Shaunna's Soliloquies

Cougars, Tabloids and Adam... Oh, My!

I spent this afternoon with my mother. Yes, the one who's been driving me crazy because she refuses to accept the fact that she can't live alone any longer and she's a risk to herself. (But) I was going easy on her, because she turned 82 the other day and I didn't want to be too much of a c**t, er... bitch.

Anyhoo...the conversation drifted to pop culture. My mother (and if I'm honest mayhap it's a inherited trait... as per #7 on the Eight Random Things meme from a couple years ago) is a pop culture trivia expert. She was lamenting the fact that she missed all the performances of this good looking kid Adam who she caught on Regis and Kelly that could sing like nobody's business.

So I pressed play on the CD that was already loaded, and while she enjoyed most of the songs she absolutely flipped for Ring of Fire.

OMFG (yes, my mother does use that type of verbiage) that is the sexiest song that I've ever heard and promise to make a copy for me. Promise, And bring it over asap.

Now, as my mother is a pop culture wizard - and with Lambert's sudden celebrity and accompanying references in all manner of tabloids - she is aware that Adam's gay. And it's funny, as much as she's a product of her generation and its prejudices, she's also in agreement with Adam himself when he states that sexy's universal.  Of course, I don't know how much of this stems from her wild and woolly days and ways when she was a part of the Hollywood of more than fifty years ago.

What I do know is that as a very young child I was
taught not to pay any attention to the men who wore makeup at The El Coyote (which, ironically, drew protests recently at the height of the Prop 8 fight).

But I'm going off on a tangent (once again).

I was going to segue into the rather diverting phenom about the part of Lambert's fan base that's manifesting as the Cougar Brigade. Newsweek has an article discussing it,  although I found Huston's blog post much more amusing. Even if I don't relate in any way to the urge to throw my underwear onto any stage where Adam's performing.

I'm certainly old enough to be typecast into this category... however, the fact is, I don't lust after Adam. I stopped lusting after unattainable celebrities when I was in junior high.

But this marvelously talented and sexy young man has certainly awakened the joy and yes the sexiness within me which was communicated thru the conduit of his electrifying performances and the songs he sings. 

As much as I may have disdained Idol in the past I'm glad for what - and whom - happened this past season. And I can't wait for his original CD/album to be released. Who knows? Maybe I'll even invest in a turntable once again...

Searching for the dolphins in the sea...

That title, in case you're wondering, is metaphorical and not literal. (Although I do love to zen out at a couple of my favorite beach spots where the dolphins are usually reliably coasting parallel to shore and never fail to lift my spirits, regretfully I haven't had time lately for such indulgence.)

Nope, life's just a bit too frazzled upon the rodent wheel, and at this point I've mastered a clip where I'm afraid if I falter it'll take too long to establish the pace once again.

It was always my stance on this blog not to make it too personal. Huh? Oxymoron?  I mean it simply in the sense of not giving away too much of the lives of those who are closest to me. I have no problem espousing personal opinion on a wide variety of topics and issues.

My kids, (who are actually adults, yet will always be kids as far as I'm concerned), are mentioned casually from time to time while taking care to render them unrecognizable.  I haven't gone to the place where my daughter is once again living with me after finishing college and living on her own and it not working out due to the current economic maelstrom and not liking it one little bit that she's back here and working part-time retail. (I'm rather enjoying that masterful run-on sentence and yes it was on purpose.)

I also refrain from relishing the fact that her brother had the luck to be born more than a decade earlier and hence was enabled to make the most of his career climb since college and has carved out an admirable niche within The Industry (for a laugh-out-loud take from my sister's perspective of said nephew you really should read this).

Or my mother. Sigh. My mother.

Right now it's trying to cope with the fact that she recently suffered a fairly bad fall, yet didn't break anything and somehow escaped the requirement of hospitals or doctors to report such incidents when they happen to elderly people living alone.  She's stalling going into assisted living, and we can't make her do it, it's maddening. At this point I don't want to report her, it needs to be verified that she still has the private extended care policy she's always claimed. 

It is such déjà vu. It brings back all the memory of her suicide attempt when I was in high school, and how she escaped the therapy required after such an incident by charming her doctor. But that's one for the joint memoir.

Meanwhile, time for Timmy to put to song the searching for dolphins in the sea...

Of Life and Loss

I've been a bit bummed out the past couple days. My sister and her family lost their dog this weekend. He was old, he lived a good life, and I mourn him as a beloved family member.  (For an outstanding story regarding him, go here.)

I didn't get to see him that often (the problem with long-distance familia), but he remembered me whenever I was there. And in my mind he  will forever be running on those favorite beaches on the North Shore, before his arthritis got to be too painful for him to enjoy them any longer. Chasing the sand crabs, enjoying the sunshine and his people while running about with that doggie grin upon his face.

I'm sure it hit home even more since my own pet is just a couple years younger (particularly with the health scare we experienced this past year), but when all's said and done that's neither here nor there.

There's been a loss that I mourn, and right now my thoughts and love are with my sister's family.

Wish I Was There

(and not on the rodent wheel...)

Ring of Fire

My my my, here we go, déjà vu all over again. For the past few days I've tried to accomplish a brisk pace upon the rodent wheel while mesmerized by the ring of wildfire surrounding the community of Santa Barbara directly to the north.

As I've gone into before, it's a place that's always been very near and dear to me.  I live in Ventura (which even on its best days is poor man's Santa Barbara) so there's marathon local news coverage of  the disaster, as well as the ominous reminder by the smoke that hugs the horizon.

They're saying that over 30,000 people are evacuated, with another 28,000 on alert to skedaddle when notified. It's hard to wrap the mind around the magnitude. The possibility that a shift in the wind could bring the flames roaring down numerous canyons, and that the entire town may be in its way as it races on its natural path to the ocean is more than surreal.

While my sympathies are entirely with the homeowners snared by the capriciousness of the forces in nature, I also mourn for the other losses that occurred. The other nightmare night when the sundowners roared down Mission Canyon the Botanical Gardens were hit, and I heard the redwood grove is gone. It was more than kind of nice to be able to drive a half hour north and go for a stroll in a redwood grove when I was missing northern California. Gone baby gone. Toast.

So now the city is surrounded by a ring of fire, on the ridges, in the canyons. They say Montecito to the south is vulnerable, and the community of Goleta to the north. As well as the city proper in between.

The news this morning is also stating that the Painted Cave area is vulnerable.  As you can see from the picture to the right, the beauty of the area is more than impressive, and it's a sad fucking shame. (If you want a bit of history of Painted Cave, go here.)

Hopefully the unexpected  gloom this morning is providing a respite that will have a positive effect before it warms up later in the day and the predicted afternoon winds kick up again.

Meanwhile, let's give a listen to Adam's rendition of a song that just seems to fit:

Idle Chatter

The past couple weeks I've been trying to adjust to a major lifestyle change... jumping back on the rodent wheel of keeping a 8 to 5 schedule. It's been a while, and it's an adjustment. I try to keep a glass half full instead of half empty attitude,  but to tell you the truth the enormity of the change in routine as well as retaining all the new information has left little time for anything else.

It reminds me of when I was a kid and jumping into a pair of jump ropes that were going along at a fairly fast clip, and why I liken it to the rodent wheel. Once you make that seamless jump in, and keep the pace without faltering, it isn't quite so overwhelming. But until then...

Meanwhile, I'm now out and about amidst the populous just in time for the threat of a pandemic.  For reasons I don't feel like elaborating on I'm a complete germaphobe, and the local news does little to ease my paranoia. I'm not particularly scared of the flu per se, it doesn't seem at this point to be virulent, but the official reaction does little to soothe paranoia. The health department swoops in and closes any school (so far) that has even one case. Not soothing in the least, to put it mildly.

So I've turned to pop culture as a means to tune out and not partiularly think, and luckily for me at this particular juncture in time the current season of American Idol has me enthralled.

I know, I know. I've always distained reality TV - anathema to well written and well crafted shows - but this particular season of Idol sucked me in. Of course, this is no doubt due to the outstanding talent of Adam Lambert. I've found myself looking forward each week to his performance, and I'm in complete agreement with Ann Powers at the LA Times. He's an amazing talent (i.e., that Mad World rendition), as well as the variety of clips and demos to be found on YouTube.  And now the iconic rocker Slash joins in the chorus of Adam kudos. That boy has an amazing voice, but even more he can entertain.

I could wax plaintively on the state of society where an artist of this caliber needs to go on a televised talent contest to attain an audience... but I won't.

It's late, and I need to get a good night's sleep before hopping on that rodent wheel.

The Power of Dreaming

By now you've more than likely seen the amazing performance by the unassuming woman in Great Britain who walked onto the stage and kicked ass. I've watched it a few times, and it elicits the same emotional response each time.

While extremely satisfying to witness David slaying Goliath, and Ms. Boyle possesses an amazing voice, I'm come to the conclusion that the emotional impact of the performance had more than its share of assistance by the lyrics of the song.

There she was, an-almost-fifty-year-old woman who while reaching for her dream concludes, "Now life has killed the dream I dreamed..."

(If you want to watch it you'll have to go here, they've disabled all the embedded coding.) 

$10 Ticket for Time Travel

Pay ten bucks (five for parking, five to get inside) and you travel back in time.

So it goes when you step into the flea market that's held quarterly at the Ventura County Fairgrounds. 

Amidst acres of - let's face it - junk (and keeping in mind the fact that one person's junk is another's treasure) lurks a highly entertaining way to spend a few dollars. I prowl about toting my wheeled cart (on the lookout for books, and they can get heavy), digital camera in hand, browsing and perusing, waiting to see what appeals to me. I was instructed by my daughter that she's on the lookout for baked enamel jewelry, so I keep an eye out for that, too.

The thing is, you never know when the sight of some item will trigger a memory - much the same as hearing a certain song - and zap!  there you go... time travel.

I spotted the Prince Albert tobacco can almost immediately.

One of my mother's many (many, many, many) stories of when she was growing up was the one about "calling numbers." She'd get together with her friends and dial random telephone numbers (this was in the early '40s, mind you) and ask the hapless answerer on the other end of the line:

"Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"

When the reply was in the affirmative they'd respond, "Well, you better let him out!"

Oh, the fun prior to Caller ID. I'd never analyzed it before, but perhaps that was the inspiration my friends and I had for our own "calling numbers" sessions. We never used any lame Prince Albert routine, though. Truth to tell, I didn't get it... because I'd never seen a Prince Albert tobacco can.

As I made my way throughout the fairgrounds I rounded a corner and came face to face with direct memory, the metal picnic basket (a metal picnic basket!) that my family used my entire childhood whenever we spent a day at the beach.

Zap! There I was at Zuma.

For in the years before we escaped from LA to our vacation place at the beach in Ventura County (before we had a place at the beach, for that matter) we lived in the San Fernando Valley, and the only beach where we spent the day was Zuma.

I always argued against it, everyone I knew went somewhere closer, and my dad always vetoed.  Zuma wasn't crowded, and there were showers for rinsing off before driving home.

Oh, the anticipation in the morning while my mom loaded that picnic basket with goodies and throughout the long drive. My sisters and I would be slightly carsick from the winding canyon road and Mom's cigarette smoke by the time we finally spotted the ocean. But oh! the thrill of seeing those big block letters on the sign (ZUMA).

We'd stay for hours, riding the waves on our canvas rafts (blue on one side, red on the other with a large palm tree in the center), coming out of the water only for lunch. The iron rule was you had to wait an hour to go back in after eating ("you might get a cramp"), so we'd busy ourselves by digging up sand crabs and putting them on our mother's back as she lay peacefully in the sun. Her horrified reaction never wavered, and never failed to amuse us. 

Once we went back in the water Dad joined us. He disdained the rafts, as he preferred bodysurfing. Born and bred in SoCal he was as awesome as that Hawaiian home boy on the waves who now happens to be our president.

At the end of the long day we'd pack it in, shower off and doze on the long drive home.

Such a deal, entertainment and time travel for the price of a flea market ticket.

From the Balcony

I promise I'll write something soon. Promise.

Travel Envy

I'm not usually a jealous - or envious - person. I'm sincere when I compliment someone on something new they've acquired, or somewhere they're going. However, yesterday I'll admit I was pinched a bit by the green-eyed monster.

My son popped in unexpectedly (a somewhat infrequent yet regular occurrence, and no way am I complaining because truth to tell I always love seeing him as well as the fact that he still feels so familiar with me - Mom - that he shows up whenever he pleases). However, I digress. The point was, he showed up because he was in the area on a corporate retreat, and his friends were picking him up on their way to a weekend at the Madonna Inn.

As fabulously kitsch as the Madonna is, I wasn't particularly envious of that,  I was envious of the road trip, and the area being visited.

The Central Coast of California is an area I once regularly frequented.  My dad retired there, and my youngest sister lived nearby. I made my final familia visit a few years ago, and I've rarely been back, and when that has occurred it's been on a pass-thru basis.

I used to go on road trips much more frequently (see number five on the Eight Random Facts About Me meme that circulated a while ago).  I recently went to New York City and Hawaii within a year, so it isn't as though I'm actually travel deprived.

I do miss road trips, though, and now that my car's ten years old I'm more sparing with the miles I put on it. So I grouse and feel envious. And mentally plot a doable road trip before I explode.

The Pier Where I Live

And why I stay. No matter what else may be going terribly wrong, this makes me go "ahhhhhh..."

(For more Fun With Friday Foto, head over to Candid Carrie's.)

 

Don't mess with Jon, pendejo

I've been staying up lately to watch The Daily Show (instead of viewing the re-run the following evening at a more reasonable hour). It's simply been too good... not to mention getting noticed just about everywhere. I received a email reminder from Salon to make sure I read their current take on The Daily Show/CNBC Wars. Time Magazine today has Mad Money vs. Mad Funny in their Tuned In Blog, and the LA Times is also taking notice. Well, it is big news. Remember what happened to Tucker Carlson and Crossfire when Stewart decided to bring attention to their foibles? And I have little sympathy for CNBC, considering my views regarding the stock market. If you missed last night's episode watch Basic Cable Personality Clash Skirmish '09 right here:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Basic Cable Personality Clash Skirmish '09

Daily Show Full Episodes
Important Things With Demetri Martin

Political Humor
Economic Crisis

Wish I Was There

One of the nicest things about this beach rental was NO WIFI.

Jump Back In... Here's Friday Foto(s)

(For Friday Foto, head over to Candid Carrie's.)

This past summer it was pretty traumatic when my twelve year-old cocker spaniel sustained an injury to her left rear leg, and it was kind of sketchy if she'd get well. It took a lot of nursing and pampering:

But well worth it, as she's now up and running around and almost too spry for a grannie dog that turned thirteen a couple of weeks ago:

Blog Neglect Redux

I have a history of non-maintenance with this blog. (No, really?) Not to mention an awesome talent for stating the obvious. (As an aside, that spec script premise actually ended up being the novel that was lost in the Mac crash.)

Anyway, in the beginning the blog appealed to my journalism training, and I welcomed it as my own private op/ed column. It probably helped that I participated in the first BlogHer conference about a month after I started it (someone canceled, and I was close enough to drive), and that gave me a major blog boost to network with a wide variety of like-minded women.  I had also recently relocated, and was stuck on a precipice with my other writing. I needed a break, and the blogosphere provided one.

The problem is, I have a problem juggling the two worlds.

I was prodded this past fall to return by my sister when I went to visit her. She'd embraced blogging, and wanted me to get back to it. Now, that probably seems quite reasonable, except for the fact that she lives in Hawaii (blog in paradise?), and one of the reasons I'd quit was the fact it became so time-consuming.  But she was right, it felt good to be back. It probably helped that I flew into Honolulu on the final night of the Democratic convention, and that gave me plenty of fodder. I'm an opinionated news junky, and with that and my pesky journalism training my blog is my soapbox.

And my sister and I found another outlet in which we are quite companionable. There we were, on the lanai at the vacation house on the North Shore for the Laborless Labor Day Weekend, she with her laptop while I read.  When we returned to her home, we'd work in separate rooms while we blogged in happy camaraderie.

After I returned home to California the upcoming election and the state of the nation occupied most of my interest and output, while my sister was finding her voice and building a rapport with her virtual friends.

It did not escape our notice that some of our most effective compositions were from the last three years that we actually lived under the same roof, when our family decided to live full-time at our vacation place at North Malibu. My sister gets more up close and personal, while I tend to be detached, employing a journalistic manner. But there's no denying that those years had a definite impact on our approach and outlook on life, and the women we became.

Again, my sister prodded me into action. She had the brainstorm that we should write a joint memoir about that time in our lives. 

Once again I resisted. A bit. A memoir definitely means up close and personal, and maybe going to places I wasn't sure I wanted to go. And then she outed me.

That means I've been researching, doing a lot of reading. I have my memories, of course, but I find it easier to immerse myself in that time and bring it back by stimulating those memories with facts. I've been absorbing those facts, and percolating.

That's it for now. I want to watch the Top Chef reunion. You've got to relax sometime.