Look Ma!: The Sequel

I've been playing with this toy on Dr. Wicked.

If you're someone who likes to write, but feel you need the motivation of challenge in order to write, then you might like this tool: Dr. Wicked, a tool to help ease yourself into writing - everyday if you please.

So easy, even a procrastinator can do it. You set your word goal, set the timer, and start writing. It's that easy.

I played with it twice and each time, maybe one line was worth anything. But that's how it is with writing no? I mean, sometimes it's just words - a mess of them and not a single one behaving the decent, well educated words should, because the clock was ticking! and you were too freaked out - stuck.

Other times, a block of ten minutes worth of words might yield a single gem, a single line maybe. Other times it isn't so bad, considering it was a mad dash to beat the clock.

The important thing is that you wrote; the cool thing is that you met your set goal. Today I played with it and entered a goal of 500 words in 15 minutes. I typed over 6oo words! (okay, 15 minutes was a bit generous.) I was impressed - the clock isn't stressing me out as much anymore. Not bad for a free write - a kamakaze-just-start-typing-balls-out-see-what- happens exercise. Go on, give it a try - you know you want to. Here's what I mean - at the risk of embarrassment, I'm sharing my most recent:

I've been contemplating an ear piercing. I was in a shop, decided to go and do it and stop thinking about it, so I went. I was immediately confronted with a room full of teen-agers. young women who were there to get more daring, less exposed, parts of their bodies. From the room behind the curtain, I could hear a young girl admit to her fears. But she wanted that part pierce worse than she was afraid. Minutes later I could hear 'you did it?' "oh, yay...I'm so happy! I didn't think i was going to be able to do it.' I wondered where the new pierce was. I thought I should have been more observant and noticed what her face looked like before she went in. She had a prong thing stinking out of her nose. It didn't look red or irritated so I have a feeling it wasn't a new cowbell thing through her nose. Next to the wall was a young, beautiful black girl with the most extraordinary eyes. I note her skin color because it's important to give you an idea of her beauty; light black skin, green eyes with beautiful eyes lashes and her eyebrows framed her eyes beautifully. She was in for a nose piercing. She was going to look stunning. I contemplated a nose piercing. put that idea aside - because only some people can make nose piercings work. You have to be stunning like this young woman, or else, it just looks like metal or shiny object on your nose. I walked out without doing anything after a gaggle of about 5 girls walked in. All were going to pierce something. I'm nearly 50. Why do I want to pierce, I mean, really? What is my motivation. I did it twice before and it seems to not work. My ears are not happy when I do it. I've actually been told 'oh, your ear isn't happy.' I can actually say my ears have been royally pissed off for poking them, then soaking them in sea salt twice a day to help the healing process. The last time I went in for a piercing and walked out was, what if my ear gets pissed off again? What do I do then? The last thing you want is a pissed off ear. This time my reason for walking out without piercing was that I remembered that in reflexology, the ear is important for issues with sciatica. I'm almost 50. What if I piss the thing off that can deal with any sciatic issues that arise? Or worse, what if I trigger some sciatic episode for having poked at my ear and pissed it off? What then? Then I also saw a sign that said 'piercing happy hour - back by popular demand. Mondays and Wednesdays. Today is Sunday. I said to the young woman, 'hey, I just noticed this happy hour sign, I'll be back Monday (today is Sunday) and save some money on this.' Sure, she said. I'm sorry that you had to wait. I think what she meant was 'I'm sorry I left you alone too long to think about whether you wanted to make your own statement and gave you enough time to chicken out.' I walked out with a smile on my face, $50 still in my pocket and a timeline to decide - do it or not. And which ear? left or right. And tattoo instead of piercing or not? Before I leave for San Francisco or when I return. I think this is all just me saying, I may not do this afterall and just accept that I'm a traditional kinda girl.

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© 2008 Jeff Printy/Dr Wicked.com

Gracias, Grazie, Merci, Thanks...

It's a beautiful morning here in Long Beach. The sun is out, but its not sunny. It's quiet, as if everyone were inside, contemplating the things they are thankful for.

My African Mallow (Tara's Pink) is dancing; I got rid of the problem that was keeping them from thriving: ants. Ants had moved into the root system. I flooded them out, then sprayed them with Sevin as they came up to the surface with all their silly little eggs. There were so many ants, it's as if the brim of the planter had legs - it was crawling. I had no mercy - I sprayed them all.

I'm thankful for my dancing Tara's Pink.
I'm thankful for my blooming Moroccan daisy (it's starting to bloom!)
I'm thankful for my Santa Barbara daisy (for not dying and trying to find a reason to keep going), and the other daisy - the yellow one.
I'm thankful for this morning, and the fact that I find quiet and beauty outside my window, instead of horrors and fear.

I'm thankful for my family, with all our neurosis, and that we will be together later this afternoon and remember that we are a family.

I'm thankful for the beautiful, huge red, meaty yams and the farmer who was able to grow them and bring them to me at the Farmer's Market. Thankful that someone is still able to make a living growing food - not an easy, or necessarily profitable, life but they do it anyway. I'm thankful for that.

Thankful for the beautiful music that I'm listening to this morning - thankful for radio, especially public radio.

Thankful for the roof over my head to contemplate my blessings.

Ooh, except, I'm not thankful for that little dog, Lucky, who just decided to take care of his business outside my window, smack dab in the middle of my reverie, as if he knew I was looking out.

Gotta go talk to Lucky's people - yet again, about this Lucky problem. Why my yard, why my window? I should buy them a leash for Christmas and put it on their doorstep.

Maybe they'll get the hint?

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Skatalicious

My morning started early. Four thirty in the morning early. I had two little kittens, so cute that I couldn't be angry. I was taking them to the veterinarian this morning for their little kitty tubaligations. My brother hasn't been up to dealing with a lot since his divorce, so I offered to take care of this for him.

okay, can we say sticker shock! Before I went to this animal hospital for their Wednesday Low Cost Spay and Neuter Clinic, I got a quote for the reduced clinic price - special on Wednesday, right? It was reasonable.

But just like a car, or any other big ticket item, you have an option to do that, add this, be humane and give them that. Thirty minutes later, I'm looking at an inhumane bill of close to $500 for two kitties - and they aren't even getting something in return - it's being taken! God giveth, vets taketh away - from the wallet too.

But it had to be done. It was the right thing to do. These kitties are loved by my niece, who is going throw her own trials as she adjusts to mom being out of the picture. If it isn't done, I know they'll get the Chicago Ride - one way ticket to a field somewhere if they end up pregnant. I couldn't bear not doing this, but I didn't want to stress my brother out with an exhorbitant cost either. The receptionist was more than kind and patient while I worked this out, and she helped me bring down the price by getting shear necessitities.

It all worked out - a deal was brokered and the two little cuties are there now under medical supervision. I pick them up tomorrow. But enough of that. That was just the start.

Later, I was back home, thinking about the Skatalites - a wickedly fantastic Ska band. I was turned on to them on Sunday when I stopped at the new Mexican restaurant, Lola's on 4th Street (across from the Art Theater). This section of Long Beach is becoming the 'It' place to be in Long Beach. Take my word for it.

Anyway, I was thinking about it because I had such a good experience there on Sunday. On Sunday I was in need of a nice place to relax, good ambiance, good food to nourish myself while I read a couple of pages of my new favorite magazine, the Art of Eating.

Here's the deal. The restaurant immediately makes you feel embraced. The music was initially a little loud, but that was okay because it was good stuff, and before you know it, you settle into it. I was alone. I needed a comfortable space - I don't like to be seated in a small corner table, or the counter just because i'm alone. I was ready for a fight if my aloneness became an issue.

It didn't. The young man, who took a bit too long to acknowledge me, made me wait until he was ready to look up at me, was very gracious and let me sit where ever I wanted. Even though it was the dinner hour and more people could pop in at any minute. He made up immediately for having not noticed me.

The colors were familiar to me, which only added to my level of comfort. The prints were not too loud or obvious, but there are definitely a few pieces to catch the eye. Then there's the music. For most of the time that I was there, there was this music that settled well into my bones. What was it?

Now, I love corn. I love corn tortillas, corn meal, corn on the cob - I love corn. The tortilla chips were brougt out almost immediatly, with two small sides of red sauce and a green tomatillo sauce, but with some texture to it. The tortilla chips were fresh! The tomatillo sauce was excellent - right amount of salt too. I don't care what anybody says, a salsa, to cut muster with me, needs to be salted properly while in prep, not at the table. The salt does not get enough time to incorporate if not blended in previously. Things were salted nicely here.

I love this place, already. I know it's going to be a place I visit often because it fits in its own skin, perfectly with what, I believe, this restaurant is after: savory familiarity - interpreted. And I think they've almost got it.

But more about the food later. The first piece that caught my attention was a Beatles tune, I should have known better. I don't normally care for covers - unless it so different that it is rendered better. And this was. Shortly after that, I caught a familiar favorite standard of mine Begin the Beguine -- a la Ska! Who are these guys?

I called the waitress over because I had to know what it was.

"Ska," she said when I asked her about the music - it's my husband's favorite - it's the Skatalites.

The familiarity: Ska has elements that one would easily recognize in Mexican music. This is what I mean about interpretation. The menu is pretty straight-forward Mexican, and some things are done, again, interpreted like the green mole with chicken breast I ordere, "hands down our best dish" the waitress assured me. There are four things I test in a Mexican restaurant to authenticity: Mole, the house salsa, Chiles Rellenos, beans and rice. Those are the benchmarks. In this case I was swayed into trying the green mole.

It was flavorful, a nice blend of tomatillos, seasoned beautifully - just enough to let the tomatillos dance on your tongue for a while. I like that. But at some point, the tomatillo should blend with the rest of the dish, to complete the dance if you will. Unfortunately, in this case the chicken breast stood out like a wall flower that no one asks to dance.

I asked my waitress about this. I told her, frankly, I was expecting my dish to be blended together, like a mole dish should be. She told me that they had been experimenting with this dish. That they had found that aesthetics were lacking - they couldn't serve the dish that way, because traditionally, the chicken is shredded into the mole and served.

Okay, but you're sacrificing flavor and richness for aesthetics. I'm not so sure I buy that. In any regard, the mole was so nice, and it complemented my tortillas so nicely that I forgave that.

The beans - oh god, the beans. Not pinto. I love pinto. Lola's unabashedly did not serve pintos. Each dish is accompanied by Frijoles Peruanos - beans not traditionally served in a Mexican restaurant, but you're getting my point, right? It's traditional here at Lola's, but not typical.

The Sangria was served in the wrong glass. In order to drink it, you need a straw. I'm sorry, I don't care to drink my sangria out of a straw. There were no juicy echoes, more on a dry than anything. I also couldn't pick up a trace of Brandy. It was a bit flat. But it drinkable.

The rice. Well, it was rice - nice and fluffy without being dry or too clumpy - it was very light, yet moist. But, ah, it didn't bowl me over. I would have loved to have seen it done white with strong essence of onion and traces of tomato for coloring - they way our grandma's would have done it.

Then on to dessert. I had two choices - pumpkin pie or flan. Are you kidding? I'm having pumpkin pie tomorrow with my family, of course silly rabbit! I took the flan. It was cool, nice texture and a fair amount of caramelization.

Then the music again. All in all, it was a lovely evening. Good food, good music and good reading - there's a wonderful critique by John Irving in this months issue.

Now, you know I'm going to be going back to try the red mole and chile rellenos - you know that, right?

And now, because I've been thinking about Sunday so much, I've spent my Wednesday trying to get some work done - to no avail. Maybe now that i have this posting out of my system, I can get back to earning my keep.

Lola's ....Skatalites.......skatalicious!

It's all I wanted, really...

For four months it's all I wanted and at last, it's mine.

My Mexican Sage Bush (Salvia Leucantha) has bloomed! Can we say Excited?

I was about ready to give up and put the plant curbside for Wednesday morning pick-up after seeing this plant in full bloom everywhere except in my garden. I admit to Sage Bush envy - why not my garden?

I thought the problem was location. Maybe it wasn't getting enough full sunlight, so, it got prime spot in the front yard. Waited. Nothing.

I thought maybe I'm not giving it enough water, so, I increased the number of times I find myself outdoors watering my plants (okay, so the others were a bit under hydrated - now they're doing great!), but for my Sage Bush - nothing.

I called in reinforcements. I called in a gardener/landscape expert, Kathy Alford, to consult on my yard and garden, see how to spruce it up. Kathy took one look at my Salvia and said 'that needs to be cut back, it's too leggy. You haven't been able to get blooms, have you?' Ah! the answer.

So, after our consultation, and recommendation that I do little more than containers since the house isn't mine, I cut back the Sage Bush - quite low as she recommended. Watered it. Cleared anything that might obstruct full sunlight. Waited. Nothing.

Watered. Waited, watered. Watered, waited. Waited. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. My ego bruised, I was done. I had seen Sage Bushes bloom beautifully in the worst conditions; in the shallowest pots, in brindled shade, in dry sidewalk spots. I gave it a little condo compared to some of the pots and containers I saw other Sage growing in - and blossoming!

So I decided its failure wasn't due to anything I did, or didn't do. It didn't like my garden space, or my skill, maybe my aesthetics - who knows. I was done. My Wednesday entry was going to be about my time spent putting out curbside. Done. Fin. Finitto. Basta. The morning of my return from my businees trip, I walked down to Bernie's where I get my morning fix of caffeine in the neighborhood. On the way, I ran into no fewer than five large Sage Bushes - in full bloom, as if to mock me. Frankly, I take stuff like that personally. I resolved to get rid of my frustrations. I started thinking of other plants to put in its place. Cacti. I started thinking of all the succulents that would do well, and even give color to my front yard - and I wouldn't have to give them all the attention the Sage had been getting.

I got home after one a.m. last night from an eight hour drive. As I walked up the walkway, I glanced over where the Sage Bush sits. In my peripheral view, I thought I caught a glimpse of color - could it be? Too exhausted, and hands too full of 'stuff' from work, and the night (or early morning) much too dark to inspect, I came in and straight to bed. Eight hours of late night driving can be brutal. Maybe it was just a hallucination.

But this morning, I poured my first cup of coffee (Finca Morena from Honduras, from beans brought home from Ritual, a favorite of mine in the Mission District in San Francisco - awesome, awesome coffee) and headed outside to take a look. Yes. Yes, indeed, a beautiful thing indeed. Two beautiful, deep lavender colored blooms. Concrete proof of my efforts - in both patience and perseverance. And I guess, procrastination because I meant to throw it before I left on my business trip, meant to throw out my frustrations, put them out on the curb last month, but things got in the way. I'm glad they did.

For good measure, I'm going out just as soon as I finish this - to give it a little bit of care and attention, some water - to thank it for making me happy. It's the least I could do for even thinking of tossing it out.

This is all I wanted - a Sage Bush that blooms, by the steps, first thing I see when I come home. Our deal is complete. How good is that!

Look Ma!

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lab.drwicked.com

Kids for Obama

I've been working from home all day. I don't have a television, so I'm saved from all the Monday (or Wednesday) morning quarter-backing. I haven't turned on the radio today because I'm upset about the No on Prop 8 loss - absent a Hail Mary from absentee ballots, for all intents and purposes, it's lost - and I don't want to hear anything for a while about it.

But I'm working from home and outside my window, the neighborhood kids are gathering. I happen to live next door to the leader of this circle neighborhood friends, or maybe he's more like the Sargent at arms of the group - either way, they listen to him.

This is a curious group of kids. They range in ages from about 9 to 13 - and they're talking about the election: who would vote for whom and why - "If I was able to vote."

Although I couldn't make out their arguments because they were excitedly talking over one another, they were well thought out responses to each others questions. It became clear to me that these kids were following, to some degree, the news. They grasped the importance of this election.

I did hear one say "I have reasons why I would vote for each one." It's the girls voice, the only girl in the group, and probably the oldest. She's a very thought out young lady. I've heard her chastise the boys on other occasions for being thoughtless, rude or disrespectful. She's clearly thought about this.

The outcome? Of the six friends, five voted for Obama.

I live on a good street.

but it's dark, and I've been working for 9 hours. I'm done.
I'll have a tea and think about how lovely this day has been.

That's how I'll spend my evening - with the sounds of hope, of change, of a new generation.

"...Because they believed that this time, it would be different..."

My god.

Barack Obama's acceptance speech is still weaving through my mind. That was one of the most powerful, on point, emotional speeches I have heard in a long time. That speech warmed me and assured me that I was not wrong about him - about my vote, about my hope in what he can start to do.

I've walked around quietly this morning, still taking in what happened last night.

What we did last night. What Barack did.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a constant, low grade fear that I would never see this day, but I never let it leave my lips because I didn't want to put that energy out there. I thought hope was more important.

I'm so glad I held on more strongly to hope than to despair.

What a sweeping change! This is a mandate - no more can anyone say that we, the people, are alright with business as usual.

I was alone in my house listening to all the analysis, commentators and pundits throughout the day. Was glued to the radio when the numbers started coming in. And I ran out of my house when CNN called the presidency for Obama - I had to be with people, to celebrate the moment - to listen to his acceptance speech with others.

I spent that moment at Hot Java cafe here in Long Beach - what a fantastic moment. There were tears, some were mine. Happy, because this marks a time in our history when we begin to change the face of this country - the change we always wanted. I can't speak for others (though others spoke loud and clear last night), but it's the change I've waited for. The day we elect a black to the Whitehouse.

How powerful the moment when Barack talked about the 106 year old black woman who cast her vote - recalling all the changes she has seen in her lifetime - the racism she lived through, the oppression - as a woman, and as a black in our - and to have lived long enough to cast her vote for a black man.

This is the country I love - the country with tolerance, a bigger heart and vision than we sometimes forget we're capable of.

There is much work to do, much to still change. I wait now for the results of the Prop 8 initiative - this conservative led anachronous punt for bigotry and hate - and hope California does the right thing. I was naive to think the California Supreme Court decision was enough to have put the issue to bed. The numbers are still coming in. It's not looking good, but I'm holding on to hope.

But for now, I am more ready for the day, - and I know now it can happen in my lifetime, that we elect a woman to the presidency.

The speech reached out to everyone and essentially laid out his plan for his term - and I am so excited for all its possibilities.

This is the moment, our moment - the moment this country began to change.

November 4th...

Armed, caffeined, book in hand ready for the long lines at my polling place, I head out this morning to my polling place to cast my vote.

Even though I'm only one mile from my voting site, I drove my car because they predicted rain for the morning. I don't have a television so I heard this somewhere, anyway, I drove because like any self respecting Southern Californian, I don't own an umbrella, a water-resistent jacket, and like any self respecting couch potato, my sneakers are somewhere, keeping their location a secret from me.

Anyway, I get there expecting to be in lines for hours and I am pleasantly surprised. It's the first time I've had to wait more than, say, five to ten minutes to vote, but the line isn't bad at all.

I arrive at 7:34 a.m - no one at the entrance. I get a bit excited thinking I might be one of the first, if not the first, to vote. Wrong. A few feet more, into the National Guard building, down a short hall - I see it, the line. But it looks as if I might be the 30th person in line.

Calculating the rate of movement, maybe 30 to 40 people have already voted.

Though I didn't take a formal count, it appeared that the location had six to eight voting booths. There were a number of young female students from Long Beach State University working the polls.

And so here's what I saw: a number of young parents with children, even babies in carriages, young adult children with elderly latino parents, people nervous about not being on the roster because they never show up on the roster for some reason. The only problem I can report on was the loud young man, talking on his phone - loudly - on one call, letting his co-workers know he'd be in later, that he'd been to the wrong voting precinct earlier, on another call, to chastise a friend for voting 'wrong on that one, my brother. You're so fat headed that you don't listen to explanation and you don't read the fine print. You voted wrong on that one - and you're Daddy's a Deacon - we're gonna see him this weekend, you and me. I can't wait to get together with you and the guys this weekend - you're gonna hear about voting wrong on 'that one."

Clearly, he was talking about Proposition 8 - his friend, who had so obviously voted No on 8, but mean to vote Yes; maybe he meant to vote no - was only telling his friends, like this studly-rama friend of his in line, he would vote yes, but intended to vote No all along. Whatever it is, I know that there was one more vote against Prop. 8.

After all that constant loud talking, he finally got the attention of one of the polling staff, turns out is was a friend, and they determined that he was again, in the wrong polling precint.

This young man, lover of phones and constantly using it, seems his time would have been more wisely spent had he used his phone for purpose and called the registrars office to find out where his correct polling place was.

I couldn't really read my book because the line moved too quickly, and that gentleman with the phone was too distracting - we were all sorry to see him leave after talking in line for 40 minutes - I could tell by the sighs, the chortles and under breath giggles when he turned out to find, maybe, his correct voting site.

But this young man was going to vote. He did not seem to be the type to be detered...he was going to cast his vote, and I know he was voting for Obama. And I suspect he was also going to be voting Yes on 8.

On the exit informal polling of prop. 8 - mostly everyone coming out of location reported voting NO on prop. 8.

I have hope. it's only 11:11 am. - and people are out there walking like I've never seen, getting to their polling places. There's an excitement in the air. I feel good.

I have to keep myself entirely involved in work - and wait for the numbers to start coming in. I feel like that kid in the commercial - the night before a big family trip to Disneyworld - everyone, especially that cute little boy, too excited to go to sleep. Well, I'm like that little boy, Too Excited to do anything else. Hope I can work through at least 5 p.m. I hope. Maybe.

Geeeeessshhhh.....this is tough.

Sunday Before Change

This morning, time was changed.

Daylight savings happened this this morning - while we slept.

It's sprinkling. It stops, it starts, the sun takes a peek and retreats. It sprinkles. And it stops.

And despite the ground being wet, the skies ambiguous, the kids on the block are outside, talking about men they admire (an interesting conversation for 10 year old kids), throwing in bits of Spanish they know (they're Caucasian English speakers) - and they're laying on the grass.

This is a sign. A good sign.

Things have been uncertain, at times ambiguous and downright frightening, but it's all gonna be good - I breathe - I have hope that next Wednesday will be a Wednesday very well spent.

The universe is screaming Change. This year is about more than us - it's about the planet that sustains us, and we can only do right by it if we change. And this year is the beginning. This is the beginning of fundamental changes; if we are going to be the country we were meant to be, we have to start now. I feel like the last two hundred plus years have been dress rehearsal - Tuesday will tell us, and the rest of the world, what we are really made of, our truest self, our view of humanity. I believe that Wednesday there will be a collective sigh of relief.

Right now I'm thinking about kids, years from now, when those of us here today will be gone, little boys and girls sitting on someones lawn, talking about men and women they admire - about all the people who stepped up, who were part of the revolution for humanity. While the Republicans slept, rested on their laurels and hubris, this quiet revolution took shape. People saying enough. And its day has come.

I'm imagining that they will have cleaner air, a nicer planet and they will utter Barack Obama's name as someone they admire - talk about that time in history when things started changing for the better.

I like this image.

The sun is out, and birds just started singing. This is good.