lundi 26 novembre 2007
I decided on Hollywood...
but I am too tired to write about it. I start January 7. Perhaps I can learn Russian by then?
November 24 in LA
The Santa Monica ice rink was steaming as I walked by on my way to the farmer's market this particular 80-degree day.
jeudi 22 novembre 2007
Thank you for Castles and Pancakes
Well, happy Thankgiving everyone. My apoglogies for all calls I have not returned. It's been a busy week.
Last Wednesday my former boss called me up and asked me to develop recipes for his new ad agency to show off to their potential client IHOP. I said I was at work and probably couldn't just leave. But, money is persuasive -- I left immediately. I spent the next two days inventing pancake recipes and presented them to IHOP on Friday with my other former two bosses working in the kitchen as my assistants (he he). We got a standing ovation.
Friday I get a voicemail with a job offer from Los Angeles Public Library. They don't mention what the job is, where the job is, or how much they are offering me. They do mention, however, that unless I call back before 4:30, they will be out of the office until Tuesday.
Meanwhile...Palos Verdes Public Library calls me for a second interview--to get a tour of the library and to meet the staff. Good sign. They schedule this interview for Wednesday morning at 8:30am.
First thing Tuesday morning, I get a hold of LAPL. They tell me the what (children's librarian, yeah!), they tell me how much (well, I won't post that, but yeah!) and they tell me where (Hollywood, yeah commute-wise, not so yeah neighborhood-wise.). Oh, and they need an answer...tomorrow.
So, I haul myself to PV on Wednesday morning, have a great second interview. Love the staff, love the job. Hate the drive. Then, I rush over to the Hollywood library (since I had never been there) and on my way get offer from Palos Verdes. They upped the salary to just beat LA.
The library in Hollywood is next to a strip joint, accross the street from a liquor store, around the corner from my favorite ice cream shop, a place I've seen many an exchange of money for invisible products held in a tight fist. All legal, I'm sure. Oh, and where once I had a quick getaway when some boys were fighting and one appeared to be pulling out a gun. I enter the library and wade through a sea of mentally ill and homeless patrons to find the librarian. She's incredibly nice. And looks tough.
In the course of the 30 minutes I was chatting with the librarian at least four people waved hello and she knew them by name. One claimed that the library was the best thing in the world. Another, in a thick Russian accent, said it was like a castle. I looked around wondering if we could possibly be in the same building, and realized there was something wrong with the way I was seeing things, not the way he was.
Perhaps I could use a job that gives me a new perspective.
On my drive to the Santa Monica library where I was working yesterday afternoon, I got a call from LAPL demanding an answer. I had to go up several rungs of bureaucracy to get a hold of the city manager who finally agreed to give me more than 24 hours to decide. So, Monday morning is the decision day for both jobs.
I'll keep you posted.
Last Wednesday my former boss called me up and asked me to develop recipes for his new ad agency to show off to their potential client IHOP. I said I was at work and probably couldn't just leave. But, money is persuasive -- I left immediately. I spent the next two days inventing pancake recipes and presented them to IHOP on Friday with my other former two bosses working in the kitchen as my assistants (he he). We got a standing ovation.
Friday I get a voicemail with a job offer from Los Angeles Public Library. They don't mention what the job is, where the job is, or how much they are offering me. They do mention, however, that unless I call back before 4:30, they will be out of the office until Tuesday.
Meanwhile...Palos Verdes Public Library calls me for a second interview--to get a tour of the library and to meet the staff. Good sign. They schedule this interview for Wednesday morning at 8:30am.
First thing Tuesday morning, I get a hold of LAPL. They tell me the what (children's librarian, yeah!), they tell me how much (well, I won't post that, but yeah!) and they tell me where (Hollywood, yeah commute-wise, not so yeah neighborhood-wise.). Oh, and they need an answer...tomorrow.
So, I haul myself to PV on Wednesday morning, have a great second interview. Love the staff, love the job. Hate the drive. Then, I rush over to the Hollywood library (since I had never been there) and on my way get offer from Palos Verdes. They upped the salary to just beat LA.
The library in Hollywood is next to a strip joint, accross the street from a liquor store, around the corner from my favorite ice cream shop, a place I've seen many an exchange of money for invisible products held in a tight fist. All legal, I'm sure. Oh, and where once I had a quick getaway when some boys were fighting and one appeared to be pulling out a gun. I enter the library and wade through a sea of mentally ill and homeless patrons to find the librarian. She's incredibly nice. And looks tough.
In the course of the 30 minutes I was chatting with the librarian at least four people waved hello and she knew them by name. One claimed that the library was the best thing in the world. Another, in a thick Russian accent, said it was like a castle. I looked around wondering if we could possibly be in the same building, and realized there was something wrong with the way I was seeing things, not the way he was.
Perhaps I could use a job that gives me a new perspective.
On my drive to the Santa Monica library where I was working yesterday afternoon, I got a call from LAPL demanding an answer. I had to go up several rungs of bureaucracy to get a hold of the city manager who finally agreed to give me more than 24 hours to decide. So, Monday morning is the decision day for both jobs.
I'll keep you posted.
mardi 13 novembre 2007
A new (to me) nursury rhyme for all my wee relatives
Blow, wind, blow
Go, mill, go
That the miller may grind his corn
that the baker may take it
and into bread make it
and bring us a loaf in the morn
Go, mill, go
That the miller may grind his corn
that the baker may take it
and into bread make it
and bring us a loaf in the morn
dimanche 11 novembre 2007
ps
"stuff n' stuff" is how one of my British friends imitates Americans, much in the way we might say stuff like "bloody this and bloody that" if we were imitating Brits 'n stuff.
Stuff n' stuff
So the Panasonic cameras that were on sale at Costco for so cheap...don't work. I took the first one I bought back due to a defect, and got a second one that worked for about 2 weeks before refusing to take any pictures at all. Which means now I actually have to WRITE something for my blog. Which is why you haven't seen a lot of new posts in the past few weeks.
Anyhow, I have invented a salad which, if I had a camera, would be pictured here. Imagine, please, bright orange persimmons cut into bite-size cubes, green roughly chopped cilantro, and, uh, pomegranate-colored pomegranate seeds. Top that off with a little invisible lime juice, and voilà, a tasty, beautiful, and healthful salad. Not to mention instant hipness at Thanksgiving.
My emotional state lately has been such that I've been reduced to playing games with myself in order to drum up some appreciation for my life as it is (as opposed to how it was or how I wish it could be). Now, there's nothing particularly WRONG with my life. In fact, one might look at the stats and think it wasn't half bad, but there is something wrong with my appreciation-o-meter. Therefore, the games. This game is: IF I had a husband and kids right now, what would I be wishing I had time to do? The answer today was "learn to make strudel." Ah ha! See, on Thanksgiving, I am going to be thankful that instead of cooking some gargantuan turkey for some gargantuan family, I am going to spend the day learning how to make strudel. Really good strudel. For which I have not yet found a recipe. So, if anyone has a great one, please send it my way.
Other than playing mental games with myself and inventing salads, I have started Argentine Tango dance lessons (love, love, love this dance even though all I've learned so far is that I don't know how to walk), interviewed with the city of LA and with Palos Verdes for library jobs (I should hear back from both by the end of this coming week, yikes!), and bought a new battery for my car.
I know you are all very sad that I cannot include a picture of my car battery, but you are just going to have to live without it.
Anyhow, I have invented a salad which, if I had a camera, would be pictured here. Imagine, please, bright orange persimmons cut into bite-size cubes, green roughly chopped cilantro, and, uh, pomegranate-colored pomegranate seeds. Top that off with a little invisible lime juice, and voilà, a tasty, beautiful, and healthful salad. Not to mention instant hipness at Thanksgiving.
My emotional state lately has been such that I've been reduced to playing games with myself in order to drum up some appreciation for my life as it is (as opposed to how it was or how I wish it could be). Now, there's nothing particularly WRONG with my life. In fact, one might look at the stats and think it wasn't half bad, but there is something wrong with my appreciation-o-meter. Therefore, the games. This game is: IF I had a husband and kids right now, what would I be wishing I had time to do? The answer today was "learn to make strudel." Ah ha! See, on Thanksgiving, I am going to be thankful that instead of cooking some gargantuan turkey for some gargantuan family, I am going to spend the day learning how to make strudel. Really good strudel. For which I have not yet found a recipe. So, if anyone has a great one, please send it my way.
Other than playing mental games with myself and inventing salads, I have started Argentine Tango dance lessons (love, love, love this dance even though all I've learned so far is that I don't know how to walk), interviewed with the city of LA and with Palos Verdes for library jobs (I should hear back from both by the end of this coming week, yikes!), and bought a new battery for my car.
I know you are all very sad that I cannot include a picture of my car battery, but you are just going to have to live without it.
jeudi 1 novembre 2007
Chapter 2 in which Millie meets a tree frog
“Hello?” Millie called out. “Um, Tad?” she wondered if he could have found the door too. “Taaaaaad?” she yelled as loud as she could, then held her breath, listening for his voice. In the distance she thought she could hear a far off chorus of croaking frogs. Or toads. Or whatever. But she didn’t hear Tad. Well, she was not foolish. If Tad was still missing when she got home, she’d get help. From an adult.
She turned to go back through the door. But behind her there was a forest of trees. Every one of them had a door. Every one of them had a toad symbol where the knocker should have been. Every one of them was identical. She tried pushing on the nearest one. Nothing. She tried the next. Nothing. And the next. Nothing. She started running from tree to tree frantically pushing on every door. Nothing opened. The trees continued as far as she could see. A sob like an ugly ball of yarn jumped up out of Millie’s chest and her eyes glazed over with tears. “Open, one of you. Please open!” Tired and worn out, she squatted with her back to a tree and cried.
“Excuse me, but I believe you are leaking.” Millie lifted her head. She looked around, but no one was there.
“Hello. Hello! I’m going to need you to move. You are creating a river in my front yard and I’ve just spent hours and hours cleaning and really, if I have to deal with one more mess today, I am going to grow ears, my tongue is going to shrivel up, and my toes are going to separate …”
The voice continued, but Millie interrupted. “Um, please, whoever you are, I need help. I need to get home. And I can’t remember which door I came through. Please, whoever you are, please don’t hide, please come out.”
“Are you talking to ME? Because I don’t know who else you could be talking to. Honey, I can’t really get any more right-in-front-of-your-face than this.
It sounded like the tree was talking. Confused, Millie looked more closely at the branch hanging low near her face. There, directly in front of her, was a tiny tree frog.
“Y-you t-t-talk?”
“Something wrong with that?”
“Well, it’s just, you see, um, where I come from, frogs don’t usually talk. At least, not so humans can understand them.”
“And I bet where you come from creatures are generally pink and furless too! Thank you though, for noticing I am a frog. Half of you call me a toad. Lowly as my frogness may be, I am me and I like to be called what I am. And you are…?
“Human?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Oh, no. I mean. Yes, I am a human. A person. You know.”
“And are you the same species as the short-haired and deep-voiced?”
“Short-haired and deep-voiced? Oh, you must have seen a boy! Why, yes, I am the same species. Is there another human here? Can you take me to him? What a relief. Certainly he, whoever he is, will know what to do. Come on. Which way?”
“Which way? Pshah. I’m not even half finished with my cleaning. Here you were creating waterfalls down my porch and now you want me to tromp off to take you Frog-knows-where to find some species you were asking me moments ago if you belonged to? Pshah.”
“Fine, I shall go myself. Thank you for the information.” With these parting words, Millie began to march off.
“Not that way!” Cried the tree frog hopping after her. “That way is…well, let’s just not go that way. Okay okay, come on, I will take you. But it is going to be a journey. We must gather supplies. We will need things. Many things. Too many things. Okay, first things first. One step at a time.
And so Millie started her journey, with a very stressed-out little bundle of hope hopping at her side pulling her forward by the hand.
She turned to go back through the door. But behind her there was a forest of trees. Every one of them had a door. Every one of them had a toad symbol where the knocker should have been. Every one of them was identical. She tried pushing on the nearest one. Nothing. She tried the next. Nothing. And the next. Nothing. She started running from tree to tree frantically pushing on every door. Nothing opened. The trees continued as far as she could see. A sob like an ugly ball of yarn jumped up out of Millie’s chest and her eyes glazed over with tears. “Open, one of you. Please open!” Tired and worn out, she squatted with her back to a tree and cried.
“Excuse me, but I believe you are leaking.” Millie lifted her head. She looked around, but no one was there.
“Hello. Hello! I’m going to need you to move. You are creating a river in my front yard and I’ve just spent hours and hours cleaning and really, if I have to deal with one more mess today, I am going to grow ears, my tongue is going to shrivel up, and my toes are going to separate …”
The voice continued, but Millie interrupted. “Um, please, whoever you are, I need help. I need to get home. And I can’t remember which door I came through. Please, whoever you are, please don’t hide, please come out.”
“Are you talking to ME? Because I don’t know who else you could be talking to. Honey, I can’t really get any more right-in-front-of-your-face than this.
It sounded like the tree was talking. Confused, Millie looked more closely at the branch hanging low near her face. There, directly in front of her, was a tiny tree frog.
“Y-you t-t-talk?”
“Something wrong with that?”
“Well, it’s just, you see, um, where I come from, frogs don’t usually talk. At least, not so humans can understand them.”
“And I bet where you come from creatures are generally pink and furless too! Thank you though, for noticing I am a frog. Half of you call me a toad. Lowly as my frogness may be, I am me and I like to be called what I am. And you are…?
“Human?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Oh, no. I mean. Yes, I am a human. A person. You know.”
“And are you the same species as the short-haired and deep-voiced?”
“Short-haired and deep-voiced? Oh, you must have seen a boy! Why, yes, I am the same species. Is there another human here? Can you take me to him? What a relief. Certainly he, whoever he is, will know what to do. Come on. Which way?”
“Which way? Pshah. I’m not even half finished with my cleaning. Here you were creating waterfalls down my porch and now you want me to tromp off to take you Frog-knows-where to find some species you were asking me moments ago if you belonged to? Pshah.”
“Fine, I shall go myself. Thank you for the information.” With these parting words, Millie began to march off.
“Not that way!” Cried the tree frog hopping after her. “That way is…well, let’s just not go that way. Okay okay, come on, I will take you. But it is going to be a journey. We must gather supplies. We will need things. Many things. Too many things. Okay, first things first. One step at a time.
And so Millie started her journey, with a very stressed-out little bundle of hope hopping at her side pulling her forward by the hand.
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