Tag: Strangers
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Mother on the Orient Express: Part Three
Yesterday would have been my parents’ 37th wedding anniversary. It made me remember how there was supposed to be a third person on this trip with my mom. Dad.
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What I Don’t Miss About the Holidays
These people, who was I trapped between for a flight from Burbank to New York. See, she needed the aisle because she constantly had to pee. That’s what she told me when I sat down. He needed the window because he wanted to take pictures. That’s what I figured out when he couldn’t stop taking…
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Keeping Up Tradition
Same place, same day, new year, new terminal. Thankful for the things that stay the same, grateful for the things that are new. Hmm. I did have a picture taken from last year’s Jet Blue post-Xmas flight, but now I remember I never got to post it, as a woman sitting at the table next…
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I Love Tele… Jet Blue
Jet Blue. I am the last person, I’m sure, to say this, but it’s true. Jet Blue. It’s the only way to fly. This is because it picks me up in practically my backyard and drops me off in New York City and the five hours between that time it spends distracting me so much…
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fur and feet
I wore a new sweater today, and it shed everywhere I went. I first wore it a couple of days ago, and I thought the little grey hairs on everything I owned were due to Taylor hanging out around my bag, which he does sometimes. But today I wore it all day and it was…
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dropping in
I am at a hair salon, the one I go to on Sunset, and while I’m waiting to take these pieces of foil out of my head, I decided to open my computer. Here, at the salon, I have wireless. It is times like this when I don’t understand why people fear technology.
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not funny ha-ha.
There’s this guy who hangs out at our local coffeeshop. He’s one of our regular crazies. I mean this as affectionately as possible, as he’s an endearing form of crazy. He’s small and heavily tattooed in tiny little self-made, prison-looking blue symbols. There’s writing on his knuckles, a tiny tattoo in the corner of his…
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on the way home.
[scripty] EXT. LOS ANGELES STREET — DAY A YOUNG WOMAN WAITS AT THE CROSSWALK, FIDDLING WITH HER PURSE, LOST IN THOUGHT. A YOUNG, ATTRACTIVE, AFRICAN-AMERICAN MAN APPROACHES HER. HE’S HOLDING A PIECE OF PAPER AND A PENCIL, LIKE HE HAS BEEN INTERRUPTED. MAN I just saw you in the bookstore, and I wanted to come…
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zenophobia
I met a man over the weekend who lives in a Zen Buddhist retreat. I think he’s technically a monk. He’s the kind of guy who had major life changes and then moved away, found inner peace, and now lives off of next to nothing in a remote, self-containing, life-affirming, meditation-and-chanting sort of way. In…
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Three Stories
LA Story I felt my first real earthquake today. I mean one where I knew an earthquake was about to hit and then it did. I sat through lots of earthquakes when I lived in Palm Springs as a kid, but I don’t really remember them. We lived above the laundry facility at a hotel,…