Monday, August 29, 2011

Ruby Red

I have wandering eyes. It’s virtually impossible for me to stop looking at everything and everyone around me. Sometimes people think I’m staring too long at them and they get a tad nervous; afraid of what’s lurking behind my look; afraid of what I might do.

If they only knew!

I’m usually creating a funny scenario about them, a character analysis of who I think they are. Sometimes tragic life-stories. Sometimes international adventure life-stories. Sometimes sexual kink stories that may or may not involve me.

The other day I was at a stoplight and my wandering eyes saw something dangling from the telephone wires above me. It was red. It glittered in the sunlight. It made me pull out my camera.

Hanging from the telephone wires above traffic was a pair of Ruby Red high-heeled shoes and a cut-out of a red trophy. I guffawed loudly. I’m sure it sounded like a major fart, but it really was a guffaw from my mouth.

How did they get there... and why?

Could they possibly be the “real” ruby shoes from “The Wizard of Oz”? Maybe Dorothy didn’t go back to Kansas after all? Maybe she lives in my neighborhood?

Maybe the ruby red shoes belong to a drag queen who was so proud she won the Ryan Seacrest hosted Drop-Dead Gorgeous Divinely Drag Gala contest at the Holiday Inn that she strung her shoes and trophy together with her support hose and tossed them over the telephone wire for all the world to see? Would her drag name be Dorothy Gale or Ruby Red or Barbara Bush?

What size could those shoes possibly be? 6? 7? 11 1/2?

I think the owner of the shoes has to be one fun gal who wears too much make up, has hair teased so high it looks like an erection, loves to cha-cha all night long, drinks way too many martinis, has a deep smoky voice and a bosom to match, loves torch songs and alibis, drives a huge red cadillac convertible, and thinks of herself as a D-I-V-A.

I was lost in my reverie and as the stoplight turned green I couldn’t help but thing there’s no place like home... there’s no place like home...

Friday, August 26, 2011

Peaceful Buddhists?

Every day I ride my bike to the gym. Instead using the main streets I zigzag from street to street to avoid major traffic. This way I get to enjoy the scenery and not have to worry about being hit by a car and sent flying through someone’s windshield all because the driver was too busy texting to look where they were going.

So it was to my complete surprise to turn north up New Hampshire Avenue from Franklin Avenue and come across a house with large gold swastikas hung prominently on the many windows. I screeched my bicycle to a quick halt to get a second look.

A chill ran up my spine. I gasped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was overcome with a sense of fear. Right before me on a nice little street in my favorite city were golden swastikas.

I then noticed a white sign on the front of the house. I couldn’t make out the writing so I gingerly ventured into the driveway to get a better look.

The sign said that the people who lived there were Buddhists and that the swastika is a Buddhist symbol.

Well Phew.... I was expecting them to be Mormons. Or the Palins.

The sign is tiny in comparison to the swastikas.

I pedaled home and immediately googled to find out the truth. And yes, the swastika was traditionally used in India by Buddhists and Hindus as a good luck sign.

Okay, okay.... I get it, but do the owners of the house really think that anyone driving by and seeing golden swastikas is going to immediately think “peaceful Buddhists”? I don’t think so.

The swastika brings back something dreadful; a horrible time in world history, so why are the homeowners doing this?

Maybe I’ll ring their doorbell next time I’m riding by and ask them.

Or maybe they’ll come to their senses and take them down.

The homeowners might think putting the swastikas up is good luck, but I think it’s gonna bring them lots of bad luck... and a lot of angry neighbors.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

A Bowl of Pork Chops

For the past ten weeks I was swimming in the deep end of the film production pool. It was long, long hours, high calorie fast food, too cold air conditioning, and bad coffee, but for some reason I enjoyed every minute of it. I relished it.

There were days I worked so many hours I was too tired to shift gears in my car and ended up driving all the way home in first gear.

One late, late night (okay, early morning) I took the wrong turn home and ended up in a neighborhood that wasn’t mine, and couldn’t figure out how I got there.

And yet another late, late late night (okay, early morning again) I was so busy answering emails at a stop light (on my iPhone of course) I forgot to move when the light turned green. I didn’t realize it until the car behind me started honking. By then the light had turned red. When the light turned green again the car zoomed passed me honking and cursing and waving its fist. I was too tired to properly respond. All I could do was muster a weak “fuck you” finger. My poor middle finger was too damn tired to flip him off fully erect.

Yawn, yawn, yawn... Sleep deprivation... it doesn’t do the body or mind any good.

During my time of tiredness and stress a friend sent me a postcard that said “Life is just a bowl of pork chops.” It made me laugh because it’s so true...

When it’s bad it can kill you, but when it’s good it’s a party in your mouth. Oh yes.

After a few days of rest and relaxation I’m happy to report I’m ready and roaring to go... and craving pork.