Lawrence Fishburne
George Eads
Paul Guilfoyle
Eric Szmanda
David Berman
These sightings weren’t very random, but oh well. I was a “background actor” (or extra) and played a CSI tech in forensics. And frankly, I didn’t know any of these actors’ names except Fishburne’s. I could barely remember the characters’ names… thank goodness for IMDB.
These would be awesome if I had a dog that was with me long enough to want some water in a place where I couldn’t give her water from a hose. She’s not big on walks, or on people, or on doing anything more than sleeping, eating, and accepting treats.
“Slip one into your pocket or handbag or attach it to a leash. Simply pop open the dog-shaped bowl – it holds up to two cups of food or water. It folds flat when your pooch is finished and can be reused. It’s also recyclable – after a few uses, simply place it in your paper recycling bin.”
$9.99 for a 6-pack
Bacon: If these people have developed a theology that makes them dependent on a doctrine or a dogma, they are not interested in being liberated to trust their inner voices.
Oprah: So what is the difference between doctrine, dogma, and true religion or being a religious person?
Bacon: My faith, my spirituality, is what I live for – it’s actually, what I would die for. My doctrine and my dogma is what I would kill for.
I was browsing through email folders and skimming messages. I have all the emails I sent from our hotel in Paris, this being the first one:
Bonsoir mes amis!
We made it onto the direct flight to Paris on Air France – thanks to Detroit’s awful weather and the mistake of an NWA employee. Right now, I’m using the hotel’s computer which has a French [read: crazy] keyboard, so this should be shorter than usual. I think they like to use the exclamation point though because the period requires the shift key but !!!!!! is very easy to reach.
My legs were too long for the long flight, so I didn’t get as many winks as I wanted…we sat with a young guy named Lan (pronounced ee-lawn) who was originally from Woodland Hills and goes to UCSD. He was nice to chat with.
The hotel lobby is nice, and is on the left bank across from the Louvre museum, but the room is small of course – I’m going to take photos of the shower because I think Paul barely fits inside. Alors, I love this city and the people have been very nice and helpful. I told Paul I want to live here for a while, so perhaps one of you will visit us in France one day! (When my French is better.)
Everything truly is accessible by walking (like the Louvre; Musee d’Orsay; plus many cafes, galleries, and shops) or by metro. Paul and I took the RER from CDG and walked to our hotel from the stop – with our luggage!
When we got to the hotel, we had a quick nap and headed out for café au lait and chocolate chaud at a bar/cafe down the street; then we had dinner at a restaurant called, La Frigate, which is across the bank from the Louvre. What an amazing sight at night! I had my first taste of veal and créme brulée, in Paris no less, so I don’t think I have any regrets about that.
The weather isn’t too cold, except when the breeze comes through. My boots are a hit as I’ve seen many locals thinking the same thing and I’ve already seen too many items I wish could furnish our house or hang in my closet.
I think tomorrow we’re going to spend the day at the Louvre so I’m off to sleep. It’s already midnight here! Bon nuit.
Love,
Murielle et Paul
PS.
Highlight of our evening: a man on a unicycle rolling past our restaurant window. Not a performer, but just a guy getting somewhere on his unicycle. Trés amusant!
My previous mention of my camera being busted seems to be trickery. Nowadays, I pick it up and it works. Sometimes it doesn’t, and I need to smack the lense before turning it on, but wow? It still works.
Still, we don’t have the money for a new SLR and we’ve been relying on P’s old Fuji S2 that got a “new” cheap lense that fisheye’s sometimes.
Bleh.
But, I have been diligent about uploading to Flickr (because I paid for the damn thing).
I was going to list “learn to fly” as a goal, but really, my main passion in flying are helicopters. I would like to have a license to fly the little buzzers, but figure learning how to fly planes will get my feet wet.
I’ve searched the internet for a bit, and came up with an informational site that answered many questions I had.
Then I looked into local flight schools. I was once told to take ground school at a community college, as that can save some money.
But then, I found this introductory lesson for $115:
This lesson is set up with 30 minutes of ground school conducted at the helicopter… After ground instruction is complete, you will take to the air on a 30 minute flight lesson, during which you will take the controls with the help of your flight instructor to see what it is like to pilot the helicopter.
WHAT WHAT?!
They also have an option of a 60 minute flight ($229), or you can bring friends along for the 4-seater helicopter (also $229). It’s still kind of pricey, but to be able to FLY the helicopter after 30 minutes? That seems to be a great way to get my feet soaking wet!
(And that time in the introductory lesson counts towards your schooling if you choose to continue.)
Learning to fly is pricey, and time consuming if you don’t take forever to complete the schooling. Someday, I’ll be able to do all of this.
SOMEDAY.
I haven’t practiced much through the summer so far, but I’ve already signed up for next semester’s course. Lately, I’ve been trying to play a few songs that we didn’t have time to learn in the spring, but it’s been coming along slowly.
Goes to show how much a class can force me to schedule practice time…
This is one of my favorite scenes/monologues in all film history. Ever since I saw the film, the line about the Sistine Chapel has been in my heart.
So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that.
If I ask you about women, you’d probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy.
You’re a tough kid. And I’d ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, “once more unto the breach dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help.
I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you.
You don’t know about real loss, ‘cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don’t see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart.
You’re an orphan right? You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally… I don’t give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can’t learn anything from you, I can’t read in some fuckin’ book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t want to do that do you sport? You’re terrified of what you might say.
Your move, chief.
If I was a child and saw something creeping out of a hole in my mother’s leg, I would march to the nearest orphanage and put myself up for adoption. I would burn all pictures of her, destroy anything she had ever given me, and start all over because that is simply disgusting. A dad can be crawling with parasites and somehow it’s OK, but on a mom, or any woman, really, it’s unforgivable.
I’ve signed up for Acting Fundamentals at the community college for the Fall semester.
I think there’s a midterm monologue, which is already making me nervous.
I figure I should know how to ride a motorcycle for emergency purposes. If I need to hop on one, I don’t want to fly off because I didn’t know to lean in on the turn.
The closest course is 12 miles away and costs $250 for three sessions. If you’re under 21, it’s only $150. That makes absolutely no sense to me because someone under 21 should be considered more of a risk, and if they wish to ride motorcycles, the cost should be an appropriate responsibility.
$250 is quite a bit to just learn to ride; I don’t own a motorcycle, and I probably won’t. The closest I’d get to purchasing one is a scooter like a Vespa. Mmm, Vespas.
But, I should still learn.
And if I had the money, I’d learn to fly planes and helicopters too.
Yesterday, P and I had a very overdue appointment for a haircut. I lopped mine off, but we don’t think it’s long enough to donate to Locks of Love; I’ll send it anyway. It’s probably just an inch too small.
No curls this time, but it’s got those duck tails that I hated as a child. Now, it’s not so bad.
The part I can’t stand about short hair is how thick and wavy mine is – when it’s short, it poofs. Seriously poofs. Like a marshmallow is wrapped around my noggin. I have a feeling I’ll have to put some sort of product in to keep it tame.
“If you leave us, Master,” they pleaded, “how will we know what to do?”
And the master replied, “I am nothing but a finger pointing at the moon. Perhaps when I am gone you will see the moon.”
Does that make you despair?
Often, but I have no right to. If I am alone, I would despair. But there are young people in the world, and I don’t think I’ve survived to give them despair.
I’ll have to write some things down in my journal tonight. Mostly for the fact that I felt especially lonely today. I just wanted everything to stop, felt as if I needed to hit restart, or perhaps sleep until the week is over?
It all started after I felt very much on my own, or by myself, even though I’m physically not. Hopefully writing will kick start my mind to realize that I may not be with everyone I used to, and even if I don’t want to always be around those I am, I’m not alone.
It’s just difficult to find someone relatable, and after today, that fact hit me hard.
”...There’s no coincidence. In fact, coincidence itself is a mathematical term. Remember in geometry, they would say that two angles that coincide, fit together perfectly – so now we’ve taken a term that means ‘two things that fit together perfectly’ and interpreted it to mean ‘something that fits together accidently.’ We’ve just reversed the whole concept of coincidence – it’s co-in-cide.”
and I won’t be for a while. Or at least, that’s our plan. But, because our insurance changed and now that I’m a part of Kaiser, I’m wondering what are their options for pregnancy? Once I am pregnant, I should already know if I’m going to have an OBGYN or a midwife (or doula?) or both; a hospital birth, home birth, water birth, laying-on-my-back-with-IVs birth; or perhaps all of the above?
Currently, I’m watching The Business of Being Born and before I had ever seen it, I knew that the whole idea of a traditional hospital birth wasn’t exactly everything I would want in a birth of our child. The “documentary” is obviously bias, but it does shed light on the other options.
I am absolutely terrified of childbirth. I can watch it, but thinking of myself going through it and everything that is involved is beyond my scope of tolerance. Pain is just not my friend, and frankly, I had enough of it in 2005. But, I want children, and I want to be as safe and comfortable as possible.
Obviously, there is no way around the pain…and so if I must go through it, is there a way for me to do so where my voice is heard?
More on this later, as I finish watching the documentary and reading up on all the options.
like I said I would to wbmsic.
Wrote every day, except yesterday, as I just was too sick to roll over, much less write. But, at this point, I write in my “regular” journal, which still has it’s not so grateful comments. Then I pick up my gratitude journal and feel a little better about the day.
I’ve taken my vitamins every day since I bought them – and then I got sick from San Francisco. And sicker. And yesterday was just the last straw; I was in bed all day, burning then freezing then throwing up then sleeping.
Lots of sleeping.
Today I am much better, but feeling quite resentful at those vitamins. Aren’t they supposed to help me remain healthy? I hadn’t been so sick since I was on interferon!
I saw Serenity before ever seeing an episode of Firefly. But on Hulu, you can watch all thirteen episodes for free. So I did, over several weeks of late night computer work.
Great dialog and characters. And like everyone else, I’m disappointed it ended at thirteen – damn Fox. Did they purposely run the episodes out of order?
