Fast Fiction

Well, I think I’ve settled on my new novel idea. I’m loathe to discuss it here, I think the more I talk about an idea, the less I need to write it all out.

In short, I’m combining the tale of Saint Dymphna and one of the more obscure Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Allerleirauh, into a sort of alternating chapter novel. One takes place in the gritty 7th century in all its primitive pre-industrial iron-age glory and the fairy tale chapters will take place in that other pretty realm of stories. I have no clue if it will be interesting to anyone else but me.

The good thing is that I think I picked a story of the perfect length for NaNoWriMo. Last year’s story really needed to be conceived as a full novel. This story seems perfect for a novella.

We are in the middle of a kitchen remodel. Well, maybe not the middle, maybe we’re at the beginning, as demolition has only just begun. Or maybe we’re at the end, because the planning is the longest part.

But all that aside, some fellows came to our house on Monday and they tore our kitchen out. And what didn’t get torn out on Monday, got torn out on Tuesday. The windows came out. And then the walls came down, well, plaster anyway. We have one of those great old houses that still has plaster & lath in many spots. I’m not sure if it makes more of a mess than demolishing drywall or not.

As our house has a rather open floorplan (and even more open when we’re done), it was not a matter of just closing the doors and tearing it up. No, there are walls of plastic. Huge spans of visquine that heave and bellow as any breeze sucks air out of the sequestered kitchen.

Oh sure, everyone’s making fun of me. I’m rather upset by the whole thing.

I’m most upset for the poor dishwasher. It was a wonderful and awful dishwasher. A Kitchen Aid, at least 22 years old. In its final run of dishes it whirred and groaned and popped so loudly, the Man and I had to yell just to carry on a normal conversation. But it worked. Sure, the door wouldn’t stay open, or closed. Sure, it didn’t really wash dishes so much as wet them and heat them and pelt them with noise. Sure all the little prongs and separators had rusted off and left little rusty spots on the dishes. But it was ours. And I get all gooey-affectionate just knowing that so many other people would have tossed it out years ago, but we made it work and kept it until what must surely be the end of its useful life. So, now it sits down in the carport, waiting for someone to drag it into the dumpster and send it off to the landfill or scrap-yard.

I think it reminds me of the Hans Christian Andersen story, The Fir Tree. The story is about a discontented little tree wanted nothing more than everything else that he didn’t have, but the way it’s told from the point-of-view of the tree has always just ... well, saddened me. The poor thing, it only wanted to fulfill its role in world, but it never knew how. Or wasn’t given the chance ...

So, here I am, crying because this stupid dishwasher that really doesn’t work, wastes water and electricity, I’m crying because it is going away.

But just as a point of reference, I used to cry when my mother would tear up old sheets to use as rags. Dunno. I just have this soft spot.

As some sort of appeasement to me, the butcherblock that was the top of the dishwasher is going to be saved. Our cabinet-maker is going to take it off and sand it down, oil it and give it back to us to use. The only thing that we’re keeping from the old kitchen. Like some weird mounted head trophy from a kill.

Well, I guess it could be nice. Or maybe I’ll just break down sobbing when they give it to us. I can just see it, Cybele walking around the house, clutching the huge butcherblock to her chest, petting it and cooing ...

I need to get in the habit of writing more.

This isn’t really much better than nothing, is it?

Perhaps I should be updating my blog more often, but as my obsessive personality dictates, I have moved on to a new passion.

Right now it’s my typing monkeys. Well, they’re not mine.

It’s called the Monkey Shakespeare Simulator. It’s a java experiment to test that old proposition that if you put an infinite number of monkeys in front of an infinite number of typerwriters, eventually they will produce the works of Shakespeare. (David Ives has a great short play about this, called Words, Words, Words in his collection, All in the Timing.)

Anyway, just open the window and watch the little primates bang away at their keyboards. I’m stalled out at 7 characters, but with over 3 million monkeys at the moment, I am confident by the end of the year we might actually get a sentence out of the industrious little fellows.

My other question is if they are monkeys or chimpanzees. I think chimps would work better, they have a greater handspan than say, your capuchins or colubus.

In case any of you forgot, this little bloggy started with a novel. And it’s been a full year since my last novel (The Russian Watercolors) and I’m gearing up for my third starting at Midnight on November 1st.

I’ll begin a gradual changeover of the look and feel of this site as October progresses. You might recall that this look comes from the engraving style of artwork used in currency, because my last novel was about counterfeiting. This year my novel will be set in 7th century Ireland and Belgium.

If you’re interested in writing a novel during the month of November along with 10,000 other nutcases - go to NaNoWriMo.

I got a new digital camera a few weeks ago. And my disposition dictates that I become obsessive with the thing.

I’ve been pretty much in “macro” mode and I feel that I have documented the insect inhabitants of my back yard very well.

Last night I decided to try to capture fireworks. Now, I know that a digital camera is not supposed to be very good at lowlight things. And though I live close to Dodger stadium and I can see the fireworks from the roof, I’m not really what you’d call “close.” Probably about two or three miles as the crow flies.

Anyway, here’s the latest result:

Bean Town
45 N. Baldwin Ave. (at the corner of Sierra Madre Blvd.)
Sierra Madre, CA
(626) 355-1596
take the Baldwin exit from the 210 and head north for a while you might think you’re in the wrong place, but you’re not

Hours - something insane like 6 AM to 10 PM

Prices - counter service - $1.25 for coffee, $2.50 + for premium coffee drinks. Full bakery with cookies, cakes & pastries. Sandwiches, smoothies & ice cream. Honor bar for coffee refills (50 cents so bring some quarters).

Ambiance - a family friendly place. There are large farmhouse tables along the walls with various chairs (you may have to trade around to find one you like) and couches, tables out on the sidewalk for smokers. No music, but it gets rather noisy, especially on weekends because this is THE place to gather in Sierra Madre (besides the brewery). Board games.

Connections - outlets near the tables against the wall. You may need to unplug the lamp on your table to access them though. There is an internet terminal, available for free (though polite folks don’t spend more than five or ten minutes on it) so you can check email or the boards.

Parking - two hours free on the street, large free lot very close by

If you’re looking for a getway from Los Angeles, a place where families come by and play Monopoly for hours with their pre-teen kids, or a spot where there are far fewer tattoos and body piercings, it may be worth the drive. This is definitely small town America.

CyberJava
7080 Hollywood Blvd. (at LaBrea)
Hollywood
(323) 466-5600
http://www.cyberjava.com

Hours: their website doesn’t say

Prices counter service, decent prices ($1.75 for regular drip coffee, premium drinks start at $2.25) Sandwiches start at $6. Good selection of pastries (though no chocolate croissants the past two times I’ve stopped by).

Ambiance Not so comfy on the inside, but decent. Great outdoor space right on Hollywood Blvd. with some decent greenery. The pigeons are a little demanding.

Connections Lots and lots. Inside and out. But there aren’t many tables inside. Computer rental by the hour (in 15 minute increments - $6/hour).

Parking They’ll validate for their lot if you buy $5 worth of food/drinks. Otherwise trawl around on the side streets. Sunday is free street parking.

While looking at who’s looking at this blog, I noticed that someone accessed it using Google’s translation thingy. They translated it from English into French.

Now, you gotta wonder how accurate the translation is ... don’tcha? I especially like how “don’t get me wrong” becomes “do not obtain the evil to me.”

So, here it is, the last entry translated from English into French and back into English. I think it gives my writing the quirky style I’ve not yet been able to achieve:

We have coyotes.  Because I was outside in court, that I will grant to you is not much court… that it is a major extent of six feet of the gravel and bad grasses that I had tried to cultivate like garden of rock… in any event, I was outside there with the dog the night spent around midnight.  The moon was fullish and the skies were most of the time clear and of the chips.  And while I went me dÈbarasser of my bad grasses in the can of refuse in my alley that I had not taken to him to the bottom is the memory capacity because of the rain saturdays, I sought, dog always attached to me and coyotes of the saw two trottant silently in bottom of the street towards me. 

My point is, I guess I would like that they keep with themselves one little more.  I would like that the coyotes a little are frightened ego.  Perhaps I am too nice simply. 

We’ve got coyotes.

As I was out in the front yard, which I will grant you isn’t much of a yard ... it’s a six foot deep expanse of gravel and weeds that I’ve been trying to cultivate as a rock garden ... anyway, I was out there with the dog last night around midnight. The moon was fullish and the skies were mostly clear and crisp. And as I went to dispose of my weeds in the garbage can in my driveway that I hadn’t taken down to it’s storage space because of the rain on Saturday, I looked up, dog still tethered to me and saw two coyotes silently trotting down the street towards me.

They are pretty much the same size as my dog ... about thirty pounds, narrow bodies, bushy tails, lithe and trim bodies with brindled brown and grey coats. They stopped, in front of my house, across the street on the sidewalk. Posing, I can only guess. Not facing me, still pointed to continue up the street, but their heads turned and fixed on me, and perhaps more importantly, on my dog.

They weren’t the least bit scared. I positioned myself at the top of the driveway, and my dog did what she always does when another animal comes along, she sits and will not be moved. Well, the coyotes were the same way and just stared us down. We stood like that for well over a minute.

I slowly made a move towards them, and they matched it with a few steps toward me. Okay, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, I wanted to scare them off, not meet in the middle of the street and shake paws. I stomped on the ground in their direction and made some “yah!” noise and waved my free arm. One just turned and continued his trot down the street, the other, the closer one went up the stairs into the yard across the street. He joined his companion down the street, having cut through the yard and by the neighbor’s garage.

So, I figured they were gone. I saw them trot up the street and out of view.

I let my dog finish her business, that was what we were out there to do, after all. We walked across the street and she marked the spot where they were standing. I kept an eye down the street, to the spot where the streetlight pools and the street rises out of view and there they were again, standing up there. Waiting.

They started back down the street, and I’m still amazed at how quiet they were. Even a dog with no collar makes a sound with their claws on the pavement, but these fellas were like cats. And this time they stayed in the middle of the street and showed no sign of slowing on their approach. So, me and the pooch made a beeline for the back door. We went inside and stayed there. I turned off the lights in the house so as to get a better look at the coyotes outside and noticed that they sniffed around where my dog had marked and then, as I went to find a camera with some film in it, they disappeared.

I don’t know. It just freaked me out a bit. Wild animals prowling around, seeming to have their sites on me and my pooch.

I’ve seen these coyotes before in the neighborhood, even saw one in my back yard one evening as I went to take the dog out. But never this close up, and never with them so bold.

Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy my wildlife in Los Angeles. I’ve got a menagerie in my back yard. A skunk, two racoons, squirrels a-go-go. Crows, hummingbirds, mourning doves, red-tailed hawks, sparrows, blue jays, probably bunches of other birds I can’t name. An opossum. I suppose it’s only natural to have something at the top of the food chain. I’m sure as hell not eating these other creatures. And I’ve found evidence that something is eating them, the occasional ribcage or tuft of fur and sometimes a flurry of feathers (which is more likely from the neighbor’s cat) ... a huge rib bone, which I can only imagine is something from a cow that one of the coyotes dug out of a trash bin somewhere (jeeze, I hope that’s where they got it from, I’d hate to think that the aliens are performing their cattle mutilations in my back yard).

My point is, I guess I’d like them to keep to themselves a little more. I’d like the coyotes to be a bit more afraid of me. Maybe I’m just too nice.

Yes, my list o’ things to do before I die just got a bit shorter this weekend.

I arrived in downtown Los Angeles early Sunday morning and a scant seven hours, forty seven minutes and thirty seven seconds I was basically back where I started. Probably two pounds lighter from the loss of weight but with a medal around my neck and good feeling in my heart (and a painful feeling in my shoes, but that’s another story).

Okay, it wasn’t the best time in the world for a marathon, but lets face it, how many folks actually even attempt it? And I know so much more about marathons having done one now and next year I hope to shave ninety minutes off of my time. Yeah, next year’ll be even better. And if you ever think you CAN’T, try telling your silly-ass reasons to Bob Wieland, whom I passed and saluted at mile six. He started on Saturday ... I hope he’s finished by now. UPDATE - Bob Wieland finished on Saturday, 173 hours after he started.

Barbara’s at the Brewery
620 Moulton Ave.
Los Angeles, CA
http://www.breweryart.org

Hours - dang, I forgot to check, but it’s a bar for the most part, so expect them to be open late.

Prices - reasonable, good selection of beer and liquor, nice entrees between $7-10. Last time I was there the cappucino machine was down, but they still had brewed coffee.

Ambiance - subdued, funky, pleasant. There are round tables around, a general bar and a separate room with couches, tables, chairs, lamps with low lighting. Music - but you can still carry on a conversation and hear the clickety-clack of your keyboard. Very artsy, lots of stuff on the walls. There’s a small outdoor patio area with a couple of chairs & tables. What’s cool about this place, most of all, is the neighborhood feel to it. You can tell that the folks who live in the complex frequent the place. The bartenders are very casual and seem to know just about everyone.

Connections - lots of outlets as long as you stay to the walls of the room (There are many tables and chairs in the center that can’t access the outlets. Cingular service seemed to work there.)

Parking - ample, free, close, unrestricted (and oddly roomy spots)

The Monrovia Coffee Company
425 S Myrtle Ave - corner of Myrtle & Lemon
Monrovia, CA 91016-2811
(626) 305-1377
North of Colorado Blvd.

Hours - 6-10 weekdays, 7-11 weekends.

Prices - very reasonable - drip coffee starts at 1.25 - fancy drinks at 2.25 - sandwiches $5 and up - desserts and ice cream

Ambiance - during the day it’s light, bright and upbeat. They play music. There are lots of tables with straight wooden chairs or comfy chairs with coffee tables. Tables out front on the sidewalk for smokers & otherwise outdoor inclined.

Connections - some scattered outlets around. None outside.

Parking - ample, free (though most have a 3 hour limit)

Highlight - very homey, downtown Monrovia is very much a small town right in LA County. Quite a refreshing change.

Bourgeois Pig
5931 Franklin Ave (between Bronson & Tamarind)
Los Angeles, CA 90028-5515
(323) 464-6008

Hours - 8 AM to 2 AM

Prices - $1.50 for drip coffee, $2.25 for a pot of tea (great selection - herbal, black & green - Chinese, Indian & Japanese). No refills. Real cups. Fancy drinks start at $2.75. Some pastries & small selection of sandwiches starting at $5.00.

Ambiance - they play an eclectic mix of music, sometimes loud. Tables out front for smokers (with an overhang if it’s raining), inside there are large library size tables (sometimes you have to share your table), eclectic mix of comfy chairs and some real butt-busters, back room has couches and is rather dark but cozy. Pool table.

Connections - ample inside at the large tables, also a dead zone for Cingluar service (do they work ANYWHERE?)

Parking - biggest drawback to this place is parking. You have to trawl. Most is free when you find it, but they usually have strictly enforced 2 hour limits.

Additional Highlight - Across the street from the Church of Scientology Celebrity Center.

I’m normally not the type to go around doing wanton self-promotion, but I’m quite proud of my current project and thought I’d share it here.

I have a series of one-acts that are currently running in Los Angeles, produced by TheatreMachine, running at Theatre/Theatre in Hollywood and directed by Heidi Rose Robbins. They’re called The Parking Lot Plays and they have a website of their very own.

The reviews came out today and were rather pleasant. Not raves, mind you, but solid and positive. I know some folks hate critics and some critics can be mean just to turn a phrase or something, but even the negative comments they gave me were well founded in my opinion. Check out the LA Weekly and Backstage West.