Downtown Long Beach is giddy, GIDDY, at the grand opening of our brand new fancy Vons. It's right next door, but luckily doesn't block my mountain view, even tho' it's the size of the Death Star. All of my neighbors are excited. It's like Trump bought up the real estate and turned it into a casino. Yesterday at second Saturday art walk, it's all anyone could talk about. In fact one guy I spoke to was waiting for his shift to be over so he could go and sample the food. He said to me, "I am so glad, this means we are moving UP."
Yeah I live in an urban center. But this grocery store opening feels like the time I got corrected by a young girl who I was teasing for being from the sticks, "There's a MERVYNS in Porterville, now."
The old Vons was not so affectionately called the Crackhead Vons. And every Friday and Saturday night there would be a PARADE of guys peeing on the side of the wall, in full view of my apartment building. I really wanted to take their pictures and post them online in a blog-of-shame. This new one is so FANCY. A service Deli and ooohhh a sandwich counter! Still doesn't explain the party mood surrounding the opening. But I have to confess I've been there everyday since it's opened. I am drawn to our East Village oasis just like all of my neighbors. Eh. It's probably just the free food.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Monday, December 06, 2010
Mi fecha de cumpleaños esta envolatada un poco. by guest blogger Emiro Burbano
Mi fecha de cumpleaños esta envolatada un poco.
Yo nací quizás en Diciembre 6 pero mi biógrafa autorizada, la única que tengo, mi mamá dice que fue en Enero 6. A quien creer.
Antes de casarme fui a Garzón, Huila y personalmente leí los documentos en el libro de bautismos en que la fecha establecida es Diciembre 6 de 1943. Desde que mama recuerda una fecha diferente, se abre una oportunidad para especulación.
Que habría pasado, que un momento tan estelar en la carrera materna de Doña Abigaíl (como era conocida en esa época) la hubiera llevado a proclamar y establecer mi fecha en el día equivocado. Podría ser Diciembre del 43, del 44 o Enero de 43 o del 44. Quizás hijo de la vecina ?. Bueno no tampoco.
Papá era tan probo ( su honestidad es legendaria
) que él hubiera sido incapaz de ser cómplice con esta falla de.... memoria ?. Mamá es mayor que yo escasamente 19 años y su amigas le animaban a que me pusiera uno de los nombres de los Reyes magos, especialmente cuando ella me escondía para que no me vieran, desde que en esa época yo era feo ( arrugado, moreno , peludo y definitivamente un panorama diferente de los otros niños de sus amigas que eran, ojiazules u ojiverdes, blancos y hermosos) y aquí estoy citando las palabras de mamá, una por una. Mario era el de mostrar. Mario es mi dulce hermanito mayor. El mayor, mayor, Carlitos habría muerto antes de cumplir el año en Florencia donde papá era juez de la República. (Su primer puesto)
Volviendo al cuento. Papá era legendariamente honesto, con múltiple anécdotas para demostrarlo a través de su carrera administrativa y judicial que creo yo, nunca se atrevería a ser cómplice de este "crimen"?. Fue Juez en Florencia, Pitalito, Garzón y al final de su vida ( murió a los 44 años) era Fiscal del tribunal Superior de Neiva y probablemente en línea para la Corte Suprema o el Consejo de Estado de la época. (1958) Alberto Lleras Camargo asumió el poder un mes después de la muerte de papa. (Referencia histórica)
Total o tengo 66 o tengo 67 o quizás es solamente un mes extra de pa’arriba o de pa’abajo. La única ventaja del asunto es que mi mujer me hace ponque el 6 de Diciembre y me da regalo el 6 de Enero.
Si lo que dice el refrán es cierto, yo tengo 35 años que es la edad que yo siento que merezco a pesar de que siento dolor en las "coyunturas" de vez en cuando y el espejo me muestra el paso lento del tiempo. Mi única ventaja a esta edad son mi nietos , que de verdad me hacen sentir joven porque no tengo otra alternativa cuando los estoy cuidando.
Gracias por su bienaventuranza y que el Dios de todos y cada uno los tenga saludables por recordar mi nacimiento.
Gracias por el cake
Yo nací quizás en Diciembre 6 pero mi biógrafa autorizada, la única que tengo, mi mamá dice que fue en Enero 6. A quien creer.
Antes de casarme fui a Garzón, Huila y personalmente leí los documentos en el libro de bautismos en que la fecha establecida es Diciembre 6 de 1943. Desde que mama recuerda una fecha diferente, se abre una oportunidad para especulación.
Que habría pasado, que un momento tan estelar en la carrera materna de Doña Abigaíl (como era conocida en esa época) la hubiera llevado a proclamar y establecer mi fecha en el día equivocado. Podría ser Diciembre del 43, del 44 o Enero de 43 o del 44. Quizás hijo de la vecina ?. Bueno no tampoco.
Papá era tan probo ( su honestidad es legendaria
) que él hubiera sido incapaz de ser cómplice con esta falla de.... memoria ?. Mamá es mayor que yo escasamente 19 años y su amigas le animaban a que me pusiera uno de los nombres de los Reyes magos, especialmente cuando ella me escondía para que no me vieran, desde que en esa época yo era feo ( arrugado, moreno , peludo y definitivamente un panorama diferente de los otros niños de sus amigas que eran, ojiazules u ojiverdes, blancos y hermosos) y aquí estoy citando las palabras de mamá, una por una. Mario era el de mostrar. Mario es mi dulce hermanito mayor. El mayor, mayor, Carlitos habría muerto antes de cumplir el año en Florencia donde papá era juez de la República. (Su primer puesto)
Volviendo al cuento. Papá era legendariamente honesto, con múltiple anécdotas para demostrarlo a través de su carrera administrativa y judicial que creo yo, nunca se atrevería a ser cómplice de este "crimen"?. Fue Juez en Florencia, Pitalito, Garzón y al final de su vida ( murió a los 44 años) era Fiscal del tribunal Superior de Neiva y probablemente en línea para la Corte Suprema o el Consejo de Estado de la época. (1958) Alberto Lleras Camargo asumió el poder un mes después de la muerte de papa. (Referencia histórica)
Total o tengo 66 o tengo 67 o quizás es solamente un mes extra de pa’arriba o de pa’abajo. La única ventaja del asunto es que mi mujer me hace ponque el 6 de Diciembre y me da regalo el 6 de Enero.
Si lo que dice el refrán es cierto, yo tengo 35 años que es la edad que yo siento que merezco a pesar de que siento dolor en las "coyunturas" de vez en cuando y el espejo me muestra el paso lento del tiempo. Mi única ventaja a esta edad son mi nietos , que de verdad me hacen sentir joven porque no tengo otra alternativa cuando los estoy cuidando.
Gracias por su bienaventuranza y que el Dios de todos y cada uno los tenga saludables por recordar mi nacimiento.
Gracias por el cake
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I was a Korean Taco.
I am not shy about my body. I was even less shy when I was, ahem, "Smokin'" but even now with the sags and the bags, I like wandering around in the all together.
Which leads me to the happy nakedy joy that is a Korean Spa.
I was craving some cheap beauty treats and I got what I wanted and more. For $45 a small and powerful woman clad in black bra and panties scrubbed me cleaner than Martha Stewart's fridge.
And none of that idiotic fancy-pants sheet over your private bits, that only serves to make me feel like a dork trying to turn over while getting a massage and trying not to flash and offend the masseur, it was all naked all the time. I don't think the neonatal nurses scrub a baby as well as these ladies will scrub the dead skin off-a you.
It's strictly no robe in the wet room. There is a super hot spa, a steam room, a salt bath, a freezing cold pool, and little shower stalls all over. What I love is looking at the myriad of different kinds of bodies, even though I know I'm not supposed to stare, I do peek a little. It makes me feel good about my body, for which I have ISSUES (right, I'm a girl?!) 'Cause most people's bods are lumpy and bumpy and odd and still pretty darn cute.
And one of the most amusing things: My scrub lady took a break in the nude and then put on her regulation bra and panties to get back to work.
I'm always cold, and the delicious HEAT from a hot salted spa is divine.
Just what I needed to survive Thanksgiving!
Which leads me to the happy nakedy joy that is a Korean Spa.
I was craving some cheap beauty treats and I got what I wanted and more. For $45 a small and powerful woman clad in black bra and panties scrubbed me cleaner than Martha Stewart's fridge.
And none of that idiotic fancy-pants sheet over your private bits, that only serves to make me feel like a dork trying to turn over while getting a massage and trying not to flash and offend the masseur, it was all naked all the time. I don't think the neonatal nurses scrub a baby as well as these ladies will scrub the dead skin off-a you.
It's strictly no robe in the wet room. There is a super hot spa, a steam room, a salt bath, a freezing cold pool, and little shower stalls all over. What I love is looking at the myriad of different kinds of bodies, even though I know I'm not supposed to stare, I do peek a little. It makes me feel good about my body, for which I have ISSUES (right, I'm a girl?!) 'Cause most people's bods are lumpy and bumpy and odd and still pretty darn cute.
And one of the most amusing things: My scrub lady took a break in the nude and then put on her regulation bra and panties to get back to work.
I'm always cold, and the delicious HEAT from a hot salted spa is divine.
Just what I needed to survive Thanksgiving!
Monday, November 01, 2010
We laughed so much at lunch today. We gorged on meat at a Brazilian Churrascaria, and chatted and rehashed and laughed. He is it for me. I love him so much. He makes me shout with laughter.
and for gifts:
a bike for ADVENTURE, of which we don't lack. For every episode of puffing, climbing, cursing up a hill there is the sweet WHEEEE of the flight downhill.
Kisses on a silver chain for sweet, sweet, sexy, delicious kisses.
Love in a locket. where I will hold my boys tight.
Crazy kittens and spiders on a chain, essentially me.
Japanese dishware, in the Queen Mary's colors, make me think, "we soon will be able to put this on a shelf in our house and bring out the Super Chief dishware," delightful domesticity.
Sweet, weird sexual vase? Sake cup? Weird and wonderful
A light to light up our nights. A trip to Tokyo?
and I love you too, sweet man.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Cal-i-for-ni-a-a-a-ah
It's one of those insanely beautiful SoCal days today. The winds have swept the basin clean and you can see details on the mountain range, and Catalina looks like it's 20 feet away. This kind of day is responsible for our staying here in spite of being sick to death of the traffic, the politics (at work and everywhere) and our tiny little apartment. Of course, in NYC this apartment would be considered huge, but we are chaffing at the bonds and ready to find a house with a yard.
Which is where I would be typing this right now. Actually, I should be working, but I can't concentrate with this pretty day outside my window. Tom and Susan's play, Caddie W, is about a week away from being published and T and I have been frantically editing, rewriting, formatting, Sibeliusing. He has contracted a phenomenal graphic artist to give us a recognizable logo/brand/cover (the talented BM, an old friend and a huge talent.) My back aches from sitting on the couch, on the bed, anywhere possible, to try and find a comfortable place, as I clack away on the computer. It's pretty fab to see the proofs with the venerable Samuel French logo right under the names. Actually it kinda makes me sick to my stomach with excitement. T and I are suffering from major stress, but neither of us can pin down why. Everything is on track. We weren't able to get the rights to the original drawings, which led us to get a better one, that will reflect SleepTillNoon's brand. The piano score is almost perfect, even if I did go crazy when his Highness demanded proofing and re-proofing and re-editing, but damn it, he was right. So why the stress? Maybe because it feels like a huge door is about to open, and we are gearing up for the challenge.
I have to get back to work, deadline is a week away. Once more unto the breach.
Which is where I would be typing this right now. Actually, I should be working, but I can't concentrate with this pretty day outside my window. Tom and Susan's play, Caddie W, is about a week away from being published and T and I have been frantically editing, rewriting, formatting, Sibeliusing. He has contracted a phenomenal graphic artist to give us a recognizable logo/brand/cover (the talented BM, an old friend and a huge talent.) My back aches from sitting on the couch, on the bed, anywhere possible, to try and find a comfortable place, as I clack away on the computer. It's pretty fab to see the proofs with the venerable Samuel French logo right under the names. Actually it kinda makes me sick to my stomach with excitement. T and I are suffering from major stress, but neither of us can pin down why. Everything is on track. We weren't able to get the rights to the original drawings, which led us to get a better one, that will reflect SleepTillNoon's brand. The piano score is almost perfect, even if I did go crazy when his Highness demanded proofing and re-proofing and re-editing, but damn it, he was right. So why the stress? Maybe because it feels like a huge door is about to open, and we are gearing up for the challenge.
I have to get back to work, deadline is a week away. Once more unto the breach.
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