Licensed to Ride

So I got my license plates today finally in response to the letter I got that I could get impounded if they ever find me on a CA state interstate or something like that.  It was 4 months overdue.

I like writing about the DMV, I don't know why.  I think it has something to do with the fact that once you say those three letters, everyone thinks something.  Such stark images come to mind.  Most of them are negative, but the experience is rather universal.

I like that when I'm there, I see all different kinds of people.  Rich, not-so-rich, good-looking, ESL, not-so-good-looking, the tattooed, the Goth, the monk, the trucker, and the clown.  I never saw a monk or a clown there.  But I could, and that's what I like about it.

My DMV experience today felt like a first date.

I will explain.  The guy who helped me was around my age, and not in the realm of having the looks of a man whom I wouldn't date.  He looked like Neil Patrick Harris, but darker and more indie.

And here's the kicker: he was nice to me.  I think people go to the DMV assuming that they will have a bad time.  I am guilty of that myself, even though my past couple of experiences were kind of good.  And not only that, he acted kind of shy.  And beyond that, he was kind of sweet.  I don't get it.  But whatever, the DMV worker was nice--not the most expected event in the world.  I played along.

He looked over my papers and murmured something.  I could not hear him.  There was an older, Chinese gentleman who was un-gently screaming letters next to me.  You know, for the vision test.  I asked Dark Neil Patrick Harris to repeat himself.  Then again.  Then again.  Usually this makes people either speak louder or get frustrated or both.  He did none of those.  He just spoke in exactly the same tone, but just moved closer to me.  Like he was shy.  Like on a date.

Finally, I just yelled, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THIS MAN OVER HERE."  I did so even louder than the vision test overachiever.  Eventually I understood that I was supposed to have brought my NJ license plates to him.  But I didn't bring them, because that's how the DMV works.  They tell you that you need something after the fact and then treat you like an idiot for not having done so.  So I was about to get all huffy when Dark Neil Patrick Harris murmured, "I'm sorry."

Now this was an event.  No way this happens on this universe.  Out of sheer surprise, I just completely shut up.  I thought about whether or not I was going to get my plates today.  I wondered how I was going to get my old plates off without tools.  I wondered if I had to get in a long line again to start the whole thing over.  I wondered all these things, and as if he knew just what I was thinking, he asked me for my Driver's License.  I speechlessly complied.  Then, he ran away.

He really did, to grab me some tools.  He said he'd return my license when I returned the tools.  He told me to come back with the old plates.  He told me I could just walk up to his window anytime that I'm done.  Zombie-like, I trudged over to my car.  I got one of the plates off and realized I needed a wrench or something for the rear one.  I walked back to DNPH's window.

"I think I need a wrench or pliers or something like..."

"I'm sorry," replied Dark Neil Patrick Harris.  Then he ran away.

He came back with a small wrench.

Dumbfounded yet again, I finished removing my rear plate, but I couldn't get it out of its frame.  I walked it over to his window, thinking I would be able to shimmy it out by then.  I couldn't.  When he saw me fiddling with it, he offered to help.  Right then, of course, it popped out.

Then it was over.  He gave me back my license, and I was officially legally on the California roads.  I felt like I was supposed to give him a kiss or something, but I'm sure my boyfriend would not have been a huge fan of that.  But then again, I would have just appealed to the fact that I was on a date that I didn't even know was gonna happen, -OR- I could say that someone at the DMV was truly, startlingly nice and helpful to me to a ridiculous, Twilight-Zone extent.  Who wouldn't agree that such a time calls for a kiss!

Bah Hollywood!

Been re-living here in Pasadena for a good 8 months now.  Wiser, yes.  It's so much better knowing more--don't ever let anyone tell you naught.  Actually, whoever does tell you that could be right, so don't judge right off!  Take each situation on an individual, case-by-case basis.  In this case, of moving back to the LA-area with lesser or more knowledge, more is definitely better.

One thing I didn't seem to get enough of was the Hollywood scene.  I grew up being fascinated by it (what American hasn't?), and every chance I got to do something Hollywood-ish or every time I saw a celebrity, I felt lucky.

Not so much anymore.

I realized that there are at least two kinds of Hollywood types.  One is the mover and the shaker, it's all about who you know, what you can make yourself look like you do, and especially  who you are seen with.  Looks, appearances, plastic, never-read a book in years--yeah.  That's what I'm talkin' about.  The bee-mers, the celebrity 'dos, and cash being thrown around.  I always thought I was above it, being a Christian and all, but there is a pull, there really is.  Don't knock it 'til you've been around beautiful schmoozers.

The second type of Hollywood that I have come to know of is the boho, poor-looking (may or may not actually be poor), artsy type.  They are the hipsters of SoCal, as opposed to the genuine ones of Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  They dress folky or goth, wear looks of utter disinterest or bothered disdain, and they are very, very much into their art.  Whatever that might be.  I find these folks usually a bit sunnier than the types in Brooklyn.  Also, I like the way they dress better.  More colors.  I usually like these people.  I don't know why.  Maybe I secretly want to be one of them.  What would my art be?  Who knows?  Stupendous crochet-er of guinea pig lounge wear.  Why not?  In my experience, guinea pigs lounge expertly.

I went to a concert of a musician who is little-known, but it's cool to know him, about 6 months ago at the Music Box in Hollywood.  I had been to a couple of his concerts in NYC and had a great time.  One time, I got to meet him and give him a lil' kiss on the cheek.  Both times, I had really bonded with some of his other fans.  This time around, I expected much of the same: perhaps a candlelit dinner with the singer-songwriter, at any rate a good time chilling with his Hollywood fans.  Not so on either count.  No dinner (you had to be a frickin' VIP to go see him after) and no fun with the fans.  Except for one, but for more than one reason.  I tried to talk to the people standing around me, but none of them would.  It was very much a talk-to-the-hand kind of thing.  I was surprised, but not daunted.  Perhaps I had just ended with a particularly snobby set of jerks.  Nearby, I thought I saw Sandra Oh, there alone like me, looking much like this:

I asked a guy next to me: "Is that Sandra Oh?"  He was like: "Excuse me, what?  I don't know."  Then he starts whispering to his equally contemptuous (of me) boyfriend, and they chitter and chatter and ooh and aah.  So I get pissed and decide to take matters into my own hands. 

"Hi, are you Sandra Oh?" 

"Yeah."

"I'm Agnes Lee."  I stuck out my hand.

She shook it, looking at me rather confused.

"I'm a fan."

"Oh," she laughed.  I guess she thought she was supposed to know me, but was relieved to find out that she didn't.  Then we chittered and chattered about how great the musician and the music was and all that.  It didn't go on long.  When we were done, the gay couple started talking to her.  They actually knew each other, all hugging and stuff, but interestingly enough, they did not have the guts to approach her until I did.  Then other people started talking to her, too.  Man oh man.

After the show was over, I waited for an autograph.  Instead, I got snubbed.  I got snubbed by the ugly, old bouncer who was looking at me like I was a sweet, Asian piece of pie ("Only VIP can go see him--ooga booga!"), and I got snubbed by a guy when I asked him if he was waiting for the artist's autograph, too ("What?  I don't know.  I don't know who you are talking about").  He was holding the same CD as me.

I still have beef with Hollywood peeps because of that incident.  Total jerks and dumbasses in my book.  They weren't there because they loved the music, they were there because it was cool to be there and to be seen there.  They didn't have the time of day to talk to me because I was a nobody in the biz.  And the only person in that whole place who had a reason to ignore me didn't.

Cut to me and my girls hitting the Hollywood scene last night:

We totally got judged by our appearance.  One guy, sleazy and single, asked me my name.  "Angelena," I replied (That's how I spelled it in my mind).  "Angelina, you are gorgeous!"  (That's how he probably spelled it in his mind) Then he asked my friend's name and told her (surprise, surprise) that she was gorgeous, too.  What a man.  Another guy, with his gal, looked at me smilingly, like he knew me, a couple of times before he tapped me on my arm and said, "I love your dress."  It's like you've got the ins just if you look good to them, then they want to know you, to touch you, to speak to you, to buy you a drink.

Like I said, I thought I was above all this, and I was so over Hollywood, but I must admit.  All that hoopla around the way we looked felt a little good.  Okay, maybe more than a little.

Winsomelosesome

I played the lottery.

There were coupons in the Sunday paper: Buy 3 tickets get one FREE!  I don't know why I believed buying into this would increase my chances of winning astronomically and exponentially, but I did.  I never play the lotto, but with that extra free ticket, I felt lucky.

The results were so entirely off.  I utterly lost on all four counts.  The pot was only $280,000 though.  After taxes and splitting it with my lil' bro (our little agreement), it would have been enough to squander recklessly for about 6 mos. to a year.  If I were wise with it, it would lightly enhance my living for the rest of my life, right?  Sour grapes...

Don't mind my face here, I'm just trying to show you the red in my recent highlights:

Red highlights to match the red leaves out there now (not so much).  I like the highlights, but not too crazy about the haircut.  I think after 3 hours of touching up my hair coloring, my stylist got sick of me and my hair and quickly snipped with the scissors for a paltry 5 minutes at most.  I think I'll get color from her, and find my cuts elsewhere.  My countenance is the way that it is due to an effort to capture the rays of the sun at a favorable angle.  See?  I'm not too proud to post the not-best pictures of me on the net (more to come)!

The fall is really beautiful here.  My parents and I went for a drive one balmy day to admire the view.  Here, the folks couldn't agree on a common view, but I still somehow like this pic:

I look kind of little here, but due to an early growth spurt, I've always felt very tall.  I kind of suffer from this reverse-napoleonic complex; didja know that about me?  Twenty-four/seven, I feel about 6 feet tall.  I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, but then not.  If any of you have a problem with it, we could just stand face-to-face, and I'll just tower over you with a menacing stare (at least in my mind).

This pic was taken more for the bright, pickle-green conifers in the background rather than my hurry-up-and-take-the-damn-pic-Dad! facial expression:

Okay, in this next pic, I managed to look like the Incredible Hulk, or least incredibly heavy, neckless, and complete with a blinged out tooth in the back.  Sheesh, but I wanna lay aside my pride again, and mention meeting up with my best friend who was staying in NYC for a little while for work.  This is her hotel room.  Finding a best friend in life is definitely a win.  Despite the mishap of my visually distorted self, we look unadulteratedly happy, don't we?  Like we've never tasted of this bitter world, like we're little schoolgirls.  We met when we were both ten.

I am addicted to this new show "Justice" on Fox.  At first what got me was the nice little twist of showing what really happened at the very end of the episode, so you could compare it with the verdict.  But after watching all the episodes, what gets me now is how the justice system (including the media coverage that goes with it these days) can be manipulated.  Assessing the jury is huge, toying with appearances is key, closure is the name of the game, but the TRUTH is not.  That's our world.  This scary smart team of trial lawyers win some cases, and lose some, too.

You know who had some word wars, too?  Noah Webster, in his time.  Here's a chart full of fun factoids I came across on the Merriam-Webster website recently:

Currently Reading Dream Brother: The Lives and Music of Jeff and Tim Buckley By David Browne see related

One Good Turn...

This past weekend, our family went for the last apple-picking trek of the year.  It was for Fujis this time.  This trip was very different.  First of all, it was very cold up there.  Second, there were tons of people which meant: 1) most of the trees were picked bare  2) there were no apple donuts left.  The second issue was especially painful for me to bear, but we got through it!

Mom and Dad heading toward their mission.  Note that they are rather formerly attired.  Minutes before the trip, my dad "invented" a tool for picking the ones out of the way with an old golf club, some wire, and a plastic bag.  My brother and I snickered at him, but others at the orchard found him to be quite clever, and he got some apples up there, so I guess my brother and I didn't get the last laugh or the last snicker.

I love that I look 12-years-old in this pic.  I'm posing, oh yes, I am.  Also, I have slung a heavy, half-full sack of apples on my side.  There was an orchard-worker who hung out by the truck, a man of few words.  After I got someone to snap this shot, I triumphantly made my way to the worker to show him my rather large Fuji spoils.  "Isn't this one awesome?"  I gingerly lifted out one of my fist-sized Fujis, all smiles, to his sun-worn face.  He didn't say anything--clearly not impressed.   I solemnly motioned good-bye and retreated, determined to get back into adult mode.

Here's my artistic attempt at capturing the art of picking the apple:

My brother doesn't look so ticked off this time!

I also went to see Jose Gonzalez again.  This time, it was a concert for him, and this interesting dude who sings like a woman named Death Vessel opened for him.  Mr. Vessel wasn't bad, actually.  The concert was held in Brooklyn at this venue called the Brooklyn Lyceum which is an old-public-bath-turned-arts-center.  Real chill.  Beautiful/cool Brooklynites everywhere.  As I was walking in, these beautiful people asked me if I had any extra tickets.  I felt extra cool as I told the beautiful people that I didn't--I had gotten mine a LONG time ago.

Some critic dude said that Mr. Gonzalez has the ability to stop time with his performance--I would have to agree.  Here's a pic I took, which is fuzzy, but hot, which is how I would also describe the nicely bearded Jose:

What a night!  I lucked out and scored a seat front and center.  I started to chat it up with this couple sitting behind me.  Two staffers at the New York Times.  A rather reserved, attractive woman had dragged her boyfriend out to see Jose.  He wasn't as into the concert as everyone else, so after he decided we had gotten to know each other well enough (approx. 5 min. into the conversation), he decided to make things fun for himself.  "Oh, you like Jose?  You want me to cause a scene so he'll look at you?  You need some help?"  I tried to appeal to his much calmer girlfriend.  "He's a bit of a jokester, I'd say," I ingeniously observed.  She nodded gravely.  The jokester asked me what I did.  He asked me what I studied.  He asked me if my parents were proud of me.   (Yes, Jose was 45 minutes late)  He asked me if as an MDivver if I could tell him what was right.  I kind of got riled up and exclaimed, "NO!  What's your beat at the Times?"  He was only distracted for about 2 sentences and then continued to throw journalist-intensity-level questions at me, the whole time with this amused grin.  I was a little relieved when Death Vessel began, albeit in a high, high soprano.  After the show, the NY Times jokester declared, "It was nice meeting you.  Good luck with everything--bring in God and the 21st Century!!!"  He looked as joyous as if we had hi-fived or something.  But we hadn't.  I liked him, though.  His inquisitive energy and quirkiness was kind of refreshing.

Random Stuff

They found a new bird!  And it's so cute: The Yariguies brush-finch.

Didja know that the Prime Minister of Korea is a woman?  The first.  Awesome.  I chewed out my parents for not keeping me up on these things.  My dad hung his head in shame and went upstairs.  Han Myung Sook.  Her male predecessor resigned because of a "golf scandal".  Why is it so easy for me to believe that?

Here's something super nerdy yet strangely super cool I came across recently:

The only element ever publicly named after a living scientist was element 106, Seaborgium, named after Glenn Seaborg.  And to close with a random trivia fact, Dr. Seaborg was the only person to ever be able to write his complete address in elements: Glenn Seaborg, Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, Berkeley, California, United States of America, or Sg, Lr, Bk, Cf, Am.

Here are some intelligence-level-related disses via food references I found:

One fruit loop shy of a full bowl.
 
A few beers short of a six-pack.
 
A few peas short of a casserole.
 
Doesn't have all his/her corn flakes in one bowl.
 
One taco short of a combination plate.
 
All foam, no beer.
 
The cheese has slid off of his/her cracker.

These are the ones I use: "He/She's not the brightest star in the sky" and "He/She's not the sharpest tool in the shed".  My fave in the above list is the beer foam one, of course.

Our guinea pigs get the star treatment here, in Chez Cochon d'Inde, or for you Spanish takers (or anyone who never bothered to look up "guinea pig" in the French/English Dictionary), House of de Gueenea Peeg.

Fluffy, clean Percy.

Currently Listening Happenstance By Rachael Yamagata see related

Good Ol' Guys

Last Sunday, the church I attend had something I had never heard of before: Bring Your Pet to Worship Day.  It was in honor of St. Francis--one cool saint.  No way.  You know I did.

I brought Babe and Benji.  I'm holding both of them, but you can only see Benji here.  We're getting sprinkled with water by some herb or something.  They got blessed as our pets, and we got blessed as their owners.  My brother took the picture.  I don't know how he managed to get the freaky angel-like lightshow going on in the back there, but he did.  He said he had a hard time taking the pic.  Mebbe it's a real angel.  I dunno.  Whatever--it was a great time.  Animals really bring people together.

Last week, I met up with old junior high/high school buddies from my old youth group days at my old pal Jimmy and his wife Nancy's.  It was a big deal for me.  They made an awesome dinner of shrimp scampi with linguine, asparagus wrapped in bacon, Caesar salad, and cheese biscuits.  I brought canoles and rainbow cookies for dessert--the only thing I could find around my work.  Most importantly, I met Jimmy's daughter, Madison, for the very first time.  Isn't she adorable?  She's in that awesome babbling stage, beautiful voice, beautiful language.

That's her with my fave children's book.  I bought it for her all wrapped up, and as her mommy predicted, she liked biting on the wrapping paper more.  But before long, we got her to conform to society, poor thing.

Proud father and daughter.  I can't believe Jimmy is a dad now.  My goodness.  I'm so happy for him!  She's so lovely...

Speaking of Jimmy, I hadn't seen him in over a decade at this point.  The minute he sees he at his door, he says, "You look exactly the same!  Except older."  Dang, if this boy wasn't a husband and father, I'd a' clocked him!  JIMMY!!!  Jolly Jimmy always made me laugh.  I seem to recall all of us laughing more at junior high worship than anything else.  Paul's on the left.  Paul n' Jimmy.  Paul taught me how to drive a manual--thanks to him, I've been clipping corners like a maniac on the road for 8 years and running!

We were convinced that we weren't opening our eyes in that first pic, so here's another try--eyes wide open!

Paul's gf Christina patiently took the pics.  Thank you!  Sweet couple, despite Paul's, er.. charm.  Jimmy took this one.  I wish I had a pic of Nancy, Jimmy's wife, but she was busy trying to put Maddie (sp?) to sleep, so I couldn't catch her.  Next time!

Even though we weren't all together like this for like 12 years, it was just like it used to be.  We picked up right where we left off.  I found myself acting like I was 13 again, for better or worse.  I yelled at them, made fun of them, and punched them repeatedly in the arm.  I even ordered them around--regression for sure.  But I was happy, albeit obnoxious.  I really hope they invite me to get together again real soon!  I'll try to behave/act my age.  Madison!

When I was around the age of hanging out with these guys, I had a big, big crush on tennis personality Boris Becker.  I loved his persona on the court, his passion, and--well, the other stuff is my business.  Anyway, I was surfing the web and discovered that he had come out with an autobiography last year.  I ordered it right away, and I'm just about finished with it.

I can't believe how similar we are.  I mean, take away the fact that he won Wimbledon at the age of 17, his fame, his fortune, his romantic conquests, his lifestyle, his German-ness, the fact that he's been married and divorced, that he's a parent to three (one illegitimate), and that he's a guy, and we are the exact same person.  I mean it.  If I were famous, and I thought some people would want to read about my life, I would have written the book like he did.  The way he thinks, the way he conducts his significant relationships, what he thinks of people--that's me!  It's so me!  So it's been an exciting, self-reflective read. *giggle--schoolgirl style*

Whatever!

Currently Reading Player, The By Boris Becker see related