The boy behind us in line couldn’t have been more than 4 years old. I tried to ignore the first 10 or 15 minutes of whining. “I’m boooooooooooooooored. This is so booooooooooooooooring. Dad, why are we in this booooooooooooooooring line?” I surreptitiously glanced over my shoulder to see who could be so bored while standing in line for the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coaster.

He barely fulfilled the 35″ height requirement. Fairly nondescript little fellow. Brown hair, brown eyes. Grating voice. His father, on the other hand, was a giant. At least 6’5″, Grizzly Adams beard, wife-beater t-shirt advertising the merits of Monster Truck racing. At the same time I glanced over my shoulder, the father bellowed, “YOU ARE NOT BORED! YOU ARE AT DISNEYLAND! YOU WILL LIKE THIS RIDE! YOU WILL HAVE FUN!”

This continued until 30 minutes later when we were strapped into our roller coaster seats. The ride lasted all of 2 minutes, and, just as the father promised, it was fun. As we jerked to a stop then exited, I heard the little fellow screaming, “Dad! Dad! That was so much fun! Let’s do it again!” The father, with the hint of an “I told you so” on his face, animatedly replied, “We’re off to the Matterhorn! Another fun ride!”

At which point the little one began anew, “That’s boooooooooooooooring. I don’t wanna ride the Matterhorn. Disneyland is booooooooooooooooring….”

Signs – Only in LA

Brothers Collateral Loans – Pawnbrokers to the Stars. Guess even stars get strapped for cash.

Spearmint Rhinoceros Gentleman’s Club. Don’t even want to go there.

A homeless man on a street corner in Beverly Hills, holding a worn cardboard sign reading “Can you spare $100 for food and shelter? God bless.” I knew LA was expensive, but please…

Don’t Do That!

I’ve discovered pet peeves I never realized I had.

1. Passengers who insist they want to take the scenic route then sleep the entire 13 freaking hours to Los Angeles on windy Highway 1.

2. Traffic jams. I can handle about 1 1/2 hours of slow, imperceptibly moving traffic, then I turn into a raving bitch.

3. People who grunt when asked a yes/no question, the grunt not clearly an affirmative nor a negative.

That’s all for now. More as they are discovered.

We’re going to Disneyland! Back soon!

A New Perspective

My friend Young is visiting from Korea. I’m seeing America in a way I’ve never seen before. The first day he was here I had to explain what parking meters are. The second, laundromats. The third, redwoods and why they grow so big. The fourth, gay pride.

I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Tonight we’re going to the Marin County Fair, in part because I want him to expose him to the whole “fair” experience – the exhibits, the rides, the carnival games. But also because KC and The Sunshine Band is playing. Take me back to 3rd grade. How can I explain that?

Sale?

As I passed the fortune cookie shop, the sign caught my eye: Special Sale Today. Misfortunes, 50% off.

I’m sad. My only uncle, my favorite relative, has died. I don’t ponder questions that usually come with such occurrences, such as, “Why him?” “Why now?” “What did he do to deserve such an early death?” because such questions really don’t matter. Death happens.

I’m sad because I won’t hear his Florida twang in his scruffy voice ever again. Sad because I won’t feel the prickly stubble of his graying 5 o’clock shadow as I hug him. Sad because I won’t experience that special feeling when I sit talking to him at family gatherings, knowing I’m his favorite, too, not because of any words that have been said, but knowing nonetheless. Sad because I’m 3000 miles away from any family and during times like these it would be so comforting to drive across town just to be with others who loved him too.

I’m sad just because.

Moving, Moving, Moving

Once again, I’m packing up my belongings and moving. Hopefully this will be the last time for a while, but for some reason I suspect not. This time it’s just across town, to a larger apartment, one more conveniently located for my commute.

In some ways, I marvel that I own so little for having been in the workforce for almost 15 years. Then, on nights like tonight, when I begin packing those seemingly so few possessions into boxes becoming stacked higher and higher, I wonder how I’ve accumulated so much. And why I need it.

I was making excellent progress until I began to pull a packed box (one never unpacked from the last move) off a closet shelf. I began to lose my balance, the next thing I knew I was showered with cascading high school and college yearbooks. Not sure those were the best times of my life, but they certainly were the heaviest.

The End

The end came excrutiatingly slow. The end to our softball season. We’re a fun team. Every time we take the field good times are guaranteed. But something has happened, or rather, has not happened, lately.

There’s a peculiar rule in the league we’re in. If a team scores 10 runs within an inning, they’re done. Back to the outfield. Time for the other team to have a chance to play ball. That rule was invoked upon us not once, but twice, in tonight’s game. Ouch.

What was especially painful was the very last inning. The umpire told the other team (at that point ahead by at least 20 runs) that in order to take their last at bat, everyone on the team had to switch hit. There were groans, meek protests of, “But I’ve never held the bat this way…” And yet they still scored.

Guess it’s a good thing we all have day jobs.

The Coldest Birthday I Ever Spent Was a Summer in San Francisco

In theory it was a good idea. A bonfire on the beach to celebrate my 35th birthday. Emily sent out the details; most people responded by saying they had never attended a beach bonfire in San Francisco before and were looking forward to a new experience.

We arrived to the beach just after nightfall, laden with firewood and refreshing beverages. As the icy wind blew through my woolen sweater and silken long underwear, I reminded myself, “Yes, it really is the middle of June in the northern hemisphere.” But, as we all knew it would be chilly, we had donned our ski attire. Yes, in the middle of the summer.

As we walked over the large sand dune to reach the long, flat area of beach where we were to build said bonfire, we were met with water as far as the eye could see. Unbeknownst to us until that very moment, it was a full moon, making the tide particularly high. Something we didn’t really consider in the planning of the bonfire. We were more concerned with having plenty of beer and marshmallows.

We managed to build a fire on a quite small strip of dry sand, which, in any sense of the word, couldn’t be classified as a bonfire. It hardly qualified as a campfire. We huddled around it, blinded not only by the spears of smoke carried by fierce winds, but also stung by the sand those same winds slapped against any area of exposed skin.

Everyone was a good sport. No one complained (much) about the cold. Or the absolute absurdity of the plan. Or the fine particles of sand that would be found everywhere over the next several days – in clothes, in ears, in cars, in apartments. I think, however, the next time anyone in this group receives an invitation to a beach bonfire in San Francisco, they’ll probably look back to a cold evening in June on a lonely beach and politely decline.