First Performance

My earliest memory is from when I was four.  I suppose there could be something prior, but I know this one specifically because I happened to be singing a song about being four.

My friend Lindsey was my backyard neighbor.  We were the same age, we both had blonde hair, and we often strove to have matching outfits.  This was one of those matching kind of days.  I remember we both had dresses that were white with some kind of random splashes of color and for whatever reason we were absolutely THRILLED about our lives.  We were on the top of the world.  It was a beautiful early summer day, we had fantastic dresses, and we were four!  

I'm not sure who initiated the performance, but it would make sense if it was me.  Since I spent the better part of my years from grade school to high school memorizing and performing choreography for ballet, tap, jazz and modern - it wouldn't be a huge surprise if I had the itch to start early.  Except, I've never had much of a singing voice, so maybe it was a joint effort - me with the choreo and Lindsay with the music. 

We were in my backyard where there had been a ditch dug to bury a telephone line underground.  Enough time had passed that the grass was coming back, but the line in the yard was still evident; this was our runway.  The sun was shining bright, the sky was blue and the grass couldn't have been greener.  We began with skipping side by side along our pathway, but after a minute this wasn't enough to express our pure joy - we needed more!  Let's sing about ourselves, of course.  And maybe if we hold up one hand with four fingers up and our thumb tucked in?  (It wasn't enough to be four, we had to show people) YES!  Wait, let's put our other hand on our hip WHILE we skip and hold up four fingers!  YES, YES!  

"We are four!  We are foooooooouuuuuurrrrrrrr! We are four!"

I desperately wish I remember more of what we sang, but there's also the chance that we kept it simple and that was it.  They do say that brevity is the soul of wit.

Sometimes I wonder if this was one of my happiest days.  Instinctively, as a kid I always knew that childhood was the best part of life.  By eleven I was already sad about growing up.  Even though it was still two years before being dubbed a teenager, I knew it would be different from then on.  And I was right!  But that's another subject for another day.  For now I should probably incorporate more skipping into my daily routine.

Let's play... Jail?

When I was a kid my friend and I played Jail.

We also played Sisters, House, and our favorite: School.  But I have some of the clearest memories of our Jail days - maybe because there were fewer of them than the others, or maybe because it usually involved food.

Our "jail" was set up in her basement laundry room which housed the family deep freeze.

I don't remember whether we had rules or activities, or if we just had to sit alone for long periods of time.  But I do remember eating out of the deep freeze. Come to think of it, we must have had long hours of sitting because nothing tasted better than those frozen peas, corn and blueberry ego waffles!  We must have been hungry!  (Side note: I suggest trying all three in their frozen state, really brings out different flavors).

I'm 62% certain that one of the prisoner's duties was to make paper.  I think we'd been experimenting with collecting dryer lint and combining it with old newspaper that we soaked in water and pureed in a blender.  I believe we integrated our art experiment with playing Jail when we heard that many prisoners have jobs making license plates.  We didn't have any metal presses, so paper it was.  

I don't remember why we stopped playing Jail, or when the last time was, but I'd have to imagine it was because whoever was playing the jailer had a pretty boring job.  Sitting in den while the prisoner mucked around making paper must have gotten old.  Also, our interest likely waned when we verified that dryer lint doesn't make for quality paper.  Or anything even resembling paper in the slightest.  

But man, those frozen peas were delicious.  

Sunday Funday

One minute I'm at Bed Bath & Beyond smashing through each pillow in the store, the next I'm driving to visit my friends on set at Universal Studios.

Ah, Sundays in Los Angeles. 

I occasionally get a gut feeling about certain situations.  Not exactly a premonition, but strong emotions that cause me to take note.  That morning I'd been thinking about how this group of people was coming together for a job that I'd been offered but had to turn down.  I was feeling happy that they were together, but slightly regretful not to be joining them.

And then I got the phone call.  "Where are you right now?  Want to come to Universal?"

YES!!  My Bed Bath and Beyond coupon never expires, pillows can wait.

The week prior I'd been working on a shoot on stage at Universal Studios, but had been so busy I never got to leave my computer.  I heard the Agency folks excitedly discussing their successful lunchtime sneaks into the park and wished I could've join them.  I'd barely gotten to see our sets let alone ride Transformers 3D!

I still wasn't sure if the Transformer ride was in my future when I left the store, I was simply excited to see friends and their set.  However, when I arrived they were already wrapping up their day and my friend and I ushered ourselves through the "Authorized Personnel" gate and entered the mayhem of the amusement park.

It was immediate sensory overload.  Kids yelling, churos frying, a river of people flowing around me in all directions. The backlot where the sound stages are is fairly quiet on a Sunday, but that's not the case for Universal Studios theme park.  

"Where to?" my friend asked me, as though I had any clue.

"I don't know, I've never been here!"  I laughed. 

We looked to our left and The Mummy ride has a wait time of 10 minutes.  Perfect!  We beelined for the entrance.

The park was closing shortly, so the limited time added to our adrenaline.  How many rides can we make?  How can we make the best use of our fast pass?  Where do we go next?!

It's hard to say whether we made the best decisions, but we managed to ride The Mummy, Jurassic Park, and yes, Transformers 3D before we had to backtrack to avoid getting locked out from our secret passage.  A hint of light wavered in the crisp air as we loaded, satisfied with our adventure, into my car.  We'd worked up quite an appetite running around the park and treated ourselves to burgers on the way home.  It reminded me of the days when I played outside as long as possible before the night creeped into the shadows and my mom called me in for dinner.  It was a successful (and surprising) end to my Sunday.  

It's times like these that remind me that you never know what's coming next.  Just when you think your Sunday afternoon will be spent picking out new pillows, you learn that your old bedding will have to do for one more night.  

p.s.  I feel it's my responsibility to mention that I do not recommend the ride Transformers 3D. Jurassic Park was much better and didn't invoke the desire to lose my lunch.

Stop It At The Stoplights

Have you ever seen those people who stand at stoplights and incessantly push this button?

Are YOU one of those people?

I am not one of those people. I push stoplight walk signal buttons twice. Once because you have to, and the second to be sure the first push worked.

It annoys me when people wait at the light and jam the button over and over until the light changes. THIS DOES NOT MAKE THE LIGHT CHANGE FASTER. In the long run, it might even make the light change slower. The more you push the button, the more you wear out the contacts that make the button function. Thus, you might wear out the button and it eventually WON’T WORK AT ALL. So stop it. Twice is enough.

However, even though I’m patient at stoplights I don’t like waiting for elevators. I would rather take the stairs, even if it takes longer. It feels good to conquer gravity with your own set of quads! And yes, it also bothers me to be stationary while riding escalators. I promise I'm usually not that annoying person who zooms around the stationary folk, but hey, if the pathway is clear... fair g-a-m-e.

I bet you’re wondering why I am patient at stoplights, yet impatient with elevators and escalators?

The way I see it, impatience is pointless unless there is an alternative option. If there isn’t anything you can do about it, then why experience unnecessary anxiety? There is absolutely no way to “hurry up” a stoplight.

But walking up a few stairs instead of letting the elevator gods determine your arrival? Now that makes a difference.

For example, I rarely use the elevator in my apartment building. I would rather go through four doors, climb the stairs and go through the gross hallway instead of waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the elevator to go up one level. It also doesn’t help that the elevator reminds me of The Shining and often smells of animal excrement, but that’s beside the point. The point is I don’t like standing around if I don’t have to. My impatience is rationalized. Unless the elevator is in a skyscraper.

Or unless I’m tired.

Laziness always trumps liveliness after a 17 hr work day.

Snug as a Bug in a Fleece Mess

Let’s play a little game of word association. Ready? Okay.

Snowflake
…Chicago.

Static
…Cell phone.

Bird
...Don’t flip me off.

Snuggie
…Excuse you.

Imagine what you would have done if, say, three years ago someone asked, “Hey, do you want a Snuggie?”

Depending on who was doing the asking might have greatly altered your response, but I would have run away. Today, most people would probably respond with something like, “Thanks, but I already have one! Aren’t they ah-MAZing??”

For anyone lucky enough to dodge this trend that swept the nation and who DOESN’T know what a Snuggie is…

It's basically my ideal daily wardrobe.

I only say ideal because I don’t actually own a Snuggie. Well, that, and the fact that Snuggies don’t really cover you backside doesn’t help things either. However, I have encountered a Snuggie.

Setting: My bro’s living room in Denver – Late night – (and it ain’t summer)
We’re sitting on the couch watching the glorious light box. The dogs breeze back into the house bringing with them the cold air from outside. Shivering, I reach for a blanket from the mound my bro has piled on the end of the couch. I see a fleece pink corner sticking out and pull. The pink feels thinner than I was expecting, but I continue regardless. I pull again, and a few more inches give way but this is going to be trickier than I’d hoped. I keep pulling and before I know it all the other blankets are on the floor and I’m left holding a crumpled mess of pink static cling.

You’d think I’d have felt victorious, but instead I was disappointed. (Feel free to psycho-analyze why I didn’t just take the blanket on top of the pile and let me know what you find). I’d made a mess and for what? The bright color, the soft fleece? It sure wasn’t the warmth because this sucker was thin. I tried to shake out the blanket but something was wrong… it was all stuck together! I’ve experienced my fair share of static cling, but this was ridiculous.

:::::::::: shaking the blanket :::::::::::::

“Wait, why isn’t this square? Are these pockets? What is going on here? All I wanted was a stupid blanket!”

Just then, the show we were watching came back from commercial break. No more time for this blanket business when House is about to leave the insane asylum! So I smushed myself as small as possible and tugged the pink, er, thing, over as much of my legs as I could and turned my brain switch back off to watch more TV (yes, some might argue it was never on in the first place).

In summary: I couldn’t figure out why the pink-ness was so stuck together and I gave up because this awkward blanket caused me to feel claustrophobic and frustrated.

It wasn’t until later when my sister-in-law was saying her mother bought her a crazy pink Snuggie that I realized what I’d been dealing with.

Genius, I know.

Now, I’m all about inventing cool new things, but did the blanket really need to be improved upon?

NO. Absolutely NOT. The blanket was perfect, but because someone was smart enough to sew in some arm holes (and Velcro?), we now have a product called a Snuggie. Or The Universal Blanket. Or, my personal favorite, The Slanket.

I always wish I’d thought of the Post-It note, but somehow it doesn’t bother me that I didn’t dream up the reason to have parties like this one:

Although I guess they do look pretty happy. Maybe the secret to life is to use a lot of fabric softener.

Menus and Massages

In these modern times, people find many reasons to treat themselves to a massage. These reasons sometimes include stress, physical therapy, elitism, etc. I get that, and I usually like massages. I have absolutely no problem with treating our muscles to a little TLC. My only question is why are we now also massaging our food?

A few weeks ago, my roommate and I decided to take a gamble on an interesting restaurant in our new neighborhood. Promoting raw and vegan friendly options, I thought the place might offer a memorable experience. I was right. While perusing the menu I notice such specialties as Raw Kelp Noodles, SunPower Burgers, and Superfood Shakes. Mmm ... ? Although these items aren't what you see everyday, I wasn't terribly surprised they were on the menu. However, as I continued to scan down the selections there was one item that made me do a double take. There, listed in all its glory, was Massaged Kale Salad.

Maybe I'm just behind on the curve, but massaging salad is new to me. Even though I read plenty of cooking magazines, blogs, and books, this was the first I’d heard of such a technique. I'm not used to giving food the luxury of pre-game rub down before it heads to my stomach. Is massaging the new boiling? I needed to know more.

After a few moments of ogling my google results, I learned from one vegan website the wonders of magically massaging kale. If you check out the above provided link you will see that I am, in fact, not kidding. Apparently, when you take out your inner aggression on a few leaves with a little kosher salt, the kale “magically” becomes soft and wilted. Next time I punch my brother on the arm I’ll have to tell him it’s magic when he feels a bruise.

But getting back to this kale business, since the lovely vegan website provided a recipe for this magical salad it was time for the store.

Thankfully, I live near the glorious NoHo strip-malls which provide ample opportunities for grocery stores and foot reflexology shops within spitting distance of each other. And since I was already buying kale to see how it handled being massaged, I figured I might as well stop in to see how my feet handled being massaged, too.

Glories upon glories, my feet seemed to like the massage. SIDE NOTE: If you don’t mind the somewhat creepy feeling of being the only customer in a foot reflexology place, try going to a brand new location. You’ll have three people wait on you and about 15 extra minutes of bliss. What? Have I returned for another massage? Well, no.

Anyhew, I took my kale home, followed the instructions, and my results were identical to the pictures posted with the recipe. If you beat something up enough it’ll eventually turn to mush. Incredible. Not mush.

Mush.

Although neither parties (my feet or the kale) have officially responded with comments, I’d have to bet that my feet enjoyed the massage more than the kale.

Special thanks to Vegan Dietitian for the pictures. I forgot.

Mannequins

Have you ever asked yourself "What is the purpose of a Mannequin?" I have. One idea I had is that mannequins are cheaper than hiring humans to stand in store windows. Although, in this economy I bet we could find some pretty cheap labor to take the job. That would make the mall fun again.

ALICE: Judy got fired for sneezing??

JANE: That was the excuse. I think it was for knocking the nuts off the teenager who took a leak on her shoe.

If the stores ever decide to go the route of human displays, I think I’d be good at being a mannequin. I’d at least apply for the job. And if I didn’t get hired, you’d find me selling popcorn to the window spectators.

Do you think mannequins actually pull in more customers than, say, hangers? I’m usually more drawn to new outfits displayed on hangers than the ones draped over female mannequins who seem to be perpetually cold in the chest region. But maybe that’s because I’m not a guy.

Upon googling "Mannequin," I learned that in addition to displaying clothing, in the 1950s mannequins were also used to help illustrate the effects of nuclear weapons on humans.

"BOOM!"

HANK: Whoa! Where did little Susie go?

ALFRED: That was awesome. I’ll take twenty. Of the weapons, not those big dolls.

Personally, I find mannequins creepy. Especially when they’re naked. And especially, especially when I see a store employee awkwardly attempting to dress the naked mannequins.

Which brings me to my inspiration for writing this blog:

What's this? A family out car shopping? Not quite. But anyone who has ever exited the 101 Fwy at Lankershim in LA might recognize these beauties.

Remember that car dealership that seems perpetually busy? Even at 2am? Yes! That’s the one.

My friend from out of town noticed it first, “What’s up with all the dolls at that car dealership?” Although I didn’t know what she was talking about at the time, I soon learned. I suppose it’s all marketing, and in the grand scheme it probably works. I mean, it’s enough to make me talk about it in a blog. Except I don’t really care about the mannequins themselves. They’re weird, but that doesn’t matter.

What I DO actually care about are the pranks being pulled on the dealership.

One morning, I happened to glance at the dealership while driving past. I was expecting a little treat simply by seeing the amazing mannequins themselves, but instead I got an entire smorgasbord. There, leaning over, was a car salesman awkwardly pulling up the pants on the parents of a little mannequin family. I don’t know if he’d already pulled up the kid’s pants, or if the prankster wanted to leave the child out of the potential sexual harassment case. In any case, I found this random, awkward, possibly embarrassing moment to be a lovely way to start my day.

I wonder if part of the salesmen job description reads: "Must re-dress mannequins as needed."

That's one thing I'd never expect to do while selling cars. But then again, life is full of surprises. Nothing is ever as it seems, right?

For instance, this looks like two dude mannequins. One is a socially awkward cross-dresser, the other perhaps failed shop class.

Expect the unexpected, folks. Especially if you're a car salesperson.

And don't forget to honk hello to all my friends at the dealership. They're so friendly even the guy without a hand is waving.