January 2004 Archives
I've been feeling a bit tongue-tied lately, which goes without saying, I guess. I hadn't realized it had been two weeks since I updated; I've been remaining blissfully ignorant of all things waterlilies.
And truthfully, when I don't update, it's usually because nothing interesting is going on in my world anyway, and unless you really want to hear about my 10-hour days (which I don't generally talk about, since they relate to work), you don't want to know anyway.
The short version:
We've been hanging out with our cool neighbors a decent amount lately. Two weekends ago, we got to play with their Holgaroid camera setup. We took some super-cool crazy pictures that I alternately love and hate. I'd post a few of them, but I'm afraid someone would petition to have me forcibly committed.
C and I saw The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King finally. It's a brilliant movie, of course, but very intense. I have this inner geek that I've buried and hidden deep within my psyche, but secretly? She'd love to learn Elvish.
C and I (and the cool neighbors) went to a State of the Union Address party, complete with the 2004 State of the Union drinking game last Tuesday. I counted something like 89 drink cues, many of which required two or three drinks. Luckily, I'd made my wine into a spritzer, but nevertheless, Wednesday was a bit painful. You'd think I had learned my lesson last time we were out with the cool neighbors.
In other news, I learned on Sunday that if you let your journal languish long enough (almost two weeks seems to be the magic number for me), random readers will come out of the woodwork and ask you out. I've never been asked out by a random reader before, so either you're all a bunch of slackers or said reader is a Potentially Wacko Stalker. I'm not entirely sure which is true in this case, but this guy seems reasonably non-wacko, which leads me to believe that the rest of you are just a bunch of slackers.
He's waiting for word from me about where I'd like to go, but I don't think I've actually said 'yes' to the offer of a date yet. I feel a bit as though I should make him prove himself before I agree to go out with this guy. I could require him to submit his full name and date and place of birth, so that I can run a criminal background check and let Kramer run a full astrological profile. I could subject him to a battery of questions from my friends. I could make him hold a serious conversation with my dad. (
It was nice weather this morning, and I'm still under the mistaken impression that Mondays are good days to demonstrate resolve, so I walked to work. It was chilly and cold, and I left the house at about 7:40, which put me to work around 8:20, which is really no later than usual. I love that walk for its ability to generate quiet time and a way to think. I tend to generate journal entries in my head when I walk to work, which is why I always seem to write about it.
Today's walk took me past the busy intersection where people moved frenetically on their way to work; past the victory garden that I'm so jealous of, which has vegetables growing in mid-January; past an apartment complex where the pungent odor of pot wafted out the window (I don't know about you, but in my world, 8am is a bit early for pot); past the bakery with heavenly smell of bread; past the taco shack where I stopped to get my usual: a potato and egg taco; past the school where children run inside, eager to start their day; past the churches whose spires and steeples touched the brilliant blue sky.
And then home again after work, racing the sunset this time. It's a dangerous walk in the dark, but the days are lengthening a bit, and I made it home after the sun set but before night fell.
That was my day; how was yours?
I think it was around the same time that we decided on Chicago as our first soundtrack purchase, before we realized that listening to Chicago for a week straight, on a continuous loop, would make us absolutely nutty, that C and I decided that we needed the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, as well. We never bought the soundtrack, but when we got back to Austin, C reminded me to add the movie to my Netflix queue, and it arrived today.
When Dirty Dancing came out, I was ten, going on eleven, and that movie served as my own personal introduction to what love with a tough-but-kind-hearted rebel might be like. I learned valuable life-lessons about back-alley abortions and the merengue and joining the Peace Corps, and my sister and I watched the film over and over, making fun of the (geeky) older sister and admiring the hip, sexy younger one. I'm not sure what that said about us, or me, the geeky older sister, for that matter.
It's harsh to watch a movie like that years after the fact. Suddenly, the plot was forced (though I remembered lots of crucial lines, years and years later. "Nobody puts Baby in the corner!"), the dance moves were sort of stupid, Patrick Swayze was sorta gross and greasy, and the dialogue was insipid in spots. C once told me about how she watched Dirty Dancing illegally when she was younger, having obtained a pirated copy from some other country somehow, and I understand now why she couldn't bear to have the film ruined for her by the Mr. Sinus guys -- this stuff was sacred to our childhood and adolecence. But it was great to laugh at now, more than fifteen years later.
The part that really made me laugh, though, was the part where C asked, in all seriousness, "Where's the pottery scene?" I lost it then, explaining as nicely as I could in between uncontrollable fits of laughter that there was no pottery scene in Dirty Dancing, she was thinking of Ghost. With Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore and Whoopi Goldberg.
She didn't believe me, and between you and me? I think it ruined the movie for her.
The next-door neighbors invited C and me over for dinner last night -- some sort of yummy vegetarian Indian concoction. We love our next-door neighbors; they're around the same age as we are, and they're incredibly funny, so we were glad to go over for dinner. I bought a bottle of Chiraz on the way home from work, and we took it over there with us.
The next-door neighbors have the distinction of being even more easily-amused than I am. When there is nothing to do, they're gifted at making up entertainment for themselves and for others. They have a collection of wigs to use for dress-up, for instance, and there's always booze to be had to further the cause a little. Last night, the wigs stayed safely put away, but after the four of us polished off three bottles of wine, they pulled out the sketch pads, and we started drawing portraits of one another with charcoal pencils.
Next-door neighbor drew a (really flattering) portrait of me that looked nothing like me; it looked a bit like Catherine Zeta-Jones, though, which seemed in keeping with the Chicago theme that C and I kept extending through the evening. I drew a quick portrait of everyone in the room, and to my (rather inebriated) eye, some of them came out pretty well. Much laughter ensued, and we didn't stumble home (it was only next door, after all) until after midnight.
Needless to say, the morning, in which I had to attend a project management seminar, was a bit painful. It wasn't a hangover or anything like that -- I don't get hangovers -- but I was painfully tired when I crawled out of bed in the morning.
It's not so much that I'm against drunken debauchery; it's more that I should probably refrain from it on Monday nights.
This morning, I washed the sedimentary striations of dirt off my car, which was well-overdue for a cleaning. The icy roads of New Mexico had been sanded to improve traction, and the sand was caked on along the bottom edge; I kept expecting someone to trace "Wash Me" in the dirt with a finger.
As I washed the windshield, I noticed a nasty crack along the passenger side. Urk, what a hassle. We cleaned the windshield fairly frequently along the way, and yet we hadn't noticed this crack until this morning. No idea what caused it or made it spread, but we got hit by flying pebbles several times along the way.
After a journey that seemed unusually short (most journeys do, in comparison), C and I arrived safely back in Austin late this afternoon. It's great to be home, though I don't feel quite as enthusiastic about returning to work tomorrow morning. The cats seem glad to be home, as well, although Ani, who is notoriously hard to get into a kitty carrier, has decided that she likes sleeping in her carrier when she's at home. It seems like a strange omen, given that we have no intention of taking her anywhere in her carrier anytime soon. I think she knows that.
The first (well, second) thing C and I did when we got back to Austin was to rent Chicago. After days and days of having the soundtrack stuck on a constant loop inside my head, the songs are -finally- starting to subside. Thank God. We were going rather nutty.
I'm tired, and my bed (which is the most comfortable bed -ever-) is calling, so I'm signing off.
Shopping for furniture wasn't really in our plans today, but C and I tagged along with my mom, grandmother, and aunt when they went out to find a new couch for my grandmother's den. It was, well, enlightening.
We started off at Ethan Allen, where the saleswoman, Shelley, directed us gently through the faux rooms of the store. She seemed to know intuitively when to let us explore on our own and when to be there to answer questions for us. She directed us to the couches that best suited our needs, including the ones with shallower and firmer seats, and helped us custom-choose pieces to fit together into a set. It was all very expert -- she basically custom-fit a sofa and a super-comfortable chair to our butts, long before we ever even mentioned such mundane issues as price. But it was Ethan Allen, and everything is custom-ordered, so of course, the furniture was very expensive. We had a couple of other places to go before we made a decision.
Next, we went to Ashley Furniture. We were hardly in the door before we were attacked by a salesman there. Before he'd even pointed us to the couches, he had already explained their financing programs; clearly, the demographic of this store was different from the one we had been in a few minutes before. The young salesman didn't know anything about any of the furniture in the store. None of the pieces could be custom-upholstered; it all had to be bought as it appeared. I think we were in that store for seven minutes before we left. Quickly.
Finally, we went to Braslau's, a local furniture store. The saleswoman there was at least a bit knowledgeable about the furniture in the store, though she seemed a bit put out about helping us. I was a bit disappointed when my grandmother decided to buy a sofa and a recliner from Braslau's, rather than from Ethan Allen, but there was no denying that she spent less on the entire set than one chair from the other store would have cost.
The financing process was a hassle that involved what (to our overactive imaginations) appeared to be a booking, in a stark, sterile room surrounded by unsavory characters. C and I were convinced that at Ethan Allen, the financing process would involve warm coffee, fresh-baked elegant pastries, and a far more cordial atmosphere. In the end, I think my grandmother wound up writing a check. Far less hassle that way.
As for me, I'd've preferred Shelley.
After eleven hours on the road, I'm feeling a bit nutty this evening. By the time we were within 100 miles of Corpus Christi, C and I were both slap-happy; the Chicago soundtrack on repeat didn't help matters much.
We set out from El Paso early in the morning and made great time, despite stopping several times to stretch our legs or buy refreshments.
I'll probably need a bit more time to reflect before I can really provide a retrospective about our road trip, but the part I figured out on the long drive home today is this: you can get as much out of a journey as you're willing to.
There was a time in my life when I was a destination girl. I'd have preferred being flown from point A to point B; I didn't want to bother with the distance in between. I think my philosophy has changed somewhat over time. This trip was planned as a way to explore a region of the country. Not three cities in various parts of the country, but the entire region. This was as much out of necessity as because of possibility; it was cheaper to drive and stay in motels than it likely would have been to fly, and we had time to drive, so we did. It was a completely different trip as a result.
And for the most part, I really enjoyed that part of it. I liked how the landscape changed significantly from hour to hour (to hour to hour to hour); the shift is so gradual that I've never noticed it before, and yet profound enough to be constantly obvious. I'm glad we didn't retrace our path, other than from El Paso to Corpus Christi. We saw so many different environments by going through northern New Mexico and Arizona than we would have seen if we had remained in the southern parts of those states.
But the drive from El Paso to around Junction? Boring as hell, especially the second time around. Geez.
Covering 3,500 miles in 7 days has changed my perspective on distances a bit. The 200-mile drive from Corpus Christi to Austin, which I have long dismissed as lengthy and boring, will seem like a short jaunt after all the driving we've been doing lately.
After a long day of driving, we find ourselves back in El Paso again, enjoying the hospitality of CY once more. Tomorrow morning, we'll depart early-early and drive to Corpus Christi, where the cats have been vacationing (at the Resort d'Mom).
As it happens, we didn't get to do two of the things we really wanted to do today. The plan had been to see the Gila cliff dwellings, but those wound up being a much longer drive than we had anticipated. We drove along the curvy mountain road until we were at about 7,500 feet in altitude, and then we realized there were 22 more miles to go until we got to the cliffs, so we turned around and went back through Pinos Altos and Silver City to get to I-10. Along the way, we did see some lovely pine forests with snowfall up on the mountain.
After our fruitless trip up the mountain, there wasn't enough time to get back to White Sands by 4pm. When we were there last week, we noticed that they had a sunset hike through the dunes, and we had wanted to go along, but it wasn't really possible within our time constraints today. If we'd known the Gila cliffs weren't going to happen, we could've rearranged our schedule. Next time, we'll know.
What we did do this morning (besides drive a lot) is go to the Saguaro National Park near Tucson. It was the only good thing about Tucson, as far as we're concerned. There were all sorts of cactus there besides the saguaro, as well as birds and other wildlife we hadn't seen before. We saw a pair of coyotes running along the roadside on the way to the park and a rabbit inside the park itself, and of course, we took a bunch of cactus photos. My favorites, of course, were the ones with C posing alongside the cactus. I'll post those tomorrow when we get back to Corpus.
We have a long day ahead of us, so I'm headed to bed. More tomorrow, hopefully.
Today is our last day in Arizona, and we expect to be back in Texas (barely) by this evening sometime. We'll drive through the Saguaro National Park this morning, then head east toward New Mexico, where we have a couple of activities planned. I'll write about those later.
Yesterday, we spent the morning and early afternoon in San Diego. We went to Old Town San Diego, a state park that has reproduced the center of the original town, and wandered around for a few hours. The opportunity to walk and get some fresh air was refreshing after so much cold weather for our trip, and we had the opportunity to stretch our legs finally. We stopped at a little Mexican bakery and bought a couple of churros to munch on, the only substantial food we ate until our New Years Eve dinner mentioned in the last entry.
Then we returned to Ocean Beach and walked along the surf again. There were only a few surfers at noontime, and for the most part, they sat along the shore and watched the waves. We walked along the water, took some pictures, and watched the seagulls, then left reluctantly. I think the Pacific managed to singlehandedly improve C's impression of California, following the unnerving traffic we had experienced a couple of nights before as we went through the outskirts of L.A.
Then it was a straight shot to Tucson on I-8. "Straight" is a bit of a misnomer, though -- the interstate was full of mountain stretches that were curvy and dizzying with switchbacks, and we didn't arrive in Tucson until around 9pm.
After a long day like that, a restful New Year's Eve was definitely the best plan.
As I write this, it is 11:56 in Tucson, Arizona, but C and I have already celebrated New Years on Texas time, and we're satisfied with that. You might call us wet blankets, but we prefer to call ourselves overachievers.
As for Tucson, well... as far as we're concerned, we resolve celebrate the fact that we don't live in Tucson daily. Austin is so, so, so much cooler. We weren't able to find any planned events for New Years, so C and I headed to downtown Tucson to look for something interesting going on.
As C explains it, it's a Romanian superstition that whatever you're doing at New Years, that's what you'll be doing for the rest of the year to come. It's been a long day of driving, so I had decided I'd be happy with a year of sleep and relaxation, but C seemed interested in celebrating, so we went downtown. We were unimpressed.
We found a grill with decent pasta primavera, so we're starting the new year with our bellies full, but we weren't halfway through dinner when we decided to celebrate New Year's on Texas time, an hour ahead of Arizona. We decided we'd buck the trend by going back to the hotel and watching Dick Clark on television, rather than going to a bar that requires a cover charge in exchange for the honor of buying drinks from them.
As it happened, we brought in the new year in Texas time laughing uproariously; if I spend the entire year laughing, it'll be a good year, as far as I can tell. And now, just after midnight in Arizona, I'm relaxing, listening to a biography on television, and posting this entry with the sound of fireworks cracking outside. I have money in my pocket and food in my belly, and I'm indulging my constant desire to travel; if the Romanian supersitition is right, I think 2004 will be a good year.
