin, after all. 

But really, seasons can also be a hassle if you're practical of mind.  The whole bit about not being able to wear flip flops on Valentine's day if that is your heart's desire is arbitrary at best.  Snowstorms and children do not mix.  Old people and temperature extremes are often fatal, and as you get older you tend to lose your taste for being cold (see Florida).  And let's face it:  far more varieties of things people eat and like to grow (i.e. fruits, ornamental plants, exotic plants) actually grow when the temperature stays mostly above freezing.  And if you want to go play in the snow or ski or whatever, there's always the mountains.  You just have to, um, drive there.  Good luck with that, and don't forget the chains.

5. Whatever.  It's fake/those damned hippies/don't they have hillbillies?/the people suck.

People suck everywhere.  There is no helping that.

__________

Hmm.... I am tempted to turn this over to you, Internets, so you can tell me what it is that people hate about California.  In the meantime, I am leaving you with a picture I took a few days ago.  Enjoy!

Sunrise over the Municipal Wharf-- Monterey.
Note how the sun also rises in the wrong place.

And all Highways Out of the State Say: "Go back."

I'm pseudowatching Telefutura.  They announce they will soon be replaying a pretty good telenovela, with some ridiculously good-looking people. 

I don't usually watch Telefutura --Univisión's little sister channel.  But there is something about being out here, out west in California and hanging out with Rev. Mom and knowing that we're floating somewhere three hours in the past, behind everyone else and putting the world to bed, that makes it okay to be lingering long and watching people bursting into tears inexplicably and at regular intervals.

There is something in the air here that is hard to define.  Maybe it's the way the Pacific ocean colludes with clear, cloudless days here in the Central Coast to make the light so crisp and well-defined that you swear you can see individual leaves as they sit on the tree.  It's like an HDR image.

I wish life itself could be as clear as these lovely sunny days with their high-resolution light.

____________

I am keeping an eye on the telenovela as I write.  The plot is, to be blunt, rather stupid-- how can people who love each other pretend not to do so because they "want to set each other free so they can find their true love"?

But this is just the kind of circular logic that makes daytime dramas such hits: it's always refreshing to see really good-looking people doing really dumb things and making themselves cry needlessly.  Somehow good looks don't assure that you'll be smart about your life's decisions, right?

And yet, there is also the pity element.  You get to feel empathy for people-- a luxury that can be afforded by even the most misanthropic among us.

But possibly the most important thing that one of these guilty-pleasure shows offers is perspective.  Things have a beginning and and end, and you know that the better looking the character both inside and out, the better the odds that there will be a happy ending. 

"Happy ending" optional.

____________

This may be the last time my family and I get out to California in possibly a long while.

This is the place I feel most comfortable calling home in my life, and yet it hasn't been so for a while.  There is something comforting here, in the light and in the windswept trees and in the crispness that cannot be found elsewhere -- not even in the cool marble of the monuments of the city I presently call home.

Rev. Mom and I have been going through belongings, rolling our eyes at unexpectedly tacky finds (she's just unearthed a pink mirror etched with the words, "Your acts of caring are God's hands on earth!" appears in time to make my point) and reminiscing over books and clothes and glassware.

We need perspective.
We need the reassurance that we can have a happy ending soon, and that maybe that ending includes coming back here sooner than we think.

But suddenly all those telenovela tears over what may happen make sense.  I'm not sad, exactly, but I am overwhelmed (again).  And yet, it's also exciting to be in this postion-- with life happening as it ought.

Stay tuned, folks.

"Big Rock Candy Mountain" Sponsored by Patagonia®

At first glance --which was passing quick, as he jaywalked across a four-lane highway while we came to a stop near the traffic light-- he looked like a hobo.

A disheveled, bearded, possibly train-hopping hobo.  Maybe he was crossing the highway to set up camp under the stars for a night.

Maybe he was hiking to a better panhandling site, or doing hoboey things.  Is there some sort of list of stereotypical vagrant stuff I should check before offending all Transient Americans in my readership?

But then as we slowed down and possibly spared his life, the logos surfaced.

_________

Where I went to college, it was common knowledge that the dirtier the clothing; the rattier the jeans; the more beeswaxed the dreadlocks; and the more pungent the Eau de Patchouli and body odor, the flashier and more expensive the car waiting in the parking lot would be.  I remember seeing people who would make a destitute person cringe in horror climbing into beautiful vintage sports cars or the newest SUV in the market without a second thought (because why should they stop to think, really?  THEY'RE RICH, BYATCH!).

So when we beheld this guy nonchalantly walking in front of us as if two tons of assorted metals careening downhill meant nothing, and the logo-vomitus of NorthFace/Patagonia/REI/<Insert Other Earth-Conscious Retailer Logo Here> all over his person became apparent, a mythical California creature came into focus: the filthy-rich/filthy-pants.

The kind of person who, due to political or ethical convictions, has become so out of touch with basic hygiene that can on a regular basis be mistaken with someone who is truly in need and cannot afford to fight the chill (or hide the stink) with the aid of some feel-good $210 jacket.

The kind of person who can wheel around a $5000 bike and when seated next to it on a street corner can get complete strangers to give him food handouts.

And finally, the kind of person who can jump in front of a moving vehicle with little more than a glance because he's obviously on a spiritual journey to the center of his being, just like The Lama.

A spiritual journey that needs a few thousand dollars more from mommy or daddy --doubtless, where he was headed, as he was walking up toward an entrance to 17-mile drive--to keep going, because he has a vision here and you people and your arbitrary crossing signals just don't understand it, man.