Jill K. in LA

14 Days of Valentines

2012-02-01T23:51:00.000-08:00

http://jillkinla.etsy.com

Happy February 1st! That means there's only 13 more days until Valentine's. Above is one of my new block-printed "Valentinies." Get it? A small Valentine--"Valentiny."

In addition to the lame puns, my favorite part of this holiday has always been the paper goods. I love finding weird vintage Valentines! Some of them are really dark. . .

I never knew Hallmark had such an edge!

Steamrollers Are Awesome!

2012-01-30T13:08:00.000-08:00

Happy 2012! This is a new piece that will debut at the Fresh StART Art Show, to benefit therapeutic art programs for at-risk youth, this Saturday, Feb. 4, in Santa Monica! View all the details here: http://www.freshstartweb.org

This piece depicts a little lady mowing over a bunch of random things with a steamroller. (To do this, in real life, has been a dream of mine forever!) Imagine the fantastic sounds these things would make as they succumb to a two-ton roller! Actually, in real life, the sounds may be lackluster. BUT in my imagination, the bubble wrap would pop one bubble at a time, and the dinosaur skeleton bones would sound like a thousand thunks of hollow bamboo as they topple to the ground followed by a crispy, brittle crunch as they're rolled over.

Whether this dream, of mine, will come true or not, who knows. But here's a close alternative that seems more doable. . . STEAMROLLER PRINTMAKING! (Maybe they'll let me drive.)

It combines two loves in my life--printmaking and steamrollers! This picture is from the 2007 Roadworks: Steamroller Printing and Street Fair, linocut prints are inked and pressed by a two ton steamroller. The finished work is auctioned off to benefit the San Francisco Center for the Book. (Any reason to go to San Francisco is a good reason!)

Apparently, this is a little more common than I thought. A similar project was done for Day of the Dead, in 2011, in Montana. Steamrollers, printmaking, and Day of the Dead--whoa, my head might explode! I gotta get in on this!

It'd Suck to Spend Valentine's in Iran

2011-02-14T10:41:00.000-08:00

i'm so thankful to live in a country where i am free to celebrate any holiday i want. and personally, i want all of 'em! in fact, i think we should invent more holidays with new traditions. any day that stands out from the ordinary everyday by way of fantastic fun, cheer, customs and decor, is A+ in my book.

my enthusiasm builds throughout the days leading up to every holiday, and this valentine's day has been no different. i joined a valentine swap, organized by Crow and Canary, and i've been enjoying a number of sweet valentines from strangers. here's my keep. . .

clockwise from top left: valentine with "You're Cute" button by Owen Says, bug "twin" valentine by Pitbulls & Posies, chocolate bar from blogger, Amy Ferguson of OldSweetSong.com, and letterpress goodness from Kamal

it's always great fun to receive goodies in the mail. whenever i hear the postman's little, white truck chugging up our hill, i run downstairs to discover what may await me.

sadly enough, it's usually bills or junk mail. (luckily i've just about squashed the latter.) that's what makes swaps like this one so much fun; it reminds us that if you give more, you'll get more!

wishing all you cuties a very happy valentimes!

Drug Store Transaction

2011-01-24T09:45:00.000-08:00

sunday. walgreens. goal: purchase a bottle of inexpensive shampoo and exit the premises quickly with minimal human interaction.

within 30 seconds of passing through the automatic doors, i locate my choice shampoo. below the bottle is a price tag and below that is an obnoxious bright yellow & red hang tag that outlines about 6 other pricing options. you know the kind.

"buy 2 for $5, or buy 12 for such and such, or buy a gross and get 'em for practically nothing! BUT only if you use your secret membership card so we can monitor everything you buy, know where you live and how to contact you!"

i see $2.99 somewhere in there. so i grab a bottle, and continue to the checkout. no dillydallying today. i have to return to the laundromat, next door, where my laundry will be done any minute.

i step in line. third place. behind an old bag, probably late sixties, wearing a camel-colored ribbed sweater, navy, polyester granny slacks, and sensible shoes. her hair is light and pulled into a short pony tail. i can see some purple veins in her temple--not protruding, just visible. she has old-lady fingers with flat nail beds and squared off fingertips. she is purchasing a couple cans of reduced-fat pringles, a couple of boxes of trigosamine (joint stuff), red jello, and some other crap. after she hands over a stack of coupons, she also tries to give the cashier a membership-type card. "you need to swipe this before you total it all," she says as she peers over her wire-rimmed spectacles.

cashier: "you can just swipe it here," without looking up, he points to the card-swiper machine.

lady: "i don't think it works for me. last time, they had to swipe it for me." she attempts to swipe the card. "see, it didn't work. you have to swipe it before you total everything. if it doesn't go through, i'll make you scan everything all over again."

the woman's lurch-like husband silently walks up, from nowhere, in his short-sleeve, plaid shirt, belted grampa jeans, and sensible shoes.

the cashier takes the card and swipes it on his machine. then on the other.

lady: "it's not gonna take anything off the total. it's just records my reward points. but it's not working. i told you have to scan it first. that's $63 dollars of rewards. you have to scan it all again. and look, there's a line of people here."

lurch disappears again.

the cashier calls a manager over the intercom. the cashier leads the lady, and all of her merchandise, over to the next register.

a small, squirrelly man, late forties, skips over to the register before me. he's wearing a chambray, long-sleeve shirt and tan slacks. his short, brown hair is greying. so is his moustache. his mole eyes appear larger through his thick-lensed glasses. i expect that this guy goes to church every sunday and takes care of his aging mother. a socially-awkward, boring fellow (one of those ya gotta keep an eye on).

"someone will be right with you." he clicks a few keys on the register and prints something.

the elderly woman behind me prematurely places her items next to my shampoo at the register. i scoot my shampoo away from her two boxes of kleenex tissues and peanut butter.

the manager fidgets. "is this all you need today?"

i answer, "yes, please."

he scans my shampoo. "$5.63 is your total."

me: "i thought it was $2.99."

"uh, let me have someone check on that." he calls on the intercom, "associate to the front register, please. manny to the front." he pauses. then he disappears, buzzing down the aisles.

"where's manny?" says the woman behind me. she's wearing a black eye patch, and a pair of beige rimmed glasses. her salt-and-pepper hair is pulled back into a bun. her pear-shaped body is draped in a baby-blue ensemble. she rolls a small, blue suitcase. i think she crapped her pants because an overwhelming stench wafts from her direction.

manny, with his budding man boobs, shows up at the register. i step aside. he begins to ring up the eye-patch lady's items.

the manager pops up next to me, "i can't find it." to manny, "just give it to her for $2.99." he disappears.

manny completes my transaction without complication.

as i make my way to the exit, the manager pops up in front of me again. "it is $2.99. with a inside coupon. sorry for the wait and a good afternoon."

Print vs. Reproduction

2011-01-18T10:08:00.000-08:00

throughout the past few weeks, i've been surfing Etsy for unique works of art. particularly original prints.

let's discuss what an original print is. the word "print" is often used in the art world for two completely different things. allow me to explain the difference.

one type of print is a true, honest-to-goodness real piece of art. it is made directly by the hands of an artist. the artist may choose to employ any of a multitude of printing processes which include, but are not limited to, screen printing, block printing, etching, or lithography. an artist who works in these mediums is called a printmaker. generally, when a printmaker creates a design and prints it on paper (or another surface), he or she makes more than one "copy," or impression. each impression is then signed and numbered. together, the multiple impressions make up an edition. each impression is considered to be an original print and an original piece of art.

with much confusion, the term "print" is now also used in reference to digital reproductions of original artwork (such as paintings, drawings, AND original, handmade prints.) digital reproduction is a process where a piece of art is scanned into a computer, and then a high-tech, ink-jet printer shits out multiple copies. the commercial art world slaps on the fancy word "giclee" to sell more, less-expensive pieces this way. they've gone to far lengths to convince you that these "prints" are "real" works of art. you'll find giclee prints on canvas, and some may have a clear, paint-like medium brushed over the surface to mimic "real brushstrokes." and sometimes they'll drum up the fact that the artist, who made the original piece of art from which this is a copy, has overseen the entire digital printing process and has personally signed and numbered each "print." but what this crap really boils down to, is just that--crap. these "prints" are fakes, phonies, frauds, shams. and i have to say, they aren't classy either.

yes, this last jab may be a little harsh. i readily admit that i can be an art snob. but trust me on this one.

whatever you wanna call 'em, digital prints, giclees, digital reproductions, they're all glorified posters. and if you are over eighteen, you have no business hanging posters in your home, especially when you can find good, affordable, original art. granted, you won't find it at target, or bed bath & beyond, but there are plenty of venues to find handmade artwork. try visiting your local art galleries. try to spot the reproductions and ask them if they sell original artwork, whether it's paintings, drawings, or "original prints." if you enjoy online shopping, start with Etsy.com, poppytalkhandmade.com, or littlepaperplanes.com. most online listings will reveal prints' true origins.

you will certainly encounter digi reproduction prints. they may be very attractive or fit perfectly with your decor. but i challenge you to find works of art that are directly created by an artist's hand. it may be more expensive than the imposture print, but the quality is always noticeably superior. and it may be a little corny or cliche to say, but the true, honest energy poured into a handmade piece of art is contagious. purchasing handmade artwork, and supporting artists and their real craft is far more fulfilling than buying a copy. though many artists make money from the sale of both originals and print reproductions, i think most would prefer to have the luxury of only selling originals.

here's a shop, i just found today--a perfect example of everything i've discussed.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/YonderPrints

this gal, Amanda Turpen, of Yonder Prints, is a real printmaker. she makes woodblock/linocut prints with multiple colors. these are time consuming to make, but at least she's able to make multiple prints at one time.

pictured above, is her original print, "Smorgasbord," which is a 4-color, 33"x48" print. it's priced at $250, and that's pretty reasonable considering the number of colors and the size. a reproduction, matching this size, would probably sell for half this, or less.

most of Amanda's other listings are digital reproductions of original prints. these are all 8"x10," or smaller, for less than $20.

always remember, you get what you pay for. it may take a few more weeks to save up for the original, but it's quality over quantity folks.

for the price of a diamond ring, you could buy several truck loads of plastic, adjustable rings from a trinket machine. hell, you could buy truck loads of trinket machines. but do you really wanna wear junk that springs from a small plastic bubble?

please buy REAL art.

NOTE: my blasting of posters, of course, does not include handmade, hand-printed posters. i'm rather referencing posters you're likely to find at a spencer's gifts store. you know the ones, depicting a psychedelic jimmy hendrix or maybe a van gogh's "starry night."

Witchy Woman

2010-03-05T16:02:00.000-08:00

every time i get on the bus, in the morning, the same, old woman climbs on board at the next stop. and she always gets off the bus, at the stop just before my destination. so i ride along with her, often. unfortunately.

she's an elderly woman. with a walker. she slowly climbs up the steps and sits in one of the first available seats. arranging and rearranging her folded walker and one or two bulging plastic grocery bags. she wears a thin, plaid, mildly-soiled overcoat. usually a long, thick, tan sweater peeks out from beneath the coat. she often wears a navy-blue pair of polyester slacks and a clean pair of sensible walking shoes. no socks.

her scraggly, gray hairs are always covered with a green, polyester scarf tied under her chin. her magnified eyeballs peer out from behind her coke-bottle-lens glasses with light, brown rims. a number of coarse, gray hairs have sprouted on her wrinkly, upper lip and on her knobby chin.

her most distinctive trait, though, is her aroma. if i can't see her, i just have to sniff the air to determine whether she is "in attendance." imagine for a moment, an old, wooden shelf, with lots of dust on it. dust, an inch thick. imagine this shelf in an old, forgotten, musty closet. now imagine a ripe, unhygienic, elderly body. put the two together, and you'll have something close to this woman's complex emanation. it's strong and heavy. and it burns the nostrils.

she kinda reminds me of the witch from the hansel and gretel story. but if you lived in a house made of sweets, you probably wouldn't smell like this. this odor has a spicy, natural tinge. there's nothing sweet about it. i would imagine her, yes--in the woods, as the aforementioned h&g witch. but rather in the neighboring, decaying, wooden home. perhaps, the home built out of the scraps from the three little pigs stick house. post big, bad wolf incident.

please enjoy this "Witchy Woman" ditty. i much prefer the eagles version, but this is all i could find.

You Sir, Get the Part of Evil Villain #1

2010-03-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

on the bus, today, i sat across the isle facing a possible villain from a james bond movie. now. . .i've never actually watched a 007 flick, but if i was the casting director, i would totally pick this guy to play the angry, european antihero.

the above-stated gentleman sat starring out the window beyond my shoulder. his piercing, blue eyes peered from underneath stern, heavy, bald-eagle eye brows. the wrinkles on his forehead, around his eyes, and framing his mouth were deep. his wide-mouthed, lizard lips were zipped shut--almost not even there. a long, deep scar stretched from the left side of his mouth, up to his cheek bone. his jaw was strong with a cleft chin. a smattering of short, fuzzy white hairs clung to the sides of his balding head. the man sat there quietly in his black sweater, black slacks, black socks, and shined, black shoes.

i imagined him stroking a white cat and letting out a thundering, gap-toothed guffaw, for no reason at all.

as his destination neared, he reached for the stop-request bell. it was then, that i noticed he was missing a half digit from his left hand.

he's got it all! i think i will appoint him as the leader of the "eagle eye assassins".

The Biggest Booger, I Have Seen.

2010-02-24T18:34:00.000-08:00

so i get on the bus, today, and sit down in a seat perpendicular to the seat in front of me. i get to stare at this old guy's profile during my whole ride home. yay!

this man was just minding his own business, with his thinning, light-brown dyed, and gray hairs combed and slicked back over his head. just riding along in his little black sweater with a gray shirt collar peeking out. in his little tan slacks and black socks and black, sensible tennis shoes. and there, behold. . .the biggest BOOGER, EVER, dangling from his nose.

as i spied this monumental specimen of mucus, my gag reflex was immediately activated for "stand-by." i'm sure my face was frozen in the flared-nostril and pursed-lip frown of disgust, as i couldn't help myself from starring at this thing. it hung there, about 3/4 of an inch from the rim of that man's thin, left nostril. it was a chunky, dry piece of nose debris popping out to say "hello!". i closed my eyes for a second and wished, really hard, that it would instantly disappear. nope! it didn't. he rubbed his eyes with his age-spotted, knuckley hands. it remained undisturbed. and he covered his mouth as he cleared his throat. still there, it clung. oh, and then he finally rubbed his nose! assuming that would clear things up, i checked back with premature relief. the damn thing was still there! though, it slightly retreated back up into its home, like a shy turtle. but it was still totally there. i gulped deeply, hoping i wouldn't dry heave.

about ten excruciating minutes later, i was entirely relieved as the old man left this seat and prepared to exit the bus. he lingered and engaged in a little chatty, giggly small-talk with the driver as he departed--dinglebooger and all.

Complaint Department

2009-07-20T15:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Bell Sporting Goods,

I am writing to bring to your attention an important matter of concern. I purchased an unsatisfactory product that bares your company's name--Bell. From the Big 5 Sporting Goods store, at 6601 Wilshire Blvd. in Los Angeles, in May of this year, I purchased your Multi-Use Foot Pumper.

The product packaging claims this product can be used to inflate bicycle tires, however, I have found the opposite to be true. The "compact head" with its "pivoting lever [that] closes easier [&] reduces chance of leaks" does no such thing, and therefore it is defective. The pivoting lever was actually quite difficult to clamp down. And the seal inside the head leaked like a sieve. I had a flatter tire than what I started with, after trying to use this product. I even asked other friends to use the pumper to determine if it was a matter of human error--to no avail.

I did not return the product to the store because I had discarded the receipt assuming that a product, such as this, would actually be functional. Instead, I fed your demon product to a garbage compactor!

I am disappointed in the quality of your product, and I think this quality control or design issue should be of importance to your well-known brand. I would appreciate a replacement bicycle pump.

Looking forward to your prompt reply and a resolution to this problem.

Thank You,

Jill Kleinhans

Sunglasses Incident

2009-07-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

so we were staying in a hotel up north, for maker faire. i woke up early to take my shower first. matt stayed in bed. i groggily stumbled into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. the water was soft, so the tiny, little jets just around the shower head would not suffice. with slippery hands, i tried to grip the plastic, spherical shower head to adjust the jet settings. i clicked it one notch, and a few more little water squirters opened up in the middle--also not sufficient. with a bit of fight, i successfully clicked the head over two more notches, and instantly, i was blasted with the force of a fire hose. “oh god!,” i yelped as the shower stream practically ripped off my nipple. i crouched over, shielding my soft tissues with my arms. good thing it didn’t blast me in the face--my eyelashes would have probably been blown off! so i cowered away from the heinous stream and desperately tried to click the shower head back a notch, but to no avail. accepting my fate, i slowly eased, backwards, into the blasting water.

as i showered, i remembered that i was supposed to remind matt to email some guy. so i leaned out of the shower to open the bathroom door. “hey, matt did you email that guy last night?” i heard some rustling, so he must have heard me. as i cautiously slipped back into the shower-of-doom, the slimy curtain stuck to my already-clean leg. yuck! i continued my shower duties, so i could escape in a jiffy.

apparently, when i had opened the bathroom door, the hot steam began to creep out into the room, and so, of course, the fire alarm starts blaring!??? “oh, no! what now? what’s going on?” i hollered. i began to slip and quickly grabbed the hand rail--whew! i carefully leaned out from the curtain again and slammed the door closed.

rudely awakened and discombobulated in the dark room, matt assumed the screeching hailed from the alarm clock. he rolled over and smacked the button on the top of the alarm. polka-like spanish music, with trumpets, began to blast! frightened, matt smacked the alarm again. the robotic voice of akon, now began to wail with heavy booming beats! matt instantly rolled back over to grab his glasses from the other bedside table. he put on the glasses and suddenly everything was darker than before! really confused--and blind-- with the fire alarm and radio simultaneously going crazy, matt scrambled for the lamp. as he flipped the lamp’s switch, he realized that these were not his spectacles. they were his sunglasses!

and this is how our day started.

Eye Balls

2009-03-12T10:22:00.000-07:00

morning. a man who looked exactly like a human kewpie doll sat across from me on the bus. he sat fidgeting. that big, round noggin balanced atop his shoulders. his wide, round blue eyes glistened out from a healthy batch of lashes. his short, wavy, light hair was plastered to the scalp. he wore blue jeans and a baby blue t-shirt which he filled up with his bloated little body. sitting in one of the higher seats, his pristine, white tennis-shoed feet didn't quite touch the floor.

and speaking of baby doll lashes, from the corner of my eye, i noticed a young, latino girl applying eye make-up while the bus barreled down the road. it wasn't a touch-up job. she was putting on the works--liquid foundation, powder, blush, blue eye shadow, eye liner and mascara. yeah, mascara and eye liner! on the bus! a moving bus!

strangely enough, later this same day, i witnessed two other women applying eye make-up while riding the bus. one peered into a tiny compact as her steady hand drew on some liner. and another girl quickly swooped mascara on her lashes between pot holes.

what happens when an eye ball gets poked out? does it pop with an explosion of milky gunk? or is it more like a dripping, gloppy mess like an opaque, white, unset jello? hmmm? maybe i will need to inspect my bus seat, prior to sitting, not only for blood, urine, feces, vomit, drugs, and semen, but now for poked-out eye ball gunk as well.

Ringling Brothers CVS

2009-02-04T23:48:00.000-08:00

weeks ago. saturday night. after a long day of vending at a craft fair, matt and i zipped over to the cvs drugstore to procure a few essential items. after dodging three absent-minded drivers in the parking lot, we arrived safely. as we were collecting an array of vitamins on the supplement aisle, matt leans over, "it smells like shit in here. hurry up. let's get outta here!"

"i don't smell anything," i replied while inspecting the ingredients on a small blue bottle. "is it the usual dirty diaper smell?"

"no! it smells like vomit. it's making me sick. let's go!" matt demanded.

"ok! we will! we need a few more things," i reasoned.

"what's next?" matt was curt.

"shampoo and conditioner." and we found ourselves standing before a long wall of brightly colored bottles--popping the lids and sniffing each brand. "hey matt, look at this." i held up what looked like a spray-paint can. "pssst," the spray shampoo that cleans without water! imagine that!"

"huh?" matt wasn't as impressed and continued to sniff a bubble-gum pink bottle. "okay. i want this one."

"let me smell," i leaned over and whiffed. "okay," and we put two pink bottles into our carrying basket. "onto the paper towels," as i checked my list.

we passed the candy aisle with a short hesitation, grabbed a giant 12 pack of toilet paper and a 3 pack of paper towels. "is that everything? is there anything we could possibly be forgetting?" i begged.

"no. let's go."

and we turned from the paper-goods aisle to find a line at the check out twelve people deep. "holy shit," we exclaimed in unison. we accepted our fate and stepped in line.

the christmas tunes that had jingled throughout our visit suddenly stopped. "customer assistance needed at the men's razor counter" blared over the loudspeaker. "jingle bell rock" resumed it's oddly hypnotic rhapsody, and then stopped again. "customer assistance needed at the men's razor counter" was repeated over the clamour of the store again. and again.

matt leaned over and whispered to me with an elbow nudge, "i think someone's at the men's razor counter."

"mmmhhhmm," i sighed, shifted my waiting stance, and readjusted the basket handle.

a small latino boy zipped along down the line of patient customers and disappeared down the greeting card aisle.

"i think that kid shit his pants," matt whispers again.

"huh, i didn't smell anything," i starred blankly forward.

the large-assed, middle-aged woman in front of us, in her red and green snowman sweater clipped coupons leaning over her cart and thought aloud, "i think there's a child at the men's razor counter."

and that cued the same message 3 more times interrupting my enjoyment of "feliz navidad."

matt knocks my arm, "hey! the poots are here!"

"really? the poots? where?" i craned my neck over the crowd of people.

"over there. at the counter."

"oh, what are they buying?"

the "poots" happen to be a pair of our neighbors. kind enough. "hi"s and smiles are always exchanged. but nothing more. they keep to themselves--which may be misconstrued for snootiness. so we call them "the poots." i think they are from europe somewhere. another one of our neighbors thinks they levitate. but i digress. . .

"can't see. what do they do?" matt wonders while on his toes peeking over the heads of the other waiting people.

"customer assistance needed at the men's razor counter."

"i don't know. i think she's a doctor of some sort. i peeked at the address on their mail to catch their names once. but then i forgot them."

the line inched closer and lengthened behind us. a confused man walked up to the beginning of the line. he stood for a moment starring blankly. then he filed back to the end of the line.

"beep, beeep, beep," the back door alarm sounded and simultaneously the familiar message droned on, "customer assistance needed at the men's razor counter." and then "code 4 at register 2, customer is waiting," a chubby girl repeated over the intercom.

"awh, the poots got fucked!"

"huh? how do you?"

matt interrupted, "they're comin back with their receipt."

"oh, no. this place rips everyone off!"

"hey, don't forget to watch all the prices as we ring out," matt reminded me.

"right!" i assured.

we inched forward. "customer assistance needed at the men's razor counter." a shady-looking guy with piercing, glassy, blue eyes asked aloud, "think they'll ever make it?" we both gave a slight chuckle and shrug.

it was finally our turn! a short teenage girl with a large, red, juicy sore dangling from her bottom lip, waved us over. our check-out experience was satisfactory--no overcharges this time!

as we exited the store, a medium built guy with long, brown hair swept into a ponytail, walked in wearing a full-length black, duster coat, black shirt, black jeans and tall black boots. his face was smeared with multiple splotches of bright, white face paint. it appeared as though he had just come from a gig with his kiss cover band and had no time to spare cleaning up before getting to the drugstore. he was accompanied by wednesday from the adam's family.

at the car, finally, ready for home, i climbed into the front, passenger seat. it was pushed forward to the max. (we had to haul around a long table from the day's craft fair.) the seat was also tilted forward, to the max, so i contorted myself into the most uncomfortable position and slammed the door. my face was on the dash board. and my knee began to spasm on the slow ride home. but we made it home with our t.p. and vitamins!

Junk Mail

2009-02-04T01:12:00.000-08:00

i can admit, that perhaps, i may be a little neurotic at times. ok. maybe all the time. i may be a bit obsessed with tidiness. and constantly returning stuff to its proper place--out of site. and organizing stuff. and donating stuff. and throwing stuff out. and anxiously awaiting to get rid of more stuff. and fantasizing about an big, open, empty house to live in with nothing in it.

anyways, i may be cultivating a new little obsessive agenda--to be removed from every junk-mail list on the planet! junk mail, bah!--i despise it. we all receive it, and i imagine the earth is drowning in it. what a waste of resources and time and money.

whenever i receive an unsolicited piece of mail, i immediately call the given phone number to be removed from the origin's mailing list. today was wells fargo. i called up the phone number. waited 15 minutes--only for the man, on the other end, to tell me that he cannot help me with my request and that he will have to transfer me to "customer service." i was put on hold for another 5 minutes. the terrible elevator music blared so loudly it was distorted. and then. . . i was disconnected! oh, this fueled the fire. now i had to be removed from this list! i was seeing red. i went online and got the direct line for customer service. dialed it up. waited about 10 minutes, and finally spoke with a woman. when i explained my request and that i had no account with her company, she was thrown for a loop--and put me on hold for another 3 minutes. when she got back to me, she had found "the form" that she would need to process my request, and then handled the issue. i can sleep now.

oh, and california, i think i know what you did last summer. . .

i suspect the state sells our info to junk mailers (or junk mailers troll a list of newly-formed businesses.) i registered my business with the state last year. and, of course, just when i thought i had this little junk mail problem squashed, i was soon bombarded with postcards for credit card processing hardware, and brochures for this and that, and loan offers, and tons of crap. thanks for the privacy cali.

there's a "do not call" list, why isn't there a "do not mail" list?

The Real Lost Kate

2009-02-03T01:20:00.000-08:00

morning. the scraggly man from this previous blog post rode the bus again this morning. he lugged two heavy, bulging bags. he swung one bag swiftly into my shoulder and onto the seat to my right--knocking me askew. "don't worry, they don't bite--my paperwork," the man took a seat and patted his bags. today, he was dressed in a fatigue jacket and cap.

a young, white woman had entered the bus just ahead of the disheveled guy. she took a seat across the aisle from us. her hair was big, brown, curly and voluminous--like a wig. she hid behind a pair of large-rimmed, dark sunglasses. a full backpack sat on her lap. she wore a new pair of jeans and a fine, woolen short coat. she resembled "kate" from the tv show "lost." i imagined that she was "the real-life" kate, on the run, in disguise.

the guy in the fatigue jacket began asking her questions about submarines and navy stuff. apparently they became acquainted at the bus stop before meeting here across the aisle. i presume the conversation was triggered by the large class ring and dog tags hanging around the woman's neck. she kindly entertained his inquiries, but didn't elaborate or volley the conversation.

she then opened her cell phone to make a call. there was an answer. she talked for quite awhile. "oh he's going off to shoot guns on valentines day," she explained. "it's cool. it's just a day. i can handle myself."

"and what are you gonna say? hi kelly, happy valentine's day. i almost cheated on you?" she chuckled. the conversation continued.

later she sternly and slowly demanded into the phone, "you must do this for me. or i will go back to jail, david."

the scraggly guy had lost interest by the time she hung up the phone. apparently he wasn't into eavesdropping. he stayed quiet for the rest of his ride with his nose buried in his "paperwork".

Lovely Lady

2009-02-02T00:29:00.000-08:00

tuesday. evening. the stretch bus was packed. a large man with a flat, golf hat fitted atop his large head sat, facing the aisle, while reading a book through big, black-rimmed, bifocal glasses. a long, scraggly, salt-and-pepper ponytail draped over the front of his left shoulder. as the man read, he continually slurped his lips and smoothed his long, gray beard with his dry, splintered fingers. his coat was made of a coarse, black wool and covered with lint and fuzz.

a tall trannie entered the bus with oily, long, bleached hair. she was skinny and wore low-cut jeans and a red velvet hoodie. the hoodie was short and bore her lumpy midriff. the skin was stretched over the bones where her hips should be. bright red lipstick was smeared over her lips. she wore matching red, sparkly nail polish on the claws of her long, large fingers. she plopped down into the seat next to the slurping man. her big, toothy smile revealed dark, gray fringe at the gum-line of her teeth.

soon, a short, wrinkled, columbian man with thick, black-rimmed glasses, a light, tan jacket and a "cubs" baseball cap sat next to said trannie. she was delighted with his arrival. she bent down low and close to talk to him. initially, he responded to her questions with short, simple answers, and continued to divert his gaze afterward. she persisted, and he warmed up to her. they spoke of baseball, politics, john edwards, gay sex in bathroom stalls and much more. at one point, she turned and asked, openly to those in her vicinity, about some element. her voice was loud and like that of a stereotypical valley girl. the slurpper quietly answered, "polonium."

"oh, now that one is even more dangerous," she announced with a point of her finger. "thanks for helping us out with that." the slurpper was quiet and continued to read. "i knew it was like plutonium or something like that." and she turned back to the little man.

when the slurpper left, the open seat revealed the trannie's low-slung jeans which, in turn, revealed her hot pink thong underwear. the man, next to me, shuddered, poured some nerds-like candy into his mouth and starred forward as he crunched them down.

the trannie leaned over and asked another man across the aisle, "can i bum a cig?"

the man frowned and cocked his eyebrow, "i'm actually going up here to get something a little better."

she grinned, "oh yeah?! like what?," she exclaimed. the man shrugged and exited the bus. the trannie popped up from her seat following him out the door while, with a wave, she bid the little old man goodbye, "it was nice talking to you." and she disappeared.

a scruffy white dude, wearing a floppy straw hat with a dangling chin strap, sat across the aisle from the little old man. he had witnessed the entire interaction with the trannie. the two men's eyes met, and they began to chuckle. the little old man explained, "i have no problem unless they start messing with me, but i just don't like them getting married--the men and the men and the women and women."

the other guy exclaimed, "oh, i don't believe in marriage, man. it's a horrible thing."

the old man continued, "marriage is about understanding. not just sex, sex, sex."

"yeah, why should you have to have a piece of paper for that?" added the straw-hat guy. "one person locked to another--it's terrible."

the old man exited the bus at the next stop, and the straw-hat guy sat quietly.

Wardrobe Misfortune

2008-12-18T02:04:00.000-08:00

it was the first day for me to wear my new, shiny, black, ribbed stretch pants! i sat in my favorite seat on the bus this morning--undisturbed! a stocky fellow, with a wide neck, walked down the isle with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and the flap wide open. as he passed, the large velcro strip grabbed the knee of my pants. oblivious to the snag, the man grasped the vertical pole and hoisted himself into the seat to my right. as he pulled his bag onto his lap, he became aware of his hungry velcro. the man carefully tried to peel the bag away from my knee, but it was really stuck. he hesitated, and then delicately used both hands to remove this thing from my leg. i was frozen with awkwardness, and embarrassment, and growing irritation as the seconds ticked away like minutes. fumbling, he was finally able to free the flap, as the bus suddenly lurched forward. i silently looked down at the roughed up, fuzzy patch on my pants. the man softly mumbled "sorry." we rode on in silence.

Bird Thief

2008-12-07T22:48:00.000-08:00

last saturday. i set up shop in a local parking lot, to sell my wares for the day, along with an eclectic bunch of grassroots vendors. the attendance was a little slow, but steady. i chatted it up with my fellow peddlers and engaged in small talk with attendees who visited my table. after battling continuous gusts of wind in the morning, and hula hooping in the scorching sun throughout the afternoon, the event began to wind down.

as i began to pack up a few things, i was visited by a man with a bird. a handsome white cockatoo, with peach under feathers, sat on the man's shoulder. its black, beady eyes locked onto me--fascinated. the bird let out a soft, two-syllable squawk. the man translated, "mooky says step up." the bird apparently had the desire to "step up" onto my shoulder. i offered my arm out with a welcoming gesture. its scaly, gray feet, with large talons, griped my sweater as it walked up my arm. the man explained that the bird's interest was in textures, and that it explored textures with its tongue. the bird licked my hand and picked at my sweater with its sizable beak.

the bird sat atop my shoulder, as the man asked, "do you have to potty?" oh great--my heart sunk. the man held out his hand, and the bird hopped onto his finger. the man turned from me, and the bird crapped on the ground. seconds later, the bird was returned to my shoulder.

mooky was a little too close to my face for comfort. the man scolded the bird when it leaned in close to my temple. i feared this random creature would pluck out my eyeball, laugh demonically, and fly away forever.

i breathed a small sigh of relief when the bird found interest in my scarf--away from my face. "oh, he likes to weave strings like that together if you let 'em." the bird meticulously picked at my scarf fringe one by one. suddenly, the winged creature nipped the thin skin on my clavicle. a sharp, stinging pain immediately gave me goosebumps down my arms and legs. was i bleeding?

i didn't want to freak out the bird or cause a scene. so i casually, yet quickly, wrapped up the rest of my neck, with my scarf, and began to draw the conversation to a close. i bid "mooky" and his man friend "adieu" and packed up my merchandise in a flash.

upon return home, i inspected the bird damage in the mirror. mooky completely nipped off a small mole that had been on my clavicle! a very small wound remained--crusted and still bleeding. that beady-eyed twerp very precisely stole my mole!

the wound has since healed, and the mole is indeed gone. i guess the experience was cheaper than having it removed by a trained professional. a bit unorthodox though.

Only in WEHO

2008-12-02T22:38:00.000-08:00

i was driving home down santa monica, today, when i saw a bicycler up ahead to the right of traffic. butt something was amiss! and it took me a minute to figure it out.

the rider's shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair blew in the breeze. it might have been a wig. i noticed that this person was wearing only a white bra on top. a little peculiar, but some women do wear sports bras out to exercise. and i noticed this person was wearing a short, black, ruffly skirt while riding carefree down the busy street.

but then i very clearly saw some ass cheeks as this person's skirt intermittently flew up with the wind. they were a pale, un-fit, saggy pair of buns. butt confident ones at that! as i drove past, i noticed this person was indeed an older man. he had a white beard and a furry chest accented by the tan breast cups of the bra. he also wore black sunglasses, but who's really looking at those anyway.

A Mixed Lot

2008-11-30T23:46:00.000-08:00

thursday. morning bus ride. it's amazing the diverse characters one may observe just within thirty or forty minutes.

a mannequin man stood in the front of the bus, dressed in a dark suit with a white-collared pink shirt underneath his jacket. a little red bow tie floated under his adam's apple. his face was chiseled and masculine. his lips were full and rosy red. his light, glassy eyes scanned the road ahead. dark and shiny, his hair swept from a right part, over to the left. he truly resembled a real-life ventriloquist dummy.

a tall, african-american man, in a blue security uniform, cursed under his breathe after realizing there were no open seats available when he boarded the bus. he headed towards the back. his beard was scraggly and he didn't possess a full set of teeth. an essence of stale beer floated around his person. the matching badges on his hat and shoulder read "private security systems." he carried a long, padded, black bag.

then a very tall, pointy, hot-pink mohawk walked onto the bus attached to a tanned, white dude. the guy wore plastic elvis glasses and a bracelet made from bicycle chain. the mohawk defied gravity and didn't move a bit as the bus bounced down the road.

and then a spectacular euro rat tail boarded the bus. the plume perched on the nape of a guy in his early twenties. he spoke a foreign language with his friends. i think it was a language from a cold, northern euro country. his hair was a dark brown and short. not buzzed short. not spiky. just a typical short male do. but the hair in the back, towards the neck, bloomed into a magnificent, curled, chunky rat tail--no longer than two or three inches.

what force has brought us all here together? and why?

Black Friday Animals

2008-11-28T23:49:00.001-08:00

my thanksgiving was fun and tasty.

i have a lot to be grateful for--my health, family and friends, a roof over my head, food in my tummy, clothes on my back, my card business, the list goes on. and isn't that what this season is about? being thankful and sharing and kindness.

i read a most disturbing story in the news today. the headline reads, "wal-mart worker dies after shoppers knock him down." here's the story

what the hell?

every person who was at this place, in this mob, should take a good, long look at themselves and be super-duper ashamed. and embarrassed for acting like animals. i hope the people who physically trampled this guy become so overwhelmed with guilt that they all jump off a bridge. this is disgusting behavior. by adults! and for a bunch of stupid meaningless bullshit! money is not the root of all evil. this materialism is. these good little american consumers have learned to be so shallow and stupid that they will kill just to get their sicko paws on another elmo doll or a flat screen tv or an xbox or whatever. do they even care what they are buying? or are they programmed only to go spend, spend, spend.

almost every year, now, a few poor, unfortunate retail employees and/or customers are injured or killed by mobs of insane shoppers. does this alarm anyone?

this "season" has grown out of control into a disgusting, meaningless pile of shit! so if you agree with me, i urge you to bring back the real reason for this season. spend quality time with the people you cherish, give to charities, help others, make gifts for your close ones, or buy unique things from small local shops, spread cheer, eat and be merry!

please don't be a shipbag! and if you witness others being shitbags, set 'em straight!

thank you and good nite.

Brakin' Bread

2008-11-26T23:54:00.000-08:00

we finally got rain. it poured all evening and throughout the night. the electricity even went out. i had a psychic moment and lit some candles just before everything went pitch black. i was in the middle of printing an order of christmas cards. with nothing else to do, i continued to print by candle light. it was fun. it felt like pioneer days. and surprisingly the resulting prints were awesome. the color registration was right on. and the ink laid down beautifully with the high humidity. perhaps this little stroke of luck was imparted by that silly good-luck bread dough.

today was my tenth and final day bread-sitting. i added a few more ingredients. then divided the concoction into four visually-equal parts. (last week, i began to confirm my prospective recipients; so, i wouldn't be left holding the dough on the last day.) today, i successfully delivered three portions to friends.

i added the last ingredients to my remaining glob of dough. the oil, sugar, and eggs made it bubbly and runny--like cake batter. i didn't have any baking powder, so i did a little research. did you know that you can substitute baking powder and baking soda for one another? to make baking powder, mix two parts cream of tartar with one part baking soda. ya learn something new everyday!

so i poured the mixture into a pan, threw it in the oven, and crossed my fingers. see here, my oven is super ancient. it's gas powered, and i have to light it from underneath every time i use it. it apparently has no control over its temperature. it just cooks everything at molten-lava temperatures, despite whatever degree i adjust it to. my oven bakes things (or burns them to a black mess) in half the time any recipe recommends. sometimes it's cool--if i catch it before my cakes turn to charcoal. but it's usually super uncool.

tonight, i peeked in a the bread at just the right moment. i took it out after 30 minutes (the instructions called for 50). the top and bottom were finished to a nice golden brown. and the middle was firm, yet moist!

the bread is most comparable to cornbread--minus the corn. it is yellow and very sweet and cakey. it's okay. not too bad. but i wish it had been banana bread.

alright. i think that's enough for the bread talk. next time, let's discuss our thanksgiving meal and any black friday shopping ordeals/deals that may be had.

night, night. gobble, gobble. and happy thanksgiving!

How's the Weather?

2008-11-23T00:16:00.001-08:00

on the fifth day babysitting the magical, good-luck, bread dough, i followed the instructions, added a cup of milk, a cup of sugar, and two cups of flour. and stirred it with a wooden spoon. it grew.

and it continues to fall and grow after i stir it each day. the smell of the dough has a hint of green-apple jolly rancher; while, it's still very yeasty. it's complex.

luck meter=no exceptionally good luck has come my way. yet!

but at the laundromat, last night, i found two quarters in a washer and two pennies in a dryer. score! so i guess that is a slight bit better than my normal luck. usually the machines eat my money.

oh, and los angeles has finally responded to my intent wishes for thanksgiving-like weather!

we've be having the most un-autumn-spirited weather. it's been hot. and sunny. i've been shaking my fist at that stupid, happy, shiny sun for weeks, hoping, just hoping, that the weather could resemble thanksgiving time soon.

i'm tired of super, happy, sunny time. get with it weather man! it's thanksgiving!

who wants to load up on a shit load of turkey, and a bunch of other heavy stuff, and then roast your ass in the sun? not me! this is hibernatin' time!

it's time for that gray-white sky with a chilly nip in the wind. and the robust scent of wood, burning in fireplaces, floating through the air.

i know. i know. i moved out to la for the weather. true. but! it's just not the holidays without some chilly, gray weather.

this year's weather forecast looks promising. they predict rain and temperatures in the 60s for thursday! woohoo! i might get my wish after all! maybe my luck is changing.

i'm going to have to dig out my coat. no really. 60/50s is super cold for me. i'll have to bundle up. i'm really not made for the cold, and i think i would die if i visited the midwest winter now.

let's go defrost that turkey now!

Felt Club was a Blast!!

2008-11-20T19:18:00.000-08:00

after two weeks of little sleep, lots of printing, and many all-nighters, the big event finally arrived. sunday's felt club was totally awesome. look at all those people. there were lots of great vendors, crafty workshops and stations. and the swap-a-rama-rama was happening upstairs in the balcony.

*photo snagged from minkfink58's flickr photostream

when we arrived to load in, at 9am, there was a significant line of attendees forming in front of the auditorium. the event didn't open until 11am. they must have been some hardcore crafty fans.

the night before, matt and i wondered around ikea to find a solution for an attractive and practical card display. we found it. thank you ikea.

and here i am ready for business.
these paper flowers were a real hit! it was a very successful day! and loads of fun! i hope to be a part of it next year!!

i met so many great people. the organizers, the vendors, and attendees, alike, were all so kind. i just wanna hug them all.

this guy, charles phoenix, is the biggest sweetheart in the world! check out his slideshows and books! www.charlesphoenix.com

*photo snagged from sew darn jenny's flickr photostream

and of course, leslie hall's performance was. . .spectacular!

*photo snagged from minkfink58's flickr photostream

i'm so proud to have been a part of this event! thank you felt club!

and onto a completely unrelated subject:
the good-luck, magical bread dough still sits on my counter. i stirred it today with a wooden spoon (according to the instructions, only a wooden spoon will do). the concoction smells like a science experiment. and it's sticky. but it's not growing. tomorrow, i am to add a few ingredients. exciting. oh, and no apparent change, in luck, has befallen me.

Today on the Bus

2008-11-18T22:13:00.000-08:00

today. noonish. i was riding the bus, to west hollywood, to meet my friend, jen, for lunch and to receive, from her, a growing glob of good luck dough. i'll explain the dough thing later. i sat in my usual spot, towards the middle of the bus, in one of the seats that faces the isle. these seats are higher, which allows me to keep a good eye on everything.

soon, a chubby, latino woman plopped down next to me holding a small child. before i knew it, she laid the kid over her lap, flopped out her big, milk-engorged boob, and the child began slurping and suckling, while it kicked my thigh with its feet. i had been looking toward the front of the bus, when i heard the loud sucking sound. unknowingly, i turned my head to find the woman's entire tit exposed for everyone to see. there was a little white-haired, old lady sitting directly across from me. she just stared at the boob for minutes. and there were two men across from the feeding as well. they were purposefully diverting their gazes.

why is public breast-feeding appropriate? why on the bus? or anywhere else, for that matter?

during my training, at the boutique that fired me, the boss lady proceeded to breastfeed while showing me how to use a computer program!

and once in the olive gallery, a hippy chick sat on our couch, in the front window, whipped out a boob, and began to feed a kid that could walk!

does anyone else think this is inappropriate? does it make anyone else uncomfortable? will the kid die if you don't feed it at that exact moment? aren't breast pumps made so you can carry your boob fluid with you in a bottle?

i think public breastfeeding is creepy, and this moment should be shared with mom and baby alone, in private.

some may say, "jill, it's just a boob, get over it."

well, if it's just a boob, then can i pop out my miniature ones in public anytime i want? even better, can someone suck on my boob in public--at a restaurant, on the bus, at a movie theater, or whenever? no. and no.

others may argue that this is a beautiful moment from the miracle of life.

there just is no convincing me that procreation is such a beautiful thing. it's quite gross if you ask me. i think my halloween costume, this year, sums up my feelings about childbearing.

yes. there i am as a one-armed, pregnant zombie. my zombie fetus has eaten its way from my womb. oh, and he moves and growls! hehe.

please feel free to weigh in on the public breastfeeding issue. maybe someone can help me understand why it must be done in front of everyone else.

and now onto the good luck dough. my friend, jen, is a little superstitious. so when she received this special, magical dough, that originated from the vatican, she followed all the chain-letter directions--which includes giving it to three friends. i thought the ten-day dough ordeal might be blog-worthy; so, i accepted the chain-letter dough. i am keeping it safe on my kitchen counter tonight, undisturbed. tomorrow, i will transfer it to a glass bowl and stir it around with a wooden spoon. i'll let you know how that goes.

and lastly, i must say that sunday's felt club event was nothing short of magical! it was so much fun! and i loved the entire crowd! vendors and attendees alike. everyone was super awesome. i will dedicate my next post entirely to the event--with pics!

in other news, i just signed up for 4 dates at the ghettogloss sponsored event, "silverlake art/craft/vintage." you can see me and my goodies there on saturdays november 29th, december 6th, 13th, and 20th. i'll give you more info as the dates draw near.

that's all for tonight.
night, night.

Ah, California!

2008-11-08T21:21:00.000-08:00

september 2008. punchbowls hike of death. my friend, stacey, and i went for a little hike near ojai, california. the hike started here at thomas aquinas college. beautiful sunny day. gorgeous mountain views.

from the campus, past an avocado farm and some oil-pumping things, we followed the rocky riverbed. the entire hike consisted of traversing over rocks, rocks, and more rocks. lots of balancing and hopping from one to the next. and twisting ankles. and slipping. little rocks. big rocks. and huge boulders. the clear stream snaked along through the middle of this wide, dry, rocky bed.

we saw 4 small snakes in the waters during our adventure. a few little fish. and a bunch of tiny frogs that blended into the gray rocks. upon close frog inspection, they seem to have a metallic silver/gold sheen to their skin.

after about two and a half hours of climbing over rocks and following the river, we arrived at the destination. the punchbowls. three natural swimming holes with waterfalls.

did i mention the cliffs? we were not daring enough to do any cliff diving on this trip.

we moved on to the best part--the natural water slide!

here, we swam, in the cold water, to get to the bottom of the slide.

from the water, we climbed up the steep, slippery rocks. luckily there was a strategically placed rope for help.

and then weeeeeee! sit down and ride the waves. just don't get going too fast and slam into the rocks waiting for you at the bottom. oh, and don't fly into the rocks on the side either. stacey screamed when she did that.

there was also a rope swing here. we didn't have the balls to fling ourselves into this shallow water, but many teenage boys did with success.

after some snacks and the slide, we turned back. the return hike seemed a lot longer than before. and at some points, we thought we were lost. i grew grumpy as i continued to twist my ankles over and over. we found a toilet skeleton, so we had to take a photo to raise our spirits.

eight hours after we left the car, we finally returned. dirtier and pretty exhausted. but it was all worth it. i can't wait to go back next year.

Where Did I Leave That Bus Log?

2008-11-06T20:40:00.000-08:00

friday. morning. a bedraggled, homeless man toothlessly garbled jingle bells to a stranger's infant child, while jangling a cluster of keys in its face.

evening. i witnessed a relationship bud between two strangers. a scrawny, twenty-something, white girl with long, straight, dark hair stood awaiting the bus. she had squeezed herself into a tiny pair of cut-off jean shorts. the shorts were so tight, they were never to be removed again. she also wore, tightly, a white, wife-beater, tank top, a pair of silver, over-sized, hoop earrings, and a pair of flip-flops. she puffed on a cigarette, holding it daintily between her long fingers.

a muscly african-american guy, standing near her, struck up a conversation. he was about her age. he too, wore a white, wife-beater, but with saggy, baggy jeans. his clown jeans were held up by the most obnoxious belt. this woven hemp belt was 3 or 4 inches wide. and it was too long for his figure, so the excess hung down to his pocket. as he carried on in the conversation, he smacked his chewing gum like a camel--continuously. i was surprised the gum didn't fly out of his face. "so do you model?" he asked the girl.

"yes. i've done blah, blah," she replied, and i stopped listening as i noticed this guy's facial expressions and gesticulations. he was so over-exaggerated. i'm not sure if he was on drugs, or had a physical disorder, or was just super gay, but he flailed his hands and grimaced so much that i became uncomfortable watching the scene.

he bragged that he made $1000 a week--i didn't gather how this money was made due to my preoccupation with this guy's movements.

while on the bus, the guy decided to take a phone call regarding his personal finances. "yes, i know my account is $156 overdrawn. yeah, i'm gonna pay it. my new atm card and social security card are coming in the mail. no, they were stolen. they're coming to your house, so check the mail." something. something. "my agent is gonna. . ." blah, blah. after getting his business squared away, he chatted with the girl a little more. they exchanged phone numbers, entering digits into their cells on the spot.

soon the girl exited the bus. at the corner, she stepped into on-coming traffic. she was spared, and hopped back onto the curb to wait for the pedestrian signal.

what will these two call each other to talk about? to discuss passages from shakespeare? to debate politics? to brainstorm solutions for global warming?

i just wonder.

Been Awhile

2008-11-02T23:59:00.000-08:00

i'm back now. i promise.

during the last month or so, i. . .

was hired to manage a local boutique.
started running again.
stopped running again.
visited st. louis.
went fishing on a trip to lake of the ozarks.
visited lawrence, kansas.
ate at two of my most favorite restaurants--aladdin cafe and wa.
celebrated the best columbus day ever with good, old friends.
discovered an interactive video game called rockband.
enjoyed the beautiful midwestern fall leaves, gray, and drizzle.
cheated on my diet.
went back onto diet.
sold my cards to another local, artsy store called reform school.
dressed up as a pregnant zombie with a zombie fetus eating its way from my womb.
visited the annual west hollywood halloween fest.
got fired from the above-mentioned boutique.
enjoyed a tremendous chef-prepared meal at a friend's birthday in the 90210.
fell off the diet bandwagon.
still chasing diet bandwagon, in hopes of catching back up to it.

now, i am focusing on felt club preparations. mark november 16th on your calendar. i am launching all of my brand new goodies there.

later dudes.

Bus Muss

2008-10-04T23:03:00.001-07:00

wednesday morning. a grungy man sat diagonally across from me. he was white and scruffy with a corduroy coat over his black, leather, biker jacket. a ball cap fit tightly over his short hair. he rose from his seat to approach the driver with some questions. the driver advised him to consult the bus schedules posted behind him. the guy grabbed a few and returned to his seat, noticing a young woman seated across from him. he, then, began the interrogation.

"goin to work? what do you do for a living?"

the young girl looked up, from the window, and replied, "i work at a movie theater."

"what do you do there?" asked the man.

"sell tickets."

"are you the manager? do you sell candy and popcorn and sodas? what about those secret messages they flash up there to make you buy stuff? uh, the subliminal images. yeah. do you know about those?" blah, blah, blah he continued to pry; and the girl granted him short answers without volleying any questions in his direction.

"what profession do you think has the highest suicide rate?" pause. the girl shrugged. "psychiatrists--you know, shrinks. and who do you think is second?" again, pause. he grinned, exposing his gray, square teeth. "dentists--who clean your teeth. so, why do you work at the theater?"

"i'm a student."

"what do you study?"

"psychology."

"you wanna be a shrink!? how much longer do you have in school?"

"i don't know. it's my first semester."

"how old are you?"

"twenty-two."

"you wanna prescribe meds?"

"i shouldn't be around drugs. i want to work with children."

"don't you have to take pharmaceutical classes to prescribe drugs?" blah, blah, question, question.

as the girl prepared to exit, she explained, "i just got outta jail and graduated rehab."

"oh, yeah! what were ya doin?" he grew a bit more animated.

"heroin."

"really! you're a balloon chaser, eh? how many were ya up to a day?" he grew a bit more animated.

the girl shrugged and threw her hands up in the air, without a verbal answer, and stepped off the bus.

i practiced my mannequinism ever more intently as the man was left alone, without an interrogation subject.

just then, at the la brea stop, the driver exclaimed, "you can't bring that on here! you need a tow truck for that thing." i looked up the aisle to see no commotion. a deep thud sounded at the rear door of the bus. i turned around to spy an overgrown, wheelie cart, bursting at the seams, solid and heavy, being pushed onto the floor of the bus. after a tussle and some trouble, a skinny trannie hopped on and secured the bursting pod of belongings in the middle of the aisle. the gal set down a full, plastic, target bag at the foot of a small filipino woman. the trannie proceeded up the aisle to pay the fare. long, straight, fake, blond locks hung from a tight black, knit cap. she wore a fitted, black short coat, tight, black pants, and heeled black boots.

her face was most incredible. the eyes. i never saw the actual eyes per se. the eye makeup created large, black, eye-hole areas that covered the entire socket with wide tails flaring out to the temples. the sharp cheek bones were accented by a very light brush stroke, unblended, under each eye motif. the lips were super full and painted with a dusty rose stick. the interrogative man gazed, at her beauty, with an open jaw.

she actually resembled one of the muppets--one of the d-list muppets. one that was only in the background during the intro to the original muppet show. you can see who i'm talking about in the muppet cast poster below. my bus trannie resembled the gal in the pink beret, positioned to the right of kermit and the old guy.

Kefir is Awesome. The Laundromat is Not.

2008-09-28T23:27:00.000-07:00

here are a few random nuggets just rolling around in my brain:

i just discovered kefir. it's a liquid, drinkable yogurt. i found it at whole foods market. my friend, natalie, has frequently spoken highly of the substance; so, though the brand i found was not "raw," i thought i'd give it a whirl. my new diet does dictate consumption of only "raw" dairy products. but when i looked through the selection at the grocery store, i found a nice sign indicating that the "raw" cream had recently been recalled and removed from the shelves. the sign then assured me, and my fellow customers, that this batch was safe. due to the questionable health risk, i wasn't really feeling the whole "raw" thing that day, and i went for the kefir.

holy moly! if you haven't tried it before, go to the store right now. get a jug of this stuff, and tell me how delicious it is. go. right now. i mean it. this is my new favorite food. next time you see me, i will be wearing one of those silly beer hats. you know the kind. they have a cup holder on each side of the hat with a long straw that allows you sit and sip--handsfree. yes. i will be wearing one of those contraptions, but instead of beer, the hat will hold two big jugs of cold, sweet, vanilla kefir.

on another note:
i schlepped my dirty laundry to the laundromat the other day. this is an excruciating weekly pilgrimage. but i am loyal to one laundromat only. it is always clean and there is always an attendant on duty to help with any malfunctions or to make change. and the radio is always playing love songs. however, there is one unsettling thing about this laundromat.

i am often approached by strangers asking for money or soliciting stuff.

one time, a middle-aged, black, gay man came up to me, flustered, and said, "hi, i'm so and so. i'm gay as a goose, and i have full-blown aids. i need to get my prescription filled. it's an emergency; my anus is bleeding. i have to get my medicine. i'm bleeding. it's like liver-type blood. my mom is coming to pick me up to take me to the pharmacy. she will take your name and phone number and pay you back in a few days. i need $32.50." he showed me his prescription bill. unfortunately, it was his very unlucky day. he picked the poorest person in the parking lot to beg for money. at the time, my bank account was in the negative, and i only had enough change to wash and dry my own laundry. when i told him i couldn't help him and wished him luck, he huffed off as if i wasted his time.

this week's episode was much more irritating. my first load of laundry was dry, and i looked for a place to do some folding while the rest of the loads were still in the machines. the mat was fairly busy, and all the folding counters seemed to be occupied. the closest counter had someone's stuff laid out over both sides. this person was taking up two stations with just a few pairs of shorts, some boxer briefs, some socks, a wash cloth, and a woven belt. but no one was around, so i modestly sat my basket on the corner and began folding--placing everything immediately back into the basket. eventually a tan, middle-aged man with short salt-and-pepper hair and a trimmed beard returned to his belongings. he brought a few more pieces over to spread out. he then nonchalantly scooted my basket half-way over the edge--right before my eyes! but he didn't have the balls to look me in the eye. he proceeded to fold and lay out all of his things. he did not stack--he displayed. when i took my basket over to retrieve another load, he quickly splayed his stuff over to both edges of the table--claiming the double space for himself, alone. this is yet another reason why i have absolutely no faith in humans.

another time in the parking lot, at the laundromat, a young fellow approached me. he looked like eddie vedder. he asked me if i wanted to buy a north face coat. i said no. "oh, my car broke down and i'm trying to go to blah, blah, and i just thought you looked like a chick who'd like a north face coat," he explained.

stay tuned for more tales from the laundromat and beyond.

Day-Care Bus

2008-09-24T23:21:00.000-07:00

wednesday. on my ride home, a tattered woman boarded the bus with five children in tow. they quickly scuttled on like cockroaches. all were under the age of eight. not a one had a full set of teeth. the herd took up all the front, parallel seats except for one--where a single, steadfast woman sat calmly, despite the arriving chaos.

one little girl plopped down and was unable to contain herself. she sat wriggling and kicking a man, next to me, in the shin. another girl sat beside her brother, while sliding her hand under his butt and giggling. i don't know what this was all about. the brother, in turn, continued to roll his eyes, and bob his head side-to-side while making the circular, universal hand motion for "crazy." occasionally, he would make a loud farting sound with his hands up to his face. his butt-touching sister squealed with laughter at every "pphhfffffrrrrttttt."

meanwhile, a toddler was climbing aimlessly. the aforementioned lady, in the middle, sat quietly amongst the rabble. the drifting child yanked this woman's floppy sun hat down over her face, as it feebly crawled over and leaned on her shoulder. she recovered herself well with a smile, and all had a hardy laugh. the mother regained control of the child, only for it to continue to stray moments later. another little girl sat and coughed a phlegmmy cough, ceaselessly, on the opposite side of this mild-mannered woman. and the infant, in the cumbersome carrier, on the floor, at the mother's feet, wailed on and on.

what would possess a human being to produce such a litter? personally, i'm not a fan of children, but i do respect other's rights to procreate if they feel that need to do so. but i ask why so many? how does one maintain sanity while wrangling a rag-tag bunch of demons?

copious childbearing is something i will never understand.

Sad Bus

2008-09-22T22:35:00.000-07:00

wednesday. a transvestite sat near me on the bus. she was a wreck. she looked like hell chewed her up and spit her out. her face was lumpy, saggy, and prematurely wrinkled. her minimal make-up was smeared and wearing away. she had a large, purple and red bruise around her left eye. scaggly, brown, curly hairs poked out from the top and dangled down from the bottom of a massive crown of gauze bandages wrapped tightly around her head. the gauze clearly needed to be changed. it was soaked with a light, brown ooze in the back. the hair around the seepage was crusted. she had a black, faded tattoo on her neck that read "cleopatra." there were other name tattoos on her body. one on the right bicep and one on the lower arm. i was unable to read them. she sat down with her thin, yellow, boat-neck t-shirt askew. she sat and flipped through a thick, cardboard children's book that she pulled from her gaping backpack. she turned the pages with a skinny, shaky hand.

never had a character on the bus invoked such a pang of sympathy in my chest, as this person. i just wanted to clean her up, give her a warm plate of cookies, a glass of milk, and listen to her stories. but i am much too soft--i would probably melt from her endless tails of struggles, pain, and heartache.

p.s. i could really use a plate of warm cookies. lots of cookies.

Still Going Strong Almost Completely

2008-09-18T21:47:00.000-07:00

it's diet day 7 or so. i haven't died yet. and i haven't killed anybody. bonus! i have cheated only a little--2 tablespoons peanut butter, 1 tablespoon honey, and half a bottle of sparkling wine last night. oh, and like 5 or 6 strawberries today. but that's it! i swear.

i think i feel healthier on this diet. maybe. last night's sugar binge didn't go so well. the pb and honey didn't even taste that good. and i don't think my bowels liked the wine.

i rediscovered chili this evening! it was only today when i realized that i can eat that--but only without the cheese and the crackers of course. it was still really good. i am a chili making master. my chili is super hot and spicy with steak chunks and tons of big, thick hunks of tomato. and it's saucy! (fyi: i spit at chili that includes ground beef. ground beef is a far inferior choice of meat, especially for chili!)

another rediscovered favorite this week: grilled salmon steaks with lemon, pepper, and cilantro. i serve it up with sliced avocado and tomato. delicious.

and for my daily snack enjoyment: mouth-watering, spicy pickled okras and also calamata olives!

still the cravings plague me. . .

as i passed a mcdonald's today, my train of thought was completely derailed as i spied a giant sign, towering over the street, depicting 2 big, beautiful soft-serve ice cream cones. mmmm. . . one was plain vanilla. and the other was dipped in chocolate!!! i do love a good dipped cone. i used to work at dairy queen, while in college, and we had butterscotch, cherry and chocolate dips for cones. oh, that peculiar hot, oily gunk that so delicately crisps over the cold sweet cream. sigh.

on my walks, around the lake, i have begun to see dark spots on the sidewalk that resemble goldfish crackers. i had almost forgotten about those cheddary, slightly-salty crackers that flake in your mouth. sigh.

but! i was really strong today, as i watched matt devour a scrumptious almond joy candy bar for dessert, i just gobbled up more awesome chili. yay. sigh.

week #1: done.
week #2: i'll let you know how it goes.

No Anything Diet--Day 3 :(

2008-09-14T23:55:00.000-07:00

my doctor just put me on a special diet to "balance my body chemistry." i decided to play along for now.

here are the rules: no carbs. no fruit. only vegetables and protein, from meat, fish, foul, or eggs. i have a list that ranks the suitable vegetables by carb content. some protein is required with every meal. and everything should be eaten closest to its raw state. no dairy unless it is "raw." drink only water--oh, but there are rules for drinking water too. "take fluids more than one hour before and more than two hours after meals. limit fluid intake with meals to no more than 4oz." absolutely no processed grains, white flour, sugar or substitutes. eat small meals often throughout the day.

at first, i was a little cocky. like this ain't no thing. i can get down with some veggies.

boy-oh-boy, was i wrong. i'm totally getting my ass kicked by this diet! i'm pretty sure this kind of diet is what drives people to become serial killers. has anyone checked out what the "night stalker" was eating?

my cravings are through the roof! the only thing on my mind, 24/7, is a beautiful dancing array of sweet treats. with "let's all go to the lobby" playing on endless repeat, oh, how i dream of donuts with colorful sprinkles or powdered sugar, melt-in-your-mouth butter mints, sweet, chewy candy corn, sour, stringy laffy taffy, chocolaty tootsie rolls, and stick-to-your-teeth jujy fruits. my mouth waters as jolly ranchers shuffle by, in my mind's eye, followed by snickers flirting with a wrapper strip tease. frozen ice cream zero bars, dairy queen blizzards, banana splits, star bars, cupcakes, apple turnovers, spiced peaches, fried ice cream, honey, fruit salad with eagle-brand condensed milk, ice cream shakes of all flavors, cinnamon discs, root beer barrels, black licorice!, pepperidge farm orange milano cookies, e.l. fudge cookies, lofthouse soft, cakey cookies with inch-thick frosting, cheese cake, key lime pie, creme brulee, white chocolate, the list continues. . . i'm gonna blow a gasket!

and then i have the more savory cravings for pizza. . . and pizza, and bread and sandwiches, and tortillas and tortilla chips and potato chips and french fries and twice baked potatoes smothered in cheese. oh, cheese! i used to sit down on the couch and polish off a block of cheese in one sitting. i must find a place that sells raw goat or sheep cheese (these cheeses are allowed on occasion.)

i have been eating a lot of raw spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, cucumber, carrots, and tomatoes. and eggs. i didn't even like eggs before. but now i look forward to the variety i can enjoy with an egg. i've had 3 scrambled eggs each morning. and 2 hard-boiled eggs with dinner. don't get me started about the sicko egg burps!

and i just tried a butternut squash for the first time. i mashed it. it was sweet, but not really in a good way. the fibery texture combined with the bright orange color and sweetness tends to activate my gag reflexes. but i'm trying to like it.

eventually, in phase 2 of the diet, i will be able to eat fruits again--in small amounts. and beans! oh happy day that will be! but it is strictly phase 1 until the doctor says so.

i hadn't realized that, before, i only ate for pleasure. i thought, "hey, i'm a grown up. i can eat cupcakes and candy and cookies for breakfast and lunch and dessert. and chow down on nutritious pizza every night for dinner if i want to." but now my focus has to change. now i must eat for health. it's a tremendous change. and i don't know if i'm ready.

i try to weigh the pros and cons of each diet. it's like a campaign, and am torn. i don't know which diet to vote for. donuts on one shoulder and spinach on the other.

i may live a shorter life, filled with ailments and disease, but with the good company of friends while chowing on whatever tastes good.

or.

i may live a longer, healthier, more balanced life, eating un-fun foods by myself--cause all my friends chose the fun diet.

or.

i could be hit by a bus.

i will keep you updated as this mess progresses. don't be surprised if you see me on the news, robbing the mr. bulky's and a string of bakeries. your thoughts of support are helpful! or you can mock me, and tell me how crazy i am for even giving this diet a shot.

good luck to me!

Brocade-Clad Lady Part II

2008-09-12T22:52:00.000-07:00

saturday. going home. i noticed the assertive lady, from yesterday, waiting at my stop again. same uniform. right on my heels, entering the bus, she was eager to push through the gridlock to scope a seat. as a man in a front seat got up, she quickly wrangled her sack of shit and plopped down. she went through her same spiel with today's driver about getting to the train station. clumsily, she climbed up on her seat to open the window above. and then she excused herself to lean over some other people to open the adjacent window. she sat back down, made herself cozy, and pulled out a submarine sandwich. extracting a large, round earplug from her elf-like ear, she collected a large bit of sandwich in her cheek, and asked her audience, "do you know the gourmet food market on doheny?" some shrugged. some stared forward like mannequins.

a woman, seated further down the aisle, pulled her bag up onto her lap as if she was readying for her stop. with sandwich in hand, our subject shot up from her seat with her bag in the other to take stake on the newly available real estate. as she left her front seat, a man sat down. as the other woman sat quietly, the eager one approached and asked, "aren't you getting off here?" the woman nodded a negative. the elf spun around, "sir, i'm gonna have to have my seat back." the man obliged.

later, goldy locks claimed a more attractive seat. only here, she complained about the loud latina girl on a cell phone behind her. "could you keep it down a little. speak more quietly?" she turned around and waved to get the girl's attention.

"oh, you're fucking with the wrong person today, bitch! don't listen. fucking move!" the girl snapped with attitude.

even though she wore huge earplugs, she sat back in her seat and retorted, "there's no way i can't listen. you're too loud."

as her stop approached, she came up to the front and tapped me, "excuse me, i'm getting off here." there was nowhere for anyone to clear a path for her. irritated, she pulled her big bag through the masses. "can you just move your foot off that? and don't step on this!" she stepped back into a small open pocket where she set her large pearl-art bag on the floor. the bag fell over spilling assorted art-supply contents. as she bent over to collect her belongings, the bus lurched forward, and she flailed all over. she awkwardly saved herself from a complete face-plant. when the bus came to a complete stop, she scuttled off quickly, forever, never to be seen again.

The Lady Who Slaughtered a Couch to Make a Jacket

2008-09-10T22:52:00.000-07:00

friday. after work. at the bus stop, a scrawny, middle-aged, white woman wearing an upholstery, brocade jacket and slim-fitting pants approached me to ask, "how often does the bus come?" i told her, at this time of day, one could expect a bus between 5 and 15 minutes. she asked, "where is the pavilions around here?" i shook my head--i didn't know. when she spoke, her thin, chicken lips exposed her craggy, discolored teeth. her voice was hoarse, and a smoky halitosis emanated from her gabby trap. she pressed on, "where can you get a newspaper over here?" i shrugged.

disregarding the crosswalk, 10 yards away, she darted across the busy street dodging cars and disappeared. she returned moments later and lit up a cigarette. another lady and i stepped further away from the inquisitive chimney with short, helmet-like, light, blond hair. then she spied a short, stocky lesbian to entertain her quiz-bowl questions, "does that zpizza place, over there, sell pizza by the slice?" i didn't hear the lesbian's reply. "and about how much?" and so on. and so on. then she announced, "i'm from new york, and i just don't get the LA transit. does anyone here know where the train station is?" she asked loudly over the growl of traffic.

on the packed-to-capacity bus, mid route, she made her way from the back all the way to the front squeezing through people standing with backpacks and purses and bags and strollers and legs. "excuse me, i need to speak with the driver. pardon me. i need to get through. please move. i have to get up front. excuse me. let me pass." in the front, she parked herself just behind the driver. she repeatedly asked and reminded the driver to tell her when to get off to reach the train station. at the metro station stop, "can you please show me where i go to get on the train?"

"right over there," the driver pointed.

"where?"

the driver sighed, and pointed with more oomph and elaborated, "you'll have to cross the street, and you go down under that big silver awning."

"oh, thank you." and she was off. her skinny legs scuttled quickly like a rat.

end of part I.

Stink Bus

2008-09-08T23:18:00.000-07:00

thursday. going home, i hopped into a smelly bus. after i found a suitable spot, in the middle, to stand, i realized the air was filled with an aggressive stench. i was unable to immediately locate the source. but as i looked around me, i noticed everyone was smelling the same thing. a woman sat shielding her two, small, children with one end of her scarf. the other end was wrapped around her face not once, but twice. three women had pulled up their collars and stuck their noses down into their shirts. another woman sat with her fingers up under her nostrils. a man got up and offered me his seat. i hadn't yet identified the origin, and in fear of plopping down directly next to ground zero, i refused the seat. two men, who were standing towards the front, reached over other people's heads to open the tiny, vent, windows near the ceiling of the bus. even people in the back were sniffing the odor. "damn man, " i heard from a young guy. i planted myself in the rear exit-well with the man who offered his seat and a gay bald guy. i watched people as they got on and walked down the aisle, and i waited to see the expressions on their faces when they realized they had the misfortune of stepping aboard the smelliest bus ever. i breathed shallowly and took frequent, deep whiffs from my arm pit. my arm was already in the air holding onto the railing, so this was a convenient olfactory alternative.

an older, asian woman sat a few seats up from where i stood. she quickly withdrew a plastic shopping bag from her purse, crumpled it up, and held it to her face. further down the route, she began speaking loudly and angrily, in a foreign language, to a man standing in front of her. the man next to me, asked what she was talking about. we all knew. next to her, at the front of the bus, sat a large fat man dressed in athletic-gray sweat pants and a matching sweatshirt. his smooth rolls jiggled along with the bus's turbulence. his spotless sweatsuit held the stacks of blubbery rolls together tightly. his skin was dark and tan. his hair was white and short with a white scruffy beard attached at the ear. he sat there with his rolly suitcase parked on the floor in front of his knees. he sat quietly, unwittingly, with puppy-dog eyes and a jagged-toothed soft grin. he leaned over and spoke softly to the angry lady with the plastic bag. and then she went off! speaking directly to the sweat-suited man, she commanded and pointed. all i could comprehend was "off," repeatedly. at the next stop, the man readied himself and proceeded to the exit with the little lady practically pushing him from behind. he moved slowly and uneasily with weakness and instability. he walked down the curb, looking in the gutter, as the bus took off swiftly.

the smell lingered for awhile, and i cringed when an unsuspecting man sat in the seat previously occupied by the smelly man. the smell wasn't a normal b.o. usually body odor smells like chili or mexican food or something. but this odor was different--this was way worse. this was the smell of a human unwashed and ill for a very long period of time. it was a rotting, rancid foot stench mixed with a dabble of ass and other organic gunk. it was rich and thick. this putrid rank went right for the back of your throat. i felt sad. and relieved. and so thankful no one threw up!

Hello Chinatown!

2008-09-06T23:34:00.000-07:00

today i discovered chinatown. i had driven through the main strip a few times before. never impressed. i just saw a ton of mass-produced plastic crap spilling out of storefronts onto the sidewalks. if i wanted to find a ton of junk made in china, i'd go to wal-mart. or the mall for that matter.

anyway, today was different. i had some business to attend to, so i was out of the car and about on foot. wow! this place is actually pretty, pretty great. apparently tonight was an opening night for dozens of galleries in this little area. the crowds were beginning to gather. the tiny, light bulbs strung between parallel buildings lit up overhead, and i squealed with delight. the innumerable lanterns bobbled in the breeze.

on average, the art sucked balls. but the potential. oh, the potential of this locale! each space was so unique. these buildings were fairly old. and fabulous. they sure don't make 'em like they used to. each one had its own unique characteristics. one gallery had a half-moon shaped entrance with a half-moon shaped sliding gate. i saw lots of gutted interiors with raw cement floors, super high ceilings, and beautiful white walls.

there were a lot of chinese restaurants, but we didn't know which ones were really good, so we skipped the eats. one restaurant had a great bare-bulb sign with lots of colorful blinking lights. i loved that one just for the sign.

and there were super cute bakeries that i would love to live in! oh, the sweet delectables were glowing and shouting from behind the glass encasement, "eat me. try me. pick me. love me." i don't know how i got out of there empty handed. there were some curious, petite, round, shiny pastries with intricate red symbols stamped directly onto the surface. the price tags read "green bean pie" and "black bean pie." when i go back, i must find out what they are all about. but if i pick it, i'm sure it'll probably suck--but i must find out!

so chinatown is one of my new favorite places. and it's close to where i live!

dictionary.com's word of the day, today, is: laudable--meaning worthy of praise or commendable.
this word's for you chinatown!

More Tales From the Old Bus Log

2008-09-04T21:55:00.000-07:00

friday. morning. while waiting for the bus, i saw a motorcyclist, in a big, black helmet, zip through the middle of two lanes and cross in front of the right to make a right turn at the red light. a second later, he came back through the intersection in the opposite direction than before. he rode up next to a blue station wagon in the left lane and stopped. (the light was still red.) the wagon's driver yelled "fuck you" loudly and flipped the bird through his open window. the helmeted rider threw a punch in through the window, and he rode away. only in los angeles, folks!

on this same friday morning bus ride, i noticed a young woman. she looked like a crackhead or a funky, hippy chick. (sometimes it's hard to tell.) later i found she was the latter. she was wearing black-rimmed glasses, a multi-colored scarf over her head, a brown hooded coat, a floral dress with orange bursts, a lacy slip peeking out from hem of the dress, and tall red socks. a bulging, blue backpack sat on her lap with a rainbow applique. she had a mouth like nancy kerrigan but with fuller, more protruding lips. a man sat down next to her, and soon started asking her questions.

he was a large, white guy with light, buzzed hair poking out from underneath a dark ball cap. he had light, shifty eyes and a creepy moustache and a goatee. he wore a blue hoody, loose black pants and white athletic shoes with red accents. he spoke to her, about music, with authority as though he knew the business. the interrogation was not reciprocal. "who do you sound like? how many hours do you practice? how many sounds do you have?" he pried. she took a moment before answering each inquiry. "the beatles, elvis, blah, blah blah. you need to record
. . . blah, blah," he squawked. the girl arrived at her stop and exited the bus bidding the fellow a good day.

at that stop, a new young woman boarded the bus. dressed in black, a biker jacket, a studded belt, and with a shaggy, dark, mop head, she looked as though she was a missing member of the ramones. the man followed her with his sicko eyes and loudly remarked, "wow," as she passed him and sat next to me. he promptly stood up to remove his hoody which revealed a white, wife-beater that was so long it reached the back of his thighs. the removal of the hoody also revealed the man's tattoos. the knuckles on one hand read "ozzy," and on the other "rush." the tats were faded. on his left forearm was a goat head with "capricorn" in prominent, black letters. he also had a lot of portraiture on his biceps and upper arms. some of the artistry wasn't that bad. i'm not sure who some of the portraits were, but i distinctly noticed the face of charles manson peering at me from this man's soft, untoned, pasty appendage. as the ramone girl exited the bus, he watched her. his display of grungy, underground, subculture was all lost on her. now he could put his hoody back on like the rest of us in our coats, scarves, and hats. no willing ladies for you today, champ. but hey, it is still morning.

Catch Me at Felt Club!

2008-09-02T23:40:00.000-07:00

yep, i made it into felt club. so i'll see you there on november 16th in LA!
until then check out my website www.jillkleinhans.com and www.feltclub.com

and now onto today's bus log entry from way back when. . .

thursday. as the back doors opened across from where i was sitting, a most terrifying scream pierced my ears from the street. then i saw a young woman dragging a child toward the front door of the bus. i panicked and almost yelled for the driver to, "step on it!" unfortunately, the nuisance duo was allowed on the bus, and the ugly boy clumsily ran down the aisle, toward the back, screaming. the bus was riding along smoothly when the spawn started coughing. i'm no doctor, but i'm pretty sure that was a tuberculosis cough. no one attempted to mask the gaping hole of festering germs. it just hacked it's sick, wet cough germs all up into the air. then came the screeching tantrum! as the kid squealed and flailed on the sticky, filthy bus floor, the driver peered into his rear-view mirror and hollered, "what's all that noise back there? if you don't get it under control, i'm gonna have to stop the bus." the woman wrangled the child, and i jumped at a chance to move a little farther away from the disease cloud.

good nite!

Another Bus Log Entry

2008-08-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

monday. on the way home, i watched a fat man's belly jiggle as the bus barreled down the road. he sat back in his seat with his legs spread open wide as this huge blob sat on his lap. i tried to imagine what it looks like on the inside. there might have been a baby in there. maybe this man was the first male to carry a fetus. or maybe this was a case of fetus in fetue. or maybe there was an alien inside. or maybe he was actually a scrawny man in a fat suite for a dateline social experiment to expose the ill-treatment of obese people. but i don't think this gut was artificial. nothing can simulate the lumpy, jello-y movement of this paunch.

the man chatted up the lady in a white, long-sleeved dress shirt with a skinny black tie. i presumed she worked at the olive garden. this woman's profile didn't strike me as unusual until she turned her head in my direction. i was ashamed that i was slightly startled to see a neanderthal brow and deep set eyes. i tried to spy an adam's apple to no avail. then a man with a large head sat in front of me, so i let it go. a woman sang in the back of the bus periodically. the man behind me coughed and sniffled. a woman standing in the front spoke loud, emphatic spanish into her cell phone. another woman found a friend and fired off one million questions--half of which were repeatedly asked and reanswered. and on we went down the road.

Arachnophobic's Worst Nighmare! (Bonus Post)

2008-08-29T20:25:00.000-07:00

this is a bonus post because i made such an awesome find today, while wiping down our media shelving unit, that i had to share it with everyone. i live for discoveries like this! maybe i'm blowing this a little out of proportion, but i was truly flabbergasted to find a large congregation of teeny-tiny, little baby spiders just hanging out together with mom underneath a shelf. and they were alive! and there were over twenty of them! i counted them, but i'm not sure if i got them all.

in the photo above, you have to look closely in the upper region of the picture to see the little babies chillin' in some fluffy cobwebs. all the little white dots are little spiders. they are kinda hard to see cause their tiny legs haven't beefed up yet, but i assure you they're there. you can see mom hanging upside down to the left of middle. what a spectacular find, but unfortunately i have to relocate them now. . .

ok, i just returned from a sad attempt at relocating my new friends. i successfully swiped mom up on a piece of paper and took her outside. but i have no idea where all those babies went. either most of them clung onto the chunk of cobweb that i took out with the paper or somehow i accidentally massacred her entire brood. oh, now i feel just terrible! and creepy crawly all over.

don't mess with nature, kids.

Hollywood Bowl. . . Eh?

2008-08-28T23:09:00.000-07:00

so i attended the radiohead concert on monday at the hollywood bowl. i really didn't realize what i was getting myself into. i had never been there. i only heard great things about it, and i continually hear a very pleasant and persuasive radio ad on the oldies station that i listen to while i'm working up in the hatch.

the parking. wow. i've never seen anything like it! you pay $19 to park your car in a long rectangular lot, in rows, with no space in between. so the cars are literally packed like sardines. when you leave, you sit in your car, and you either wait for all the people in front or in back of you to leave before you are able, or you wait to pull a tetris move when other rows file out before yours does. so if you have a heart attack at the show or pass out in the bathroom, and your car is the last one in the line, you are totally screwing a lot of people trying to leave! but we actually didn't have to wait that long. somehow it all worked out.

grid lock actually starts on the highway before the bowl exit, but we survived that. what was a little too excruciating was the walking gridlock up the hill along the narrow winding path. the path really isn't that narrow, but when you have 15 thousand people all going to the same place, the same way, and at the same time, things get a little congested. and this sea of people terrified me. we were all inching along, uphill, slowly. all i could think of was, "what if there is a stampede right now? what then? are these personnel, in the bright yellow t-shirts, prepared for such a catastrophe? i think not!"

a word on the bathrooms. i did business early before the show. the stall was already dangerously low on toilet paper. there is no way those bathrooms would be appropriately accommodating customers by the time the show started.

finding seats in this place is impossible. thanks to a very nice usher, we got to ours. your tickets describe the region in which you are sitting with about five different variables (ex. M-19-102-56-A). it's like a lottery ticket. oh, and then, you sit on a bench! ha, yes, a wooden bench. i guess there are some actual-seat seats, but we were in the economy section.

in the seats, the sound was very good. and radiohead's light show was very entertaining. i enjoy being outside under the stars! and the crossed spotlights overhead, the bowl's trademark, are pretty cute.

the guy next to matt talked to us a little too much and asked us, perfect strangers, to watch his friend's camera and other belongings. there was an affectionate couple in front of us, who enjoyed all things prohibited. we laughed as they clinked their nice wine glasses and poured white wine from a little thermos. and we giggled when they sparked up their bowl of weed. and we tried to make faces in there myspace pictures that they were shooting with their contraband camera.

looking out over the 10s of thousands of people at this event, thoughts of disaster and calamity flooded my brain. i just don't think it's natural for this many people to be in such close proximity, all at one time, in one place.

in conclusion, i prefer a visit to the ford amphitheater, across the road, any day over this humongous place. the ford is way more intimate. you can see the stage from anywhere in the theater. the parking is better--you can leave anytime. there are real seats and super-cute outdoor dining/picnic areas under a canopy of trees. you may bring your own wine and snacks or buy some there. and the stage has a scenic backdrop of the actual lush mountainside. and you have the stars above! need i say more?

Bus Log Entries and Dog Shit

2008-08-24T23:10:00.000-07:00

i used to ride the LA metro express bus to and from work everyday. i just found my old log book from those days. i will continue to share excerpts from said log book with you in the coming days describing varies happenings and colorful character sketches. below is a fond memory from one of my days on the bus.

but before i get to the good stuff, let me first express my disdain for dog owners who "forget" to collect the defecation that falls out onto the sidewalk where other humans frequently traverse. i'd be rich, if i had a penny for every shit pile that i've found sprinkled around silver lake. as many others in my neighborhood, i enjoy a pleasant walk around the lake gazing at the water, the houses, the mountains, or whatever. however, i have noticed a rise in the disregard for the "pick up your poop" rule. now i'm gonna go and get a stick to dig out the putrid mess that is now caked into all the little crannies on the bottom of my shoe. what if a little old lady had slipped and fallen in that soggy mess? complete and utter disrespect for the rest of your community, folks! thanks! leave your fleabag at home if you can't handle your doggie dooty responsibilities.
dumbass rating=6 because your "forgetfulness" smells and is smeared on my shoe.

anyways, onto the bus log entry:

thursday. morning. didn't see the large, long-faced, black tranny, who works at the pleasure chest on santa monica, but i saw someone much better. a father/son duo sat across the aisle facing me. the father wore a black cap that had "special forces" embroidered in four different places. a shiny silver dog tag hung from the top left side from a plastic hang-tag thingy. i believe he purchased this fine hat at a hollywood souvenir shop along with the "CIA" hat that his son was currently wearing.

dad's shirt was tight for he was a bulky fellow. it was a white t-shirt with big, red, block letters "for sale: husband." there was a lot more lettering located on the lower chest but his pert, baby gut bunched up the fabric and obstructed the view. big, black letters stretched over his bubble and read "terms of sale: take over payments."

a fading, prison-like tattoo of a small dagger floated on his flabby arm. he continually fell asleep and would jolt awake every few seconds--so often, i thought it was a joke. he wore green camo pants and worn leather sneakers. his mouth would fall agape as he dozed to reveal some of the most spectacularly gnarly teeth. one particular stained, snaggle tooth dangled below his sagging upper lip. it was like a set of halloween horror teeth. his eyes were light and creepy and shifty with droopy eyelids.

when someone got up, leaving an empty seat, he stumbled over into it for a comfier rest. i had the luck to spy a nice piece of pasty ass crack. yay. the lad was a little less revolting. but he shared his father's scruffy facial hair, and it is certain that he was sitting next to the picture of his own fate. he sat quietly in a bright orange hoodie, black pants, and really ugly dark sandals with holes. the two did not speak.

a little old man sat diagonally away occasionally making a descending whistle that sounded exactly like a cartoon bomb dropping out of the sky. kaboom!

New Product in Developement

2008-08-20T22:53:00.000-07:00

when i was a kid, i collected lisa frank stationery and stickers as if they were gold and diamonds. i never once stuck a sticker or wrote a letter on the purple penguin papers. and now i make my own, for others to use (or horde).

the writing sheets are creamy, over-sized, hand-torn pieces of cotton paper. the cards, narrow and vertical, are made of a complimentary, hand-torn, cotton paper. letter-sized, vellum envelopes will accommodate either piece. and i'm including plenty of adorable stickers!

in this featured set, each writing sheet and card is hand printed with three colors. each envelope and sticker has a single print. and at this point, every sticker is cut out by hand! it's a lot of work, so this stationary is crafted to be super, special stuff that you will want to use for sending lots of love. handmade stuff tends to hold at lot more positive energy than mass crap!

the sets will include 4 writing sheets, 2 cards, 6 envelopes, and 6 stickers. look for them in my online shop really soon.

www.jillkleinhans.com

let me know what you think!

Greetings and Leave-takings

2008-08-18T14:21:00.000-07:00

i can't handle the many options for meeting/greeting fellow humans anymore. there's the ever-popular handshake (firm but don't break their hand). and then there's the hug, the kiss or the hug and kiss. and the handshake with the other hand on the shoulder. and the handshake sandwich. or the faux kisses to each side of the face.

i'm just way too socially awkward to have this many options thrown at me in a single moment. it's always awkward with strangers, but i'm even gawky with family and friends. it's always the same jerky dance i do with everyone, trying to read what they are gonna do. the "did she just come in for a hug? well, i don't want to deny a hug, so i lean in. and oh, maybe that was just a natural pivot; and now, i look like the overly-affectionate dork. then i pull back, embarrassed, and then the other person leans back in, so i'm not left hanging." all this anxiety concentrated in just a few seconds is unbearable! i just can't handle the pressure.

can we all just agree to smile and nod? isn't that enough? if we all just did that, no one would be considered rude and those socially-challenged folks wouldn't have to worry. why do we need to actually physically touch another human being to make it an official, friendly greeting or meeting? why do we have to touch strangers? why can't a good wave suffice?

at first, i thought there was a hierarchy: like family members get hugs, moms and dads can get a kiss, strangers get a handshake, and friends might get a hug after a long absence. but no! people are mixing it all up now. some strangers hug! and kiss! i'm not against being warm and friendly, i just need a concrete protocol to rely on during these most socially-difficult times.

Dreams of Bigfoot, Shattered.

2008-08-16T01:08:00.000-07:00

i was eagerly awaiting the dna test results from the supposed bigfoot carcass that two men found in georgia. friday's press conference revealed that the dna came from a human and a opossum.

sigh.

i really didn't want to believe that anyone in this world has nothing more important to do than to make up a story, about finding a mythical beast in the woods, and going public with it. who does this??

but wouldn't it be awesome if sasquatch did exist! "harry and the hendersons" was one of my favorite movies when i was a kid.

i give these guys a low dumbass rating because, at least, they keep some of us entertained.
dumbass rating =4

nighty night.

Dear Irresponsible Dog Owners: Part I

2008-08-14T22:20:00.000-07:00

while on a walk this afternoon, i witnessed an incident. it goes like this:

so this slobby lady was walking her medium-size dog on a retractable leash. la-dee-da. only the moron decided to let the dog roam at the maximum leash-length capacity. as a motorcyclist drove down the road, minding his own business and actually looking towards the opposite side of the street, aforementioned dog flailed out into the street! thankfully, it was 1 fraction of a second and a fraction of an inch short of impact! i cringed as i watched in horror. the motorcyclist went on his way unscathed! the woman, in a clamor, tried to yank the dog back, but at maximum length capacity a yank doesn't go too far. dummy. as she feebly tried to reel in the leash, she bent over and began to yell at the dog, "how could you do that? what has gotten into you? bad dog. don't you ever do that again!."

dumbass rating= 9 because this woman's irresponsibility puts others at risk
(on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the biggest dumbass of them all)

stay tuned for more installments of "Walking Morons and the Dogs Who Love Them!"
and don't miss "Driving Morons and the Cars They Drive"
oh and also "Dumbasses with Baby Carriages"

Have a good night!

Bog + Log = Blog

2008-08-12T21:57:00.000-07:00

wow! this is my first blog posting ever, in my life! it's kinda hard to type and pick your nose at the same time. today i started preparations for a product photo shoot. i will be able to put some new stuff up in my etsy shop really soon. and with a little help from my friend natalie, i will soon have a cute website! things are heating up now!