White Ibis Morning

We left Jacksonville last night, and it was a bit sad to leave a place where we had done four shows and slept in the same beds for two days! The Wilson Center for The Arts at Florida Community College of Jacksonville is a small theater, but lovely. Our audiences ranged from quiet to uproarious, and we even had one patron dressed as Gilligan! I think it would be really neat if we developed a Rocky Horror style cult following!

My dresser, Gail was so perfect. She altered my opening number dress so I don't have to pull it over my head any more, and made my quick changes so smooth and stress-free. Thanks, Gail!

I also had my first experience at a Dave & Buster's. After practically melting down into a blubbering mascara mess due to stress and hunger, I pulled myself together enough to join the gang for a quick walk to the D&B near the hotel. Now, when I'm hungry, I always choose fat and salt over salad. So, naturally, I ordered cheesesticks, a sirloin steak (medium-rare), loaded mashed potatoes, and something called frazzled onions. Washing it down with a sweet tea made me happy to be south of the Mason-Dixon line! One bite of the potatoes -- mashed with cheese, bacon, onions, and sour cream -- filled me up, so I took a to-go box and let the rest of the group enjoy the arcade games. I'm such a pumpkin these days! It was midnight, and I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore!

Of course, if you go to bed early, you get up early (thanks, Ben Franklin!), so I was able to run off that steak on A.C Skinner Parkway. I passed by several industrial parks, frequented by business travelers and conferences. Everyone is carrying a tub full of A/V equipment around there! One complex had a sign out front for space to rent, but they worded it "Opportunities Available." Opportunities! I decided that today would be a great opportunity to create the best Gilligan's Island ever!

Well, that didn't happen in the matinee, which was, let's say, not great. But once I got to have a talk with my better half, I was ready to focus, so I listened to bodhipaksa's Guided Meditations for Busy People and practiced Being in the Moment. Our 8 pm show was amazing. Mr. Howell's parents were in the audience, and I know we were all giving it our best to make it perfect for them.

Yesterday morning, I was going to skip the run, but I was so logy from sleeping in a hotel bed that I thought I'd take a walk. Well, as soon as I got out there, my feet started running, so I decided to take myself down Salisbury Road for a spell. On my return to the hotel, I saw the most beautiful birds feeding in the grasses around one of Florida's aforementioned "natural" water formations. There were two, and they were small, obviously wading birds. Their feathers were snow white, except around the eye, which was pink/red, like their thin, long, curved beaks. Their long legs were also pink, and they dipped their beaks into the ground to pick up bugs? seeds? probably bugs with a silent grace, completely ignoring my presence, at first. However, after about a minute of watching them, they seemed to sense me staring at them and they went stock still. If they spoke to one another, I imagine the conversation went something like this:

BIRD 1: Psst. You see that big thing there?
BIRD 2: Yeah.
BIRD 1: I think it's watching us.
BIRD 2: Don't panic, don't panic... let's confuse it.
BIRD 1: OK, you fly off that way, then I'll go the other way. Don't look back. I'll see you on the other side of the highway.
BIRD 2: Stay safe! Don't be a hero!

As they flew away, I noticed black points on the undersides of their wings. A Google search revealed that I was stalking a couple of Ibises.

A nice way to start the day!

Our matinee was uneventful, and after a harried trek to the local Walgreens for supplies (SUPPLIES!), I joined the group on the bus for our overnight trip to Glen Allen. A terrible car accident slowed us down on I-95 near Savannah, but we finally got moving once it was cleared. One of our cast members had never seen Ghostbusters before (!), so I had the surreal experience of watching Ghostbusters on a moving rock n roll bus in the middle of the night. I never realized how much of that dialogue I have committed to memory!

Early this morning, we checked in to the beyond spacious Comfort Suites of Glen Allen, VA, which seems to be closest to Richmond, VA, by way of big cities. I've been enjoying the sitting room, giant flat panel TV and WiFi all morning, and I intend to hit the indoor pool anon. Hmm, "anon"? Well, it works. Tonight we have a Meet n Greet after the show for VIP audience members. I hope they enjoy seeing my stage makeup up close and personal! Until then, I am, from Virginia, your faithful Mrs. Howell.

The Ghosts of AARP

A great way to work out the kinks from a restless night of motel sleeping is running in a strange town. You won't go too hard, because you have no idea where you are or where you're going. It doesn't seem that tough, because you're distracted by the new environments and fear of being hit by cars when you wander into un-sidewalked territory. Today, I got my butt outside at 7:30, in a beautiful Ft. Pierce, Florida morning, to work out the kinks and get to know the neighborhood.

Most of my reconnaissance mission revealed a crosswalk light across US One that would get me safely to Long John Silver's for lunch, a Sunoco station with a Food Mart, and the highlight of my run, a closed-off road that ran through a mobile home graveyard. The road was closed to cars, but it looked safe enough for running, so I started down what looked like a path to the beach. To my right, past the excessive growth of tropical weeds along the road, I could see the mobile home community called Plantation Manor (An Active 55+ Community). This was no trailer park. Each home had a yard, a driveway, a carport, and a solid foundation. While admiring these pristine white cracker boxes, I realized I was running through the remains of a similar community. Among the weeds were cement car pads, abandoned electrical boxes and steps leading to nowhere. What was once a light pole was bent completely to the ground, giving the cul-de-sac a feeling of hurricane devastation. Among this desolation would pop up shots of color, as in a giant flowering cactus or ginko tree, thriving in the ruins. At the end of the road, there was a sign warning against swimming in Florida's "natural" water formations, like the one behind the sign, as they have been deemed "unsafe" to the extent that children should not even look at them without adult supervision, lest they go blind and or contract leprosy. Or something.

It was refreshing, really. New York children are obviously much heartier than Florida children, as they tend to play in any number of "natural", well, let's say liquid, formations without any kind of supervision!

The Sunrise Theatre in Ft. Pierce is adorable. It's an old movie house, and it's located in the mission-themed downtown district. Because of its origins, there wasn't a lot of wing space, but we made it work! The S.S. Minnow can't be stopped!

Sorry about the lack of pictures, but I didn't bring my camera. There are some people taking pictures and posting them on Facebook, so, you could check my tagged pictures there, but we haven't gotten many of us in makeup and costumes. However, we'll be doing this for a while, so stay tuned!

Currently, we're on the road to Jacksonville, FL, where we will be taking up residence for three whole days and four shows! I don't know if I can handle that kind of settling down!

On the Road, Three-Hour Tour Style

Back to blogging, because I'm on tour with Gilligan's Island: The Musical, and not only is there a lot of interesting stuff going on, but I have a lot of downtime.

We just had our first show in Clearwater, FL at a truly lovely venue called Ruth Eckerd Hall. I highly recommend the space and the staff! Then we got into our pimpin' rock n roll style tour bus, which was previously used by none other than Sir Elton John himself! Wacky! Our driver, Rusty, reminds me of a sober Ron White, and I'm sure he'll have plenty of stories to tell us. This bus has bunks with comfy bedspreads, WiFi, and a big hinkin' TV, not to mention the mirrored ceilings. I'm serious.

We're on our way to Ft. Pierce, where our theater is said to be right on the beach. Even Mrs. Howell may be venturing out in the sun tomorrow! So, what do you want to know about touring? I'm happy to give all the answers. But first, I'm gonna eat this Moon Pie I got at a gas station!

On the Road,

* Sniffle * Snort *

I'm sick. I feel awful. But here I am, at work. And there I was, last night, at Maracas. Maybe I should take something... DayQuil? I just want to stop feeling like I'm trying to swallow the inside of a pillow that's being fed into my throat through my nose. That's all I ask.

World's Best Green Bean Casserole %u2665 %u2665 %u2665 | A Veggie Venture

World's Best Green Bean Casserole %u2665 %u2665 %u2665 | A Veggie Venture

Just a reminder of the casserole I'm making Sunday night to go with my MLK, Jr. Day turkey.

Strange Thing Mystifying

Check out this story about a 9-year old girl who have the mind of a 3-month old and will now be a child for the rest of her life. By the way, she's expected to live a normal lifespan, which is around 72, right?

Her parents had her uterus and breast buds removed and put her on a very large dose of hormones to keep her from growing. The reasons: keep her small so she's easier to move around and can be taken places rather than staying in a bed the rest of her life (by the way, she would probably have only grown to be as big as me); eliminate discomfort she would have from menstruation since she won't be bearing children (no one mentioned that hysterectomies are dangerous and put women at high risk for cancer!); and eliminate discomfort from large breasts (again, if she was supposed to be my size... sounds like wishful thinking) as well as keep her from being sexualized in the eyes of a future caregiver.

This sounds very creepy. What happens when the parents die? Is she going to be this totally addle-brained middle-aged "pillow angel" (you have to read the article) for someone else? My favorite quote:

"If the concern has something to do with the girl's dignity being violated, then I have to protest by arguing that the girl lacks the cognitive capacity to experience any sense of indignity," [the parents] said.

Wow. Not being able to experience indignity. It's so dehumanizing. No wonder she seems like some strange pet.

This is a weird issue. Any thoughts?

Back in the Saddle Again... I'm Baaaaaaaack!

That's right, you're to read that Aerosmith-style.

Myspace is pissing me off. I can't access comments, some photos, bulletins, the blog, messaging... it's just not working, so here I am, back on Blogger, which seems to have been, like much of the internet, bought by Google.

Anyway, I'm busy here at work, but I just wanted to note that this is where I'll be blogging for the time being.

Love ya! Mean it!

Hasta La Vista, Baby

The blog is on indefinite hiatus. I just don't have the time or the inclination to sit in front of the computer any longer than I have to, and my office job isn't blog-friendly (in other words, I'm actually busy there!). If I decide to bring it back, I'll notify folks via e-mail. If I don't have your e-mail and you want to be notified, please send to alexia@narcissa.com. In the meantime, check for updates on www.alexiasings.com and www.narcissa.com. Thanks for reading.

Peace out.

Ignorance = Death

I am appalled at where the world is with regard to HIV/AIDS. It's been 20 years now, and still backward and prudish ideas about sex are killing people. The facts are that people will have sex, and a main way HIV is spread is through sex. Condom use is ingenious behavior on the part of humans. Pausing in one of the most primal of acts to protect oneself and others from harm should be encouraged and applauded, not treated as a second-best approach to the ridiculously naive and idealistic approach of abstinence.

Intolerance of non-heterosexual or extra-marital sex, denial of the widespread nature of domestic rape, and clinging to the mistaken belief that sex itself is somehow dirty or wrong --- these things just don't cut it anymore. It's time to wake up and smell the pandemic.

But Ted Green, a member of Bush's council on AIDS, said programs aimed at changing sexual behavior
were not obtaining funding. He also questioned the focus on condoms.

"If you are telling me that people can't stop AIDS unless they buy a product. I simply don't agree
with that," he said.

What the hell? Now they're trying to link AIDS with a manufacturing conspiracy? Guess what? People don't have to buy condoms. Nearly every health clinic in America gives them away for free; why shouldn't they be able to do so in the rest of the world? Funds for condom distribution make more sense than funds for strict abstinence education. Come on people, let's start using the big parts of our brains, already.

Now For The "Duh" Award...

"I was named after my mother. My mother died when she was very young." - Madonna, er, "Esther"

A Headline is Worth a Thousand Words

Lollapalooza Canceled Due to Poor Sales

Better Late Than Never

Oy, it's been a long time.

I'm sad that Tony Randall died. He was a shining example of an artist and patron of the arts. Plus, he had a hot young wife!

The Iraq prison abuse scandal just demonstrates why "military intelligence" is an oxymoron.

Some people deserve to be robbed.

I'm glad that it's now inappropriate to use metaphor and hyperbole in sports interviews. Maybe now we can get rid of the Redskins, battle cries at football games, and well, hockey.

Speaking of sports, if New York wins the 2012 Olympics, I'm moving.

Jesus, Are We Still In California?

Day Seven

We oversleep again. Dammit. Still, we hold to the vow of daily showers. The cut-offs make another appearance, and I think the Buffy shirt comes out again, but honestly, I can't remember. I do grab the hoodie, of course. Another day of walking looms near! This time we walk to a little place called the Squat and Gobble in the Lower Haight (which if I had seen it for the first time in the Castro would have given me the giggles) for breakfast. We both have bagels with cream cheese, tomatos and sprouts. They don't have whole wheat bagels, so I ask for plain and get sesame. Oh well. Sean realizes he does not like sprouts. I have carrot juice. Mmm, carrot juice.

We walk to the Castro. They have giant rainbow flags everywhere! It's very cute, and there are stores and bars and gyms and restaurants all over. Now we're going to Fisherman's Wharf, so we decide to take the F Line all the way down.

Let me take a moment to comment on the different kinds of public transportation in San Francisco. They have regular buses, electric buses with tires, electric street cars that run on tracks, cable cars, a light rail line, and a subway (which isn't run by the same authority as the others). The electric street cars are the historic ones from F Line link above. We rode the F Line in the historic car from Boston's Elevated railway. It was pretty groovy, but was full of tourists and went slow. Sean says only tourists take the E and F line and the cable cars, but I'm still not convinced that this whole system isn't crazy.

So, we ride all the way downtown and to the wharves, which is where the water is, if you didn't know. We get to Fisherman's Wharf, which is even scarier than the one in Monterey. It reminds me of Gatlinburg on the water. If you don't get that analogy, I can't help you. We see the sea lions, which smell bad, but look cuddly. Supposedly, the earthquake of 1989 changed their migration patterns and now they live there year round, like a bunch of hairy squatters. I snap a couple of shots of them and of Alcatraz, then beg to leave the stinkiness.

We walk a little further down the way and see lots of restaurants featuring clam chowder in sourdough bread bowls and fresh crabs. I love Dungeness crab, and I'm excited to have some. Sean is pushing the clam chowder, which I also love, so I know I'll have some important decisions to make soon. We finally arrive at Cioppino's, the restaurant Sean used to work at. The restaurant at which Sean used to work. Whatever. We walk in and everybody remembers him after two years. It's very sweet. The place is big, and nice, but not intimidating. I order a Bloody Mary and we both get cups of clam chowder and split a chilled seafood platter with mussels, clams, bay shrimp, prawns, crab legs, and calamari, which neither of us can stomach fresh. Yay! I haven't had good seafood in ages. All the employees want to know if Sean is coming back to work.

We leave there and walk up through Little Italy to North Beach. It's a strange day, weather-wise. I keep putting on and taking off my hoodie, and once I have to borrow Sean's jacket, only to return it minutes later. Damn California micro-climates. We stop at Ghirardelli Square, but there are too many people. I can buy chocolate in New York. Ghirardelli chocolate, even. Little Italy is not so little. We walk up Corso Cristoforo Colombo (aka Columbus Avenue) and see many Italian restaurants and other type places. We then arrive at Jack Kerouac Alley and Vesuvio Cafe. (I'd like to note that I'm getting carded at every bar here in San Francisco. It was cute at first, but I'm over it. I don't look 20.) Seems this was an old hangout of Kerouac's. They serve booze and coffee. Kind of a hippie type joint. They have toilet seat covers. We have a drink a piece and head out. Sean shows me all of the strip clubs and adult book stores at the corner. I guess people in San Francisco haven't been blessed with a visionary mayor who wants to clean up their town. Poor San Franciscans.

For the first time, I see some of those famous steps in the sidewalks, leading up to Telegraph Hill. I'm feeling athletic, as I have my sneakers on, so we climb. It's not so bad! There are over 100 steps, says Sean, but it's a good climb. Next time I go to San Fran, I want to do a walking tour and check out other stairways. The view at the top is neat. Going down, we see a tennis ball nestled against the steps, and Sean throws caution to the wind and kicks it down. It's a thrilling descent, and it makes it all the way across the street. Yay, tennis ball! You are free!

On our way down Market Street, we see a small video arcade in Chinatown and pop in for a little retro video fun. Four bucks and 20 minutes later, we emerge. Jamba Juice is the next stop. I panic and order an Orange Dream Machine, which is so not what I need to balance my day. I've already had protein and dairy; I should have ordered something with berries and bananas. I just can't order under pressure. We decide to walk a while to finish our drinks before we get on the bus, but I am sketched out by SF's downtown. In New York, there are many places for the indigent, crazy and criminal to hang out. They're more scattered, and thus, less threatening. Here, they're all walking around me. At one point, we walk through a veritable cloud of pot smoke. I wuss out and beg to get on the bus. On the way, we pass the Market Street Theater, which is a strip club that invites you to "See the Beauty" and "Touch the Magic" in towering letters. With pictures. Niiiiiiiice.

Back to the apartment (which, by the way, is very cute. The architecture in San Francisco is adorable.), and I am given a chance to change into my pedal pushers and boots before we head to the drunken portion of the evening. We go to Zeitgeist in the Mission District, which has a huge outdoor seating area. It's full of hooligans and ruffians and the music is some screaming rock and roll, and it is good. There are guest rooms to rent, and a grill making yummy food stuffs. I have a hamburger that even the vegans at the table start to drool over. I mean, over which... ah, who cares? We have beer. Then I have a delicious Bloody Mary. Much better than the one earlier, and including two green beans. That's good. I like a lot of food in my Bloody.

After much urging, the big group of us go to a bar called Hush Hush. They're not letting any more people in because the city is coming by to do a sound licensing check. I feel you Hush Hush. But I won't wait. We walk (some with bikes) to another bar called... um, what is this bar called? Anyway, as we walk in, I hear Metallica, and it is on. The pinball machine (Roller Coaster Tycoon, normally a great game) is tilted funny and won't play right. Screw the games. We sit up front and drink some more, again. Now it's gin. Around midnight, I flag, and ask to go home. Hey! I've had a big day!

We walk back and stop at Ali Baba so Sean can order a scary thing called a Combination Sandwich. It's not on the menu, but it's apparently made with everything and wrapped in a very flat bread. It's like a foot long and only costs $6. I decline tasting it. Sean can only eat half, and finally, we get to sleep.

Day Eight

My head hurts. A lot. So do my calves. Just enough time for breakfast before we drive to Oakland. We get to eat at the Pork Store (thanks, vegans!) and I have chicken fried steak and hashbrowns and biscuits with honey. Yum. Our waitress has one of those chest tattoos that disturbs me. I think she might regret that one day, but what do I know? Off to the airport, and we are done with the trip! The rest of the day is miserable as there is a lot of turbulence and I have a wretched headache that lasts until the next day. Still, it was fun. I learned that earthquakes don't happen as often as you would expect them to. I also learned that the next time I go to San Francisco, it better be September, when it's warm. More lessons include: California is full of weird people, but the landscape is nice. The next time your mayor gives bus tickets to the homeless people in your town, find out where they're going and try not to vacation there. Frommer's is the best travel guide ever. My boyfriend and I travel pretty well.

And the most important lesson of all: Even though you can't catch anything from a toilet seat (except maybe some very ambitious crabs), San Franciscan ladies get to have neat and civilized bathroom experiences while New Yorkers are trapped in a vicious cycle of hovering and seat spraying and nest building. Oh, when will we learn?

And that's it!

Oh, Right, The Rest

Day Six

Today dawns a little later than I had hoped and we don't end up leaving the house until 11 am. I decide to mix with the locals in a purple, short-sleeved turtleneck, jeans cut off below the knee, a moth-eaten patchwork cardigan, my new Saucony sneakers, and my hair in two braids. It's time to walk!

(Update: We eat breakfast at The Grind. I have a ham & swiss scramble.) We walk up a big hill (imagine that) to the Upper Haight. There I am, at the famous corner of Haight and Ashbury. Groovy. Sean points to where the Grateful Dead used to live, and I marvel at the fact that they lived in houses. I never thought about that before. There are all sorts of funky clothes shops and head shops. I turn up my nose at one or two "vintage" stores until I see a place that really catches my eye: Held Over. This store is huge, and everything is categorized and organized by color and not expensive! The variety and quality is impressive. New York doesn't have anything like this. I vow to bring a clothing allowance on my next trip.

On our way to Amoeba Records, we're accosted by an overly aggressive homeless man who has a strong sense of entitlement. Get a job, hippie!

Amoeba is a record store the size of a warehouse, selling used and new CDs as well as LPs. They also categorize Prince under R&B, but I forgive them. I pick up (used) Graffiti Bridge (my third copy), Come, Controversy, an out of print maxi-single of "Gett Off" (all second copies for me), and At Worst The Best of Boy George and Culture Club, another CD I lost in the Great Apartment Robbery of 1997. Sean is more highbrow than me, and he picks up a CD by Kyuss, the band that would become Queens of the Stone Age. We get all 6 CDs for $41! Wow!

Our pleasure with our purchases is quickly dampened by the, well, dampening power of rain. It's coming down in a very annoying manner. We have umbrellas, but they can only do so much. The grumpiness descends, and soon, I hate everyone. We walk back down to the Lower Haight to dry off and determine what we can do without getting wet. We consider the SF Modern Art Museum, but I don't have the energy to look at art. Seriously. It's been a long trip. We throw in the vacationing towel and get tickets to see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind at the Metreon, a ginormous entertainment complex downtown. The movie is great, and when we emerge from the theater, it's stopped raining. Hallelujah!

The Metreon also features something called HyperBowl, a virtual DVD store, an various other scary things. I beam a program into my Palm Pilot that tells you what's the haps down at the Metreon each day. The whole experience is surreal.

Next stop? Club Waziema (pronounced "why-Zima", which is a good question) for Ethiopian food. I enjoy Ethiopian food, but it's very expensive in New York. this doesn't make sense, since it's mostly lentils and chick peas, but San Francisco gets it right. $6 for all you can eat. Oh baby. We stuff ourselves on veggie platters with injera, an Ethiopian bread you tear and scoop up the food with. I'm sure I could phrase that better, but you get my general drift. Sean catches up with an old college buddy and has a few beers. (Update: Club Waziema does not have toilet seat covers! WTF?) We then hit Chances one more time, but I'm not feeling it. Eventually, we head back, because we still have stuff to do tomorrow!

I Left My Flaming Guitar In Monterey

Day Four

We've decided to see the highly recommended Monterey Aquarium this morning, so we fill up on the packaged danishes that pass for a continental breakfast and strawberries I picked up yesterday at a roadside stand and head out. On the way to the aquarium, we pass by Cannery Row, and the many tributes to John Steinbeck. I've gotta read some more Steinbeck, obviously. I had no idea he loved sardines so much.

The aquarium itself is amazing. First, we head to the Outer Bay wing, where we are greeted by the creatures that live right outside in the bay, which is really a 2 mile deep underwater canyon, bigger than the Grand Canyon. Jellyfish are really cool. And we get to see them up close, because the glass is magnifying. Then we come to a two story glass tank holding 300 pound tunas, hammerhead sharks, sea turtles, barracudas, and a lone dolphinfish (mahi mahi). Shortly after we arrive, they dump two hundred pounds of squid and fish in the tank to feed the fast swimmers. It's an amazing scene. We clap when a sea turtle finally moves his slow butt over and grabs a bit of squid. In about 3 minutes, the 200 pounds of food is gone.

We see otters, mollusks, a kelp forest, the octopus and the nautilus, a cuttlefish, eels, flat fish, starfish, sharks, anenomes, sea cucumbers, barnacles, crabs, and I get to pet a manta ray. They feel slimy, but they're not. They're like satin leather. Most of the little kids get shafted because their puny arms can't reach the ray. Ha ha ha! Puny children.

Finally, we realize we've been there for three hours and we're hungry! We hit the touristy Fisherman's Wharf again and settle on the Fish Hopper because they offer us a free sample of chowder. We are easy like that. I have the sesame seed encrusted mahi mahi (sorry dolphinfish!) with mango salsa. Sean has an artichoke stuffed with shrimp. We overpay, but the view is gorgeous. We see otters swimming by. The bathroom has toilet seat covers.

By the way, today I am wearing a brown python print, stretchy, collared V-neck, a khaki cargo skirt (cooler than it sounds), and my Prairie Farm Boots. These details help you envision the story.

We leave Monterey, and try to find the location of the Winchester Mystery House. Sean wants to see this thing, and he thinks it's near Santa Cruz. Turns out, it's near San Jose, and we won't be able to get there before the last tour ends. I promise that the next trip we take to California will be all about touring mansions. Secretly, I am frightened of this house, as it reminds me of Stephen King's (albeit terribly written) scary Rose Red. We then decide to jet up to Santa Cruz for the amusement park, until I read in Frommer's that it isn't open yet. Ooops! Undeterred, we make a plan to find an inexpensive motel in Napa Valley and drive straight there. We mostly look at the pretty scenery, which is much like that at Big Sur, until we see a lighthouse in the distance. We stop to get a picture. Turns out it is historic, is closed to the public, is a prime spot for whale watching, and is also a hostel! We see a whale in the distance. Well, I mostly see a blur of mist, but Sean promises me it is a whale. I wish the lighthouse were cleaner, but Sean likes the rust running down the sides. Whatever.

We arrive on the south side of San Francisco and zip through (yeah, I mean, crawl through) to the Golden Gate Bridge. I get a great view of the city in the dusk, and am promised a better view of the bridge the next day. Finally, we leave Highway 1 to travel inland to Napa. I've secured a room at the Chablis Inn for $65. Oh yeah. It's terribly easy to find, even though I am momentarily doubted by the driver, who shall remain nameless. We are two tired puppies. We decide to get pizza at Round Table and watch the finale of America's Next Top Model (my idea, of course). I have mixed feelings about Yoanna winning. I don't think Mercedes was really better overall, but none of them had the whole package. Oh well. Sean falls asleep at 11.

Day Five

The bed is very hard. I wake up with a sore back. But who cares? We're getting wine! I try to straddle the fence between California and classy and wind up in a pale pink sleeveless cowl-neck sweater, my black cargos, purple sneakers and my hoodie. The front desk woman (who, according to Sean, has an unfortunate mustache) recommends a restaurant next door for breakfast. She is a good woman. The restaurant has a breakfast menu that sets me to drooling. It's almost unsightly. I order the breakfast named --- wait for it -- Larry's Breakfast. Shout out to my friend Larry. Sean wonders if he should call Larry but stops short as his jaw drops at the order. Three eggs scrambled, hash browns (!!!), four sausage links, and biscuits and gravy. He's so silly. It's not so much. It's not like I ordered it with the hamburger patty or the chicken fried steak.

The first winery we go to is Sterling. I leave my camera in the car, like a dumbass, because this winery is located on the side of a hill, and you have to ride a suspended tram to get up there. It's a beautiful day, and the ride is breathtaking. The winery is all white, with bell carillons. Sean has been here before, and I leave myself in his hands. We take the self-guided tour and see the big casks of wine. They use plastic corks! We have the complimentary (with ticket price) tasting of four varietals, which is very nice. The staff is incredibly personable and pleasant, so we go to the reserve room to taste the special 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon, the wine that put this vineyard on the map, according to Jacquie. It's decanted and everything. It's also very, very yummy. It's also on sale for $35 (from $125), so Sean buys it! I feel very classy.

I stop at the restroom, and while musing about the appearance of yet more toilet seat covers, I almost leave the 22 year old wine in the stall. Ooops!

Next we drive down to Beringer Vineyards. The main tasting room and shop is in a very pretty house with pristine gardens that smell nice. Look, I ain't no Keats, okay? They smell nice. The girl at the tasting bar is younger than I am, so I don't really take her very seriously, although she seems to know what she's talking about. For some reason, I don't buy it. That must be very sad for her. Anyway, I think Sean is getting drunk. Or maybe it's me. I have all Cabernets and they're very strong. Sean has a white I actually like, and he buys a bottle. It's his favorite white wine, and it was the last wine he drank in San Francisco or something. It's named after Ed Sbragia, the head vintor. I am starting to realize that Sean is a closet wine snob.

After leaving Beringer with a handy box for our breakable alcohol stuff, we stop at Taylor's Refresher, a roadside stand in St. Helena, the cute little town in the middle of all the vineyards. They have a $9 Ahi Burger. Sheesh. I get an $8 steak sandwich, and we split a soda. It's a cute place, though, and we sit outside in the sun. The food is good, but I can't help but think that New York is not nearly as expensive as California.

After sobering up a little (Disclaimer: Sean is not driving drunk. I exaggerate for effect.), we drive down to Domain Chandon. That's right, it's time to drink champagne. This place is beautiful. We park next to a pond full of lilies and lily pads, surrounded by sculpture. The arbor at the entrance is covered with dripping wisteria that look like bunches of grapes. The restaurant/tasting bar offers a view that would be hard to have at your back all day. Let's put it this way: I want to jump the bar and run out onto the grass, singing, "The hills are alive..." Modern sculpture dots the landscape. It's cool. We drink three champagnes, and I start to get a little tipsy. We get to keep our flutes. Our server tells us he's never been to San Francisco, which is about 50 miles away.

It's time to go to San Francisco. My back is sore and I lose my buzz and start to get crabby, as Sean gets crabby about driving in SF. The bridge is really cool. Half of it is completely obscured by fog. After a debate with the rental car company, we come out the winners and take a cab to Sean's friend's house in the Lower Haight, where we will stay the next three nights.

But it's not over, folks! I am required to go out. Andy and Jordan (the owners of our new couch-bed) come home from work and we take off for Chances, a nice little dive a few blocks away. Good music, all of Sean's friends from the neighborhood show, and my back finally loosens up (thank you, Tanqueray!). I endear myself to the crowd by headbanging to Metallica. There's a heated political argument, harsh words are spoken, then it's time to go home. I am so tired.

Holy crap. I'll recap San Franciso tomorrow.

You Go, Rude Boy!

The opening night of Prince's Musicology tour was broadcast live on movie screens across the country, and I was at one of them last night. The concert was at LA's Staples Center (one place I didn't see in CA), so it started at 11 pm EST. It was very late. But it was awesome. I wish the people in the movie theatre had gotten up to dance, but I will get a chance to see the live concert at Madison Square Garden on July 14. The first (and last) Prince concert I saw was in July of 1997, soon after I moved to New York. I can't believe it's been 7 years since I saw him in person. It doesn't seem that long!

He played a lot of hits, some shortened, some with long instrumental jams, much like in 1997. He opened with "Musicology", which is a cute song. He played it on Leno a couple of weeks ago. Some unexpected surprises included "Shh" from Gold, "Insatiable" from Diamonds and Pearls, a cleaned up version of "DMSR" from 1999, and instrumental of "God" (B-side), and "Let's Work" from Controversy. I can't wait to see it again, where I can shake my booty down to the ground. He even did an acoustic encore. The man is incredible in concert.

But what did you think I'd say?

I Went To California and Didn't Die

Truly, it surprised me.

Day One

I wear my Teen Girl Squad tank top, black stretchy pants, purple sneakers and hoodie. Take a car to JFK to fly Jet Blue. I hate going out to JFK. La Guardia is 10 minutes from my house. However, the Jet Blue terminal is nice and efficient, and we're munching on sandwiches in no time. The flight crew is strangely chipper. Direct TV is addictive, and I find myself flipping between cartoons and game shows and neglecting my crosswords and my cassettes. That's right, I fly with cassettes. You got a problem with that?

We arrive in Long Beach, which has a quaint little airport. Baggage claim is outdoors. Already I can sense that California is... different. Sean's friend picks us up in his Mercedes and makes a joke about earthquakes. Ha ha. That evening, we hit Baja Cantina in Marina Del Ray for Mexican food (I have a pork taco and a cheese enchilada). Please keep the salt off my margaritas, fellas! The more intrepid of our little group head to a club called James Beach. They have valet parking. I learn that everything in the LA area has valet parking. That just seems wrong for a bar, you know. Are the valets liable if they hand keys back to a drunk person? Anyway, the bar is also outside. But they have heat lamps, because it's March and for some reason, Southern California is not as warm as I was led to believe.

Day Two

Morning comes and I find that not everywhere in LA is as sunny as I was told, either. The coast is covered in fog. I attempt to dress appropriately in Buffy t-shirt, black cargos, hoodie and purple sneakers. We have brunch at The Rose Cafe in Venice (I have the crabcakes), then set off to drive inland for the sun. We drive very quickly by: Santa Monica, the Hollywood sign, Graumann's Chinese Theatre (with the handprints and the Walk of Fame), The Beverly Hills Hotel, Rodeo Drive (Hermes!), Mullholland Drive (scary! windy! cliffy!), the San Fernando Valley, West Hollywood (The Viper Room, Whisky A-Go-Go), and some other stuff I can't remember. There is sun. We drive with the sunroof open. Then it's back to the Marina, where sun has come, as well, and a stop at Rubio's for fish tacos. I don't eat fish tacos, but Sean does. He loves them. Me, I'm 12 and I think it sounds gross. Hit the grocery store for ground beef and Bloody Mary mix and proceed to grill out, get drunk, and watch "Pimp My Ride" while listening to Miles Davis. I swear I am not making this up.

Day Three

It's time to do... more driving! Thankfully, I gave up driving, so I get to ride and navigate. I love navigating. With a road Atlas in one hand and Frommer's in the other, we start up the coast on California Highway 1, also known as the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH). It's cloudy, so I am slightly bummed, but I'll live. Breakfast is half a leftover cheeseburger, but it's enough. First stop is Santa Barbara. It looks expensive. We get out to stretch our legs. The main drag is not very busy, but we watch some guys skateboard in the oceanside skatepark, then get a smoothie for Sean. I have water. I am not very impressed with California yet, as it is quite cloudy and chilly. We move on.

As we drive north, the sun comes out. We pull over at a rest stop so Sean can call his parents (his Mom had just had open-heart surgery; she's doing very well), and I change into a miniskirt that totally doesn't match my outfit (purple palette striped t-shirt, white socks and purple sneakers) because it's warm and I am happy. My first stop in a public facility in California, and I notice something. Flushable toilet seat covers, aka, ass gaskets. I figure that's normal for a rest stop and put it out of my head. Next stop, Pismo Beach!

We stop at Pismo Beach because Bugs Bunny once mentioned it in a cartoon. Don't ask. After taking Sean's picture by the giant clam statue (the Pismo clam is a nearly extinct mollusk), I discover that the port-a-johns do not have ass gaskets available. Oh well. We stand on the boardwalk and look at the pretty ocean and canoodle for a bit, then it is off to San Luis Obispo. Bye, Pismo clam! We will meet again some day!

San Luis Obispo is kind of an affluent college town. Copeland Sports is everywhere. We decide to eat at Moe's Barbecue, as recommended by Frommer's. It's very good, and there are pictures of other barbecue joints from the southeast on the walls, including Corky's, my fave rib place in Tennessee. Update: There are also toilet seat covers in the bathroom. I start to sense a trend. A quick call to San Simeon informs us that we have just missed the last tour, so we won't be visiting the Hearst Castle. C'est la vie! We decide to just keep driving up the coast to Morro Bay, where they have a big rock. The rock is cool.

From there we head north to Big Sur. This is just wild. We're driving along very high cliffs next to the ocean, but also in the woods. The mountains are to the right of us, and the horizon is the ocean at eye level on the right. I make Sean watch the road because it's very twisty. We catch sunset an must drive through in the dark, because hotels in Big Sur are far too expensive. We pass through Carmel and stop in Monterey.

After laughing at the Hilton's $179 room rate, we find a cute little motel across the street, The Stagecoach Inn. Exhausted and a little cranky, we still take the time to do what most people do in motel rooms, then scoot off to the overpriced and touristy Fisherman's Wharf for a very late dinner at Sapporo. I have steak teryaki and a piece of Sean's unagi (eel) roll. Finally, the long day is over.

More to come.

Finally, Something Worth Watching

Take two minutes out ouf your busy day and watch this. You'll be glad you did. Unless you don't like your thoughts provoked. Which, considering what you're looking at right now, is possible.

How Riveting... Oh, Wait, I Mean, Not Riveting

Big surprise, Sean Penn and Charlize Theron and Peter Jackson won. I'm just glued to the set, that is, when I can take a break from reading a recap of last week's America's Next Top Model, which I actually saw. What? Oh, the Oscars. Spielberg is about to announce the Best Picture Oscar. I'll save you the trouble of looking it up. It involves hobbits.

<...>

Yeah, I was right. Not like you had to be a genius to see this coming. Tied Titanic and Ben Hur for most wins. I have to say, I really liked the movie, the whole series, and hoped it would win this Oscar, but this is just overkill. Why anyone has to say anything after the 10+ other speeches is unfathomable. Shut up! I now have angry feelings toward the whole LOR franchise and it's all the fault of the Oscars. Damn you Billy Crystal! Damn you!