Matriarch of the family of spies

My uncle Kurt is really named Steve. My uncle Eric is really named Tom (I think; I don’t even know for sure any more, to tell you the truth). I don’t use the name I grew up with either. It’s like my family is a bunch of spies.

I don’t usually think about this too much, but it did strike me again as I was looking on the internet for some information about my granna Jane. I couldn’t find any information about her at first, which isn’t that unusual because I don’t think there are that many 92-year-olds with a huge internet presence, but then I followed a link from a link from a link and finally remembered… my granna Jane is really named Clarinda.

Clarinda Jane died last night. Like all good female spies, she was exotic, beautiful and charming. She once told me that when she died, she wanted her body to be left out in the desert for the coyotes to eat. I don’t think we’re going to be able to do that, but I did get a bottle of wine today with a label written in secret code, so perhaps we’ll drink that in her honor tonight.

Published in: on August 9, 2011 at 11:36 am  Leave a Comment  
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The key that opens no doors

I had a dream last night that I was getting ready for a big Thanksgiving feast with friends and family. The venue of the meal kept changing – at first we met up at a nice little cottage, and then we were supposed to go into the city, and then we wound up back at the cottage even though that wasn’t the right place to be.

What I remember most of all is that everybody was being really selfish about wanting to be the person who cooked the turkey. My best friend had already cooked two turkeys, and had gone to a lot of trouble bringing them to the cottage (and then the city, and then back to the cottage) on foot. She had one turkey in a backpack, and she was carrying one in a really unwieldy aluminum foil wrapping. I don’t know who this best friend was, but it was very clear in the dream that she was my best friend. It didn’t matter to any of the other people that my best friend already had these two turkeys; everybody suddenly said they wanted to prepare two turkeys as well.

Since everybody else was so driven to cook more turkeys, there was no other food that was being prepared. Because of this, my best friend got on a bus to go home and make some other dishes and entrusted me with the two turkeys she had cooked. I put the turkeys in the front passenger side of my mother’s car and followed that car to where everybody had finally decided to have the meal. When I arrived at the destination, I opened my mother’s passenger side car door and found that the seat had slammed forward and the turkeys were nowhere to be found. I pushed the car seat back and found that the tinfoil turkey had pushed itself through a hole in the carpet upholstery into the engine compartment. The backpack turkey was nowhere to be found. I woke up angry.

I think I need daily meditation or a massage or something. There’s too much stuff cooking up in my brain right now.

Still… moving

On Sunday evening Benny, Kenny, Matteo and I spent some time at a little pocket park at the edge of a parking lot. We watched a young boy skateboard across the parking lot as a car followed behind him. The boy would reach the end of the parking lot, the car would catch up, there would be some discussion, and then the boy would turn around and skateboard back across the parking lot. This happened for a long time. I caught some of it on film near the end when there were more frequent negotiations, perhaps because the car was getting tired.

I think the scene plays better if you turn the sound off.

Why hast thou forsaken me, Johnny?

Being a girl named Elizabeth who grew up in Sunnyvale in the ’70s, I was always fascinated by the Toys R Us ghost Johnny Johnston. As a film major in college, I considered making a documentary about him but was discouraged by time and budget considerations. In the years since then, I’ve abandoned a lot of dreams, but I’ve never forgotten about Johnny Johnston. I always thought I would meet him someday.

The only problem is that I can’t find evidence of any recent encounters with him at the store. He seems to have gone.

Published in: on October 25, 2010 at 9:17 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Tomatoes, if you came back, I would buy you these shoes for you to wear during your G-rated prank call show:

I’d tell you a funny story, and listen to all of yours. I might even learn cribbage. But I know you can’t come back.


Souper glue

It has come to my attention that even though I posted about this fabulous show over two years ago, some of you are still not familiar with the TV program Food Party. This is a shame. It’s even more of a shame that all of us don’t have some sort of job working for Food Party, but that’s another story.

Published in: on October 12, 2010 at 10:03 am  Leave a Comment  
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Doctor Bombay Beach

Benny and I are going to the Salton Sea for a few days. If you can’t come with us, you can always take the Salvation Mountain virtual tour. See you in a bit.

Rupert, home

I just finished reading this book with a character in it who could have conversations with cats. The character put this gift to good use by finding lost pets. He’d basically just ask all the cats in the neighborhood for information about the lost pet and, though a lot of cats were kind of crazy and/or stupid and couldn’t help him, eventually he’d find one who made sense, et voilĂ , the guy would find the lost pet.

That was just part of the story; things got a little strange after that. Anyway, Rupert here seems like he could have been in that book I just finished reading.

Cats can’t spell worth a darn.

I came to a fork in the road, so I took it

Some friends and I took a field trip last night to the new fork in the road in Pasadena. It was smaller than I had expected from the LA Times photo, but still quite impressive.


According to some dream interpreters, to dream of being stabbed with a fork indicates that you are too picky with the ideas or suggestions presented to you.

Thanks in advance fork commenting.

Published in: on November 11, 2009 at 11:05 am  Leave a Comment  
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At least it wasn’t Chatsworth

I’m getting over this flu, but my brain still doesn’t seem to be working right. I feel like I blew a fuse up there or something. Benny says that on Monday night (I think it was Monday night) I seemed to be having a really bad nightmare because I was whining, “Pacoima… Pacoimaaaa…!” while thrashing around. Maybe that dream is what blew the fuse in my brain. All I know is it’s not working right, right now…

Published in: on October 21, 2009 at 8:35 pm  Leave a Comment  
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