play with your words!

This evening I dragged my ass out to West LA. Why would I ever do that? To go see a free movie, of course. I wasn't willing to do it alone, though, because sometimes being more bored than usual isn't worth that free price tag, so I invited my friend Brian along. After some screwing up with directions (my fault), we made it to the end of one insane line, but soon enough there were plenty more people behind us. I was surprised by the turn out for Wordplay, a tiny documentary about Will Shortz and crossword puzzles. Who would want to see that? Brian correctly guessed it would be popular, because he's more hip to the media around that than I am. I didn't think we'd get in, but we did. We had to sit in the second row. You have no idea how hard that was for someone who always sits in the very last row in the center (even in, and especially in, massive movie theaters, of which this wasn't). My view of the screen was angled in such a way that everyone looked deformed and it was hard to follow the text on the screen (hello, it was about crossword puzzles). The place was a madhouse and they had to turn people away. I should say that was also probably the oldest-skewing audience of any free screening I've ever been to. I was probably the youngest person there, and I'd be hard pressed to have found many others in their twenties.

Enough about the scene. They let me in free so I could tell you how good the movie was so you'd go and pay for it! And I recommend that you do (easy enough for me to say, right?). Seriously, it's funny, engaging, and very humanizing of odd, compulsive behaviors (we need more of that, seriously, really, I'm not being sarcastic for once). I actually found Jon Stewart to be quite obnoxious and annoying, like he was trying too hard (and being too over the top about loving Shortz and his crossword puzzles). My favorite commentator is the former Public Editor of the New York Times who has been logging the time it takes him to complete each crossword for years. There was only one line/part in the film that I cringed and thought "Why did you have to ruin the flow with something so arrogant as that?!" Ken Burns said something to the effect that English is the greatest language on earth. It's like being racist about your tongue. Come on, former linguist sister, there's got to be a phrase for that...

Anyway, I encourage you to play with your words and go see Wordplay. Now back to my game of Sa Do Ku.

at the carwash, yeah...

I don't often feel utterly compelled to blog about the ridiculous things I read on Craigslist, but this I couldn't pass up.

I clicked on a post in men seeking women inviting someone out to a movie. Simple enough, the guy says he'll pay, but then he admits "One thing is that my car is unwashed." Yes, that is definitely crucial information.

In L.A., apparently it is.

I can understand when people go ballistic that my apartment wreaks of mad genius who doesn't put things away or even unpack after months of settlement. But then again, you'd be surprised at how many people don't give a shit either.

I guess I should stop telling them that I have never washed my car in the seven years I've owned it.

is it true that you can never really go home again?

I know, you're wondering why I didn't blog as I was home visiting, but honestly, it just wasn't flowing. In some ways it was completely uneventful. But naturally I have some stories to share.

Let's begin with the end, which is only the logical place to start.

My plane landed at 9:20 this evening at LAX and I arrived at my doorstep at 11:10. Mark was supposed to pick me up, but he called at the last minute to let me know that there was an emergency and he couldn't make it. He told me to take a cab and that he would pay me back, but I refused. That seemed silly to me. He was supposed to do me a favor, why should he pay for a $40+ cab ride? I took the flyer from LAX to Union Station for $3 and then transferred to the Metro red line for another $1.25. Then I walked four or five blocks home. It felt good to take transit in the iconically un-transit-friendly city. I felt so urban. Plus, I really don't feel comfortable in cabs. I'm more comfortable in public transit. Yes, seriously. And it cost me probably less than a tenth of a cab, but it did take forever because I had to wait at least 15 minutes for the Metro.

Ok, so now that I've told you about my exciting transit adventure, let's discuss the trip. It's sort of surreal and I think it's going to take time to decompress and take it all in. Things felt odd. It was like old hat driving around, but I swear traffic has gotten worse in our neck of the woods. I nearly cried when I drove past the University of Maryland for the first time in so many months. Why on earth, you ask? Because it represents five years of my life.

The one funny story I have to report involves me getting my first buzz off alcohol. Yes, seriously. It's taken me years to like the taste of alcohol let alone drink much at all. But I went to a party at a friend's house where I had two Camparis with orange juice before dinner. After dinner I had two shots of tequila and a smidge of Lemoncello (an Italian liquor made of 100% grain alcohol, lemon, and sugar). I got a buzz. I felt light headed, and when my friend asked if I felt all happy and stuff, I said "No, I'm worried." I was worried because I had to drive home. Of course I could have stayed the night, and that was offered, but I didn't want to. So I then downed several glasses of water and had some coffee to clear my head. Soon enough my head was fine but I felt like I was going to puke after drinking so much liquid. I told my friend Nadereh (the hostess of the party) that I was going home. She was concerned and wanted to make sure I was safe to drive. I said, "My head is totally clear and I feel absolutely fine, I just want to take my clothes off." She started laughing hysterically at me and asked me to repeat it to other people. I explained that I wanted to take my clothes off because I was tired and felt stuffed in them after drinking so much water. The point is that there is no alcohol required to lower my inhibitions (I contend they are at rock bottom anyway!).

i'm glad i went, but...

Last night was the last ever (or so they say) live performance by The Bonapartes. Going into it I thought maybe it was just a publicity stunt. I mean, nothing like finally making it to the stage of headlining the Black Cat and then you implode, right? But alas, I think it's no joke. Yet they fail to give a reason. Come on, fellas, even a bullshit reason is better than none at all. And they don't appear to want to kill each other since there was plenty of goofing off together off-stage. I should have just fucking asked.

The set was pretty typical (and my frame of reference is from last summer). But it definitely lacked an umpfph. They had a huge stage to spread out, get comfortable, and rock, and occasionally they did. But most of the performance felt pretty obligatory rather than celebratory. There was lots of chatter from the audience (I actually heard people behind me totally trash them...here I'm just giving tough love) and it thinned out in the middle of the set (really not a good thing, especially for a headliner!). Though the thinning out gave me better views each time, and for that, this shortie can't complain. Something I don't quite get is that they obviously cared a lot about this performance (and they should, it represents quite an accomplishment) not just because they promoted it like crazy on MySpace, but because they had it video recorded. (To do what with, though?)

It was worth it to hear "Faces" again, their Cure-inspired tune. The band seemed to regain some zest at the very end with their second-to-last song--a cover of "Melt With You," which precipitated what Allie described as "the girlfriend dance" on stage. It was unexpected, because I'm quite sure I read somewhere where they pretty emphatically declared they don't do covers. It was not an ironic choice, however, and it was pretty spot on. They closed, as always, with an awesome song that I haven't the clue of the title so I have dubbed it "'I Feel It' or 'This Ship is Out of Control' But I Guess We'll Never Know."

I do have some non-Bonapartian observations about the whole experience. One, I'm really spoiled living in the hot-hot-hot music district in smoke-free Los Angeles. Oh my god, I don't think I ever want to go to a concert where you can fucking smoke again. Two, the men are much more attractive in L.A. This is no joke. Three, the get-ups of a large part of the audience made me laugh. It was embarrassing really. Anna can tell you I can't keep my opinion to myself of the hipsters in L.A. who spend way too much time looking just "so" (dirty, trendy, 70s, 80s, oblivious, whatever), but here there's a handful of that plus people who simply don't have a clue about themselves. I also saw a few too many trucker hats. Though I have to say it was refreshing to only see two pairs of flipflops. And four, the neighborhood has drastically changed in less than a year. To see the shear amounts of non-black people shuffling through the streets of the 14th & U Streets corridor in the ten-o'clock and one-o'clock hours was almost unbelievable. I mean, there were frat types there. God help us.

So there you go. Adieu, Bonapartes. Any regrets? Just a few... like not grabbing a certain ass...

home sweet home?

Well, I made it. It was a long-ass haul. The whole benefit of flying east is that it's a lot quicker than flying west because of the jetstream. Except when your destination is bombarded with thunderstorms when you are set to land. What was supposed to be a 4.5-hour flight turned into more than six hours. We got a late start (nearly 30 minutes) and that was annoying, but having to avoid storms and then fly out of our way was even more so. Then I get to the airport and my family is having dinner off-site. That didn't surprise me (every family has its weird politics, and ours certainly revolves around food in a way too bizarre to explain), but they went to the restaurant I wanted to go to to have the pizza I've wanted for months (there's no such thing as good pizza in L.A.). That fucking pissed me off. They were so nice to bring me soggy leftovers, but of course the oven and toaster oven don't work (long story). I ate California Tortilla at the airport. That was my back-up plan anyway. It's funny how even though I live in the land of excellent Mexican food, I still crave the bastardized version I grew up with. Too much sauce the frozen raspberry margarita was quite excellent and cheap! And how I've wanted a margarita! I needed it.