Crime in my City

I’m blessed to live in a City where real crime doesn’t happen often and the “Crime Report” is a thing of wonder each week. I took a particular liking to this excerpt from the weekly paper and thought I would share it. I can just imagine the Police Officers expressions as they responded to the call…

Suspicious Person / Circumstances
6200 Block Newbury Drive. A small group of dancers, wearing neon-colored lighting affixed to black leotards, were reported ringing doorbells and spooking residence. Police were unable to locate the dancers, who turned off their costumes when residence tried to question them.

Costume Favorite ;)

There were many fabulously interesting costumes and I love the details put into them and last night was no exception. And every year, there’s one or two kids that catch my attention in a big way, making it hard to forget them. It may be their expression (candy corn girl of last year) or some wacky costume. I wasn’t even sure the poor kid would fit into the photo tent but I’m sure glad he and his buddy did. This year my 10 fingers up award goes to the Turd Man and Ace Plumbing…HA!

Photos generously provided by Jim McGill of Photo444.com

The story of them

Whiles searching through a bin of odds and ends at the local thrift, I came across a number of wonderful animals all waiting for their next adventure. With their fresh faces and bright colors, I knew it would be only a matter of time before some child would take them home. In the midst of “the pretties” I found some odd-looking, unlikely to be leaving, misfits. I’m a bit of a oddity myself so after debating my inability to leave them…I grabbed these unloved creatures and took them with me. At home, I sat pondering them while they watched me eat my lunch. I began to wonder about their stories…and that’s when they began to whisper…

Dwight Threetoe was born to Livingston and Maudette on the Island of Amphibianina, a lost sister to the Galapagos. Dwight showed an amazing afinity for style at an early age and, while his siblings could change color to match their surroundings, Dwight could also sparkle like sequens. His parents found this wonderfully entertaining on dark nights while preparing the evening meal. But at 15, Dwight felt his calling and left to follow his dream of becoming a Fashionista. Sadly his toenails kept snagging the fabrics and he had to leave the dream behind. His search for new interests brought him to the big Apple where, after competing on a food show called “Chopped”, executives realized his true potential and offered him his own pilot. Viewers at home became mesmerized by Dwight’s unusually flamboyant clothing (which in reality was his skin) and his ability to chop, dice and mince with a single toenail. The show “Slice and Dice” became an instant favorite and now Dwight’s three toe impressions can be found on the Walk of Fame.

Memphis, future King of Bongo, fell into a tourist’s suitcase while imitating a James Bond low evading tuck and roll manuver. Once the case was reopened, he found himself on the West Coast, making friends easily with his natural good looks and charm. He was offered many choice roles in Hollywood but the bright lights soon bored him and he found himself drawn to Monster Trucks. His career was cut short when Dumai, his loyal bodyguard, found him chattering away with a group of grease monkeys and took him back the Motherland after a thorough cleansing and trip to D-Land.

Dumai (loyal friend and bodyguard to Memphis) was born into a family of tactical warfare extremists. He trained early in marshal arts, bull riding and missile deployment… though his mother felt ballet would give him a “extra little something”. Through his skills, he came under the notice of Kong, King of Bongo, and was chosen to shadow his son. At Dumai’s appointment ceremony, King Kong made note of his combat knowledge, sheer bulk and lethal piercing eyes but admitted it was Dumai’s natural grace that finally won him the opportunity to serve. Dumai’s Mother beamed. Memphis and he were inseparably until the suitcase incident. They were both relieved to be reunited, then took the trip to Disneyland before returning back home.

Lola is the love child of a famous actress/dancer and a mystery man she met in the jungle trees on a long gone vacation. Born with the natural grace of a dancer, Lola trained for years as a ballerina, only to slip on a banana peel in the middle of a perfect pirouette. Once recovered, she made her way to the city of lights where she was invited to join the cast of Jungle Book. She can be heard singing on Tuesdays and Saturdays at the Fried Plantain Theatre and Review.

Hamburgler was born into a family of vegans who noticed early on his habit of nose twitching when neighbors would barbeque. Afraid for his future, his Mother would hide his allowance which, unknowingly ignited his life of crime. Dressed in his bedtime pajamas, he would sneak out at odd hours of the night in search of a local butcher shop. With fresh ground chuck in hand, he would then locate the nearest barbeque grill and fire up. After receiving several complaints of pickle chip litter, the authorities followed a trail of mustard and found Hamburgler consuming mass quantities of stolen red meat. He was released to the custody of Ronald MacDonald, where he spends his days in “grilling-but-not-eating restitution”, forced to wear red neckties.

Downtown LA

Took a quick snap…not sure exactly what the business was…but hey, I liked the Bat!

Silver City

A recent road trip, originally planned for San Fransisco, made a quick detour east to Silver City, New Mexico. Rain was in the forecast…and rain…well… my camera (and my hair) have issues with it. Once you enter the California dessert and go on into Arizona, the music changes along with the food and the people. Lucerno is on the radio, sleeping hound dogs are found in convenience stores and snake-skin boots make their entrance. At one stop, a Motel 8, Mike inquired if there were flat screen TV’s in the rooms. The gentleman, not in on the joke, stared first…then got it with a guffaw. He and his bride were recent transplants from Minnesota and, not missing the snow, were settling into the heat nicely. The next morning, we realized we were staying at “truck stop heaven” and I found the most amazing flag-draped truck in the back lot. I wasn’t alone.

We set out again, going through old towns, in search of places of interest.  We turned off at Bowie to see the old mining fort. The town itself was desolate, except on the outskirts, where it seems pecans and pistachios are grown in abundance. I saw horses walking freely between farms without fences…although they took one look at my ready camera and turned their big arses towards me. I didn’t take it personal… I don’t like having my own photo taken.

Once we stopped at the end of a long and winding dirt road, we encountered the sign that said “a gentle 1-1/2 mile walked with good trail”... People, if you EVER see a sign with those words, get the hell back in your car and drive away…fast. We started down the “gentle” trail, and about a mile into it, I had an asthma attack. I think God (or my Father in his angel form) sent the deer in just to check on me.

We made it as far as the old cemetary where a soldier had received the Medal of Honor and a small child (Geronimo’s son) had been laid to rest. From there, you could see the fort with the flag blowing gently…taunting… straight up the side of a rather large hill. I gave Mike the nod and we went back before I myself was laid to rest. To add insult, while driving out, we noticed a sign previously missed coming in. It was the handicapped entrance and apparently you could drive straight there…

When we reached Silver City, my first impression was “Haight Asbury meets Wyoming”. I had never seen so many old hippies together in one place…except maybe in that old Woodstock movie. Later (inside an antique store) my observation was confirmed on a tee-shirt…“Where all hippies go”. Beyond the hippies, I saw cowboys going about their business, even a few kids standing up on hay and one gentleman having a conversation with a cinder-block fence. In my estimation, he appeared to winning, but that block wall was holding pretty firm.

We stayed at the oldest hotel in the town…a place called The Palace. You had to park wherever you could and the curbs (I swear) were 24 inches high. Once parked, if you were too close to the curb, you couldn’t get your car door open for love or money. I made sure I didn’t need to get back in before I made the big step up. I went inside to inquire about a room and was followed in by an older, sprightly couple from Derbyshire, England. I’d been there in my travels (Pride and Prejudice ya know) and we made an instant connection. We waited, while hearing strange sounds coming from what appeared to be the adjacent bar, trying to keep up a normal conversation. The hotel lady finally came in and gave us several keys to check out the available rooms on our own, explaining she was very busy trying to get a pigeon out of the bar. I wanted to ask her if the bird needed help with his tab, but stopped myself, aware that this might be these folks first visit to the states. At least we now knew what all the yelling was and it seemed a somewhat reasonable explanation.

Her Majesty’s loyal subjects and I mounted the stairs and explored (and of course commented on) each of the room selections. The place was built in the mid 1800’s, all moldings and narrow hallways, and it certainly had its charm. Being the polite American I am, I let them have first pick of the three available and naturally… they picked my only choice. When we went  downstairs, apparently the bird had been liberated and the lady had recruited the balance of her faculties, saying “Oh, there’s another room”! “Thank God” I whispered, not wanting to be next to the breakfast area, I leaped up the stairs with the key. It was perfect with beautiful natural light, a window view up the street and at the very end of the hall and cheap!

Room reserved, camera in hand, we marched out onto the unsuspecting streets. We met up with a hippie Santa trying to give out candy canes but I feel certain his normal day  job is growing medicinal marijuana. There were interesting folks all up and down the streets…even a cowboy selling his prize farm beef from cooler chests…and thankfully none were camera-shy. We passed up a young girl with a sign that said she was giving out “good advise”. She looked about 20 so I was fairly certain about the decision to pass. I have a cat about that age so I thought I’d save money and just have a chat with Avree when I got home. We visited one new gallery that was hard to miss because the sidewalk was painted with colorful big round dots that said “Follow me”. Naturally I wanted to.  After walking a bit more, tummies were growling, so we stopped at a restaurant that said “cafe”on a neon sign. I love Mexican food but I’d had it 4 meals in a row and decided I just wanted an ordinary sandwich. I ordered an egg salad sandwich and that my friends…is exactly what I got…A fried egg on 2 slices of bead with a piece of lettuce on top. Literal took on a whole new meaning. Back outside, we noticed a sign hanging from a bridge. I shot it and it appears in an earlier story. I put it here again for those who missed it. I had to read it a few times before I understood it, but if you take the town tour, it all starts making sense.

Back at The Palace, I took my book down to the cozy lobby to read. Our room was a bit small…and what with the flat screen blaring…

Down in the lobby, I found a nice big burgundy velveteen chair with a matching footstool, and made myself at home with my book and a box of good n’ plenty. Just as things were getting good, some lady opened the door and went outside, leaving the door cracked open and all the freaking cold air coming in on me. I got up, shut it and resettled. She then came back in, placed a phone on a lamp table, put the door kickstand down and went back out. This went on a few times for the sake of her nicotine habit. Just before I strangled her to death (I’m pretty sure they still hang people there for crimes) I went back upstairs. I grabbed my coat and went to the coffee-house owned by the Palace… but not before giving her the stink eye.

I got settled in with a nice hot chai latte and big chocolate chip cookie. I had to tell the guy behind the counter what I would pay because there were no prices and he was new. Then the Harley guys started filing in. I wrote about them  previously and it’s somewhere below here. I found them entertaining and friendly with their contagious holiday cheer as they dressed for the local childrens Christmas party. It was fun to watch them take off toward the school complete with a police escort.

After coffee, another trip down the streets, and some interesting window shopping. I’m not sure the connection between Elvis and Christmas, but he’d be proud to know he’s remembered in Silver City.

Halloween visitors of 2008

Last year my buddy Jimmy over at photo444.com came to the gallery and shot some of the visitors. He posted them on smugmug and each person could order their own copies for a very, very small fee. This year, everyone will be able to sit with an alien and I ask you, who wouldn’t love that! For now…check out these crazies…

Number Lore

I have, for the last 5 days, been working on the sales tax for the gallery. Now for those of you that don’t know me, numbers and my brain don’t always coincide. You can ask all the folks at my bank. We’re on a first name basis. Imagine a meteor hitting a small planet at a rather accelerated speed. It’s not that I’ve sold a great deal and there’s a plethora of receipts (not sure what people see in that word). After all…It is art we’re talking here people. But the fact that I’m doing any type of accounting is about the equivalent of me making a pot roast with all the trimmings. It’s quite an unnatural thing.

I feel certain that my accountant ascertained something in me early on that made him come up with an “idiot proof” chart. I’m to fill in “only the little green squares”. I’m to “utilize the drop down menus” and use “only the categories created”. He’s made it “H proof”. It won’t let me type ANYWHERE I’m not supposed to. Ahh, what’s the fun in that? He asked me to send him a small portion of my handiwork to be certain I wasn’t “coloring outside the lines”…screwing up his perfectly executed spread sheet. It even gives me a big red “OK” when I’ve done a good job. Kinda the equivalent of one of those gold stars in elementary school. I sent off my first draft. Sadly…it was for the year 2009 ;(

I did all the requested revisions to round one. I’ve just completed my 4th quarter, sent it off and am eagerly awaiting my grade. It took 6 cups of thick, black, pumpkin spice coffee just to finish. I remember the day when he looked me straight in the eye and asked me if I knew not to keep writing checks if I didn’t have any money in the account. I’m still chuckling over that. I distinctly remember my Father asking my Mother that very same thing! I can say in all honesty, on that one point, I’m pretty clear. I still wish I’d said “That’s when I’m supposed to pull out my credit card, right?…What’s life without messing with the analyticals?

As far as my relationship with numbers goes, I’m not concerned. One of the bank tellers yesterday told me I had wonderful “fashion sense”. The next teller readily agreed and so did the head of business accounts (and he’s a man). So you see…no worries…I already have some form of “sense” down. 😉

The Doctor Visit

Ok, I haven’t told a story for a while…and well, today, I’ve got one. First, let me begin to tell you folks out there that still think it’s cool to have a tan, forget it. I spent my entire teen years burning…and peeling, burning and peeling, “repeat at will”… and now I’m paying for it. I now walk around with a giant black Joan Crawford hat and Chinese paper umbrellas; with SP…I don’t know…what are they up to…90? ya know…kind of vampirish.. (Not that I have any problems with vampires) Ok… that said. Preaching over.

Today was my “see the Dermatologist because you’ve had this thing on your cheek forever” visit. I actual refer to it as “My little friend” in a Scarface kind of accent. After securing a parking spot…that isn’t all that easy here in So Cal…I finally made it to room 204. When I opened the door to the office, I was greeted by a “spaciously challenged” room…maybe 9 feet wide by 10 feet long. It held a couch, a table and 4 chairs…2 facing 2 others…all shoved in with a shoehorn. There were no windows unless you call the slider door where the receptionist sits hidden with her own air… a window.

I crammed my way inside and saw a disgruntled looking 20 something guy with his equally disgruntled 20 something girlfriend sitting on the narrow couch. They were probably just mad because they now were forced to share their already limited air supply. Well, I did what any normal person would…I signed in for my 10:30 appointment, glared back and took a seat. The receptionist called me and gave me the ever-popular clipboard. It had more papers to sign than the mortgage I currently have and asked me more personal questions that my own husband has ever dared to ask.

While filling papers out, the narrow entrance door opened and in huddled an elderly lady with a large carved cane. She managed her way to the receptionist sign-in sheet and then took the second of the 4 chairs, opposite me…cane extending far into the room. Still filling out my paperwork, the door opened yet again. In came a long, lanky woman in maybe her late 50’s. She apparently was a repeat customer and had the routine down. She promptly signed and sat in the 3rd of 4 chairs, next to me. I had finished the first draft on my future life story and walked back up. It was at this time I noticed two things. One was that everyone signing in had an appointment at 10:30 and that thankfully there was a candy dish…with tootsie rolls. Well, all things considered, figuring trouble brewing, I naturally dug in, took enough to kill the pain and re-took my seat just in time to see the door open again.

In walked a very round, very tall man…with a rather large, round, pink woman behind him…and just as I thought the room couldn’t get any smaller…in came their daughter with the largest Afro I have ever seen in my life! It was at this very moment I started searching this tiny room for the hidden camera. Each person shuffled around, trying to get comfortable in a room where a family of Hobbits couldn’t get comfortable. I noticed the disgruntled guy get up and hi-tail it out into the hallway as quick as he could. He apparently thought it was “him”…or “her”…and he’d chose to save himself.. We all sat, trying not to stare at each other because there wasn’t anywhere to look…and just when I thought it couldn’t get worse…in walked a woman with a rather large incision at her throat with some very nasty looking sutures. I could feel my head spinning.

She signed, sat and stared with the rest. It was about this time my phone began to ring. It’s rather loud and I tried hard to get to it in time to turn it off. That’s when the elderly lady said “that’s a pretty song’…”who is it?”…all eyes on me. I swallowed and mumbled “Staind”. The late fiftyish woman yelled “Sting?”…. to which I had to reply “No, S-T-A-I-N-D”. “Well it’s very pretty…what’s the title?” she asked. I had to tell her “It’s been a while”…, to which I will not repeat the conversations of confusion that title lead to about my “remembering” but will tell you that Afro kid had a big smirk on her face, waiting to see how I’d get out of it. She and I were the only ones to know that the “Pretty song” was written by a recovered heroine addict confessing his life’s low moments…complete with profanity.

In my silence, the rather large, pink, round woman decided to ask each person his or her reason for being there at this momentous moment in time. I was treated to horrific scars, office treatments, surgery stories, chemo advise and just…just as they got to me…an angel with bright blue eyes and a pixie grin opened the second door and yelled “Heather”. I have never in my life catapulted across a room as if shot from a cannon…but I did then. I kissed her hand and said “THANK GOD YOU CAME FOR ME…!” I think she might have even understood.

I was then settled into a room of quite lovely, Zen like, decor. The designer, no doubt, had at one time been left in the waiting room and felt some form of moral responsibility to those who “made it through” boot camp lobby. I found it interesting that a dermatologist has the same type of bed thing you’re supposed to hop up on. The angel asked me the routine questions, “What are you allergic to”…oh so innocently. My smile confirmed she had hit the jackpot. Upon completion I sat there re-living, in my mind, the stories I had just heard in the Hobbit cave until the Doctor walked in and looked at me over her glasses. She questioned me rather bluntly about “my little friend”…”How long?”….“Um, well, a while”…quite a while”… No eye contact. To which she said “Are we talking years?… Hummmmmm…

She put her rather large glass over me with its rather bright light and pulled and prodded my cheek. She pulled her glasses upright and said “We can go about this one of 2 ways”…”I can give you a topical cream and we can try it for 3 weeks…or we can biopsy now…. which could leave a scar”. Now I knew damn well she thought I’d pick the cream being a woman. I replied, “Well, you know… I’ve always looked kinda innocent…let’s chance the scar!”… And finally, a smile. She then did her thing, finally presenting my cheek with a very un-fashionable band aid that could not be more noticeable if it were hot pink and I left with a “thank you very much” getting the hell out. I actually ran the 3 steps I needed to pass the waiting room.

I returned to work and promptly told the boys I was happy to have “Shaved off” a little weight and that I had now provided them with a target for all those rubber bands. My first comment, from a friend was…”Oh, Nice look”… I expected no less…

When I got home I promptly went to the store in search of the “cool band aids”. I had a choice of “Nascar” or “Hello Kitttie”…neither of which suits me. I was looking for a scull with crossbones but selected “Hello Kittie” because I figure I can draw fangs on her…

And, when I return to the Doc’s office, I think I’ll get some use out of my old lawn chair and sit in the hallway until they call… 😉

Minnie

Today, while driving the coast in search of inspiration…I met Minnie. The owner told me her official breed but as I was stroking her back…she was snorting…like a pig…so I never got her proper title. Her little legs were about 3 inches in height, but her character was much larger. She made a rather large impression on me. Meet Minnie…the White Snorter dog.