Where there's smoke

there's wildfire.

It's that time of year again, and right now there is a brushfire making its way through the north end of the valley and areas plenty far away from me. I saw it on the news this morning, and again on the plane tonight (Jet Blue shows live television - brilliant!), and as soon as I walked out of the airport I could smell it. The entire west side of LA smells of smoke, like we all just threw the biggest bonfire party ever.

The wildfire will continue to make news as long as it continues to affect some of the wealthiest areas of the city. The difference from this natural disaster and Katrina is that most of these evacuees will take refuge in a suite at The Four Seasons.

The temperature has been in the 90's here over the last few days, and I came home to an apartment that felt as much like an oven as it smelled. Fortunately I had left one window open, and now I have my fan going so I can hopefully get some sleep tonight. I may sleep in the living room in front of the window. Always a good idea until the garbage men come by at 6 AM.

The New York City Blues

Hotel rooms in New York are notoriously small, and I'm sharing one for the next two days. I would almost feel bad NOT sharing a room, since hotel rooms in New York this week are averaging about $400 per night, this one included.

It was just less than a year ago that I flew to LA and stayed in a full suite at the Mondrian (by myself) for about $230. That suite was larger than my New York apartment, and I felt like such a rock star. Right now I feel like a groupie.

Cross Country

I leave for New York tomorrow, so I don't know what kind of blogging week it will be. I get picked up at 5:30 AM for a 7 AM flight, and arrive in New York around 3:30. Of course, that will only be lunchtime for me, so it will be a long afternoon, made even longer by my excitement and anticipation of having dinner with my group of NYC friends tomorrow night.

Wednesday and Thursday I am doing editor appointments, which I am (sadistically) looking forward to. Ever since leaving Behrman I have been somewhat under radar, and while that has helped me in making my career more about the "big picture", editor relationships are invaluable, and frankly, fun to have. My regular friends would die of boredom if I tried to have a 30 minute conversation about liposomes and antioxidants.

We fly out Thursday evening at 6:25, and arrive back in LA at 9:40 PM. Quite the whirlwind trip, but I'd rather be busy and pack a lot into two days than idle for three. Well, maybe not, but I am trying to stay positive about it, since I am actually a little sad not to be able to spend the weekend and celebrate my mom's birthday on Saturday as I had originally hoped. But I'll have a lot to do on Friday, and that's why they call it work, I guess.

Autumn brings confusion, fashion challenges

The last few nights I've driven home from work in varying degrees of sunset and darkness, and I've been struck each evening by a feeling that it's hours later than what the clock tells me. It's funny, because obviously the calendar is the same as it ever was and the fact that September gets dark at 7:00 rather than July's 8:00 isn't exactly the newest concept in the world to me. But I guess the fact that it still hits 80 degrees during the day and people are more inclined to dress for the weather versus the actual season (for the record, I've retired my open-toed shoes for the year except on weekends and today delared it acceptable to wear my favorite cords again) has my mind still thinking on a summer schedule.

I am headed to New York next week for a quick work trip, and I have no idea what to wear or bring. I only lived there for seven years - you'd think I'd have something in my closet appropriate for a day and a half of editor appointments. Alas, the irony is that anything appropriate for editor appointments isn't appropriate for a day of pounding the pavement. I just hope I can get away without a jacket. Mine are so last season.

Green clovers and purple horseshoes

Sometimes I feel all-knowing and invincible when it comes to work and my industry, like I can do it all with my eyes closed and one (lippmann collection-manicured) hand tied behind my back. Then there are other times, like now, when I am plagued with self-doubt and wonder if all my successes up until this point have been nothing more than a supersized bowl of lucky charms. I suppose a healthier attitude falls somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, but I never seem to take notice when that happens.

Rainy Tuesday

It's raining today. It hasn't rained here in so long (four months?) that I literally forgot how my windshield wipers worked when I got in the car this morning. I was on the 10 when I finally figured it out.

Thoughts while watching the Emmy's

1. SO NOT FAIR that the red carpet coverage only airs live, and thus I missed all but the last five minutes when they ran from 4-5 PM my time (PST). If they can re-play the Awards show at 8:00 PST for us left-coasters, why can't they re-play the fashion coverage at 7? Isn't fashion the only reason people even watch award shows these days?

2. The five minutes I did catch were enough to convince me that Star Jones has had some sort of gastric bypass surgery. Among other things, that may explain why her face appears to be melting off her neck, but then again, she's always been a wicked witch. (I've met her at least three times in New York - it's true.)

3. Surprisingly underwhelmed by Ellen's opening monologue. How? Why? Wha?

4. Okay, first I was confused about why CBS would (even indirectly) be promoting FOX's American Idol show with their "Emmy Idol" segments. Isn't that breaking the most common law of television? BUT, I have to admit that Donald Trump in "Green Acres" was pure genius. And that Donald doesn't get paid by either station? Pure charity.

5. Could just be me, but Blythe Danner is a MUCH classier act than her daughter. Hands down.

6. My Papa looks like Johnny Carson. When I was too young to watch Carson and therefore didn't really know what he looked like, I said, Johnny Carson looks like my Papa.

7. What is wrong with the Arquette family? They may not have been blessed with an innate fashion sense, but between the three of them, you'd think they could have afforded a decent hair stylist for Patricia tonight.

8. Um, I still don't get this "Emmy Idol" segment idea. The follow-ups to Green Acres weren't only not funny, they were downright awkward to watch. Could Macy Gray look any more uncomfortable wearing a dress? The "William Shatner singing" joke was funny in 1998's Priceline.com campaign, but why now? And what was with "Fame"? Was it an inside wink to the fact that no one watches UPN's Veronica Mars? CBS, please explain.

9. If I were a lesbian, Mariska Hargitay would totally be my imaginary girlfriend. We'd have the best dressed adopted Asian babies.

10. SO HAPPY that Felicity Huffman won Best Lead Actress in a Comedy. I'm only sorry that Marcia Cross had to compete with her, because she deserves one as well. I'm just as happy that annoyarexic Teri Hatcher didn't win.

11. Now I see that the Arquette family money was spent paying off the judges. Bad investment, since now even MORE pictures will be taken of her with that AWFUL, scary, John-Travolta-in-that-Sci-fi-movie-so-bad-I-can't-even-remember-its-name hair.

12. Dennis Farina is no Jerry Orbach.

13. I heart James Spader, but in my heart of hearts, haven't gotten past his roles in Pretty in Pink and Less than Zero.

14. Once I pay off my Frankenfinger bills, I'm getting a DVD player and TIVO.

15. Am I the only person in America who DOESN'T Love Raymond?

Okay, it's 11 PM, and I am going to look for the meaning of my life elsewhere outside of TV land. But before I do that, I'm changing the name of this blog again to better reflect the television show that inspired it.

Six months ago today I moved to LA

Despite what I wrote two weeks ago about the warm California weather, the air has since produced a certain evidence that Fall is here. Mornings are cooler, and I've started to wear a jacket or sweater to work again. My weekend wardrobe of shorts and skirts have been replaced with sweatpants and hoodies. And my summer shoe staple - flip flops - have slowly made their way to the back of my closet in favor of closed toed shoes and sneakers (that, quite frankly, I forgot I even owned. Welcome to California, Puma's! I forgot how well we got along!). My hands have been unusually dry for the past week, and I started sleeping under a comforter again.

Perhaps the biggest (and certainly most unwelcome) change, is the resurgence of traffic. Ever since the Tuesday after Labor Day, when kids went back to school and adults went back to work, the freeways have been packed, and even the regular streets have been busier and slower than normal. My morning commute still doesn't bother me too much - I enjoy the morning radio shows and my coffee as I navigate the 10. And as long as I go to the gym after work, the commute home isn't too bad by 7:30 or so. But twice this week when I skipped the gym and got on the freeway at 6, it took me nearly an hour to get home. That's great motivation for going to the gym, but it won't help me when I have to start going to the Westwood Equinox in November or so.

Of course, my other option is to look for another job - one NOT based in Pasadena - but that's not realistic at this point. Aside from saving myself time on the road (and possibly my sanity), I'd be saving money on gas, as well. The good news is that gas has started to go down again - I only paid $2.93 yesterday!

Sweet Night

Thursday night was our third and final Chocolate Fix party- this one at the Pasadena store. Our chocolate partner for this event was a Master Pastry Chef (he has a Master's degree in Chocolate) from a big hotel here in LA, and he created the most elaborate spread of chocolate pastries, dishes, and displays that took over our store. My pictures don't do it justice:

Knock knock... Maturity calling...

Today I officially became one of those annoying people who puts pictures of babies on their refrigerator. I say annoying, because the baby is not mine and is in no way related to me, unless I can be knighted as an honorary aunt by virtue of 20 years of friendship with Rebecca.

For contrast, I considered securing the baby annoucement with my magnet advertising 86th Street Wines and Liquor, but even I thought that was distasteful. Now THAT's annoying.

When did alarm clocks start resetting themselves?

Apparently the power went out for a few hours in LA yesterday. The DWP accidentally cut a wire they shouldn't have, and most of Hollywood, downtown, and the Westside were affected. Pasadena had power the whole time, and I didn't even learn about the "blackout" until that night when I came home. I checked my clocks before I went to bed, and everything seemed to be in order. Or so I thought.

I first woke up at 4:30 this morning, and thought outside seemed to be a little too gray and not enough black. But I dismissed it, then woke up again around 6, and noticed that it was awfully bright for that hour. I again turned over, thinking about daylight savings time and how the days seemed to be shortening awfully quickly. About ten minutes later I woke up again, and suddenly remembered the power outage, which hadn't appeared to affect my alarm clock, but thought I should check again just to put my mind at ease. Sure enough, the wall clock in my living room was just rounding 8 AM - about two hours ahead of my digital alarm clock! (My alarm is set for seven and I am usually out the door by 7:45/7:50).

So I motored. Showered, dressed, and got ready in 25 minutes. Ended up at work only 20 minutes late. No one even noticed.

Worse than Standing Room Only

This is the first season in years that I have not had any part of New York Fashion Week, and some deranged part of me actually misses it. I feel like such an outsider depending on the AP, the IS, and The Daily to bring me their coverage, and even though I don't have a passion for fashion the way most people who work in the business do, some sick interest managed to seep into my blood during the years I spent rubbing elbows under the Tents.

Of course, six and a half months ago I was sitting at work at 11 PM the night before two shows, cursing my life and the drama I dealt with, looking forward to the next season when I would be away from it all. My life now is drama free, but I guess I miss the SWAG. Just a little bit.

Would you get your hair cut by this guy?

I saw this guy at the Target in West Hollywood last year. I was in town for the Hello Kitty party, and we stopped by the newly opened store to check it out. I noticed this scary creature in part because of his neon orange faux tan, and was subsequently transfixed by the sheer horror of his facial features. It's taking Extreme Makeover to a whole new level, but maybe VH1's the Surreal Life should consider a season with him, Jocelyn Wildenstein and Amanda Lepore. They already have Janice Dickenson.

Bye-bye, Boo-boo

I got my stitches out this afternoon. So easy peasy, if I had known that all it took was a pair of scissors and a tweezer, I would have just done it myself. It took longer for the valet to retrieve my car than the whole appointment from start to finish. Ah, HMO's.

What eating disorder?

I'll give in and post one thing (just one!) that New York has over LA, or at least has over Pasadena. Good delis, or any place that you can just pick up a quick sandwich or salad for lunch. Pasadena is a cute little town with lots of cute places to sit and eat and enjoy the cute atmosphere, but only a single place - Subway - where you can easily pick up a sandwich and be out the door in five minutes.

Subway is fine for me about once every two weeks. More than that and the smell of the place grosses me out and I think too closely about the unfortunate slime factor of the cold cuts. There are a few other cafes in the area that make a decent sandwich or salad, but each takes about 10 minutes to prepare - while I stand there and wait - and I usually have to state my order more than once to ensure they get it right. In New York, none of the counter boys spoke English, but they understood "no mayo" or "dressing on the side" and had my lunch prepared faster than I could dig out exact change.

The New York bodegas also offered every kind of beverage under the sun - from diet sodas to flavored water to iced coffee (always written "ice coffee" by the foreign workers - that annoyed the crap out of me, actually) - and a ton of yummy, relatively healthy snacks - wasabi peas, fat-free brownies, and swedish fish were some of my favorites. There is only one place in Pasadena (that I am aware of) that even carries Baked Lays, and that, too, is Subway. I don't think the Olestra brand made it across the country, but I could choose from fat free everything in New York. And yet I keep hearing that California is supposed to be so healthy.

I now try to bring my lunch to work, and have discovered that I actually enjoy it! I shied away from bringing my lunch in New York a.) because I was afraid that roaches would eat my bread if I kept any in the apartment, and b.) I consisted solely on Boca Burger dinners for 6 years straight and lunch was my one meal opportunity to consume green leafy vegetables. I also think that because work was always so busy in New York, I really used lunch as an excuse to leave my desk; if I didn't leave to get it, I would never leave, period.

I've since gotten sick of Boca Burgers and eat much healthier, balanced dinners (thanks, Healthy Choice and Lean Cuisine for rounding out your selections) so I don't feel bad carbing up on sandwiches midday. Because you know that as long as I don't have a dishwasher there is no way I am ever going to prepare a salad for myself. Waaayyy too much effort. Maybe next year, when I'm 30 (I'll hire a housekeeper to do the dishes).

Desperately Seeking Dez

One of my favorite movies in the WORLD is on right now (I'm writing during commercials) - Desperately Seeking Susan. I've seen it a million times since it came out in 1984, but I always equate it with snuggling in my mother's bed to watch it on HBO. As an eight year old, I always thought of my mother as the cool Susan character, since she wore hip clothes and long earrings like Madonna did. Little did I realize how much more our lives resembled Rosanna Arquette's in Northern Jersey, but I have to give this movie some credit for fueling my drive to live in NYC as an adult. And possibly my penchant for Irish boys with blue eyes like Aidan Quinn.

My long weekend was fun and relaxing. Hit the beach, did dinner, went to lunch at Duke's, and managed to get in two naps in two days. Driving to Duke's and back today, I was (again? still?)overwhelmed with the beauty of the drive and disbelief of the fact that I actually LIVE here.

Labor Day in much of the country is the official end of summer and start of fall. Here, it is not much more than a day off from work. The air is hot and arid, the skies sunny, the daytime temps in the 80's. I fear the main difference will be seen in the increase in traffic I expect on the way to work tomorrow. I'm excited at the thought of my first warm winter, my first autumn not interupted by rain storms or cloudy skies. I'm looking forward to at least two more months of good beach days ahead.

A stitch in time

I was supposed to get my stitches out tomorrow, but now that I am eligible for my company's health insurance, I am waiting until Wednesday when the doctor can see me in his office and my visit will be covered. I'm relieved that the visit will be covered, but I'm frustrated at having to wait four more days. The biggest annoyance is showering. For the past week I have been showering with a plastic bag wrapped around my hand to keep it dry - which only somewhat works. I've become pretty good at picking up the shampoo and conditioner bottles with my wrapped right hand, sqeezing and pouring the stuff into my left, and even getting it all into a lather using only my weak left hand. But I just don't feel squeaky clean. And after a long hartd week at work, there was nothing I was looking forward to more than just standing under a steaming hot shower spray with no worries of getting my hand wet.

Of course, that is a tiny complaint in comparison to the shower and cleanliness problems in Louisiana and Mississippi. I really have no words for that - it is completely incomprehensible to me. I feel like every time I read a new news item, it's like watching a bad movie unfold, where the situation goes from bad to worse to even worse. Only it's all real. The latest is this. What's next?

From the Jersey shore to Malibu shores

It was a year ago this week that I consciously made the decision to move out of New York and out to LA. This was meant to be the subject of last Saturday's post, pre-Frankenfinger, but really, I could blog a day for each thought that went through my mind that week. I took the week before Labor Day off for vacation, the one week of vacation Loving + Co. alotted to its first year employees, and that week changed my life. Or came at a time that I was ready to make a change.

It started on Friday, when I left the office at 1, and hopped on a 3PM flight to visit Ted in LA. We had rekindled our friendship earlier in the summer, and since he had come to visit me in NYC, I thought I would reciprocate. Friday night we went out with his friends, first to Toppers, and then to Gaslite (now, I know where all these places are; then, I had no clue). It was just a crazy fun night, fueled by nothing more than the good energy I had about being in LA.

Saturday, he had a whole day planned: we'd drive down to meet his friends in Laguna Beach, where we'd switch cars and drive down to the horse track in Del Mar, near San Diego. The ride took four hours and gave me my first sour taste of LA traffic, but once I got there, I couldn't get enough. I'm not a gambler, and couldn't have cared less about the horses; all I wanted was to sit in the sun and look at the hills and marvel at beauty of the day. I remember sitting outside, telling his friends about my job and my life, and realizing as I was telling them how miserable it all (and I) sounded. I was so jealous that they all got to live this life and I had to go back to the concrete confines of New York Shitty.

Sunday night was the clincher. Ted took me to Duke's in Malibu (now one of my favorite spots) where we sat outside and watched the sun set over the Pacific. All I could think was that it was like being on vacation, except this is what people actually DO in LA -- not watch football in bars or eat crappy sushi on Third Avenue, but they can actually watch the sun set over the ocean on a Sunday night and still only be 20 minutes from home.

I flew back on Monday, and had a layover in Cleveland. Because of storms (there are always storms in August on the East coast) the second flight was delayed for a few hours, and I sat at the bar and thought about how much more I would rather spend the night at the Cleveland airport than set foot on New York soil that night. Not only was California the "end-all be-all" in my mind, but New York had been downgraded to a lifestyle worse than that of the Midwest.

Tuesday I was so depressed I didn't leave my apartment. Wednesday I summoned up the energy to go Madison Square Park, which depressed me even more and I went back into hiding. It needs to be said that this was also the week of the Republican National Convention in New York (and only a few blocks west of me), which added more fuel to the claustrophic fire that the city had become.

Thursday I headed to my beach house in Point Pleasant. I took the train with my friend Amy, who grew up in LA, and spent the whole time telling her I thought I needed to move there. It was the first time I said it out loud. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night I slept in a bunk bed (on the top bunk, of course), and swore there was no way in hell I was doing this again next year.

Monday, Kris and I schlepped all of our crap from the entire summer onto the New Jersey Transit heading back to the city. During the two-hour commute, I made my decision. I didn't want to be in NYC this time next year. In the city you are forced out for the summer. But for me, the Hamptons are too pretentious and too expensive, the Jersey shore is too trashy, and Fire Island is too annoying to get to. And why SHOULD I be forced out? Couldn't I just be happy where I was? Not if I stayed in New York. But what would I do in LA? Go back to school? Um, no. It occured to me how many contacts I had out here and how it was actually the perfect time to move. But where would I live? Again, I had contacts and knew people, and nothing was going to be harder than I could handle. What about friends? What would I do? Well, I loved my friends in New York but wasn't crazy about our social options which usually consisted of getting wasted every weekend, and it wasn't exactly where I wanted to see myself at 29, let alone 30. I actually LIKED the idea of being responsible in LA, forced to stop at two drinks because you have to drive home. And what about driving? I hadn't done that in years - could I do it in LA? And that's when it hit me that most of the country doesn't live like I live, and NORMAL PEOPLE DRIVE! That's what people do! Why was I living like a non-normal person? Why were any of us!

I turned to Kris on the train and told her. I had lunch with Heather that afternoon in the city and told her. A week or two later I told my mom, and once I told her, it was a done deal.

I miss my friends, I miss them every day. But I don't miss the lifestyle, and am constantly surprised at just how nice things are out here. Things like tonight, driving home on the freeway, admiring the fuzzy outline of palm trees against the mixture of smog and sunset. It's a look that belongs only on a T-shirt, or maybe the opening credits of some TV show on Fox. A friend of mine recently told another friend that "LA really suits" me. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment.