Now, I’ve been into extended ed for a while because I really want to get into a nearby school’s lauded writing program, but I have to work for a living. However, this extended ed from my community college had two cool things going for it. One, it had fun classes like Photoshop, Flash and Illustrator, which I’ve wanted to learn for a while. Two, those classes are free. FREE! Hmm, did I say FREE? Yes, Free.

So, I signed up. Then I got a job and now I’m back to that crazy thing I did in my 20’s called night school. In your twenties, night school is easy because your brain wants to stay up all night anyway. In my 40’s, night school is exhausting. I’m half awake for the first three hours at work and it’s like being in permanent hangover for weeks on end.

Here I am bee-yatching and complaining in week 8 or 9 and the coolest thing happened. My Photoshop and Illustrator classes just merged in my brain and I created something. My first artistic endeavor. Something nifty. When I got a particularly difficult part of it right (I’m sure a piece of cake for Illustrator regulars), I sat up in my chair, raised my arms in a Rocky moment of celebration and screamed as hushed as I could “I’m Batman!” No, not really about the Batman part, but the Rocky arm raising did happen.

I was like a kid with her first puppy. So proud. I twittered the image to a pal that runs a fan support site benefiting a local dog rescue charity and she loved it. Wanted it for her T-shirts, etc. and there, real, in that moment, again I was dancing to “gonna fly now” music in my head. Of course, this is a time most kids have in their childhood, but I was born 40 so I guess it didn’t happen for me then. And I did become a numbers geek, so art was totally on the wrong side of the brain. No I’m ambi-brain-dextrous. I can create art. It’s my first snowball, ma!

Some discoveries may not make the evening news, but sometimes they get a person over a difficult hump in life. And for me this is one. I have to say on this score, I wanna go to Philadelphia and buy a set of gray sweats and dance on the steps just like Rocky.

Or maybe I’ll just go to class next week.

But, back from the tangent, the guy is giving out passes for an animated movie. I love animated movies. Hey Toy Story is in my all-time top 20. Come on! Woody banging on Buzz’s buttons as it says “Buzz, Buzz, Buzz Lightyear to the rescue” we all laughed…I know you did. So I notice the flyer says 3D. 3D?! What? Why? Life is 3D buddy and in case you didn’t notice, we don’t seem to want to watch real life in the theater. We (I mean THEY here) want blue people for crying out loud!

And I’ve been seeing the tech posts recently begin hyping the 3D TV. I absolutely refuse to wear dorky glasses in my own living room to watch a film. If I wanted 3D, I’d watch a play! I know… not the same, but you get the idea. Look, I admit it. Avatar’s 3D was at least not incredibly intrusive most of the time, but it only made three, maybe five shots better or more impactful. So why all the fuss? I’m not sure Rosebud would have been all that much of shock in 3D. Jabba the Hut maybe. And, well the guys would have loved to see that bikini on Princess Leah in 3D, but I don’t want blood flying at me in 3D…even if Jackie Earle Haley is slinging it.

For the future….I’ll take better actors over 3D in a heartbeat. And you know what, I’ll cave for the free movie this time, but after that…well I’ll cave for the next free movie, but I’m not getting on the 3D boat. Not that Titanic…until it’s free Oakleys for everyone!

Now it’s the holiday season and the six-pack (our boss’s name for us) has fancied up our little cube aisle with fun and religiously indifferent decorations. We’ve refrained from reciting the nativity story and turned up a holiday carol only if Kermit the Frog was singing it. We’re all just happy to have jobs because all six of us had been laid off in our other jobs/lives last year or this year.  This means we’re happy, but the holidays are tinged with a whole lot of POOR going on.

Today; however, was a different animal. Today, Christmas Eve, one of our six, I’ll call her Sophie told us a story that actually brought a tear to my eye. I haven’t felt the heartwarming holiday season yet and thought it was a done deal with the big day, the 25th just around the corner, but no, here I was sniffing at the first telling…and again later when I heard it told to another. I’ll relate Sophie’s story of The Virtual Christmas.

Sophie, an older woman with an off/on working husband at retirement age (as if anybody could retire right now) is pretty much the bread winner in her house. Her house expanded by leaps and bounds this year. She took in a blind boarder, her son and his family (wife and three boys) moved in because of illness and her other son came home to roost on the only available spot, the couch, because the building market dried up in the Rockies (or somewhere east of here). Needless to say, Sophie’s supply of severance pay dried up quickly. Actually it dried up literally the day she started working at the big dog corporate office we’re in now. Christmas wasn’t going to be lean for Sophie, it was going to be a wisp of air.

Now Sophie, a grand woman of faith, prayed that she as the matriarch of the family would be able to find a way to spin the regularly scheduled speech to the grandkids of “you know Christmas is going to be lean this year” because it wasn’t going to be “lean” but just a feel of dental floss. Just then a grand idea popped into Sophie’s head. She thought and thought and prayed and decided it was just the thing to do.

Sophie gathered her family together and explained how Christmas would go this year. “I want you all to know that our holiday season, despite the cramped quarters, or maybe because of it, has been the most joyous to us so far.” The grandkids geared up for one of Grandma’s crazy plans. “If money were no object, I know I would have the most amazing gifts for all of you.” Little Jimmy rolled his eyes and thought to himself, sure I’d get that iTouch I wanted. “So that’s what our gift exchange is going to be this year. We’re having a Virtual Christmas.”

Daniel, father to Little Jimmy and the boys looked his mother in the eye. “Mom? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” said Sophie. “People always say it’s the thought that counts when giving a gift, so that’s what we’re going to do. Everyone is going to think about what they would like to give to each other if money were no object.” Sophie pulled a set of hand-made velvet bags in green, gold, red and silver. She handed them out to everyone. “Our neighbor had some fabric leftover from the school play, so I made some gift bags. Your job is to decide on a gift for each member of the family. You have to draw, cut-out, print or represent that ‘virtual’ gift in some form and put it in a bag. Before the house breaks apart for the grandkids visit to Alma’s folks, we’re going to exchange our virtual gifts, just like we would with real gifts. Sure we’re a day early…the eve of Christmas Eve, but we’ll put on the fire, sip some cocoa and unwrap each one.”

Daniel’s boys sighed in unison “aww Grandma, ” and Daniel squinted his disapproval. The others were silent, but Sophie’s husband slowly stood and wrapped an arm around his wife. “I for one am going to think long and hard about what you naysayers deserve for our virtual Christmas.” And with that, the family meeting ended.

Sophie worried for a week about how her experiment would go. Would they just scribble something on a piece of paper? Would they cut out a comic from the funny paper? One thing Sophie knew for sure, her own gifts were treasures to her children and grandchildren so she decorated her slips of paper with glitter and love.

The day arrived for Virtual Christmas. A pile of velvet bags lay at the feet of the plastic tree that had seen five too many holidays and Sophie wrapped herself in a toasty robe and handed out mugs of cocoa to all and a bowl of popcorn to the boys who sat at their parents’ feet. Sophie’s grandson, little Jimmy stood up. “I’d like to give my gifts first.” He picked up a set of bags and handed each one delicately to its recipient. “Open yours, Dad.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows and pulled the bag open slowly. He reached inside and brought out a triangle of folded paper. “This is what I used to flick across the school room to Mrs. Lindley’s desk in the sixth grade.” Everyone chuckled as Daniel unfolded the paper. It was a printout of an internet photo. The photo was of a set of New England Patriots season tickets. Jimmy leaned into his father’s leg “If money were no object, I’d send you to see all the games, Dad.” Daniel’s face warmed and he mussed the young boy’s hair. “Thank you, son.” Sophie’s husband coughed “I’m not gonna wait around for you slowpokes,” as he opened his bag. Inside was a magazine cut out of a super sleek jet airplane. “Well now, I think I know where I’ll be flying this every weekend…to those Patriot games!”

Within minutes everyone was laughing and excited to see what Virtual gifts they had been given. Nothing was rushed, everyone talked about their gifts and some even made great impressions. Sophie’s husband gave Daniel a real estate printout of a small inn up in the mountains. “Dad, you know that’s my dream job.” “Well son, I think those small business loans are opening up. Maybe now’s the time to really look into it.” Daniel gave his boys a virtual tent and promised to take them camping in the spring, no matter what the job outlook was like.

Sophie sat back and prayed again. Thanking God for her gift…along with the five houses and two laptops she received virtually. Sophie thanked God for the time with her family and a way to truly enjoy Christmas.

“Mom, you’re the last giver” Daniel helped his mother out of her chair. Sophie gathered her bags from the tree and handed out each one, placing the bag delicately into big and tiny palms. “Daniel, I give you the gift of wealth. I know you can make your dreams come true with His help.” Daniel hugged his mother tightly. “Boys, you each get the gift of wisdom. It often comes too late in life and you’ll benefit from getting it early.” Jimmy scratched his head. “I thought money was no object.” Sophie looked into her grandsons eyes. “It wasn’t. You can get an education with money, but you can’t buy wisdom. It’s a special and rare gift.” “To my young son, for whom I know the couch is a lonely place, I give the gift of love. It will come to you in many forms.” “I’ve had it all night, Mom.” Sophie turned to her daughter-in-law “and to my only daughter, I give the precious gift of health.” She saw all eyes begin to tear up. She quickly handed her next bag to her husband. “Dear, you didn’t have to get me anything.” “I know, that’s why I’m re-gifting to you.” “Re-gifting?” Sophie kissed her husband on the cheek. “You get my heart. Again.” The family clapped and celebrated. Daniel spoke up “Mom, when we do this again next year… let’s use these bags again.” Sophie’s joy swelled. Next year! It really was the best Christmas yet.

When I heard the story today, I knew I had to put virtual pen to paper. That’s the Christmas I want. In fact, I think I want all my Christmases like that.

OH, and to the blind boarder,  Sophie gave the gift of family. Hers.

I didn’t set out to love or hate Orange County. I didn’t think it was in my DNA. My dad went off to greener girlfriends when I was a kid and he lived in L.A. so I spent many an alternate weekend on the highways and byways (read 5 freeway) into the not so great, greater parts of Los Angeles.

I’ve seen the west side of this and the south side of that. My uncle had a factory in the garment district when I was a kid, so I spent a few Friday mornings wandering among the Mexican (now known as Latina) women sewing their little hearts out, smiling at the 7 year-old (with a Hispanic last name, so don’t berate me) abandoned in the warehouse and feeding me crackers from their opened plastic sleeve.

I remember the Covinas and the Hollywoods and a whole lot of 7-11s and Denny’s restaurants (what’s a single dad supposed to do, I guess), but it didn’t seem all that different from the Gemco or JC Penney at home. Fast forward lots of years and I still drive to L.A. for a movie at The Grove, lunch in the Farmers Market or a show at the Pantages. I thought of myself as a Southern Californian. To me that meant Los Angeles and Orange County, as if we were suburbia south because L.A. had too much business in its own county to actually house people.

Of course my skewed vision of So Cal was actually some kind of ghostly vision — a shimmering figment of my childhood imagination. I realized that in black bold print on yellow plastic today… with a directional arrow. I went to find myself a location shoot. Today’s possibilities were for Criminal Minds, Heroes and Lie to Me. I found lots of placards and eventually saw a bit of a scene from Heroes, but what I found far more easily was my own squinting eye at the downtown neighborhood I was in. L.A. is a pit. That’s it.

Look, I know how it sounds. Uptight snob visits the city and is shocked when icky stuff appears because people live in the city. It’s not that…exactly. I know L.A. has it’s nicer neighborhoods and that ones that some tend to avoid, but I like visiting cities. New York, Hong Kong, Chicago, and Rome — all of these are a kick to visit. Seattle and Vancouver, I could even see myself living there, so what happened in L.A.? I think South County Stepford has rotted my brain.

My expectations have gotten out of whack with the reality that is…and let’s be real, probably always has been Los Angeles. Parking. Today’s foray just sent me into a mind mush on the idea of paying for parking. I found what I was looking for, a location shoot (that’s were the yellow plastic signs come in) and then proceeded to hunt for parking. Now, downtown L.A. has tons of parking from what I saw, just not tons of parking for me. Slimy guys in tiny lots with huge prices and why can’t I just park over there in that nice large lot, oh no you can’t because only the regulars get to park there and now I’m fifteen blocks from where I want to be, and yes over here the street is only one-way and no you can just make right turns to end up at square one because there’s a hill and a freeway and streets that run into buildings and tunnels and WTF?

I recently went to a movie theater that is pretty new in North County (what I refer to as the sane non-Stepford part of the county where I live) and they have card machines to pay for parking. This concept is so foreign to those of us behind the Orange curtain that I find myself explaining the concept of “pre-pay” before you go to your car at every single foray to the theater. I don’t mind. It makes me feel like I’m a cultured city girl among the simpletons. Today I realized that I am a simpleton. I am a Stepford gal in Orange County. And no, you can’t tell by my shoes, still from JC Penney thank you very much, but by my squint. I didn’t bother to get out of the car in L.A. I drove slowly past the location shoot four, maybe five times (that was easy, they were a crowd at a hotel entrance with signs like they were protesters) and thought, eeww, why would I want to get out of my car here where the air is just a visible representation of air and the bums spend more time with their pets than the rich wives of Newport Beach (and those gems take the yips everywhere).

So off I went to my next location and got bored driving past cheesy stores hawking wedding bands and shoes (two for $20) and determined I was not going to stay. I hit the freeway and jaunted another ten miles to the land of Rose Parades and the last location I had note of. The parking was reserved, no trucks yet. By then it was mid-afternoon (I got a late start – unemployment will do that to you) and I found this was my third trek to Pasadena in four weeks. And I liked it. The streets are clean. There are lots of interesting shops, there’s parking (pay and free) and I drove both directions down a street when I turned around to park near a burger joint for my late lunch.

So why did I like Pasadena and not L.A.? Because, Pasadena is suburbia. My kind of suburbia. Close enough to the crazy busy city for the good stuff and far away enough to avoid fire engines every 10 minutes and the smell of stale cigar smoke and poverty in the air. Ahhh, well there’s the nail and didn’t I just miss it all day long.

My love for Los Angeles waned because I am now identifying with a much less cash-equipped group of residents…nay, inhabitants than I did before. Now that I can’t afford a trip to The Grove for a movie and some lunch at the Farmers Market, I don’t want to see them-the pretty people with average money. Nor do I want to see who I could afford to have lunch with. I shocked myself. I am a snob because of fear. And my fear (unending unemployment) makes me want to hold on to that Stepford suburban life I swore I hated not twelve months ago. I am an “Orange Countyian” darn it! So please God, let me find a job and stay that way…so I can love L.A. again.

There’s an experiment going on now through tomorrow, October 17, 2009 to blog and twitter the hash tag #beatcancer that will do a bunch of stuff that I’m sure entails advertising, but the better part of it is that some great companies are gearing up to donate $$ for every blog and tweet with the tag.

Check it out and tweet away!  http://beatcancereverywhere.com/about.html

1. Neil Patrick Harris rocked! (thank our heavenly father somebody had the smarts to make him a producer.)

2. 70% of what I saw was worth watching. I hate awards shows. I watch the intro then come back for the last 5 minutes. Really done this for years. Somebody says “did you watch the <insert Oscars, Emmys, Tonys, etc.> last night?” and I say “Yeah” because I saw a total of 7 minutes. I watched *nearly* all of this show. And I didn’t die. I did flip channels to …something I don’t even remember… to skip over the Reality crap (sorry, that and moving Leno to 10pm are the two worst things to happen to television..ever….well that whole Kanye thing was irritating… and having to watch TV newsmen write on a whiteboard with 95″ digital screens accessible 2 feet away during presidential voting day…that sucked too). Thank you Neil, Emmy production or whomever that categorized the Emmys, I just wish I had the sense to watch something else during the mini-series/movie segment.

3.The movie/mini-series segment was awful. Not awful because of who won or was nominated, but awful because 95% of America had not seen any (get that, ANY) of the movie/mini-series up for awards. We had no investment in any of it. Why? Because THE BIG THREE don’t make mini-series or movies for television anymore and I’m sorry, it’s a crap economy, I’m unemployed (oddly, like LOTS of folks) and I can’t afford the fat cat pay channels (this means you Showtime & HBO). It would have been nice if just one of the categories had something that a normal person watched.

4. Dr. Horrible (LOVE and HEARTS all around) was worth waiting for.

5. Neil should NOT do this again next year. Remember the theater! Always leave ‘em wanting more. A+ for you Neil. Been there, done that, got the bow-tie. Ricky Gervais would be a nice follow-up. With Entertainment Weekly’s Michael Ausiello as a color commentator.

1) You become really good at avoiding….everything.

that’s it.

Really

Now that I’m no longer young (my loss of who the “IT” bands/singers are and my comment that whoever has the #1 single is usually dog feces -a.k.a. crap), I’ve found that I’ve starting rating everything.

Getting a haircut is more important than renewing my car registration (because hiding gray hair is included in the cut and I’m vain). Twittering about the mediocre Avatar free screening is more important that watching where I’m walking in the parking lot (sorry about running into your hubcap with my flip-flop dude). Eating a mini Ben & Jerry’s ice cream from the grocery is more important than listening to my aging mother rant about “that crazy liberal CNN” (are they? really?). Listening to my own iPod playlist is WAAAAY more important than watching the news.. CNN or other.

Recently, I’ve put something above most everything else… laying in bed. Sure sleeping was a high priority. And I’m a really good slacker, so Saturday’s sleeping in event was legendary, but, now it’s an actual priority to avoid everything else. I MUST lay around for an extra two, maybe three hours, no matter what time I wake up. If I wake up at 4:00 a.m. then I don’t get out of bed until 7:00. If I wake up at 7:00 a.m. then I’m in the sheets until 10:00.

It’s a pretty simple math. I’m procrastinating. Yes, I’ve always been good at this. Yes, stuff is piling up on my desk. Yes, I’m leaving the country at the end of the week and haven’t though about where my passport is. But I like it. In fact, I like not doing anything at all. My friends say it’s because I got laid off… I’m UNEMPLOYED. Sure, that’s the sensible response, but I say it’s because I’ve  become a profressional aging person.

When you realize that you’re aging, normal stuff seems silly. Why should I clean the windows? They’ll only get dirty again. And do I really want all that sun coming in here and heating up the place so I have to pay a bigger electric bill because I now live in a land-locked city instead of a breezy beach town, like I did when I was young? And aren’t paper plates healthier for the environment (they break down don’t they and don’t have all the chemicals that dishwasher detergent has)? I can come up with tons of reasons why doing something is just a bad idea… for at least a couple of hours before I slap myself and get up. I didn’t do this when I was in my 20s.. or 30s.

Back then, I was looking forward. Up the ladder as they say. Now I’m not sure if I really care what’s up the ladder. I just want to write my stories (it might be nice if one or two of you read them), earn enough to pay the mortgage and the car payment and maybe make it back to Italy one day.

And that’s why I slap myself and get out of bed… Italy …. someday. Thank God!

Summer has its own social swirl that makes it unique. Sure people are excited about autumn leaves turning and flowers in spring, plus skiing in winter, but summer has that…<think in french here like je ne se qua, but I don’t know french so all you get is que bella in mangled italian>.

So now that we’re in the full swing of summer (it’s freakin’ 95 at my house and for a tech geek, 95 is Horror with a cap H), I thought about all the summers I had to go mining for good television. You know, when the BIG 3 went on hiatus and we had to watch some evil twin ruin the perfect life of Susan Lucci or some other daytime star. Kids today are so freakin’ lucky (yes I know I’m on a freakin’ tirade….again).

Today there is no hollow TV summer. No more do we have to angrily mine the lesser channels to fine something, anything to watch (come on I watched baseball on television for cryin’ out loud. I was desperate.) Now we have the blessed gift of cable TV. I want to say ooo-aaah-ooh like I’m  watching fireworks.

Cable has fundamentally changed summer for me and people I know. Sure we go out to the pool and ride our bikes, fly kites and curl our toes in the sand, but we’re not living outside the same as we used to. Great shows are on now: TNT’s Leverage & Saving Grace, USA’s Burn Notice and the fabulously seaside retreat of Royal Pains. Leverage and Royal Pains specifically are so good, I’m still pasty white and it’s July.

So this is my thought. Should cable channels like TNT and USA get kickbacks from tanning salons?

Christian’s kind of like a bride’s gift: something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. The old part is that I’ve heard some of his music before. I liked it then, but oddly, I didn’t have any on my iPod. I had a mad iPod purge at the end of 2008 (everything crazy relates to my layoff, I’m sure) and dropped from seven thousand plus songs to four thousand or so on the ‘ole music player. CK must have been dropped then. The refresh to my memory today just told me what I was missing. It felt all new.

The borrowed part is that Christian Kane’s music reads like life. Some songs are nice beat to bob your head to just like you did in your teens when you learned to appreciate classic rock and having a beer with your friends (wait, I was 21, really). Others make you feel like you should collect a few guys on the hood of your truck, blare the country rock loud and dance in a mini-skirt (was that my 20’s), shining in reflection from the headlights. And there’s a ballad with a beat and a bit of blues that can send you to a good cry (if you ‘ve just broken up with a boyfriend, 30’s can suck) or let you sit in the parking lot on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) and appreciate a great song with the waves as background.

Something blue is what I  am now that twitter pals tell me I missed his gig in Portland. Fine. I’m going back to myspace and beg and plead for the band to play here. Come on, it’s summertime. Don’t you wanna play the beach…open air…girls in bikinis (not me, hello WAAY past 21)…how can Christian Kane say no? If not in the OC, how about LA. I’d drive for that. Hell, I would have driven to Portland (hiya Uncle Sam in OR-E-GON). Just play again soon, K?

www.myspace.com/christiankane

Oh, and the old song I picked out of my iPod? Reverend Girl by The Verve Pipe. Maybe next time, some Kenny Wayne Shepherd?

I actually went to a news website the other day for the first time in two months. Really. It’s not that The Driver isn’t a news hound, but after getting notified that you’re going to to be another statistic in the layoff chain of crappy economic news, everybody else doesn’t matter. That’s right, for The Driver it is ALL ABOUT ME!

The website (no I can’t remember which one, left/right, blue/green, whatever) had a couple of news stories, but it also had a reference to an article about Twitter. Since I’m currently on the obsessed bandwagon there, I read it. Then I went to the TED site (see previous post about the wonders of TED) and watched a video about the fact that regular news distribution isn’t from a few sources on high down to the masses anymore. Current news items are being twittered (tweeted? darn where’s that Grammar Girl) faster among common groups (minion to minion, as it were). Centralized news groups that were oooh so happy to dump all over the newspaper business as being “outdated” may just be the dumpees soon enough.

I found myself in agreement with the idea of “minion speak”. I heard about Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett on Twitter about an hour before anybody in the office started talking about it (thoughts and prayers to their families and loved ones). The same goes for the Iran election events (more prayers). But another weird thing happened. I also disagree with idea at the same time. Why? Because I don’t twitter to the people I’m with. Locals. The neighborhood. I twitter to strangers and distant connections who have stuff in common with me (come on how many of you love the exact same TV shows as your brother and father?) And I’m too busy online when I get home to actually watch the news, so I’m missing a piece. What’s happening around town. In the OC. From the hills to the beach, from the LA County line to the South County Vapid Society (ha, ha my shout out to those fake “real housewives”). This is the part where my mother comes in.

Mom, good ole’ walk around the neighborhood three times a day mom, reads the paper and watches the news RELIGOUSLY. May God forgive me if I plan anything that messes up the routine. Mom knows what’s going on. She knows what the status is of the neighborhood gymnasium that is under construction (where the city website hasn’t been updated in nine months) and about the body that was found a block away. That’s right A BODY! Where was I? Twittering about how handsome some actor is and there’s a dead body just a thousand yards away! On our bi-weekly trip to Wally World (I can’t take it more than that) for toilet paper and laundry detergent, she just happens to mention that there was a dead guy nearby. “Mom, you have to tell me these things! You know I don’t watch the news”. Her reply? “Should I just circle the good parts in the paper for you each day?” Well Mom, yes, please…and thank you.

The fisherman’s body was found with his fishing gear just outside our gated neighborhood. Apparently he was fishing in a water recharge basin and died (prayers again to the family).  A young guy (early 40s) lost to us (read humanity) and I wouldn’t have known unless my mother happened to mention it. Happened to mention it doesn’t seem right to me at all. So what do I do? Do I watch the news (would a local item like that even show up?) Do I read the paper every day (90% is about economic problems, which I know about because I’m getting laid off) or do I just nag my aging parent to speak up about all the fishermen in the future? Your thoughts?