It is also called Sponge-Bob. I was supposed to remember this/know Sponge-Bob. Guess I'm too in love with cheese to make the difference. And I haven't watched Sponge and Patrick as a child.
Deep apologies :)
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
It Is Not Cheese, It Is A Sponge...
Turns out that my cheese-shaped mug is not cheese-shaped, but sponge-shaped.
It is also called Sponge-Bob. I was supposed to remember this/know Sponge-Bob. Guess I'm too in love with cheese to make the difference. And I haven't watched Sponge and Patrick as a child.
Deep apologies :)
It is also called Sponge-Bob. I was supposed to remember this/know Sponge-Bob. Guess I'm too in love with cheese to make the difference. And I haven't watched Sponge and Patrick as a child.
Deep apologies :)
Monday, August 25, 2008
Some More West Coast Thoughts, Some More Randomness...
The driver of the bus I took daily to work was Persian. As a child, he wanted to become a doctor, but that never happened: there were bills to be paid. Some people are not meant to follow their dreams, no matter how hard they try. I don't know whether he is one of them or not.
There is a mosquito in my room. Now, that I turned on the light, it's circling me, the prey, and it's waiting restlessly for my blood. Poor thing, it doesn't know it might get hurt if it gets too close. I do have some anti-mosquito spray around :))
In LA, at Universal Studios, I bought a very nice, cheese-shaped mug. I wanted to bring it home and give it to my 4-year old God son. I didn't manage, however, to fit it in my luggage...nor did I try too hard. I hate packing, I profoundly dislike it actually, especially because of the last 6 months, and, even worse, I... accidentally try to stay away from it for as long as possible - hence the "last minute packing" and the "no-socks-in-the-mug" type of arrangement. I do hope, though, that the nice yellow mug ended up in some nice kid's collection of random objects, together with toys or erasers.
Universal Studios.
We headed there on a partially sunny day, as I recall, and got to our destination after one No. 20 bus passed us as if we were invisible. I am sure the driver thought we enjoyed the bench in the station, the heat, and taking pictures of the wide avenue. The last part was, indeed, true. So, three hours after leaving the apartment, with the help of Providence, we got to the small Universal City. We boarded the bus for a Studio Tour and got to see cars flying/rotating in the air, fire rising from the ground, suddenly flooded streets and the Desperate Housewives' setting. In other words, small, regular, and completely unimpressive aspects of "how to make a movie". Except that I was not a movie professional, and some of these things left me breathless and pretty interested in special or simply clever effects. It would be fun to work in film production or post-production for a while, I thought; only after I had made some money and opened a non-profit for the more unfortunate kids, though.
Not-that-related thought: I think I will end up taking the "Intro to Stagecraft" class at Vassar my senior year.
It is interesting how I got more confortable with various rides, rollercoasters and things of the sort - but I still got caught screaming by their mischievous, hidden cameras. They are wizards, I am sure, specialized in hunting my bad karma, immmortalizing my big open mouth and emptying my wallet. In the "Mummy Ride" picture, I got caught screaming, although the other eight persons around me were casually smiling. R. included, which meant two full weeks of laughter - not with me, but at me. Oh well.
Random thought #2:
"Helen: I can't believe you don't want to go to your own son's graduation.
Bob: It's not a graduation. He is moving from the 4th grade to the 5th grade.
Helen: It's a ceremony!
Bob: It's psychotic! They keep creating new ways to celebrate mediocrity, but if someone is genuinely exceptional..."
I watched the Incredibles last night, thanks to G., whom I asked to improve drastically my movie-related culture this month.
Back to Cali and its wonders.
The place that put a big smile on my face the second we entered was Disneyland. There, I wanted to jump with joy and dance on the streets continuously; I tried not to though, as the prospect of returning home by myself, in a sketchy #460 bus, was not that appealing to me. BAD things can happen if you ride that bus. So yes, Disneyland is the epitome of perfection. I cannot describe it otherwise and do it justice. I would not mind living there, selling pretzels for the rest of my life, having a bunch of temporary 3-year old friends...or playing the mermaid role and hence spending my life "in coada de peste" **. I would see the parade and the fireworks every day, I would go on all the rides and become Mickey's best buddy.
Another important aspect was the great, fairly priced food, on top of the bearable lines and the amazing rides. All the characters were not mere manequins, but works of art, carefully designed, sculpted and painted. And, if they were not sculpted, they were brilliantly shaped by some very, very high quality machines.
Oh! And I learned how to draw Donald the Duck! And, in the end, it did not look like Darth Vader...as I initially thought it would.
Further random thoughts:
I might do bungee jumping in Predeal, while I am in Romania. I hope I don't chicken out in the meantime.
Aaaaand! Don't go watch the X-Files unless your life depends it. It's wiser to wait a bit and watch it at home, for less or for free (depending on the country you're in)...when there's absolutely nothing else for you to do. And please don't curse me if you loved the movie - I choke easily. Advocate for it in the "Comments" field instead, if you wish.
For today, that's all folks! :)
**Romanian saying that can be translated as "on the tail of a fish", and symbolizes confusion, a purposeless situation, that has no follow-up or chances of development.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Random Thoughts from the West Coast
I tried to write about California until now, just like I tried to write about the East Coast last year. And while trying to focus on the big things, on the great experiences that I had there, nothing seemed to work out. I have always been better at seeing the small things and the details - they always mattered to me more.
So there you go. Snapshots of my life on the West Coast.
What I will remember most from LA will probably be the image of Wilshire boulevard, as seen from the Carmelina bus station. I used to get off there every morning to go to work. I could see the long, long street, with rather small buildings on one side and the other. The building of my work, dark brown and incredibly square, was an interesting mixture between a would-be skyscraper and a normal block of flats. I was almost always listening to a song while crossing the street, and was always hoping it would end by the time I got to the office. Of course, that never happened. Imagine working on a company valuation while having Traffic from Tiesto stuck in your head. It is pretty...rhythmic. Oh well.
Thinking of songs, I can't believe that R.'s whispering of "London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..." is still going on in my head. It will soon reach the first place for "Inappropriate songs that are stuck", as it now rivals "M-am dus sa tai un copac" - Margineanu and "Mi-e frica sa dorm singurica" - Spicy, for which I had an undeliberate passion in 12th grade.
At the Downtown Art Walk, that takes place regularly on the first Thursday of every month, I managed to see the "inner culture" of LA. That is, a bunch of not-yet-discovered talents, wearing their fancy LA-type hats, some actual stars - like the dude who's playing in this comedy group I forgot the name of - and, of course, modern art. Some of it was obviously directed against the Arab world and their customs (or at least that's the only one that provoked a reaction intense enough to be remembered). I thought of people and their inability to differentiate between the extreme forces within a country and the regular people of that nation. Sadly, I was blaming them.They all sit there, in their little boxes and delivering their precious critique, waiting for the others to applaud them. And they do get what they want, as the others cheer, from their even smaller boxes. Of course, I might not be initiated enough in the wonders of modern art to interpret exactly what that fabulous artist wanted to convey.
On the other hand, I remember the wine at that particular gallery was pretty good, and that might have been an obstacle for observing the art at the other places.
For some people, drinking is not placed on the side of the main dish anymore, but it replaces the steak. At almost 21, I decided that I should try having this experience as well, when one drinks for the sake of drinking only, especially since those around me did not know my nerdy self. I failed graciously, not managing to get drunk, and hence not completely enjoying the "Undy-Run": bi-annual event at UCLA that takes place during finals, when all the students run in their underwear. My conclusion was that the Californian bodies are, on average, of the best kind, and that is probably why I was not that impressed by the famous Chippendales...in the end. The two pictures I took with them hurt me profoundly too, as I could've as well bet those $50 and probably earn more. Think, Livia, think!...for when it doesn't happen, the costs are high.
The downtown looks sketchy when the Art Walk is not happening. I regret taking R. there on the first day in LA, when everything he saw was supposed to be "butterflies and flowers". I think there is some kind of misfortune going around among my friend-visitors, as it happened the same with Cata last year. We got out of the Metro to see a not-so-pretty part of New York. Then, we were both disappointed at the prospect of sleeping in a bad hostel and paid $10 for a CD we never listened to. Anyway, in LA, Rodeo Drive was as fancy as it looked in movies, the prices matched its renown. It hence compensated for the other areas.
Random thought: "There are 10 kinds of people: those who understand binary and those who don't".
I made friends in LA. A fashionable small bunch, that I miss a fashionable small bit from time to time. Then, after speding time at the beach, on the Santa Monica Pier, or at a Sunday's farmer's market eating cherries and nuts...or after spending time in a hookah bar or at the Romanian restaurant in Hollywood...or simply at Ralph's, they all left, either to Europe or to China. The main disadvantage of traveling yourself... or having friends who travel a lot... is that they all leave when you least expect it, and you have no idea when you'll see them next. But "not all of those who wander are lost".
Anyway. Back to happy thoughts.
In San Diego, I liked the streets, the tad bit we saw at least. I liked sitting in Starbucks before boarding the train to Anaheim - it was the only time this summer when I managed to sit there and read while sipping from my iced mocha.
I loved SeaWorld, and thought of how beautiful it must be to be able to take your kids there and teach them. I haven't heard of one child in Romania who wants to become an oceanographer, but I have met a decent number of people who wanted to do that in the US. Of course, our country doesn't border the Pacific or the Atlantic.
One of those who wanted to be an oceanographer was a young lady that we met inside Stratosphere Hotel, in Vegas. She was selling fancy body & nail care products and was surrounded by a certain aura. She was smart, energetic and seemed very good at doing her job - I can only hope she will be closer to the ocean, directing her enthusiasm towards what she truly wants to do, for she seemed one of the few lucky ones who knew that with a higher degree of certainty.
In Vegas, everything looks impressive at night, when the city wakes up. Go and see the water show in front of Bellagio - you will love it, go inside the Venetian and hop on a gondola, or take pictures of New York like streets inside New York New York. Then go and watch Jubilee, the cabaret, on a Sunday. Don't buy the most expensive tickets as you might get a seat in the front anyway - as long as you are a blonde and smile nicely to the doorman.
During the day, even if Vegas were impressive one could not enjoy it fully, as it is incredibly hot. The sweat dries out instantly, and you feel as if you walk on top of boiling water - if that were possible. Don't step inside the "World's biggest gift shop", as it may turn out to be a huge waste of time. Go on Fremont street and spend your money there instead. Then buy some booze, mix it with orange juice when nobody is watching, and cheer for better times and more well spent money.
From Vegas, the voice of our gondolier is what I remember most. It seemed artificial, together with his overly polite tone - he was yet so kind. I could feel that he was trying hard. The artificiality of the electric gondola and that of his voice matched the one of the entire hotel. All the pieces came together to form an almost perfect imitation of Venice. It was, indeed, beautiful. I celebrated the place and what I reminded me of with an incredibly delicious gelatto, while sitting on a bench in St. Mark's Square, and thought of the good life that I am living.
So there you go. Snapshots of my life on the West Coast.
What I will remember most from LA will probably be the image of Wilshire boulevard, as seen from the Carmelina bus station. I used to get off there every morning to go to work. I could see the long, long street, with rather small buildings on one side and the other. The building of my work, dark brown and incredibly square, was an interesting mixture between a would-be skyscraper and a normal block of flats. I was almost always listening to a song while crossing the street, and was always hoping it would end by the time I got to the office. Of course, that never happened. Imagine working on a company valuation while having Traffic from Tiesto stuck in your head. It is pretty...rhythmic. Oh well.
Thinking of songs, I can't believe that R.'s whispering of "London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..." is still going on in my head. It will soon reach the first place for "Inappropriate songs that are stuck", as it now rivals "M-am dus sa tai un copac" - Margineanu and "Mi-e frica sa dorm singurica" - Spicy, for which I had an undeliberate passion in 12th grade.
At the Downtown Art Walk, that takes place regularly on the first Thursday of every month, I managed to see the "inner culture" of LA. That is, a bunch of not-yet-discovered talents, wearing their fancy LA-type hats, some actual stars - like the dude who's playing in this comedy group I forgot the name of - and, of course, modern art. Some of it was obviously directed against the Arab world and their customs (or at least that's the only one that provoked a reaction intense enough to be remembered). I thought of people and their inability to differentiate between the extreme forces within a country and the regular people of that nation. Sadly, I was blaming them.They all sit there, in their little boxes and delivering their precious critique, waiting for the others to applaud them. And they do get what they want, as the others cheer, from their even smaller boxes. Of course, I might not be initiated enough in the wonders of modern art to interpret exactly what that fabulous artist wanted to convey.
On the other hand, I remember the wine at that particular gallery was pretty good, and that might have been an obstacle for observing the art at the other places.
For some people, drinking is not placed on the side of the main dish anymore, but it replaces the steak. At almost 21, I decided that I should try having this experience as well, when one drinks for the sake of drinking only, especially since those around me did not know my nerdy self. I failed graciously, not managing to get drunk, and hence not completely enjoying the "Undy-Run": bi-annual event at UCLA that takes place during finals, when all the students run in their underwear. My conclusion was that the Californian bodies are, on average, of the best kind, and that is probably why I was not that impressed by the famous Chippendales...in the end. The two pictures I took with them hurt me profoundly too, as I could've as well bet those $50 and probably earn more. Think, Livia, think!...for when it doesn't happen, the costs are high.
The downtown looks sketchy when the Art Walk is not happening. I regret taking R. there on the first day in LA, when everything he saw was supposed to be "butterflies and flowers". I think there is some kind of misfortune going around among my friend-visitors, as it happened the same with Cata last year. We got out of the Metro to see a not-so-pretty part of New York. Then, we were both disappointed at the prospect of sleeping in a bad hostel and paid $10 for a CD we never listened to. Anyway, in LA, Rodeo Drive was as fancy as it looked in movies, the prices matched its renown. It hence compensated for the other areas.
Random thought: "There are 10 kinds of people: those who understand binary and those who don't".
I made friends in LA. A fashionable small bunch, that I miss a fashionable small bit from time to time. Then, after speding time at the beach, on the Santa Monica Pier, or at a Sunday's farmer's market eating cherries and nuts...or after spending time in a hookah bar or at the Romanian restaurant in Hollywood...or simply at Ralph's, they all left, either to Europe or to China. The main disadvantage of traveling yourself... or having friends who travel a lot... is that they all leave when you least expect it, and you have no idea when you'll see them next. But "not all of those who wander are lost".
Anyway. Back to happy thoughts.
In San Diego, I liked the streets, the tad bit we saw at least. I liked sitting in Starbucks before boarding the train to Anaheim - it was the only time this summer when I managed to sit there and read while sipping from my iced mocha.
I loved SeaWorld, and thought of how beautiful it must be to be able to take your kids there and teach them. I haven't heard of one child in Romania who wants to become an oceanographer, but I have met a decent number of people who wanted to do that in the US. Of course, our country doesn't border the Pacific or the Atlantic.
One of those who wanted to be an oceanographer was a young lady that we met inside Stratosphere Hotel, in Vegas. She was selling fancy body & nail care products and was surrounded by a certain aura. She was smart, energetic and seemed very good at doing her job - I can only hope she will be closer to the ocean, directing her enthusiasm towards what she truly wants to do, for she seemed one of the few lucky ones who knew that with a higher degree of certainty.
In Vegas, everything looks impressive at night, when the city wakes up. Go and see the water show in front of Bellagio - you will love it, go inside the Venetian and hop on a gondola, or take pictures of New York like streets inside New York New York. Then go and watch Jubilee, the cabaret, on a Sunday. Don't buy the most expensive tickets as you might get a seat in the front anyway - as long as you are a blonde and smile nicely to the doorman.
During the day, even if Vegas were impressive one could not enjoy it fully, as it is incredibly hot. The sweat dries out instantly, and you feel as if you walk on top of boiling water - if that were possible. Don't step inside the "World's biggest gift shop", as it may turn out to be a huge waste of time. Go on Fremont street and spend your money there instead. Then buy some booze, mix it with orange juice when nobody is watching, and cheer for better times and more well spent money.
From Vegas, the voice of our gondolier is what I remember most. It seemed artificial, together with his overly polite tone - he was yet so kind. I could feel that he was trying hard. The artificiality of the electric gondola and that of his voice matched the one of the entire hotel. All the pieces came together to form an almost perfect imitation of Venice. It was, indeed, beautiful. I celebrated the place and what I reminded me of with an incredibly delicious gelatto, while sitting on a bench in St. Mark's Square, and thought of the good life that I am living.
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